quietly

when the sun was up high in the sky sunlight could easily filter through the balcony and warmed up the floor in the living room. i was alone in the apartment sitting on the carpet flipping through every words in the paper that caught my attention. the poet i love wrote something about his encounter with another poet he (and i) loves. he was dissapointed realising she is just another ordinary person. on the sheet at the back my fav writer talked about his little daugther again and a new word-of-the week. fun and hilarious as usual. Kundera's unbearable lightness of being was finally published in czech. the original version. the sport section has news on YaoMing, but i anticipated Kobe Bryan more. he is the reason im still catching up with the games. in the sunday special i got into the story of the uncle selling chicken rice in Melaka - how he 'accidentally' bought two historical houses along jonker street, how he was 'forced' by the local government to refurbish them instead of his original plan to turn them into carparks, how hard times had been throughout the years, and how grateful he was now that the buildings were kept. i was paritulcarly attracted by how the reporter (i should say 'writer') ends the story. at the day the refurbishment was finally completed, the uncle's mother (who started the business since 1940s with the uncle's father) took a chair and sit across the street looking back at her new premises, and she stared at it for a very, very long time. i stopped and imagined for a while, how, frames by frames, her past 50years of life rolled back into her memory.

i threw myself onto the bed. covered my chin with the blanket still flushed with the pleasant smell of the morning sun. looking out through the half-open casement window. with my eyes half closed. the clouds were moving so slowly, and quietly.