The art of avoiding a topic, even in the form of thoughts, is impossible to master and is made worse with the influence of alcohol. WHY you ask then, do I need to perfect this skill? The answer can be found stretching from the boundaries of the amazingly stupid, all the way to the influence of my stubborn blood-pumping core. 1 year seems 10 times longer now compared with the 1 year I pictured before coming home. If 1 year working in a foreign country with a totally different culture and society seems long, I can forget about extending... but deep in my gut, I feel I would, if I could.
The epic battle between the adventurous self-improvement fighter and the helpless romantic is underway. A dumb-ass could predict the winner for this one. It always is the same.
Then I think of the spark. It was like a blast of lightning, jolting me out of my sleep. A realization stronger than the 'Kao'-est kopitiam coffee you can find. Hair, Noise, Scent, Touch: A jumbled up combination of stupidity. To be honest, I don't know if it was there or not. Mr M seems to think that's it's of no importance, simply because it was too normal in such a circumstance. Perhaps it was just part of my desperation to seek something out there to anchor myself to. We'll never know. It's pitiful to think that THIS is what troubles me day and night. Not to say that I haven't got other concerns.
A familiar faint but audible voice echoes from the back of my head:
"When will you ever grow up?"
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