Photo credit: Jeff Bush
“Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.” -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Your alarm clock rings, and you forget how many times you’ve hit the snooze button today. It doesn’t matter because the clock says 7:20. That’s five snoozes, plus you’re twenty minutes late.
Photo credit: Thomas Leuthard
I’m at the neighbourhood coffee shop sipping on a bottle of beer. Visits here are always a quiet affair. The customers tend to be alone, just like today. Some are nursing beer bottles, while others tuck into their dinners for one. I’m aware of my flatter-than-usual jeans pocket, because I left my phone at home today. It doesn’t matter. I could use some time apart from the internet anyway.
Photo credit: C K Tse
“I had the blues because I had no shoes until upon the street, I met a man who had no feet.”
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We’ve all had rough times in our lives. One of mine happened when I freshly graduated from college (at the age of 29). It was barely a few months after my mom’s passing, I was broke, wrestled with relationship turbulence, and had a hard time making sense of my career change after fifty unanswered job applications.
I may have romanticised the writer’s life way too much. I’ve always pictured the typical writer as a broken but attractive soul, shelled up in his (or her) study, surrounded by books and way too many mahogany chairs. He’d stare out his window, lift his finger in exclamation, and break out his trusty typewriter (a Remington, of course).
This is me on a good day. You wouldn’t want to see what I eat on the daily.
So it’s been more than three months since I’ve turned vegetarian. I figured the one month mark wouldn’t do it justice, so I held on for a bit before starting on this post.
The first thing that you’d probably ask—especially if you’ve known me—is why? Why succumb yourself to such torture? Have you found a new religion? Are you a PETA member now?
Your Friendly Malaysian Writer 