We’ll all die someday, destined to return to the earth from whence we came. I’d like to think of the body as a vehicle that takes you through the journey of life, a rental with a return date.
Most people would like to return their cars unscathed, because it’s a smoother ride when you’re not dragging your fender across the highway. But when it’s time to turn in my set of keys, I’d imagine that I’d be returning something a little less pristine.
Just thought I’d try my hand at copywriting. Photoshop skills are horrendous.
I swung the door open and extended my arms. “Hey,” I said.
“Hi,” she said, walking past me, straight up to my room.
Trouble.
I went up after her. “Is there something you wanna say?”
Tears streaked her cheeks when she said, “I don’t think we can walk this path anymore.”
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.
Your Friendly Malaysian Writer 