A wrestler getting some reps in with a sixty kilo bag before clocking in as a bus driver
“Don’t tell me what you value, show me your budget, and I’ll tell you what you value.”
It’s easy to procrastinate your life away. I mean, look at my last post date. It’s been months since my last update.
Or you could take a look at how I spent the past weekend: I slept in, had a late lunch, decided I wanted to spend the day writing, did some chores, played some games, watched TV, realised I’ve pissed away hours of said writing time, drank some vodka, blitzed a few online chess games, had dinner, drank more vodka, and before I knew it, the sun has set, and I’ve wasted another day.
One year ago
Well hello again. It’s been a while since my last post, and I thought I’d take this chance to announce a discovery I’ve made. I’ve taken to a monochromatic wardrobe a while back, and upon further inspection of social media, have come to a conclusion that it began almost one year ago. This discounts the black tee, jeans, and working boots phase I had prior to that.
Contrary to what I expected, the year passed by relatively quickly (much quicker than I’m comfortable with, frankly), and I haven’t thought much of my styling options until today, when I felt that my black Doc Martens could use a polish, but realised that my black Vans were too scruffy to stand in as a replacement.
I’d like to think that a handful of you would be interested in the life of a goth ninja, so I present to you, the things I’ve learned being colourless for a year.
One of my first views in Japan
Foreword: Apologies for the lack of posts. Got a lil’ worded-out and had to take a step back from storytelling. Writing is a surprisingly unconducive day-job for writers. But hey, here’s a story of my time in Japan!
I went through every possible scenario of my first steps in Japan while on my flight from Kuala Lumpur to Hokkaido. Home to a mix of innovation, tradition, and tentacle porn, Japan had always held a special place in my heart. Were my first experiences going to be about pachinko and panty vending machines? Or would I not even get past the sci-fi toilets? There was so much I wanted to find out.
One of my prouder moments.
I never really talk to strangers. That’s besides the fact that I can’t hold small talk for nuts. But my conversation with Eileen was as effortless as reciting the alphabet, and the return flight from Siem Reap was over in an instant.
As she gathered her little backpack, I asked her if that was all she had throughout her couple of years in Southeast Asia.
“Yeah,” she said, a smile in the corners of her mouth. “It’s little I know, but many people live with less, and this here is all I really need.”
So I was at a local food stall with Jo, staring at my glass of water. Deja vu. I knew I’ve lived this moment before but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Finger? Rhymes with anger. Anger makes me want to punch things. Punch? Kickboxing. Thailand. Then I remembered.
I was in Thailand, staring at my glass of water. I looked at the pitcher where it was poured from. Every meal came with a complimentary serving of refillable water. I didn’t get sick drinking the same water for the past few days, so I wasn’t even bothered if it came from the toilet pipe.