Lost In Translation

Something about the beach that brings about a silence and stillness heavier than any other place I know. I don't mean total silence. I'm talking about people.
We talk less, let the waves fight their endless wars, feel the cold turn warm as the water run between our toes, and listen.

I'll let the photos do the talking this time round.

Half Moon Bay was beautiful. Good for photoholics on a nice sunny day, I think.
I'll try to post more here.

I think there's too much law in my life. I'm bound.
I need more grace.

Or at least, the realisation of it.

~

Edit: Oh, and by the way, I got rid of the box.

There's a creepy little red couch finding its way around my apartment building as of the past two days.

It's pretty bemusing, really.
I came home in the evening last night and found it in the lift. Just sitting there. There wasn't anyone handling it nor any sign of anyone moving (what more at about 7pm). It was just there as if it belonged. So I took a seat on my way up.

At home, I took a shower and ran a few errands before leaving the apartment again at around 8pm. The couch was no longer there. Someone must've moved it.

Then I got home at about 12am and strangely there it was again in the lift. At the exact same spot where it was at about 7pm. I didn't dare take a seat this time.

This morning at about 7am, the lift wasn't working.
Then at about 11:30am, it was working again. But the couch was gone. This time, it was sitting at the mailroom downstairs by my apartment's entrance.

Coming home from work at 4:30pm, as I walked in the entrance, it was no longer there.
Neither was it in the lift.
But along my corridor instead. Just outside my nextdoor neighbour's apartment front door.

I doubt that he moved it because he'd be at work (I think) between those hours.

And so I conclude: it must be haunted.

~

Oh, and again, before I forget, Happy Chinese New Year.
Red packets (ang pows) are scarce in this country. For those of you feeling sorry for me, feel free to make a donation via internet banking. Drop an e-mail expressing your interest in making a deposit and I'll pass you my bank details to transfer.
God bless you.

Often, I hear people asking me if I knew what it felt like when I hear a certain song, and that one song would mean something to me taking me back to a specific time and location in memory, etched in detail. I never related to that. Not very significantly, that is. Until yesterday while I was at work, the radio in the kitchen was playing Snow Patrol's Open Your Eyes.

And for the first time since the summer holidays started, I actually missed home.

I'd be driving home from work. Or maybe to Subang for church or just somewhere for mamak. Be it in peak hour traffic or speeding along a highway. I miss KL. The bad traffic. The company. The food. The nights. Mont Kiara. Hartamas. Subang. And the many, many shopping centres. The song was a soundtrack to the roads for some reason I can't quite remember. But it was awesome.

Summer 06/07. KL. Ernst & Young. Brodie and bapoks along Jalan P. Ramlee. Lomo LC-A+. Malacca. Christmas. Chinese New Year. Brothers and sisters from high school. And the long, long nights that never should've ended.

~

I recently heard two love stories this week.
One was from a backpacker I know. She's German from Berlin. He's French from Paris. She can't speak French and neither can he speak German. So they have to communicate in English. They met in Spain one night and fell in love. But because of their distance, they have to travel back and forth to meet and spend time with each other. And now they're both here in Australia just so they could spend better quality time together, backpacking with family and friends.

The second story is about an acquaintance's parents. His mum is a Japanese who came to Australia to study when she was about 17. She was here for university when she met his dad and they dated for a couple of years. But when graduation came, it was time for her to go back to Japan for that is where her family wanted her to be, and so she did. Not willing to give up, his father decided to then fly to Japan to look for her, and when he finally found her, asked her to marry him. They were 20.

As corny and easily looked over as it may be, I guess romance isn't quite dead. God have mercy on whoever's responsible for the endless Hollywood clichéd romantic comedies. As if they haven't done enough damage already. But honesty can still be found in this day and age, I suppose, with romances like these. Okay, so the one with the guy's parents may not be that relevant.

But such stories are still just great to hear.
I just hope more will keep coming and remain true.

My general thought process pattern for the day:

"..........
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I think I'm hungry."