Forgettable

The cramped kitchen dimmed whilst I packed the nut filling and store it in freezer. The half-done of the food project reminded me of those videos I watched online. Back in 2016, I indulged in watching their rustic outdoor cooking. Onions, tomatoes and chilli peppers are essential ingredients, plus red powder and yellow powder, or other masala. Most of the time, they stewed all the colourful ingredients into a paste, for better digestion, I assumed. Sometimes the culinary was time-consuming, they cooked from daytime until night, which was a testamemt to the dedication to gastronomy.  Why did I watch people cooking the food I have never had a chance to try? Nor will I be able to cook because of the paucity of authentic spices. Maybe because of the iridescent ingredients, or the relatively clean landscape. Time has been long enough for me to forget why I did it, in 2023, I want to call out to the 2016-me from a foreign country to let me know that I successfully forgot or forgave. I co...

An orange truck swept the leaves on the sidewalk this morning, it took three rounds to collect them all, leaving traces of water behind the truck. I remembered how sands struck my face in those windy days when I walked in city center last year. Seeing that they finally paid attention to the cityscape, I guessed my unspoken inner voice was magically heard.

Thanks to two cups of morning coffee, I'm lucid at 3:03 a.m. but I somehow want to say good evening, to my love. And, good night to myself.

12:15 p.m., I took the sweet bread and sourcream to the aisle beside the courtyard wall. I moved the broken chair to make sure no one could see me eating there. I put the sourcream lid onto a dusty desk strewned with dry guano. I dipped the bread in my left hand into the sourcream in my right hand, as if they were burrito and guacamole. Few minutes later, six sparrows landed on the plastic barrel under the water spout. They drank some water, flew back to the tree. Then, a crow showed up on the fence, dropped to the barrel to sipped water as well. I threw a piece of bread to the ground, but they weren't those doves surrounding me in the park, they didn't take the food. Instead, something furry crawled towards the bread, which I thought was another type of bird. I was shocked to recognise it was a rat when one of its obsidian eyes peeked at me on the right side. I had never seen any rats since I was here. Anyway, I scared it away intentionally. I fed myself, stood up. I looked at...

As you know, processing the deep meanings hidden in words has oft been a vexation for me. I'm no more than a pariah with legs like jelly in a world where the obscurity is trendy. However, sometimes I do want some help from the virtuoso to understand the exquisite metaphors, well, if there was anyone I could ask, for free. I'm not sure if the description is metaphorical or not but it's somehow intriguing, I can't get it out of my mind. Here we go -- A famous writer emerged joyously from the tropical jungle akin to a monkey, with bananas and a bottle of drink in hands.  Is it the identity replacement or combination? I'm bewildered.  Thanks for reading the cyclic overthinking of an overthinker. Not dead yet, not forgotten yet, I'm incubating the letter like an aged hen. Death and oblivion scare me not.

On the fallen-leaves-dotted sidewalk, a gush of golden pixies ran to me rabidly in the orange-noon sunshine. They stopped right under my feet. I smiled, I felt I was loved. Let me do a challenge to depict the moment in fewest words.  Marigold noon, golden pixies sprint toward me.

Chilly Saturday, after work, shopped alone. I walked there with the weary heart caused by the hours of intensive work. It was sunny yet chilly. I walked all the way to the left, I didn't sit for a minute during the work, I kept walking until I saw some benches at the entrance of a mall. I sat down, I sniffed the honey-like fragrance behind me, I turned around, I saw the little white flowers. Background music was in English. I stood up, walked straight, a row of parking lots, the signs.  I found the powder to boost the growth of flower roots, a tiny pack in the corner of shelves. I looked around the shop twice, they sold orchids, cactus, small roses in pots, seeds of dahlia and lily etc. But among them, the yellow rose I saw online was not found. I spent some time to glance at the wee seeds sold in packs, no rose seeds either. A lady was beside me, searching for her ideal flower seeds. Behind her was her man holding a shopping basket in hand, waiting for her patiently to make the fi...