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What to Write?





Should I write about a recent trip with the family? The joy it was to be together again for the first time in a while. The trips to the shopping malls and the old favorites we have for dining places there (especially the Sunday Champagne Brunch at Nicholini's and roasted goose at Yung Kee). We try to visit Hong Kong every year, and have so since we were children, and that's it, we become children in that not so far away place where you basically do nothing but enjoy. But it's the family, really. Always has been.




Or do I write about coming home sick, with chills as soon as I got into the car from the airport, how weird it was. The shift in temperatures--the plane itself had bipolar airconditioning--from the plane to the airport to the waiting docks to the car and to the house. Never had I perspired at night while sleeping; all that pent-up heat a weary body harbors, only to be slowly released asleep. I am tired. But work is work, and you do your best. Then you rest like nothing else.

Or about my classes? I get frustrated sometimes. I can give more, I should, but sometimes I fall flat, not as planned, waiting for that spark or turn that I need to rescue me from nonsense and repetition. I need to be better. I need to be stronger. Nobody likes a weak teacher.

Or about these confusing days? I don't know what I should prioritize anymore. Too much on my plate, but if that is true, why then can I afford to run away from them, at least for a while, or no, for a long while. I am limping. But really, I do not understand what's happening anymore, not the bad kind of confusion, the likes of which where you want to drop everything, but that kind where you want to get things done and over with mindlessly so you can reap their fruits, I guess it is better that way, because I don't work well when I think too much. Anything worth doing is worth doing half well, said a legend in the department.

Or these few nights I have been able to sleep well, rising with a mind ready to explode, ah--this is detoxing, this is what it means to be normal. So it is possible. I like normal. Like dinners at home, reading before sleeping. I like normal. There was nothing fantastic about me after all.



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