The drive home with Sharon turned out to be a lot less awkward than I thought it would be.
She took to conversation rather quickly – not surprising, knowing where she had been and the journey that she had just returned from, if only temporarily. We talked – about the life in New York; about international flights; about the performing arts; about home; and finally, about the uncertainty of the future.
“No one has their life figured out. Not now, not when you’re 50 years old. Just continue to work hard and do what you love – you’ll never regret it.”
After a long-overdue dinner at 10.30P.M. and half a football match (between Arsenal and Tottenham), I found myself retiring to bed after a chapter of Wolves of the Calla, safely home by midnight.
I had the time of my life.
I read a little, wrote a little, and celebrated my birthday with my favorite group of friends in a little Spanish-themed restaurant in Subang Jaya, and even came home with two books more than I had left home with: one is a blank notebook (which God knows I can never have too many of); and the other is a novel titled The Wind Through The Keyhole, an interquel of sorts to The Dark Tower series, written by Mr. King himself – thus completing my collection of the book series.
(the only thing that annoys me is that the novel is slightly smaller – not thinner, but smaller – than the other novels, making it stick out among the other novels in a way that would drive anyone mad with OCD)
A little more than 2 hours ago, I was introduced to this interesting game called Smash Up – a game where Steampunk Dinosaurs pit themselves against Robot Ghosts, Plant Zombies, and Alien Bears. It’s about as awesome as it sounds.
When the game had ended with me emerging as the ultimate victor, an immediate sense or urgency fell upon the group, realizing that it was past 11P.M.
“I have to be home by 12!”
“I have to be home by 12 – and I have to fetch Sam back!”
“I don’t have to be home by 12, but I have to be in church to get my car before 12!”
It is now 12.06A.M., and I can report that the whole lot of them made it home by midnight.
THE DAY BEFORE
Malaysia is now 56 years old. Whoopee-do.
Without saying more than I have to (or am legally allowed to), a gloomy darkness has fallen over this nation, and everyone can hear the thunder rumbling in the distance. People say that the darkest night is just before the dawn – but what if this is only the beginning of the metaphorical night? The folks who gave The Dark Ages its name were only able to do so after said age had ended. Who knew, while living in such an age, when it would ever end?
Only time will tell. Only time will tell.
Before the clock strikes 12 here in Malaysia; before the glam and the glitter vanishes like the memory of a dream; before the magical carriage makes its final tumble onto the ground as a pumpkin-
I pray that Malaysia would make it home by midnight.