Currently reading: Violin by Anne Rice.
I ordered ABC Special. It has been too hot and I have feeling thirsty for something cold. My order came with durian-flavored vanilla ice cream on top of ABC. I guess that's why they call it special. It has ice cream on top. It's not quite like the one I always ordered. Maybe the durian flavor in the ice cream changed the taste of it. My palette has been so looking forward to the taste of Melaka sugar that's always in Pappa Rich's ABC Special. But it's alright. It, being cold and sweet is nice. I am not a sweet tooth but when I crave for something sweet, I go for it.
Right now, the sunset reflects on my hair, I am sitting, by, the way, with the sun behind me. I can imagine seeing my hair, glistened by the sun, fiery in its fake mild golden brown color. I can only see my shadow across me,on that brown wall bodering PappaRich and stalls selling cheap clothings.
I have been reading the book and been looking at my shadow in between. It reminds me of how my students described me when I sit at the table, marking their papers. I guess there's fascination in seeing their teacher flip her hair. Little do they know I do that subconsciously when I see wrong answers on their papers. I thought about it right after they told me about either touching my hair, my temple, or when I flip my hair. I realized I do that when I see mistakes on their tests.
-Morning Has Broken- That's in the background -- at least just the instruments. A happy song. A song of hope; for someone like me who is at a state of deep night. I hear hope. Morning has broken. When is morning going to be broken? When is my morning going to come?
Why do the rest of the music they're playing sound so depressing? It's as if pulling my soul into a darker, deeper night.
I better move on. I have nothing to do here.
Anne Rice and her Violin can wait.
Then I walk along the main road where structures for light rail transit is being constructed. I have to go up the overpass bridge that connects the road from USJ 19 Mall to my housing area. I have such fear of heights, I guess. Or maybe, it's the fear of having the bridge collapse while I'm on it on the car-packed road below me. The thought just gives me shivers. I hear myself prodding me to run. Why do I fear death, anyway, if my destination after-life is with my Creator?
I think this fear remains the most mysterious of all that plagued almost all of human race. I think it's the fear of the unknown that besots mankind. I guess only people that have faith as small as a mustard seed don't fear death. I may not be one of them. Are you?
I need a reality check then. Where does my faith go after all these years of believing in our Savior?
Forgive me, Lord.
Strengthen my faith.
When it does, maybe, just maybe, my morning would be broken.
PappaRich, USJ 19 Mall