Vacations are supposed to be a happy thing, a short moment once in a while where time flies faster than normal days. But it doesn’t seems to be true for me. Time slows down to the point where I’m struggling to feed it with new activities. Gaming, reading, watching, movie marathon, going out, hanging out with friends. Writing.
As the cool air trying to chill me, yet the wind doesn’t want to blow, there are trees, herbs, birds and insects. And me, with my scones, a cup of hot tea, a laptop, and what not. And I keep typing, pointlessly, really. I’m not sure anymore if I still want to write about this. Is this procrastinating, or a creative moment in the making? I couldn’t be sure.
I took up my fork and cut a piece out of the one scone I’ve left, put it aside. I took some butter with the fork, dip it into the white stuff, the white stuff that I don’t remember what it’s called, and then the strawberry jam, and then poke it into the piece of scone that I’ve just cut, and ate it. And then I started writing again.
As I finished the sentence above, I took a deep breath while moving my hand to take another piece of the scone, repeating the same sequence, but I stop half way, because I’ve just thought about something to write again, this paragraph.
I took a sip of tea.
I’m thinking about writing. I’m thinking about what I want to write. I’ve never finished anything I’ve started. I’m doing alright when it comes to work stuffs. But about my own stuffs, they never get done. But I want to be serious this time. I want to finish something just for the sake of finishing it up. At least, before the departure time.
I wan’t to write about the training, I want to write about the travelling, about the excitements when I got the mail, about this world I’m leaving behind.
I’m worry. Worry that I’ll end up abandoning it again. Could it be the fact that it was terrible so I stop? if I start over again, will this work? What’s the difference this time? What if I got stuck again?
Questions, over and over again.
A big chunk of scone still linger. I look up to the ceiling and notice how old this restaurant is. Wooden tiles painted in white with bars of dark brown wood lining along it. Wooden doors and windows tiled with glasses. A Malaysian 80s songs playing in the background. The waitress dressed in light brown uniform tidying her hair in front of a cupboard paneled with mirrors.
My mouth feels very sweet. I don’t feel like finishing my scone anymore. But I can’t finish this post if I don’t finish the scone. Why the rule I’m not sure. But I saw cars passing through and I don’t feel like sitting here anymore. I wan’t to get out of here.
But I need to finish my scone. I need to finish this post.
At this point of time, what would you be thinking if you’re reading up to this point? Are you bored? Are you wondering how will it end? Are you angry?
Let’s start to think about how to end this one. I need a conclusion. But nothing to be concluded, really. It’s a nice place, and I gotta start writing that damn story I’ve supposed to finish ages ago.
I bet, this is the end of this post. Stay tuned for more awesome shits to come.
Well, not yet. Some kids were just screaming as I was proofreading this post. I bet that’s really worth mentioning. And now I heard birds singing as well. I bet it will never end either.
I finished my scones.