Highway

Uhh...since when this blog has been so wanting in ideas to express? Or it's the dreadful monotony that killed it?

Life has been very much the same. What is there to say, the exams are nearing like black holes and walls closing on. This freakish disposition to get distracted and do crazy things regardless of time is scaring me. It must be stopped. People and place play their roles, but the main character influences the show. He is supposed to do that, and nothing less.

Stuck in a rut. Life does not change.

Unless...

The short yet muscular boy was talking to his coach, two of them actually; one was Chinese, but in a foreign way, and the other was Malay, also in a foreign fashion. All three of them wore shirts that identified them as belonging to some lion-dancing organisation, while another indicated his affiliation with a sports team. The China man shook both of his hands, and after telling the boy in strange Mandarin that there was no beer, walked out of the sundry shop.

While waiting for the chubby girl to count and pack his buyings, the young athlete took out, from his bag, an object which looks like a charger and a few wires. He looked at the Malay girl, whose face was looking as though expecting some foreign awkwardness, and did what she feared: he smiled and gestured with that charger. His coach just smiled and shrugged helplessly.

The girl turned and smiled weakly at me, me being a familiar customer of the shop. I spoke to the boy, and both him and his coach turned, smile changed into one that beams. Upon understanding his need, which is to charge his hand phone probably, I asked about his lodgings, and he pointed far at Red Rock. He proceeded to ask me whether his charger can be used here, with the structure being different than his country's. I told him about the connector which can accommodate his charger and plugged into domestic ones. He nodded and after thanking me, walked out with his coach, who made a sound that sounded like 'Thailand'. Oh, I saw 'Thailand' across their chests now.

Sucking my drink on the way back, I thought of my recent rut. This situation brought to mind the occasion when Jane met Rochester on the highway. That was her big break from her monotonous life. The incident was not very much, but it is, at the very least, something different, for Jane. As Charlotte puts it:

'The incident had occurred and was gone for me: it WAS an incident of no moment, no romance, no interest in a sense; yet it marked with change one single hour of a monotonous life. My help had been needed and claimed; I had given it: I was pleased to have done something; trivial, transitory though the deed was, it was yet an active thing, and I was weary of an existence all passive. The new face, too, was like a new picture introduced to the gallery of memory; and it was dissimilar to all the others hanging there...'

Oh... Monotony kills sometimes.