It’s been long since I have the time and condition to really sit down and just think of what to write. And for most of the time where I found myself free to set my thoughts free, I was always on the car driving from one place to another.
That usual sound of air-condition and the fm I’m used to, buzzing in a low pitch where I could barely notice, I noticed the sky was really blue and clouds were white as cotton. So I was looking up instead of down or ahead. While I waited for the light to turn green, the red counter in its countdown, I picked myself up from my fantasy to go to work.
Even after work, some evening I would squeeze myself into the traffic, trailing along the highway to reach my next workplace. Rearranging my thoughts and pace, I changed gear in terms of work for yet another experience. However tiring it would be, a minute of work for a penny, it would still be of worth.
But what I liked most was the trip back home. It would always be night, streetlights and car lamp lighting up the road. The temperature would be just nice, the car accelerating to the push of my pedal, I would sail along the road. Fast and slow, changing lanes at times, I enjoyed the feeling of coming home. Something to look forward to. Something to be glad. A place where I can let my hair down and take off those socks that true work would force me to pull up.
This too, is a space I let myself loose. As if this were to be the dark sky I’d look up upon to before I fell asleep, it would be filled with stars and a changing moon. I don’t think I could ever stop loving this scenery, just like the way I loved and still love to write.
May some things will never change.