73 Days Later…

And I was liberated.

But liberation, I believe, depends on how you look at it; three months and a half had been both long and brief, but after the liberation -- the act of walking past the prison gates, towards the waiting car, nary a look backwards -- it is back to the old humdrum monotony of having nothing else to do.

I don’t have to go to work now, I tell myself in the morning (not yet anyway, not until I’ve graduated and got lucky). I have to wake up and do the chores and make sure that the pets don’t die. That, coupled with afternoons with nothing to do but Tekken (fun, but short-lived fun), it’s just like getting out of prison and going back to the drug-infested alleys.

But still, because I don’t have to rot in the office, as opposed to having to rot at home with all of its humble comforts, things are definitely better. *Confetti!*

The internship has ended. I only have a report left to finish, which I haven’t started

(recuperation is a delicate matter), and after that I shouldn’t be pestered by things that I do not deliberately pester myself with.

I looked back, as usually as one might, and I think I remember the past three months half as something of a mixed nuts. I didn’t hate it, but I never liked it. I’m grateful I landed there, perplexed and disorganised, but safe, and yet I’m disgruntled that I was involuntarily kept away from knowing what being unsafe meant. I remembered little, forgotten too much (rotting for a good month or so can do that), and found things to be new and fresh but utterly monochrome and dull.

It’s a like a movie with the good and bad bits blended, turning into a multi-coloured slush of so-so tasting slurpy.

Still, when I left the office Wednesday evening, I don’t find myself looking back. I may be back, though, but that’s for the future to show.

***********************

Oh baby… baby!

I was having dinner with the mother last Friday, and just as the bill was safely settled my mother’s phone rang.

It was a call from the grandparents, down in Johor for some babysitting. They had called to mom that Aunt Shirley (or Aunt Five) was in the hospital. She went in for a bout of food poisoning, but what the doctored discovered during the check-up was the she was a month pregnant.

We drove to the hospital in relative silence, discussing only a little, and mostly this was because I was pretty much occupied with my thoughts, and I could tell that mom was, too. I was sitting in a mish-mash puddle of anxiety, and -- what I remembered repeating to myself during the journey home -- a sense of childish excitement.

The aunt is fine, now resting at home. Come December or next January, she would be having her baby.

A baby!

***********************

What I have gotten myself during The Book Fair thing:

And the titles, from bottom to top, are:

Danse Macabre and Cujo by Stephen King (both in their 1993 publication covers by Warner Books, which feature a lot of red and a picture of the King at the spine and the back of the book).

Black House by Stephen King and Peter Straub. I wonder how two horror-filled heads are better than one.

The Naked Face and Morning, Noon & Night by Sidney Sheldon, which is in the same cover collection as my copy of Best Laid Plans.

The Chamber by John Grisham, which looks sparkling brand new, as well as Skipping Christmas, which is hard-cover.

Jurassic Park and The Lost World by Michael Crichton; I’ve watched both movies and I hear the booka are completely different.

Thief of Time by Terry Pratchett, which I’ve read and loved and now turned into a fan.

And finally, Galilee by Clive Barker. This is about the only paperback of his I’ve seen which doesn’t price above 50 bucks (well, I found this in the bargain bin, but I assume that it’s the sort of paperback that you can find for about RM35).

(Propped on top of them is my Alkem Cap, and below is my Capstone Books malleable star).

I’ve also bought two non-fiction books as gifts for my dad, and they are 45 Years Under the ISA by Koh Swe Yong and Merdeka!: British Rule and the Struggle for Independence in Malaya 1945-1957 by Khong Kim Hoong.

All of them tally to RM195; the most I’ve ever spent on books, and the best I’ve ever spent.