it's not the time that drives one mad, it is the silence

It has been more than 48 hours since I last spoke to a person in English. I think I am teetering on the brink of madness. Honestly. I knew that getting through the holidays would be tough, but I now know that I really had no idea. I have no idea how to fill the hours. I am the only one of the SMs around Bangkok for the holidays. Wandering the city can only occupy one's attention for only so long. Aargh!! I used to not understand the ubiquitous man-pirates of Thailand. I should explain; a man-pirate is a foreigner, usually older and with the requisite beer gut, that comes to Thailand and hooks up with/coerces/enters into contract with/pays for a young Thai lady to be his companion, rook-partner, or whatever else. To be completely honest, I still don't understand man-pirates completely, but I think I can empathize a little bit. Loneliness is a strong emotion that can drive a person to extreme measures. Do not worry, dear reader, there is no danger of me descending into unabashed man-pirateness. I am currently borrowing a bit of free wireless from one of the supermalls downtown. I spent the day trying to find a decent internet café, but after miles of walking and a few Skytrain rides the café of my dreams is still at large. In hopes of bolstering my spirits, here is a list of positive things in my existence at the moment:1. I don't have ebola.2. I still have four working limbs.3. I ate my first shwarma ever in Little Arabia yesterday. It was hecka delicious.4. The second ever shwarma followed the first rather quickly.5. My sketchbook (read: drawing pad filled with doodles, collages, and words) is slowly progressing.6. I am not in front of a classroom. Amen, and amen. Well, that's it. A quick proofread of this post indicates just how frazzled my brain really is. Right. Well, I am off to: one, see a movie; two, go to a bookstore and read a book which I have no intention of buying; or, three, go back to my apartment, turn on the AC, and hibernate until June, when I can finally go home.

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creativity or bust

Last Sunday, I had this great plan: for one week, just one easy seven day period of time, I was going to draw something everyday. I know that I value creativity and art but I am never disciplined about it. I would much rather buy the occasional art supply and dwell in the realm of could do than actually be willing to practice (and surely create some crummy art) and consistently work towards getting better.

So I gave it my best shot. Sunday went well. I worked up the courage to sketch outside a little; the idea of an possible audience intimidates me to no end. And sure enough, someone stopped. It was a man from Holland, I think. He was on vacation and he really just stopped to say hello. We talked a little about travel and what I was doing with my life, especially here in Thailand. I have no idea why this question always comes up. And neither do I know why the answer is still so nebulous: something to do with languages and maybe chemistry, just to be safe. [sigh]


Monday also went okay. I had a couple of oranges left and so I drew them. Then I ate them. They were delicious.

And after Monday is where things dropped off. I wish I could say that I was too busy. Or that someone came and stole all my pencils and art junk. But that would be a lie. I was just lazy. It wasn't that spectacular of a work week and it ended with me feeling rather unfulfilled. So on Thursday, I messed with some paints and finished with this.


And now it is Sunday again. Three out of seven days. Not what I would call successful. But this is another week. And I will try again.

mocha for one

As Sunday tradition dictates, I am sitting in a café. I have already finished my mocha, so I am just sitting, thinking, and people watching. There are groups of friends joking and laughing and generally making merry. The couple to my right sit across from one another, one on a laptop, the other pretending to read while actually studying her piece of cheesecake. They exchange occasional looks at one another, but really don't say anything. The pair to my right, wearing coordinated outfits (a little weird), read the newspaper and plink away at some important task on their mobile phones. They talk and make faces at each other, as if invisible to the world. It's kind of cute--err, well, it is, my use of the adjective cute notwithstanding.

I wish I hadn't drank my coffee so fast. But it is hard to drink slowly without the necessary and beautiful interruption of conversation. So I fill my ears with music and think, with intermittent bursts of typing.

I love cafés, but coffee for one is too strong, too bitter.