never let it fade away

Received an email from Dad earlier today, in which he said he believed that I have a gift for writing, and that could be something that can be taken seriously as a hobby, or even a pocket money generator. Thanks, Dad.

Much as it was encouraging to hear that from Dad (who only distributes praise when necessary), the truth is I am no longer confident of my writing. Why would I be, when I rarely write anything longer than a Thank-you note, or a journal entry?

I enjoyed writing when I was younger, back when we had fictional essays to write (as opposed to academic essays which were just a load of "therefore", "however", and "besides that"). I did not like factual writing. They require actual thinking, and I was not allowed to write fancy descriptions.

These days, I still pick up my pen, but only to write to-do lists, jot down ideas, or write short sentences recording my thoughts. I don't really remember how grammar goes, or how many sentences to a paragraph, and synonyms and pretty words are just a Google search away.

Was just reading Reader's Digest in the State Library yesterday, and enjoyed the 100-word readers' contribution. It was just that, a 100-word essay. Not easy for me! But a good challenge, which I would like to propose a regular feature on my blog. Will write more about this later.

It was the day before the eve of Christmas. I threw some clothes in the washing, then set out for lunch with a potential housemate. Afterwards, I wandered around West End and South Brisbane, walking in and out of busy bookstores (last minute shopping much?), picked up a movie ticket for one at a nearby cinema, then sat myself down in the State Library with a couple of magazines, until it was time for an early dinner before Paddington.

Paddington was cute. Very English, as far as I could tell, and brought back childhood memories of an animated series of the bear with red hat in London. The two old ladies in the row in front seemed to have enjoyed the movie too.

Just before heading home, I stopped for a Spanish latte (espresso with condense milk a la Spanish, aka kopi gao) while texting le Wifey who was feeling emo about being home alone while everyone else was out with friends or family.

It is now the day before Christmas. I went out to pick up some stuff, went grocery shopping, came back and cooked a quick lunch, baked some cake for the Christmas lunch tomorrow.

Is it really Christmas eve already? If I were home, I would have been nervous about the Christmas eve cantata, or preparing to go to church with my family. If I were home, I would have the family Christmas open house to look forward to, where all the friends and family would come for lunch, and then we would continue eating left overs till it's time to open the presents under the tree.

But I am here, 7000km away from home, alone. Well, le housemate and her parents are busy packing in the next room, but what I meant was, it's my first Christmas away from family. Dad promised to Skype tomorrow, and Dear is always just a text away, but still.

Just finished submitting a house application, and trying to concentrate on completing my "Responsible Service of Alcohol" course. Which is, the story of my past two weeks. That, and searching for a job. Thankfully, the latter has been addressed by an employer who might actually want to hire me as a waitress, after I get my RSA certificate. That is at least one thing to look forward to end the days of boredom and loneliness.

Is it any comfort to say it is Christmas tomorrow? That it is a brand new day, with a brand new year looming in the horizon in another week? I'm sorry, but I just drank the half glass of water that was on the table.





Still, I have a slice of Toberone Tango Cheesecake in the fridge, two trays of Kajang chocolate cake (reproduced in muffin form) cooling on the table, and a new book to read. Possibly going out for dinner tonight, or tomorrow, depending on when I choose to go to church.