Sunday

I used to wake up happy on Sundays.

Apt. The seventh day, the day of rest, the number of perfection, the Lord's day. Wowie.

When I was a kid, I'd automatically wake in time for the cartoon marathons. There'd be roti canai on the table, perfectly complemented by spicy-sour meena kari. The farmer's Sunday ritual involved driving to the roti canai van-stall near Lam Wah Ee hospital to get breakfast for us all.

That has stopped. A long time ago.

I don't know what happened to the roti canai van-stall. Since the autopont came to be, they vanished. Together with the best roti canai on the island. And its perfect complement, spicy-sour meena kari.

When I got a little older, I'd wake up, looking forward to church. All scrubbed and in my Sunday best, I'd go downstairs to wait for Uncle Eddie and Aunty Mei. We'd always go somewhere new for lunch after. It's a wonder we never ran outta new places to go to.

I haven't seen Uncle Eddie and Aunty Mei in years.

What do I have to look forward to now? The only plus of it being a Sunday is that the rubbish truck doesn't come by and make a racket, so I can stay asleep for a few hours more.

Sad.

I was rudely awakened today, even minus the rubbish truck. Fucked up dream. Same dream. Stress, balls.

Dreams are shit. If they are fantastic, you wake, hopeful, searching. If they suck, you wake, gloomy, fucked.

I used to be a believer. A very staunch one at that. Am slipping, slowly but surely. I wonder, how can you be happy with one, just one? Nicer ones appear all the time, tempting you, pulling you down. I'd ponder more, if there was even one right now, but there's none. Haha.

I wonder, how come that question has never surfaced before?

This entry was posted by tsh, on Monday, August 08, 2005. You can bitch back.