Today while sitting in a convention, legs crossed (my Mom gets annoyed at me, but I have to sit in a mangled position or I can't have peace), head cocked, I was reminded of a time when I was very young.
We had this picture book, burgundy cloth and golden script adorning the cover.
The illustrations were lush, with gorgeous colors. There was a catch though.
No words. Every single time the story was different. It depended greatly on whether it was my Dad or my Mom telling the story. But even then, neither of them repeated the same tale twice.
I think life is like that story book.
So many people living in similar environments, but living different lives, different stories.
Seeing the same moments with different eyes.

My best friend has been having me listen to country music. I don't mind it, surprisingly.
It's nice to open my very close-minded music taste.
Yes, I could be identified as a music snob.
But the thing is, Emma is a small town girl, and I was born and raised in and around the city, so I don't think I'll ever really know how to relate to half of the songs.
In many ways though, country music supports a rather false view of love.
It's not like that, really.

I was dumb, and stayed up till 3AM last night.
I'm about to collapse right now, despite being heavily caffeinated most of today.
My friend Rianka asked what I was doing up so late, and I really have no idea, except I'm positive I wasn't sleeping.

Goodnight world :)

1 comment:

  1. I agree with the whole country music thing. I've grown up around cities and even though I'm living in the country now, I just don't identify.


"Sometimes the world seems like a big hole. You spend all your life shouting down it and all you hear are echoes of some idiot yelling nonsense down a hole"
_Adam Duritz

I love hearing things that aren't my own pathetic echoes.