as i was eating rancid nestle honey star in my room, without even bothering the slight difference in taste and texture and also the conspiracy that the cereal may constitute with my stomach, i played my wrecthed game of tekken 6 oblivious to the dull surroundings of an ordinary sunday morning. as i skimmed the room after waking up at four due to the perpetual clank caused by the cranky national ceiling fan which was covered whole with thick dust which was not dusted off since our maid had fled off some months ago. our home which was painted in an eccentric, arousing but lacking in sense of beauty orange lost its cheerfulness. i, on the other hand, contributed more on the destruction of the house. the 4 a.m wake was welcomed by the half grin of the fading half of the 'p' of the psp. the contraption was first held with hands at year 2007. how unnoticeable and slow time sheds the skins of life.
my blog seems dull recently, thinking about ideas of what to write about is a struggle. typing the black keys painted white with figures of alphabets, numbers and punctuations is awfully tedious. my brain is currently functions slowly maybe due to either the drinking of water with ants floating and bloated or the eating of fish eggs. both superstitious belief of the malays which relates to the cause of stupidity. when i was young, maybe between the age of 5 or 6 always had belive in all these nonsensical belief which pointed one's stupidity on fish eggs and ants.
i have just finished this book written by khaled hosseini which tells a tale of two afghan women from different backgrounds. yet, both shared the same pain, together they endured their daily life win war. war constituted by government and also by the man whom they together shared, rasheed. though they shared the same husband, they became friends and mariam became a mother to laila who is half her age. rasheed was killed in the end by mariam, when rasheed was trying to strangle laila to death. the fiasco ended with mariam beheaded and laila ran to a remote area far from people with his new husband, tariq and her children in the outskirts of pakistan. laila bemoaned mariam's death and visited mariam's birthplace in a removed place in herat where she had live her childhood. the house where she stayed was made of straws and sun-dried mud. she imagined laila sitting by the stream near the home, where she cut trout with one stroke and putting her legs in the cold water of the stream by her home, the kolba.
the book that i read is one of the few books that i finished reading. which gives a great meaning and a brief comment on the outline of the book. till next time. :)
