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On Sunday’s breakfast;

The question of a favourite author, this I cannot pinpoint. I like words which read to me like a symphony, something that resonates at that point in time given a certain circumstances. They evoke me precisely when they mean to. Thus it is easier to mention authors I have liked than it is to  to name authors I have always liked (as a favourite). To re-approach an author, to give him a visit, is to then ask, have I departed? A book or a novel to me is then where I dislodge memories, events that surround me when I read them, give rise to a framework, a state of mind, an arrival of truth.

(P/S: Terima Kasih kerana meminjamkan buku – buku)

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The feeling of space as it surrounds you. Vastness, in a small solitary room. Where everything seemed strangely symmetrical. Suffocation, as you descend the elevators of that new mall into KL Sentral. Among movements, there are pauses – people who stop to stare at each other, people who wait with their phone clutched in their hands, the clueless tourists who drag on their luggages pondering over breakfast. School kids on a Friday evenings with a small duffel bag.

(In the words of Malte, “I am beginning to see“.)

Other things to love: The brushing of shoulders.