5AM: July 2007

Hazy. Lazy. Saturday.

Last night. A sudden wash of haze clouded the buildings in the city last night and the smell of suffocating smoke intruded the usual fresh breeze of Australian winter. It reminded me of Malaysia. It seems to always be hazy there.

As the day proceeds, the haze cleared little by little. By evening I can still see the boundless clouds lining up the horizons and reflecting the sinking sun's light. Hues of purple/pink mix with the pastel blue skies. The clouds are gone. The moon is out early again. And I remember my Eskimo friend telling me the world is in actual fact pink. Trying to read through Lover on the Side / Lover in the Center as Dave Matthews Band's Crash into You bounces in my head.

"Hike up your skirt a little more
And show the world to me
A boy's dream"

The song is growing on me.

Trying to figure out what to write for the 6000 word assignment in my Creative Writing Project 1 class. A few more chapters of The Second Man. Or start afresh with The Piano Man on the 11th Floor. Trying to figure out what kind of a lover my writing is to me. Trying to answer the questions for this week's homework.

What is your writing life like now?
What sorts of things do you want to write about in the future? Why?
Where do you want to be as a writer in three years' time?
In order to do that, what do you need to have achieved by this time next year?
What are your specific goals for this semester? What stuff do you plan on writing other than your assignments?

Answering them could get so depressing at this time of my life.

I guess I miss something back home that I cannot really pinpoint just yet. The familiarity. The familiar malls. The familiar people. The familiar roads. The familiar eyes. And what it cannot offer me as a successful writer, but can offer me as a clueless daughter.

The haze may clear the next day. Winter has gone away. The nights are not so cold anymore. The mornings are warm and inviting. The sky will be obnoxiously blue again. I can only hope that my path will react the same as the weather forecast. How many times have we lost souls pray there is a weather forecast for us all. Like the blinking lights far away pointing landing airplanes down the skyline drive. Like the automated lighthouse bringing tired vessels to shore.

Home.