Jason only spent about two hours with us, but it was a very enjoyable two hours.
Somehow, with him, everything seems so simple, so carefree, so much like childhood perhaps. I think it’s because he is rather child-like, or has still managed to retain that touch of innocence or naivete about him, so even when one is being rather mean, catty or condescending, it never does feel like any harm is done. Of course, Bubu would beg to differ, because having a negative thought may lead to one having a negative action (I still remember Boo’s words, which ring true despite his nay-sayers), but that is not the point of this post.
The point of this post is to celebrate the ordinary, and to be excited, entertained, enthralled and enthused by the simple joys of sitting on one’s cheap, cheerful and comfy couch (I think I’m overdoing the alliteration thing), chuckling at the misadventures of one robotic cat and his idiotic master. With your loved ones beside you, surrounded by chips and the falling light, what more could you ask for? It was an almost magical way to spend the evening, and for awhile I really felt that I had no care in the world. I could lie on my cool, ceramic floor and dream, dream away. I could roll around, giggling and gossiping, and no one would shush me. I could drink long and deep from my beer mug, and burp heartily or sheepishly, depending on the amount of gas. I could bounce around stark naked (Ha actually no lah, your home is a private space which remains public if the front door is open). It was really lovely, and true enough, after he left, Bubu and I seemed to slip back into our private funks, quietly enjoying each other’s company, but the air was thick with quiet desperation and solitude. We both craved for some excitement, meaning, explosion. Misery just loves company.
How interesting isn’t it, to have a holiday where you do nothing, and yet you are not enjoying doing nothing because you know it is denial, or if you are politically-correct, just postponing the inevitable, oops i mean work. Maybe that’s why I can’t seem to feel happy (do not confuse that with contentment, which I mostly have or stressed, which I hardly am) despite chancing upon so many pretty things online. The hours lie before me, waiting for me to fill them with a flurry of agreeable activities such as shopping or reading or sleeping. Yet I feel no joy, only a quiet, secret gratitude that I do not have to deal with what my job entails.
I think I will try to enjoy the simple joys that my job brings. It’s a positive first step. Time to stop associating simple pleasures with something that is the antithesis of work. There is, after all, much joy to be found and savoured in the classroom, along the corridors, in the lounge, over shared chicken meals and during bumpy car rides.