“I think it’s very healthy to spend time alone. You need to know how to be alone and not be defined by another person.”
Fast forwarding my life in a next ten years ahead —
I wouldn't mind living in a place like this, — an apartment accommodate enough for me alone (or maybe at that time I already need to feed my only daughter/son) but it would be enough for me to have a small little place that overlooks the city. I could play records, drink jasmine tea, paint on Sundays, read books sprawled out on the ground and I would take an apron on and bake some cinnamon rolls when I feel like staining myself with some flour that day. That’d be nice.
Okay let me explain you a thing about little inner-city apartments, about little slices of domesticity hewn out of old brick and DIY plaster, filled with rag-tag people that you have assembled as a family unit, with indie music on low and laughter and tinkling cans of cola. Where the cat is always asleep atop your computer and your best dress and stockings are tossed on the couch and your faulty window opens to a planted box full of herbs and the steamy buzz of the city below. Where take out from your favorite deli awaits you in the fridge and work is only a bus-ride away and the city comes right up the meet you at night, swilling in with the night wind and tugging at your hair and sweater until you venture out into it. There’s something truly magical about a tiny well-kept apartment filled with treasured people, something more exquisite than anything in the world, I think.
But really, I just want it to be a simple.
At Friday nights, I would make myself a mug of warm milk with marshmallows dunked in as a reward for surviving my working days. At midnight, if I got woken up by nightmares and there's no one to rub my shoulders saying there's no ghost in my bedroom, I would probably just sneakily went out from my window to the fire escape platform stairs, with my Macbook and start writing my thoughts but end up saving it as a draft. Sitting there for a few hours and maybe because of the loneliness and emptiness were to vague lately, I started back my bad habit — so I start to smoke a burning rolled up tobacco but I just can't seem to stop myself from feeling some sort of emptiness. It's not that I'm unhappy, no its not. Somehow, there will be times I would feel sad, I think bad thoughts will always find ways to get me.
But pretty sure after a few burnt cigarettes burning into ashes and I still couldnt feel any better, I would probably just end up crying myself to sleep and wished I would woke up feeling better in the next day.
I dont know why did I imagined myself as a successful lonely person in the future,
maybe thats how things should be since I love to be left alone lately.
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