New Year’s Eve, the Mundane.
0745
Having grumbled and stumbled out of bed
barely fifteen minutes ago, he contentedly breathes in the freshness of the
early morning air. The mix of fragrances included the morning dew accumulated
over the night, the whiff of the freshly-cut grass, the delicious aroma of prata frying a distance away. How scents travel, he
marvels. He tightens his shoelaces, sets off on the familiar route that he’s so
used to, yet seems so strange having not seen it for some time.
0830
The fragrances have become mixed
somewhat. He breathes deeply, not so much out of choice but necessity now. He
strides around, loosening up the tight calf muscles, cooling off in the shade
away from the heat that is threatening to sear. Satisfied with the cooldown, he heads for the lifts with a sprightly spring in
his step.
0915
He imagines the aroma of coffee as he
heads out once again, this time in comfortable clothes and slippers. A nice slow walk into the hustle and bustle of the neighbourhood,
now rowdily alive. He observes the myriad colours pouring out from the
market, headed in different directions with a common objective – to get home
and get all that shopping sorted out and fridged. He
merges seamlessly into the crowd, takes a seat beside Ronald MacDonald as the
earlier-imagined aroma of coffee beans fills his nostrils for real.
0930
That flowery scent that he suddenly can’t
place despite it being overwhelmingly familiar… Then it hits him that it’s
Tommy Girl. It would have been hopelessly out of place in such a market
setting, but her approach got his senses dovetailing. The usual warm smile,
they head to one of the stalls, by now flooded in the potpourri of food smells,
all mixed up into an oily aroma. Food arrives, and for once a singular smell
and taste dominates the senses.
1100
He passes by the route he ran past
earlier today, wonders at how different everything feels a couple of hours
apart. The encroaching heat has fully taken over, but he basks in the warmth of
it all despite the perspiration forming on his back. The air has suddenly been
filled with nothing but the smell of frying pratas
from the stall across the road, but his contented guts tell him now’s not the
time. He looks far ahead and sees a Sikh neighbour with his little daughter
playing around the void deck, gives a nice smile reciprocated with two chirpy
hellos. He looks up this time, marvels at the coloured flags of drying clothes
flapping lazily in the light breeze, sniggers at the thought of those polka-dotted underwear on anyone. He appreciates the
simplicity of life in the neighbourhood on a morning like this. Content.
1445
Once again the familiar
aroma of coffee beans, somewhat different from the traditional types in the
market. He sees the green circle and white
words, resigns himself to paying outrageous prices for the coffee he craves,
sits down contentedly reading a leisure magazine. He’s astounded by the relaxed
censorship in the media, peers intently at the exposed body parts, ascertains that it is indeed what he thinks it is. Oh well,
let the liberalisation of the media continue, it’s nothing harmful to him
anyway. He drains the remaining coffee, gets up and straightens his clothes,
heads off up the escalators in search of happiness.
1505
The dazzle of colours as kids mill about in their heaven. He feels joy filling the
air, as best as an emotion could possibly be tangible. He takes in that joy and
makes it part of him. A sudden sight accosts him and that joy is crystallised,
as much as he struggles to restrain any demonstration of it. Now he feels that
he is indeed contributing to that atmospheric joy, and lopes around peering happily
at the proportional car models stacked up neatly on the shelves. He is tapped
on the back, and he grins to see that familiar face. A little detour later,
they stride on towards that greencirclewhitewords.
Same old coffee smell, joy multiplied. He sniffs his fill of the shampooed
scent, be it three days or three hours old. He sniffs his fill of the familiar
scent he has so gotten used to. Once again, the feeling of contentment floods
him.
1944
Contentment being the theme of the day,
all of us at geocities/dejectium wish everyone reading
this a happy new year. And lots of happy and contented days ahead =)
dejectium out
1945hrs
gmt +8