Saturday, January 22, 2011

sentiments in a kitchen

this is an old post in another blog, in friendster. back then, i would use jeje-shortcuts. sorry!

it was a sullen evening, d lights wer off in all d rooms except d half hundred watt phillips bulb hanging from d ceiling && under it was a tazza mug of hot chocolate with its steam filling d space shrouded in d four walls of d ventilation-less ktchen. what i mean is, natural ventilation, bcuz der is ds machne above d stove, whch can be swtchd on && off to suck all of d steam comng from ur caserole or sauce pan, then brngs it to a tube then out of d house. its like a chmney, state of d art.

d mug is red, a xmas present, with d phrase “mmm coffee” prnted on it in white.

it was a mushy moment, spendng time solitarily in ds little ktchen, && all i felt was peace && serenity, with no phone ringing, no speakers blastng, no dog barkng, but der was ds calmness inside me, no foot itchng or a fly dstractng d view, d empty view on d white wall.

d wall, not aktuali white, but a bit of cream, has monotonous patterns leadng ur eyes to d edge, d tiled side. one of my friends, sarah, asked me if we got an engineer to design it, && i thnk she meant interior designer. i answered, its my dad’s design. d edge, before it reaches d tiles is coal black, graysh to be exact, makng it look like a hearth. it remnded me of d kids *my little bro && my cousns, 3 yrs ago* who burnt d trash can under it untl d fire reached d broom hangng over it, then invaded d wall. good thng, one of them knows sum of chemstry 101, what happens to superheated concrete when u splash it with water? i mean, what happens to fire. it dies. && so he saved d day.Align Center

i thumped d mug d mug on d glass top of d round dining table, after quaffng d last 20mL of d alredi warm chocolate, && bursted out a sound of contentment, “ahh, thank u lord” && felt d warmth of d liquid gushng to d innards of my gizzard. it was just a trivial thng to thank for, but it made me unwind.

hundred of meals hav been eaten on ds dining table, hundred of plates hav been washed in d sink, hundreds of auld blokes hav alredi gone here to hav a cup of nescafe with us. hundreds of words, laughters, tears. it is history, && it became part of ds family’s life, w/o us even noticing.

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