Shades of the town is changing

The town is getting hotter. Heat rises up from the ground and burning the soles of people walking on it. Every corner that was once landscaped with lustrous green turned to infertile soil brown. Construction workers banging their hammers on concrete, the sound of electrical saw and metal scraping against metal-even the area around my house is changing. The sky turned crimson at dusk and sparrows flutter their wings, flying in groups, perching shortly on the tree in front of the neighbor's house. Stray dogs wagging their tails and sprawling lazily on the pavement. This part of the town has not changed. But as the sky dons on its night gown, the stars are never clearly visible with the naked eye anymore, nor with the telescope as the magnificence of celestial objects are shied away by murky clouds. A pity, a loss that would never be recovered. Shrimps can be found in the wet market with a significantly less regularity, so are the crabs and some species of fish. This town as a seafood paradise is losing its relevance. Famous restaurants and eateries no longer live up to the praises they once deserved. Instead, more and more cafes and dining places with modern furnishing, offering foreign culinary are replacing the traditional coffee shops and food stalls. Sandakan is changing its face gradually, insidiously introducing a new facade, which I could no longer trace back to the salt-smell air that I had once familiarize with.

wicky little laughter.wacky old trick

I am snugging under the covers again, reading a novel and typing this entry with the lights off. This thought amuses me. It was under this familiar dim light and this same atmosphere that I have finished flipping through books on the entire bookshelf. This little secret shared with my uncle. It was an unspoken solidarity between us, recalling his act of disobedience when we were little. It makes me want to laugh. Those crazy hours we spent for books, in the name of suspense-quenching and those deprived-of-sleep-looking eyes, tears of tiredness suppressed back in a shrug and pressing on, turning page faster than a toaster popping up a bread. It was not like I am a great Stephen King fan and was making an effort to create a scary atmosphere while his story pestered me with horrifying thoughts. No, I am more of a play-safe-with-after-effects reader. Severe hushing and maternal responsibilty to keep a child in bed before midnight really are cold blankies for avid readers. I was an expert. Torch stashed under my bed, a blankie and comforter-double shielding for the light, all set up for the whole-night-read down to infinitesimal details. The thrill, the excitement...it was all too familiar. Camouflage in the dark, we call it. This is the novel I've just finished reading.
Another heart-crushing story by Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns, the disillusionment centered around abused women and hateable blood-thirst beast-like husband. Similar with the previous novel, Kite Runner, it renders one in deep-rooted sorrow and empathy. You can't really cry at the part where they execute the character with the most brutal way but there is a hand squeezing and gripping your heart. Totally stunning and beautifully woven.