Gorgeous Alien

The tablecloth is damp. No matter..sit outside and enjoy the smell of rain on freshly cut grass..lose at virtual poker and run out of games to play..look up sewing classes..don't book any..you know you're never going to actually sew, don't you?..stare into your cinnamon tea for an eternity, witness it get cold, colder, then really cold..reminisce on the taste of sugar..take a deep breath..wet grass smells like watermelon from your balcony..it always has...
Reassess, it's a favorite pastime..revisit your bank account, anonymous donations aren't unheard of..daydream, at night;it's important..donate some of the fake donation you just received, get rid of your virtual guilt..and now travel.
Travel without bags, with no emotional luggage..go to mars and meet a gorgeous alien..forget about men with fake yellow teeth who dare disappoint you..audacity..what a fab word! Savor it..roll it onto your tongue and enjoy it, just like you enjoy all words..you keep running from words but words keep following you..what an adventure..the thrill of a chase and the volatility of an abstraction..you recently even had a dream complete with a word to explain it..even your dreams now come with a title, with a label, with the utter stupidity of confinement..inescapable confinement..you've tried, but you are confined..the less you say it, the more pressured you feel to admit it..the past is just not easy to escape..a horrendous task with no aids, none in your present anyway..
Tidy up your living room, it's said to lift up spirits..go back to your balcony and light your cig...look up to the sky, witness the passage of a machine..pretend it's a shooting star and wish for mars, for your gorgeous alien and his pearly teeth..

Girls, Gays And Tea Selections

I myself am wondering what I really want to say in this article. It is just that the title has been haunting me for over a week now. 

I got the idea when I noticed several of my friends - girls and gays especially - fussing about their tea selections. I simply didn't understand what it was ever really about.

For me, tea means a yellow Lipton tea bag, a mug of hot water and two cubes of sugar. For them, tea means a ridiculously colorful selection of boxes, paper bags, nylon bags and tasteless aromas.

When did tea become so complicated??

I remember when I was little and we would go to my grandparents' house in the village, my grandmother would send us out to the woods to collect flowers - I am not sure of the flowers' name but they were pretty much basic white flowers with lots of petals - and then she would somehow make tea leaves from the bouquet. 

There is a small coffee shop - or tea shop to be more precise - that I really like, but I stopped going there a while ago, because frankly, I never know what to order. And whatever I do eventually order turns out to suck! People specifically go to that shop because of its wide variety of teas. I have tried nearly everything. Jasmin tea, blueberry tea, bla bla tea. None ever worked for me. None did the trick. I always end up with the feeling that I am the victim of a tea trick or something as stupid as that thought. 

I am simply dumbfounded by all this complexity. I mean tea should just be tea. And this goes for all kinds of beverage. I couldn't care less if the coffee I am drinking is a Brazilian brew or a Colombian one. You could sell me a Malaysian brew for all I care. Coffee is coffee. It is either good or bad, regardless its country of origin, regardless whose feet it was stomped on with.