I buried a dead bird today.
She must have fallen from the sky.
“You were born in China, right?” “No. My passport says China, but I was born in Panipahan, Indonesia,” Chu replied nonchalantly. The revelation was dumbfounding.
“You’re going to buy N95 facemasks at RM7.50 per piece for the homeless? Aiyerr, homeless people give the cheap, normal facemasks enough already la.”
I was rudely taken aback by my friend’s remark when I sincerely told her of my intention to help the homeless people of Klang and Port Klang have a better night’s sleep as the hazardous haze started to choke us.
Ticking off my bucket list, one adventure at a time.
There are little black dots at my workplace.
They crawl next to me, little black dots the size of a full stop moving their tiny legs feverishly on the wall to my right.
She slams. She smacks her chair hard. She slaps the table with a thunderous clap that would shatter a thousand chandeliers.
What happens when Wanderlust hits you, and you contract the travel bug?
It’s an itch you can’t stop scratching, a shiver you can’t shake off, a condition you do not want to cure.