So today is the last Sunday for 2018 and tomorrow will be the last day for 2018. As the year closes, I find myself in my usual routine. Out of the house to write more than ten hours, though today I left a little late than usual. Instead of five in the morning, which has been my consistent schedule for the past Sundays, I left at nine and had a good six hours of sleep. I pat myself at the back for that since I’m scheduled to have a leeway this month. I thought to read more books or watch more educational videos for December but rather I concluded with more writing stuffs and more laziness. To add a layer to that I almost didn’t accomplish my goodreads challenge. I had to pick Fahrenheit 451, a short book, just to get to my target of 24 books a year. Fortunately, I caught up to the challenge and made it before I failed and then beat myself for failing the entire year.
I’m also the only customer of this coffee shop for the first hours that I’m here. The vacant seats and chairs make me think if there is something wrong with the day. It is not the usual setting of the place. I have to remind myself that it is a long holiday break. The regular customers are somewhere else. It’s annoying that while everyone is either at a vacation somewhere or attending one of those parties, I’m stuck in my regular day. Sometimes, I just disliked holiday.
Open the laptop and type. Nothing new.
Even though I found myself wanting to leave because of the lack of customers, as courtesy to the `management` if they wanted to close so they can save electricity and labor for its crews, I stayed on my seat. Blank page. Tolerance of the anxiety. Type. Nothing new.
Outside, the clouds are heavy, the sun unseen.
Outside, the sky is dark, the moon unseen.
Eventually, the rain come. Eventually, the windows blur and comes with it are those stained tears, falling after one another, a cycle of inevitability.
Eventually, some company come and as usual their exit are unnoticed.
Eventually, I finished a chapter and opened another tab, write.
The rain don’t stop and the floor is vacant again, left for me. Sometimes there is tranquility at the absence of people. You can’t hear anyone talking. It is quiet. A good place for artist to unleash their creativity, to be freed without being overwhelmed by the noise. Peace. Sometimes, a soft Christmas songs play in the background to enliven the mood. The place is almost perfect. For a very crowded city where noise never stop, I will take it, for now.
It still rain and they come. They chat and the going never stopped. An idea come and then throw then fix then revise, the rain continues. I hear it splatter on the windows. Sometimes, the crew talk and I eavesdrop. On and on, don’t stop. The swish of a closing umbrella, just a passing of a stranger’s busy life—toward the counter where a request for a hot coffee was ordered. The glanced to only customer, one second then two, away. The ring of phone. The answer. The buzz of the barista for the coffee made. The stranger pick a random table, another connection to its company. Then the standing. The swish of an opening umbrella, out the stranger go, continuing his business.
The next chapter.
The dance of fingers over keyboard.
More strangers who strings their comprehensions. Come and go.
More words to come. Thought and input.
On December 30, 2018, the heavy rain don’t stop. It goes on, just as the one who observed it.
And before I knows it, the coffee shop is closing again. I had to close the lid, fix, and leave. To start the same schedule tomorrow, but on a different place, mostly just at home where coffee is bland and companied by no one—for another six days in isolation, after of which, back again to expensive coffee for environment change, for creativity’s sake.
On January. 06, 2019 I am destined to be here, for another fifteen hours.
Written: Dec. 30, 2018
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