Because even in a late-night town like Singapore, where I am
sitting right (write) now, there is always somewhere I can write, public or
private. The Hanger, a
hybrid pub/coffee house on Arab Street (actual name). It is 10am and oddly,
most of the coffee houses are not open yet on nearby Haji Lane, the
tourist/cutsty street I came to check out this morning. The whole street, is
closed; I just found out it is a late-night spot. I have limited time here and a lot to see, so I will miss seeing Haji Lane in all its cuteness-glory.
I could let myself be sad--my initial, internal response--be thrown off by this piece of poor planning, and convince
myself that I “can’t write” now (too annoyed, bothered). I could also be thrown off by it being 9/11 in the States, a painful day for all of us, and the date of my divorce, three years ago (loss, grief, failure).
Or, I can feel what I am meant to feel, observe the steam of thoughts
in my mind, be witness to myself, and engage in some good self-talk, if need be.
I am getting after it.
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