Scribbler's Cafe

Sunday as such

The elderly woman with the big pink bag sat closer than neccessary to us on the train. We chatted with her pleasantly, until she started to ask me where Kio's dad is. That's when I pretended that the Japanese was too difficult for me to follow and turned away with an apologetic smile. Kiomye put on headphones and bobbed her head to the pop music on my ipod. The entire bench bouced and jiggled with her rocking, but I didn't feel the need to stop her.

The center-gai shopping street in Sannomiya, Kobe was packed with people. Kio's hand held tightly to mine as we swept through the crowds. We blew money we didn't have on accessories that sparkle and skirts that swish and swoosh. Kio danced at the rooftop restaurant while I wolfed down her because-you're-so-kawaii complimentary ice cream desert. I let her climb on the hideous art scultpures in the urban park, while I scrawled lines in my little black notebook. Coming back home, we found her scooter still safely parked at our home station, despite the lack of lock, and she scooted her way home happily. Now, We've had our baths. We have read from the Richard Scary books and Glamour magazine in the balcony hammock, had our glasases of water and gone to bed.

Yet here I am, with my clock quickly ticking away the hours until the alarm goes off, two hours of morning class prep ahead of me, a tired body and mind, but still completely unable to sleep. Where is my peace?

posted by Scribbler @ Sunday, June 11, 2006