the cover and the book
nothing is more true...
"time goes by so slowly for those who wait... "
yeah... it is freaking slow... i am sitting at this pretentious starbucks at time square, everyone around me is just so.... fake!
------------------------stop! not another bitching entry....! --------------------------------
So i was waiting for the elevator next to a toy shop. There is this short, tanned man with faded yellow shirt, slippers and bad hair, standing in front of a displayed organ and tried to play it. Intriguing as it appeared, the subjugated foreign worker placed his right hand fingers onto the piano while the left carrying some plastic bags.
With the least expectations, i was astonished when he started to play some exotic kinds of tune with proper fingers movement. Vietnamese tune i think... the homey kinds of rhythm, channeling his happy memory lied thousand miles away; his beloved family with three happy kids used to play with him at night when his wife was sewing next to him.
My heart trembled. Never felt so powerful notes before. The two strangers stood next to me were whispering to each other at that foreign worker. He stopped playing suddenly and walked away. He might be vigilant that the owner would approach him pretty soon. I watched him dragged his feet away, leaving his happiness on the piano... and inmy heart.
"time goes by so slowly for those who wait... "
yeah... it is freaking slow... i am sitting at this pretentious starbucks at time square, everyone around me is just so.... fake!
------------------------stop! not another bitching entry....! --------------------------------
So i was waiting for the elevator next to a toy shop. There is this short, tanned man with faded yellow shirt, slippers and bad hair, standing in front of a displayed organ and tried to play it. Intriguing as it appeared, the subjugated foreign worker placed his right hand fingers onto the piano while the left carrying some plastic bags.
With the least expectations, i was astonished when he started to play some exotic kinds of tune with proper fingers movement. Vietnamese tune i think... the homey kinds of rhythm, channeling his happy memory lied thousand miles away; his beloved family with three happy kids used to play with him at night when his wife was sewing next to him.
My heart trembled. Never felt so powerful notes before. The two strangers stood next to me were whispering to each other at that foreign worker. He stopped playing suddenly and walked away. He might be vigilant that the owner would approach him pretty soon. I watched him dragged his feet away, leaving his happiness on the piano... and inmy heart.