Nothing like the quiet of the morning.
There's nothing like the quiet of the morning.
Picture this. Semi alone, stuck halfway around the world, with a significant chunk of your worldly possessions lost to the skies. It's cold, colder than you have ever remembered being, away from the comforts of home, away from the place you can finally rest.
You let the unfamiliarity creep in, knowing that this is just the beginning, and you wanted this, you really really wanted this.
And now you're lying on a bed in the hostel, the bottom bunk of a two bunk bed. There are three bunk beds in the room, though it could comfortable hold four, but that wouldn't be very comfortable for the occupants. Snow, something you've always dreamed of, something you've promised yourself you would see at least once in your life, lies behind you, just out the window, covering the ground like a pretty white blanket. So pure, unadulterated by the feet of humanity, before it turns into sludge than snaps ankles and breaks necks.
And you're alone in this little room in this little hostel. The fellow occupants are all out doing their daily grooming activities, so busy with the mundane. You're unsure if they understand the magic of being. Boredom slowly creeps up, and you turn to your phone, as this place is one of the only places that can feed your addiction.
"No."
This is not what you wanted. It's not more of the same, it can't be more of the same. You willed for it not to be, and now it's becoming. Not good. But you realised what your phone really is for. The reason why you brought it, and cold turkey isn't always too bad of an idea.
The room's ceiling lamp gives off a soft orange glow, bright enough to fill the whole room, though it wasn't apparent when you first turned on the light. It takes time to warm up.
In front of you is the brilliant white glare that you are so used to. The glare that has burned your eyes many many times over. The black text you see suddenly seems so much more appealing than it used to.
A deft flick of the thumb, and like a dictionary it's sorted alphabetically, 'A', 'B', 'C'. You know what you're looking for. This one is kinda special. It reminds you of someone. Someone who gave you a reason. You still miss tactile feedback, the comfort of pressing a button.
And you wished pretty damn hard that this wasn't a non-smoking hostel.
Because you really want a fucking cigarette right now.
Picture this. Semi alone, stuck halfway around the world, with a significant chunk of your worldly possessions lost to the skies. It's cold, colder than you have ever remembered being, away from the comforts of home, away from the place you can finally rest.
You let the unfamiliarity creep in, knowing that this is just the beginning, and you wanted this, you really really wanted this.
And now you're lying on a bed in the hostel, the bottom bunk of a two bunk bed. There are three bunk beds in the room, though it could comfortable hold four, but that wouldn't be very comfortable for the occupants. Snow, something you've always dreamed of, something you've promised yourself you would see at least once in your life, lies behind you, just out the window, covering the ground like a pretty white blanket. So pure, unadulterated by the feet of humanity, before it turns into sludge than snaps ankles and breaks necks.
And you're alone in this little room in this little hostel. The fellow occupants are all out doing their daily grooming activities, so busy with the mundane. You're unsure if they understand the magic of being. Boredom slowly creeps up, and you turn to your phone, as this place is one of the only places that can feed your addiction.
"No."
This is not what you wanted. It's not more of the same, it can't be more of the same. You willed for it not to be, and now it's becoming. Not good. But you realised what your phone really is for. The reason why you brought it, and cold turkey isn't always too bad of an idea.
The room's ceiling lamp gives off a soft orange glow, bright enough to fill the whole room, though it wasn't apparent when you first turned on the light. It takes time to warm up.
In front of you is the brilliant white glare that you are so used to. The glare that has burned your eyes many many times over. The black text you see suddenly seems so much more appealing than it used to.
A deft flick of the thumb, and like a dictionary it's sorted alphabetically, 'A', 'B', 'C'. You know what you're looking for. This one is kinda special. It reminds you of someone. Someone who gave you a reason. You still miss tactile feedback, the comfort of pressing a button.
And you wished pretty damn hard that this wasn't a non-smoking hostel.
Because you really want a fucking cigarette right now.