It was a beautiful day today. It was overcast in the evening, around 5, and the lavender blooms were lavender with full passion. They almost seemed to be reflecting individual purple glows around them. Then tonight I visited my pal. I'll call her Rose.
Rose lives in a beautiful area. There's a huge expanse of open land in front of her sweet little flat. She stays in a tiny building that is much smaller compared to the taller, swankier constructions around. Lazy dogs sometimes frolic in front of her yellow gate. There's a little vegetable store somewhere down the road. It may be a few seconds from the main road but it's like her building got handed over this sweet bucolic patch of the universe.
From the outside, you see the Tibetan flags outside the kitchen window, muted and wispy against the light.
I walked up the flight of stairs to her place. From the landing of the first floor, I could see a martini-shaped tree.
Rose's home is wholesome, in a sense. It reminds me of a forest or shrine full of simple, beautiful tokens of things that are molded with purity distilled from the concrete. It's the soft light from a longish cylinder of ivory paper-lamp. Or the cream-colored, cotton curtain in the bathroom. Or little spice jars arranged like trinkets in her single kitchen shelf. Or the picnic bench that doubles up as a dining table. Or a dainty porcelain turtle near the flush. Or how her cocker spaniel fills in just the right amount of square feet for it to be a cosy lair.
I sip tea. My friend prattles on about something. Her converation's like a stream flowing somewhere - cool, soothing, gurgling, ongoing in its own sphere. We order some food from Malaka Spice. In the pockets of shadows, we eat baos - some kind of open pavs - made with a topping of tofu and bell peppers. We munch through a couple of those with a side of veggies cooked with nuts. On their own, the veggies are insipid but the dish is made interesting with a spicy red sauce. Then we finish off with a steamed jaggery pudding served with chilled, coconut milk. That is so...musical in its simple goodness, you almost hear melody wafting through bamboo pipes.
It was a lovely evening. Corners of food, pockets of convertions, cloches of light.
It's interesting what kinds of spaces a space can be made up of.
Rose lives in a beautiful area. There's a huge expanse of open land in front of her sweet little flat. She stays in a tiny building that is much smaller compared to the taller, swankier constructions around. Lazy dogs sometimes frolic in front of her yellow gate. There's a little vegetable store somewhere down the road. It may be a few seconds from the main road but it's like her building got handed over this sweet bucolic patch of the universe.
From the outside, you see the Tibetan flags outside the kitchen window, muted and wispy against the light.
I walked up the flight of stairs to her place. From the landing of the first floor, I could see a martini-shaped tree.
Rose's home is wholesome, in a sense. It reminds me of a forest or shrine full of simple, beautiful tokens of things that are molded with purity distilled from the concrete. It's the soft light from a longish cylinder of ivory paper-lamp. Or the cream-colored, cotton curtain in the bathroom. Or little spice jars arranged like trinkets in her single kitchen shelf. Or the picnic bench that doubles up as a dining table. Or a dainty porcelain turtle near the flush. Or how her cocker spaniel fills in just the right amount of square feet for it to be a cosy lair.
I sip tea. My friend prattles on about something. Her converation's like a stream flowing somewhere - cool, soothing, gurgling, ongoing in its own sphere. We order some food from Malaka Spice. In the pockets of shadows, we eat baos - some kind of open pavs - made with a topping of tofu and bell peppers. We munch through a couple of those with a side of veggies cooked with nuts. On their own, the veggies are insipid but the dish is made interesting with a spicy red sauce. Then we finish off with a steamed jaggery pudding served with chilled, coconut milk. That is so...musical in its simple goodness, you almost hear melody wafting through bamboo pipes.
It was a lovely evening. Corners of food, pockets of convertions, cloches of light.
It's interesting what kinds of spaces a space can be made up of.
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