It's end of October, soon to be winter. It feels cold and chill getting out of the office.
Sometimes I still recall the first day when i was back in Vietnam in August. I no longer hung around dowtown (district 1) to live in the richness. I slept in a fourth-floors house, a decent one, near 'kenh Nhieu Loc'. My boyfriend grew up in the area where he made friends to all kind of people, someone even living in prison now. Somehow it is just me that I refuse to see the other angles of life. To me, life had been pink, had been everything that positive. I still can't write much about some rare moments.
It's funny; the more I get older (not mature, I dare not say), the more I don't have any opinion of things around. Since things will change, or my opinion will change. I still have no experience to make conclusion out of existing things and the existence.
Four years ago, at this time around, I used to write a lot, out of love, out of sadness, out of my own observation and feeling. It was a luxurious time for me.
Jazz makes you swing, jazz makes you do not think about other things, if you only listen to it.
