You lie your head on the pillow, and there's that unsickeningly sweet smell. Something you cannot identify at first. You feel around, trying to see whether the bed was warm before you hop unto it. Wondering whether some pretty girl had been lying on it without your knowledge.
Then it hits you. That its the goat's milk shampoo that you've been using. The one you're sharing with mom. Sweet...too sweet for your taste. But then, you weren't one for complains. So you just use it. And hope Mom gets Dove the next time. Less heavy on the senses. Much more manly perhaps?
The Room.
It lacks personality. Like there hadn't been anyone real staying in it for some time. Book's lying hazardly on the table-cum-shelve.
Smilling Buddha is sitting on the top shelf. Doing what He's been doing for the past 9 years - smilling of course. Not because He's happy, or that He's enlightened. Nothing nirvana about Him. He's just doing what He does best, smilling. Sometimes, i smile when i look at him. Maybe smilling is infectious. Who knows? The 50 year old aunty selling wan-tan-mee at the shop down the road sure is infected too. She smiles everytime she sees me. You just can't help smilling when you see how everything seem to move in circles. It's in the extra portion she gives when you order small.
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