Anatomy Of A Stupid.

It all broils down to this

This is it.

I’m typing this from a McDonalds in the Singapore Airport, Changi. It’s a weary Sunday morning and my time is almost up. I’m watching the odd bunch of elderly men sitting across from me, having their Kopitiam style chatter. I admired the man sitting at the table next to me, for he appeared to have been trading currencies from his portable. God knows how filthy stinking rich or poor he may be.

After two of what I deem as failed job applications, I’m left with two final options.

However, I am most fascinated by the middled aged woman earlier whom was clutching her hot cup of coffee with her two bare hands alone in the corner. It seemed very out of place per se, yet she appeared to be right where she needed to be. With the absence of any luggage, companion or travel documents she managed to look content with life as she took a scent from the paper cup with her eyes closed.

Would I be following my gut to work? Would I be paranoid of rejection once more for what could be the most demanding career I ever thought I would enrol myself in?

I don’t know yet. But I am still wondering where is the endless supply of pretty girls Wai Kheng claimed this place has.

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