A night full of Cantonese-speaking people, mean humour and all my favourite songs.
Swaying along to her dance songs, taking in the glitzy outfit changes with awe, crying during her heartbreaker tunes, wrestling with stupid security guards and feeling as if you were in a dream throughout the 3-hour concert.
Most of all, I loved her candidness and her love for making fun of her "fat fans".
I would elaborate more, but I'm still in the midst of packing and finishing up my pointless feature article. I regret doing this last minute.
I even prioritised learning how to upload my first video onto YouTube tonight.
Still, nothing changes. Tomorrow I will be back in Hong Kong.
You hate it, you dread the days when it's here, but when it is one and a half weeks late, you start to get worried and wish it would arrive already. A typical love-hate relationship.
That's just one of my stress symptoms, as I'd like to believe it to be, and not the beginning of some more serious... implications.
I haven't been able to sleep. Hardly, or not at all. And when I sink into that fifteen minutes of sleep, I dream I'm in an aircrash and I can feel the plane going down and the churning continues in my stomach as I wake up in cold sweat. Either that, or I take two hours to get to sleep. I go to bed at 1am, and the minute my head hits the pillow, my mind works twice as fast. The next thing I know, I check my clock and it's 3am, and I haven't slept at all. Then I start to berate myself because I know I'm going to be a sleepy and moody person the next morning.
I need a patter, those that pat you to sleep every night, like how my grandma or mom would when I couldn't sleep as a child. Or someone to sing, or some aromatheraphy. Or a giant sleeping pill.
Ironically, I manage to doze off right in front of Irene's watchful eye during feature writing. I stare at her with the "concentrated" look, while my mind is slowly falling asleep. Before I know what's happening, I jerk myself awake and she's still looking at me. Sigh. As Weix puts it, boredom reaches new heights in her class.
I do the most random things when I'm stressed. I go swimming, and I swim laps. I remember the days when swimming used to be stress. I would use every excuse in the 'Lie-To-Your-Father-To-Get-Out-Of-Swimming-Lessons' - headaches, stomachaches, fevers, homework - just to get out of those Sunday swimming classes.
I crossed the road when the red man was glaring at me. Only I didn't see the red man. I walked across the road, mind preoccupied as usual, and almost got knocked over. I turned my head in time to see a car horn, tyres screech and the car stopping right at my feet. I scurried off before the driver could curse profanities at me.
My wisdom tooth is killing me, again. And the pain is spreading to other parts of my mouth, resulting in a nagging sore throat. But the thought of getting it removed - that horrifying dental experience at Kowloon City - makes me wonder if I should just bear with the pain and wait for it to go away.
Coupled with headaches, fever spells and a sudden memory loss on the last time I've eaten because I never feel hungry these days, I need it to come already.
Just to reassure me that there still is some normalcy in my body system.
