Writing Reading Reflecting

I have a mental block. What should I write next? I realize I need to get some proper writing resources. A pen and writing pad will do well. Without them, I find it very difficult to pen down my thoughts. Writing a letter home is more arduous than I think. Maybe I should take a break from writing and get back to it after a warm cup of coffee.

Putting away the piece of charcoal and onion pulp pressed paper, I walked to the window. The wind is howling outside and I am feeling all warm in my office. Things feel a little different when the weather changes. Although I am back at work, something just does not feel right. Perhaps it is because my mother has gone home, for a period called 'Eternity'. I miss her cooking and constant nagging for me to eat a good portion of vegetables and fruits. I wish I had spent more time with her. At least I could have learned how to boil a pot of potato soup.

Exciting times are ahead of me. My company is going to send me back to Singapore to oversee a business project. It looks like I will get to see my brothers, their wives and my nieces very soon. I am looking forward to it. At the same time, I feel sad having to leave London. Mother and I have spent more than half a decade here and even the grocery shop assistant has become like family.

The uniformed old man hands me a parcel, interrupting my train of thoughts, tips his hat and walks out of my office. He reminds me of my father, a short and stout man who walks with a shuffle. My father was a taxi driver. In my younger years, I hardly see him around. We had opposing time tables. My waking time was his sleeping time and the weekends boasted only of his presence in the bedroom. Taxi drivers could earn more in the nights on weekends and thus, my father slept in throughout the day on those days. Mother was often the only person who spoke more than ten lines to him in a week.

Tearing open the parcel, I find a velvet black with my name embossed on its cover. Who can it be from? Dozens of names flashed in my mind but I stop at none. I have no idea. At this point, opening the box perhaps will give me the best idea.

I lift the lid without much effort. There it is, catching light from all directions. My mother's favorite crystal pendant. It had been lost since World War II.