Routine.

I live it. Tis is my life, but this routine that I have fallen into now is not the routine that I am comfortable with.

It is not the routine that creates the finger tappings that I have grown accustomed to and have fallen in love with. It is a shadow of it; a light fading shadow.

I miss it. I miss the times where I’m able to come here and just plug in and forget everything and just type away.

My thoughts flow with the assuredness of the Nile or the Amazon. It flowed because it must.

Now, it is a standstill of murky water; unclear as to what it is that it wants to be; unsure about how to get back to where it once was.

Lost without any motivation or direction. Even the laws of gravity and the geography of the world cannot make this flow worthwhile.

For all is a standstill.

* * *

Here I am, sitting here in my usual place, my usual table, doing my usual usual, typing my soul away.

This week is unlike any other week that have come and gone in these past couple of years. No different to anything or any day at all.

But something is going to happen today that will deviate from the norm, something spectacular is going to happen and I don’t know what it is.

I look around the shot and no much is different.

The gaudy graffiti wall is the same. The boba week competition is the same; well, except for a few more colorful orange stickers, not much is different.

The tea is the same, as is the cool-cold-warm recycle cool-cold-warm temperature.

Not much is different, but something is different. Something happened today that usually never does.

Contact with the outside world. Contact with another being, another compatriot, here to do her studying.

It started with us vying for the same table, but I relented and gave her as I was nice to ask her which one she preferred.

I kept up my generally friendly demeanor and just maintained the dreaded small talk that I usually tend to avoid.

We are all the same, here to do some work. Here to get something done.

Obviously her stuff is much more important than mine, studying for an exam, for school.

Me, I’m just doing my usual soul searching. I’m just doing my usual brain purge.

Today is a little different.

I can do this. It should always be this easy, but I never keep it up.

* * *

Socializing.

How does an anti-social hermit be social? How does most everyone that he meets have the impression that he’s such a social butterfly? How so?

It just happens that way. It just happens that most of time that he hangs out it is in small crowds doing the things that he feels comfortable in doing. That is how. He doesn’t put himself in a situation where he is uncomfortable, in a situation that he doesn’t want to be in.

When it is family that he’s hanging out with, it is different also, because it is family. There just never seems to be a problem whenever he hangs with family. There’s no pressure to impress, to be more than who he is.

I guess in a way even though he strongly believes that he doesn’t need to impress, the psychological urge to be liked in some aspect is pushing him to try to impress and this poor soul caves at the pressure of doing so.

It is his flaw. One of his many. It just happens that he doesn’t know how to just let things go.

Sometimes it is successful. Other times. Not so much.

* * *

Boba girls.

They are here as it is their job to be here, taking orders, being polite, making their drinks and they do it all giggly and cute.

I’ve seen the shorter one here for a while, especially on the weekend. It seems she’s the opener most of the time and she has come to remember who I am and what drink I usually get. She usually gets it prepared before I even get my order through and sometimes she’ll give me a little discount to boot.

She’s really cute, as I have mentioned to Selena Kyle. Cute.

There are times where she’ll come in with a plastic sunglasses frame without any lenses and it just throws me off. I’m like what the fuck, but I let it go. It’s her prerogative and it is what it is.

A hipster and not just any hipster, a Asian hipster to book.

If Selena Kyle is right and the guy that she pointed out is the shorter one’s, Cutie McShorty, boyfriend, that I guess it is fitting.

He’s the textbook definition of a Asian Hipster. He’s a Hong Kong or even a Taiwanese cool stylish hipster. Something that I don’t get by the way. Not one bit at all.

It is a general confusion for me why that is stylish, but yet again, to each their own.

The taller one, I don’t know her name as we hardly ever spoke, is not bad looking either. Tall and thin.

From time to time I’ll see her steal a look in my direction or it just so happens that we’ll catch each other’s eye as I take a micro break from my finger tappings and survey my surroundings.

She’ll throw me little smiles as she comes into the shop, starting her shift.

All in all, she’s not bad either.

As for the other one, the Canto Singer, I haven’t seen her in a while.

* * *