The Melancholy Pineapple of Death

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December has always been the month I look forward to. Mainly due to the fact that it's birthday, Christmas, and New Year's season. On top of which it is rainy and windy, like autumn and winter. I like rainy and windy. I used to love rainy and windy.

As one gets older, and that is the only reason why I can fathom 'love' turning into 'like', this dreary weather chills your bones and dampens your mood. When you're young, you be a rebel. Such winter clouds are the perfect background music to trudging in the rain under trench coats and spiked boots. When you're older, it's work rain play rain home rain. Sleep rain is good, but getting up in the morning rain and wanting to remain under the blanket rain and call to take MC on Friday and Monday rain will not exactly make James Dean proud.

I liked the cold overseas, and I think I liked it because it was overseas. Locally, one is constantly reminded that you're not on holiday. Buses horning, trains breaking down, fees bills installments to pay. On top of which people who you want calling aren't calling, and people who you don't want calling are. Today, the cold made me stay in bed for 14 hours straight simply because I had no motivation to get up. Yes, I just laid there. And yes, the weather made me do it. And for myself, once that bear trap of no motivation snaps, even sex or deadlines won't get me going. It's rather dangerous, this melancholy pineapple of death.

But no, this melancholy pineapple of death doesn't happen so often. Today is just one of those days where everything goes wrong. I went to the wrong venue. My umbrella broke. Calls keep coming in. The fish soup came with milk. The pineapple of death pissed on ya.

I have so many wishes in my head.
I wish I didn't get such a curt reply.
I wish I don't need to look for alternatives.
I wish I knew what to do.
I wish I don't need to worry.
I wish I don't have to compare.
I wish for a football team of Abercombie and Fitch boys.

Then you realise in the slums of Delhi there are young children eating decomposing rubbish for sustenance. In Orchard alone there were a group of volunteers bringing out paraplegic wheelchair bound kids to see the Christmas lights. So I stopped my selfishness and started wishing for world peace. For everyone to do a little part in lightening another's misery. For a smile on a dying woman's face.

In December, it is also a time of death. Statistically, there are more cases of folks passing on during this season. My friends shared the same sentiment too as, like in my area, there seem to be a funeral a day under their blocks. I guess this is nature's balancing act, Santa Claus and Grim Reaper making the unlikeliest best mates.

I wouldn't mind dieing in December, since I was born in December. Tis a good season.

For tonight, let my Zinger burger and curly fries make me happy.

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