Busy, busy, busy - busy with office work, housework (annual cleaning lah!) and shopping for CNY. Hitler's Young looked for a scapegoat for some extra work and easily found me, not that I mind - look at the helicopter view, she used to say. I finally cleared out the lecture notes for the paper I took last January - yes, you heard me right, that is one year ago. Without much trying, I found a pair of new brown shoes to go to office with - I know they don't really match with black pants, but I like - and a long-sleeved, green striped shirt. That sort of sums up what I have been up to the past few days.
In-between, I carry a few library loans to read on bus trips. Among which, Franz kafka is one writer who is fascinating and brilliant with his seemingly contemporary mind trapped in a man nearly a century past. For one, as a great sparkling literary masterpiece, "Metamorphosis" (1915; Eng. trans., 1961) defies the boundaries of man's imagination.(Top Pic: A 12ft sculpture of Kafka sitting on a headless man in the city of Prague. He sure walks tall in the art of fiction writing.)