“Liar liar pants on fire, hanging on the telephone wire…” popped up my mind on my way home tonight. I recalled a long lost memory back on the east coast, the desire to mimic how others spoke English, fun times of practicing “th” sound and memorizing idioms and phrases.
E. asked how old I’m. Man, I don’t feel I’m old but in fact I am a middle-aged man. D.C. sent his greetings from Santa Barbara a while back, telling me his sister was going to visit him during Lunar Year Holiday. I know it isn’t easy spending this most important and traditional festival overseas. Well, at least, he won’t be too far away from China Town and can get tasty Chinese cuisine.
It’s really time to move on; and I can’t wait really. But somehow I can sense there are some friends I just started getting to know better and life just turns its course at the corner again. C’est la vie, whether it’s passive or pessimistic, it’s a French expression I acquired while studying in Switzerland. I miss speaking French enormously…
“Liar liar pants on fire, hanging on the telephone wire. Who would remember me? Who will read my poetry? You or me or nobody?”
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