Life has a way of aiming a spanner at you when you are doing your darnedest best to avoid it. A spanner can be a shattered heart that necessitates fleeing from the vicissitudes of life. Another spanner is when you’re pushed to the limit; this is reason enough to escape to somewhere serene. At other times, having a thumb caught in a taxi door for not being in the moment is one spanner that tells you unequivocally that it is time to momentarily walk away from life. Actually, it took a while for it to register that it was my thumb caught in the door, and the pain just exploded in my face when it did. Still, I didn’t get to flee to serenity until after a week or so after that stupid episode.
Serenity finally came in a comfortable corner with two high-back chairs and a low sofa next to the tinted floor-to-ceiling window. The Writers Bar was quiet at 430pm on a Friday afternoon. The sound of soft jazz music wafted through the bar, swirling in the ceiling then dipping into the posh furniture and flying back into the air. The silence was invigorating as it muted the negative thoughts colliding in my mind. It was therapeutic: my breathing became less shallow and agitated as I inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, and with every breath steeling myself against would-be spanners.
Sipping genmaicha tea and nibbling on French fries cooked three ways (it is a Raffles Jakarta thing) dipped in either aioli, ketchup, or chili sauce was fantastic. Equally good was to read page after page with mental clarity, and not be doing mental karate with stray thoughts that broke concentration while reading.
It is with certainty that spanners will be flying my way again and I would have to flee from them. The question now is when and where shall I go to find interim serenity.