261. Misadventure
Hanoi is lovely really. The weather's cool and nice. The city has just the right amount of hustle and bustle to still feel quaint. The people are abuzz. The shops are narrow and have that bit of rustic charm to it that still lends itself to a bygone time. Essentially, it still has everything that KL has lost.
Walking the narrow pavements, soaking in the sounds of whirring motorcycles and car horns, the chatter of the local language, I can't help but feel...this is a city ripe for adventure. There's something here there's to be found. If you so choose to find it.
Unfortunately, things have changed. Adventure is harder to be sought these days. Not because there's none to be found, but more like there's that bit of weariness in the bones. Has the warm embrace of summer left us. The noontide of day? Hopefully not.
There's more to life than routine. And obligations. And responsibility. True, there is duty to be fulfilled, but at what expense.
I've come to realise that I've lost some of that spark. The curiosity to follow that rabbit hole. It's gotten a bit too comfortable. Too safe. The routine of things. The now of things. The way of thinking. There isn't anything in way of danger. Not like the old days.
Jeez, I hope I don't turn into a walking cliche of that one guy I used to have a go at when I was younger. That one guy who had a safe and cush life, who was stable, drove a nice car, had a fancy title. But was boring and lifeless as fuck. A guy who had all the personality of a post-it note. A guy who was ultimately bland and yes, part of the establishment, part of the Man.
It's like the hippies turning out to be Wall Street types in their adulthood. People who have...sold out?
So, this ain't gonna be one of those "What does it all mean?" kind of bullshit, nope we don't peddle that junk in Dastardly Musings.
Instead, let's see whether this shakes us out of our complacency just a bit. Let's see.
Walking the narrow pavements, soaking in the sounds of whirring motorcycles and car horns, the chatter of the local language, I can't help but feel...this is a city ripe for adventure. There's something here there's to be found. If you so choose to find it.
Unfortunately, things have changed. Adventure is harder to be sought these days. Not because there's none to be found, but more like there's that bit of weariness in the bones. Has the warm embrace of summer left us. The noontide of day? Hopefully not.
There's more to life than routine. And obligations. And responsibility. True, there is duty to be fulfilled, but at what expense.
I've come to realise that I've lost some of that spark. The curiosity to follow that rabbit hole. It's gotten a bit too comfortable. Too safe. The routine of things. The now of things. The way of thinking. There isn't anything in way of danger. Not like the old days.
Jeez, I hope I don't turn into a walking cliche of that one guy I used to have a go at when I was younger. That one guy who had a safe and cush life, who was stable, drove a nice car, had a fancy title. But was boring and lifeless as fuck. A guy who had all the personality of a post-it note. A guy who was ultimately bland and yes, part of the establishment, part of the Man.
It's like the hippies turning out to be Wall Street types in their adulthood. People who have...sold out?
So, this ain't gonna be one of those "What does it all mean?" kind of bullshit, nope we don't peddle that junk in Dastardly Musings.
Instead, let's see whether this shakes us out of our complacency just a bit. Let's see.
