When I was in Bangkok, I really missed my co-workers. I missed their witty banter and their everyday courtesies. I felt lonely without them. I even called every couple of days. I'm really lucky to spend most of my waking hours here. We have a daily tradition of eating lunch together, which invariably ends up with someone revealing an embarrassing secret. I hear other friends' horror stories of backstabbing office politics, and I guess I'm either too junior or too oblivious (or a combination of both) to have noticed it here.
Poetry excerpt of the day:
Untitled [This is what was bequeathed us]
by Gregory Orr
This is what was bequeathed us:
This earth the beloved left
Left to us.
No other world
But this one:
Willows and the river
And the factory
With its black smokestacks.
No other shore, only this bank
On which the living gather.
No meaning but what we find here.
No purpose but what we make.
That, and the beloved's clear instructions:
Turn me into song; sing me awake.