it was a cold day in September and i had no business with the clouds or the color of the skies. i did not go out to see if the flowers are blooming in my mother's garden, or if my grandma's cat was chilling at her usual spot in the steps in front of our living room's door. i did not ask my mom what's for lunch and whether she's planning to go out in the evening or not. i did not care if it was my turn to wash the dishes or if my mom asked me to sweep the floor afterwards. i did not care about fairytales or histories or corporations. i was not in a hurry to know what i want in and out of life. i was not very disturbed by the fact that i do not fully know my own self and the world i live in. i did not mind not knowing whether i am doing good or not, doing something or not. it was a cold day and my cold pillow demanded to be held, and so i did.