It's been two Sundays in a row now (soon to be three) that I haven't had to wake up and rush off to volleyball (which, as per my previous previous post, is not to say I haven't been playing) and I must say, it's been a long time since I've had Sundays so sweet.
Before these past two weekends, I can't remember the last time I've risen so lazily in such a warm glow of contentedness, to the sound of coffee being freshly ground and the smell of homemade congee simmering on the stove. And then to crawl from the depths of my sleeping den and into the cozy company of good conversation in the presense of my parents in the kitchen--bonus.
As much as I love the rough and tumble of a spontaneous and action-packed life, it's good to be reminded that sometimes, it's just as nice--if not nicer--to stop and smell the fresh ground coffee with the ones you love. Secretly, I wish every Sunday could be as languidly lovely as this.
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