Looking Northward Towards the SouthWest

Whenever I listen to my collection of music, take a photo, or fire up my Mac, I can smell Arizona. It doesn't help that I am constantly reminded of how alien I am here in Singapore. I still have Fry's and Blockbuster attached to my keys, all of which unlock things in Singapore, not Tucson. I still walk out of a building looking for my car even though it is unlikely that I'll own a car in the near future; they simply cost way too much here. I restrain the instinct of getting into my silver Ford Escort and driving down Speedway Boulevard to <a href="">Baggin's</a> and getting myself an egg sandwich.
It was there that I began seriously taking photographs. I cultivated the habit of bringing my camera everywhere I go, simply because every <a href="">sunset</a>, every <a href="">storm</a>, every moment was too precious to let go to waste. I even took photos of <a href="">the eggs in my fridge</a> when I opened it for a midnight snack.
It was in Arizona I switched to the Mac, learnt to write with my left hand, gazed at stars, loved Faith from afar, ate prime rib with mashed potatoes. I was consciously making memories.
The shutter doesn't fire on the Canon 10D as much anymore. Maybe because real life isn't as colourful as living the life of a student abroad. Just carrying the camera reminds me of who I had become simply by having lived somewhere else.
I've said this ad naseum, but I miss it. The spiral of real life seems so difficult to break out of.

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