World Beyond the Window
Well, that was a bummer. I was halfway through writing a review for The Centennial Case when my laptop went blue screen, which seems to always happens whenever I write something spontaneous directly on Bear. Normally, I would compose my posts in Sublime Text until I feel ready to paste it in.
So let's talk about the window, I suppose.
I'm lucky to have a great window view from my flat, which allows me unobstructed view to a large swath of sky tinged pink-purple in the moment before the starburst orange and yellow of sunset, and purplish-blue-black after. I have used photograph of this sky in games, almost no post-processing required. It's the kind of view that reminds me that I'm alive, that I'm in a place I should be grateful of, that I should probably take more time looking out and breathe.
I don't always appreciate the view. Honestly, most of the time you'll probably see two sets of heavy curtains cover the glass panes. Part of the reason is practicality. The sky is truly wonderful in early mornings and late afternoons, but unbearable whenever the sun is out. It's hot and the rays would pierce directly onto my working area, causing harsh glares on monitors and surfaces. Part of that is the ebb and flow of my mood. I tend to grow isolationist whenever pressure runs high and darkness comforts me. However, as anyone who'd ever dealt with depression would know, indulging into this too much might send you into a vicious cycle and plunge you even deeper.
I try to pull the curtains whenever I could.
I'm chasing the colors I see from my window. I can't seem to replicate them quite right, and so I would be content just watching as they shift in hues. Sometimes it feels like a dream. Possibilities swirling. Maybe in some other time and some other place some other me is doing something else. When I was young, I entertained the idea of myself traveling around. I'd like to see sights of different worlds, smell the air of different worlds. So far, the number of foreign country I'd set foot on? One. My passport lapsed with only one page stamped, a trip I'd won off a bookshop lottery. Some countries make it seem to easy to travel, with powerful passports and currencies.
On the other hand, it's rich of me to paint such a picture, as I'm struggling enough trying to keep a routine which would take me outside more than two times a week. I don't need a cafe if my flat is comfortable enough to work in. I can do my laundry in the building, and there's a convenience store attached. My place is the gathering spot for weekly game nights. I'm living a hermit's paradise (to which I'm most thankful of).
There is a world beyond the window, one I sometimes feel I'm not part of. One that sprawls and changes without me knowing, a nebulous mass strange and familiar. But I'm happy of the occasional reminder that it's there.