Longing for a little time

I zipped my car about and turned into Bellaire Blvd. to Chinatown. I decided to go to this tiny restaurant, simply called the 88. I parked my car in front of the place, skipped and ran a little through the rain, got into the restaurant shake myself dry and find a seat by the corner window.
88 is a Chinese noodle place here in Houston that has a distinguish reputation of being authentic to the region of Borneo and Sumatra islands. They make their own noodle and the atmosphere is as casual as can be. Most of the people in the restaurant are people like me, eager to find a forgotten piece of themselves. They usually come here in group, and they speak their own language. They talk loudly and one group even brought a set of traditional Catur Cina warring at it.

I ordered a Koay Teow and sat quietly watching and listening to all these strangers. The different groups spoke a few different languages. Malay, Indonesian, Hokian, Cantonese and occasionally English, when someone did not know how to describe them in their native tongue anymore.

I closed my eyes and savored this little forgotten moment a little… partly to hold back my tears… a little.
Yes, that’s why I came here alone.