A contemplative Zainal Abidin Musa finds light behind the clouds.
I cannot decide which image he paints best with words when describing the monsoon season. Is it when he likens the sounds of rain falling in the night to an orchestra playing live, its music swelling and subsiding in turn? Or when he speaks of having coffee in a little café by the sea, with a misty drizzle hovering over the waves breaking on the shore?
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