Rainy season.

Drizzling sound of rain falling off tall roofs.

The sight of those old zinc roof houses of my granny's place greeted me. Roofs appeared to be taller, more solid and walls seemed to be a hybrid mof wood and bricks. The whole place resembled more of a longhouse than a village house.

I also saw my boss' daughter, who was there. We chatted a little and was finding our way to shelter as there was a sudden downpour that "afternoon". Somehow, we came to this place in a group. Inside the house, it was barely illuminate by the traditional oil lamps, which can hardly be seen nowadays. People, including travellers like us, were seated on the wooden floor, in the orangy-themed house which seemed to be the best refuge in the vicinity.

No spooky matters here, but later on, when we moved out, the place had turned into a bigger scale of villages; and not a sign of wet soil, darkened wood or any signs of moistures on the surroundings. Groups parted in their own ways to continue the journey. For a moment of time, I felt like I was venturing through an abandoned village - soemthing which never fail to thrill me whenever I'm out for shoots.

As I walked through the wooden platforms of the longhouses, one can spot ajar doors with little or no human activity. The environment was dead quiet like a graveyard.

In order for me to get of of this place, I have to reach the other end of the village, which does not seem a short-distanced walk as no further details were visible; from the visual judgement, the distance appeared no less than 400m away.

7:15am Time to get up after a multitude of dreams. This being the clearest, has been recorded.