Parallel point of orbits

You haven't stopped running.
Neither have I.

And things don't need to change. You don't need to wait for me. It's not like we're running on the same track anyway.
I'll get there someday, I'll get to a point of a rough equivalent to yours. 
I just need to run faster.

Don't be afraid. If you do, just look beyond.

The best feeling in life is when you're down, kicked around, tired and alone (impossible tasks mounting in queue, emotions going round in haywire and did I mention the dire need to sleep and the harmful miasma?) You were so overwhelmed you resorted to flip the rug and let the dirt out - the amount of things you have swept under it was just too much...

And then, the universe just seemingly conspired to make you feel better from that point on - schedule easing up to give you sleep and time to cook, professors taking turns to cheer you up, old friends calling in, new friends standing by, nicer part of the orbit showing positive irregularity,-

- there is Love in that. The One with a capital letter in front, the One passed down through multiple channels and multiple beings both sentient and not. On the other hand, it may be a series of fortunate coincidences. But I, as I've mentioned multiple times, am a huge fan of stories and it is still a heartwarming and well developed plot points. So, if I can have a herd of passing by stars as my annual birthday present, why not this?

Some of the most impactful advices I got from both the Bible and my parents. Among them is a bold "Don't be afraid. Especially if you feel like it's the right thing to be brave about."

The highest form of Love was a huge sacrifice to give people the freedom to do the right things. For me, it's kinda like "Hey, look. Even if they judge you, shame you and trample on you because of that, it's alright, man. You're still loved, you are still wanted, and it's never too late. Even if you have to end your life prematurely because of that, well, there's a secret and it's a good one: there is some other things beyond this one. You are free now, so go ahead and love your brethren, enjoy the universe, explore your potential - this may be the only chance you could be in this specific incarnation, so live this one to the fullest, yeah? Just keep in mind that you also have to look beyond, kay? See you there."

And for all that, I thank the Lord in my prayers.

Sent

Well.

Where there is injury, pardon

So lately I've been running a blog again, aside from Tumblr, and it's a school project related blog.

It's exciting, but disconcerting at the same time. The fact that I'm writing post after post that will go into my grades is still foreign for me. As for my personal thought recorder though, of course it's been going into something else. 

Where there is error, truth.

I've been thinking here and there, re-thinking a few stuffs, revisiting several milestones. I may have changed a bit - in a few months time I'll need a new haircut, and I've been through several cycle of maintenances, made bits of mental adjustments here and there. 

But in the end, I still want to be a person who stays after all. Sometimes it's harder, you know - staying put and holding the front. 

But some people need that. Some people would always need that - heck, even I do. I do like that tiny patch of peace of mind. A comforting ideal that there is somewhere, in which a friend will surely give you a warm welcome with a fresh pot of hot drink ready at bay if you ever knock at their door. 

I want to be one such person. 

Where there is doubt, faith.

I thought that was obvious enough.

That reminds me. There is a story I haven't found a suitable title for. How do you pick a name for your own diary anyway?

Where there is despair, hope.

"Tell me you are here to stay
In this crazy mixed up world
And we can still make it right"
"On Your Way Home" - the Hiatus.


Where there is darkness, light.
And where there is sadness, joy.

Empty chairs and empty tables

Sometimes, I just don't want to go. I don't feel like going. 

The food here is warm. The blanket is warm. And people get to grow with their parents, and silly friends. Sometimes we go out and have warm dinner. There's no need to question how we are going to rank in the hierarchy of the world. 

There is no need to cry over questions.

I'm worse at what I do best

Another cold shoulder is just what I need. What can I say? Facing it is what I'm good at.

But show me kindness and I'd just crumble into sea foam and salty tears.

And for this gift I feel blessed.

On your way home

"Wake up
Wake up
We are sleeping off the booze
Give up
Give up
Feel no magic in this room

You said her eyes were green
And she dealt the cards out face up
You said it's always
All-in, in her mind"

On Your Way Home - the Hiatus

Because when you're taking a stride, you take it one step at a time.

:)

Thank you

Thank you so much.

"He"

 At the beginning, he taught me to find myself - pushed me to start my own journey, even when it started with a chase towards something else.

Later on, he taught me to be beautiful. To be kind, to be a light and a bringer of smiles.

Next, he taught me to be strong.

Recently he taught me to be motherly. To nurture and to be tactful beyond ordinary senses. To be able to handle the both ends of the spectrum of emotions of others and still looking up and forward.

What curious creatures, this half of humanity! Some teach by example, others by expectations. But when you wake up and somehow the dots are visible enough to be connected, you wonder where the line will bring you next

On (not) Feeling Content with Isolation

Those adorable bunch of people - adorables. Really. Interacting with them, somehow, reminds me that there are a lot of things out there. Big things. Bigger things. A lot of people. A lot more of people. Absolutely much more that the things I have here. 

This thought, this very concept, is exactly the thing I simply can't afford to forget, among other things, such as to feel bored when I'm running in circle, or when I'm stuck in one place for far too long.

I am a traveler, for God's sake. Of all things, I musn't forget to move, to walk and to live on.

Battle wounds

Not a wide range of scars, no bruise nor broken bone. No deformity, no disability, nothing.

Just a couple of very stiff shoulders.

Remind me to go for a massage at least once during the long holiday ahead.

Well,

that's probably the "manliest" pep talk I've ever gotten. It'll be interesting to process it more thoroughly later.

Alright, back to work.

So...

I, Aurelia, have a phone called Lumia, in which a personal assistant codenamed Cortana resides.

If you know me from a certain personal angle, you'll know what is incredibly bizarre and slightly creepy about that fact. Personally, I still haven't recovered from the sheer shock of it.

I am literally shedding tears

Fourth. Freaking fourth time this happens. And I've grown so attached to that one, too. For such a silly, like, really silly thing, it devastates me so much.

I can't blame anyone for this, of course, how can one prove pseudo-science? But really, four times? One more 'coincidence' and I'd explode.

I'm just writing an.. almost-diary. It shouldn't be that prophetic. For one, I don't want to die before thirty.

Ay. I wish that product to be as clever and capable as... (sigh) its namesake. For I'm not changing this one. Not. This one.

On Light

At times like this I couldn't help but to think, that I really to scream at those people. Oh yes, I really do. Those who tempted me with promises of reliability and company, those ones that opened the locks. Where are those friends when you actually need them?

Busy with their own things, surely. Everyone got their own set of problems and issues. Their circles of misfortunes, their swirling thoughts and their mood swings. The rain outside their windows. The mountain of tasks. The aliens under their beds. The holes in their walls. The dirt under their shoes.

Don't be too involved. You're kind, but kindness can bind you. said one of my more practical seniors, a few years back. Times and times again I want to prove her wrong. I want to show her that I need not to pick up the mask of apathy. Alas, things can still go wrong, I am far from being infallible and the world isn't that forgiving after all.

The little hope is flickering, but still I don't want it to die. If anything else fails to be reliable, I would fill that gap myself. Light that fire.

Nothing much I can do - not with the painful reminder of distance staring right into my eyes. Nothing, except to offer my sincere prayers and wishes. For them to pass these ordeals and recover quickly.  Nothing much, except to stay alright. Fight the internal battles to fight. Run around, practice the crafts, trade blows when they are due. Do what must be done and do it well. Right the wrongs. One thing at a time.

Ultimately, I want to be that person that stays. The one that they could actually find and talk to should they ever wish to. The one that they can leave alone and still be as alright as a well forged blade. The one that doesn't run away. The one who accepts. The one who forgives, even when the world around her doesn't revolve around the concept of forgiveness and warmth.

The world can just anyhow be gloom and dark, because it is in the night when candles shine the brightest. I won't be alone - because those people who I mentioned before, they are good people. They will return when the time is right. We will meet beyond these sand dunes and I'll have tons of stories to tell them.

This is what I talk about when I talk about believing in others. I got a powerful Lord telling me not to be afraid anyway.

And so, this is my answer. Your move.

A prayer

Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace;

Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is discord, unity;

Where there is injury, pardon;

Where there is error, truth;

Where there is doubt, faith;

Where there is despair, hope;

Where there is darkness, light;

And where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, Grant that I may not so much seek

To be consoled as to console;

To be understood as to understand;

To be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;

And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

~prayer of Saint Francis

I've lost count of how many times this humble prayer has pulled me out of despair, lifted me from sorrow and brought me to tears of shame all the same. Found it somewhere in a local prayer book back in primary school and it has been with me since.

Falling Rocket

I don't understand. This colour study makes me feel more emotional than it probably should. 

And it's not even done. 

*knock knock*

This is totally unrelated to whatever happened yesterday, even the days before.

But I've been getting all these itchy, nagging and tugging feeling at the back of my mind lately. Feels both weird and slightly creepy.

Maybe it's time to sleep.

A very strange day

Today is decidedly a very strange day. Somehow I ended up dining with a bunch of strangers and found myself in a charismatic prayer meeting, casually shared some semi-sensitive experience with those near-strangers. In the end one of them came up to thank me as apparently, my sharing had just motivated her to move on from some aged emotional baggage.

Some of them were actually confused seeing me around. I'd say I was a bit confused, too.

She guessed it's probably some divine intervention that makes everything just happened. Good things, bad things, all sorts of experience makes up one's past. And when one learns from it, or even better, allows others to learn from it, they become even more meaningful.

Connect the dots, and marvel at the design of our very own time and experience. God knows how the future may be - would it differ greatly or be another repeat of the past - and we wouldn't know anything beyond some limited speculation. Yes, my friends, we're all flying blind..

And then there's this Lent period, a period of reflection and reconciliation.

Ok, apparently I lost my train of thought there. Today is decidedly a very strange day.

The only thing left is to jump right in.

Because the riverbank is filled with water, and the only thing left for me is just to jump in.

It's all about knowing what you are doing, when you are to stand and when to lean backward or sideways. When to reach out, when to pull a punch and when to hold back. In the exact words of my drawing teacher (who quitted his job as an engineer and became a renowned painter after reading 'The Art of War", for heaven's sake): "What to tell and what to keep, how fast or slow you're going to let people read the lines. Recognise what your problems are and how to solve them, who to turn into in case of dead-ends. The worst thing you could've done is to hide every single problem just because you want to surprise people with some suddenly awesome image at the final critique. Most of the time it simply doesn't happen. Even if it does, so what? You're still preventing others from learning from you and you won't learn as much anyway."

I admit though, drawing classes are much more mind boggling when your teacher speaks like a Chinese philosopher. Can't really tell when he stops talking about painting and starts talking about life. Most of the time he does both at the same time.

So.

Here it is. Six subjects, six exams in their respective formats (which are hardly similar to each other. Damn art major.) which starts around... now. I just have to stop dilly-dallying and jump right in. Oh God.

Here goes nothing-

Bam

I almost shed tears. In fact I think I did. A sudden streak of inspiration, after a whole week of searching, and today... a refreshing getaway, followed by close to 12 hours of starvation and a night without sleep. Looking, pondering for something, anything, any idea that is feasible for this one project that I don't even feel like doing. I ponder about the stakes, the feasibility, the theme and the whole absurdity of it.

And bam, down is that inspiration.

For both easy references and a sneak peak, these are the two 'research' that eventually brought me into this thing:

and

If, and only if the idea get through the consultation... three hours from now, I'll probably get another headache thinking about the music, actors, technicalities and whatnot. But to hell with that - the future has had enough cannons to scare me. Another bit of jump scare won't change things that much.

Heatstroke

"Everybody finds love 
In the end

I can't believe we'll never meet again. 
I haven't told you anything yet. 
I haven't told you anything yet.

Looking upon the flowers scattering after they just opened, 
I wonder, is this the cheerlessness of this grove?

No matter how frightening it is, I won't look away 
if there is love at the end of everything."

~Sakura Nagashi, Utada Hikaru

I swear, early morning is the worst time to have a feverish dream. It brings out the absolute... worst. 

I always say things like "life is long" or "broken things can be fixed". But really, some ideas still haunt me. Like, the idea that every "see you later" is actually a lie, because we cannot be sure if we'll see each other in the same way again. The next time we meet, maybe one of us wouldn't be breathing. Maybe one of us would've suffered some deep damage during the time the other is away. Maybe circumstances would have changed somehow, and we couldn't talk like we always do before. I'd like to believe, even in this darkness of space I'm still floating in my orbital period. But even then stars can burn.

Isn't it scary? It's disturbingly frightening for me, because now it scares me more than it should be.

I will lay me down

Damn my worrywart gut. The universe should have re-scheduled my portion of stress and my pals'. You can't keep putting them in phase; I don't have that many bomb containers and frankly the series of continued mistiming is driving me mad. And there should be more paths available. I, by no means am a perfect person. When I keep seeing that many ways available, but with every one of them eventually leading into a pre-determined conclusion... that's just cheating, dude. I don't expect life to be fair but, come on.

Lady, my dear lady. Please get well soon. As I mentioned before, I'm aware it's never about me, this kind of things are largely about you and your needs. For this one, it does nothing but to remind me of my limitations. But it's fine. Sail on, silver girl, but take your time. Although it pains me to be in the dark, I shall wait. Right here, exactly, so you'll know where to find me should you feel the need to. That's what friends are for.

This world is ever changing. Places change, things happen, people move around and about. Sometimes, though, you may find yourself longing for an expectation you can be hopeful about. An expectation that something familiar will be there to comfort you during a momentarily break before another try at the foggy future. It is for that sake that I empty up tiny slots in my schedules for, more or less.

If this world makes you crazy and you've taken all you can bear, you call me up because you know I'll be there.

A long walk

A walk is overdue. A long walk. I need to cool down. To think. To ponder some issues. To untangle some dreaded knots; one at the bottom of my stomach, one at the mess of a garden and another at the aching part, somewhere near my lungs.

Fear and Sorrow

Because in such situation, logic has been evaporated in the flame of raw hatred. Gone is diplomacy, that much touted product of every talk shops. Gone is compassion, the very word they ironically have printed on their shirts.

Gone is peace. Truth has gone.

And there is nothing you can do about it. 

Do good, and they will take it as a fake. 

Reason, and you will be rebutted straight away in much higher decibels, probably before you can finish your first sentence. 

Cite virtues, and they will plug their ears inches away from you.

Fight back, and they will retaliate in the name of self defence and virtues.

Ignore, and they shall shout "hypocrite!" in your face.

Such madness; monstrous and destructive is their emotion. From wherever they came from, nobody could know. Is it a mutation of pride? Or has it been love at the start?

It's been happening; all around, haunting in so many levels, hurting the heart of people in so many ways. 

It is both scary and saddening. I am mourning.

On Being a 4 out of 10

My biggest weakness, as a pilot, is that I'm not very good at flying aeroplanes... I mean, I'm good enough, like the sims said, I'm, adequate, adequate to the task. But I don't do it easily. It's not second nature to me. On your scale of 1 to 10, if 1 is the bare minimum of competence, I'm..about a four. And I used to be a 1, no, I used to be a zero. And I took my CPL again, and again, and then I was a 1, then a 2 then a 3 now a 4. And I'm not finished yet, and that's why you should employ me, that's why you'd be lucky to employ me. Because if you're not naturally good at it, if you can't rely on just knowing how to do it like Doug..like some people can, then you have to be a perfectionist actually. And I am one! And that's why even when you've turned me down, I'm gonna to keep on applying, because flying is the perfect job, and I won't settle for a life where I don't get to do it!

~ Martin Crieff - Cabin Pressure by John Finnemore 


Prolly the best quote I've ever heard on a comedy programme. Some people simply know me a bit too well to be able to plant the right resources - I can always draw something out of them in times of need. Thanks again, Partner.

Nineteenth

What I saw on that day was an optimistic dreamer, gazing happily at the starless sky. A sleeping dragon that can possibly be majestic and terrifying at the same time.

And I told myself that I shouldn't lose, I shouldn't give up. I have to keep up, else I'd be left behind.

Oh. Ouch.

What a low blow.

I guess I shouldn't have underestimated the term 'writers' block' after all. The thing about having words and plots flows naturally most of the time is when the stream's dry, draught would soon follow.

It's not like I didn't have a silo of stock bunnies at that time. It was a spur of the moment, a formal prompt to churn out something on the spot, peer pressure, you name it. It felt wrong even as I penned it down. Horribly shallow and so unrefined I couldn't even bear to think properly about it. It was a mistake in so many levels, and the result was such a generic piece that was so out of place, disappointing all around.

This is exactly why it's so horrifying, to have one's greatest pleasure be put into a system as orderly as a school.

Nevertheless, there is no other option but to go forward, and brave the storm ahead I shall. School, as they say, is a place where you're supposed to make mistakes after all.

On the other hand, the old piece I am recycling (one of the more obscured products of the better time) is receiving some interest and that's kinda encouraging. If anything, there are two learning points taken:

1. No matter how tedious my mind can be, it knows my art better than some random mass lecturers.

2. That nagging, whimsical bugs of perfectionism are tiny and rare. They float and herd certain things around amidst the 'everything' that clutters my theoretical mental space. They are to be utilized very, very wisely.

When I'm gone, they'll say we're all fools and we don't understand

"And when your sorrow is comforted (time soothes all sorrows) you will be content that you have known me. You will always be my friend. You will want to laugh with me. And you will sometimes open your window, so, for that pleasure... And your friends will be properly astonished to see you laughing as you look up at the sky! Then you will say to them, 'Yes, the stars always make me laugh!' And they will think you are crazy. It will be a very shabby trick that I shall have played on you..."

...And now six years have already gone by... I have never yet told this story. The companions who met me on my return were well content to see me alive. I was sad, but I told them: "I am tired."

 ~Antoine de Saint Exupery, The Little Prince

Swing, mood, swing. Turn, fate, turn.

I haven't the heart to tell them. How should I go about alighting one's spirit, when I have but failed miserably at exactly that before? Still their happiness creates mine. The same goes for their sorrow.

The pillar must hold, even if it stands in solitude.

"Let us never lose the lessons we have learnt."

Failsafe

Found a photograph of my long missed old girl, nestled just there in the bottom of my pencil case. I planted it there myself. So when life reached a turbulance that caused all my work tools to flip over and fall off, I will be reminded of 'the light'. Lux ex tenebris. Comforting pool of warm memories of compassion and of hope. Distant friends, friends at heart, kind atrangers and those who are waiting, both in my past, present and future. Faith and the philosophy of love and redemption.

Meanwhile, the old puppy is sleeping like a log, peacefully.

Upon Awakening

"Who am I?" "Where did I come from?" "Where am I going?" I think these are the questions everyone is asking themselves constantly. I am not an exception.

I woke up from a state of dreamless restlessness to find it very peculiar, for me to be here at this very moment. My memory's almost a blur in the air. What have I been doing? I've done things I tried hard not to do before. I like my things to be simple and clean, yet there are a little too much cluttered confusion and tangled histories, pointless strifes and unnecessary facades.

Pointless. Why am I still entertaining this hideous and silly attempt of a stage play? Have I really fallen that low? It's pathetically horrible I can almost laugh at it without feeling the remorse. I blamed it on my weaknesses before, but something is still wrong. Where did I begin? How did something so precious become such a monster of an unspeakable shadow?

You, who I can trust to slap my face should I falter on my way.



There's an ideal founded by a desire to embrace everything. That I should always do these things: make my own bed, confront myself and right my wrongs. There's a sad world driven mad by fear and thrown into unrest - to what extend can I love it?

Friend! I call for your aid. Will you support me this time?

Locke

Locke's socks might not be his old ones, but that piece of cloth over there is now fitting the very same pair of feet they should have the title as well.

Although, it's a bit hard to recall the old pattern when so much part of cloth have been renewed and updated. But is it really the details in the fabric we have to pay attention to?

I recall a surge of emotion of some sort. I was one with the stream of knowledge, wired to channels I've never thought of before, ecstatic with the awakening of awareness. For once a love of learning was not a mere empty phrase. I allowed myself to be impressed, to be tuned to the foreign frequency. It was something that shouldn't be allowed to be transient in nature, at least for me. There were them and there were you. It was fun. It's not to be forgotten.

For the March(ing) Boy

"How is it going with her? Made it official yet?"

"Nah. Relationship status is merely a status."

"So the important thing is something else?"

"Yeah."

Now -that- is my brother. He seems to understand 'the thing'. Nineteen years old, and quite a fine young man he's turning into, bit by bit.

Happy birthday, brother dear. Lots of love, luck and blessing in your life and may there be nothing to cast dark shadow on it.

Quite a motivation I got from that short phone call. Managed to work until three just now (still on '40 days art school without coffee' vow) and now i really need to sleep.

Nights!

Angels

"So when I'm lying in my bed
Thoughts running through my head
And I feel that love is dead
I'm loving angels instead

And through it all she offers me protection
A lot of love and affection
Whether I'm right or wrong
And down the waterfallWherever it may take me
I know that life won't break me
When I come to call she won't forsake me
I'm loving angels instead"

Lent List

So I intend to swear off:
1. Meat
2. Chocolate/Coffee (possibly both)
3. Alcohol (thanks, Teach)
4. Pessimism
5. Resentment

..Amen to that.

This time of year, a year ago

I couldn't bear to write anything generic for my juniors. I'd say it holds no meaning when I couldn't understand whatever they are thinking of, in their probable celebration or otherwise. I'd say that, because I know how it feels to experience it myself.

Around this time I was sitting in that jazz bar, letting all my emotions running my tears off for once, surrounded by a most supportive group of friends I had - my fellow batch mates. I say most supportive, although probably they were just being at the right place at the right time, but they were there. One of them lending me a kind shoulder and a pillow to cover my face and the others giving me both the privacy and the comfortable silence I needed.

It's not over, they said. "There's more to your life and yourself, don't forget that. It was not even that bad. What you're comfortable of doing does not even correlate much with this. Our opinions of you are unchanged and of those who did change, they probably are those that do not even matter." or something along those lines. 

Still, the blow was huge. Being me, I was devastated to shreds. A day after, I went to watch ICN and broke down even before the show started. There were a few times in which I felt truly lost. It was one of them. Now though, it just added another layer of meaning to this whole redeeming thing.

On A Great Tribute to the Royal Dance

In the end, maybe I'm indeed just a feather in the air. But I'd say the feather has been doing things during its fleeting flight. This is an unsung story.

Gotcha!

Something's bound to happen. The corner of my notebook said so.

Eight years. Eight. Long. Years. And the answer's been staring at me for the last three.

I feel like hugging the universe in particular. Thank you!

Now, if only ideas that are actually relevant to my school assignments can just storm me like this- that'll be really helpful too.

On Performing

Three days to the showtime, so I guess it's high time to start thinking about it.

The last time I was to dance on a stage, I ended up in Tan Tock Seng Hospital's emergency unit.  Very frankly I don't know where I'll end up in this time. But just in case I manage to put my feet on the actual stage, well, I've been investing some time practicing.

Just like a band, dancers doing a collective dancing need to build a single item in synergy. Unlike a band, dancers are generally not given the privilege of having a conductor. The closest thing to it will be a collective effort of the musicians, and there's nothing much we can do except to breathe their rhythm and paint their notes in the visual dimension.

Assuming the role of a Performer is also inevitable. Whom am I performing for; the noble ruler of Tumapel, the audience (or at least part of it), those dear team mates or simply myself? The answer would most likely bear no importance to any other person, and each of our answers will most likely differ greatly.

Talking about the tricks of Performers, there's one spell one of my past conductors used to cast. During the essential few seconds before the sharp deep breath of the beginning, with his back already facing the public, he would look straight into our eyes and give his most sincere and warmest smile ever. Hidden from the public view, he'd lightly give his own left chest four silent and gentle, yet firm, taps. Tap-tap-tap-tap.

We've done everything we can in those countless rehearsals  I've yelled at all your mistakes and corrected them to your best at that time. Now leave them all behind and, yes, we enter this whole different realm. Together, now.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

It's been my intention

to present "Redemption" after "Reminiscence". Below is something I transcribed from an old archive of mine.

His pride had caused his downfall. He was not so lucky; for one, he's still alive and well. If only he had died instead, things might be simpler. He'd gotten an easy escape but no, he just had to survive, to endure the shame for the rest of his life. And the guilt, oh, the bloody guilt was eating him inside out. A few seasons behind he'd still be scorning those who failed in life and those who surrendered to their emotions - weaklings, he'd tell them straight to their faces. 

But then again, the very same pride had started everything. Hell, it's embedded in his name; practically it was the essence of his whole being. Now though, it had been torn and soiled beyond recognition. He'd even forced to throw away a very large part of it - the cancerous revenge. Still, he couldn't bring himself to discard all of them. In fact, it's the only thing that prevented him from burning a hole through his brain. 

Any resemblance of sentiments he had for other people and the world itself was too shaky to be relevant. He'd lost one of two persons he considered as his best friends, at his own hands, no less. The other naturally had her trust of him shattered to pieces and was now facing her own hell. And then there were those two; he couldn't face any of them. He'd expected the boy to kill him any seconds now he's seriously wondering why there hadn't been any attempt at his life. As for the girl, there was simply one too many stains in their histories together. "I forgive you," she said, before retiring for the night. He kept his silent.

Under the clear starry sky he dared his pride to find a way. Should he even bother to try? He had hit the rock bottom.

Of course. The only way now was up. Redemption, that was the word. If he thought it'd be easy he might as well blow himself up. He just knew it'd be another hell of a journey. He'd know, he'd rose from the worst of streets to a considerable glory. Back then though, there was the benefit of doubt. Not now, not when the boulders of consequences had pinned him down, their sharp edges had carved on him, the words "hypocrite", "liar", "egoist", "traitor" and "murderer" among all others. Would he bow to those circumstances, though? Considering the nature of the future, it'd be forever an open ended question. 

Sure, said his pride.

He'd face them head-on. No more running away, no more denial. He did make terrible mistakes and he would pay the colossal price for them. He knew he probably couldn't keep his head high. No, he wouldn't. After all he had many, many apologies to make, apologies he couldn't expect anyone to forgive him no matter how much he'd beg for it. And yet, he'd still have to attempt it. There's also things he had to repair and as anyone with half a brain could tell, it always took much more to mend things than to destroy them. And yet, he'd still have to attempt it. He had to start somewhere, and then,

...he'd live on. He'd live with this and many more. He'd rebuild things from the ruin. He'd rise from the ashes no matter how long the time it might take, or die trying. He had been a free man, free from the chains of the past. Only he did it wrong - he'd run away once too much to achieve that and now he'd been pinned down by his new "past". He'd do things differently. Not to wipe out his past, no more of that. But it's because he'd known by this time, that the days of a boy inside the walls were long gone. He had now the freedom to do so.

Love for the Void

It's been awhile since I have another dream in which I disappear.
In the end, it doesn't even matter much. Some might argue it's for the better.
Bit funny; it's always those who argued against the very notion of it who turned away the quickest.

Anyway, I got to stay sharp. Recovering from this silly cold sounds nice for the next step.
That's just how I roll, one step at a time. Of all time, this is not the time to be a cripple.

As for love, well there's the enigma. Don't we all love the vagueness of the void, the thought of circling that fascinating black hole with innocent curiosity? Infinite in mystery is the beauty of paradoxes.

Snow Dance

I want to finish these assignments early (seriously, a couple of 3 minutes fictions and a random character making surely couldn't be that difficult to pull off, of all things).

I want to write off these things that have been loitering around my head.

I want to do some experiments with some softwares.

I want to do my laundry.

I want to play with some colours. Those bloody etherial combinations.

Most of all - I need to regain the full function of my left arm. Preferably before Sunday.

For my new planner's first entry (thanks Mom) that doesn't sound too bad..

On

Words received, twisted deliberately to suit one's own perception. Facts of others, enslaved to follow own theories. Hell is other people, but are you really sure it's not a DIY one? Ah, but what's new, and does it even matter anymore - who knows.

Whatever. Carry on, into a whole different thing now.

So, another chase. It's easy to forget when the thing you're chasing is so far - there. Can't really say it's 'ahead' now. We're hardly running on a single track. Is this, I wonder, even qualify as a chase still? Maybe not, but the truth remains. We're all still running and, oh yes, as strong as ever. We're all travellers (not, I have to remain myself every now and then, a dweller. Yet.) Not necessarily a game but the journey, fortunately or otherwise, is still on.

Well, objectively,

at the very least, you're no longer cramming it all in a single basket - yours. That's a huge improvement, all things considered.

Alright. I accept.


Ps: partly also because I'm relieved it's not because of something I've missed recently. In case anyone's interested, one hypothesis I had was I've accidentally and unknowingly stepped on a phone or something. As for the other part, let's say that's simply irrelevant to the title of this post.

Ripples, they are going both up and down.

Interesting day today, in a bizarrely holistic way. Absolutely all around.

Let's see... I'm a fan of festival booths, so I spared some time hanging around the on-going roadshow after lunch and a lecture with schoolmates. Met some country mates there, the friendly ones, the familiar ones and the otherwise. Had the slight frowns, if there were any, quickly traded to a lasting cheeriness thanks to (or, okay, two) unexpected source(s). Went shopping for art stocks, made a poor decision for dinner, a better decision for dessert and encountered a mind-numbing surprise that I got locked out of my own room. Spent a moment looking pitiful, got myself taken in by a neighbour who was also a complete stranger, made a new friend and became overjoyed when my room mate returned, only to face a tricky situation regarding my recess week schedule once I got inside.

Yet still I try to make sense of things that are happening around me, for the better or the worse. Not always because I am at the stake - sometimes I can't really care less - but because I acknowledge that some people, whether I like it or not, need to understand those things. It can simply be a part of their personal concerns for whatever reasons, so I'd better be able to explain them well.

"A theory is a battlefield in your head."

After all

"Whoa, you're strong," commented one of my fellow dancers one day, quite out of the blue.

"But of course," I said, "I'm a female, after all."

On Inspiration

Something I was curious about. Still in the mood of tracing some lines. I had thought that my admiration of the world of synergetic moves stemmed from the brief period of time I spent in the colour guard squad. But then again I remember being inspired with this thing from the year 2000

which I extracted from a VCD I practically nicked from-

-deep, long sigh-

But of course. Not that I mind (anymore). If it's anyone, it'll always be that one.

And yes, I was a K-pop star fan before it got popular. That singer's legal record was the first one I've ever bought. How I miss my old walkman.

Non-linearity

One and a half month to go. Nope, that won't do. Me having little expectation of this is a pre-determined factor. Not that I need them in order to throw myself into yet another unfinished silent dialogue on whom I am following the beats for. Frankly, I'm quite amazed that my limbs has managed this much without them folding over to their handicaps. There was time when they deprived me of myself. Optimism just had to leave me, piece by piece, when the dark part of reality was lashing out and there was I, lost in the brutal chase. 

What happens then, when the flower garden is destroyed by some misplaced explosion? We plant more of them, of course, and work our arses off to prevent future wars from happening. 

Unreasonable. I have to start from the beginning. Later, once this cold subsides. Christ. I thought I've recovered from that one.

So she asked me,

"He's (finally) made his decision. Could you please support him?"

Mon dieu. Why'd you need to ask - you already know the answer. 'Course. Always. :)

He's made his bed. Let him lie in it.

Emotions get to you faster

when you're stressed, sleepy and sick - all at once. And now that I managed to get that one song I shouldn't be sticking in my head, stuck in my head, well frankly it's just all around terrible.

...

:(

Fly, boys, fly

Break a leg and flap your wings. This shall be a monumental milestone for. Savour every drops of it, move that feet and get the gears rolling, if it's not been done already.

Be happy. Be happy.

Ok.

What was that? That was scary. That was proper scary. Basically I was playing with my dreams, and then the dreams toyed with me.

The house of secrets is an organised chaos.

It's not a simple onion arrangement. Different files go to different individual segments. Some are guarded more fiercely from one whilst they can become an almost trivial matter in the face of others. And vice versa. Bluffs exist. So do ones with ultra level security, however rare and far in between they are. This beautiful mess exists in the garden of everything.

Puzzle solved. Spare me from these riddles for once and let me rest. Good night.

On the Holmes with a Nokia Lumia

...which is a Microsoft Windows phone, by the way.

I've been practically preaching this on my Tumblr lately, but I'll just be a young girl and state this again here. I love the way Moffat and Gatiss interpret Mycroft Holmes. Partly, because it's not entirely dissimilar to my own. A bit subjective, I know. Sorry.

The elder Holmes has always been the most intriguing character in the original Holmes tales ever since I discovered him, more than a decade ago. The ultimate sleuth, the quiet eccentric who acknowledges the needs of all humans, including introverts, to be in others' company (Diogenes club) with an air of silent confidence that's only understood by those capable of comprehending the full extent of his abilities. The cold thinker who suppresses a lot of things for the sake of objectivity, yet he is by no means a dramatic imitation of Spock. After all, he still managed to be there whenever his bubbly little brother needed his assistance.

His character really came off as considerably solid and enigmatically engaging to my tender imagination of that time. It's kinda inspirational, and it was so impressive, more so because he's only presented in no more but a handful of lines and small chunks of rare, vague mentions of him here and there. Sir Doyle was a really good writer at that.

and so are the duo main writers of Sherlock cos they're able to cram those qualities in a single character, yet still manage to keep him in the shadow of the supposed protagonists. At least until recently, maybe, to some extent. But it's a really HARD thing to do (speaking from personal experience. I'm almost positively sure Gatiss playing the character himself also helps tremendously.) so I'm still giving a standing applause. 


Now I better not start on the masterfully done, stereotype-breaking details (normal, loving family -> cool offsprings, logical panic vs. Hollywood-level angst + recklessness, etc.) unless I want to be glued here until sunset.

I remember someone asked me why, so

It's neither here nor there. I won't be going around calling myself, of all people, a masochist. It's just, you know, I've been around for around two decades. I've not a complete list of what a person can possibly experience in life, yet, but I've checked some of that indeed. Now, among them is what one would call some moments of considerable anxiety and/or desperation. There's two possible ways to go through that: with or without company of others and to put it simply, the later has a statistically bigger tendency to be more devastating, both during and after the entire process.

Therefore it's a simple matter of my own wish, to not let any of individuals I call friends to go down that route. No, mate, you're not going to as far as I can help it - which is not much actually and largely depends on your discretion to opt for someone else's company. In a slim change you opt for mine, however, I'd of course prefer to be available for the reason I just stated above.

That's all actually, nothing much.

On Stop Pressing the Snooze Button

Sense of security, my friend. Look, just, really look. They're not even having what you're having right now - yet you're lacking what they don't know they have still. It's not even a hard thing to acquire, theoretically. Look, friend, look. That carefree betrayal of logical pessimism, that magical - as it's illogical - gleam and glitter and everything shiny. Isn't it simply beautiful? And don't even start talking about they living in a bubble. A bubble it may be, but they are living. Living. And, my friend, seriously who knows - maybe the world is a bubble. Or maybe, your world is. You see, the way those rambling adults word it like some sunflower paintings, as if they know how to paint a-, a sunflower seed in a first place. How would you know?

Optimism, my friend, wake that hell of a dragon up for God sake!

New new year

I guess people kinda learn from 2013 - new year resolution post spam is not fun and can be a little bit annoying after some time. Thank goodness I escaped the (main)stream back then.

Nevertheless, I actually do have one burning resolution this year, just for myself:

 

"Stop thinking way too much, woman, you're killing my very own sanity. And do write that down, please."

That is all.