Have been blogging markedly less. Started a new personal pen and paper journal some time back, and have been using that as a replacement. It feels a lot safer, I guess.

During my working days I did type some rather incoherent ramblings out, perhaps I will publish all those at one go someday.

bouts

Once again, it's the same old. Lying on the bed, all dressed up but nowhere to go, no one to see. Sometimes I look through the photos on my camera and feel glad that at least, my family's stuck with me.

Let you know.

When time is running out,
when you know you stand a chance,
however small.

You want to shout it out,
paint it in bold letters on walls,
write it down in a little card and hand it to him.

The willingness to cast everything aside to let him to know,
to make it happen.

It surprises you.


Note to reader: I am not a poet nor is this meant to be some kind of poetry. This is just a way of expressing my thoughts right now, disjointed as they are. Am lacking the time, energy and coherence to craft them into proper, eloquent prose. I repeat, this not some attempt at poetry. If it was, it would be a really bad one.

I wish you'd let me know, even if it only lasts a while

Now that it's been decided that I am going after all,
it feels too much like leaving.
And I realise how badly I want and need you to tell me:
stay.



15th March, Saturday: Honestly, nothing much happened.
16th March, Sunday: Let my parents know about the news with UCL. They agreed.
17th March, Monday: Got my green tea McFlurry!
18th March, Tuesday: Two more Tuesdays left. I hope they will be better than this one was.
19th March, Wednesday: Slept in. Spent a cosy afternoon on the armchair swaddled in my thick blanket as I alternated between doing work and watching YouTube videos on air disasters. Somewhat like the old days in secondary school and junior college.

Golden point

I love writing. It makes me feel content. This is my medium, something I am comfortable with; something in which I can explore, yet still be safe. There is an indescribable satisfaction in churning out sentences of beautifully-crafted words. The best is when you read what you have written and feel a sense of pride welling up within you.

There is no shame in writing. No one will see what you have written until you are ready, and you need not ever show anyone what you have written if that is not your intention. If you are shy, writing is a way of expressing yourself, expressing and later remembering your feelings without exposing yourself to others. With writing, there are no awkward pauses, no stutters, no clumsily-phrased words and no blushing - unless you write them in. The nerve-wrecking tension of real human interaction is blissfully avoided in writing.

And of course, if you later find that you do not like what you have wrote, you can burn them, tear them, throw them away.

Or in this case, delete the post.