I guess it have to take an anime movie, a handful of pistachios and a teacup of garbage to remind me that I hadn’t been blogging properly. But of course, there’s the matter of proper blogging that comes to question, and I daresay there’s no actual definition of a proper blog entry, not to mention a proper everything, so maybe it’s not for me to say what’s proper or not. I figure that it comes down to what you feel about it, and quite honestly, I’m not very well committed to the previous posts… something about lethargy brought up to it, but ah well, things are dandier now.

In the light of many a things, which is about as bright as a couple of suns put together, I guess I’ve been blinded into forgetting a lot of stuff. One of them was a promise I made, but as far as I look at it now, the promise is now as good as ashes scattered into the ocean. It buggers me to see that I haven’t been fulfilling my promises, though, watching things from afar now, perhaps things are better off without my dipping in, or perhaps things might just never gets better.

Another thing I forgot was a bag of fried rice I placed in the fridge with intentions of re-consumption. I put it in a month ago. Constant increments of other stuff had shuffled the bag around until it found the corner and stayed there until today. I daren’t open the bag when I found it; the contents seemed to have turned a mossy green. Down the rubbish can it went.

I’ve also forgotten that my days used to be enlightened by words that deliver themselves to me, complete with definition and proper pronunciation. Opening my e-mail inbox I realised the many words that I missed out. Today’s was Coruscate, which can be used in; Her eyes were alive, burning and flaring in radiance of coruscating stars.

If there’s something coruscating about today, it had to be the amazing way the Sandman graphic novels are told. I had the fortune of reading a fair bit today, courtesy of Sean from class (who is, quite incidentally, an avid Neil Gaiman fan, and also quite the morbid individual). The graphic novels cost a whopper; I could get the entire Abhorsen trilogy with one single issue. No, not in my lifetime… I’d probably stand a chance if I marry a rich woman/man, but that also rely on my standing chances of being able to marry in the first place.

Ah, but whether I’ll be able to have a jovial matrimony… it’s something best left unquestioned for the time being.

Goodnight People.

Companion Lost.

Don’t it always seem to go

That you don’t know what you’ve got

Until it’s gone?

- Joni Mitchell –

I complained. I pointed out that it was close to obsolete, that it was a product that would’ve shamed anyone when compared to another. I’ve told everyone, on first mention of it, that it was a crappy, useless thing, and only something I stuck to for lack of another choice.

Now it is lost, and it seems to me now, as I glance back in reminiscence, that it was more than an instrument. It was a companion, a friend, a dutiful and unrelenting crony that has accompanied me through thick and thin.

Now it is lost, due to my carelessness. Perhaps picked up by someone, though its purpose would only last the duration of its battery; which can only be charged through its very own USB cable. Perhaps it lies somewhere between the grass and rocks, embracing rain like the entities of its surrounding, and sometime later the rain and dew and winds will mould it into something else entirely, serving a different purpose, or housing life, perhaps, if life is indeed as minute as I think it can be.

Now it is lost, and I could only lament, and thank it for what it has done for me. The golden frame, the shimmering clothes-clip attached to it; it will down in memory as a companion. A companion lost.

Farewell, my Mp3 player.

Sorry.

Mess

Not the type you can sweep away, though my room could do with a couple of sweeps by a super-robot programmed to clean, and mother’s been hawking at me to arrange my scattered notes, which has now assembled itself (somehow) into ancient Mayan-temple structures complete with residential silverfishes.

But it ain’t only messy in the humble abode. Assignments like carnival popcorn and confetti hurled with fireworks, meetings and greetings and chores and tasks set around like bowling pins that tumble into a crazed toppling frenzy. And then promises. Too many made, too many to answer to and too many to reject. No, don’t get me wrong; I’m not that popular. Just happen to be asked at very wrong times.

The rabbits have surpassed my expectations; having lived longer than I first assumed, they have now managed to give birth to a litter of 5. I was quite sure the placid, immensely passive male (Lucky) would never brave the guts to hump the incredulously nutty female (Happy), but voila, come Saturday yesterday, bro found the litter when he ran through his morning chores.

Initial and foremost family reaction:

Dad: Yay

Mom: *Shriek*

Bro: *Shriek* + *Curse* x Damn-there-you-go-more-liabilities.

Me: Heavens be damned, Lucky is actually capable of humping something + *sigh*

What’s troubling is that the female, or the inappropriately named Happy -should’ve been named Grouchy or Depressing-Syndrome, is rather inept at taking care of the litter. We’re now tasked with feeding them every morning, afternoon and night until they’re less susceptible to being trampled by their dear mom.

I’m dying to get my hands on The Deathly Hallows, which now sits between my brother’s lap, who is very sure that he’ll finish it by tonight or he’ll just have to skive work tomorrow. A few hundred people have already pounced on the trade of threatening me with spoilers they’ve managed to procured (they don’t read the books. They just spend their miserable time googling the ending and feeling proud of it). I ignore them and kindly asked that they give me a call 10 years later.

Somehow in the cascade of everything going wrong, my external DVD drive has broke. Just out of the warranty date. I am hated.

Oh damn every holy cattle in the nation of Zanzibar… I need a trepanning fix.

There was once when I used to care. I used to care a whole lot. Now I realised that I didn’t. Or rather, I didn’t seem to want to. Weariness is a burden I cannot bear for long. I’m tired – leave me be.

Leave.

It was a week of Sighing. There were Sighs of relief, and there were the decadent and confounding Sighs of hate, and somewhere between the both of them were Sighs of Nothing; Sighs that were merely empty breaths I huffed just for the heck of it.

I Sighed because of assignments. I Sighed because I had an argument with a friend, which now resulted in her pouring me bucketfuls of cold shoulders every time I saw to try and be friendly, and now I’m starting to not give a damn at things. I Sighed because the strain of travelling is piling lethargy on me relentlessly, and I’m missing the small enjoyable sweetness of life. And I Sighed, most importantly, because I’m a whiny idiot.

Sometimes somewhere I wonder if pride had a lot to do with everything, and apparently it does. Sometimes I wonder if venerable words like Honour and Righteousness are merely products of immense pride and they serve nothing more but to histrionically emblazon someone into a status of He-Manship. Honour and Righteousness. They sound as fake as masks on mannequins.

Yet I find myself abiding to the laws one create to maintain the Law of Conscience, in which it quite clearly places implicit priority to the so-called value of Righteousness. It’s quite something to walk around with Russell Peters’ ridiculous Chinese accent repetitively chanting “Do the right thing. Do the right thing. Do the right thing," in your head. Then came the part where I decide which form of friendship I have to abide to.

Do the right thing. Do the right thing. Do the right thing.

Be a man.

Doo da rite thing.

Sigh.

People never understand the other side of things. Sometimes they do, but they chose not to, because there’s the impenetrable wall of pride that would constantly loom and intimidate.

We are here now because of pride. And there’s little way to set aside it.

The question now is:

To remember, or to blame?

What a hard one to answer.

There was once when I used to care. I used to care a lot. Now I realised that I didn’t. But it wasn’t because I was weary. It was because I started to hate.

But hate can be a product of anger.

Anger is a product of Impatience.

Impatience is a product of Wait.

I’m not waiting for something to happen.

I’m waiting for someone to get something happening.

But I guess that wait may never end.

Never.

Long and tiring week

But not nothing we haven’t heard of, eh? It seems that I’ll never wake up to a peaceful week as long as I have to haul my ass up for class. It’s needless for me to say that assignments come in colourful plethora; confetti that you can never seem to collect as it falls. And the travelling. 4 hours daily of commuting in mundane routines that diverse only as much as trains were to stall (even that won’t make a day any better).Yawn.

Needless for me to say also, that this is the perfect time to question the lost of student bliss and where the phrase of Campus-is-the-Sanctuary-of-my-Life comes in.

Of course, I complain. Wait till I work, and I assure you that you’ll never see a blog so immensely whiny.

Today was a fair break from the usual sweltering heat. I walked out of the room at noon to find the sky a gloomy canvas that was – in inconstant rare occasions – welcoming. A few minutes later the rain came, along with the wind, and within the hour I had to rush out several times to prevent any more flowerpots from toppling and making sure that the large parasol is safely closed.

What followed was a chilly day, in which I spent trying to work when there weren’t any lightning or just lazing around with a good read. Dad was asleep on the couch, and mom had ventured out beginning with a weekly breakfast with grandma which turned into a full day’s outing at the new mall. Bro wasn’t around to flex his hulk of bully, so I was peacefully unperturbed and unworried, with a cup of Lipton as company. Watch as the rain curtained the view of my kitchen window, a colourless blurring of red roof tiles and distant mountains. Listened as the howling winds ebb away as the walls filtered into muffled whispers. And musing, as the droplets thinned into gentle drizzles that were in fact purported feigns, because the rain thundered down again moments later, catching the world unawares.

I was remembered a dream, which occurred a few days back. In that dream I was walking towards a cake stand with a girl I didn’t know. Or rather, she was a girl that I would’ve known if she wasn’t a product of the randomness of dream; because every time I looked at her I would be reminded of different people. But it was a dream, so I wasn’t bothered.

We approached the cake stand and browsed through the selection, which, in the manner of strange dreams, consisted entirely on Ebony and Ivory cheese cakes. Round, immaculate things of dreamlike perfection. We stared at them for sometime before she turned to me and said;

“The bridge and key to a woman’s heart is from Cheese and Starch.

“Jee, do you have cheese?”

I said something incoherently, and then the dream shifted into something that eluded my memory. I recalled sitting for a tattooing session; I was sitting on a chair with my sleeves folded up to my shoulders and bracing for the pain, while the tattooist does his work on a piece of paper. But anyway…

The words she said seem to weigh a certain something; weighed enough to sit on my head and constantly poke during ponderings. Prophecy? No, I never bothered myself by thinking (hoping) that it was a miraculous construction of otherworldly properties that foretells my true love. Though it does seem tempting now to walk down the street with an E&I cheese cake and asking everyone if they love cheese and starch.

It was a dream and it was random, but it’s there; here, and I can’t help but think on it.

Hmm…

* * * *

Kodoku no Kakera.

What does it mean?

I don’t know, and I don’t want to know just yet, but it plays and it’s nice and I’m enjoying it as repeats over and over on the laptop. Compliments of Pauline, who is giving me great songs every MSN session here and there. And great anime. And GREAT books.

Thanks, Pauline. *raises a glass*

I sit here now basking in this excellent song, and being pestered by a pack of dastardly mosquitoes that found their way in.

Fly, my electric powered mosquito swatter!

Goodnight people.

Umph.

How do I begin?

It was a long week.

7 days and all. 24 hours multiplied by 7, and between it, Time manages to cast Slow and I go through it with a lot of looking at the watch and tapping at my feet.

But it wasn’t so bad as to compare to the brief spell during college, when I would head out at 5 in the morn and return home short of midnight. Those days were lobotomy. I barely saw anyone at home, and I flittered around like mist to wind.

This time I had it easy. It was only one day of staying back at uni for assignments, and one night without sleeping for work (total: 2 hours and a half of sleep within 48 hours).

Sunday was the testing slab of steps leading to the peak of sore shoulders and pained muscles, which I will write about when I get my pics. Possibly tomorrow. Or the day after.

Provided I do not face another long week… which pretty much seems to be a certainty.

Goodnight people.