(I’ve officially given up on Nanowrimo this year. I don’t think there’re other obvious reasons as to why; I was simply either too busy, too lazy or too uninspired. Eventually, whatever words I crammed felt too forced, and I decided that this is no way to write. Right now, this part of me is staring at me with his hands crossed, muttering and glaring and refusing to speak.



Sorry mate, this year just couldn’t be.)

****

Inure.

I think, yeah, there’re things I’ve inured into. People do. If they can’t, or don’t, they aren’t quite people. It’s just how we work.

It’s just that when people choose to voice the hardships they’re in (those that they, as we do, inured in, but will perpetually find time to complain about), they forget that the whole picture is a painting that they can only see a part of. And if they try to see the whole picture, it is to them a stretch of empty canvas. Then they make things up as they see fit.

I think I read somewhere that we draw our perceptions on what we think. In that sense, people who do so draw their perception on nothingness. Their brains are just as empty.

(And what’s all this midnight wool-gathering? Shouldn‘t I be asleep? Shouldn’t you?)

The skies these days are a beautiful, absolutely gorgeous tint of greyness. I’d drive to work or back or walk to the 7-Eleven under it and would just spend a few moments to stare.

I’d rather think that the skies are what that gives colour to the world.

Blue summer skies with thick, heavenly clouds give the world vibrancy; under it the winds sway the grass and the flowers stood with colours proud and bright and the people are just much more cheerful.

A grey, monochrome sky makes the world sombre. And sombreness is beauty sometimes.

(Like monochrome pictures, or monochrome movies, where darkness and light are easily differentiated and colour, if you’re looking for it, can only be found if you know where to see).

(Another round of midnight nonsensicality. I really should be asleep.)

Today’s hike took me to the top of a hill with red earth and low ferns. East was the stretch of hills and mountains that, for the first time, I found to have disappeared into the low greyness of the cloud. The mist, much lighter in shade, moved downwards and enveloped the hills like a deliberate embrace.

I’m not doing it justice; it was one of the most beautiful things I‘ve ever seen, so haunting in its grandeur.

There was a solitary eagle. An actual eagle. I watched it circle upwards and swooped until it merged with the darkness of the clouds.

It rained later, but I was already under a roof then. I wonder how the mountains looked in the rain. Maybe a sombre, forlorn shape in the distant. Greyness poured upon greyness.

But sombreness, yes, is beauty sometimes.

(Right, enough of this midnight wool-gathering. Time to sleep.)

(Goodnight people).