Plutôt · très · mort

Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us.
- Rainer Maria Rilke

You can't take your whole life to realise you've made a mistake. And once you do realise that, that you can change it.

"He's making her life sad. He's supposed to give her comfort and security, but he sounds like he's taking those from her and at the same time, depriving everyone else from her."

Shadowy and dark, shrouded in night skies
It is lonely here, eternally quiet other than the hum of the ceiling fan,
the occasional noise of the television.
It is no different from a house, shelter from the cold.
But is it really warm inside?

I have the freedom to choose!
Independence and self-sufficiency all rolled into one location.
What is an individual without a place to call home?
He is like an orphan, a displaced person in a foreign place
or simply Lost in himself.
He cannot find his soul, it is encased in his physical self
but he has never truly known himself.
What stories can he tell when he does not know his roots?

He asks where is my home.
I cannot answer. Home is where the heart is,
but I do not know where mine is.
I am as displaced as one without a home.
I am as worthless as one without an occupation.
I am as broken as one from a broken family.
Grey walls and whirring fans
Purple curtains and empty shelves
A cleared table: Empty, empty, empty.
This room is colder than anywhere else.
Heartless and mocking - but I sleep here.

Difficulty. Breaths are harder to take.
This room is a black hole.
I am as lost as a body without a soul.

There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under heaven:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Chris' msn PM: wo yao kai xin, ni neng bang wo ma?

L says (00:40):
 hahaha WO NENG BANG NI
L says (00:41):
 WO DAI NI QU PUB HAPPY
 LOL!!!!!!!! BU SHI WO GEN NI HAPPY. WO DAI NI QU ZAO BIE DE NU REN HAPPY
my hiding place says (00:41):
 hahahahaaahhhhahaha
 bu yao la, wo gay
L says (00:41):
 HAHAHAHAHA
 You told me guys don't tell girls what really go on in their minds
my hiding place says (00:43):
 haaahahahahaha

I think Jacq's an angel for helping everyone take pictures and for documenting memories for everyone - Thanks Jacq! Although graduation felt crappy due to my eye infection, but it marked the end of everything (other than A levels, now) which brings a smile of accomplishment in some sense already. Breathing easy - but I'll miss School for a while.

My 2nd hand black boots have walked further from my neighbourhood than they have ever gone.
I do not know how, I do not know why. I believe they didn't want me to lead them anymore.
Am I devastated? I am a consumer. What I buy that goes missing, should and can be replaced.
There is no permanence, there is no emotion, it is just a fad of commodification!
My 2nd hand black boots may be owned by another now. Where it has gone, I do not know, right?
Maybe they should be renamed to be "3rd handed" rather than 2nd. 
Every foot that enters that boot, will get more inexpensive, more aged and more poor.
My boots will tell you that they submit to the Law Of Diminishing Marginal Returns.
But I don't quite think this law is applicable here. We must however, always take into consideration how boots do not have brains. They do not think, and are just worn to accessorize and to glamourise. (But these black boots are not pretty.) Unfortunately, with every leader, with every owner, the boots will wear thin and soon be worth nothing. Buy your boots and lock them in a glass cabinet, they should not be worn but inspected daily. They can then look pretty and serve half their purpose. After all, it is safer there - They should be locked, just in case they walk further than they have ever gone.

But honestly, boots make poor investments. Can I live on boots? They cannot feed me. However, on a side-note, about my 2nd hand black boots; I found them in my neighbour's house.

I said, “Hey you, this is me.
The idealist inside that holds your love on a string,
wound and tied like kites to all your hopes and dreams
What a tangled mess that they’ve turned out to be
Take a breath, and ask yourself what matters.”

Days like masquerades, silent, hiding in the shadows,
Stripped of their disguise leave you haunted as you scatter
But you’re always on my mind
You’re always on my mind

When you feel lost out at sea,
surrounded by on equal sides the same routine,
Becoming what you swore you’d never be
Don’t distress, there’s a big bright place if you stay close to me
Take a breath, and I’ll show you what matters

Religious truth is, therefore, a species of practical knowledge. Like swimming, we cannot learn it in the abstract; we have to plunge into the pool and acquire the knack by dedicated practice. Religious doctrines are a product of ritual and ethical observance, and make no sense unless they are accompanied by such spiritual exercises as yoga, prayer, liturgy and a consistently compassionate lifestyle. Skilled practice in these disciplines can lead to intimations of the transcendence we call God, Nirvana, Brahman or Dao. Without such dedicated practice, these concepts remain incoherent, incredible and even absurd.
- Karen Armstrong

Short-circuited
Like water meeting power
plugs. It is over and done;
Packed up, shelved
Not for memory,
For Mistakes --
Not for Joy, for
distant Appreciation.
Thought is irrelevant.
We forget it is not
necessarily painful.
It is a voluntary exercise;
an unshackling of chains;
Sweet, sweet, Release.

***

Curtailed by the pressures of time