Some post that lacks a title

My secret desire is to spend my afternoons and nights in the library pouring through books with interesting titles, such as Surrealism, or reading stuff I don't even think about: The History of Glass Making. I always tell myself I would get down to borrowing cool stuff one day when I'm free and not writing a paper but I guess when I'm not writing a paper,it always seems that there are a lot of other stuff crying for my attention.

I wonder if life would be easier if I lived in a kampung climbing trees, killing chickens and having less choices in life: no MSN to commit to, no faithful checking of Facebook, small circle of friends I would risk my life for, a wholesome boy from across the street to marry because he would sweep me off my feet on his bicycle, stars to gaze at every night....No decisions to be made simply because there is no choice or easy deicions to make for the lack of choice. Then again, that is impossible because I would come to miss the lifestyle of a multitude of choices eventually, having been exposed to it.

Sigh. There is something adventurous and even romantic in this stage of life-- at the threshold of leaving school and pursuing passions or being a cog in the machine.

Bleah

If titles should capture the essence of what's to come, I'm sure this does. Banana Yoshimito and the gloomy weather go hand in hand and I’m left feeling that my thoughts are her thoughts even after I put the book down. That often happens to me—when I’m engrossed in a book, I easily take on the writer’s persona and start thinking, feeling, acting the way the persona does.

I’ve been on a frantic search for thesis topics and I chanced upon this while surfing around:

"Artists today think of everything they do as a work of art. It is important to forget about what you are doing - then a work of art may happen."

-Andrew Wyeth





and his paintings

Mad World

I like this video a lot. I feel that it was shot from the perspective of the old guy sitting up there watching the children, and there is a kind of sad quiet peace in that.

gentle scoops and harsh blows

"The sea's only gifts are harsh blows, and occasionally the chance to feel strong. Now, I don't know much about the sea but I do know that that's the way it is here. And I also know how important it is in life not necessarily to be strong but to feel strong, to measure yourself at least once, to find yourself at least once in the most ancient of human conditions, facing the blind, deaf stone alone with nothing to help you but your hands and your own head."

-Into the Wild

While waiting for the lift today, I wonder if people's experiences sharpen them so much that they become numb to emotions. I'm also incredibly tired tonight, more somber and less trigger happy than the previous. Watching throngs of people appear from the train station and walking to their Friday evening destination is therapeutic. I’m not sure why people often search for answers. Increasingly, I like discussions with no conclusions; I like it that it can be either this or that, or this and that. But I guess the appeal for me is that an intellectual stimulus doesn’t drain away as much energy as an emotional one.

better, better, i'm on fire.

My eyes feel tired, my legs are tired, I am tired, I might fall asleep just sitting here not moving. I’m unbelievably happy tonight, fatigue can kill me and I will die with a smile in my dreams. My emotions have been on a fluctuation this week but it has finally reached a kind of stability and I am at peace. I am happy everyday being in school, thinking about bureaucracy and democracy in class, having luncheons with Tam, being in the company of like-minded sociologists, getting surprise gifts from MK, etc, etc. Generally, I enjoy every moment of my day as if I were living my last. I don’t even know how this started or why this has been continuing. And the best thing about returning home after a long day is the warm shower, popping Royce chocolates, smelling the night breeze and listening to songs like Tom Baxter's Better.