The Other Side

Kuro: Is it only on such a night that we would converse like this?

Shiro: Perhaps so. But I'd put the blame on you anyway.

Kuro: For what?

Shiro: Being an annoying person who refuses to show himself in the day, that's what.

Kuro: You know me. I can't do something like that.

Shiro: And what makes you think I can do the same for night? I'm bearing with you here, you know?

Kuro: I completely sincerely apologize for that, then.

Shiro: Thanks. It's been a great year, hasn't it?

Kuro: Indeed it has. To be able to meet you at last. Though I probably could have lived perfectly fine without ever meeting you at all.

Shiro: Indeed the same for me. But encounters always brighten up the life of anyone, do they not?

Kuro: Perhaps for you it does. Someone like me is more accustomed to solitary night.

Shiro: That's no nice. Kinda like you to ruin the fun in stuff, isn't it?

Kuro: And kinda like you to ruin the golden silence and beauty of it all, isn't it.

Shiro: It really has been annoying to see your side of things, you know that? Maybe I'm staring to turn into you as well. Emo freak.

Kuro: At least I know I won't be turning into one of your kind as well, huh. For once I'm rather thankful for something like that. Though I have to think pretty hard to think of anything worth being thankful for.

Shiro: Man. Hard to believe it, huh. Despite our complete oppositeness we still seem to gel so well with each other.

Kuro: Indeed. We have to thank her.

Shiro: She gave us the ability to see beyond the horizon. See the other side.

Kuro: See the other world which we'd never thought of, never seen before.

Shiro: I wonder what my life would be if I'd never met her, never met you? Would I still eternally remain the self that I had been? Would it have been a good life? Or would I have eternally been blind, like what you called me?

Kuro: At least I know what mine would have been like. One without illusion or ideal. The coldest truth, the sharpest knife, to carve away the farce in life. Nothing to stop me from seeing what is. But perhaps the pot calls the kettle black; perhaps I was just as blinded as you had been.

Shiro: In everything, joyful as it was, if I saw deep enough, I would see you.

Kuro: In everything, despaired as it as, if I saw deep enough, I would see you. Do I see you because you exist, or do you exist because I see you? I wonder at times.

Shiro: I see you in everything. Must you exist in everything? Was there - will there - ever anything that was devoid of you; of me; of either of us? I wonder too.

Kuro: But in the end, at the conclusion of the year, I realize that where I could only see with my eyes I could now see with yours. Perhaps that is worth being thankful for.

Shiro: Of course it is. And despite the thanks, there still lays the despair of having to see things from the other end.

Kuro: Indeed. but in the end, it has been a good year, for I was able to see you.

Shiro: It has been a good year.

Christmas

This year I finally learnt a lot of stuff.

I will never get used to not being able to spend Christmas with my extended family. It's honestly rather painful. It's a world apart from me. And I will never understand how people can spend Christmas bumming around at home. I guess it's my upbringing.

Carolling has been an important part of my life for these seasons as well. Having nothing to do with any choir performances in December is honestly rather painful (I didn't actually realize that I repeated words so I'll keep it as is) especially given the fact that I actually practised the song only to find out I would be in the Highlands during the performance date. Gosh.

Even though there are friends and people around whom I dislike and think are absolutely retarded at times, there're all the other times where they're awesome and hilarious and generally good buds to hang out with. That's why they're my friends. And that's why I love them in any case.

Even though sometimes life doesn't seem to give you what you want, it just means that you'd have to go find your way around not slacking on your ass and hoping it would come for you.

That sometimes you have to say 'yes' to doing something new. That bad results don't necessarily follow doing things out of the comfort zone, out of the status quo.

That I am truly a blessed child.

It has been a good Christmas, if only for one thing.

Thank you.

Cameron Highlands

And I have finally returned from the Cameron Highlands >_>

To be honest, it's like a land of tea and sceneries and nothing much apart from that. And summore got two bugger cousins (one in a very annoying sister-you'd-never-want-to-have manner and one in a disturbingly cute imouto-you-would-consider-having manner) who keep going kor kor this kor kor that. Only one of them says it nicely though. DAAAAH I think I shouldn't write such things. Ah well >_>

Personally though looking at them I wonder what the hell Sis' kids are gonna be like in the future. In fact, I don't even know what genders they're going to be. It could be twin boys (AAAAAH NOOO) or twin girls (Awesome but painful) or one of both sexes (ultimate in terms of awesomeness and probability)

I'm pretty glad for her, really. Though the thought of two babies running around in my house (my mom wants to take care of them and considering my sis and Sooi Yuan it's a very smart decision) sometime next year is a very scary thought. Imagine after NS they'll be like

Child: KOR KOR (climbs onto head)
Watashi: leave me alone >_> (puts child down)
Child: WAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH KOR KOR DAO MEEEEEEEEE (cries)
Mom: 治平啊让他玩啦
Watashi: >_>

Ok. You know what? Kids are scary stuff. I think.

An Amazing Class

Sometimes I wonder. The groups of people in years past. The things we talked about. The people whom I talked with. Their personalities. Their types. Their habits and behaviours. When you put them together, it seemed to gel. It seemed to fit nicely. Things didn't seem out of place. People hanged out with people whom they would have hanged out with. Birds of a feather flocked together. It was something that made sense.

Something about the groups of people in current times doesn't make sense. It's not that it doesn't gel. It's not that it doesn't fit nicely. It's not that things were out of place. It's not that people hanged out with people whom they wouldn't have been hanging out with.

For the most of it it made sense, yet something was amiss. Something didn't feel right. Perhaps it's the fact that certain aspects didn't feel natural. Yet it doesn't make sense - it's not as if I'm opposites with the world, nor as if I isolate myself from it. Am I just complaining on the fact that it could be better? I would eternally be complaining then, wouldn't I? I don't think I'm acting that way, at the very least.

Reminiscences too late? Perhaps. That seems more like me, at the very least.

--------------------------------------

"I realized that, all over again... that Beck was really an amazing band."
-- Beck, [A-E] subs

Utsukushii Tsuki

Sometimes, after all the hustle of life, all the moving and all the work (and perhaps for some all the slack), sometimes we just need to pull out some time from our lives and just stare up.

The moon's beautiful today. The kind that would make you just stop in your tracks.

The clear kind that stares back towards you. The kind that travellers go by.

The kind that help you think back. What was I doing on such a full moon? Who was I talking to? What did I say?

I wonder what I did then. On such a beautiful moon.

---------------------------------------

Full moon sways
Gently in the night of one fine day
On my way
Looking for a moment with my dear

Full moon waves
Slowly on the surface of the lake
You are there
Smiling in my arms for all those years

What a fool!
I don't know about tomorrow
What it's like to be
Ah~

- Moon on the Water, BECK

Life Up Till Now

1/3rd December over. To be honest, it's seemed like a waste here and there.

Still too much stuff unaccomplished. Let's start somewhere, shall we.

Mental States and all

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy but all fighting games and no kendo makes Herr a noob who does nothing but blindly attack and get scolded by Zau sensei.

There's been something I've been lacking in December. It's mental spirit. The psychological aspect of it all.

I've been moving without an aim. Idling off. I can't wake up in the morning and say to myself "This is what I'll do today". Not this year.

Halfway and I'm burnt out already? How terribly pathetic. Or maybe I've just lost sight temporarily. Aah, delusions.

It's a tad depressing when I think about it. But what am I to do? Had humans been powerful enough to fulfill their hopes and bear initiative to their thoughts the need for gods would be far less.

Dah. My words run dry while my thoughts remain aplenty.

Missing bloody grading

Year End Grading on 14/12/2008

All interested applicants for the above event to take note of the following:

- The venue is at Changi Japanese School Dojo.

- All taking grading to report from 7.30 to 8.00 am. To be ready by 8.15 am

- Please ensure that you comply with the requirements stated in the application form.

- Registration fees must be paid on application

- Please submit application form and fees to above named.

- Deadline for submission : 23rd Nov 2008 (1pm)

The registration form can be downloaded here.

Submit forms and payment to Janet Liew, SKC Excom or Joyce

----------------------------------------------------

OH MY GOD SABAH WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY LIFE

I think living this kind of life is going to be a hell lot tougher than really is. I need a calender to jot down every bloody detail next time. 'Specially without my damn handy one around anymore

GOD WHY

Sabahhhhh 2

K, time for Poring Hot Springs or Boring Hot Springs as they say. >_>

Rain was pretty damn heavy after climbing down the summit BUT I DIDN'T GET CAUGHT BY IT COZ I CAME DOWN EARLY oh yeah arjun we're awesome np. Koreans are scary as usual what with their HI LETS CHASE EACH OTHER DOWN THE ENTIRE TRAIL AND CLEAR THE WHOLE THING IN 2 HOURS acts. I swear there's something to that.

And at the dorms I finally get control of my large bag after putting at the National Parks area and take out my handphone to make one very important sms

"Hi asshole how was afa >_>"

And got a reply requiring the usage of an internetz so I ignored it and cursed the person who sent it. Meanwhile, I got another important sms (not just an sms, actually, more of a few but I'll sum it up)

"sorry your not in"

And cursed the person who send it. Then we went to dinner where we played random games amongst John Ezra Wes and I and my head said some very disturbing stuff

"Shoot PC SHAG RAYMOND (makes shagging motions)" and everyone was too traumatized by the acts of my head to realize that he just implied that he'd marry Noridah the ugly fatass. That's even greater juxtaposition right there than just the Mao n' Muthu pair. Damn.

Then go hotsprings which are sulphur and dark and overrated but I get to be alone in the hot springs and relak so all is good. And got bats here and there flying around and stuff lol.

Then sleep because sleep is good but waking up and seeing Clifford and Clement on the same bed just across mine is not. Cue Joshua's enthu "THIS IS GOOD WEATHER I WANT TO PITCH TENTS" and "ANY SCOUTS WHO ARE AWAKE GO PITCH TENTS" and Clement's "I WANT TO PITCH TENTS WHY DIDN'T YOU WAKE ME UP PRASAD" and so on. Cereal is good for breakfast but 2 day's worth of cereal and instant noodles getting eaten up in one breakfast is not.

Lunch is awesome coz cheap awesome food is always good. Getting ownt by Azmi is not, however >_> CIP is awesome slack for my group but not the other group as I heard the methodists talk about Prasad's potential future as a bangla worker harharhar meanwhile my group does raking and sweeping and picking up fence remains. Neil is a serial rakist harharhar. Oh and Basil is strong man np can break wood power2u np

"DIE RANDI DIE RANDI DIE RANDI"
"try something different man, it's quite bad doing that"
"DIE AZMI DIE AZMI DIE AZMI"

Then is slack and bridge coz bridge is awesome, yeah. Then dinner where we cook instant noodles for ourselves and everyone is busy wondering where the hell the instant noodles have gone and they realize to themselves THE BLOODY INDEPENDENTS MUST'VE DONE IT THEY MUST'VE ATE ALL THE INSTANT NOODLES WHEN THEY COOKED THEIR OWN FOOD FOR LUNCH ALL 4 OF THEM BLOODY ATE UP THE FOOD SUPPLY OF 34 PEOPLE yeah totally. >_>

Then go hotsprings again and slack around with Wesley. Hooooooooooooooooooooooooootspringssssssssssssssssss. >_>

Oh the way back to chalet we see a bunch of people playing around at the side. What are they doing? And I see Jasper taking photos with exposed shuttle time and everyone making messages with Ka Foo's Class 3 laser (Yes people that's Class 3 and as Ka Foo says can burn your eyes in 0.25s though personally I don't think commercially available lasers would do that, even if they needed a license. BUT GUNS ARE FINE AND ALL IN AMERICA SO) and credits go to Ka Foo's ever-so-blatant "I love Stacey" and "I love Jasmine" and on and on.

Then go chalet slack (the teachers booked the chalet instead because it was only 90 ringgit more expensive than the dorms, genius ain't that) and slack and slack and watch VIDEO ZONKERS oh god the flasher and the fat woman.

Then sleep in tent and hear Jasper's ultimate emo against Rodney. Rodney <3 Goats harharhar

Third day is moar cereal and Randi refuses to give his cereal because he's like MYYYYYYYYY CEREALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL RAWRRRRRRRRRR etc. Not really but exaggerations are always useful aren't they. Meanwhile at 9am got canopy walk where everyone's like AAAAHHHHHHHH MY LEGSSSSSSSSS THE HIKEEEEEEEEE IT'S KILLING MEEEEEEE AAAAHHHHHH etc. Then everyone heads for the waterfall where everyone has fun getting themselves wet and Jasper finds fish to play around with and he's like AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH THE FISHHHHHHHHHHH THEY TICKLEEEEEEEEEEEE and then we find a snake (Ka Foo, Neil, Jasper, Wesley, Clifford and I) and Ka Foo goes RAWR and catches the snake (no it's not poisonous)

Then is butterfly farm where we see butterflies flutterby and that's about it. Got some cool spider that's twohorned and stuff but that's about it. Then on the way back got manly ranger grab a hugeass poisonous snake and go WHACK WHACK WHACK and coiled the snake around his hand and ran off. Like whoa.

Lunch outside at awesome chinese cheapass restaurant where Jasper tells everyone about the manly ranger and everyone on my table stares at Clifford wait for Western Food because buying western food at a chinese restaurant is the way, totally yeah.

Moar CIP and this time it's actually tiring coz instead of handling leaves we're handling stones this time. gg human chain fail. God spading is terrible

Dinner is various cookings by various people in the chalet, from Teck Jan to J.Lee to Mr Yap and J. After that everyone listens to niggerap and gets their eyes burnt by Ka Foo walking around halfnaked in the chalet. Wearing jacket without wearing shirts is the new fashion

"KA FOO CAN YOU AT LEAST PUT ON A SHIRT"

More niggerap and more niggerap and Danny falls in love with OH HOT DAMN THIS IS MY JAM KEEP ME PARTYIN TILL THE A M

and Ezra and Arjun and Danny and I were like OH HOT DAMN THIS IS MY JAM and IN THE AYER AY AYER AYER AY AYER and so on. And everyone heads off to the campfire after watching 2 hours of music. Tok kok sing song play mahjong (except the last one since we don't actually have mahjong tiles and bridge is as good a substitute anyway) until the rain comes and we haveta go back to the chalet or face being drenched again (I think. memory a bit blur). Some point here we go and take our stuff from the tent coz it was completely drenched but I can't remember. Go Kseah's room and play random hokkien/indian/indonesian game then play pushup blackjack WHICH IS BLOODY RIGGED WTF WHY DO I DO 28 WHEN EVERYONE ELSE DOES 4 AND 6 but nvm. Sleep is good and sleep is desired so I sleep sometime after that. BUT BEFORE THAT I decide to go downstairs and Arjun and I decide that drinking something is important

BUT THERE IS NOTHING BUT MILK

so we look around for water in the fridge

BUT THERE IS NOTHING BUT MILK

and we decide to go and take some milk

BUT RANDI SAYS DON'T TAKE THE MILK

why we ask AND HE SAYS BECAUSE IT'S FOR TOMORROW'S CEREAL

WHICH WAS ALL EATEN UP AND WE'RE EATING OUT TOMORROW

BUT HE SAYS DON'T TAKE THE MILK ANYWAY

so we take the unopened carton of milk and we both drink half a carton

OH GOD THE NEXT DAY AAAAHHH THAT WAS SO TERRIBLE

Randi speaks good advice so don't drink the bloody milk if Randi says don't drink the milk damnit. I don't want to go through that diarrhoea again. >_>

Last day we strike our tent (which only Rodney does because he's imba and I've diarrhoea) and head for Radius hotel again yeahhhhhhhhh

Then we go yeahhhhhhhhh

And we're like yeahhhhhhhhh

But we all sleep on the bus coz we're all too bloody tired. >_>

So like the 5.3 gang gets to the back of the bus and Danny joins after that and what's the first thing we all do together

OH HOT DAMN THIS IS MY JAM KEEP ME PARTYIN' TILL THE A M

STICK MY HANDS IN THE AYER AY AYER AYER AY AYER

fuckyeah

Then we go play a hell lot of arcade and LAN and I go buy random stuff and we go for dinner and I have to fly back

God I just realized I left out a hell lot of details. Meh that goes for next time

A SECTION OF RANDI'S RANDOM ADVENTURES III WHOM WE ALL LOVE

Randi is feeling an ego boost from climbing Mount Kinabalu which the number 1 backstabber (his archnemesis) choked after climbing 570m in.

Everybody loves Randi

Sabahhhhh 1

Finally back from Sabah.

It's been amazingly wonderful at times, insanely painful at others, highly unproductive at some and very not-worth-it occasionally. But all in all it's been a great trip and an enjoyable one at that.

I sincerely hope certain things never become prominent, particularly of certain individuals and techniques >_>

Radius Hotel is an awesome place for cheap money. Centrepoint is a pretty good place to be.

Oh man, Malaysian arcades are so cheap. I don't get it. Why is a game of Pump it Up less than a quarter of the Singaporean price? Why do video games literally cost a quarter?

Well, at least thanks to that it was pretty awesome to play Fate/Unlimited Codes (Yeah wth Sabah got games that Singapore doesn't have, what's up with that) and on the topic of F/UC (yes I get that) why the hell is launching so impossible and why can't you airdash and why is the computer Berzerker so imba omg ._.

AND I STILL CAN'T PASS MR. LARPUS ON HARD WTH. sian

Ignoring the above arcade speech, the mountain climb was hard. Insanely hard. Mesilau isn't an easy route, but one heck of a scenic and beautiful one (at some points. Some are just painful) what with its waterfalls, rapids, mountainside views and what I personally regard as sky gardens. All said and done, even though it was a pain of a hike up to Laban Rata it was hella worth it. Pity I ain't got me a camera nor a facebook account so I ain't got the pics. =\

Summit climb however was a different case >_>. 8 deg. C at Laban Rata at 2.30am is not condusive weather for climbing up to the summit especially since the summit was 1km higher and probably 8deg colder. Figures, huh. In any case, Arjun's gloves are <3 though he couldn't climb up. You would've seen a wonderful view that I didn't, dude. =p

Bugger weather was so freezing at the summit top that I gave up waiting for sunrise and set down before that. Apparently it was quite a good view. Meh =\ Well, it was worse for others, of course. Ahem people who wore one layer of clothing to the top and wore shorts and didn't bring gloves and people who broke their slippers and people who broke their shoes and people who had to be brought down back to the summit checkpoint by porters ahemprasadahem.

I hate climbing uphill at 45 inclines with rope. Man, that was terrible. I also hate climbing downhill at 45 inclines with/out rope. Terrible as well.

After climbing down back to Laban Rata though we (arjun/wesley/john/teckjun/david) decided to head down asap and left around 9.50 (after much camwhoring on the generator in the highest sky garden). Thank god too, the rain started pretty soon after I reached the bottom checkpoint. So the only people who were dry were David, Arjun and I. Oh, and bloody independent koreans.

ON ANOTHER NOTE ABOUT THE KOREANS THEY ARE FREAKING SCARY AND FIT AND EVEN MORESO THAN J.LEE WTF. Begin Mesilau trail at 8am, and most people reach around 5-6pm. I reach around 4pm (Go me fastest non-scout non-Korean/independent dude muahaha) and the fit scouts (ie J.Lee, Shawn Nai, Basil (somehow), Clifford, etc) reach around 2.20pm AND BLOODY KOREANS REACH AT 1.40PM WTF. Oh god Koreans are scary people.

Yet another note on complaining and annoyingness WHAT IS UP WITH MESILAU WHY WAS IT CHOSEN WTH. Ok it was worth it in the end admittedly but curse you Azmi for choosing the route. AND CURSE YOU EVEN MORE FOR TURNING BACK 1KM INTO IT LOL. Good to know you care for people like Clement (Who gave up 500m in lolwut >_>)

A later post for the poring hot springs which we went to after climbing down the summit (I suppose very few people here play RO >_>).

Madness

Pycha: I know now why I am mad.

Achyp: What is it, Pycha? The mind? The soul?

Pycha: The ascent. It drives people to madness.

Apych: Indeed it does. Those striving for the top soon find themselves climbing mountains of corpses, crossing bridges of bones, and conquering bloodied heights.

Pyach: Then perhaps you should have said so to Achyp earlier.

Apych: I thought he'd have known.

Achyp: ...the ascent, indeed. It turns you to a mindless vessel. A body of knowledge and thought. A lesser being. The answering machine, the mechanical being.

Pyach: Isn't it ironic, Pycha? That those aiming for the top merely become tools for those below. Is it altruism? Is it parasitism?

Pycha: It is reality. It is not a unique situation, nor will it be. I have witnessed this before in others, have I not?

Pycha, Pyach, Achyp, Apych: Indeed I have.

Pycha: It comes then without saying that such will happen to me too.

Pyach: Yet isn't it queer? Something strikes you apart from those who succeed.

Apych: Yes, perhaps it is not the ascent but the self.

Achyp: The mind, the soul.

Pycha: The goals. The ideologies have corrupted them both. It has been a foolish ideal to uphold; a foolish oath to keep.

Achyp: But the hope, Pycha. Does it still exist?

Pyach: The hope is neither a means nor an end. What purpose does it serve?

Apych: None but to send the self further into the wilderness. I thought you'd have known.

Pyach: It was rhetoric.

Apych: And it was sarcasm.

Achyp: The goals, though. What went wrong there?

Pycha: The goals themselves were wrong. But how? I am not sure. The mindset? The dedication? Yes, the dedication. The need for the ascent. It has driven us to madness.

Pycha, Pyach, Achyp, Apych: Indeed it has.

Pycha: Do you call it a pity?

Apych: Perhaps you'd rather call it a pittance.

Pycha, Pyach, Achyp, Apych: A pittance, indeed.

Exams

Chinese tomorrow.
Jap listening on friday.
Jap written next week.
Chem theory in two weeks.
Sabah in two weeks.
Returning from Sabah on three weeks.
Chem practical (if at all) in three weeks.
JLPT in 5 weeks.
Kendo grading in 6.
Christmas in 7.

And sadly Solomon Grundy doesn't die yet.

Damn it writing is harder than ever.

Spore

SPOREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE DAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Gid you have brought my productivity to ruin

Damnit why the hell is hard mode actually difficult I swear I'm doing something wrong here >_>

And it doesn't help that I needed Godwin to help me handle the creator after a while because I was laughing too hard

WHY NOW AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH JY I swear I should've heeded your damn advice >_>

Life is going to be severely unproductive at this rate gg

Addendum: WHAT THE HELL IS AN EPIC MOO MOO AND WHY DOES IT STOMP ON ME WHEN I TRY TO SOCIALIZE WITH OTHER SPECIES CURSE YOUR KIND DAMNIT

The Conversation at The End of The World

I looked at the world around me. It was all a blur; I'd just woken up from what seemed a very deep sleep. Only when my eyes focused on the environment around me did I realize how different everything was.

"What happened?" I say to myself. It's hard to take all this in when you barely wake up, and that's ignoring the fact that neither coffee nor water were anywhere in sight.

"Well, let's just say a lot, shall we? Though I'm quite surprised you actually woke up." I turned to my right. There, a lady sat on a white plastic chair, drinking tea with an English tea set - the few visible remnants of any civilization in the midst of the ruin. It was amazing how someone like that who would have seemed normal usually now seemed so alien in the current environment.

Who was this person? Obviously she's been awake longer than I have, or she'd be freaked out too. The ruin extends for miles; the place here gives a far-reaching view of the entire landscape. Has she been taking care of me all this time? How long have I been asleep?

"What's going on?" Precisely what I was thinking. "...is what you're probably thinking right now, isn't it." Right as hell about that. "Well, it's a long story. One that's hard to begin, too. And personally? I'm too lazy to answer all your questions, though I imagine you'd really need to have every one of them heard out. Well, I guess I haven't a choice, have I? Go ahead and ask me anything."

"Well, firstly then. Who're you?"

"Lazy to answer. Next." I stared at her. "What? I don't feel like answering that right now. Ask me something else."

"Fine, then. What happened to this place?"

"You mean the world, actually. Well, it's as you see it - complete desolation. Terrible stuff, really. This is what happens when people seek too much, you get what I mean?" I didn't get a single thing out of that. Seeking?

"Not really."

"Figures, you've been asleep rather long. Now where do I start?" she thought to herself for a while. "Ah, I got the word," and sipped on her tea. "Idealism."

"Still don't get it."

"Knew it. Ever thought of a world government? The ideal of uniting everything under the sky? Eliminating transnational war as we currently know it? Wonderful ideals, aren't they? That's what those superpowers thought. Ideals, they sure are. You know, you should get up and come over here. It helps to walk around instead of just sitting over there in your bed, yeah? Come on, there's a spare chair for you. Not many sit on these nowadays." It was suprisingly hard to walk, despite the short distance. I sat down on the chair opposite hers and rested my elbows on the table.

"Anyway, as I was saying. Ideals are good, aren't they? But the execution was terrible. Countries started arguing on who would make the World Committee. Soon enough there was war all around the world. Some countries got a bit too into it, and I suppose that's the way the cookie crumbles, huh. Though you'd be hard pressed to find any nowadays." I just sat there for a while. It was quite a bit to take in suddenly. All I remember was that the world wasn't like this. Then, she looked me in the face and asked me something instead.

"Before I continue, by the way, I need to ask you something. Do you remember who you are? It really has been quite some time since you woke up, after all."

I didn't. Why? Now I had questions about myself in addition to questions about her. Perhaps I'd just taken it for granted that I would've known everything about myself and never considered that I'd have my self disappearing along with the world.

"...unfortunately I don't. I'm not sure why either. Amnesia? That's my best guess. All I remember right now is that the world was completely different." She sighed.

"Good enough. If it helps, I know your name is Aleister. Should be, at least. I can't guarantee anything. How about a cup of tea? Can't say that it's as good as before, but I doubt you would remember trivial things like the taste of English tea." I helped myself to a cup. You wouldn't have needed any memory to know that tea probably tasted better in the past. It would've came as a natural guess, at least that was what I thought drinking it. She seemed to have grown an acquired taste for it, though. But why did it taste familiar?

"I'll trust you have a good reason to say that. The tea's fine as it is. The taste feels familiar, though. Can't say why."

"Good to know; I was hoping you'd like it. Well, now that my question's been answered, do you have any other questions for me?"

I had to ask this one. "How long have you been watching over me?"

"Lazy to answer. Next." Not the most sociable lady, is she.

"You're not the most sociable lady, are you?" Yes, I suppose I do like speaking my thoughts.

"You find a sociable person in such a time. Do you have any idea how long it has been since I've made any conversation with another person? Bear with me for now if I do like to keep to myself a bit." If? "I'm sorry though. Keep talking. It's been so long. Sometimes I think I'd go mute." Admittedly, she had a point. She continued, "You know, Aleister, what does it feel like to be at the end of the world? How should a conversation in this age and era go? I don't know, Aleister. It's just been so long. How's the day? Fine weather, isn't it? Whatcha going to do later? Anything new?"

"Ok, cut it out, Miss. It's freaky. I don't get any of this."

"Yet you're so calm already. You were probably those kind of people who would've been calm in any kind of situation, don't you think?"

"Perhaps."

"The kind that would get the world destroyed." What?

"That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

"Perhaps. Do you want another cup of tea, Aleister? It's pretty good. Also, it's rather late right now, so if you don't feel like asking anything else or having any more tea I'll excuse myself and rest for the night. "

"I'll refrain from the tea, thank you very much. Could I ask one last question before you sleep, then?" Sure thing, she said. "What's your name? You don't need to tell me who you are exactly, but I at least need something to call you by, don't I?"

"...true." She looked at me for a while. "The name's Grace Mary Elizabeth. Just call me by any of them."

-------------------------------------------

This is going to be so insanely long. gg

The End of Y5

Karaoke over, Phys Oly over, results back, Dean's lists gone, focus camps avoided, school year's come and nearly gone, and life's continued once again.

Let's go through that slowly, shall we.

Karaoke was rather fun. There's this thing about standing on stage and performing. Quite funny, though. When I was standing up there and singing I suddenly realized that the auditorium was tiny. That there were so few people in comparison to my imagination. That ever getting nervous over such a small group of people was sheer folly on my part.

The bugger monitor though. The temptress >_> Made me look that way to look at lyrics that I'd memorized over and over again. Haiz >_>

It's quite scary how the show must go on. When I heard the clanging noise of metal behind me and a bunch of laughter in front of me, when I suddenly realized that the judge in the center was someone from church, when I looked at Dr. Ong with his 'like, whoa' face, and on and on. The show just keeps progressing.

Ah well, second is second and all's fine and over. Who out there will live and die with me? (terribad unpoetic translations ftl)

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Physics Olympiad, gosh that was terrible. Hui Jun says that he's probably the worst in our group. Personally I think that honour should go to Michael and I, >_> but then again the 3 of us are like some terribad trio or whatnot. It's not hard to convince us that we're terrible people at these kinda stuff >_>

Bad paper is bad zzz. 3/10 is terribad zzz. That's all there is to say zzz.

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Results have been gone through already. 38 without getting into any Dean's List is terribad. Curse you Levin Jarrel Johnny JK and anyone with Dean's List. CURSE YE ALL.

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There was supposed to be another story before this, but it's taking darn long to write. Bugger that too. It's hard to write these days.

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The school year doesn't feel like it's gone. It doesn't feel like it's ended properly. Maybe because it hasn't really ended, and in some senses that's true. But I can't really feel anything about Y5 coming by so quickly. It's just... it. That's all there was to it, and that's all there ever will be to it. There never was a closure, there never meant to have a closure, and there never will be a closure.

It's just all been a blur, running by the year so fast. Work, IAs, Olympiads, Exams, Kendo, Jap, Routines, Routines, Routines - that's all the year has been for me. Is it regretful? Somewhat. Was it inevitable? Who knows.

Sometimes it just feels like there's still so much to this year left to do. No doubt there're still stuff left to clear, but it's as if I'm in denial, always thinking that there's still more left. More, and more, and more. But the year'll end, just like that, and I'd have accomplished hardly anything.

A classmate once commented that it seemed as if I had everything in my life under control.

What a lie.

Sirty-Ate

"Sirty-ate-fiftee" but Russell Peters said thirty four. In a sense it's better.

Can't say I'm unhappy about my overall grades, but I'm still a perfectionist. A 5's a failure as any. That said, 7 for English and Econs are good. At least I'm relatively thankful for those. >_>

Ah well, shan't talk too much on this. I've been buggered around by others for being emo, so. >_>

Reprieve

It's a bit ironic that the main purpose of resting was to go to school to do EE and go for Physics/Chem Oly lessons. Well, it's not as if I've the money and energy to get out every day anyway.

The new anime season is pretty scary. Following 5 series already, potentially growing to 9 or even more. >_> It's as if all the good stuff decided to appear all at once. And too much of a good thing is still a bad thing. Ah well >_>

On another note, finding nice chinese songs has never been as painful a process as has ever been. >_> Listening to music shall eternally be a greater pleasure than singing it proceeding such experiences.

Haunted by the past

It just has to be such that when I make a statement saying that something wasn't nearly as painful as I originally had thought it out to be that I have to get proven wrong in annoying ways.

I dreamt of a bunch of stuff. I dreamt of the past, the present and the future. I woke up.

It's painful how your past can haunt your present and future.

A Story, A Riddle, A Tragedy.

The children gathered around the storyteller around the park bench - a kind-hearted man amongst a crowd of impressionable minds. The murmers and chatters of friends showing each other new toys their parents got for them, bugs they caught, flowers they picked, or the like. Some looked at the storyteller, his eyes following the words he wrote into a small pocket book. Some wondered what those words contained. His next story? The message to life? A great treasure beyond the horizon?

The light slap of pages closing upon each other, and the crowd instinctively turns to the leader, putting the pocket-book back where it belongs and ready to speak to the children.

"What story are you going to tell us today, Mr. Storyteller?" and the storyteller smiled to the children, who in turn smiled back to him.

"Today's a special day, kids. I'm going to tell more than just a story. Today's going to be... a riddle." a few kids looked around, confused, asking their friends what a 'riddle' was. Some stared blankly at the storyteller. But for the most of it, a general air of excitement lay in the air. Everyone wanted to hear a bit more about this 'riddle' of his.

And the storyteller began.

"There was once an old man who had close to everything. Everything he wanted, he had." The children gasped.

"Did he have a big house?" "Did he have lots of money?" "Did he have a huge swimming pool?" "Did he have his own pirate ship?" "Did he have a space station?" "Does he own the Empire State Building?"

"Well, maybe not the Empire State Building, but he still had close to everything, kids. Money, health, status, lots of cool stuff, you name it, he'll have most of it." the storyteller waited for the awe to die down a little before he continued.

"The maids always found him to be a cheerful man, smiling each and every day, and the gardeners always talked about how the flowers in his garden bloomed more beautifully than anywhere else, as if his happiness had spread over to them. His children, of course, were glad for their father - grandfather for some, of course - who wouldn't, if their father or grandfather were such a happy person?" the children seemed happy too, as if the old man's happiness had spread from the storyteller onto them as well.

"The old man's friends always came over and had a cup of tea every once in a while. They would talk for hours over various things, but the conversations would always end with the old man's hearty laughter and the same reply: Come again sometime soon, won't ya, old pal? And every now and then they would come over for a good chat or two." the kids listened in silence, half unable to comprehend what it would be like and half thinking to themselves how nice it was.

One of the children on the right raised his hands. "Mr. Storyteller!"

The storyteller looked at him and smiled. "Yes?"

"Do his friends smile a lot too?"

"Of course! You would smile too if you had such a wonderful friend at such an age, my boy." and the storyteller continued his story.

"But one day, the gardeners noticed that on the old man's morning walks throughout the garden he was no longer as lively as he usually was. The maids realized that the old man no longer had the radiant smile he used to bear had disappeared. And his friends felt that the old man no longer had his hearty laughter when talking to them, and his usual ending statement was longer as energetic as usual."

Another child, feeling concerned for the old man, raised up his hand. "What happened, Mr. Storyteller?" the kids looked up at the storyteller with expectant eyes, as if he were about to enlighten them immediately.

"Who knows? But the old man's grandchildren were worried for him. So one of them went up to the old man and asked him this: 'Old man, is there something that you're troubled by?' and the old man said back to them, 'Yes, my dears, I am troubled by something.'"

"What was he troubled by, Mr. Storyteller?" some kids were more eager than the storyteller had originally expected, and had to be hushed down lightly. He signalled to a pair of kids who were making more noise than usual to keep quiet, and continued his story.

"But the old man never told the kids what he was troubled by, so the kids were confused. What could the old man be troubled by? Was it that autumn was coming and the flowers would wilt? Was it that the house was no longer as clean as it was before? Was it that a friend of his had passed away? It could not have been any - he wasn't the kind to grow that sad over autumn, the house was as clean as ever, and the kids knew every friend of their grandfather and would've known immediately if any of them had moved on." the kids looked befuddled now. What could have kept the old man so troubled?

The storyteller smiled and continued. "So the children continued guessing as to what could have made the old man feel so sad. But no one ever came up with a good answer. so they decided to ask their parents instead. After all, the adults should know better, said the oldest of the kids, and the rest of his siblings and cousins followed. And the adults wondered what was wrong that could have made the old man feel so sad. They went to the old man, and asked, 'father, is there something wrong?', hoping he would give a different reply than with the children. But the old man said to them, 'No, my dears, there is nothing wrong.' Now both the children and the adults were confused. How could he be troubled if there were nothing wrong?" the kids looked just as troubled as the old man's grandchildren would have been, the storyteller thought to himself, and continued.

"The parents were better than their children, of course. They came up with a hypothesis as to why the old man was feeling so down." And now a few kids were raising their hands.

"Mr. Storyteller, what's a hypothesis?" Some others nodded in agreement, wanting to find out the meaning of that. The storyteller laughed, realizing his mistake.

"Haha, I'm sorry, everyone. It's kind of like guessing. Take it that way." a few hands went down, but a good number still had their hands up.

"So what was it that they guessed, Mr. Storyteller?"
"Is this the riddle, Mr. Storyteller?"
"Why was the old man so sad, Mr. Storyteller?"

"Well, I'll be getting to all of that soon, so sit back and relax." and after seeing the hands go down one by one, the storyteller continued with the story.

"The first thing they thought was, maybe it wasn't that the old man had something wrong in his life, but maybe it was that he was missing something from his life! It wasn't a problem of what he had that was bad, it was a problem of what he didn't have!" ...and a short pause to calm the gasps of the children who realized the genius in the parent's revelation.

"So the grandchildren's parents went to the old man and asked him, 'father, is there something missing in your life?' To which the old man replied, 'Yes there is, my dears'. And the parents knew they were on the right track. He was lacking something after all!" everyone looked excited. was the old man going to be happy once they find what he was missing in his life?

"But the problem only began from there. What could it have been that the old man was lacking? The parents were all confused as well. What do you kids think?"

"Maybe he didn't have enough money, Mr. Storyteller!" The storyteller just smiled back at him.

"And that was what one of the parents thought. But what could they have possibly done in that case? They were still stumped, so they thought to themselves: Perhaps there might be something else which was missing from his life." and another answer came from the audience.

"Maybe he didn't have enough friends, Mr. Storyteller!"

"And that was what another one of the parents thought. Maybe the old man wanted to have all his friends together instead of just talking to one or two of them. Maybe he wanted to see all his old friends, each and every single one of them. And then one of the grandchildren came up with a brilliant idea." the kids started to move closer, wanting to hear about the geniosity of the grandchild. The storyteller waited for a moment.

"Why not hold the largest, grandest, most majestic, most extravagant, most amazing and wonderful, most magnificent party for the old man? His birthday was coming up, and they had the money to pull off such a huge event. So on that day, the old man's children went and looked for every single person who was a friend of the old man. They brought forth the best food, the best drinks, and got the entire mansion pristine clean to the utmost degree for this very event."

One of the kids could barely control his excitement. "How was it, Mr. Storyteller? Was he happy in the end?"

"That comes soon, kid. The entire mansion was a wonderful place to be that night; after all, it was the biggest banquet in the whole town! The old man saw every friend of his come along just to celebrate his birthday. And he smiled. Everyone was happy, especially the children. The old man had finally smiled after a long time." the kids seemed happy, the storyteller thought to himself.

"But that night, after every guest had left the old man's mansion, one of the grandchildren heard the old man crying to himself at night. What went wrong? The child thought to himself. Did we make him sad by holding the party? Did we do something bad to him? Did something go wrong? What happened?" and the storyteller was sure every child there was thinking the exact same thing right then and there. He noticed that the children's faces seemed rather concerned, but he had to continue anyway.

"The child went into the old man's room and asked him directly. 'Grandpa, why are you crying? Did we do something wrong today?' and the old man smiled at the child, tears still flowing from his eyes."

"What did he say, Mr. Storyteller?"

"Well, the old man said back to the child, 'You didn't do anything wrong today, child. But as happy as I am today to see all my friends together, I realize even more that there is something that I no longer have.' The child was confused, of course. What was that something he didn't have? Was it money? Certainly not, he was as rich a man as many could only hope for. Was it friends? How could it be? Every last friend of his just came over to the mansion to celebrate today. Was it his health and well-being? He was well for someone his age, and he was pretty healthy anyway, the child thought. What do you think?" Silence from the crowd.

And no one figured out the riddle, the storyteller thought to himself, until someone raised her hand and asked.

"Mr. Storyteller, was love missing from his life?"

The storyteller chuckled to himself lightly, and replied "Perhaps it may be, lil' girl. Perhaps it may be. But the old man told the child to return to his room as he was going to sleep soon, and the child returned to his room, not understanding what it was that the old man was missing from his life." a slight murmur, before silence amongst the crowd. The storyteller waited for a moment of silence before he continued his story.

"The next day, the old man never woke up. The entire family was shocked to see him go so suddenly, especially after such a wonderful party. Everyone was in tears - the maids, the gardeners, the chefs, the butlers, the children, and the grandchildren. The child who had went into the old man's room the night before ran to the same room immediately, and in his tears wondered to himself what it was the old man was missing in his life right up till his last day." the children were resisting the urge to sob and cry, the storyteller noted. Perhaps I should wait? He thought. But the story must go on.

"Two days later, the funeral processing took place. The child stayed in his room while everyone went out for the wake - the funeral service, for those who don't know. And when the house was completely empty the child ran over to the old man's room again, and searched around. Perhaps there was a clue to what was missing, he thought, and searched high and low for anything that the old man left behind as a clue or a mark. And in the corner of the old man's treasured drawer the child found a piece of paper."

"What was on it, Mr. Storyteller? Tell us!" the storyteller waited for silence again before continuing.

"On that piece of paper were the following words:

I find myself with money, with friends, with welfare and health. Yet I find that with each passing day I have less and less of it to spare. Nothing I have can compare to the sadness I feel with each passing day for whatever I have left is slowly going away. I do not have much left" and many children raised up their hands.

"But what is it, Mr. Storyteller? I don't understand!" the rest nodded in unison.

"And that is the riddle to solve, everyone. The story has now come to a close." amidst complaints and queries the crowd slowly disappeared back as children returned back home after a long story.

In the empty, silent park, the storyteller took out his pocket-book again, and turned to the very front page. On that page lay a piece of yellowed, cracked piece of parchment with faded words on it. As the storyteller took out his pen he had a terrible cough, and covered his mouth so to make sure no one would notice. He looked at his right hand, now stained red, and stared at it for a while before he took his pen and wrote on the other side of the parchment.

"Neither do I."

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That was surprisingly long and surprisingly painless to write.

The End of 17th Exams

Man, this blog is dead.

Ah well.

Exams ending, Kendo beginner class ending, Jap lessons ending, it's been the first closures to an amazingly hectic year thus far. Plans for what's to come are of course already underway, though I can't deny that the melancholy that comes with certain phases in my life fading away into memories of the past bogs me down every now and then.

The exams have been pretty much the same ordeal they have been earlier on - trying to get into the dean's list for some, trying to avoid focus camp for others, and trying to avoid having to retain classes for one year for some. It's not always smooth sailing, of course, but I suppose I've done relatively fine. Of course it's more of a matter of whether I'll end up getting what I got for midyears again - always the jack and never the ace. Genius? What a mockery. There's never been anything in it. Magic never was magic - just a bunch of tricks and illusions. What genetic breed was there in it? A bunch of excuses for never seeing past the illusions is all that the praise will ever amount to.

The beginning of kendo as a senior is good, though personally I'd have preferred to be a beginner for longer. Well, let's just see how it turns out. I'm rather annoyed by the tournament and JLPT being on the same day though. Guess you really can't have both ends of the stick at once, huh.

It was a rather startling realization when Suresh sensei said that this was the first time him and Joyce ever headed a beginner class, considering Chan sensei's words about Suresh being a good sensei and all that. I guess there's always a first time for everyone, beginner or not, huh. I like the group, though. Hard work is good for the soul in any case.

Jap... lingering feelings, I guess. Things that could've been done better, things that could've been done, times that just don't get their full appreciation until everything's almost over and done with. It's a place like most other places one spends time with - a place of memories, fondness and scars. But more importantly, it's the first place of many that I'm going to have to part with eventually.

I wonder if every other place will feel like this.

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A story soon on a riddle last year given to a cross-missing star.

愛しているという声が　泣いているように聞こえた
心がいつか嘘を　つくのを　僕はどこかで知っていたの

Reality Check

Reality Check Cha-ching!

I am not nearly as capable at doing the many things I attempt as I occasionally believe myself to be. Bummer, but I really am over myself these days. Better work hard.

Recently I've found that there were 2 aspects of my life that I should seriously reconsider once again. And for all that's intended, there kind of was a third that I thought I might've been able to pull off. I take all that back.

It's interesting how much of an absolute shock it is when you hear it (from others or from yourself in one of the aspects), but you realize how true it all is. Yet people don't really find time to make the improvement, they just leave the room as it is. And apparently I've made that mistake a heck lotta times.

Well, there's still the bright side. Ironically, At least I'm still one step before Rex, huh.

Wtf

Of late my house (to be exact my computer table area) has had a mini-ant infestation. They appear every once in a while, though rarely totalling to 5 or more. Sometimes they crawl on my computer monitor and I get them off with help of my trusty index finger.

Today the same thing happened. I see an ant crawling across the monitor. I ready my finger.

I press.

The thing crawls.

I press again.

The thing crawls.

I press and drag the finger across the screen, tracing the ant's path.

The thing crawls. Goddamnit.

I wonder for a while. I press again.

It's crawling.

Then I realize what the heck was going on. The first thing that ran through my head?
WTF.

Thankfully the ant has crawled out from the inner LCD layer and back out into the world of the outside. It was quite scary thinking about what would happen.

The dead pixel puns were quite amusing, though.

Irony

The sheer amusement and irony in the conversations. One here on a particular manga.

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Z: I think the girl quite stupid though. "I'll only talk to you through emails"? Isn't it damn stupid?
W: Why? I don't see what's so strange about it.
Z: I dunno. I mean she did it so the guy could focus right. And like that how can the guy focus?
W: Uh, I don't exactly catch you, kinda...
Z: I mean like won't he be damn distracted? He would be thinking about her all the time wad.
W: ...
Z: And summore hor you think right wouldn't he like be damn sad.
W: ?
Z: Cos like he got all these expectations of being able to go out with her and all that right. Then nothing at all.
W: I guess... I dunno, lol.

Imperator Rex, The First Tale

This is the first tale of Imperator Rex. The second tale is in the blogpost below this.

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There was once a child of the name Imperator Rex. He was in all senses of the word a genius – an artist, a scholar, and a warrior. Pen, sword, flute; all instruments subject to his mastery.

Not to mean that he was all of these at once, of course. Yet there bore potentiality and a future wherever he was headed or whatever he would become. It was the kind of person he was. A swordsman more skilled than his peers, a student and disciple of the sages, and performer loved by the masses. Friends and acquaintances speculated as to the kind of future that he would move towards. Some said the professor and philosopher, some said the performer and singer (Not many, after all, played their voices and instruments as well as he) and some said the commander and knight. Anyone who ever asked him about the future and what he thought of it got a simple reply. “Who knows what the future holds? I believe whatever I do, I’ll do well in anyway.” A true remark in both sense of the word.

It wasn’t that long, however, before it would become obvious as to what would become of his future. The empire had been caught up in a series of unfortunate events, and was now bracing itself for wartime. Rex found himself conscripted for the war alongside many of the youths who were to take part in war defending the nation they were born in. Rex was quickly recognized as a person who was capable of handling a squad of his own, and soon it progressed from squad to phalanx, from phalanx to legion. And finally, in the mere span of 2 years, Rex was deemed to be more capable than anyone when it came to the massive task of taking care of the entire army. And so he was.

In his time in war, he realized that his performances were capable of cheering people up and raising morale – after all, who gets to hear any music in war save the war cries and the rhythmic beat and cling of shield upon sword? At this time he wrote poetry as well, and his writing (any that made it back to the empire) brought understanding and enlightenment to whoever managed to read them. Yet on the battlefield his talent for his sword, his ability to assess any situation on a macroscopic and microscopic level, and his charisma and innate leadership were really what shone through, and as it continued to shine upon him his other talents were slowly neglected. There was no place for the leader of a legion to play a flute or write his mind, merely a place to give a speech to inspire his man to continue onwards.

As leader of the army, though, Rex realized for the first time the true grasp of power he could have had with the talents he bore. Beyond mere consolance and inspiration for a small group of people, he was now working on a gigantic scale that no man could have possibly dreamed of prior. And with the realization that he was capable of truly great things came the expectation that one should be accomplishing such great things if he were capable of it, and finally, the desire to do such truly great things. And so he set out to conquer the lands. Before he set off on his journey and quest, though, he was entrusted with another duty. It came in the form of a book that was given to him by his parents.

In it, the following words were written:

"Let history mark your triumphs,
Let battles mark your trials;
But let this book remember,
Your Own Self - What You Are."

An otherwise empty book. So Imperator Rex set forth on his journey to conquer the lands.

Battles and wars were easily won, and armies of enemy empires found their numbers whittled to an insignificant crowd against the mighty legions of Imperator Rex.

At the eve before each battle he would look at the book and consider writing in his feelings on the war ahead, but advisors and generals always sought his word on upcoming battles, and his thoughts were eternally focused on the future; never on the present.

At the end of each battle came the euphoria, the joy, and the celebrations of a victory won, and Rex found himself drunk on victory – unable to think until the next day where he was sober, and then he would have other affairs to concern himself in.

A day came when imperator Rex had finally conquered the lands.

As he surveyed the lands which he had conquered, many thoughts raced through his mind, but one took precedence.

What now?

And the first thought was to begin and complete that book.

And so while the generals and warriors went around making merry, Imperator Rex sat in his room, deep in thought, considering as to the contents of his book, particularly the question of what he was. And after a while he concluded that he was Imperator Rex – The talented man; the scholar, warrior and musician. The man who rose to glory in war and proceeded to conquer the lands.

So Rex began to write. Yet words never found their way through the pen. As if the world of words had completely forsaken him, then pen never even so much as touched the surface of the book. Rex was confused. He was definitely capable of this – he’d done it in the past, he would be able to do it now. But as the hours went by Rex was becoming more and more aware that perhaps he was losing touch. Then a thought occurred in his head.

Immediately, Rex tried to hum one of the many familiar melodies that he had always loved to sing while in the city. Barely audible. He tried to sing, soft as possible to make sure no one outside knew about it. Completely terrible. Rex was flustered. He sang louder. It was not the voice of angels; it was the war cry of an almighty General.

He suddenly realized something was terribly wrong. He pondered and pondered, pacing around the room, and when he saw the book he immediately closed it and stored it amongst the chests of items he had brought.

That day, Rex realized that the path he had chosen had gone beyond the turning point, that the crossroads to the futures was no longer in sight. That in walking straight down the path of the destructor did he forget what it had been like to be a creator.

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I would have kept this in writing but it seems that the first part is necessary in order to understand the third. If I manage to write it out.

Imperator Rex, the Second Tale

An acquaintance at school once commented that the life I had led seemed so under my control. Not everyone knew what they were good at, not everyone knew what they liked, not everyone knew what they were passionate about.

I wonder.

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There was once a man who had conquered it all. A man who had everything within his grasp. Power, land, respect. The masses knew him as Imperator Rex.

Yet no man is without his incapabilities. And though it was debatable as to whether it could have been considered a weakness of Rex or not, there was something he found himself unable to do.

It was a book entrusted to him by his parents before he set off to conquer the lands. In that book, he was instructed to write down the trials and triumphs of his journey. And for his skill in conquering, he was terrible at recording.

He pondered for long nights as to what caused him to be unable to do this, of course. What could keep him from being able to do something as simple as writing? A lack of talent? No; he had been skilled at it before wartime. A lack of content? No; no conqueror had ever found himself lacking in stories to tell to the masses, and never will any find himself lacking in epics to recite if his parents were the audience. A lack of audience? Certainly not; history itself and the men of the future were to be the readers and analysts of his life!

He began to justify his incapability. A man who has so much to conquer could not possibly have time to focus and write when he has to care about the war tomorrow. And he was right. So he continued to conquer more and more.

Till one day he had nothing more to conquer, and as he surveyed the lands he realized that soon he would be on his way back to the capital to oversee and manage all the lands that he had taken control of. Slowly it began to dawn on him that it would soon become a necessity to complete writing at least something of value within the book.

Try and try again, he found that he was incapable of it. Why? He wondered. Why. And he found no answer. Rex asked his advisers, and they told him to drink a bit before he wrote, to relax and get into the mood. Yet as he drank he found his mind drifting further and further away from the pen, and found himself being less able to think, let alone write. He asked the scholars who followed to chronicle the war, and they told him to think about important moments during the war and write them down. Yet he found little to write about in such the rigid form of writing. Then he asked the warriors, who lamented that they too were incapable of such deeds, referring Imperator Rex instead to the scholars and advisers.

At nighttime, Rex found the son of one of his generals drawing on the sand, and was intrigued.

"Young one, what is that you draw on the sand?"
"I'm afraid, Your Excellency, that it is not something that even you can comprehend." Rex was amused, what with a child showing such innocent disrespect.
"And why would that be? I am king of the lands, young one. What could I not comprehend?"

The boy smiled at the king. "You cannot understand my mind, Your Excellency. For it is mine and mine alone." The king could not understand.
"What does your mind have to do with the drawings of the sand?" and the boy smiled again.
"The drawings are not of the sand, Your Excellency. They are of my world, and of my mind. Though I may be a child, Your Excellency, I can tell that you will not be able to understand my world. Simply because you are not like me." and Rex was even more intrigued. Perhaps the child could solve his mystery.

"And what is this that you are unlike the king of the lands in?" and the boy smiled at the sand.
"You are not a creator, my lord."

Rest at Last

Recently I can completely knock out and just fall asleep in the middle of the day.

It's definitely been a tiring week for me as far as sleep schedule goes, and a good break is always appreciated (Even if said break generally comprises the usage of labs for purposes of Pierre _._ Dumortier (Fill in the blanks and cancel out the nonblanks >_>)

It's a good end to a good term.

In the end, People are People

A thought occurred to me yesterday watching the Olympics Closing Ceremony. A realization, really.

That despite the grandness of it all, despite the majesty of it all, despite the fact that these are the people who volunteer to be part of this amazing performance and these are the athletes that represent the epitome of sports in the countries worldwide,

People still really love to stare in front of the camera and wave. And go crazy. And do all sorts of stuff. It's fascinating, really.

We all live our lives thinking that they're all beyond our reach, that they're some kind of superhuman people that we were not meant to be, that we are incapable of ever becoming like them.

And yet they're still so similar to us. See a camera and they go crazy. Wave and scream like a child finding a toy. We all forget that in their strive to be the epitome of humankind in sports, that they're fundamentally still part of humankind and still amongst us in other things.

It's a certain kind of human nature to want to distinguish yourself from people of radically differing lifestyles. You from your boss, him from his teacher, she from her mother-in-law. Yet there is still one factor that ties you and every other man and woman alive together: we're all human.

And though perhaps you may not be similar to the Olympian Athletes, I'm sure there's another way in which you can surpass them, and perhaps be your own Olympian in that sense too. Because people are people, and you're a person too.

I mean, just a day or two ago everyone in my cohort was discussing about what a good life was. I'm sure Olympics people consider their life a good one. We just have to find another.

More thoughts, really. Today was quite distracting. Or maybe something completely new.

Showmanship

I've somehow become increasingly aware that the kind of life I'm leading is becoming more and more diverse. Should I be the jester? The singer? The speaker? The scholar? The writer? The silent philosopher? The advocate and rebel? The disciplined kendoka? What about the otaku? The gamer? The social change?

Thankfully that's all the major identities I can take, save the kendoka. I'm still a very far way from having that integrated into my identity, for somewhat good reasons. But still, probably more than a number of people out there.

I know some people who were surprised by my other identities, just by virtue of the fact that I don't show it. I suppose to some people I really am just a mugger, but I'd still like to think there's at least some better identity for me than that.

In some sense, yesterday I gained some insight into myself. Yes, quite the rarity I admit. But I've understood what has really linked together the majority of my identities, the extremities in my emotions, and the extent of my actions together. And somehow, I've a teacher's casual remark to thank for that.

It was showmanship.

I remember someone standing up and clapping. I remember someone's comments about it being very good. I remember the applause for a Language Arts presentation. I remember the eyes seeing my way. I remember someone reminding me (and in doing so telling me not to take it for granted. The irony, huh?) that people didn't sleep in this. I remember someone's prayer for me. I remember someone's comment (a true one, at that) about how it was all so emo. I remember someone's comment that I was a good speaker.

And I don't think that's the thing. It's not someone being a good 'speaker' or not. It's about belief. In the panel discussions at Syinconnect 08', I was rather awed by one very interesting thing - the panel discussionists were all very amazing people, and I wanted to listen to the words of every single one of them. I don't deny it - some of them were bad speakers - but it was their ideas that shone through and true, that really made me want to listen, that made me believe.

The crowd applauded them all - for their beliefs, not their skill. Skill is something everyone can develop given the time. That's what someone said to me when I commented that the skill of speaking well was a talent. And it's true - but what is skill without belief? At the very fundamental level of a person's capability is his belief as to whether he can do well or not. And really, you can say that belief and confidence is something that can be developed in people as well, but who starts the process? I can't say for certain that this is universal. I would like to think it is, but psychological proof isn't really easy to provide.

But what's the link with showmanship?

There are some people who will compromise relationships, perceptions, impressions, and the like to send a message. Why do so? Simply because they believe in the message. They believe in their actions. They believe in their ideals. And even now I believe in mine. I can't say why. It's a weird feeling to be teased by others about something, yet hope that it's true, yet know that it very likely isn't so.

But who cares?

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It must be borne in mind that the tragedy of life doesn't lie in not reaching your goal.
The tragedy lies in having no goal to reach.

It is not a calamity to die with dreams unfulfilled.
But it is a calamity not to dream.

It is not a disaster to be unable to capture your ideal,
But it is a disaster to no ideal to capture.

It is not a disgrace not to reach the stars.
But it is a disgrace not to have stars to reach for.

Not failure, but low aim is a sin.
Dr Benjamin Elijah Mays
1894-1984

(Quote Courtesy of JX)

--------------------------------------------

Dreams need to exist. Belief needs to exist in order for dreams to exist. And you need to believe in order for belief to be present.

Olympics

遥远的东方有一条江,
它的名字就叫长江.
遥远的东方有一条河,
它的名字就叫黄河.
虽不曾看见长江美,
梦里常神游长江水.
虽不曾听见黄河壮,
澎湃汹涌在梦里.

古老的东方有一条龙,
它的名字就叫中国.
古老的东方有一群人,
他们全都是龙的传人.
巨龙脚底下我成长,
长成以后是龙的传人.
黑眼睛黑头发黄皮肤,
永永远远是龙的传人.

百年前宁静的一个夜,
巨变前夕的深夜里,
枪炮声敲碎了宁静夜.
四面楚歌是姑息的剑.
多少年炮声仍隆隆,
多少年又是多少年,
巨龙巨龙你擦亮眼
永永远远地擦亮眼,
巨龙巨龙你擦亮眼,

---------------------------------------------

永永远远是龙的传人.

Congrats to Singapore and the Woman's Table Tennis Team for their absolutely wonderful job in getting the silver.

A Tribute to a Friend

It's been somewhat of a refreshing week. A lot has been cleared, a lot has been seen and a lot has been understood.

I pray that a friend of mine finds his way out of the mess he's in - and just when it's about to unravel, too. Well, irregardless, I doubt he can go down from here, so it's all good.

I remember months and months back I talked about it with a friend of mine. I told him that it was impossible to improve due to the fact that it was characteristic of him to be like this - that given the state he was in it was impossible to ever change for the better.

Well, months come and go. And in a sense this is a tribute to a friend of mine who has found his way around at last. I don't think I can write a lot, but I suppose I'll try.

In no way a god, in no way a class above the rest, in no way a name that will be immortalized in histories past. And perhaps, like the rest of us, a small part in big things. But more importantly, also a big part in small things.

When he first started a blog, I had another conversation with a friend of mine. I knew it was going to be nothing but a testament to the fact that he was what he was and his blog would just reaffirm that identity. Who knew that with its revival it would end up as such? I respect the person for it.

It is determination and understanding that bring someone out of Nigredo. Help, though not required, can assist the process. But irregardless it is always a matter of celebration when someone manages to accomplish this.

I give my due respect to my friend who I believe will soon accomplish this. The future may very well be bright now.

Belief

I know some friends who suffer at this very point from certain bouts of insecurity and lack of trust. I know a friend who asks "Why so serious" (Thankfully it seems that he might stop doing that).

I know myself, while I'm at it.

I've seen people who fail to believe. People who fail to strive. People who take a suicidal attitude to life that eventually throws them out of the rat race even before the cheese has been set down. And I know that sure as hell I'm on that brink of landing right smack amongst the people there as well.

I thought that I was dying near the endstages of CSSP. I think at this current point that I'm quite wrong. It's always a wonder how much further down the stairway down to the River Styx can go, really.

But I can't. I have to keep going. Because the first fall indicates the last victory for me. I know the first true fall might be the end of me. And for my own sake I sure as hell need to believe that I haven't fallen yet. Not yet. Not until the point where I can fall and it won't matter in the least bit.

People go around thinking I'm smart. And I've never gotten first in anything. What part of what I do actually comes under talent? Nothing.

People go around thinking I can get away with whatever I want (Person actually, but nvm). Yet I don't actually do whatever I want since I know truth is I won't actually get away with it. And who cares about school? There're so many other places where getting away with whatever you want is infinitely superior. >_>

Person asks me what kind of stuff I've forgotten if I can remember so many stuff. Irony in that, huh.

But I'll tell you what I've forgotten. I've forgotten what it's like to fail. To truly hate yourself. Yes, there're times where I've done badly in recent times, times where I've screwed up quite a bit and times where I've hated myself a tad - but that's as far as it goes. I do badly as a sign that I will improve, I screw up as a sign that I will get better, and I hate myself the same way everyone does and get over it and improve myself. But that's not hate. That's love. A kind of love you have for yourself that you would want to make yourself better in the long run.

I've forgotten what it's like to truly hate yourself. To be in a state where you know that you can't go up from here, only downwards - never knowing how much further you have to drop before you turn around and head for the better at long last. To never have a simple sign that says "You've dropped a bit, now get up and continue climbing your way up".

In exchange, I've remembered what it was like to aim up. To work up. To feel that whatever you do has a meaning later on. The power of belief and the power of thought. Self-empowerment. A wonderful deal, some would conclude. I'm inclined to agree. But the price of this comes at such a great cost. The amount of time people spend. The kind of feelings that I generated for myself. The kind of identity forced upon you by your peers. Do you think you've done enough?

I'm sure a good number haven't.

Skeptics cry out "It's merely belief! How hard can it be?" and they're right. How hard can it be? Yet when you truly fall for the first time how hard is it to get up? How hard is it to get up the second time? Can you keep it up? Not everyone has such life experiences.

I'm scared at times. I'm doing all this, and I know that I can do all this. But I know that all of this can be completely undone, broken beyond repair, wrecked and untouchable. All by the smallest of things.

Please, not just yet.

How Terribly Unpatriotic

I've never felt so restrained in music despite trying to go as all out as possible.

Maybe it's the lack of actual said required national identity around myself in order to be able to sing with patriotism, but still.

The masses are required for such things. I'm sure many Chinese people recall the famous song <龙的传人> and how proud one is to be of oriental descent hearing the song, singing the song, being part of the song. People must be in sync before they can truly live out and experience the power of a song.

Perhaps we have become less akin to being able to appreciate the greater messages. Well, not the kind dished out over the PA system, but truly glorious messages brought forth by believers and songs. I know that I've been more sensitive to the crowd - and I'm relatively sure many of us have.

Compare that to potentially the greatest Olympic Games Opening Ceremony ever. That is what the masses are. That is what belief is. That is how a message is conveyed.

Every man down there, a volunteer. A person who made the choice to step up and join the group who wanted to show the world that China was not to be looked down on. A person who would go through 10 months of training just for that few hours of his life, potentially the greatest s/he'd have this decade. A person who made the country proud a few moments ago.

And you would find them to be volunteers, not forced people. Isn't that the wonder of it all? People who choose to take this responsibility. Completely amazing.

Definitely the cash factors into the whole thing as well. But the sheer massiveness of the human dancers/performers there really shows what a country should be like.

I'm sorry, I'm rather short of words right now. It was that amazing.

Disrespect, Continuation of Klow's Post

(A continuation of the post by Edna.)

I first have to openly admit that in general I'm inclined to bear zero respect for teachers. There is, regretfully, a tendency for a teacher to not know what he is supposed to teach - and in the case where he is, lack other essential skills to being a good teacher that causes said disrespect once again. "Teachers are people too", some say. Sure they are; teaching's a tough job too, the child's a tough crowd as any to please. Then the parents. Then your boss. We can all say "Go find a better job for you", but they're not really in it for the cash or whatnot, are they. Well, not always, at least. Most other jobs tend to pay better as far as I know. >_> If anyone were to help provide statistics, that'd be helpful.

Perhaps it was all a series of unfortunate circumstances. People think that a lecture on rather redundant stuff needs to be done, the expert is called in, finds out that s/he has to spend one whole hour just talking about this, and reluctantly takes the job, knowing that no one will listen. Staff aren't that stupid after all - some lectures work, and some just don't no matter how hard you try. And some are just plain disastrous.

I could probably sympathize with a person facing such a situation - not everyone likes to face the silent crowds even if they have to. But do I respect such a person?

I remember just last year the same comment was made by the same person - save that the party in question being disrespected against was a student - and of course the person next to me commented.

Why the hell do I respect a person if he talks about stuff that I take as already-known knowledge? Is there anything of value in listening? If not, isn't it disrespectful to force another party to listen to the same thing again?

Lectures need content and viewpoints to be interesting. Speakers are a plus-point. If there's nothing to it, isn't it just a valueless monologue? Why am I subjected to listening to such stuff? Don't I have something better to do with my time? Aren't there many things on the to-do list that are being pushed back due to this?

A bunch of people were let off early. Why? Because they 'respected' the lecturer in question? No! They're very likely just as guilty of it! Yet by virtue of age and social standing they are let go - as if it is a human right to avoid a scolding by a fellow colleague.

I respect the teacher in question for his trust towards the innocent to go free and for the rest to at least feel guilty enough to stay on their own. I sure don't feel guilty, but I know that in the context I was wrong and should at least face certain consequences. There were those who didn't give a damn about a person's trust and just moved off, but moral integrity is another side of the coin. One I suppose particular people don't have a damn about (Thankfully I can't think of any person in mind when I say this. I live with pretty good people I suppose)

But no. I have no respect for a person who disrespects me, out of intention or out of circumstance. At least this was circumstantial. The disrespect that some teachers give is ._.

Life in Seventeen

It's painful to do stuff that you know will have a 90% chance of causing you pain, 9% chance of doing nothing and a 1% chance of giving you happiness. And it's more of a 9.999% of nothing and a 0.001% of being happy.

I seriously have no idea how long I'll wait this time. Maybe a week. Maybe a month. Maybe a year.

Maybe it burnt halfway. Maybe it wasn't read. Maybe it was ignored. Maybe it took infinity to reply. Maybe the reply burnt halfway. Maybe the box is still closed, and the contents of the box torn to unreadable shreds by Schrodinger's pet.

Someone wanted me to talk about the past year yesterday. I declined. I just want to keep silent about it, whether it turns out for the worse or for the worst. Talking about such stuff isn't relief, it's just more annoyances. I'm not here for wallowing in pain. I'm here for moving on.

Who knows how long I wait before I know the next course of action to begin the 2nd year.

----------------------------------------------

My best present this year is a song. Fancy that. Sang relatively well, too.

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The Real Folk Blues　本当の悲しみが知りたいだけ
泥の河に浸かった人生も悪くはない、　一度きりで終わるなら

The beginning of seventeen

The seventeenth has come, and by the time it is gone I suspect I will be at least 5 older. Who knows how the events of next year will turn out to be?

Last August 1st hardly feels like yesterday, but the events of then foreshadow the long sequence of events that fall after, up till the actions of July 31st.

I try not to act it, but so much has changed with my 16th year. Well, of course it would - I can't really remember the very events of August anymore. But I sure as hell hope that I won't need to wake up again when September ends.

Sure, I'm not the only one who's changed. Some better, some worse. Some who develop a new status quo they can't stick with, and some who develop a new status quo they stick with a bit too well. I still don't really know where I stand in all of this.

It's interesting seeing the developments of people towards differing objects, places, cliques, areas and even people. I have to admit that from a very detached perspective the same applies to me.

Sometimes I worry. It's definitely normal to do so. And I'm one of those lucky ones who worries about what I'm not (well, according to my friends at least. I'm being very optimistic here) so life really isn't as bad for me as it is for some others. But then again, to say that this was the result I wanted isn't exactly correct. People certainly have their pitfalls and their strengths, but they all differ from person to person and they kind of even out (That's what I believe at least, on a practical level)

But who knows? I occasionally enter the realm where paranoia cannot be subdued by the firm anchors of friendship. What then? The paranoia runs loose, and some say that's how the cookie crumbles. Sucks to be in that situation, but I happen to head there every once in a while. Terrible place, really.

I wonder how the rest of the days will turn out? I wonder if I shall find in the future that the present me is once again stuck in a dream he will have to wake up from. I wonder how September will end.

Hell of an annoying lemon tree, if you ask me. But I suppose everyone stops here once in a while.

A dragon's leaving

A bad day for the college of the wyverns. And to leave on my birthday too!

What an utter irony. I wish the vice-principal well.

A Fall

Pycha: The joker cries in passion,
The jester damns his thoughts.
The crowd in their depression,
And all their work for naught.

The question in expression,
the way the thought was brought,
Now leaves a deep impression, in
the path the exile sought.

Now lies the situation
That he himself has wrought;
'sit falling or ascension?
Tomorrow shall report.

To be unable to help

Synd: And what is it instead that ails you this time, O Pycha? It seems to me that of late you have had more to ponder over than usual.

Pycha: Of course. The waltz is never a fast one, and dancers step three to every measure. The prologue, the conflict, the resolution. The hamartia, the peripeteia, and finally the exile. Will anagnorisis exist for the exiled? Will there be cartharsis for the audience? The saga is in its early stages, Synd, and much more will be in progress.

Synd: Then for what do you ail for, Pycha? What role could you possibly have in this great unfolding of a play but of the audience with its feelings of transient revelation and understanding? The audience will mourn for Othello as he stabs himself over Desdemona's dead body, but soon after the couple lay in eternal peace they shall wipe their tears in their exeunt. Surely you shall eventually act like them, will you not?

Pycha: It is indeed what role I will play in this very saga that has me pondering, Synd. What is my role in this world for a stage? Shall I be the Faustian king, lording over all who wish they were remotely similar? Shall I be Shylock, and claim that they too shall suffer as I have had in the past? Shall I sacrifice myself to help them, to love them, and never know the true feelings underlying those I help on their quests? Unlike Medea, I am no demigod, Synd, and I can exact no divine exit; I am confined to the world I exist in and the relationships I have with the others. But what I can do in my very context is to ponder, to hesitate, to wait. All while Denmark goes to Fortinbras.

Synd: Do you seriously have to consider your position in the saga unfolding before you? Does your trust for your peers end up so shallow? Is it impossible for you to ever see them on the same level as you? Others may very well regret that one like you would have such a personality; it matches in too well with their own stereotypes.

Pycha: It is a sad state of affairs to hang out with the rest currently while they discuss the fallen. Who shall fall? Who shall face exile? Who shall find themselves no longer in the kingdom for their sin of imperfection? Their questions head but in one direction. Yet it goes further - they live in sympathy for the exiled, for they know how it feels like to fall. What place have I there? To be stared at as the counterpoint? To be remarked against by "If only this man helped" and countless other overdue wishes and reminiscences?

Synd: Have you no sympathy for the fallen, then? Surely you know what it likes to be amongst the fallen. You have been there as many times as I have.

Pycha: Yet it is by virtue of my current state that I may not show my sympathy, is it not? I am no lord, I am merely the jester who knows more than he lets on, and mocks more than he can handle. Who finds magnanimousness in a jester, I ask you? In fact, I ask you another thing. What if it had been me instead amongst the exile?

Synd: By virtue of who you are I cannot accept that, Pycha. It is even beyond you to allow yourself to be in such a state as to be in risk of exile.

Pycha: Then for argument sake assume I go for higher ground; for greener pastures and brighter lands. What of them then? I tell you what I fear: That they bear no sympathy for me by virtue of the excuse that "This is what is good for him". The old lie, isn't it?

Synd: What sympathy would exist for a man reaching higher heights? Your argument is vain, Pycha.

Pycha: And my point uncaught by you. Does it matter if it's for the better? Might it not be for the better that the exiled learn their place? Yet it isn't so - it is the bonds that are shattered that are mourned for. The friendships broken. The time together discontinued. What then for me? Does reason suddenly turn its head to kick the emotional aspect away? Why do the teary eyes of sadness become the lifeless stares of judgment? Because it would be for the better? Hypocrisy, I tell you, that the same situation bear differing outcomes by virtue of the man. Shall I bring it further? What if I were indeed amongst the fallen? Will the same outcome occur as if I left in high flaming chariots across the sky to the sun as Medea did, the deus ex machina?

Synd: What are you talking about? These are all mere possibilities, Pycha. That they turn to reality is but a farce that Iago has cast upon you! Your mind plays tricks on you, Pycha. The world sees you the same way it sees everyone else - a part of it all.

Pycha: Then what role do I play, if not a necessary villain, Synd? Without a representation of motive, of humanity, of any aspect to myself, I am but a one-dimensioned character, am I not? Perhaps even a man who gets it all without even trying in the least bit! Perhaps then it is my duty to be the antagonist! To mock! To laugh! To never bleed! Perhaps then they might be driven to beat me, for otherwise I may very well be unable to help.

Understand, Synd. A new fear has been placed within me. One that has shown to me the fraility of my current self. You're right, Synd. Everything is a mere possibility. But if I were ever to be in that state for a good cause or not, there exists many possibilities as to what may happen. And now, I have to make sure that for the sake of never allowing the possibility of the many possibilities to exist, I must continue on this path. And if I am viewed as I am, I must never let anyone have the chance to see me as anything apart from what I have been perceived by them to be.

Synd: For your own sake I pray that this does not turn out the course of action.

Pycha: We pray with similar intentions.

----------------------------------------------------------

In retrospect, the very fact that I can write about Pycha is rather disturbing in itself.

Exam results

And so it would appear that I get a rather high score compared to the rest of my class. Which is rather annoying - I've been called a bastard by random classmates here and there. My score isn't that high in the first place when compared to whom I should be comparing to, but apparently I shouldn't be complaining in my class since there's no one to compare to in the first place.

It was the song that I heard around me that I realized was true - That we who conquered the small hills around us have yet to reach the summits of the mountains. And though we seemed to have conquered something, the insignificance of it all just showed to us that we were nothing. Those few points shows the difference between the sky and the ground.

From the songs I heard that it was us who had to keep our silence - except in the realm of the like. It is too much to admit to the rest that you saw yourself above them. But it has to be that way - the silence and the viewpoint. Without the viewpoint you would never have to prove yourself right, and without the silence you would never prove the necessity of the viewpoint - you would either be proven wrong and mocked at the burning stakes, or you would just be seen as the arrogant rant who was smart enough to mean what he said. The importance of the viewpoint is one to be kept in silence.

"You think you're stupid because you keep comparing yourself to him" and so it is that I will eternally be stupid until I best him. That is merely the facts speaking, unadulterated by the deliberately tinted glasses. How can it possibly be a sin to compare yourself to those above you? Your sin is that there are people above you in the first place; and it is merely responsibility that you at least try - in fact, I'd call it basic courtesy.

It isn't pride, if I have to put it this way. It's dissatisfaction. That I fail to be better. That I fail to triumph. That I fail to be amongst the headfirst in leading the crowds. That I have as much a right to my annoyance as everyone else to theirs.

I look at my results and wonder at times. From a practical viewpoint, I always stood by the idea that whatever a man has done in something, he has forsaken in another thing. It's the simple idea of an opportunity cost in an action. An alternative forgone.

How many things have I tossed aside in order to aim for the view at the top of the uphill climb?
Just to aim, in fact! Not even to gain! Who knows what else I'll toss aside by the time I gain it. Who knows if I'll even gain it! Who knows what I'll have tossed aside just to learn yet another time that conviction is no replacement for talent?

This blog is but one of the many things strewn in the wake of my vain ascent. My time, my thought, the person I sought, all for the heights that they come to naught.

Ok, that was actually more for deliberate nice-soundingness than actuality, but ah well.
But seriously, who knows? Can I truly call myself "me" the way I am? Have I finally put on a mask that fitted me too well? Might I soon forget what it has felt like to have a maskless face? The feelings of the past? Will I soon create a new identity to forge across the original?

Why even bother? What shall I say when I finally reach it? A one-liner? A long speech? Shall I thank my parents and friends and teachers for bringing me up to the place I longed for? Shall I warn my juniors to the perils and sacrifices to be made on the path? Or shall I just keep my silence against the crowds I may very well step on just to get there?

Who knows. But time is of the essence.