Update

Hi. I haven't been logging in as often as I used to, and I would almost like to apologize. But I won't, really, because although I have missed writing -  have missed Blogspot-blogging - I've been able to take a look at things. Grasp them, even. I like writing when the nights are cold and blustery and when I'm halfway through a book I can or can't finish. Then I abandon the almost accusatory glare of PERNICIOUS THINKING, white text that swallows me up when I can't swallow. I like the purpose, the potential, the essence of writing - of words - but I do not miss it when I leave it behind for a while.

But I thought it would be lovely to keep track of happenings. Currently, I am doing a most honorable job avoiding the camera that sits on my bedside table. It keeps 600+ photos of Singapore, which I gladly, happily, fell in love with. Singapore is small but lively, a fast-paced city and country. The escalators, especially ones in LRTs, flow up and down in stress. The hurry is contagious, the movement infectious. Sooner or later you begin to cope with the hushed up frenzy, and, travelling through the streets and mimicking the pace, you know you're pathetically sweating. But it's all good. Amidst the exhaustion is a flurry of excitement, and that's probably what you feel when out and about in somebody else's home. Or maybe that's how I entangled myself in Singaporian ice cream wedged in between two tenuous biscuits. I'll say it again - a flurry of excitement.

But I have to be honest that as of the moment I don't feel as smiley as I did back in Singapore and its boat rides. Recently I've been feeling quite down. In moments where my happiness shines through in shorts of laughter, I often find that my happiness has depended on other people's almost entirely. I madly search for reactions, gauge those, and I expect a level of gratification. And I'm thinking that maybe that's all I'm really depending on. Somebody else's opinions, frequently somebody's acceptance or rejection. Be hostile around me, I feel ostracized. Maybe I've lost the ground, and if I had then I should get it back. Find home, retain it, set it free only when nobody is looking. I don't feel liberation, the cause of this may or may not be by the remaining days of vacation left. But I am doubtful. Nonetheless, I feel terribly empty. How many times have I said this? Black and white. Decaying, almost to the point of unrecognizable monstrosity, reckless negligence. Am I a victim of unrelenting narcissism to the point that I can't care about the damage under my skin? I am not sure about narcissism, but I am sure about being shy, about anxiety, about the absence of composure and stable structure. About introspection. I feel militant, but I feel powerless. I might not greedy for weaponry, but I am greedy for might.

I don't know what I'm talking about anymore.