Thursday, September 21, 2006

Twilight

Some people would rather stay away from the darkness or light entirely. They measure their existence by the scattered sunlight before it rises or after the day dies. It is constricting, but in such times, when either the world is awake or deep in slumber, these people see the brightest stars.

I, for one, tried to see the world during the magical blue hour. I tried to smell the flowers, since they were reported to smell the strongest during this time of day. Sadly, all I can smell is dry grass.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Fingernails

Fine time for me to remind myself why I need to cut my fingernails. Earlier I entered a cubicle in the men's comfort room when the cubicle door automatically bounced on the wooden pane with my fingers in between. Luckily my fingers were nimble to evade the door and avoid a minor injury. Unluckily my very long fingernail was chipped off, looking like it was chewed on. I honestly don't want to leave an impression that I have such an unhealthy habit, so tonight my fingernails will have to undergo some trimming.

Saturday, September 09, 2006

Wanderlusting in your Imagination

A friend of mine forwarded beautiful pictures of earthly places I wish I was born in: a pink umbrella left on a lovely wooden bridge, complemented by pink cherry trees in the background; a solitary citrus green tree in the middle of a lavender field; golden autumn leaves lining up a forgotten road; winter glazing the trees and the fields white; a glacier glowing in the darkness of the Arctic region; a row of windmills standing still beneath a late afternoon sky; a shaft of sun piercing through a canyon gulch; a field of yellow flowers on the foot of a snow-capped mountain range. My eyes remained on those pictures for half an hour. I look outside our office, and see glass monoliths drenched in afternoon thunderstorm, the lightning slicing through the velvet darkness of heavy clouds. We only pass this way once indeed.

Friday, September 01, 2006

Resurrection

Time to start anew.

Old things are not forgotten easily, specially for someone who's got an elephant memory. People stay. People go. People forget to stop by and say hello. People you know pass by as if you're someone new. They forget your name, pretend you're a stranger, and when you strike a conversation, their first sentence consist of the words "Hey! Don't I know you?" You wish you'd slap them silly, then find it unnecessary, and surrender to the awful general view: they're human just like you.

But they're not like you. Not with your elephant memory. And you remember everything they do. And they'll keep doing what they do - forgetting me and forgetting you. But you'll remember that too.