'All pasts are like poems; one can derive a thousand things, but not live in them' John Fowles

Thursday, December 23, 2004

Spill!

Ok wait. When I said 'today' in my previous post I meant Wed, 'cos it's past midnight when I posted. And the reason I'm posting again is because... I feel like posting again. (>_<) I think one can get seriously addicted to blogging, and yesterday in ST's copy of Digital Life a couple of articles were devoted to it. Blah blah blah... Ok I'm just digressing. HaiZ.

The main thing is, I've thought things through and realised that if I tried extricating myself from all the messy emotions I've conjured up, and try personating the role of spectator-in-the-sidelines watching my supposedly messed-up life flash by, things'd be much much better. Like, of course it works that way, dummy... you just think too much and get entangled in all sorts of agony. It's all in the mind and it's for you to believe what you want to.

And I'm trying hard to believe. In the way that maybe unrequitted love isn't as painful as it seems, because hey, at least you have a heart to grow fond of that someone, and at least your heart tells you unflinchingly to go for it, to have that courage to love. Even if your feelings go unreciprocated, you should rejoice because you were ever happy with the acquaintance of your special someone. It's like that star in the sky... you know you can't ever reach it but you can't help try (saw this apt quote from somewhere).

There. Feels good to just pour everything out like that. Never felt better.
One of these days (in the very near future), I'll succeed in believing.

And no, I'm not a loony by the way. Haha.

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