Strange dream

Some dreams are meant to be beautiful, making one doesn't want to have it ended. But mine was vivid, traumatizing, and ugly. Not everyday, but yesterday's.

It's weird how it began; it's true that nobody ever knows how a dream begins; or how you actually realize you're there. Something like in the Inception. Interestingly enough, I've tried experimenting on various aspects of dreams, to see if I could tell or realize the split second where my mind starts entering the dream world.
Failed.

And so it began with something like this. Filled with hatred and revenge. Fraud says that dream is the product of our unconscious mind. I believe it is; because any minor stuff we observe throughout the day will somehow appear big and major in the dream. And so the hatred feeling was one of them. Lugubriously it was quite a long dream, lasted the whole night. So it's agonizing to dwell into hatred for more than 8 hours. That's many cells to kill. I wonder if that's the reason why I woke up feeling so weak; millions of cells have died.

It started off with me quarelling with someone dear. Then I went to a flat to kill someone. Because that someone knew the conspiracy that was going on; and in my normal self I wouldn't kill out of this. It's crazy; but I did in my dream. The killing part was torturous, with the usual kind of scene one can imagine. Blood spilled out like crazy; the yelling; the stabbings; anger mixing with hatred yet feeling totally sorry for the victim. It went off so fast; and in within seconds the moment was gone. Quiet. And I became a criminal of murder.

So that feeling of guilt stayed on for the entire dream because I had to face innocent people, and blending in their lives carrying this 'crime' in me, totally objurgatory. A fake laughter to conceal the obvious guilt; a firm handshake to tighten the shaky fear; a longer stare to avoid looking away in tears; and moving away from someone dear to avoid being hurt again.

And suddenly my deceased friend spoke to me as though she's never dead. My high school friend; who died in automobile accident many years ago, appeared in my dream, and speaking to me on a phone. I've never seen her since she died in 2002, because she appeared in my dream to bid goodbye. This time; she came to console me. Bringing me out from the agonizing fear which nobody knew, but she did. Maybe that when we're both in the spiritual realm, spiritual beings are more sensitive towards inner self. She invited me over to a school play organized by her father. I said I couldn't; I did not tell her why. The truth was I tried hiding from the crime; and seeing the innocence in their eyes made me wanted to kill myself. In depression. Yes, I was very lugubrious throughout the whole dream. And so I turned the act of camouflaging with her into a disport. It hit her instantly that I was lying; I'd get caught by cops in the theater. Maybe faces of me being "WANTED" are already displayed in the public. I didn't know what took place in town; because I was hiding in my own place, hybernating in fear of being caught. Alone.

Two paragraphs long; every line took half an hour to play in the dream. To cut the whole thing short: I met up with my someone dear back in his house; embracing each other in realization that it's not my fault for the whole thing to happen. Not my fault?? But I've just killed someone. No. Not my fault.

Now that's weird.

Because in the end the victim was sent for a post-mortem. And they found out that the cause of death wasn't homicide; but it's caused by a poisonous cut from a piece of paper which she used while self defending. Makes sense? No.

Because dreams never make sense most of the time. At least to me. I never understood the message of the entire dream. Too many mixed emotions in it. It's the jumble feelings of my day turned into fantasies. I woke up; still feeling the ever fresh sheet I was sleeping on..feeling one side of my face soaked with saliva, and my hair smelling the same. Despite the foul smell, I smiled. Glad that it's over. Glad that it's just a dream.

Now then, a question popped:

How sure are we that now, at this moment, we're in reality and not dreaming? Isn't dreaming seems so realistic all the time?

Not the last

At least I wasn't the last to purchase Jonathan Franzen's book, "The Corrections".

It has dawned on me to whether buy something by him, after reading an intricately written mini biography about him in last month's Time magazine. Perfectly written with very few claws, the author had certainly described Franzen as someone whom I think as an elite writer, highly intellectual, yet aloof with self composure, only to himself what the whole writing business is all about.

I must admit, I admire him very much, although I personally don't actually buy books from unknown authors. Jonathan Franzen is not someone whom I might turn to if I had been bored with nothing else to read, simply because I had not known him. So thanks to Lev Grossman, he has illustrated Franzen well enough for me to purchase a copy today. Not his latest novel, although I was hoping to find "Freedom" in a second-hand bookstore, I was delighted enough to have found his second latest. "Freedom", although I have not read it, gives me an impression of Franzen where freedom is too diverse to be acknowledged, or simply just define. In "Freedom", Franzen actually gives readers a quizzical notion about freedom, the explicit definition, its pluralistic nature and yet how mind gripping one can be when dwelling into the real concept of contemporary hold of its meaning. Very much of Franzen when reading the review, much alike his pictures in the magazine where he upholds the ultimate image of a contemporary writer. So I must grab "Freedom", because Grossman has yet another page to reveal Franzen in it. Unlike his predecessors, Franzen contains very much the likelihood of soul wrenching modern day living, does not dwell much into historical facts (or maybe he does), and every word and idea his writing would be on the very present moment he writes it. Only imagination differs.

Currently I've been trying to read novels from different styles from very different periods, and what I realize is this: Charles Dickens may sound precedently innocent and naive, suiting younger readers than mind gripping philosphy like Aristotle and Plato, or even Homer; yet Jane Austen sounds pretty naive, only for the girls. I was totally wrong. Dickens is full of melodramas, soul wrenching epics that his language is somehow deep to comprehend at times; and Jane is marvelously attractive. I was hooked to Emma for the whole day, and similar to A Tales of Two Cities which I was supposed to read way earlier...two different styles, contradicting each other's form and attracts readers in a trajectorial manner. And so I wanted to purchase more classics, but since my phone supports softwares where I can download classics for free, I've had almost all I want to read.

It's very entertaining to have a bestselling author sitting next to me, although he's not much of a good looking writer but certainly he possesses the quality and style, which that's why I purchased his book at last. Not the last, I'm still hoping for "Freedom" to be freed.

Stop right there

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I should have started my first few books which I bought a few days ago.


What happened to my challenge?? I'm supposed to be reading and not surfing on Facebook relentlessly, supposed to be finishing the first book I chose the day I started the 100 books challenge. Now where is my initiative?


The one I'm currently reading, "Mozart's Ghost" seems like a moderately thick book and nevertheless, rather boring sometimes. It did not occur to me to be that dull when I first saw its cover, creative and clean. The content is quite draggy, not many words but getting to a point is quite taking a few pages.


I recently bought four more books, which one of them is "Eat, Love, Pray"! Regardless the sequence, the first few lines of the book were very readable and interesting. Depending on who's the reader, I personally find that it's going to be quite a self-discovery (although that's what they all brag about the book), not quoting upon what's reviewed, but it is readable and yet, page turning. I must admit that I've stopped reading quite a number of books after I found them totally boring and draggy. Too many words, too bombastic, and yet hardly getting to their highlights. Disappointing enough, that what the investment in reading is all about. Attractive covers and designs, beautiful captivating fonts, interesting summary plots...but when one reads till nowhere that interest takes place, I guess it's time to put it down, and journey to another. Very much of paper wastage, yes I agree, yet a reader cannot force oneself to finish an uninteresting book just because it costs so and so much. I once collected a leftover book by someone at my workplace, unclaimed, and seeing that the cover was somewhat sight capturing, it became my instant treasure. Well, I thought it was nice. Although the whole content of the book seems readable enough, yet I feel that the author never really captivated my heart while turning through the pages. Too draggy. I finally put it down after much sentimental values (after I discovered who the owner was lol) and returned it back. No hard feelings, I'm glad I did. Little wonder why "Educating Alice" never became a bestseller.

Now it's quite discriminating to say that non-bestsellers are less readable than bestsellers. No doubt bestsellers were often born from well acclaimed writers, people like Stephen King, Nora Roberts, Ken Follett, many loads more. But to say that their work is often list hitting, I disagree. I recently read Stephen King's "Under The Dome". Now I don't intend to review his latest book right here, but what I have to say is that it's not my type although not many of his works are alike Salem's Lot or Misery. Rather sci-fi, it all depends on readers' choice about being a bestseller. And I have many books which are yet page turning and not hitting the New York Bestselling List.

Alright enough babbling about collections, I'm rather intrigued and absent-minded about my quest here: To start my 100 books challenge since I've started collecting latest Newsweeks and reading through Mozart's Ghost. And since it's inside my list, I cannot forgo this book although I may say, it never would have hit the bestselling list simply because it is not interesting enough. Infinitesimal accounts of the book may make me smile, or hardly laugh, I somehow grew reluctantly to recommend this as a good read.

Still, four more books lie inside the brand new paper bag given along the purchase, I must, therefore, read and finish them as my quest. Believe me or not, one of them is FREAKONOMICSS!!~!! Second to the latest edition, this mind gripping selection has me drooled for months before reviewing its full contents (finally got it from a bargain shop) and is awesomely mind tuning. So i've got myself some of my favourites!

And what is there to wait???

Counting to 100!

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I've never challenged myself to read 100 books in a year, that's many! But it's freakin' awesome to have started something like this because not many people fancy reading nowadays, and cool gadgets like iriver story has come out (yeah I almost bought one) with almost 9000 books uploaded at once, that's totally amazing for a book lover like me.

My TBR(To-Be-Read) list has hit may be up to 200 but came to an unsuccessful attempt to complete them, too bad for a lover like me, who should have started and completed them years ago. Well, I procrastinated quite a bit when comes to reading, it shuckss to know that people have learnt to read War and Peace in just 20 minutes! That's awfully ground breaking record!

Inspiring enough, being a book parasite is cool after all, with the huge variety to choose from, I cannot wait but to pack my bag to the nearest bookstore. Things are going on inside my mind, and there are so many words to describe them.

Enough writing, if one cannot reach me, you know where I am!

Definitely...maybe..

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Book shopping is definitely in my list of To-do things today!

Maybe it's a great way to divert my mind from work, dealing with unnecessary stress...oh what the heck, I'm packing my bag and for once I love being a book nerd XOXOXOXO

Nerdy or not, somehow I believe being authentic to my own set of values is better than being clowned around seeping intoxicated betrayal fluids from some idiots at work. Books are definitely an awesome getaway.

Can't believe that using cellphone at work is banned. Not to say the least, backward minded like those who supported the rule should not be hired!

Now I should be getting ready, don't wanna miss dinner time!

Flung at work

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I shouldn't be messaging, well...at the wrong time.

It made me felt so low, because the day was sunny and happy, yes I WAS HAPPY when work started, with my bunch of friends and all new hot gossips..ahhh...love that!

But when my boss walked in and stopped me from messaging....yikes yeahhh....she said it's a WARNING. NO CELLPHONE DURING WORK. Excuse me??~??!

At that moment I felt a chill down my spine. Not momentous, but it reminded me of the past. Of the time when some lunatic nonsensical individuals barged in my life trying to take control. And not my mom who did, but some figures thought they had the authority to do so. It made me feel so sick. I wanna throw up.

And then, Adam Lambert's song came playing in my mind...."What do you want from me..?"

I never understood why.

Never want to understand why my boss was such a pain in her back. Never understood why I accepted with a nod.

And never understood why I never walked away. I should have.

Gettin' started

This morning was a bit late. Yeah the cars were jamming each other for brunch. And I woke up practising David Foster's 1988 Winter Games, gorgeous arrangement! (although he's not my era) but beautiful tempo and chords, that's what I love about this guy. He's a genius.
To name a few, David Foster founded a few divas who survive till today, their records and albums never fade. Celine Dion, Andrea Brocelli, Peter Cetera,  (I know, they're all too old for me) but people like Josh Groban, Charice, Michael Buble, Katherine McPhee, Blake Shelton (these people rock!) and another older icon, Brian McKnight. David Foster is still their songwriter, producer, and helped created Charice into the most talented girl in the world by Oprah Winfrey. I personally am so moved each time hearing "A Note to God".

Back to the Winter Games. I think that should be the most amazing and awesome Winter Olympic song I've ever heard. It all started with an amazing intro by his piano blended with powerful orchestra, the first note is the hook of the whole piece. One should listen and get what I mean here. Because of the beautiful orchestral arrangement, the song not only represents pride and glory of the winners, it brings you to the scene of the games (although I was barely schooling) it makes you feel and move along with the melody so you know how to bring the vibrancy alive. It's totally amazing how, at that time, David Foster could have written an awesome piece like this. Standing ovation and it's sold a multi-million copies at one time, I completely drool over learning this piece. Not so complicated, yet the intricacy of this piece is its feeling, its dynamic, its hypnotic touch that makes your mind travels back how it should be played. At that moment. It's soul wrenching.

While looking at the score now, it is no wonder that David Foster is the genius of the century. Contrary to John Williams, David Foster's style is more contemporary yet stylish. Yes, stylish. That's how I term how he looks and the way he plays. Delicate chords, off-beat tempos, all in the name of never out-of-date style.

Learning David Foster leads me to research more work of David Benoit (another highly profiled pianist) and more to jazz. It sucks sometimes to realize I'm no good in jazz, but if one keeps listening to fusions like the Rippingtons, Benoit's, some mainstreams like The European Jazz trio, Bill Evan, Shelly Berg's Trio, one may find that migrating from classical to jazz is worth the effort. I was once a classicist, love everything about Chopin, Mozart and Rachmaninoff. Yet still having a passion towards these people, new bloomers like David Foster captures my soul once again, like how Rachmaninoff's Concerto in C Minor moved me to tears.

David Foster moved me nearer to my piano. *wink*

That's how I like it. That's how I'm gettin' started.

Another book

Now there are a total of 5 books in my current reading list:




a) The 19th Wife
b) Mozart's Ghost
c) Midnight's Children
d) World Without End
e) The Know-It-All


Just after I've done with Niffenegger's Her Fearful Symmetry, the expectation was higher before I read it, and doomed after ending it. I did not skip a page; it was very heart wrenching and I could not put that book down until the last page, unexpectedly with a disappointing ending. While "The Time Traveler's Wife" was no.1 bestseller, it was said to be a highly original first novel won the largest advance San Francisco-based MacAdam/Cage had ever paid, and it was money well spent. Heart wrenching, funny, adventurous, romantic, poignant, and readable! Unlike this, "Fearful Symmetry" portrays a young historian who falls in love with his late lover's niece, who's much younger than him (he's 35 and she's 21). Dazzling with smart nerdy look, the historian characterized guilt and shame cannot be replaced with outwit smartness of his lover's ghost which reincarnated into the body of her niece to be with him at last. Confused? Elspeth, the ghost (and also the historian late lover), communicated with her living niece through some spiritual contact (Ouija board?), and thus making the book not an eerie ghost buster series but a rather ironic unpopular medium in between the life and death. Saying so, Elspeth discovered that her lover has fallen in love with her niece. Pathetically enough, her niece wanted to be apart from her own twin to live a fuller life with the historian. Being apart by the connotation of temporary death. But Elspeth made it a lil further. She made her niece died by abstracting her soul into a thin cup of air. That's it! That's the end of her niece's life and nothing was said about her after that. To cut it short, Elspeth went into her niece's dead body to be reincarnated; the historian found out that the soul is not the niece's but Elspeth's; Elspeth was alive again and became pregnant; the historian cannot forgive himself for the guilt and trap; and so, he parted with Elspeth.




It seems like I'm reviewing Niffenegger's works. No, it's just that now I've changed my style of reading from reading only a book to reading a few, one while waiting for the coffee, another while drying my hair; one inside my bag with me wherever I go; and maybe another during my lunch break. Page gripping as it seems, reading only a book at a time may sound normal but I find that a few books do no harm. In fact it does not stay put in my mind to finish that particular book I'm holding.


Now as these few books settle in their own place, it finally resulted that such fine writings occur by one's intuitive of being challenged, being broadened the liking towards more books, and finding that books afterall, is the best way to get away from any distaste of life.






My next quest? More books to come!

BLUE HIPPO

I left work like half an hour earlier. And something huge sneaking behind me. A blue hippo (yeah baby..that's what I'm calling you). Yikes can't believe it's you again....shuckzzzz.....

**************************************************
Little blue hippo comes everyday to collect its food;
Little blue hippo has no help but annoys;
Little blue hippo yelps but nobody hears;
Simply because blue hippo is not welcome.

Blue hippo has its favourites around;
Blue hippo only talks to someone;
Blue hippo sneaks around contrary to its size;
But blue hippo cannot stay hidden.

People pat blue hippo at the back;
Not because we adore little hippo;
But blue hippo won't move without a pat;
A pat which leaves skitz marks on our hands.

When I heard blue hippo making its way here;
I pretended I did not hear it coming;
But my ears and senses did not stop me there;
Alas but to no avail, hippo hits me at the back.

An hour before the clock strikes;
I packed everything inside my bag;
And blue hippo escaped earlier than it should;
Made me ran to the backdoor exit!

I made my way through safely;
Back on my comfort seat in my car;
Still thinkin how blue hippo would chase;
LOL...an earthquake is about to strike.

**************************************************
*sighHH* 


An early day tomorrow.


More HIPPOS to come!

proCrasTInaTION - pleaded not guilty!

When I was a kid, my sister said something which stays inside my head up till today. "Because of you procrastinating that's why you're going down."

Wow. Powerful.

But after awhile, I tend to forget that phrase and continue to waltz around doing the things I like to do, without much worries what lies ahead. Or maybe I don't earn the gift of delayed gratification.

Much to say about that, I'm glad to procrastinate about work tho'. I've never once thought about work the moment I step out from my workplace, let alone thinking about it when I'm inside my car or whereever I may be, nope, work does not exist. My world remains the beautiful features of Facebook, bloggings, my unread piles of books, my piano, the music that I've created which sometimes makes my husband falls asleep faster than he should, soup of the day, and my lovely chats with hubby which I miss the most. So, work has never existed. Not after the agonizing eight hours of my life being wasted on something which does not profit my happiness. Everyday.

So procrastination is not a crime after all. I delay my excitement about going to work, which I don't and never have felt before. And to work means to submit myself to a temporary death sentence which reincarnation takes place after eight hours being buried under the piles of unnecessary stress. Not to mention, the intoxication of nuisance political pollution that only dull lifeless political figures would create in the company. They think that is power and improvement. But for many of us down there, it's totally a wastage of brain cells. Death of brain cells being polluted; and digesting their values. Yikes. The undervalue of us young generation only triggers more irritations to the elder (perhaps more of the GenX and baby bloomers who think they rule), so it's wise to have a love-hate relationship at work, because loving those who support us at work (so not all are Hitlers) and hating those who are incompetent yet bossing around (unlike Hitlers, these people are more like governors who can't and won't protect the citizens). Sounds familar? Yesss....they walk among us.

And the verdict is...many of us are crime-free from work stress and politics. Why should we? There are ample of things to be done outside of our job, people who need us feeding them food when more than half of the world is starved to death. People who need a smile to make them feel they're worthy. People who think they are poor are actually rich with those around them who are willing to pull them out from poverty. And many more. So life is not all about work! Start getting out from the chair and look out the window. That is life. That is what made us today. Not the building. Not the values. But the certainty that when we step out from that building, we can still survive with our will and destiny for survival. Because I realize that life is too short to be saddened under the weather going to work. Don't be.

After all, who cares if you're a few minutes late to work because you're indulged in something more worthy?

Procrastination, for once, is not a death sentence. *wink wink wink*

Monday blues

It normally doesn't occur to me that Monday would be such devastating to start. Obnoxiously work gives me more headache than facing the wall, I kinda find talking to the screen myself is more entertaining.

I hate work!

But I know there are people who enjoy their jobs. Not me. But that's not the reason I'm on non-paid vacations, it's strictly familial issues and to divulge more, still personal. The reason I stared blankly at my uniform gave a spike of electric shots ran down my spine, I hardly believe my vacation is over and work starts tomorrow.

Let me brief about my job. It's nothing fancy. Call it whatever you want. But I have a decent living with my second job, which drives my soul crazy on its hypnotic sensation when pounding on the notes and yes, exactly, I'd rather pound than to jab, rather sprung high on chords than hitting floors with code-blues, those codes are real headaches that aspirins cannot solve. I hate codes, and when I retire; no more codes. You all get what I mean there.

I should be putting myself on high with ecstatic rhythms (yes that's a cure for all blues) and my workplace should better be free from non-sensible up-aired hymns that very few people would enjoy (I wonder who would). There is rhythm, but they're whistled. Not monotonously, but rather eerie when it sounds more like "pulling a bull up the tree" (Chinese saying). Now people get how horrible that sounds like. SO I guess it's wise never to air such music, such hymns, where very few, maybe the minority of listeners would enjoy.

Why would whistle tunes be so poignant? I guess my taste of being too classical has tuned more to dramatic, frenzy, improvised chords than laying the piece right in front of you, playing every note out of it. Boring. No. I may say that Classical music is never boring; but that'll be another topic which I'll ponder upon. Just that classical pieces do not blend into the jazz world. They are enemies. But would I rather say the classics have not reached the period where jazz began? Enemies or not, one may not know if Mozart, or Chopin, or Brahms, Liszt, Rachmaninoff, or Bach would venture into jazz as much addicted as they were towards their work. Musicians argue that Chopin may be the father of jazz. Then to Gershwin. I may be very wrong. The thin gray line which many musicians today argue upon the birth of jazz may just lie when Mozart had not tickle his brain enough to improvise certain chords. Again, I am no expert.

Siphoning from work to music and from arts to science, many gray areas are laid where we hardly understand why. And if Monday has not come, maybe I'll never write this after all. Let's just say that my workplace is filled with melancholics where soft new age music springs up high the air every morning, that will be a great treat for them. The company has no worries about the decrease of quality. And for non-melancholic like us, that spells disaster. So everybody takes Monday blues differently. Some may be energetic enough when the first alarm rings in the morning, can't wait to get up and shower. Sounds strange isn't it?

Coz I'm not like them. Maybe I should.

Maybe Mozart or Chopin would love jazz after all.

Hey where's the kid??

The road was dark, yeah that's how I recalled it back when I was younger (not too young) and standing back looking behind the mall at night. Apparently I felt very happy, thrilled after a fun night with some friends and now they're all gone, leaving me behind looking at the empty street.

Someone's yelling!

I went out to see, there's a kid on the street, playing with some friends. Must be him yelling. The voice came up again. Yelling. I looked around where it came from. Still feeling happy, I didn't want to spoil it by bossing kids around, so I just left them. And some ladies walking opposite the street chatting with each other....

Wait. Where was I?

I woke up. And I caught my hubby standing at the window enjoying some scenes down our block. I joined him and seems like a lady stood in front of a black car, yelling and blocking everyone from crossing the road. Ahhhh so that's her voice! The 'kid' yelling! Hahhaha

Apparently not so much of a kid anymore, but certainly I was awaken by my beautiful dream, somehow still feeling excited underneath...I wonder if I could dream the same dream when I close my eyes..it's only in my mind...I'll never forget how it feels like *wink*

Finally kicked in!

I thought I've lost him forever. With that look and unreturned messages, I thought my whole world had doomed like the apocalypse. And just the sound of a click at the door, I knew he's back.

I waited.

And seconds later I rushed out to greet him with a peck of kiss on his face! I've had him back! We smiled and laughed. I knew the agony was over.

At least, until now.

Not a bestseller

This book has hooked me for two days, not until I read the ending...I thought I had a good book on hand.

*sigh**

Why is it so hard to find a good book nowadays? It's either too costly or I never know where to find them. Help me!

Aside from cookin'

My kitchen looks out to the broad of rising sun to its dawn on the sea, and also it looks out where very seldom people may notice I'm there. Cutting vegetables. Cooking. In another word, I love my kitchen.

Now I may sound like I work full time at my kitchen, no. I'm just a part-time kitcheaneary busybody who happens to notice a neighbouring lady walking her dog passed my pavement and stopped for awhile...peeing! What a scene! And the dog took full pleasure to ease himself, while its owner looking very pleased that her dog has the ability to smell certain pavements to pee on. And it happens to be mine. Best thing ever happened, she did not know I was watching her, and there I stood, counting from one to fifteen, and the dog dripped his last drip and wagged his tail, going off to sniff another pavement. Now what? Poooing??

For no particular reason I would become a certain snob, but to bust outside, knowingly it stinks and without a thought I yelled out for her to clean the spot where the dog has peed! Ooohhh I've never been this mad to a neighbour, but she had crossed the border of being environmental friendly and it never dawned on her that I caught stains of urine previously but no sign of her. Now this is the time. She looked surprised! And looked longer....has she seen me? Nope. Not from her nearest glance. And then she took out a piece of tissue and slowly wiped out everything that her lovely dog has created. Not a word of sorry. And that's the meanest thing I've done so far ever since I've moved into the neighbourhood.

Now, my neighbour has sharpened her observation, and she looks up my kitchen each time she walks the dog. She discovered my hiding spot. And she knows my car.

I'm in deep shit.

Definitely a new seed

Just as I woke up this morning I realized that I needed something new, something refreshing. Something to write about.

I took a sip of coffee and had brunch, had a late night yesterday and took up the latest book I'm reading. And it all falls on me that reading alone is not enough, I need to start writing out how I feel.

By now I notice that the word 'pretentiously writing' has actually existed for those who has nothing to write but to write anyway to feel cool just to add in another blog. My friend's right, some people never have anything in particularly interesting to write. But she's right at saying that things are playing every now inside her brain, that triggers her to write. I got very upset and excited when that phrase came up, like it brings me back to my uni years where my lecturer gave us something boring for a research. Argghh hate that. And it's also exciting to know what kind of crap people can come up with.

It dawns on me that my 5th chapter is not yet done, I need something refreshing. Something actually mesmerizing to start my halfday. Another resolution..never sleep at 3am tonight.