Leaving Shadows On Each Other's Walls.

The beauty of winter. Everything seems beautiful, pristine. Your joy and your smiles frozen in time. Even your sadness and melancholy takes on a wintry sheen it probably doesn't deserve. It's the stillness in the air, the dead calm. Broken only by the hustle and bustle of frantic last minute Christmas shopping. And even that panic has a benign ring to it, a joviality to the desperation. It's the air of expectation. An expectation of good. Of the advent of the new year. Of the coming of spring. The blooming of flowers. Of life to start anew.

Possibly one of the most pretentious things I've written. Think I was somewhere in Portsmouth/London when I did this cause it's one of the drafts in my phone, probably on a long bus ride somewhere. I do believe in the magic of winter though. Especially the past few days where it's been snowing in Exeter, and pretty substantial stuff as well!

I had to get out of the house one night, cup of tea in hand, just to enjoy the silence. Such a sense of peace and calm I think is unique to the soft whisper of snow brushing against your face, falling lightly on your head. (My scalp now, cause no hair.)

I had to get out of the house cause I was doing something incredibly... I'm not sure how to describe it. Awkward. Or embarrassing. Probably true, that. But also something I felt I had to do? I'm not sure really. Wasn't trying to analyze my actions at the time really, kinda incredulous that I actually did it in the end. Awkwardburdenmonkey is me. Hoo boy.

What was I hoping to achieve? I really can't say. I guess the best thing now is if it's clean forgot, so I'm not embarrassed for life. Actually, no. Was hoping for a reply to be honest, but guess it's pretty uncomfortable to, not that I know what reply I wanted to get anyways. Thanks? Reciprocation? Hahaha unlikely. Umm. At least hope it didn't come across creepy or anything, even though I probably did. Gee. Life sure is hard.. Hahah.

What was I thinking, what was I doing? I guess.. it was to be honest. Maybe not just honest, but real. Something I've been thinking about sometimes in the past week or so. I would say I'm an honest person. I guess it's impossible to say I never do, but as far as possible I don't lie. Half-truths, or concealing the full, I probably do here and there, but I like to think that lying is not something I do. And yet, there's a difference between being honest and being real. I might be honest, yes, but am I real?

I'm not sure. I guess this is yet another part of... not so much my current identity crisis, which I don't believe it is, but my personal identity dialogue. Quarter-life 21st birthday syndrome, possibly! What does being real to myself mean? I just watched Drive, Lars and the Real Girl, All the Real Girls and Blue Gate Crossing recently, which might or might not have affected my thoughts in some way. I guess they did, or not what's the point of movies? Rewatched Drive cause I thought it'd be better upon second viewing, and that definitely worked out. So good. Then Lars because of Ryan Gosling (mancrush.)

Lars asks, how do you know you've become a man? The reply was, when you take responsibility, when you start doing the right things, even when it hurts you to do so. (Probably wrong cause I'm just plucking from memory, but the gist of it is there.) And the Driver. That's kinda who I always imagined myself to be. The who I was probably trying to be in secondary school and JC. Quiet, almost emotionally distant, that kinda person. And I probably was, a little bit. And I might still be, a little bit. But the image I project now isn't like that at all. And I'm not sure right now which I'd rather be. They used to call it emo back in the day, some people actually said that I looked angry all the time, which I don't think I was haha.

But.. it felt me. At the time at least. Despite growing pangs and social awkwardness and painful self-consciousness, and the myriad other plights of the adolescent.. Now I'm not, I'm not sure why. Not that I don't feel the need to "emote", I guess I just don't do it in front of others. Instead now I'm more cheerful (arguably happier) and joke and make a fool of myself etc, which I wouldn't say feels unnatural, but I just wonder, what happened to the old me? Sometimes I'm glad I'm not the old me. In fact most of the time I am. But sometimes I wonder whether I've been forced to change, and whether it has been for the good.

Um yeah. This is actually pretty weird because I feel fine. I'm not feeling particularly down or anything, definitely not anywhere near where I've been before, in fact I'd say that right now I'm pretty happy. Happy things are happening in my life. I mean I did just potentially make a complete ass out of myself but it kind of feels right anyhow.

Why shouldn't we live in a world where we are able to say what we mean? Where we can say nice things to other people, strangers even, without worrying about being misintepreted, being creepy, looking like you have ulterior motives etc. If someone's made an impact on you, you should be able to tell her so. I don't know. The world's too interested in playing games and hiding behind facades and false pretenses (not sure if that makes sense or is a bad example of redundancy.. cause pretenses are false surely? horrible sidetrack here) to be truthful. Or telling the truth, saying what's really on your minds, in your hearts, has proved to be too painful over the course of human experience.

So we shrink and we shift and we shirk away from what we really want to say. We end up saying everything except for the things we truly mean. I think.. I don't want that. I don't want to be like that. But I can't help it sometimes, of course. Maybe it's become an integral part of the social structure somehow. You don't say what's really on your mind, and I won't too. That way we're both safe. What do? Idk, random thoughts one friday morning.

Sorry if this is going nowhere, I don't know what I'm trying to say either. Maybe being honest isn't worth it. Okay, that's probably not true. I mean being open, maybe. Who would wear their hearts on their sleeves now? The world's too cynical, too suspicious for that. I'm not sure if I want to try. I can be friendly and cheerful and a joke, but I'm not revealing anything about myself. My secrets I will keep, thank you. Bah not sure what I'm going on about now.

Haha the random and possibly depressing thoughts I have when I am pursuing a seemingly hopeless cause. Sigh. Don't feel particularly shabby though, and I'm not sure why. Never had much hope in the first place maybe. Think it's more just.. no regrets. I don't want to regret anything, and that means I'm doing/have done/will do incredibly stupid things, which in the past the fear of looking retarded has always stopped me from doing. But what's the harm really? To be incredibly stupid and a fool and yet happy. New aspiration, it seems. God I feel dumb.

Speaking of which I got back the essay which I did while in London before leaving for Amsterdam, which I thought was the trashest of trashcan essays but I got 60%. Still incredulous about that. Was hoping for best case 55, thinking I'd get 52 or sth. Not something to be proud of, to be sure, and I'm not trying to boast about my incredible intellect, cause I was dumb enough to leave it to the last minute anyways. In fact it's a possible 70%, a 1st that I've just missed out on, so no, I'm not proud at all. It's amazement at the favour that gives me a 60% which I don't deserve. Grace and favour shall follow me all of my days, He has promised (adapted).

Hanging out with exchange students really showed me how utterly useless I've been with my time. I suspect each of them has done more in their 4-6 months in UK/Europe than I have in my 1.5years. This will be rectified shortly. I just bought tickets to Les Mis and Matilda in London, as well as Cats in Edinburgh. Have a little overnight trip in mind to maybe Topsham, or Clevedon. Rubbish timetable though, pretty hard to plan around meh.

Temper Trap too good, I think I'm gonna buy their CD sometime soon, although with Spotify now... Nah physical copies are nice, and the artistes probably get more money that way too? Not sure, but zapport for artistes pls. Their self-titled album, The Temper Trap, 2gd4wrds. Rabbit Hole, Leaving The Heartbreak Hotel, The Trouble With Pain and of course Trembling Hands.

Also the Drive soundtrack, got me hook line and sinker. Such appropriate songs, A Real Hero and Under Your Spell. Also Nightcall of course, but that's old news now. Gotta reiterate once more what a darling Carey Mulligan is. I think I'm watching either An Education, In The Mood For Love or Lust, Caution next. Rewatch, I mean. Not sure why I've been rewatching stuff lately. Normally I don't do that cause I kinda feel like I'm not making progress, but IDK. Maybe it was watching Closer again when it popped up on TV, which was amazing. Really has got to be one of my favourite movies, so many incredible scenes.

My friend asked me why I liked movies like Closer and Blue Valentine, which I thought was a pretty funny question to ask. Cause those movies are pretty depressing. But you don't have to feel happy watching a movie to enjoy it, sometimes it's just so well done and so beautiful you can't help but fall in love with it, despite feeling hugely depressed. Just watched Stay too, which was quite hard to watch cause almost nothing happy happens AT ALL, I don't even think there was a single joke in the movie, and it was confusing for the large part. With that ending though, everything falls into place and you look back on the movie and think, okay, that was good. I must say that although it wasn't particularly enjoyable when I was actually viewing it, it was worth it in the end.

Did I ever mention Hayao Miyazaki the director of magic? Howl's Moving Castle, Spirited Away etc. I'm gonna watch all of his films if I can find them, I think. Really breathtaking stuff. Tried to watch Apple of My Eye (那些年) but it's not to be found on Funshion!! Upset. Probably online though, so I'll have to watch that soon. People keep making me feel like a loser for not watching it yet sigh. Even my malaysian malay flatmate has watched it.. Worst Chinese in World.

I just got this beautiful new... book? called Building Stories. It's not so much a book as art, really. Quite pleased with that. Also The Spy Who Came In From The Cold, The Liar, The Psychopath Test, Vernon God Little, Odd and the Frost Giants, Crash, and Law Revision books. Hahaha. Suddenly books. Didn't mean to obtain so many this year but bookcycle too tempting. How to lug them all back home like that. Happy problems for happy people.

Hmm. Belfast was nice. The Irish are incredibly warm and friendly, it's amazing. Really liked the city and the people there too. Unfortunately didn't manage to go to Giant's Causeway, which warrants another trip to Belfast I reckon, but Carrickfergus Castle was pretty neat. Biggest camwhoring ever too, which makes for such a different type of travel haha. Pretty fun! Did buy my furry wolfhat which is alarmingly warm, thankfully, as it was snowing something dreadful out there. It was all so Calvin and Hobbes! Wish I had a toboggan and a pet tiger, that's all I needed then and there..

Also went for a run yesterday, kinda guilt tripped into doing so. Just about an hour or so, and it was really good. Felt like dying halfway through, naturally, but I pulled through and made it home just in time to get my butt into the only lecture for the day. Was gut. Went downriver, ran around the quay, uphills downhills etc, not too bad for an acclimatization run. Which I'm gonna pretend that was, cause I refuse to believe I've become THAT SLOW *)&@&*#!. Although given the prodigious amounts of food I've been eating since December.. I think I'm averaging 2.5 plates of rice per meal. Winter what are you doing to me. I hibernate and eat. Duvet too good invention. In one extreme circumstance I woke up at 8.30am and catnapped till 1pm. That's 4.5 hours of dozing off and comfort sleep. Srsly that's disgusting. Never has something so bad felt so good. Winter is such a good season, when else do you have an excuse to indulge in all these excesses i.e. food and sleep and be able to justify it? To every naysayer my answer is: it's the cold lah. Love winter. Although autumn still remains my favourite season... hahaha.

And discovered that I can do pull ups off this bikeshed structure outside my place, so I don't run the risk of destroying forevermore my wardrobe. IPPT and $200 here I come. I just saw facebook and saw that Alt-J are playing Singapore tmr. ARE YOU SRS WITH ME RIGHT NOW. One of my new favourite bands. I think it's for Laneway or something. Which naturally, only happens when I'm away from Singapore. Always seems like all the good stuff happen at home when I'm away, although Sebastian the crab would probably tell me all about green seaweed yada-yada.. Who am I to complain after Florence and the xx and TNAF and now soon enough Les Mis and Matilda and Cats? Although I'd much rather prefer sweating it out in Fort Canning Park or something..... NUT. Winter for Winners. Sweat for Suckers.

Sometimes feel like I want to say something, like there's something important I really wish to convey, but I open my mouth and my words get in the way. Or my fingers, apparently. For someone who prides himself on them, words are alarmingly difficult to get right. Sometimes everything just comes out wrong, and sometimes the irretractability of words is insurmountable. What is there, then, left to do? Sometimes, there is nothing left to do. Sometimes, there is everything yet left to do.

We live, we love, and we make mistakes. Then we spend the rest of our lives making it up to the people we love, the people we never meant to hurt, the people we tried so hard not to hurt but ended up doing so anyway. And so we live our apologetic lives, everything we do yet more ways of making up for one thing or another, being nice because we weren't, caring cause we never did, listening cause we were busy talking, loving because we didn't.

Depressing stuff, sorry, but this thought did germinate from the last scene in Closer involving Julia Roberts and Clive Owens, which I found incredibly sad. Ho wells. I'm not actually depressed don't worry. Although I did just lose about 400 dota games in a row, which is... upsetting. I love dota but it hates me, apparently. Story of life :'(

I know love does to pain what sunshine does to rain. Chanced upon this I'm not sure how, sometime back in December. Not trying to be nerdy here but it makes even more sense because of the water cycle.... Hahaha sry dunno how I made that leap. Take away the pain, fall in love again (did not even try to rhyme here.. subconscious too strong), fall out of love, here comes the rain. Rinse & repeat. Ad nauseam, ad mortem. Haha just had to throw in some latin there to look clever. But still. It's a natural cycle. But some people are scared even to try. And without rain there can be no rainbows (probably a fallacious argument but I don't care I am lawyer not scientist) unless by some weird chance you happen to have a prism sequestered (what a nice word) away somewhere.. So maybe it's time to lose that fear. Time to fall in love.

 Aha I know I'm reaching the end of a post/have nothing to say when I start using parenthesis and inserting incredibly retarded remarks in them, as well as using words like parenthesis.. and fallacious and sequestered. A Great Pretender. Pretentious I am not, cause pretenders must be shot. Death to pretentionismers! Okay this is a downward spiral. I shall end here, then. Must say once again, however, what a fool I am feeling right now. Not sure I've ever done anything so silly in life, but oh wells. No regrets. I am so embarrassed. GOOD BYES FROM THE AWKWARDBURDENMONKEY.

All Made Up.

Hmm. I didn't mean to have an introspective this early in the year, but it appears like I might. I'm not sure why I've been thinking this all day, reflecting on what stories are, what they do, as well as what makes up me. Or rather, what makes a person? Definitely a continuation of some of the thoughts in my travel diary.

What do I like so much about having a travel diary? Your thoughts depend on your state of mind, and your state of mind depends on the state your body finds itself in. Every passing landscape, every new city, forces you into new thoughts. Traveling forces you, encourages you, inspires you to thoughts you never knew you could or would think. I'll explain.

This might even just end up as my travel post, because it is impossible to take my thoughts out of their contexts, or to not give an explanation of the circumstance I found myself in. I started off in Amsterdam. The Anne Frank House was probably one of the best things I could have began my trip with. It immediately made me reflect on the value of life, of freedom, of being so free to do all the things I want to do, of being able to breathe and live and laugh loudly without fear. Not being cooped up in a tiny house in the fear of discovery and deportation, not from the age of 13. Not having a diary as the only means of escape from a life that offered little in the way of happiness and joy. We have so much but we don't see it. We focus only on our lack and on how much happier we would be if we had more, instead of finding happiness in the things we already have.

I complain about life and whine and feel depressed occasionally and somedays just want to curl up and sleep the days away. But I have the liberty of getting up and getting out, of breathing in the fresh air and the flowers and the fields, and the only fears I have come from within, not without. It puts things into perspective. Should we not relish life so, so much more?

Scattered across Europe are monuments to the Wars fought on it. It is easy to overlook them, to pass each and every one of them and feel nothing but indifference. Perhaps it is because I am a soldier, but I cannot. Every monument, every pillar is another reminder of the lives lost in defending something. An ideal, freedom, family, friends, the Fatherland. The horrifying effects of war on its victims, not just the soldiers but everyone, who's lost a father or a husband, a child to starvation, whatever. War makes victims of us all. I'm a soldier, that doesn't mean I like war. Is violence the means to an end, I don't know. Is the military the perfect solution, or any solution at all? It is not perfect, but it does not need to be. But it's like a hostage situation, if you will. Who is going to be the first to lay down their weapons? As long as this dialogue never happens, there will be a need for the military. In an ideal world, I'd be out of a job. But the world is not an ideal one, and a less than ideal solution exists to protect it.

Didn't mean to talk about war or the military like that, but I guess it's been prancing around the back of my head for a while now. Or maybe it was watching Les Mis that conjured up those thoughts with those revolutionaries and all. Most amazing movie, btw, I've not watched the Hobbit or anything but I'm not gonna reserve my judgment, best movie of 2012/2013, it is going to sweep the awards really. Must-watch.

Traveling through Germany and it's hard to imagine what is must have been like 70 years ago. Ravaged by war, its young men off to fight a war they did not realize would cost them so much, its women aiding in the war effort however they could. A country that had been geared for war and was in the middle of one. Not just war. Never are we to forget the atrocities committed under the Third Reich.

The train winds through peaceful looking towns and villages, green fields with a fresh coating of frost on them, and you wonder: What is in the hearts of men?

And then I arrived in Berlin. The Holocaust Memorial hit me. I wandered through it as slow as I could, as I was part of a tour. As a soldier, I think its important to remember what the consequences of our actions can be.

Makes me wonder, what would I have done had I been a young officer in the Wehrmacht 70 years ago? It's easy to say I would not have gone ahead, but if that is so how can nobody in the armed forces have raised any objections at all? It's hard to say. Which is pretty scary.

We visited the Topography of Terror, which was a museum about the SS activity in Nazi Germany, and it was shocking to see how much of it was done "with the approval or assistance of the Wehrmacht." How much of it boiled down to fear of reprisal and how much of it to just obeying orders, to the point where it becomes justification all on its own and thereafter the fear of being found out? Who can say now?

Unfortunately I did not manage to visit the Dachau concentration camp. Hopefully one day I will, as well as Auschwitz. I really do think it's important that people remember these things. And perhaps especially people like me, those of us who for whatever motivations decided to make a career out of violence. I'm not saying we are violent, and yet if violence did not exist neither would we, or at least not our chosen vocations and professions. I would argue we are defending against violence, that we are a bulwark against violent actors on the international stage, but I cannot argue that our means are not violent ones. It is fact. It might sound rather harsh and damning but it is something that all military men must reconcile themselves with sooner or later. We might not lead lives of violence, and yet we earn our keep through the promise of violence, in training for possibly, one day executing deadly violence. Even as we fervently hope that that day never comes.

That's kind of the weird situation soldiers find themselves in. We train and train, but always in the hope that we never have to truly practice what it is we have spent our lives perfecting. Warfare. Does that make what we do pointless? Of course I would say no. We're insurance, possibly, and yet more. Lives are and will be affected by my actions, my words. Be they NSFs, or regulars, officers have the power to really affect lives. I find it useful to remind myself of that from time to time, lest I one day turn out completely selfish and have no regard to the people around me or under me.

Haha okay I think that's it with the reflections on my career path, hadn't meant to talk about that in such detail actually. Let's talk about stories, or fiction instead.

What is the point of fiction? Or stories? Or Art? "All the Arts … imitate as far as they can the one great truth that all can see," said Virginia Woolf. Is art the reflection and imitation of life? Is it not instead to transcend reality, cause what is fiction doing trucking around with reality? Reality sucks and fiction shouldn't, cause we want to believe in the hero who falls deeply in love, who saves the day. That at the end of every story, everything is all right. That's what we want to believe, don't we? What then the point of fiction which shows us that reality, it invariably fails us. Inevitably, people fail us, and we fail the people around us.

I'm just gonna ramble because I clearly don't have an answer. I'm not sure anyone does. I do enjoy a classic tale where against all odds the hero triumphs. I think there's always room in our lives for victories and guaranteed happiness, even if it is only through a character in a movie/book. But one of the tips the author Kurt Vonnegut has on writing is: Be a Sadist. Only then can you tell what your characters are made of. And if you're drawing from the drawing board of life, sometimes you find that some people aren't very nice.

Is the value of a piece of writing in the story it conveys, or in the feelings it evokes, the thoughts it inspires? Of course, usually these go hand-in-hand cause great stories stimulate thoughts. But sometimes you read a book and you go, wow what a great story, and that's the end of that. Doesn't make it any worse of a book that you don't go on to have a major philosophical discussion in your head after that. Or badly written books whose subject matter in itself is enough to start your mind racing, wondering about the greatest questions in life etc etc. What's the point of fiction and stories? I really don't know. I'd say it depends on the reader. What is the reader looking to get out of each new story he reads? Is he looking for echoes of his own life so that the entire story resonates with him? (Arguably all great stories and characters do this, they allow you to become the character, to put on the story.) Is he looking for an escape from reality, for the answers to the burning questions in his heart, whatever it is he is looking for.

So books. Seriously, I blame brainpickings.org cause without that website I would not have managed to scrunge up so many semi-coherent thoughts on books and writing. Or have had the delight to read so many quotes from so many literary lights. Favourite new website really. One of the articles was on How To Talk About Books You've Never Read, or something. Which is kinda pretentious sounding, cause everyone knows the twat who just wants to sound like he know everything. But it wasn't, and did contain this that I found interesting.

That the books you don't read say as much about you as the books you do. Cause we are the books we read. So I'm not Edward Cullen, and I'm proud of that fact. Loving books doesn't mean you have to appreciate every single one. And I think books say alot about a person. Which is probably why I do take quite alot of care with my book collection. It does seem very self-conscious, which it probably is, and like a carefully constructed presentation of how I want to seem like instead of who I actually am.

Which begs the question, who am I actually? You know you saw this question coming. We are the amalgamation of everything we are. Every extension, every projection, even the carefully constructed ones. Blog, twitter, instagram, facebook profile. Some people carefully curate everything that goes into these social platforms, and there's nothing wrong in that. Being conscious of what you present to the world is a part of you, however much you might like to reject that label (as I do, sometimes.) We are all made up of everything we make up.

Every word you use, every picture you like, they're another clue as to who you actually are. They reveal you. Because I don't believe that there is a fixed, definite or final "you", nor should there be. It's constantly in flux, and you discover yourself all the time, and you grow and you change and you adapt, and isn't that wonderful? Why would you want to discover the "real you"?

I remember still that discussion I had with (I think) nuo shi many years ago about men and masks. Well not just men, people I guess.

I'm different things to different people, and I behave accordingly. Around my friends or people I'm more comfortable with I'm suitably retarded, for the most part. In church I have a slightly different persona, probably like that of an older brother maybe? So I act like one and hopefully am someone the younger ones can look up to.

At home I'm the eldest son and hopefully also the more mature one, although my brother certainly is trying to give me a run for me money. I feel like I have to be more sensible, more responsible. I've got a job and I have to think more about the family's welfare and wellbeing, more perhaps than the other 2 do.

As an officer I hope I come across as competent, not arrogant but no pushover either. I have to maintain that aura of "Officership" I suppose, and that includes my fitness and sharpness of mind I guess. As well as social awareness.

As a sportsperson/wannabe sportsperson I have to keep fit as well, and be aware of my strengths and corresponding weaknesses. And also to have that spirit of trying my best at all the things I do, of giving my all.

And it's all different, some of them possibly varying to a rather large extent. And yet I believe that some part of your character manages to shine through whatever identity you're donning that the time. Something that people recognize, maybe, as being "you".

And then I started thinking about what people are remembered for. It is a tragedy that all too often in the papers the story of another young person's death appears. Not that anybody's death is acceptable, it's just the idea of youth, of so much potential, so much to live for, which is supposed to be brimming with vitality, the idea of youth passing away prematurely is such an affront to our beliefs that we are saddened and outraged, and we should be. "Full of life," they always say, "and always cheerful." No one says though, "He was retarded and completely silly! He did the dumbest and most incredible things you wouldn't believe." Packaging the essence of a person into stock, bland words. It just doesn't seem right.

I did come up with a couple of stuff regarding the essential and essentially unanswerable question of Who Am I while I was traveling. Arguably THE question which drives people to travel, which people ask while they travel, and which hopefully people manage to answer in whatever small ways they can after they travel. It is the travellers Question. What I'm trying to put across here is that I hope it's not just me stoking my ego by thinking Me, ME all the time, but a natural by-product of traveling, especially on your own. Hahah. I really am worried about my ego getting out of control sometimes.

Naval officer studying law in the UK, rugby and badminton player, avid (if not particularly good) cyclist and rock climber, backpacker of Europe/the World, member of Asian committee in church, writer of stories of dubious quality, recreational tennis player and dragonboater (which I really miss actually), street soccer ping-pong and foosball player might as well throw in here too, avid foodie and budding chef, purveyor of beauty and laughter and all that is good in life, dota player, book/movie/music fanboy (but neither a good writer nor actor nor musician), and clearly an avid fan of recording sometimes worthless shit for posterity, or for better or worse.

Which probably serves effectively to sum up, at least on a somewhat surface level, the question of Who Am I. I'm sure there's stuff I've missed out in there but if I did then that probably means they don't mean much anyway. But these are just sort of distinguishing features, a description of what I do or like to do, possibly more a What I Am rather than a Who I Am. Which leads me to my next set of musings and ramblings, which I couldn't actually bring myself to complete.

To answer the question of Who Am I? I think it is necessary first to answer the whole set of the Husband and Wives. To set out the context of the question, before finally delving into it and hopefully answering it (I won't.)


Where am I - Bruges, Europe, thousands of miles away from home.
When am I - 19.12.2012
What am I - Traveller, Student, Naval Officer, Christian, Singaporean
Why am I - Do not know. Possibly the most fundamental question right next to Who am I.
How am I -  Simple biology. A sperm and an egg.

Or there's this.

I am in Europe, thousands (6156 - Berlin) of miles away from home. Or perhaps, thousands of miles away from where I should be at this moment. How incredible is that, how unreal is it that I should find myself here? In places people would give so much to be.

I am in 2012 (almost 2013 now), the new millenium, in the grips of rapid and massive technological advances. 70 years after the last World War left the country I'm in, and was, and will be in, burning. Millions of people dead or dying or homeless and starving. Something we've almost managed to push to the back of our consciousness in a mere 70 years. Which tells you what a 70 years it's been.

I am a human being. Homo sapien, inheritor of the world or the top of the food chain. And depending on where and when I find myself, I define myself differently too. Now I say traveller, in Exeter I say Singaporean, subsequently student (I don't often think myself as a student.) At home I say Naval officer. Almost everything is contingent on each other, it would seem.

I am here because. A higher being (in my case, God) has made me so. Some would argue the random event billions of years ago, the big bang, and all the universe's transformation and evolution since. It stretches my imagination to think that out of all this entropy, all this randomness and energy and mass could come about such perfect circumstances to sustain such life as our earth does. It is just too mind-boggling for me. Life in all its variations? The millions of species of flora and fauna, could that really have come about purely by chance? Not for me, no. My personal How am I is answered then by God.

I am here for a reason. I might not know it yet, but there is purpose in my life. There is a reason Why I am. I hope that I find reason in all the things I do. And that hopefully by doing so, I can figure out my own reason for being. If you cannot find the why in the things you do, how can you possibly find the why in yourself? So I will continue to do the things that are meaningful to me, things that I can give meaning to. And maybe I will too mean something to someone. Is that enough a reason to exist, to mean something to someone? Maybe. I don't know. I'd like to think it does, I think.

And that leaves Who Am I. Which I don't know, not yet at least, and maybe not ever. And maybe it doesn't matter that you'll never obtain the definitive answer, maybe it's important that you never do. In our strife to be better persons we constantly renew ourselves, we reinvent ourselves sometimes, cause sometimes we have to.

What has travelling done for, or to, me? I might not know exactly who I am, but I know better now who I want to be. It's taught me self-acceptance, but also that that's not enough. What's the point of being able to look at yourself, to see the bad with the good, if you don't try then to preserve the good and excise the bad? Self-acceptance maybe means that you are able to honestly look at yourself without blinkers, without trying to delude yourself into thinking you're something you're not. To accept you're not as good as you've made yourself out to be. I think I've managed to achieve some form of that, which is quite a step for me.

Hmmm okay. I guess I kinda exhausted myself now. Not quite a complete treatise on the question of identity, or on travelling, or even on the purpose of the military, or of fiction. More like a completely random mish-mash of all of the above, and which hopefully make some sort of sense to you, as it kinda does to me haha.

Just watched an excellent video on happiness, which kinda distracted me I guess. The best sort of distraction really. In fact I'm gonna put it here cause I think it's really worth a watch!

I did especially like the part where he described stuff like health, travel etc, sort of things that people always include in their list of wants, as auxiliary. Because I did have some ruminations on wants the other day.. But don't worry I won't go into that cause I've forgotten it all now! It's been a long post..

Alright then, it's time to sleep I guess! I am feeling rather a fool right now, for reasons I will not specify, and oh what a feeling. Oh no. I'm in a bad way.. Ugh ciao!

When Dreaming's This Hard It's Not Meant To Come True.

Treading the ground
I once used to know
People are strangers
Same as before
Streets look familiar
I remember the park
Where I buried my head
So deep in my hands
All around me was dark

This here city
Is for the lonely ones
Won't find no angels
Selling maps to the lost
This here place
Is too small for two
It took one to realize
When dreaming's this hard
It's not meant to come true

So throw me a line
Somebody out there help me
I'm on my own
I'm on my own
Throw me a line
Afraid that I have come here
To win you again
With trembling hands

Passing the days
Looking over the buildings
Time seems to stop
While the millions keep moving
Now here I am
I'm a drop in your ocean
Noise in the crowd
Pushing through your halls of reason

Ohh

So throw me a line
Somebody out there help me
I'm on my own
I'm on my own
Throw me a line
Afraid that I have come here
To win you again
With trembling hands

Hear me now make me whole
Hear me now make me whole

So throw me a line
Somebody out there help me
I'm on my own
I'm on my own
Throw me a line
Afraid that I have come here
To win you again
With trembling hands
With trembling hands

There goes the ending
It left me in the war
But I tried everything yeah
I am done with my part
-Trembling Hands, The Temper Trap


2012

Victory, conquering, staggering loss, nothing, nothing, everything.

Like walking through a tunnel searching for light and then it hits you and you feel nothing.

Like wanting the sea and getting a river.

Its been a strange one kids.

Im neither happy or sad its over but I am ready to move on.

Slowly.

Patiently.

If there is one thing I'd like for the next year other then fireworks, love and pure creation it would be a little more self acceptance/love/forgiveness.

I've been carrying and nurturing the same wounds for so many years now and all the sudden I am a scarred woman laughing whilst crying, not fully realizing how much lighter things actually are.

Its almost like I miss my darkest days or maybe I haven't found the right things to replace the dark with yet.

I still want more,

more,

more,

of whatever I can get my hands on.

Or maybe its just me getting older. One year at a time.

Happy new year lovers.

May all our dreams come true so we can create new ones.

-Lykke Li


Hello all. I'm not sure at all what this blog post is going to be so don't hold your breath in anticipation of anything wonderful.. I might or might not talk about my trip, or the past couple of weeks, or just random thoughts in my head, or maybe from my journal. I am absolutely and wonderfully hooked onto this amazing song, Trembling Hands by The Temper Trap. Definitely my newest favouritest song. There's such a... I don't know how to put it, forlorn, yet wistful feel to it? It captures the desperation of the lonely, and that video.. Absolutely entranced.

The lyrics remind me of home too, for better or worse. I'm always afraid of going back home to a strange land of strangers. I guess everyone who goes overseas has that fear. It might ease up over time but deep down each of us retains some sense of it. Clearly everyone is getting along fine, without you? Surely that must mean they are moving on, without you? Yes, it does. But do not be too selfish to realize that you, too, are moving on from them. We are all moving on from something, in one way or another, and if we're lucky we might even be moving towards something.

Yeah, I actually shamelessly ripped that idea off of thoughtcatalogue, and I can tell you, brainpickings.org just might be even better than that, possibly cause it's a more hipster version of it. And everyone knows I am a hipster to beat all hipsters, cause I was hipster before most hipsters had hips. Anw I've been poring over the posts there, most of which are delightful, super quotable nuggets which would look amazing on tumblr I reckon, but I don't tumble. Shame.


No one’s fated or doomed to love anyone.
The accidents happen, we’re not heroines,
they happen in our lives like car crashes,
books that change us, neighborhoods
we move into and come to love.
Tristan and Isolde is scarcely the story,
women at least should know the difference
between love and death. No poison cup,
no penance. Merely a notion that the tape-recorder
should have caught some ghost of us: that tape-recorder
not merely played but should have listened to us,
and could instruct those after us:
this we were, this is how we tried to love,
and these are the forces we had ranged within us
within us and against us, against us and within us.
-Adrienne Rich

Just kidding, I'm gonna post this stuff anw cause they're too good not to share. Even to the 7 people or so who read this blog. Which, incidentally, I just found out about recently from an unknown source. I actually have more readers than I've always thought, which I guess is slightly awkward, but doesn't matter I guess? To be perfectly honest I've always been slightly ashamed of my blog, or the fact that I even have one. I really enjoy having one, don't get me wrong, but the fact that people might be reading it... My newfound self-acceptance or my attempts at ridding myself of self-consciousness, however, means that I don't care anymore. I probably would have a short time ago, but I guess I'm different now. Not to say that I don't feel self-conscious, I'm not sure that's ever going to be possible, but I've decided to try and ignore that now.

And to decide to continue blogging, of course. Because.

this we were, this is how we tried to love, 
and these are the forces we had ranged within us
within us and against us, against us and within us.

Again from brainpickings comes this:

Keepers of private notebooks are a different breed altogether, lonely and resistant rearrangers of things, anxious malcontents, children afflicted apparently at birth with some presentiment of loss.

Certainly this reeks somewhat of a self-centredness in the way it sets us keepers apart from "others", or normal people, because normality of course is poison. Keeping a notebook reminds me, allows me to remember what it was to be me.

And so we do. But our notebooks give us away, for however dutifully we record what we see around us, the common denominator of all we see is always, transparently, shamelessly, the implacable “I.”

It's a pretty, perhaps damningly so, accurate description of the motives behind a notebook. And yet we cannot help it, because that's probably what compulsion means anyway.

I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind’s door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends. We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget. We forget the loves and the betrayals alike, forget what we whispered and what we screamed, forget who we were.

That was surprisingly eerily close to what I'd been thinking before even stumbling upon this brilliant website, probably a product of my travels sometime. Which was that this blog reminds me of who I was, who I used to be. I can tell you that of some of my older posts, I am 100% embarrassed because that's exactly what I was, embarrassing.. On occasion I read through some of my older posts and I cringe inwardly, nay 'tis a lie! outwardly because it's just so bad. It's the kind of shame that goes way deep and I'll never admit in real life.. Thank god for anonymity of the internet, which is silly cause it's the source of my shame anyway. Huh.

I'm going to randomly shove in some of the drafts I'd typed out on my phone. I only got my notebook in Rotterdam, which means that for the first 1.5weeks of my trip I had only my trusty (and now shattered) phone with which to record down thoughts, and incidentally, another story. Here goes the story.


If We Could Only Hate.

Why? I have to know.

I guess.. I was never truly happy. I know I was meant to be happy, I thought I loved you, and that you loved me.

I did love you. (I do, still.)

And then one day it just hit me - I didn't love you. I couldn't. I was in love with an idea, the ideal man who seemed to have it all.

But I never could match up to the man inside of your head.

No.

What was I supposed to do? What can I do? You're trying to say I never had a chance. Then why did you even try?

I.. I was in love. Just not with you. With the idea of you. I'm sorry.

No. No. You can't do this. At least give me something to regret. Give me something to blame myself over. Something to point to and say I should not have done that, that I have only myself to blame. That I at least had a chance. Come on. Please.

I can't. I'm so sorry. You're a good man.. just not perfect, not the way I imagined you to be in my head.

What do you mean? Was I supposed to be perfect? Was I not allowed to do anything wrong at all? I mean, come on! You never told me I had to be perfect. At least tell me what you expected of me before I got into this!

Would it have changed anything? Would you have walked away if I'd told you this in the beginning?

No. I don't know. What does it matter? Don't you dare turn this on me.

(silence)

Well. You've certainly taken me on a damn ride then haven't you?

What do you want me to say? Yes. No. I don't know. I'm sorry. I know you're bitter. You must hate me.

No. No I don't. If only I could. If only it were that easy. Goodbye Emily.

________________________________


This started off in my head as a dialogue between 2 people. Guess it's not much of a story at all, just a possible conversation maybe. I don't know why this was in my mind as I took the bus to Portsmouth to watch the xx. Which incidentally, was amazing. Emily only because I don't actually know an Emily personally, and it seemed nicer to end on a name rather than just with a Goodbye. Meh, make of it what you will, I guess.

I guess I'll talk a bit about some of these stories. Just as a recording of why I wrote what I did, I guess. The beauty one I wrote in response to a string of thoughts I had, which was this.

Friendship is like a thread held between 2 people. And it takes effort from both sides to hold on. They're all different though, and can afford different amounts of tension and slack. Some are extremely loose but require the efforts of just one person to take up the slack. Sometimes the burden is too much for that one person and he gives up. Sometimes one party, or both, are so needy that the rope becomes too taut. It seems to go along fine, it's nice and firm but the slightest bit of tension and it goes. It's hard to pick up the pieces.

Others are stronger, layered over by their pasts, shared experiences, common interests, plain compatibility of characters. Others have just one tenuous connection, possibly even something as base as desperation, or a craving for companionship. And some are doomed to failure. The rope at breaking point. And are the more beautiful for it. The beauty of the fleeting, the transient, the ephemeral.

I'd been reflecting on a series of friendships that I'd had, and which for whatever reason now, no longer do. Also on the friendships that I am and always will be grateful for, those that have managed to last, those that have gone the distance. I guess.. I'll always have my regrets, or at least rue the friendships I've let slip away, some for such puerile reasons that I almost cannot believe what I've done. Well. That's done now, I guess. Except for that which might still yet be salvaged. Hope, as ever, springs forth.

It almost feels like I should go through my diary somewhat chronologically, cause I guess everything sort of builds up to the next entry. Nevermind, I guess the contents of a diary has meaning only to its writer, the topics inside close only to his own heart.

The next one was What They Took From Her. This was unplanned, not one of the many little fragments of possible stories I find in my head from time to time. I'm not sure where it came from. I think.. I think it just might be from Mystic River. At least, that seems to be its origins. I think it could refer to anything, really. Not necessarily an abduction or any sexual abuse, but it is based on Dave I guess. But it could be life that's taken away from her, or a string of lost loves, or constant disappointment. I don't know.

Then there's Beautiful Pressure which admittedly is rather unfinished, but I just can't bring myself to continue any longer, idk why though. Just think I've done all I can with that. It stems from the idea that beautiful people are different from those who are not. I've actually had this idea in my head for a really long time. The way people notice those who are beautiful, all the time. The almost unfair expectations foisted upon them. How they can never be inadequate. How being aware of your own beauty makes you self-conscious, and dare I say it, makes you unbeautiful too. I guess anyone else who's been singled out in anyway too. The pressures of scrutiny, maybe. Idk, it's just stuff that's been floating around my head for a while now so I tried to write this. Probably kind of forced it out, to be honest, just because I had some free time on a train or something (I forget) and there was this story I'd always wanted to write. Meh.

Hmm. Kinda forgot what I wanted to say actually, which isn't an issue today, I think. I think today all I needed was to unload whatever, not something I've been able to do for a while now. Why? Because of essays, which are over now. Traditional post-essay YESSAHBOMB in order here. But I feel kinda lost too. How shall I put it, hmm.

I guess it started on the 2nd of Jan. I'd taken my flight to Bristol and the bus to Temple Meads, where I had little over an hour before I was due to board my train back to Exeter. As soon as I got off the bus and decided that I'd walk around town for a bit instead of waiting at the station, I was struck by this colossal sense of loss. I felt completely lost, and it was bewildering. Something changed. And I have my suspicions.

I'm really tired. It's all adding up. Maybe it culminates here, maybe it doesn't, but I can feel it now. Like a rush of something that threatens to swamp everything it touches, except it's been dammed up, except it's been dammed up too long now. Maybe it's the videos and the songs like Trembling Hands. Maybe it's a movie like Blue Valentine. Maybe it's having someone to talk to, really talk to, for the first time in years. Maybe.

Maybe it's realizing that no man was made to walk this world alone. That everyone needs someone to share their joys and their despairs with. The smallest accomplishments. The little things that made your day. Anything, and everything. Or it's the cumulative melancholy of one and a half years abroad, of too much time spent alone, of too much time left alone. The despair of waking up days on end feeling confused and aimless and above all, so, so lost and having no one to turn to. Maybe it's that.

I don't know what it is. In any case, I don't think I've felt that way in a long while. I asked myself, okay, where shall we go now? And came up absolutely blank. It kind of shocked me, which you might or might not have been able to tell by now.

But I think I know now what I want. What I actually want, instead of the wants that have almost become obligatory. Things like good grades, or success, or money, stuff like that. To be perfectly honest, I don't want that. These are to me things which fall under the nice-to-have category. Probably means I'm a terrible student, cause I do know countless other people who'd kill (in fact they're dying) for good grades. I'm just not a good student at all.. Which would probably disappoint my parents, or my relatives, but well that's that. If I actually do well it'll be for them, not for myself I don't think. But finally, maybe the first time in a long while, I actually want again.

Might not be any specific something, or even a someone, it's just the feeling of wanting something. Who ever heard of someone wanting to want something? I think that was me. It probably characterized my 2012, a year in which I felt so lost so often. By no means my best year (if ever there was such a thing), but it wasn't my worst either. It had its ups and downs just like any other, distinguished only by that sense of loss which I never could quite elucidate, not in my thoughts nor my words nor my actions.

But this is the new year, and I do feel something different. Maybe there was something in the air that night/the stars so bright. Going against the grain, for once, of all my favourite new year songs by U2 and Death Cab for Cutie.

I usually try, I don't know if you notice, not to share too much here, at least not anything that affects me too much. I write words and stuff but I always shy away from saying what it is exactly I feel. Normally it's cause I'm afraid it'd be read. By persons known or unknown. But that doesn't matter all that much now, I think. I reckon the only people who do read this are close enough friends that I've ever told them about it, or if they're random(ish) people who've taken all this time to read this far then hey, hello. Thanks, and maybe I'll know you one day.

Otherwise this is just another url, destined to an existence of near complete anonymity, a drop in the ocean if you will. In the vastness of cyberspace, just another tree falling in a lonely forest. But it does make a sound.

Well now. Blue Valentine, if anyone is interested, is a really good movie and incredibly well-acted. Of course it helps that I have a massive man-crush on Ryan Gosling, but Michelle Williams was amazing too. Not an easy show to stomach, mind you, and definitely not what I'd been expecting. I heard ukelele and Ryan Gosling singing a song and thought, it must be fun! And while that scene was brilliant, the whole movie was... pretty depressing. It was almost painful to watch. But really good nonetheless, especially if you want to check out Ryan Gosling's range as an actor. Way too many Ryan Gosling's in one paragraph for a hetero young man, I'm afraid, so I shall desist.

Guess that should be all for today. Not exactly what I had in mind when I started off, but not what I didn't have in mind either, if that makes any sense at all. I might watch Ides of March, or Spirited Away. I did watch Howl's Moving castle sometime back in December which I might not have mentioned, and it was so good. Somehow the town scenes just remind me so much of Final Fantasy, probably FF9, and for a good 2 weeks I had that peaceful town in mind. Truly a masterpiece.

Yep. Good bye now.

Beautiful Pressure.

No, he never felt like he belonged to the Crowd at all, although no one had a say in that of course. It was a naturally pre-determined thing, you were either in it or you were not.

And yet he could not help but look at other members of the Crowd and feel like he was somehow different. They were all cool, and effortlessly so. They never made any gaffes, or if they did they were suitably and hilariously goofy, never embarrassing, and never anything to be ashamed about.

He could not help but feel like he on the other hand was doing too many things which were unpleasantly embarrassing, like that time he played football (which he was not terribly good at) and missed 3 easy shots at goal. He was sure everyone was looking at him and laughing at him. And they laughed particularly loudly at him too, compared to the other guys who made mistakes.

He never saw other members of the Crowd get into situations like that. They almost always were good at the sports they played, and would never be seen playing something they couldn't. How did they manage that?

He always felt like people were looking at him, that when they were they did so with great expectation, that when he failed they laughed their vengeful mocking laughs. One of the Crowd failing so miserably. He could never be merely mediocre at anything, for that would be considered failure in their eyes.

He felt their eyes on him always. And the pressure. The pressure to be brilliant, to be beautiful, to be wittier, and stronger, in every way superior to the others. Cause that's what it meant to be part of the Crowd. You could not be worse than the rest, you could not even be just the same as the rest of them. You were superior and you were supposed to look down on them, past your perfect nose, and twist your perfect lips with a sneer as they try to be like you. Oh no, you were nothing like the rest of them.

What They Took From Her.

She was the best of us but they changed that
they took her away from us they took her away
they took away her smiles the happy ones the sad ones
they took away her joy her life her trust in life
they took away the wind in her hair the bounce in her step
they took away her hopes her dreams her childish fears
(and replaced them with grown up ones)

and now she
cannot give and cannot take
only hurt and maybe hate

cannot love and cannot trust
a stranger to the rest of us

cannot dream she cannot dream!
no respite in worlds unseen

and now
she cannot cry not even cry!
it hurts too much to even try

and now
she rots and now she rusts
the girl who was the best of us.

And Beauty.

The beauty of the ephemeral. Beauty in all its forms. In the permanence of mountains. And in the constant motion of its surfaces, the flurry of snow or the rustling of grass. In the busker playing outside a train station, the musician in a public square, a master in the concert hall. In an early morning greeting between friends. Strangers. Between long lost lovers and family and friends. In the skies above. In the innocence of children. Of grown men and women. In the sunrise and sunset and twilight and the glow of the moon. In fireworks which come alive for brief seconds before being spent forevermore. In the calm waters of a clear lake, the reflections on its surface. In the girls with their painted faces and their lacquered nails. In the flight of birds as they move in tandem with each other, a perfectly executed dance of bone and muscle and feathers. In the flight of planes carrying the hopes and dreams of a hundred passengers, going forth to live their lives or leave their lives, the only lives they've ever known.

Of Arbitrary Beginnings, Or The Only Kind Of.

Happy new year folks! Just back from almost 4 weeks of traveling which was amazing, a truly incredible past few weeks it's been. I did have another journal/diary on this trip, which was fantastic given the number of long train rides/spare time/waits at airports I managed to accrue this time! Which also equates to alot of junk which I might or might not be recording down here as well, so be prepared!

Well here's the important stuff first. A massive shoutout and thankyou to every single person who remembered my birthday and celebrated it, wherever you might have been in the world and whichever time zone you might have happened to find yourself in! I personally hate celebrating my birthday, but friends and family (which I hope you consider yourself) like you guys make it all worthwhile and make me look forward to it year after year! Cannot help but feel such a sense of joy and contentment every time I see a video, card, picture or whatnot (up to and including facebook wall posts) wishing me a happy birthday! I try my best to ignore it and dismiss the fact that I'm entering adulthood (am I really 21 already?!) but you guys make it impossible to do so, and I thank you for that.

Specific thanks goes to a blast from the past, also one Brenda Liew. It started off harmlessly enough with a question about Oyster cards and ended up with my spending Christmas and happily, New Year as well with new friends and a lot of fun! Don't think I could have asked for a better group of almost-strangers (I definitely was one to them) to have been traveling around with, so I'm incredibly thankful for that as well! I can't imagine I would have been so accommodating if some random guy suddenly said he'd tag along for a couple days of my eurotrip, so I guess I'm still pretty incredulous about the whole thing!

So I definitely want to thank Brenda for introducing me to her friend.. I mean friends, of course. Hahaha. That's the long-suffering Yann Qi, Geraldine, Yixuan (from JJ, which I had no idea about before the trip), Edwyna, Huiyi and although only for less than a day, Casper gege as well! Despite all their best efforts to make me extremely awkward.. I think I'll be making another, much longer post about my trip so I'll hold off for now! But thanks guys for spending both Christmas and the New Year and incidentally my birthday with me, it was a pleasure!

This is actually my end of year/start of 2013 post, in case anyone was wondering.. I do think that the end of every year is yet another opportunity for a stock-take, an assessment of one's own life and indeed a chance to acknowledge how blessed one is. Because that's what I feel almost without fail, year after year. Blessed. There could be excerpts here and there from my little travel diary, which I'll italicize.

I woke up on 31st December at 4.15am and decided I'd go out for a walk. It's not something I'd normally do if I were traveling on my own, cause I'd relish the extra sleep instead, but traveling in a group offers precious little in the way of privacy, or private time I guess, since it's not so much about the privacy but the time you get to spend alone. As I found out during my lengthy confinements in MIDS, but I've gone over that to death now. So I tried to silently put on my coat boots etc and snuck out of the hotel. It suddenly occurred to me then that that was the last day of the year. It's only too easy to lose track of time and days when you're traveling, so I was pretty surprised.

"What was 2012 like for me?" I could not help but ask. It was pretty good, I guess. The end of my first year abroad, my first time on board ship for VA, not being able to go to Africa, my last few meetings with my aunt, as well as visiting my grandma in the hospital/home. UK trip and Italy and Hong Kong with favourite friends, back in the UK again and church and a social life for once. Amsterdam and Belgium and Germany and Switzerland. Not a shabby year by any means.

Moving on from the past that's been holding me back for too long, learning to embrace the person I used to be, the person I am, and hopefully perhaps shaping the person I'm going to be. Growing up. Learning to cope with new situations and new people and learning to appreciate it all. I think I've grown. Guess I can say I'm 21 without feeling ashamed about that. I'm feeling a lot more comfortable about and with myself now, slowly figuring out piece by piece who I am. Or the who I am meant to be. Able to be myself more now, without constantly worrying about what people think about me, slowly but hopefully surely losing all that self-consciousness which has all too often in the past directed my actions, dictated the way I behaved.

Almost every time I travel I begin to have these thoughts about self-identity and who I am etc, which I think is quite a natural thing. I just read this thought-catalogue thing about people who live abroad which I thought quite good. "You start talking to yourself, asking yourself questions and answering them." I think this bit is definitely true. So forgive me if I do seem to be harping on all this a fair bit, I do think it's a natural by-product of traveling and living alone!

The year is drawing to an end.. So's my trip. The other way around, to be honest. Years ending have not meant all that much to me, so I've been counting down to the end of my trip rather than the year. Maybe it's the courses/schoolyears running across the new year. Or a growing disillusionment with the idea of this arbitrary new start which the new year offers. Although, what starts are there other than arbitrary ones?

Well yeah. I got slightly distracted after this so I wasn't able to continue on from this diary entry. I was going to go on to state that all starts, all new beginnings, are essentially arbitrary ones. The start of a new day, the end of the year, whatever it may be, if you want to start something you have made the conscious decision to do it, whether you peg it to any sort of significant date or event or what not. That's sort of what I was thinking, anyways, cause I realized that I might have been a little harsh in previous years on the subject of the new year and its transformative powers.

I am feeling rather positive about 2013, to be honest! Too often I (and many other people too) try to downplay my expectations so I don't get disappointed, but I've been imbued with a new sense of confidence about the coming year! It's definitely linked to my growing self-awareness, or maybe the term is self-acceptance instead. It's sort of a feeling that come what may, life will go on and I will continue to live and learn, I will continue to grow, and what more can one ask for? Of course it helps that I had a great start to the year, although having been back for almost 24 hours all I've done is eat, and domestics like laundry and unpacking and very mundane stuff, although I did just shave my head so that's quite exciting... 2013 is going to be good I can feel it in my toes.

Actually I just did my expenses and realized I spent 1200 pounds, almost 1300 on my Christmas trip. That's terrible, my word. I guess alot of it came down to the bloody german trains, they were incredibly expensive! Average of 80 euros each, I think, and I took 4 of them? Why is I so stupid. Should have bought an Interrail, sigh, foolishly thought tickets would cost an average of 40-50 euros. What a difference half an hour of research would have made! Meh. Feeling pretty sad right now..

Erm, I pretty much lost all semblance of structure right there, this is not turning out to be the end of year post I thought it'd be. Oh well what does it matter. What else did 2012 give me? I'm not sure what else I have to add. I guess there was Yang Liu, the chinese girl I met in Cinque Terre. I think I'll always fondly remember that trip, and her! It was such a random thing, and I guess you could even say pointless cause nothing came out of it, but I'd beg to differ. A brief connection in a world where connections are so hard to come by, a thoroughly enjoyable 10 hours in the company of another, instead of spending my entire trip submerged in the depths of solitude, that's an end in itself. She made an impact to my trip, and thus my year, and therefore my life. And I can only hope I had a positive impact on her too! Probably one of the more special things to come out of 2012 for me, sounds very Before Sunset/Sunrise haha. I say that but I haven't watched those 2 movies yet, I really must sigh. But essays come first.

I think it means something to me precisely because it was such a brief, fleeting thing. Which is gonna segue nicely into my next post, which comes straight out of my travel diary! Was written while I was at Genève airport with the daunting prospect of spending the next 14 hours there.. So here goes.