diplomacy

in the recent news, there has been a lot of reporting on international conflict (and even intra-national conflict, depending on whose side of boundary definitions you're on). to name a few, the palestinians and israelis are at it again, this time where the americans are backing an israeli annexation of palestinian land (normally i would stay away from such a term, but even the israelis are blatantly using 'annex' in their statements, so we'll not beat around the bush). the chinese are in a border dispute with india. the chinese have internal conflicts with the hong kongers, thanks to the ongoing dispute on authority as to who should govern hong kong. the chinese also have long-standing disputes of autonomy and authority to govern various regions, namely taiwan, tibet, western china, mongolia, and manchuria. china also has ongoing issues with several south-east asian countries thanks to its 'belt and road' initiative. basically, china has issues with pretty much any and every country it can come into contact with. heck, it even has issues with defining its borders in the ocean (a brief list includes contentious water boundaries [which includes several small, unnamed islands] with the philippines, malaysia, korea, japan...). ukraine and russia still cannot resolve their dispute over the crimea peninsula. i could probably go on for a bit on the countries and contentious areas, but i think the point is made.

i've always said that this blog is more for creative writing, and shouldn't go into politics, religion, or the like, but as i grow older, it has occurred to me that the various countries that we hold so high in regard don't actually live up to the expectation, as exemplified by these issues. i would have imagined such expansionistic ideologies would not have survived the 1800s, and their after-effects dealt with in due time, but not only has this proven to be untrue, but the conflicts are, if anything, exacerbated.

to this, i blame... everyone really. we, as a (single) human race, have evolved beyond such petty need for tribalism (of which, nationalism is probably the latest and most notorious flavour of the month), and yet, here it remains - here it still rears its unwanted, selfish face. the irony, i feel, is that when i discuss these issues with any individual, the problem seems apparent. suggested solutions come hard and fast, and compromises are readily made. however, when the issues are brought up in groups, no end is in sight. i'm sure psychologists and sociologists have discussed, in length, why and how this happens. my point, however, is a criticism on that it does happen to begin with.

a common narrative on these issues is that none of these 'us against them' arguments are inherently held (dearly) by individuals, and that incitement to support such causes is perpetuated to serve the means and agendas of  'the elite'. to be honest, i feel that these are very vague, and may lend a generalist argument to specific ones, but i am not privy enough to the details to elaborate upon them here. i will acknowledge the compellingness of the argument, but i don't think i can lend much backing to the semantics of it (which usually devolve into conspiracy theories, which i do find amusing!).

in any case, what i do believe to be rightfully criticised, is that our governments have yet to look past such contentions. are the conflicts rooted deeply in history, and culture, and belief, perhaps religion, and dogmatic indoctrination? yes. are we incapable of solving such issues? i don't believe that we aren't. it continues to boggle my mind that not only have people-elected representatives not been able to hammer out and enact on compromise, but these same people continually bring up even more points of contention and fan the flames of tribal-rivalry!

it may be a bit much to expect people (especially those who stand to gain) to compromise ideologies and find common ground, but surely there can be an agreeable 'this is for the better of the many' outcome that doesn't involve (more) warring, or conflict, or suffering (which hasn't begun to address the converse, where we should be talking about better management of resource).

it's hard to not think that the governance is really just a glorified group of playground bullies, puffing out their chests and measuring penis sizes. except people are actually dying when there's a scuff. because the bullies themselves aren't actually the ones fighting.

i've often joked that we need a 'greater threat' to humanity for us to actually band together, and to this, i cannot wait for the alien invasion to come. or the singularity. maybe the zombie plague? either / or works, i guess!

to the winds

to follow up on the previous post i had made regarding spiderwebs and some social interaction between the spiders, it now seems that the webs have grown to a scale where their densities are too high. they now act more like sheets of thin fabric than the more 'translucent' spiderwebs they once were - hence every strong gust of wind is now able to shear and shred the webs significantly. i've noticed that the webs are catching fewer new prey, and i haven't seen the spiders come out in a while. if anything this is an apt analogy for the rise and fall of a civilisation - they were the victims of their own success :(

that which is dead can never die..
but rises again harder and stronger.

i await the new spiderlings, and hope they do not err the same way their predecessors have.

(they probably will)

evolutionary pressure tingling

i sit for the past few months, now, in a new office that looks out through a tall, contiguous class pane. i suppose that these architectural window-walls, or whatever the proper term may be, are all the rage in this era of office-buildings (though, the floor plan is one of those open-plan designs, which are quickly falling out of favour). In any case, right beside my desk is a floor-to-ceiling glass window, divided by some support beams at about an arm's length. On the outside of these support beams are some protruding beams, which i also assume are for support, but i have no idea what they're called.

Skipping the poorly-described structure of this outlook from my window, here is the point: when i first started sitting here, the window was quite spotless, but over the past few months, it seems that these support beams have provided an opportunistic (and somewhat interesting) dwellings for, at first one spider, but now a whole host of them. i did not realise that spiders could and would live in such close proximity to each other, and as the web grew in size, i just assumed that this was the cumulative effort a single (and somewhat singular) spider in expanding its web - the spider would expand upon the previous web when i was not watching, but would then hide in the crevice between the support beam and the window when i was around.

however, when an insect would inevitably become trapped in the web, the spider would quickly dash out to secure its meal (which always made for an interesting observation, regardless of how busy i was at work), and since the web is right in my field of vision as i face this computer, it is very apparent when this happens - thence, i've noticed that there was not one spider, but multiple of them who come out to claim their prey!

now, to the interesting bit. i've also noticed that the spiders vary in sizes, perhaps even in species or so, as they shape differently - i cannot tell for sure, as i am no entomologist. generally, only one spider would run to an entrapped insect (i can only assume this is proximity-based, as spiders 'hear' their prey through the vibrations in the webs, so the closest spider would hear first the insect in distress?). every once in a while, though, two spiders might skitter towards the same insect, where the larger spider would claim the prey and the smaller one would have usually backed off before getting to it (i await the day a smaller spider actually challenges a larger one. does this happen? is it an issue of dominance, or is this unnecessary in the superfluousness of food supply?).

as per my earlier assumption, i believe spiders were generally solitary insects, except during a mating incidence, however, these spiders have clearly formed a community of sorts, where they've all benefited from the web array being larger than that of an individual's, though i wonder at what point competition will begin to apply more survival pressure than the said conferred benefit? perhaps this has already occurred, but i have yet to notice it.

interestingly, in a corner of the window, which is a bit more hidden from my view, is a large, single web with a single spider inhabitant, which has no other spider. has he chased off potential neighbours, warranting and giving no quarter to potential competitors? has he chosen a poorer spot to ensnare unwitting insects? or is he merely the leader of the world's tiniest anti-social social club? we may never know. spider, tell me your secrets.

attached a photo of the web in the corner that is in my visual range, though it doesn't do the web much justice.

happiest

there aren't many places left to go,
while the bay ripples left as the sun dips low;
your eyes dim as twilight sets,
in my gut i feel my wretch,
and slowly shadows make as fingers, towards the lonely horizon stretch.

goodbye, for now, that i never said,
you look happier in his arms.

i'd nearly forgotten the smell of blanche,
that hew of sorrows that putrid staunch;
comes calling again through jaded eyes,
left hollow with your gleeful cries,
that i may never hear again because they make for ill reprise.

goodbye, for then, that i never said,
you look happier with his kiss.

now that you've gone, and soon returned,
from snow-set cities to beaches burned;
i don't know yet if all that lost,
was merely at a digital cost,
or of you think so depthly deep, that one should harass and accost?

goodbye, forever, that i never said,
you look happier, with his ring.

how could i have known that uttered nonce,
and heard by many but never once;
i knew one day your wish could come true,
as hearts may die and birth anew,
one which would beat stronger still than how mine ever did beat for you.

goodbye, goodbye, that i never said.
you look happier, in his home.








goodbye, goodbye, to myself i say,
i would have always been happier if you never left.

Nelumbo nucifera

behind, i leave a dusted place,
still hungers, whines, and weeps;
with cracks through greyness of its face,
that morning nighs,
that evening squirms,
too early rise,
that itself keeps.

ahead, presents a lotus bloom,
petals: whites and pinks,
whose roots anchor earthly womb,
through transcendental earthly links.
though one so large of bud and fruit,
can host a human style -
a yellow-shrouded guide to moot,
and listen, stay a while.

the gongs are sing, the hymns are chant,
and prayer beads are ticking down;
that nourish for the lotus plant,
help sift the silted ground.
should let the leaf float tranquil 'bove,
the murky pond where red dove calls;
that brings the message of truest love,
but, silence, here sounds bare footfalls.

a day of fast, though slow it wanes,
with toiling hands, and speechless names,
just like the lotus for belief,
a man has turned his own green leaf.

but now the sun is twilight beck,
should twinkle through the star-struck days;
and craning does its woeful neck,
this experience has been but a daze.

behind, i leave this templestay,
a gift, a present, a mere today;
but should the years be kind and calm, will once a stay leave marks resound;
that wards against all worldly harm, 'til body leaves, and soul be found.

leap

together we leap across a stream,
that winds and sleuths and sloths;
'til breaking apart at every seam,
to accommodate for hills and troughs.

together we leap into the abyss,
for time has spent its most;
in hopes that darkness starlit bliss,
will finally play its host.

together we leap into demise,
that becks to call with every step;
and leave us with a slight surprise,
that should have taken at first we lept.

together we leap to lands afar, that should have brought me joy unknown,
but yet again you're nowhere to be seen, because this leap i take alone.

that's cute

i cannot wait to get old and retire (though, i feel that the former already holds true). this will probably happen at the expense of young-me having lived a life of destitution and boredom, but let's be honest - what millenial won't?

in any case, it should be extremely satisfying to have retired at, say 55, and sit upon the amassed finances of my current self, perhaps not amounting to enough to buy a mansion or a single flying fsck to give at that point, but hopefully enough to fly around the world and visit all the sights, cultures, people, historic places, artsy-fartsy stuff that i want before settling down to retire in a peaceful, out-of-the-way apartment and live away my life playing video games and reading novels. i believe that at the point i will have spent most of my finances and will have to resort to the local library, or if i have purchased a kindle by then, maybe buy digital books en masse, which i assume might be cheap?

and, of course, the thing i will look forward to most is when everything that i am criticised of at this moment magically becomes endearing in my old age. misanthropy? aww, that cute old man who keeps to himself down the street. he's probably just lonely, poor thing. frugality? that man is so wise to live a moderate life at his age. reticence? again, wild old guy who probably has the experience of ages (ha! you wish). being a creep and boob-touching flirting with girls 40 years younger? old guy who's just being friendly and probably misses his dead wife (1. i definitely won't be married 2. schit, this only works if you're good looking. ok, maybe it won't all be cute or even acceptable).

and not having to work... man, i cannot believe how naive i was to have finished my studies and hoped to get into the work-force to change the world. change. the. world. holy crap, how was i ever that gullible. mate, you just want to have a job so you can put food on the table, then go home and pay your internet bills. seriously, your working weekends or after hours isn't going to change jack. maybe consider getting a hobby or masturbating less.

anyway, old age, come for me soon. your humble servant awaits!

things i learned getting older

lactose tolerance is a finite resource - eat all the dairy before you can't.
dogs really are the best bois.
anything can be a poem. just make it free verse, like this one.
motivation is easy to find, but hard to keep.
chocolate was sent by the gods, but humans polluted it with sugar.
definitions of 'interesting' vary wildly - you may not find that particularly interesting.
finally learned an important thing about women people: i haven't.

eternal sleep

yellow bees that flit for flight,
from flowered trees of seemly sight;
though nectar comes in scarceness sweet,
for hive, for queen, for pollen'd feet.

so fly away against the sun, between and in between wild trees,
'til filled at last your honeycomb for all the buzzing, bumbling bees.

blue fish that swim seven seas,
who know a current but not a breeze;
where some in schools, or shoals, or one,
some lurk in darkness, some in the sun.

so reel away from sharks and rays, that feed for hunger, life, and love,
beseech instead the smaller fry, that seas apparent plenty of.

dusky moth, in sovereign flight,
against the darkness of twilight;
come midnight sun that oft too soon,
juxtaposed 'stead a blood-red moon.

but sown too bright, intense, too hot, to lead you spiral'd and inflamed,
the tender, lucid, blight caress, that draws from overt, kindling flame.

so there i sit, with wanton smile,
amused at how animals stray,
for when a human rests awhile,
he knows but soon must beck the fray.

but in this moment i'm content,
to sit by pond, and tree by night;
and watch the world flee from repent,
while thoughts and fancies take their flight.

but soon, this journey must anew, and sorry i could not here stay,
perhaps in sleep i will remiss, and have myself then float away.

simple things

as far as stereotypes go, i've often heard that women are complex - in their machinations and ideas, their intents and thoughts - that everything that one should do is not taken as an impulse, for granted, or without attention to repercussions thereof. and of men? men are simple, doomed to do as is, and predictably so. i'm not sure how much i agree with this, but let us say it is generally true; i can testify that there are few situations where men are at least as complex as the fairer sex, if not more so.

you are awarded no points for guessing that being in love is one of those situations, and even less if you were quick to point out that it is untrue - that men love on whims, easily and as fickle as any fleeting emotion could be, to dwell upon one today, and jump to another as soon as opportunity arises (or departs, if rejection were to doom it). i say the latter because that is no true love, and we are all allowed our fleeting fancies, men and women, if only as a(n excusable) prelude to what love may utopian be.

i am a simple person, and i cannot claim to have tasted the sweet (and/or bitter) taste of love's kiss. in fact, i would deign the opposite, in that i have only known spurn and wrath, though not incitingly so; perhaps a mild rebuff at love's scornful beck, and at most, a proffered attempt at obsequiousness in courting such loves. nay, i wouldn't claim to know love, but i can see enough in others to recognise what (i hope) it should be. herein, i include my godson and -daughter, wahhaj and maryam, as a frame of reference, if only for myself.

but, i have felt, true to the words of the expression, 'makan tak kenyang, tidur tak lena, mandi tak basah' (translated: to not fill from eating, not peacefully rest from sleep, not be wet from bathing) - well, at least the first two, as i would not claim to have bent the laws of physics for anything, though attempted love might come close. it is only through familiarity with such a hideous thing that i have learnt to eat and sleep (and bathe?) through remembrances - and that has been a godsend. a man in love cannot be simple, i conclude, but a man who is simply in love is either blessed, or knows little of what it is to love (and in that ignorance, he is also in bliss and bless).

as far as stereotypes go (with regards to being in love, for either gender, though i write in the feminine), there is her face engraved upon my eyelids to haunt me in my sleep. there is here fragrance, that whiffs from heavenly graces. there is her laugh and jaunt, and onomatopoeia in the creaks of the furniture settling in; that keep me awake and aware that she is a million miles away.

as far as stereotypes go, every loving couple is one that could have been her and i, but are instead her and another - old and young, passionate and platonic, overt and implied. every smile is hers, paltry in comparison, but sufficient as a reminder. every kind gesture could have been, but is never as good as, if it were by her hand.

as far as stereotypes go, i would have nothing else, except everything. including everything. only everything. and even that would only be as good because it already has her. but selfishness is the bane of happiness, because how could one want for something knowing that it degrades in one's presence? like a flower picked, or a fruit pared, or clothing thoroughly worn. rather, one might hope it is (beyond his sight and knowledge) deflowered by another, and in the end made life just that much happier for others, though not at the expense of oneself? i wonder if that is even possible.

i can only imagine how much more fitful it must be to have a woman in love, as i know that i have never been acquainted with such things - surely it must be horrendous and revolting.

stormy seas

therelies upon the horizon blue,
at dusk, in dawn, with tempered sway;
a mistimed word, which misconstrue,
makes fleet-fleet-fleeting, slips away.

this boat, which dingy, and threadbare,
could never fleet so long, so far;
to bear another year's seafare,
this weary wandering wonderer.

in search of sand, that promised hearth,
with warmth that taint of human hands;
bright stars to guide ones ship to berth,
give birth to and from distant lands.

but hark! 'tis there, beyond the blue,
what dreams to dispel solitude;
what beings that make for company -
what words circumvent platitude!
what hearts to warm the chilling nights,
what mouths for unutterable fights...
what hands that strike relentless force...
what screams that voices beck too hoarse.

perhaps it best to veer this course,
set sail for charters far from land;
that even in such deep remorse,
fault lies only in one's own hands?
for what is worth a sturdy lie,
if not but beaches, shores and strands?

so sailed again to horizon blue, with islands sinking to fathom's deep,
for sated is this sailor's thirst for woman's touch and man's deceit.

this blooming tree of mine

temperate, in which root is sown,
to leave for room thine paltry own;
and fertile soils with rain a must,
that sproutlings have become robust.

such healthy guide with your own ways,
that subject to sun's nurturing rays;
though without pruned for form or style,
whose branches could have grown so wild.

and from such humble, base and root,
have others plucked each supple fruit;
to taste, that nectar'd bittersweet,
that one should have for own retreat.

yet i could not, for all my lust,
partake in harvest of your trust;
oh, aging, tree, to beg implore,
and see the sapling you were before,
if only for another day,
before those leaves wither away.

but hope! i see a shadow looms,
a late, whilst budding blossom blooms,
a second coming of greater things,
protracted with the autumn springs.

with flowers beauteous than before,
in numbers more, and evermore;
for all to pick and none to see,
grown thorns for all the likes of me!

so cruel! so bitter! how could thee grown? though beg not mine and not my own,
to choose of birds and bees and eyes, that beckon with sweet sorrow'd lies.

and wait this hand does patiently, that heart of fruit and flower'd tree,
'til sun has set and dawned again, that last bud might remain for me?
but one can only tend so long, for when the winter becks appalled,
should wither into dreary song, to snatch the final petal fall'd.

immediate

he was only a child, restless and fragile, incompetent and brash. however, he was sweet - the kind of sweet you would adore from afar, and perhaps even find enchanting should you never have had the displeasure of meeting him in person. a child who, if only by name, was immature and selfish, petyr, and was too naïve to fully comprehend how the world works. take away his toys, and he would not cry, but he would be bitter and taciturn for a fortnight. take away his food, and he would not make any qualm, for he knew that it was only a matter of time 'til he was given another meal. give him a book, and he would read for hours on end, neglecting almost all responsibilities, but those he had to nature; but never give him an inkling of affection, for he would grow far too attached to know that every hello ends in goodbye, that every smile should end.

petyr grew up in solitude, never knowing any peers as he was the son of a czar, too rich of fortune to mingle with peasants, too poor of culture to know otherwise. what he lacked in social interaction, he made up in grooming, made prime by tutors of various disciplines and mentors from every continent. though he may grow, one day, to become refined, articulate, educated, and well-read, nobody could have said that petyr the younger showed any promise of growing beyond an average child. he displayed none of the characteristics of his father, in being charismatic, or commanding, or charming, but, perhaps, took after his mother, though nobody could say for certain, for she died giving birth to him, and was a princess from a lesser, unknown-to-many state, leaving her personality up to speculation and educated guesses - likely as much as her husband knew of her at the time, too. regardless, she was quiet and a self-admitted romantic, which, if petyr inherited from her, was only accentuated as he grew.

unfortunately, his notion of righteousness and chivalry stemmed almost entirely from vague and extrapolated notions of what was retold to him of his mother, and to the czar's dismay, was entirely detached from local custom and culture. to whatever ends may be of import, he never found in himself the will or capacity to endure others' companies, and spent copious amounts of time either in the palace library, where he was accompanied by the handful of scribes employed only for posterity, or in one of the many gardens, where he was accompanied by his own. as time passed, he would learn to appreciate more of the latter, and as he spent more time in the vast gardens, now reserved for his own use, he ironically retracted more and more into his own thoughts, lulled and disillusioned as one may in their own time.

today, however, marks a day of departure from his norm, and petyr would find himself chained and restricted by his own choice of upbringing. a royal gala, held in accordance of his royal father's conquest over a far-away country (no doubt, of barbarians and heathens), were to serve as an introduction to the ineffable, beauteous and amiable anna, of whom nobody in the kingdom had heard of before. having seen her from across the banquet table, petyr could not have cared less for the charming young princess (or, if not from royalty, perhaps she were merely of regal and blued blood, though none could ascertain for the now), and hoped eagerly to return to his chambers come the end of the night. however, the czar, never one to betray his promise to the memory of his wife, made arrangements that the two should have a conversation in private during dessert, and it was then that petyr was smitten beyond his restraint, and would later confide in his chambermaid, ".. a darling creature of such exuberant character, the sound of whose voice resonates with the night and the sight of whose shadow could not but cast a brighter light! truly, i am lost in such wonder, and i have been fool not to have betrayed myself in speech, act, and thought..."

alas, who could wonder to the ends of such simple a meeting, for as far as conversations go, the young czar was poor and leaves wanting, and for beginnings of courtships may bloom, he is but withered and hopeless. and so it has come, to the end of the night, no sooner had it relented as it had becked unwantingly - at least for said young petyr.

never again

posted here for posterity and bitter remindings, that never again should there be let this heart astray, only to embrace those which have previously becked, and those who have left it uncalled - there can be no worse sundering as already has, and for that, recuperation is no longer a choice, option, or reprieve, but the only salvation for this heart to survive.

expressed in one sentence, that the future reader may laugh at the follied attempt at writing.

your move

an ocean of a million miles, that plagued with depth of leagues unknown,
could hardly as far as between, what fleeting darkened crows could flown;
yet, farther this haunting divide, what becks emotions 'tween two hearts,
that make for slated wuthering winds to blow unknown souls apart.

one wish that expressed better what the mind was feeble, heart was scared,
(though fondness ever grew unchecked, how could one lay such thoughts full bared?)
so says he now as fleeting flights, of mind, of heart, of form, of stray,
how could he live through sordid nights, full knowing of your move away?



with apologies to S.W. to whom i could never express such intense and burning affection, if only because your heart was always elsewhere.

communion

daily that i fall in love, upon mine trembled stand commute,
beseeching eyes that fall upon the day that seem so resolute;
hourly should i falter once, and twice as much should i choose not,
against the steepled tropics rain, before the sunless burning hot.

daily that i find new kin, and friends with whom i share our woes,
while some wry of golden sixpence, and others of lacked passion throes;
timely as i while away by reading into strangers' eyes -
belying tired, languid tales, betraying hopeful, cheery lives.

regardless of their coloured sheens, or practiced thoughts of godly-tales,
one can but tell of kindred bonds, that disregard such ebon pales;
and though i pretend to have read, perused upon mine pages bland,
there are none more interesting tales to have heard from across the land,
such as those told through silent speech,
through smiles and coughs that one could teach;
and though i think it but distraught,
who knows what teachers could have taught?

now crosses sturdy wooden bridge, i hear the trundles thump and creak,
some storied told are for the heart, and some are never for the weak;
but always they are worth being told, on days and sometimes weeks apart,
there are as many different loves as are there many flitting hearts.

now here we are, arrived at last, upon the proverbed daily grind,
some authors write for penance sake, and others perhaps to unwind;
but all they write - and as do i - so easy like a beggar's plead,
if only to behest that one should spend the time to rest and read.

fare thee well my scribing friends, dispersed like dainty dawdling doves,
and forget not my errored prose, that daily should i fall in love.

in full bloom

jacarandas all in bloom, sighing with the wind,
like lost souls who never met their closest next of kin;
jacarandas without leaves, that purple in the blazing heat,
let petals fall and dance their tune to land upon my naked feet.

bright mauve dancers in their skirts that bloom to ease my pain,
that sprouted from unearthly source behest of heaven's rain;
jacarandas in a row, that give my neighbourhood heartbeat,
and grace daybreak and sunset with your sickly, sorrowed sweet.

but, hark, who comes, in blazing flames, of scarlet, maroon, red?
like ginger children, freckled souls, and grins upon their heads;
and not of one, but many breeds, whose flowers stake their claim,
pray tell my sweet, what blushing brides have chosen be thy name?

a hibiscus, a wee bird's beak, a sanguine vase, a hide-and-seek,
but choreographed petals lain to lay upon a lover's cheek;
but how could such a beauteous thing make jacarandas seem so lame,
if only to be called a lord, the sight of one, a forest flame.

perhaps it is that in their grace, they seek not to compete or shy, but cloaked in regal of the kings they make one falter and assume,
so ask ye men, not what or who, or beg not know the whence or why, to let the summer throne their reign the purples reds are in full bloom.

my new hero

"whatever you can do, there's likely some asian 10 yo who can do it ten times better"

well, Dr. Heng Li isn't ten, but it kind of still holds true.

this guy is my new hero.

that dread memory

when i was growing up, i was slow to realise that my social interactions with others caused them moderate-to-severe discomfort, and that a lot of how i behaved (and, when i was in my teens, what i said) was generally quite abrasive. now, i should emphasise that this is not just the awkwardness while one is young(er), or the rebelliousness associated with youth - i never really went through a rebellious phase, as i was at boarding school, anyway, and i always liked the higher authorities; i never really felt that i was too awkward a person in my lonesome, but i do recall, now, that in the company of others, i would behave somewhat unsavoury-ly - something that persists in vestigial amounts to this day.

perhaps, it is warranted here an example. i believe that one of the biggest social faux pas-es that i did was this uncanny ability to remember the smallest details that i pick up during conversations. again, when i was younger, i felt that everyone would retain a considerable amount of information from social conversations, and it would, therefore, not be out of place to reproduce such information at a later date - this is wrong. not only do people forget most of the 'filler' details of conversations, they also relegate most of the information to a disposable status soon after the conversation has ended - something, which, i feel is socially acceptable, if not expected.

now, before you judge me for being a self-proclaimed know-it-all, or hyper-observant twat, let me acknowledge that i am neither (or anything similar, hopefully). i don't pretend to have a photographic memory, or am able to 'learn' of things faster than anyone else, just that i have perhaps, always thought that everything one mentions in passing is important enough to warrant someone paying attention to. of course, with age, i now know that most people use these factoids as 'fillers' and, unfortunately, i find myself (having to do) doing the same.

of course, a repercussion of this was that people would find me weird for knowing things about them 'that nobody else knew' or that 'they never told anyone', which, again, still happens to this day. you can imagine that, since this retaining of information is more emphasised when i deem it 'important' (such as when someone special in your life may mention something to you), well, it only bodes unwell for when i try to have a casual conversation with 'that' someone (especially considering that i'm already in jitters to begin with).

in any of these high pressure cases, it seems that i let blurt, sometimes, that old habit, of information that was so readily divulged before, but apparently not to be retained - in said conversations, in job interviews, in meeting new people, and such. and the slanted glances don't go unnoticed. however, in my (oh-so-wise-) age, i've now learned to better control this in conversations, such that i 'force' myself to forget things i hope are too trivial (and doing this on purpose takes a lot of practice and experience!), but sometimes, people do notice that i'm feigning it (although it's usually not the person who's supposed to have thought that i had legitimately forgotten, thank heavens.

anyway, it's nice to become a little less socially inept by controlling this impulse, but at the same time i cannot help imagining if i've come to mask it so well that i've now adopted it as a norm. i do find myself forgetting details of a conversation that, when in the past, people would say 'i can't believe you don't remember me telling you this' and thinking to myself, 'yes, i remember, of course, but have to pretend that i don't remember every single thing you've told me, lest you think me a stalker', now i find that i legitimately don't recall (or at least require some pondering to recall it). perhaps it is also my (purported) age that is lending its hand at making me more socially acceptable.

sometimes i do like the winters so

i'm not necessarily one for winters. the cold, i've grown accustomed to (somewhat), and the shorter days are tolerable, even if i barely see any sunlight between leaving and coming home from work. the constant need to visit the washroom, and sporadic hunger pangs that likely arise due to my reluctance to increase my food intake are only bothersome if i consciously think about them, but otherwise, winter is alright by me. perhaps, the only thing that i could do without is the dreaded waking up in the morning - when the duvet is so blissfully warm from a night's worth of body heat, and the parquet floor as cold as the impending toilet seat, it's probably for the best that i cannot hold my bladder enough to warrant more sleeping in (unfortunately, this applies just as well to the weekends).

in any case, i'm not necessarily one for winter, perhaps if only by comparison to a nice spring or autumn day (aren't we all), and even a heated summer evening, or perpetually warm and dank tropical midday, if not out in the sun, is perfectly acceptable, if not preferable. sometimes. but, as with any day, season, month, and year, there's nice things about it, and what i shall miss the most of the winters everywhere is likely to be the following:

coming out of the house, into a strikingly cool day, as the sun arises, exhaling the first breath that 'smokes of dragon's-breath' and taking in a brisk, sharp, fresh strike of cold air to replace what warmth was housed in my lungs. the distinct smell of winter, which i cannot describe, that transcends locality or time, much like that Aeromonas smell after a rainfall that belies metabolic certainty as clockwork.

which may not seem entirely comfortable to some (even myself at times), but every so often it makes for a memorable start to a day. of course, its complement does as well:

exiting the train station (or any other venue that's filled with the scent of people; cigarettes, leather and wool, cologne and perfume, and sometimes, unwittingly, body odour) to be greeted by the same natural smell, with the taint of morning bakeries, (preferably mild) coffee, and a nuantic mix of the atmosphere (you will forgive my ineptness in describing this, but i'm sure those who have felt and smelt it will know what i am talking about!). perhaps this is something that the summers cannot offer, and, as with all things that have pros and cons, i will sometimes reminisce on the winters if only for this feeling.

which is probably untrue, as there's other things about winter that i do love, but are forgetting at the moment.

ah, you fickle mind.