Youngest kid of six with an inferiority and black sheep complex, but determined that God saves not just his soul to heaven but the remainder of his manic-depressive life, so others won't say he became a Christian and remained a jerk.
i won't be transparent before i'm opaque. and you'll get to know me starting from the small things: who my favourite bands are. what kind of movies i like. who are my heroes.
I’m convinced that when confronted with sincere, real love, the Jesus factor will become obvious. But let’s not plant the cross before we carry it. I’m not trying to con you.
Some dreams are meant to be achieved. I know that. But maybe other dreams are meant to drive us, privately. Never known to anyone but ourselves.
It is a sadness that, when choosing between crying and sighing, will choose sighing. I'd almost say that melancholy is being sad about sadness itself.
On memory and nostalgia
It saddens me when life moves forward and people decide that certain things are worth forgetting.
I've learnt that the word irregardless is filed as a non-standard word in the English language. That's a lexicographer's way of saying it's not a real word.
Crowds are fickle things. So when we stand in the thousands and cry against the present government, do we know who we're actually crying for?
People always want the best for themselves. But I want to sometimes take second or third or fourth best, just so that the loser down the road doesn't always have to come in last. It must feel like shit to always come in last.
On growing old
Leasehold property make me feel sad. It doesn't matter how old the family photos are that you put on your wall. It's your family but it's not really your wall.
I ask you, if God loves everyone, and if God is also incapable of loving evil, how can there be such a thing as an evil man?
On a daily basis
One line quips, like this.
Friday, May 19, 2006
You know what i miss? hotel rooms.
it's not even like i used to travel so much. i just miss the feeling of checking in to a hotel room, deciding where you put your shoes, checking out what they've got on tv, checking out the rooms, jumping on the bed, checking out the view, putting my things down on the bedside table, playing with the light switches by the bedside table, checking out the bathrooms and all the wonderful little things they have there, checking out the drawers and their bibles, unpacking my travel bags and hanging up a few shirts with the hotel hangers, putting my toiletries in the bathroom, turning up the air cond, rolling around in bed and checking out all the wonderful things in the fridge, even if it means only looking at them and not eating or drinking any of them.
most of the time, when we say the we are going on a holiday, we talk about the places of attraction, the culture, the people, the customs, the shopping, and all those things tourists talk about, and photographs will tell about. hotel rooms are like an incidental part of holidaying. nobody travels so they can stay in hotels, people stay in hotels so they can travel. but i miss staying in hotels.
maybe what i really want is a holiday. maybe for some strange reason, my desire for a trip somewhere nice is emerging in the form of a subconscious association to the hotel habits that inevitably follow such journeys. maybe what i'm really desiring is not the keys with numbers, doors with funny card locks, bellboys or all those yellowy-yellowy lights. maybe what i want is a week in the heart of buenos aires, or a vineyard in bella tuscany. i've been wanting to post my top 10 holiday destinations for a while now, and i even have the individual thumbnails to go with the post saved on my thumbdrive. i've just been... so caught up with the life and living in the local, that the foreign has either barely been on my mind or whenever it does creep in, it does so so late in the night, when my eyes close and the world attempts to go black. but it never really goes black. i think i'm leaving the world behind, but i still see it, in ribbons of faint light: an evening in gothenburg, a glacier in alaska, a green-coloured canal in venice, with music playing.
Labels: melancholy, memory and nostalgia
3:37 pm ]