Fools that fall behind


What date is it today?

I guess it’s just another day I haven’t read or written. The scribbles in my journal are becoming harder and harder to read and make less and less sense day by day.


The sound of the construction work outside is flaring up the discomfort in my abdomen. The neon lights in the evening hurt my brain, but I guess that’s part of a new beginning. Some people love and hate new beginnings. They are anxious about new adjustments, new people and new surroundings. And soon, they realize that this is why they are here, and they grow to love it. However, it doesn’t feel the same if the new beginning is only provisional and is due to change again soon.


It might be a temporary ‘new’ environment, but I’m not sure. In fact, I’ve become less sure recently about what I do and what I really should be doing. The focus on improving my life kind of fell apart due to the lack of solitude and the lack of time to think clearly. I find it hard to accept what I can’t change. I cannot alleviate their sorrow; if anything, they inject me with it.


Whenever I try to focus on what I can do, I wonder if I am doing it for them or me.

I’ve been questioning the validity of reality without having any interest in the answers because they wouldn’t contribute to a good story. Reality has evolved into such a bad cliché that I don’t see any originality anymore. I’m not playing the judge; I’m just looking for worthwhile inspirations that I can develop and give meaning to. I don’t talk about these things, so who am I to criticize anyone or anything?

Besides, there are so many lies and secrets involved in reality that it drains me and makes me sick. It litters my mind with who I should be and rubs salt in some healing wounds caused by failures and mistakes.

Creating reminders of why you are here is important, such as continuing to do and practice what you love because otherwise, you’ll forget why you exist. I’m already forgetting.

If I’m not wrong, March 2016 is the first month since 2009 that I haven’t blogged a single entry. This puts me to shame. I cannot blame apathy. I cannot blame lethargy because I am the one who produces it all. Therefore it is my own fault.


There are three types of artists: Type one is sociable, Type two is reserved, and Type three is a good actor. Over many years of observation, I figured that the actor has the best chances of survival and maintaining their art. He has a high EQ, has secrets that you will probably never know, but he knows his way around because he knows people. And these people love him without knowing him. He is Type-One and Type-Two intelligently combined. I’m trying to embrace my nature as a Type two, sometimes the Type three will seep through, but I can never make him last for too long.


It’s April 1st today. I wrote a little over 500 words that may lack coherence. But I can see some meanings here and there, so I won’t complain. I will write nicer and neater in my journal (because the stream of consciousness is not universal). I will hopefully find a good, worthwhile book to read. Lastly, I will play my favourite songs.

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