4th Update

The journey to the northwest
To the foreign land
Not as a castaway, yet feeling like one
Not as a runaway, yet feeling like one

In the new promised land
Time moves no differently
The past on the old land
Forgotten with the passing of time

However, is it to be forgotten?
Shouldn't it be remembered instead?
With all the power of the mind?
For oneself is in one's past?

What is there to build for tomorrow,
If there is no foundation to build upon?
What is there for the newborn soul,
If there is nothing to return to?

Longing for companion,
But is companion, what one seeks for?
Longing for self-assurance,
But is self assurance, what one needs?

What lies in one's fate?
When will one stops questioning,
And follow the drifting raft,
Guided by the flow of nature?

Dancing under the vastness of the sky
Won't one feel as insignificant as one can be?
If one is insignificant,
Then will one worthy of questioning one's self?

Never seek the answer
For there are no answer
One's self is an answer
For an unknown question


C.B.I.


Notes: Now I just remember that my poem almost never have any title. I think that when I start giving title to my poem, I limit myself and the poem itself. When one has no title, one is free, and this is what I intend to be. For I am a ronin, who has forgotten the flow of the waves.

Memoires

Actually, I want to try to start writing poem again. It's been such a long time ago, that I forgot how to write. Well, Suddenly, tonight I want to write something about memories, but I'm facing a writer's block. So, I open my poetry folder in my laptop, and guess what I found there:

Memoires

Standing there,
On the end of the line
watching all those memories
Our memories

It is not always sweet
Even it is bitter sometimes

What is bitter,
Will be forgiven within time
But it will never be forgotten
For the lessons imposed
Will always worth remembering

But what is sweet,
We will always remember it
With fondness and love
They will never fade away

Sometimes,
We may look like we have no future
Other times,
We may look like there is no tomorrow

Life is funny, isn't it?
It revolves in a circle
An unbroken circle, unless severed
But then,
For every single thing
That has been broken,
There will always be a chance
To repair it, isn't it?

The chance is in our hands
That, my friend, is what is worth remembering.


I forgot when did I write this piece. But, oh well, there you go. Enjoy, and hopefully this poetry will have some special meaning for everyone who read this one.

Short, medium, and long term memory loss

From the beginning of this semester, I feel like I'm starting to remember everything that happens throughout my life for 19 years. It is not that long, mind you, but after all those flashback, I DO notice one thing: my memory is currently working terribly bad. I mean, I'm known of having a good, if not sharp, memory, and I'm forgetting almost everything, ever since I come to Singapore. God knows that this might be the side effect of reading too many manga, playing too many games, not learning at all, barely socializing with people, etc. Basically, I guess I haven't stimulate my brain enough, that my memory seems to be seeping out of my brain. Well, at least I should be thankful that I have started to recollect some of them.

I just feel that it is kinda funny that I forgot those things. From my recollected memory, I remember that I wanted to treasure those memories. Or rather, I wanted to treasure the feelings that I felt at that time. For those reading these, it's not about love or anything, mind you. I guess, it's more like I'm searching pieces of myself through pieces of memories that I have lost. Somehow, when I think about it, the current "me" is very different from the past "me". Sure, people change, but people won't change in such a drastic manner that they forgot about their past.

Well, we can say that I'm a bit confused on my self-identity. It seems that the current "me" is just a mask that I used once upon a time ago. Just like those stories in the manga, I guess the mask has either replace my own face, or the mask has gain its own personality, and it replace my identity without me knowing it, until now. I just can't shake the feeling that what I have lost, are many, and they all are important for me. It is the feeling of those moments, that I miss the most. I just can hope that those pieces of memory will come back to me, slowly but surely.

My First posting

First posting, 2nd blog. Never update the 1st blog, coz I'm too lazy to do so. Bwahahahahaha!!!! >:) Well, just know that one of my friends has her blog here, and the template kinda cool, so, what the heck, I'll give it a shot. Well, if anyone is reading this, then expect an irregular update, since I'm one hell of a lazy bastard.

Ok, for my 1st posting, what should I write? hm........

I'm quite inspired by my friend's blog. Her blog were made with quotes from books, etc. Those quotes are inspiring, indeed. But earlier, at the younger point in my life, maybe at grade 11 in my high school, I have decided: I'm quite sick of people quoting other's work. It's OK to quote them to a certain extent, especially if those quotes meant very much to you. (No offense to anybody reading this, esp. to the owner of the blog mentioned earlier m(___)m ). For once, when I'm still cocky enough in my high school, I decided that I want to make my own quotes, that I will use for myself only. Yep. Talking bout originality. But with the flow of time, with my unbelievable lazyness, I realize that I don't want to write them down. On some part, I feel kinda shy to myself if I ever going to read my own quotes, because I'm going to realize how hypocrite I am compared with my own ideals. But, on the other hand, some of my home-made quotes really does make sense to my own mind (and it is perfectly applicable), that it settles around.

Some of my home-made quotes:

- "There is nothing absolute, including this very statement." Anyone care to cipher this one?

- "A wilted rose is still a rose." I made this one prior to my own imagination over some raping matter. In real life, sometimes raped girls, or some pregnant pre-married teenagers are facing a hard time in this wretched society. Some said that they are not impure anymore, etc. etc. If you did take notice, another word for "losing virginity" is defloration. So what? Some of these gal are persecuted by the society, only for something like that (with exception to some sex-crazed b****). They are impure, they are the wilted flower, and they are the pariah of the society. Well, sometimes I'm quite angry over this alienation problem. Once upon a time, I notice something about flowers: even detached rose petals are sometimes called rose, incidentally. And then, click. "A detached rose petal, is still a rose." "A wilted rose, is still a rose." LOL, maybe it's funny to hear this one from a guy like me, but well, anybody is free for thinking anything, rite?

Hm....guess I have written more than what I intend to write......Well, this will mark my first post in this blog. Just pray that I will frequently update this blog, unlike my other blog. Ciao.