Some muses are persistently annoying, or is it annoyingly persistent? Doesn’t matter either way. Tonight (or is it very early in the morning?) I shall get rid of this muse one and for all.

Enough of ranting for now, since most people won’t even know where I’m heading off with a confusing parlance like that. (I’m still not bored enough to drone on about bothersome details of my day though.)

So, how’s another bit of a rave to you? Sounds good? I’m sure…

I think I have a problem with myself having a problem with people who are having the same problem as me. And the said problem – excessive introspection to a point of fault (and annoyance).

Not that I’m so much into the conscientious behavior itself, but rather, brooding’s a kind of habit to me. Has been and always will be. I don’t think it even does any good half the time.

No, wait; make that almost all the time.

(And I believe this is yet another introspective piece of writing… Ahaha, how predictable.)

So, to go back to the topic, having a problem with myself having a problem with people who are having the same problem as me isn’t the main point. But rather, it is the starting point.

The main point is… a typical syndrome of the brooding disease is the storm cloud over the patient’s head. And while the storm cloud isn’t the most dangerous thing to exist in this world, it causes some victims to become a common moping teenager. Oh, the horror!

And to veer from topic again, even if I have the most effective waterproof umbrella (Pardon the excessive usage of words, I couldn’t help it. Oh, and pardon my frequent intervention.) in the universe at my hands, if it so happens that I don’t use it, I’ll still get wet.

And somehow, I always forget to open the umbrella.

(Please ignore the fact that I could have worn a raincoat and pretend for a moment that raincoats do not exist. Thank you.)

(Oh, I love brackets!)

So… erm, where was I? Oh, umbrellas…

Yep, and an umbrella is quite useless if you’ve gotten totally drenched already. Though in my context, I don’t actually get a complete bath of rain. So, my point being that…

Okay, what was the point again?
Oh… the storm cloud problem… (Forgive me for being so distracted, will you?)

I think I should get a full protective gear. But they’re kind of expensive and I don’t know how to get all those gold. Then again, I could always get a raincoat.

Yeah, I think I should do that…

(Sorry for the puzzlement I must have caused. This is more for my own amusement, really. Have fun!)

What do they call this feeling?

Nostalgia?

It's thick with the scent of candy floss and fresh grass after the rain.
It sounds like the sharp tinkers of the piano that's muffled on the edges.
It tastes like charred meat left too long on the barbecue and over boiled eggs.
It's a room with the breaking sunlight falling on the contours of wooden furniture.
It's the buzzing theme park with its bright lights and dizzying rides, people huddled together.


Sweet nights on top of a double decker bed, reading an old oversized book of fairytales...

My house smells like a hotel, and to be precise, it smells like cheap soap and sweat. And speaking of which, my bathroom lights are "broken" as well. I retreated for the night early, but had trouble sleeping.

I had sequential dreams again.

Some of them I'm familiar with, and I can remember those weird characters in them, each to his/her own setting. I never knew their names, despite knowing them (subconsciously, perhaps) for a little more than a decade. And each time, I don't fail to recognise them.


It was always dark, as if there was a blanket of fog over the whole place. No colors, blurry and voiceless - too surreal to be part of reality. I'd always knew in all instances that I was dreaming, but more often than not, I'm just an audience, looking on as the story unfolds.

I can never remember the beginnings, and as I awaken, the endings are cut short.

They were always stories, or rather, fragments of them. Sometimes they continued in the next few nights, at other times, they hid in the deep recesses of my mind. I cannot touch them, nor retrieve them, once they're gone.

I don't dream of flying anymore. The characters are all in hiatus, though I can still remember the flighty laughters.

The moods have changed.

I don't dream of running anymore. This time, the chases are more complex.

The stories evolved.

But the rules still remain - I'm always left wondering with the leftover pieces in my hands.

So, sometimes I wonder...