Looking out from the window, obscured fog has fallen on this town. It was just enough for the dim morning light through. It has rained for a couple of days only it still cannot beat the drought. The after-rain weather was even chilly. With trembling movements, I started to repeat my routines except for wrapping a scarf round my neck.
Opening the door, reflex made me turn on all the artificial brains. I got myself plugged to join the electronic wave as well as to connect to the world, just to make sure I was ready to produce. Unnoticeably, a day has gone.
Back home, I happened to flip a book written by Paulo Coelho from Wing. I am not a writer but I was hit by this line: "Half the time a writer feels angry about everything and the other half depressed." I pondered a bit until my mind was distracted by the moving square. With my thumb skillfully hopping the channels, I tried to minimize my activities so as to reserve my energy for tomorrow's routines.
What will I be?
Will I be handsome, will I be rich?
You told me the future was not ours to see
But do I have any choice?
Not to follow, not to copy?
Whatever will be, will be
I will live on my own rules
Swim against the mainstream
Living in this place, I hardly feel time goes by. Every day, every week and every year seems the same to me. Until lately, seeing my old friends in my home town made me realise how quickly time has passed. They now have become someone's wife and mum. When I looked back trying to find what I have done and who I have become, it seems there are not many major changes in my journey. Despite this, I do feel I have grown stronger and tougher from inside out after having been away from home. It is hard to tell the changes inside us.
~ Wingjapan, toy
They may be inconspicuous, but they are all carrying their unique stories. They are witnesses of our human involvements, being part of our laughter, anger, sorrow and happiness. Time has left traces on them but they are invariably calm and impassive. They choose to watch quietly until one day they are eroded completely and disappear in this cold-hearted world.
It has been eighteen years. I was passionate, I was enthusiastic and I was young. Even now I don't have the aspiration to do anything great. I still cannot forget. I believe we all have a bottom line in our essence which cannot be crossed, let alone twisting the truth to cover the outrage. I still believe one day the truth can be revealed and the spirits can be released with a fair judgment.
Lest we forget.