Luckily, Senorita is nice. Felt really uncertain before seeing her and listening to her talk. We have got used to the forever patient and soft-spoken Senor. Anyway, no more abandonment, please. Reminds me of those days in Crescent,where I was once deprived of confidence, because of the change. In those depressive days I used to take a walk in the playground in NYGBS, looking at the sky. The sky was as solid as a wall, and stars distant, beyond reach. Yesterday was saying how much life has changed since then, without our knowing it. Nanyang, it sounds unfamiliar now, like uttered from years ago. Didn't go back to Crescent for Speech Day. Didn't feel like receiving the award in front of the many people, known or unknown, all somehow detached. And somehow relunctat to go back.

Angst. Learnt this word some time ago, which probably describes my mood now. Began to feel like one year ago, not knowing what on earth is waiting for me. Can't perceive the outline of the future. And don't know which path to take.

I walk on this lonely road,The only one that I have ever known.

And don't know where it goes. I'm really happy with just sitting outside the classroom leaning on the lockers looking at the building opposite or drawing some random stuff. Happy with letting my mind follow my fingers instead of leading them. Happy with naughty defiance and little trick and mild violence. Happy with being obssessed with nothing or nobody but soccer and the players. But not happy that I have to make all the compromise for a life far from ideal. So everything now needs to come to an end. Life is just a slideshow. Sigh. Being random again.
Printed out some RM picture so that I can read their faces everyday, so that I can sense their company, so that I can somehow trace the untouchable past. What if I get old this way, gazing their faces at peace. What if time passes only in this silent one-way communication, gentle and soothing as if it was non-existent.

This thought suddenly came to mind: do Spanish people have their national pledge? I don't think so. And I can't imagin if they had one, what it would be like.

The day shall come: I shall play my guitar, perhaps in a small town in Spain, with my shadow stretching long. Into the past, into the dream, into every happiness of life.

Walking alone in this chaotic layer of world. Everywhere wafts the fragrance of illusion and the intoxicating uncertainty. I don't know I don't know I don't know what I don't know. I'd like to indulge myself in an ocean of randomness where there is no geometry. Ahhh I feel tired and want to feel resigned every now and then. Please give me a handful of fresh air of idolized arts and I will swallow it as if deadly thirsty. Randomness is good, boredom makes you feel useless. I feel the years being drawn away from me, leaving no reflections or shadows whatsoever. This endless waiting shall end. To be changed. Shaped. Coloured. Dreams shall dissolve into reality.
By the way I hate Shakespeare. He shows no genuine compassion for his own characters but strives to pose himself as a sage. His plays smell like the rotten furniture in some 18th century maison and his poems have a facade thick and death-like green as tortoise shell. For his plays I'd rather read the abridged version or some Spanish/French version if I could understand them. He has no taste in the beauty of language. Excuse my skepticism but I find him boring to death. Like a walking skeleton clod in some flamboyant costume breathing the air of a coffin full of arrogant flowers. I tell you I'm devoted to deny everything or anything positive about him. Reading Shakespeare is simply repulsive.

Henry David Thoreau and Virginia Woolf. After Shakespeare-ing for so many days I long to get into touch with their purified silky language. Curse this the Colour Purple. It's insulting.