Dear Diary,
It's been a crazy weekend. Crazily boring weekend. And yet, I think if I had spent it outside doing some activity, this sense of emptiness will just spillover to next week. I guess I really needed this time to adjust to the transition from relentless studying to relentless slacking, and then to gradually adjust back to the usual mugging regime. More than anything, I needed this time to think.

I think many of us have this tendency of speaking indirectly. We like to wrap our thoughts in layers of codes, convey these strands of sentiments in an unending labyrinth, and project the ray of feelings through a broken prism. It's like sending morse code that no one has the translation to. It's as if we wish to let others know, and yet, at the same time, wish to prevent them from knowing too. How strange, how paradoxical.

Perhaps we like our thoughts to remain vague and nebulous because the truth is sometimes unpleasant or inconvenient. It could shatter the status quo that we have all been willing to accept, and/or destroy the illusion of us that others have always embraced.

You know, everyone has a story to tell; we are just waiting for the right listener. Amidst the usual concoction of joy, tragic, love and despair, therein lies a unique quantity in each and every tale, and that quantity is the way in which our thoughts are configured.We can share similar experiences, but because we perceive things differently, we gain different insights into these parallel events. For the most part of our lives, we have been narrating an incomplete story, leaving out the unpleasantantness and only sharing those glorious moments of ours. I think it takes more than courage to share the unabridged version of our story; it takes trust - complete, unshakable and wholesome trust.

haha I think I won't mind retiring somewhere around 60s to be a biographer for my friends. That would be a pretty fun and interesting job!