Je ne veux pas retourner

I am 21 going on 22, and I still do things at the last minute, thus causing myself trouble, like the dilemma I'm having right now over my passport and visa.

Well, I'm learning.

Yesterday was a near slip towards the mean reds, I found the very idea of that flight back to Melbourne on Monday night terrifying. I don't want to play anymore.

But that moment has passed, and asides from this whole passport/visa thing, I can grasp the notion of classes starting, handling apartment bills and doing the groceries again. I think.

After spending almost the whole summer not writing, and in fact, not even opening my journal(I think my lack of journal entries are directly related to my lack of communication with God, if you can believe. Sorry, can't resist the whole spiritual analysis thing), I read through it again, and it felt like sweet relief. I could identify with the things I wrote, and I know that sounds idiotic, after all, I did write them myself. But I think, if I may be ridiculously self-centered and melodramatic; I sort of lost myself. Reading my journal gave a sort of deja vu feeling, I recognized what I wrote as me. It was me.

OH-KAY, now that we've gotten the psycho-babble out of the way.

To friends I've lost
To friends I did not earn
To friends I didn't try for
To friends who've hurt me back
I'm sorry.

Well, I said the psycho-babble was over, I didn't mention anything about psycho-haikus or psycho-stabs-at-poetry.

There was this one moment at Phuket, we were walking around at night, and on our way back to the hotel we passed this Irish pub. I looked inside, there was a makeshift stage in one corner, and right when I looked in I saw this guy, a local, I think, standing on the stage with a guitar in hand. He was smiling at something, and then, still smiling, his gaze swung around, thus meeting mine.

Back at school, I once went for this French festival for SBP schools, and I was standing at the food-stall my school had set up, and up came this guy from some other school, I don't know where, and the moment I turned around I saw him, I got this jolt and I do believe I was infatuated, just like that. Infatuation at first sight. He didn't even have to say anything, wasn't even talking to me, wasn't even particularly good-looking. He was just asking the guy beside me a question, smiling, and that was all it took.

Well, of course nothing came out of that, nor this. But I remembered that feeling, that jolt, and I'll be damned, I experienced it again when I saw that grinning Thai guy, wearing a Bob Marley hat in Jamaican flag colours. He looked at me, I got a jolt, thinking he was gorgeous. So what did I do? Instead of summoning my own 1000 kilowatt smile, I dropped my gaze to the ground(probably blushing my cheeks off), and gave a teeny one. To the ground. What was I doing? Trying to channel Vanidah Imran? Nak jadi Perempuan Melayu Terakhir?

Ultimate flirting failure.

Anyway, my frequent listen as of late has been this song by David Choi. Such a prettily sad sentimental song. After listening to this compared to the original stripped down version with just a guitar, I must say, production can make all the difference. The violins are employed beautifully, and I really like the solitary piano notes played between the lines of the chorus, it sounds so floaty and ethereal, it ties everything up so nicely. Also, I think the video was nifty work, done by the independent Wong Fu Productions.