Couldn't sleep due to a fear that maybe a tiny mouse is lurking in some dark corner in my room and my internet connection finally decided to let me view the websites I wanted to see. I was excited to logon to hangad online's newly updated site -- though not all features are fully functional yet. still, it looks good to me. check it out! (shameless plug.)
I also finally got to see my friend's blogs which i haven't visited for the longest time. It felt like a reunion, with me saying hi to everyone like the receptionist who writes your name on the tag, the first person you see and the first one you forget. Being incognito has its uncomplicated joys; I get engrossed with stealth observation of friends' lives and the occasional snooping about some stranger's personal business.
I was about to end my anonymous watch with a blog comment when I stopped myself, figuring it was best for me to not let this friend know that I dropped by.
My thoughts rambled on and I realized how fleeting written or read messages are. I remembered the letters my best friend and I wrote to each other, envelopes of words which have yellowed and perhaps served as breakfast to the insects in my bureau drawer, and which I have never reopened for the past decade. I thought about those scribbled clumsy notes from a young love which I carefully kept hidden from every nosy member of this house, but have since been sacrificed to the flames to soothe a jealous rage.
I smiled at the thought of locked messages in my old pager unit, when the words "you know" meant so much that i just had to save it (bwahahaha what a child i was); and, of course, the clutter in one's mobile inbox which stays there until your phone loses memory -- or until you lose your phone.
To recall all those significant lines verbatim would be impossible, yet the snippet of amusement that I gained from trying to remember how much they meant to me then surpasses an outright effort to type a greeting on friendster -- they'll eventually erase that message anyway at some point in time. A cosmic poke will do. The words do get in the way sometimes.
I also finally got to see my friend's blogs which i haven't visited for the longest time. It felt like a reunion, with me saying hi to everyone like the receptionist who writes your name on the tag, the first person you see and the first one you forget. Being incognito has its uncomplicated joys; I get engrossed with stealth observation of friends' lives and the occasional snooping about some stranger's personal business.
I was about to end my anonymous watch with a blog comment when I stopped myself, figuring it was best for me to not let this friend know that I dropped by.
My thoughts rambled on and I realized how fleeting written or read messages are. I remembered the letters my best friend and I wrote to each other, envelopes of words which have yellowed and perhaps served as breakfast to the insects in my bureau drawer, and which I have never reopened for the past decade. I thought about those scribbled clumsy notes from a young love which I carefully kept hidden from every nosy member of this house, but have since been sacrificed to the flames to soothe a jealous rage.
I smiled at the thought of locked messages in my old pager unit, when the words "you know" meant so much that i just had to save it (bwahahaha what a child i was); and, of course, the clutter in one's mobile inbox which stays there until your phone loses memory -- or until you lose your phone.
To recall all those significant lines verbatim would be impossible, yet the snippet of amusement that I gained from trying to remember how much they meant to me then surpasses an outright effort to type a greeting on friendster -- they'll eventually erase that message anyway at some point in time. A cosmic poke will do. The words do get in the way sometimes.
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