random 01- from another blog, another place, a different time
I revisited my old journals that stormday. Entries as early as 1999. Those were put on paper seven years ago. And still their sentiments and pain resound, morphed, carved, sculpted to sound more intelligent, more profound. Maybe this is why I tried not to read them before. Because I knew I will not like it. I do recall that back in 2000 or 2001, I entrusted my pen-pencil born collection of confessions and musings to Cai. I know it was because I did not want to deal with it. I was in possibly in (conjured) pain , so resolved not to succumb, so determined to prove myself. I had nothing but plans and should’s. I’ve become what I was set to become. I am proud. But why are my moments of happiness mostly fleeting?
I am not ungrateful, just curious.
