things change, so do people

have you...

have you visited a place where you used to go when you were small, and to your surprise, find that the whole world seems much smaller, and more obvious?

everytime i go back to my hometown, i feel like that. i feel like its shrinking, and its becoming something bland.

my hometown used to feel so large, when i ran around, leashed to cleopatra (our dog), while she took me to walks.
patra used to take me to places so foreign to me. somewhere so wonderfully unfarmilier but i knew she knew her way, so i wasn't worried a bit.
now, when i visit back, i find out that these were just narrow roads near the rice-field, nothing so out of ordinary.

i think as we get chronogically accomplished, either our world gets smaller, or we see less than we used to.
as a child, we're able to see more, feel more and touch more things.
the world seemed limitless, sky seemed to go on forever, roads leading to neverending journeys, rivers a boundry to mystery land.

how, when, and why, did we lose
our sight?

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These nimbly slipping past days, i am updating my blog almost everyday with a relatively long post.
(i stock my writingss on notepads, and just upload them when im allowed a modem)

I think its because of the confistication of internet freedom my mother has imposed on me.
I guess i am a talkative person by nature, i need to speak a fraction of my simple mind,
even though that person may be a hollow, unempathetic and emotion-deprived phylosophical zombie - myself.

I usually had MSN and I would be lucky and priveleged enough to have very kind friends that invites me into group conversation,
or strike up a conversation out of pity (or perhaps, bordam bordering to insanity), which makes me happy like no other, and really, makes my day.

-I took out the depressing bit; nobody likes a morbid bastard!-

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I killed another cockroach.
this one hid beneath the cupboard as my mother screamed,
as though he did not want to expose his grotesque appearence to a lady.
But as i approached near the cupboard,
(my mother crowching in the far end of the house, shivering)
he came out at me, for me to end his bitter life.

it is as though he wanted to show that he was not afraid of humans,
and was prepared to die a proud death.
i respect this roach and shatter his whole body with a single blow.


i sometimes wonder (even though i know it is not possible) whether other living thing,
and even non-living things, have feelings.
does the ladybird stay on tip of my finger for a reason?
do pens feel sad about its ink running out and its life coming to an end?
what is that bird thinking, looking at me?
how does a chair think about, being sat on for a long time?
does CDs lament over the scratch on their perfect underside?
is my paper okay with me scribbling all over with horrible handwriting?
how do ants handle the horror of raindrops?
are traffic signals proud of their jobs?

and so on.
silly, childish and absolutely illogical thoughts.
but i have to think to stop me from thinking about... things.

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