2 kinds

I know man. Jo passed this musical baton to me sometime ago and I havent yet disclose my musical preferences. But the thing is. I need 5 pple to pass the baton to...and I dun have no 5 pple. Like sheesh. Here goes nothing.


Total volume of music files in my computer:

1.43 GB, 70 songs (I just reformatted =( )


The last cd I bought:

Nat King Cole at the Movies


Song playing right now:

Chantay Savage - I will survive


5 songs I listen to alot, or that means a lot to me:

Dishwalla - Every little thing
PM dawn - Set adrift on memory bliss
Lifehouse - Take me away
Nada Surf - If you leave
Snow Patrol - How to be dead

Five people I’d like to pass my baton to

Jo (who passed the baton to me)
Serene (who doesnt blog)
Ni (who disappeared)
Jian Wei (who prolly wont read this)
Antimarx (who doesnt care a hoot abt this)

=) So there. I failed. The baton I'll keep.

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"We are all, are we not, lost? Those who know it not are the more lost. Those who do know it are found, for they have grasped their full lostness."

A mini organ. Rip curl slippers. 30 bucks bohemian looking necklace. When u write ur wish list and then look at it after a while....u realise u dont so much want some of those things anymore. Those are what's left of the things I still want. Short list aint it. Compared to some.

"People are surprised that Oliver had a nervous collaspe after the death of his father. But he so hated his father, they say. Why did not that death release him from that emotion and make him happy? How many reasons would u prefer? The death of a parent you love is in many ways simpler than the death of a parent you hate or to whom you are indifferent. Love, loss, mourning, remembering - we all know the scheme. But what is the scheme when this is not the case, when the parent is not loved? A tranquil forgetting? I think not. Imagine the situation of Oliver, who realises that for all his life as an adult, and for many years before that as well, he has lived without knowing what it is like to love a parent. You will reply that this is not so extraordinary. And I will reply that this does not make it more easy."

Isn't it amazing how you find yourself with a different voice when u write? Its almost as if another more empowered person of some sort becomes of you when u write instead of say. When I look at you I forget my words. And even if i remember them I forgot how to speak them.

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They always say that essentially... there are 2 kinds of people in the world. I'd tell u there's no such thing. But yeah, 2 will make it that much easier for me.

There are some pple u meet...and u know straight away the kind of person they are. And most of the time u wont be proved wrong. Those pple u read them like a book...U flip the pages and occassionally they surprise u. With some twists...they've gotta be impressive enough though, to make u continue reading it. There are, afterall, so many books. Sometimes u're just not that interested in the ending. These people you arent afraid that they'll fly away. They always have many copies anyway.

Then there are those people. They happen to pass by your life like fallen leaves. So delicate and so crisp. You'd gladly catch them before they fall, and feel lucky that u do. You'd know immediately, how u will never be able to tell what they're thinking. How you'd never be able to believe exactly what they're saying. These people, they come like treasure boxes. They need just that one key. You just don't have it. And they keep u guessing. What is it that's inside that box? You'd think its treasure ofcoz. They just look so intriguing, it must be.

But sometimes u'd be so wrong. Once u get the key you'd wish you didn't.

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