My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite.
-Juliet



Reading Romeo and Juliet seems to have caused an inner stirring of emotions. It's unfathomable how some can entirely disregard their emotions and live everyday devoid of it. To each their own seems to me, more an excuse than an answer. I confess, I'm rather idealistic when it comes to romance. Don't we all have a thought to our own interpretation of love? Some adopt a more practical approach, others methodical; and even still some prefer to ignore it entirely. I do worry at times, when i ponder about the imminent future, this vision of loneliness and solitude that surrounds me. Is this version of a future probable? yes, because not everyone gets to have a go at this thing called love. The white picket fence is but a dream for some. I do not pretend not to worry for as a wise friend once told me; partners(and later, even more so family) will always come before friends and as we trek towards that future, friends will invariably devote much of their time to other more pressing causes than you. And hereafter, lies my worry.

For thy lovebird beckons within; trapped and starved of its staple food.
Oh how illusive art thee; so wherefore art thou, love?

So I haven't been updating this musky old blog for some time. Inspiration doesn't always hit and when it does I'm always in the middle of doing something. And when I finally get to it, I find it too has deserted me. Leaving behind traces of thoughts, like the whiff of a lover's worn perfume, that which strings together an incoherent, disconcerting mess, leaving much to be desired. So i end up saving it in my computer, those half-written proses decaying in the bits and bytes of my hard drive. Maybe someday, they might survive to see the light of the world wide web.

Inspiration, for me, is like a hummingbird high on redbull. Thoughts process at impossibly fast paces, darting in and out of focus. One moment it's on the surface, the next its lost in the recesses of my thoughts. And its almost always involuntary, there is no control as to when and how to retrieve them. Quite unlike hard facts, which is stored in tidy cabinets ready to be examined. Which is why I don't much fancy the arts students with their knee-high readings to complete each week, and their 10k word essays to submit, all at the whim of their wits and inspiration.

Words seem to be spilling out of my mind as my fingers dabble away on the keyboard now that the silence has been broken. But enough for now, there is more come morrow.