"New Year's is a harmless annual institution, of no particular use to anybody save as a scapegoat for promiscuous drunks, and friendly calls and humbug resolutions."-
Mark Twain



Poor ol' Twain. Who died and made him the caretaker? No, I'm not usually unkind to writers. And, at any rate, I suspect he is right. Rather, I know he is right.

Rocks in my heart. Funny odd thing to say since it's not the sort of expression I'd use and I did enjoy the celebrations. Not in the fairly enjoyable sense but actually the literal sense of the word enjoyment, more than I care to admit. Although, it ended in more sobreity than drunkedness (which is uncharacteristic). One beer each and that itself, I think, is for formality's sake. And, we did take the risk of not returning till the next morning after sunrise at the least. But LP probably has a curfew she wouldn't admit.

The truth is, I'd much rather be staring in the skies on midnight than reading Murdoch in the bed. No, really. Fireworks, I think, will be the closest thing one comes to stardust. And, it is nothing like what is on TV or Facebook's poor imitation of online greeting cards. It really is something else when you're under it stretching your necks watching it and watching thousands of hands raised up with cameras in them simultaneously and the oohs and aahs.

And, the countdown is, perhaps, the only time one sees the whole nation counting to the same beat - not a common sight. Poor ol' me. Now, who died and made me the caretaker?

The other truth is, spending New Year's eve with your loved ones is not as cliché an expression as people really think - even if one refuses to admit it. I suspect it would be different to stand under a thousand raining flaming sparks with ones one truly think matter than within the mass. Not that I had a worst New Year with those I am now fairly and newly acquainted with but that I would have had a better New Year if those I wish were there were indeed there.

What a year it has been. And, what many friends I have made. And, what many more foes I have made. Yet, I cannot be allowed to complain about such a year; that would be ingratitude. It is a laugh at the end. And, to able to look back at your ordinary, ordinary life; see so much magic must be some kind of blessing or other.

Only, I think, you'd much rather be laughing with those who know what you're laughing at. Because, they're probably just laughing at you only to find out that they're on your side in the end.

Maybe celebrations are commercialised. And, it could be just another story caught up in another photograph I found and seems like another person lived that life a great many years ago from now. They probably very likely are commercialised. But, it is good fun and one never truly bother one's self with commercials anyway.


Good year ahead.

[[ music ]] Jamie Cullum - Photograph
[[ book ]] Iris Murdoch - The Sea, The Sea
[[ mood ]] content

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"Rocks in my heart. Nobody understands it when I say it's rocks in my heart. But it is. You get it, right?"
- VN



Land Law is ever so tediously boringly dry. Yes, I am complaining again. It is no good - I know. But, what else is there to do. Sometimes, a good Samaritan comes around, sprinkle some kind of fairy dust and slaps you out of tedious normality. The you're reminded again how much, just how much you just don't like Law School.

Rocks in my heart. Maybe, this will escalate and rise above to become my new favourite way of self-expression. I'd rather not. But, one is so often led by the heart than by one's head that these things do not encompass within the horizon of self-control.

No. I don't like Law School. And, I don't like Land Law even more. Boo to them. And then, there's the broken web of connections which connects the people. Boo to that too. Strangely, I think, I am now writing like a mad person, rather reminiscent of someone I know.

People think I don't like Land Law without any serious justifications. Of course, one cannot truly have any feelings of dislike without reason. No, one can. Recently, I have learnt in a strange sort of way. The Land Law assignment has recently been returned and there are food stains on it. I know. Who marks papers and eat at the same time. Rather, I think, who marks papers, eat at the same time and have the food all over a student's assignment? I should consider that unprofessional. There were very many speculations about how the food landed on the assignment paper - my assignment paper - but I had better not get into the details. How unkind.

J has been strangely (everything and everyone seems rather strange once in a while) rambling on about politics. And, even stranger, she has now try to write them down. Of course, I have utmost respect for anyone who can write about politics. I cannot. It takes away so much from me and gives so little (at best) or no satisfaction at all.

No. I am not about to get political. I know since I was old enough to understand what politics are to keep myself away. I don't write about it. I cannot. Simply because it is not something you can disguise and beautify. How strange - again.

I think I have had a fairly strange day. And, strange days bring strange feelings. It makes you ramble on like a mad person. Oh, then again, maybe I am mad - after another strange experience of reading Nabokov. Rocks in my heart. Not good.

No. I think it's rocks in my head. And, that's worst.

[[ music ]] Hot Chocolate - You Sexy Thing
[[ mood ]] bored

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But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if its soul in that one word he did outpour
Nothing farther then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered--
Till I scarcely more than muttered: "Other friends have flown before--
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said "Nevermore."
- Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven



And, there it was. Only silence did us the favour in its presence as a welcome. There was not very much left to say. No, there was nothing left to say. We have left the preliminaries we discovered once upon a time for something more subtle - something more silent. Perhaps, there never was truly a need for very many words. After all, in anticipation, you have ran through something like that over and over again. But, there it was - plain silence.

And, what a vicious cycle this is, I thought. Over and over again I am made to go through this. Often, one wishes the pain would fade into the repeated routines. Yet, this in itself is as much a routine as anything else. Would I rather it to be different, to be something else than these dreadful repeating cycles?

How often, I wonder, have I answered to myself in the affirmative during those long dark unusual hours where the overwhelming sense of doubt decides to feel and fill the empty corners. How often more have I answered otherwise when it taps gently into the conscience. After all, how could one truly understand the extent of good or harm in something when one is constantly being thrown in and out of it? Often, I feel it is this inconstancy that has led me to where I am and where I will continue to be.

Some say it is a question of worth. It is not. The time to question its worth has passed. I doubt I have stopped to truly ponder upon the question. These sort of things have a way of numbing one's own consciousness against one's will. It is a question of endurance. But, that too, I feel will pass. Then again, could it really be a question of the worth of endurance?

How is it that one is able to dive into a confusion like this before taking a breath is confounding. But relationships are built upon confusions and unanswered questions. Clarity is an unfavoured sort of flavour. And, that too, is confounding. Would it then be better if we leave the questions out of the question? I hardly could decide. But, if some could read the stars in the vastness of the skies, why can't many others read their own hearts?

I suppose we are all stuck in our own little doings and decisions in some way or another. An e-mail. A phone call. A reunion. And, what a world something so small could change. But, you do it anyway - consciously. Restraint is a difficult thing to learn. You cannot help but feel you don't have it and you wonder often enough why you don't. But, really, we are only human. And, being human is a very sensible excuse.

Others disagree. It is not about the frequency of changes or the numbers or the statistics. But, I take what I can get. Because, I know someone else is always giving.

I am only human.

[[ music ]] Eagles - Hotel California
[[ mood ]] sleepy

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"Nay call me not - it may not be
Is human love so true?
Can Friendship's flower droop on for years
And then revive anew?"
- Emily Brontë, Come, walk with me


It's not our first try, if history is anything to go by. And, really, is it so different? After all, would a different shot, a new shot, another shot do the trick its predecessors have failed repeatedly to perform? If human relationships are so simple, there would be hardly anything to learn from it. It's always the woulda, coulda, shoulda.

Law School is a terrible place to learn about human relationships. And, I'd be gutted if there is still more to learn from it. But, as history is anything to go by, there is still a lot more to learn. Although, I must concede that it has thought me a lot more about friendships - both sailing and sinking them than any other sinking ships which require learning.

There they are, a mass of people grouped together with similar intentions and ambitions. And, yet, so difficult to sail the same waters and as if the rough seas aren't already enough of a trouble. I am fortunate. There has always been a rescue ship. On occassions, more.

For long, I have dreaded the visit simply because I refuse to see, simply because not seeing means not having to believe. It's like a tooth decay. You feel the sharp edges but you don't always want to go to the dentist. But, the visit always relief you of the pain later. I'm not much of a rescue but I went anyway.

No, though the soil be wet with tears,
How fair soe'er it grew
The vital sap once perished
Will never flow again

Retrospectively, what happened was not bad. But, it was very angry. And, I have spent a good deal of time wondering if the unspoken words and the deliberately dreadful silence have done enough harm. Maybe, I haven't gotten the intended message. Rather, I think I have spent enough time being clueless as to whether I was the cause of the harm. And, there were occassions where I felt perhaps I was. Maybe now's the time to say Don't Look Back in Anger.

And, is it really so different now? It makes a part of Law School always so sickening, I feel. Can't hate the players, just have to hate the game. The truth is, I am very sick of it. Nothing personal, of course. It just happens to be now a part of my daily routine. Thank God, I think, that Jerry's is around the corner; it's like the harbour of my rescue ships.

Time parts the hearts of men

I'm keeping my fingers crossed and am not jumping to conclusions. For a change, maybe and just maybe this time will be different and there will be none of those woulda, coulda, shoulda nonsense - simply because we're all wrecked but still somehow sailing together anyway. And, possibly we have been just doing it without really knowing it. So, if one ship sinks, there will always rescue.

It's not like it's one of those first shots. But, really, I'm hoping it'll be different.

[[ music ]] Oasis - Don't Look Back In Anger
[[ mood ]] confused

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"Can storied urn, or animated bust,
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can honour’s voice provoke the silent dust,
Or flatt’ry soothe the dull cold ear of death?"
-Thomas Gray, Elegy in a Country Churchyard


It breaks my heart. She breaks my heart. And, then there was a hailstorm and all the rocks went into my broken heart. And, some time from now, the storm would reside. But, the rocks will still be in the heart.

And, all I saw and heard was the singing. So, I sat and endured it. But, I hear the echoes. Sad were the songs, sadder were the voices. They break my heart. That one voice. Not the cremation. Not the closing of the casket. It's the songs. It is that one voice. I had almost learnt the chorus by the end of the service. I hate it.

If I had turned and walked away, my heart would have been safe. I don't know. I wish I hadn't seen any of it. It is cowardly. But, I had no idea. And, there I stood and endured the sight of it. I wish I hadn't. But, I had to. Nothing. Nothing defines what it was like. It would have been easier simply to just walk away.

Do we involve ourselves in the lives of those around us to have our hearts broken? I don't know.

I'm not interested in death. Sometimes, it is defensiveness. Or protectiveness. Or instinctive reactions. I hardly could tell. It's grief. And, perhaps I had not truly grieved when it was my turn. Hence, I never truly comprehended the extent of it. Watching someone else do it reminds you of the things you told and once in a while remind yourself not to feel. But, they are rocks and it takes a long, long time to break them into pieces you can ignore.

No one truly understands the finality of goodbyes. Or the reality of departure. It doesn't strike you hard but it strikes you often. That is why we grief - so long and so sad. And sometimes, it is fitting that the heavens should cry for you. Because, eventually, you cry your tears away.

Maybe, it was what was best. You call yourself a friend when you are there. But, being there does not translate to being a friend. For a while, we stood by each other and sat by each other and say very few words. And, at the end, we held each other. almost unwillling to let go.

So, I stood there, stood aside and I sat there, reduced to a spectator and I watch her sing and I heard her sing. And, she didn't stop. She sang and sang and sang in solitude. That, breaks my heart.

And, I hear the voice still.


The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow’r,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave,
Await alike the inevitable hour.
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Regresa a mi?

[[ music ]] Lifehouse - Broken
[[ mood ]] Rocks in my heart.

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