Why do we write journals. In the past, journals were private, kept to yourself, written on paper. They were outlets for intense moments in our lives, for registering joyous ocassions so that it can never be forgotten.
These days, journals are published online. (mostly) You pride yourself when you get thhe highest number of hits cos it means you’re interesting. It’s an affirmation of your personality.
I came across this beautiful book this store was selling. The sales tagline was that the book is a beautiful place to store wonderful memories and thoughts for fuuture generations to ponder over. Hmmmm. I must sayy that I have never thought of wriiting a journal for my kids to be. It’s alwayys about me only. Interesting. So I looked thru my old journal stored in my comp and I came across these entries. Entries which I forgotten I’ve written and never thought I would write.

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Work vs Mountains

I just realized tat Mustang is 2 months
Two bloody months

Who on earth can get so much leave…
I’m am troubled..extremely troubled…
I can’t go through the hassle of looking for a job yet again

And the worst part is that there is no answer to which decision is the right one…there isn’t even a right or wrong decision to speak of. And both paths are as uncertain as the path in the dark

I hate having to make compromising decisions.

How then will I proceed? I know not how…
I have to keep searching within myself to the times when I wanted so badly to scale a peak. I thought of how overjoyed I was to be accepted into the team.

I have to keep revisiting old memories to rekindle this quest for the mountains.

Am I living on a backdated dream or is this really what I want?

But living and working in Singapore, sometimes we get clouded by the mist of materialistic longings. We seem to forget the lessons that the world out there can teach us. But then, one must remain practical. Money, money, money, we need to repay our parents, we need to survive……

Ohhhh adulthood roots us to the ground…….it draws us away from our very dreams to fly up high….

I whine, I cry vexed, troubles and such.

But eventually I’ll still ask for the leave……or so I thinik. Work hard and hope the heavens bless….

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I’m leaving for china next week./ so many things I have yet to do.
Packing list, buying gear, food, visa, work.

I feel really scared that I may not even be able to summit any peak.And just today when I was lying in bed in the cold breeze, I suddenly remember how cold it can get in the mountains. How freezingly painful and brutal the cold can get. Lying on my bed yesterday night, I get ereminded how hard the floor really is. And then I had a realization that I may not be as prepared as I think I am. I think it hasn’t really hit me. How torturous it can get in the mountains.

And then there is the issue of work. I cannot hit my target. Even if I pray to all the gods in this world.
I’ve been wanting to go tto the temple to pray but I can’t find the time. Or rather I can’t make up my mind.

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What do I really want?

I want to be human. I am not a working machine. But it all contradicts. Even right now. I want to write all these gushing thoughts I have…I want to pen them down. There are days like this when I thought I can go on talking to myself forever. Like I”ll never run dry. And then later I’ll look at the things I’ve typed and wonder how I ever managed to come up with all these thoughts.

I wanna write in my own handwriting. True. There’s something in typing that you can never truly convey your feelings.

I also wanna draw. I wanna look at all the things I’ve ever written. Maybe to comfort myself that I’ve come so far. Maybe to tell myself that I’m still me. Maybe to see whaat I used to be so I don’t stray too far form what I hope not to be.Venture A little closer to the ME I wanna be.

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Work. I was engulfed in work. It’s weird. You don’t want your life to revolve ard work cos life’s not about work. But to be good at what you do, you gotta make work a part of your life.
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I was just thinking of the curtains I uused to sew. Hanging in my room now. A gaudy Purple and green. A trial and error, an afternoon of back breaking work. When ever will I ever have the time to ever sew another set of curtains?

I was thinking of the picture. Time I took it down to the trash huh. Time to hang my own stuff?

Vancouver pictures are all yellow like the aged newspapers you find in the attics in the novels. How does one maintain her memories. Keep them in pristine condition?

Do we just chuck itin a box and then dig into them whenever? I have so many pieces of memories if only they can be systematically stored like in an excel spreadsheet.

I’m always talking about the past. Like it matters so much. But if I spend every present in the past then I’ll only have the past long passed. Present spent reminiscing the past. Hmmm….