Desperate to get published? go to Borders.
ego-flation for immediate self-gratification, at a fee....
That is how much he thinks of my writings.
He doesn’t understand why I would write and how I can write. Nope, not at all. I used to think it’s playful teasing, and mock pretence that he would ask what my writings were about since we always operate in such a mode but it’s dawning on me he could be half serious. Oh well.
It’s okay. I just think it’s a pity he would never read what I wrote based on him, based on my thinking about him. Very romantic in a tragic way, isn’t it. The silent lover who loves steadfastly and his literary mistress who takes refuge in her worldly, wordy world when silence gets in the way and distracts her from his love.
All these thoughts only surfaced much later. My foremost reaction was, wah, he exam, still got think of me; when he reads an article and bothered to leave me a msg. Yay! So happy! Is it an indirect reminder from him to me, of his existence, that he might be away studying, he might leave Singapore and be away for an extended period even after that, but I’m still in mind, and if I’m willing, if I don’t mind, I could keep him in mine too (I love this sentence)?
I tell you I must be sick. I’m perverse. My love life is a mess! I like someone who puts me down and disrespects what I write. I put up with what I’d never take lying down from friends and people I love. And I actually believes he means well and I’m made happy by the thought. How crazier can I get? Sheesh.
I wasn’t even thinking about him, much less missing him for the last few days. So this came as a rather pleasant surprise.
I tell you I am sick.
There ain't any answer. There ain't going to be an answer. There has never been any answer. That's the answer.
— Gertrude Stein
ego-flation for immediate self-gratification, at a fee....
That is how much he thinks of my writings.
He doesn’t understand why I would write and how I can write. Nope, not at all. I used to think it’s playful teasing, and mock pretence that he would ask what my writings were about since we always operate in such a mode but it’s dawning on me he could be half serious. Oh well.
It’s okay. I just think it’s a pity he would never read what I wrote based on him, based on my thinking about him. Very romantic in a tragic way, isn’t it. The silent lover who loves steadfastly and his literary mistress who takes refuge in her worldly, wordy world when silence gets in the way and distracts her from his love.
All these thoughts only surfaced much later. My foremost reaction was, wah, he exam, still got think of me; when he reads an article and bothered to leave me a msg. Yay! So happy! Is it an indirect reminder from him to me, of his existence, that he might be away studying, he might leave Singapore and be away for an extended period even after that, but I’m still in mind, and if I’m willing, if I don’t mind, I could keep him in mine too (I love this sentence)?
I tell you I must be sick. I’m perverse. My love life is a mess! I like someone who puts me down and disrespects what I write. I put up with what I’d never take lying down from friends and people I love. And I actually believes he means well and I’m made happy by the thought. How crazier can I get? Sheesh.
I wasn’t even thinking about him, much less missing him for the last few days. So this came as a rather pleasant surprise.
I tell you I am sick.
There ain't any answer. There ain't going to be an answer. There has never been any answer. That's the answer.
— Gertrude Stein
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