i woke up in the morning with a sudden impulse to sew, and shel! i am turning your shirt into a skirt. fell asleep soon after again and woke at 3 to meet vaish to collect my gagara, WHICH IS PRINCESSLY and syafiqah, it is purple. and VAISH HOMG is one of my bestest girl freinds and i really dont know how i am going to live without her on the same continent as me.
the torpor i'm in is the result of obs, from which i ahve just returned. moe happily sent us for an incredibly intense programme over 4 daysm, which resulted in a very sleep deprived and hyperactive me jumping around and being cheesy half the time. that being said, sui sen rocks. the overall experience this time was a lot more mature, and a lot more philosophical than the last time i went. i suppose that's where their use of metaphor in training appeals to me-- we all do our personal reflections which allow us, when sharing , to see a variety of perspectives and learning points. on another level it allows for a lot of personal interpretation and self- examination. i dont know if it was the same for everyone, but it certainly was so for me. the watch was really great-- i dont think i've ever met another group of poeple ive gotten along s well with, even despite being sick and grouchy and generally in a non cushy environment. despite the drowsiness i am feelign the withdrawal symptoms: i dont want to spam you with a huge detailled account of ewhat happened, so i'll save that for my incoherent scribbling in a real notebook. the key thing was that i felt alive for once, living in the present, a la graham swift's waterland; as opposed to living in the past or living for the future, as i ahve been doing these last few painfully stagnant months.
there's always this tendency for me to want to record every single event in the greatest possible detail-- on the one hand, to remember, and on the other, to forget. to remember, so that i will always have an archive to revisit when i am feeling nostalgic or such, and being a creature obsessed with memory, that occurs very often. thing is though, that after a bit of flipping [especially with forays into my lower sec life when i still wrote singlish.. eww] i usually start to skim, and at some points feel the hairs of my back prickling in gasp! consternation! and disgust! at what i used to be like. in part i hate myself for this, imagining another me further downt he road laughing and dismissing my present self and my current meditations. at the same time though i still feel the urge, as intensely as before to record the present in minutae, to preserve my self, as well as my interactions, from complete [wilful or not] erasure by the passage of the years, and the haughty and essentially hypocritical dismissal from the perspective of percieved maturity. on the other handm, though, the insurance of the record means that i can safely leave the experience behind without technically losing it-- in the sense that i can revisit it by reading, and thus leave it out of my consciousness for the moment. thus is forgetting and moving on, because essentially the experience is relegated into archive, and labelled as past, only to be revisited in a different frame of mind [often reductionist or patronising as nostalgia goes] which never again can register the same emotion quite so exactly or intensely, and ergo never does justice to the memory. its a rather smelly dilemma, and so here i go again recording, recording, recording. i am preoccupied with memory. [any surprise im a historian?]
mellie contemplated 12:03 AM
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