Sighz. Never imagined that I would blog ever again especially since I never really liked people to read what I have to say. Quite contradictory since blogging is meant for people to read. Must be one of those great 'rubber band' effects of life :P

Since I haven't been blogging for such a long time, let me re-cap a little on what I have been doing. My grandfather has been in hospital for the past 2 weeks where he has been suffering I guess. Honestly, for the record, I'm not close to my grandfather at all. I mean its not that I don't wish to be or anything but we never really communicate at all. The last time he spoke to me was in this long string of cantonese words that I couldn't comprehend. I guess that speaks for itself. A generation gap and a language barrier that proved too tough to break down. Not that he and I ever attempted breaking it down though. He was in a world of his own and me, I guess I was just the same. Too late for regrets though. He is now in hospital with his blood pressure fluctuating erratically day by day. I do hope as hell that his suffering should end soon. I wouldn't ever want to be in his position but given that age catches up to everyone, I guess I must at least prepare for that inevitable day. The only good that probably came about when I visited him today was the book that I have brought along with me. "Tuesdays with Morrie". A book describing life and death. Not much different from the scene in front of me whenever I look up to check on my grandfather. And suddenly the environment seemed so solemn. I dislike hospitals. The smell of disinfectant as if everyone who walks in carries the plague with them. I dislike the friendly nurses who smile at you but only because its their job. I hate the superficiality of the place. The way the place is run. I know its a hospital. But which human can act so calmly and normally when there are people around you who die every damn day?

Its difficult for me to blog because sometimes there are things that I wish to say but not to everyone. It was definitely easier when nobody actually knew my blog and I just wrote happily about what I felt. No one to laugh at me if I said stupid things. No one to form bad impressions of me. Self concious? Definitely. To me and I say again, to me, blogging is a way of talking and reasoning with yourself. A reflection of your own mind if you wish. Mapping out your own thoughts with words. Some people communicate with others using blogs. Some people try to be acknowledged with blogs. But for me, whenever I know people are reading my blog, I'll simply be more self concious when I type. An edited version of what I really want to say if you look at from a different perspective. I don't want to offend. Yet what I write for myself might not be pleasing to everyone. In the end, everything I write about is mutual. Or its about myself which concerns no others. Which was precisely why I quit blogging to begin with. Finally managed to get that out in words after playing with that feeling for so long. Thats probably what I like a bout blogging. To finally put a stand to something which was once gibberish in your brain.

And actually blogging did remind me of a little project that my primary school teacher once had us do. She called it 'spontaneous writing'. She allocated 15 minutes a day for us to jot down whatever we wanted in this small exercise book. The only rule was that he spanned a minimum of 1 page. You could write about anything you wanted save for religion, race and of course the then taboo subject of sex. You could write about your day, the problems you faced, interesting family events..etc. Her idea was to let us improve our train of thoughts. I viewed it as a way to find meaning in my life. Was my everyday so damn boring that I really had nothing to write day in and day out? What was my life all about anyways? So everyday for a while I filled my book with nonsense. Like writing about my feelings for writing, or studying for that matter. The boredom of writing in some stupid little book that probably had no bearing whatsoever on my grades. However, as time passed, the 1 page became increasingly easy to write. I could thinly clearer and write about minute details in my life that I normally would have overlooked. Stuff like conversations with my friends and how it reminded me of somethig. People who greeted me but I had no impression of. My way of dealing with awkardness. My fears whenever I am in large groups of people. My little exercise book became liek a diary to me. But more than a diary, it was to me a place where I collected my thoughts, penned down feelings, wrote about my life, leave a part of me in words. In was in short, me. 1 Little book became 2. Then 3 and 4. I did enjoy writing. And I guess thats why I even blogged to begin with. To rediscover that 'magic' of writing back in Primary school. Except it is no longer in this small exercise book but some page that you can open from anywhere as long as ou have a phone line and a computer.