tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-197694372024-03-13T10:08:52.531+08:00Logicless LogicI know the word is actually illogical.justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.comBlogger751125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19769437.post-44326221533747650922017-12-26T18:53:00.000+08:002017-12-26T18:53:03.359+08:00elephant. room."Don't think of an elephant," <div>
I said to you.</div>
<div>
"What are you thinking of?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"You know it's impossible!"</div>
<div>
You replied</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Don't think of me,"</div>
<div>
You said to me...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And I knew how you felt</div>
<div>
About the elephant.<br />___________________________________________</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Fake it till you make it</div>
<div>
They said<br /><br />So I pretended to forget you/</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But the more I told myself to forget,</div>
<div>
The more I remember.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19769437.post-16564750475272629252017-05-23T19:11:00.001+08:002017-05-23T19:11:08.579+08:00memory. loss.So I somehow managed to wreck my microSD card with thousands of photos in it. These photos range from USA pictures, to a multitude of poorly taken concert photographs, to hundreds more of which I cannot remember the content.<br />
<br />
I did not miss it until I lost it. Then I missed it for awhile.<br />
<br />
What are photographs, but some memory catalyst, for you to remember the story behind each digital image of something that you tried to frame, and to immortalise. (until you wreck your microSD card. So actually very, very mortalised)<br />
<br />
If I needed to remind myself what I did, was it even worth remembering?<br />
<br />
Is this the case also, for people.<br />
<br />
If you lose something that probably wasn't even yours to lose in the first place, did you really lose it?<br />
<br />
I guess what I really wanted to say is BACKUP YOUR DATA. Don't be a fool.<br />
<br />
justin.<br />
<br />
<br />justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19769437.post-38647636133257214002016-04-05T10:57:00.002+08:002016-04-05T10:57:42.255+08:00clarity.You know how TV always shows that moment of clarity, just before someone passes away? When they suddenly get better, and say all they want to say before dying. Yeah, that's all bullshit.justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19769437.post-73951743956243434602016-03-28T22:21:00.000+08:002016-03-28T22:21:41.678+08:00whose death is more important anyway?I just saw the news of this little girl in Taiwan who was a victim of a random attack. She was randomly decapitated in front of her mother and grandfather, by a drug abuser. And now I'm feeling all kinds of fucked up, because who would do that to a little girl? What kind of monster does this kind of thing?<br />
<br />
Then I read that he had mental problems etc. so maybe he couldn't control himself. And how did his lack of self control manifest in him FUCKING DECAPITATING a little girl? And at this point in time, who wants answers? Should there be vengeance on this guy? I sure as fuck think so, because if your mental problem manifests in such violence, well maybe you need help. And maybe help is not living in this world anymore because it can be such a torture.<br />
<br />
So then it comes to me blatantly ignoring those 60 odd people dying in Pakistan from ISIS related bomb blasts, and the Belgium attacks, and those in Turkey. So fucking what? I have been reading all sorts of articles about "You were Paris. You weren't Ankara. Why are you Brussels?" Seriously shut the fuck up. This doesn't have to be about race, or whose deaths were more important. People died for no fucking reason, and that in itself is a reason to mourn. It doesn't matter where more people died, or how many people are caring on facebook. Facebook is just a mask you wear to show other people anyway. You're just going to put #jesuitcharlie or #prayforbrussels or #prayforankara or like what I'm doing, sharing a fucking article about this outrage, and then living your own fucking life in a bubble because you already did your part in the hashtags. Until something happens again.<br />
<br />
Yeah I'm just ranting because people died. And I'm feeling fucked up now, because humans can be like that. And nothing can be done, because now you just try to get by in a fucked up world. The fucked up people don't always get what they deserve, and innocent people get fucked over all the time. I'm not making sense anymore.justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19769437.post-77313466442555741272016-03-24T17:56:00.002+08:002016-03-24T17:56:58.716+08:00there must be some kind of way outta here.Sometimes it feels like there's no escape from this mundane bullshit people call adult life. It's like adults are just kids who still don't know what they want, and haven't gotten a grip, but have acquired enough materially to do things kids aren't able to. There is also this responsibility, albeit unwanted, that is forcefully thrust upon you, because now you're an adult, and you have to earn your own keep.<br />
<br />
People talk about dreams, and chasing the dreams, chasing greatness and therefore happiness. Well, at this age I kind of realise, not all people are made for greatness, and that for every protagonist, there has to be millions of passers-by. Some people just exist, and don't desire to make a mark. Some people are not motivated to "make it big". So what? It somehow seems wrong to be unambitious. People seem to expect that adults our age are supposed to work damn hard, so that we lead better lives in the future. Why not just lead a better life now? Maybe not materially, but you have your young body damn it! See the world! Do something you can't do when you're 40 and richer. (I can even answer myself at this point in time. Money. Every fucking thing has to do with fucking money. I don't even think it's a good idea to get rid of money, the world would descend into anarchy, and I would suck at surviving in an anarchy.)<br />
<br />
I'm just ranting at this point, and it's probably my escapist bullshit. It's been awhile since I had to write to vent, but boy am I glad I can somehow express myself in writing.justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19769437.post-32618111937655539692016-02-26T16:27:00.001+08:002016-02-26T16:27:20.576+08:00the road to hell is paved with good intentions.Today, I see first hand how, and probably why. Language and cultural nuances are so different between different societies, and I cannot believe how I could be so blind to this. I don't know what to say anymore, but there goes another friend. In the long term, this is probably for the better though.justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19769437.post-43611893021830036282016-02-12T16:57:00.000+08:002016-02-12T16:57:16.320+08:00shallow pockets. and other things.So it's been about 3 weeks since gugu passed away, and the sad feelings are more or less dissipated, and what's left are happy memories. In most ways. I wonder what turned me away from writing as form of therapy, and what made me stop? I can think of no particular thing, but I would like to get some form of writing back. So more writing here, because practice.<br />
<br />
So anyway to change the subject abruptly, one day while taking a cab home, my phone fell out from my shallow SAF shorts pockets, and I had to run (full on sprinting, albeit still rather slow, for the first time in years) to retrieve it. Luckily there was a red light, or my expensive coaster would be gone with the cab. So I got my phone back, and while trying to breathe properly, I thought of how shallow pockets, both literally and figuratively, were the cause of many problems in the world. Some problems include stuff falling out of your pants and causing general panic and mayhem when you feel for your wallet and phone, and only feel cloth where your possessions once were. Instead of the money/ezlink card/phone, what you have is air in your hands and a sinking feeling in your heart, not unlike the feeling of dread you had when you had to show your report book with 5 F's to your parents. That helplessness, because the situation is, in your mind at least, FUBAR. (For the uninitiated FUBAR means fucked up beyond all repair.)<br />
<br />
Of course, beyond the literal shallow pockets, also come the figurative shallow pockets, also known as having no fucking money. Or just not enough. I don't think I need to elaborate on the societal problems caused by poverty of the general populace. It gets harder to survive, but there are some organisations for some of these people to fall back on. The problem are those that fall through the crack of these organisations, and the people who are just above the line. At this point in time, I should just quote someone from a Youtube comments section who said what I wanted to say, but better:<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>I believe there are many Davids out there. People who drink a lot but not alcoholics. People who have various reasons to be unhappy but not enough for others to help them. People who are not homeless but still not having a home. People who are sitting on very bottom of the society while still not being outcasts. People who survive and not living, people who have no hope because they lost illusions and dreams. And there is no help for this sort of people. They are not criminals or bad yet their closest ones hate them anyway. Society helping mentally ill, homeless, immigrants and gods know who else but nobody cares or helps people who earn just enough to pay tax, rent and child support, leaving almost nothing for themselves. This society can be fucked up sometimes.</i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">It's true. For the majority of the lower-middle to middle class, people do have to spend most of their income, and basically, every dollar has to go somewhere. There is little to no room for savings, and when something unexpected happens, life is thrown into disarray. But because they make enough, they don't qualify for any form of aid, and organisations look upon their application as if they were frauds. Not that those applications were going to be accepted anyway. But I have to admit, some of this is theoretical, and from my own opinion/experience. I guess I don't like researching about others and talking fact, because that gets in the way of good writing. Who cares about facts anyway huh? I could just put them in the shallow pockets of my SAF shorts and drop them along the way. And I wouldn't even run after the cab to retrieve it. </span></span>justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19769437.post-47578079898634465692016-01-18T14:37:00.002+08:002016-01-18T14:37:49.403+08:00escape.I need it. Just somewhere to get away from the bullshit the world has to offer. I have tried to be calm and rational, but sometimes, the people around refuse to let you be. I'm probably not done organising my thoughts through this fucking headache, but that's all I have for now. Just needed to vent.justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19769437.post-85556321330083535302015-11-15T02:47:00.002+08:002015-11-16T01:47:53.668+08:00heartbreak.Go.<br />
<br />
Somewhere closer to your heart.<br />
<br />
<br />justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19769437.post-13991484598507652572015-11-13T13:36:00.000+08:002015-11-13T13:36:11.536+08:00repatriation.He left for a foreign land,<br />
A man.<br />
<br />
Two weeks later,<br />
He returned home.<br />
<br />
Forever. <br />
<br />
Immortal,<br />
A patriot again.justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19769437.post-40420514239696875402015-07-22T20:21:00.000+08:002015-07-22T20:21:06.115+08:00working really does kill your brain slowly.It's been almost a year since I started work, and more than half a year since I last thought I'd write anything on this blog ever again. Now that I'm doing bookings to travel solo to Russia, I'm feeling a little buzz, a slightly uneasy feeling that I got while I was on exchange, getting ready to go somewhere new on my own. Russia has the added bonus of me not knowing the language, as well as my propensity to fuck things up because I am nervous, and getting my visa booking all screwed up. So yeah, that adds a little pizazz to my eventual story, should I return unscathed. <br />
<br />
At this point in time, I'm lost in all the options of couchsurfing and airbnb, because all of them seem so tempting. But I've not booked the flight there, with my 18hr layover in Istanbul no less. Well, just felt I had to write something, so here goes. Might want to do this more often, keep my brain oiled, instead of death by work haha.<br />
<br />
justin. justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19769437.post-88082025878288633132014-11-29T04:43:00.000+08:002014-11-29T04:43:37.919+08:00today's youth, tomorrow's deadAt this age, there suddenly comes 2 events that we will often be attending. I am, of course, talking about weddings and funerals. Weddings are a simple enough affair I suppose. You just have to feel happy for, and wish a long lasting marriage to the couple who promise to spend their whole life together, till death do them part.<br />
<br />
Then of course death strikes, because he always does. Sometimes he takes people away quietly, sometimes with a lot more commotion, but seldom without resistance from the living. It may be because of our relationship with the one death took, or because everyone is reminded of our own mortality, and that one day, death too, will come for us.<br />
<br />
It is especially sad and shocking to hear of people passing before their time, in which case I mean young, healthy people. which I am sure all who will have had their hopes and dreams, so cruelly denied the chance to even chase them. I suppose there is never a timely death though, because humans are greedy, and we would choose to live for as long as we can healthily. Yet, because of this shadow of mortality hanging over our heads, we hope to find meaning in our lives before our time is eventually up.<br />
<br />
Why am I being all morbid now? First things first, I always was. I have always had a healthy(I hope) fascination with death and freedom and time, and this is like a revisiting of my old ideas, and perhaps a good way to compare how my idea of it has developed over the years. Also, just in this past week, I have seen/heard about sudden passings, a close friend's brother, an acquaintance's father, a young cricketer I've never heard of until he died. And all of a sudden, these reminders of our mortality and our fragility make me appreciate our finite time on this planet. We'll never know when it's our turn to walk beside death, to destinations unknown, because he doesn't tell us until it's time.<br />
<br />
As the title says " today's youth, tomorrow's dead"<br />
<br />
justin.justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19769437.post-56009849197340039672014-08-26T18:50:00.002+08:002014-08-26T19:27:59.022+08:00no shelter can be found.work is not a shelter from home and home is not a shelter from work.justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19769437.post-42966660982686400092014-08-26T16:31:00.002+08:002014-08-26T16:31:24.508+08:00still got the blues.And it's fucking Tuesday already. A thought came to my head, that sometimes maybe people enjoy work because it lets them spend time away from their family, which is not always laughter and rainbows because for all the benefits you get from a family, they come with a tonne of bullshit that's not always easy to take. So essentially now I'm in a fucking prison, is working with my family, because I have to come under close scrutiny, and am expected to learn faster than anyone (not that there's anyone to make a comparison to), and work under conflicting instructions, and expect to choose the right one 100% of the time (which is impossible, because both sets think they're right). Even a fucking programme would show you an error code and ask you kindly <strike>fuck yourself</strike> rectify your mistake before even proceeding to do what it's instructed to. So back to the topic, there is no escape. And my family, in particular, is the extreme version of the "absence makes the heart grow fonder" type. Ergo, I'd love them more if I didn't have to spend so much time with them. Living alone seems so much more tempting.<br />
<br />
On another tangent, it seems that once I've started work, all I do is rant about work, or meet my friends and talk about work and hall. It seems like I've lost the ability to think of random, meaningless, mundane bullshit that makes creative writing so much fun. Work sucks. Literally, it sucks all the fucking life and creativity out of me. And I have to find a way to get it back. I want to think of absurd fucking bullshit that doesn't make sense, not how to fucking type an excel sheet just the way you want it, and know your exact preferences. And I'm just fucking skiving at the moment because I still have to undo all the work I've done the past month, through no fucking fault of my own. Well done me.<br />
<br />
justin.justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19769437.post-67893154710018452492014-08-25T12:55:00.000+08:002014-08-25T12:55:04.129+08:00push/pull.Typical. Just a typical Monday morning. I sit crouched over the laptop in a tiny office, pretending to do work that I'm not particularly interested in (It's the money. We all need money.) while the rain pisses outside. The office doesn't actually have a window, but it was pissing when I arrived. This day was turning out to be just the way I envisioned it (and all Mondays excluding holidays). Grey. Grey should be the official Monday colour. I want to leave this place so much, but I can't. Because money. It shouldn't matter but it does. Something is pushing me away. Don't get me wrong. It's a nice place to live, where I am, but looking back at it from a distance makes it a nicer place.<br />
<br />
I take a holiday with my mind. I think of all the places I have been, and all the places I would like to be, and take in the sights with my mind's eye. Travelling, it seems, is like a force, pulling me towards the next destination, sometimes to paths I have taken before. The desire to be free, is like a gun pointed to my head, forcing me to want to be free. I have to work hard to be free, however temporarily. And there, reality forces it's way into my thoughts like a rude aunty forcing her way into the crowded MRT carriage. I have to work hard to earn what I need to be free. Work hard to be free. Work makes you free.<br />
<br />
justin.justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19769437.post-32262500444836305252014-08-12T19:08:00.003+08:002014-08-12T19:08:57.537+08:00random rants and smiles.Looking back at the graduation pictures, it's kind of hard to imagine it was just a week or so ago, that I was smiling so much and so widely. I guess you could say that a smile is something that happens to your face naturally when you're happy, and how amazing it is that work can wipe that smile off your face within a week. I won't say that it's shit, but if this is what's going to be happening for the foreseeable future, I think I can safely say that I'm not going to like my line of work very much. Of course, I could look at it as a challenge to better myself, but at the end of the day, it would be the best if I could put my language skills to use. Money is not everything, but it is a lot of things, and we don't live in Disneyland (which according to cracked.com is pretty fucked up so maybe we DO live in Disneyland) so I guess that closes a lot of doors. I just hope I don't lose myself.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Also on another note, I bought a smiley little badge from the disabled guy at Somerset MRT and I hope I made his day better, because these people selling tissues and god knows what and knick knacks often appear invisible to the masses. It's sad really, and I hope that the little smiley badges he sells can translate into real smiles.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
justin.</div>
justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19769437.post-87393757492230467282014-08-08T00:42:00.002+08:002014-08-08T00:42:42.835+08:00empathy.Mostly it's how being in a car robs us of all empathy for a fellow human. Today I was driving along the AYE when suddenly all traffic came to a halt near Clementi Avenue 6 exit. I was on the right lane, and inching forward. At 4pm. Something was clearly afoot. In any case, after about 20-30minutes of inching, I saw a car with its hazard lights on, broken down on the right lane. And my first thought was "What an asshole. Stopping at the right lane." Before considering the fact that he was probably more exasperated and annoyed than I was, because I didn't have to stand in the middle of the road and wait for a tow truck, or get home even later. I don't even know how a sheet of metal and some glass can do this to a human.<br />
<br />
justin.justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19769437.post-29706467404642056542014-07-30T12:09:00.002+08:002014-07-31T13:02:49.407+08:00men at work.The sound of industrial machinery whirs, slams, bangs, beeps in the background, sometimes softly, sometimes not so softly. In all this noise, enclosed in the little box I promised myself a mere 2 years ago, that I would never be enclosed in, I bend over the laptop, working on yet another instruction. Murky, unclear, and contradictory, like the human. A song plays from the radio, "神啊救救我吧..." echoing the voice of my heart. It wasn't the song I was thinking of though. I was thinking along the lines of "我好想好想飞,逃离这个疯狂世界..." It's a crazy world indeed.<br />
<br />
It's a crazy world, where the force of money overcomes the force of gravity, where sleep is a resource as desirable, as scarce, as gold. And this rat, kicking and screaming (in my head), has been forced to enter the race. It is a race, not for victory, but for survival. The aim is not to win, but to not lose. The force of gravity is often overcome by the force of money. But sometimes it wins. In the war of attrition, sleep always finds you, even when you don't want it. Now I do want it, and it's tempting to succumb.<br />
<br />
"Hey please send Mr Lee an email regarding......"<br />
<br />
"Okay." (fuck)<br />
<br />
justin.justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19769437.post-4283421436643946762014-07-30T00:59:00.001+08:002014-07-30T00:59:13.090+08:00the essence of this blog.Today I found out, that in the real world, sometimes, what appears to be logic and common sense truly does not prevail.justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19769437.post-55047153473042008862014-07-27T02:26:00.001+08:002014-07-27T02:26:40.385+08:00work week.I figured I might not really have the time or the motivation to write after I start work, so I might as well leave a few words here for myself to remind myself why if I haven't updated this for a long time. I don't really want this to be a recording of my daily life, but sometimes I DO have some brilliant fucking ideas (in my own opinion of course). Now that I've started work, I really really understand why people get so fucking tired that they don't even have time to think and time to dream. The fucking iron cage if you will. At 9pm my mind thinks that the night is young, and my body's all "fuck this shit I'm going to sleep whether you like it or not."<br />
<br />
Anyway I'm in the aluminium industry with my dad. I mean I like metal, but come on. Life sure does have a way with irony.<br />
<br />
justin.justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19769437.post-89677756907001405032014-07-10T17:22:00.002+08:002014-07-10T17:22:44.966+08:00the last of us.So it seems we're all going to start work now, and that my moaning does seem a little uncalled for. I should be excited and take every single task as a challenge. Although I really wonder what happened to chasing my dreams? This work doesn't seem like what I envisioned myself doing. Maybe it's is a stepping stone, maybe it's for life. Maybe it's time to really grow up, and be responsible for myself.<br />
<br />
justin.justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19769437.post-7124188609971320622014-05-17T05:04:00.001+08:002014-05-17T05:04:23.253+08:00first night home.Home somewhat takes some getting used to. I come home on weekends, but it's become some sort of temporary accommodation to me, where on Sunday nights, I head back off to godforsaken Pioneer and live with my brothers from different mothers. It's a little disconcerting, is the feeling of knowing I'll never go back there. The end of a chapter it seems. I was going through exchange photographs, and thinking of all my friends from hall who were in Europe at the same time, heading to various parts of the continent and having a ball of a time, coming back to Singapore and resuming the ball of a time. Then some of us left and there were some tears, but the other half remained. Now almost all of us have gone. And how I got to thinking about this was first and foremost hunger. I know I could always depend on someone to still be awake at this time and be game for a 7-11 burger. Now it's a little hard la. But that's life and everything's got to move on.<br />
<br />
justin.justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19769437.post-15645313765410538552014-05-14T03:45:00.001+08:002014-05-14T03:47:47.561+08:00This is a strange one.I'm sitting alone in the hall room that's more or less empty but for some necessities and a truckload of clothes waiting to be donated. And it's the second last night I'm gonna crash on my dirty mattress by the window, waiting for a loud and unfriendly "BREAKFAST!!!" at 9 in the morning, with the abrupt opening of the door, and the sun's rays attacking my eyes like a thousand needles that have caught fire. So I will say "FUCK SO EARLY???!!" (or at least I think that's what I'm muttering. People usually say it's just some groaning) but I'll wake up anyway for some mediocre Canteen breakfast, where usually about 6 but sometimes more of us will sit there, talking about everything under the sun, and playing with our handphones. It's a comfortable friendship this, although sometimes lacking in privacy, and I can't say I won't miss it. The freedom of staying with some of your best friends, doing whatever the hell pleases you. Sharing a midnight beer or cigarette when we're down to the last one. Sitting around on free furniture in circles and talking serious stuff.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow will be the farewell/move out of hall/I'm ready to fuck off BBQ aka Hell-on-earth (the event is known as such because we all agree all of us will be neighbours again in hell. No doubt.) It will be the last night of decadence, or rather just chill beer drinking, the last night to break out the inflatable pool, the last night we ever stay next to a bunch of assholes who are not our friends (the assholes being every single person other than ourself), and yet smoke shisha together, watch TV together, study together and generally make one another have a harder life. (because hey, a smooth sailing life is one not worth living. Inspiration comes from hardship ok?)<br />
<br />
In any case, it's good that we'll keep meeting up after we graduate, and I'll be seeing a whole bunch of them during grad trip. Whatever it is, it's been a good 3.5 years.justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19769437.post-21286977983465467872014-05-08T16:37:00.002+08:002014-05-08T16:37:19.161+08:00wow it's real now huh?After the initial ecstasy of walking out of my last paper early, the question has changed from "when can I grad?" to "now what?". The university phase of my life is all but over, and I have to move my shit out of hall by the 15th. That's when it might hit. It does have a certain sense of inevitability about it. As I type, my friends are going off to finish their last paper ever, and I'm sitting here on my own. And I thought this. Bumming is no fun when you are allowed to bum. I think part of the joy of bumming comes from putting off something that needs to be done, and it's the very act of not doing it that makes it all worth it. Not really worth it when you look at the amount of shit that you need to make up for, but you know. Anyway, it's time to be settling stuff for grad trip, meet ups with people and all that shit people do when something ends. Really looking forward to grad trip and being in debt.<br />
<br />justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19769437.post-20001762694592529212014-04-29T11:12:00.000+08:002014-04-29T11:12:06.003+08:00of our hopes and dreams.<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">從前 書包很滿 </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px;">裝不下的夢 就丟了一些</span>
justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15289981821701222515noreply@blogger.com0