(no subject)
I don't know why I feel happier, or lighter today as compared to many of the days that have just passed. Today I was brought by WZ to a chic cafe hidden in the upper storey of a quaint old-city shophouse, where I met a group of interesting people, gathered to commemorate the tenth anniversary of the founding of Wikipedia. They were comprised of Wikipedia contributors, software developers or just curious passers-by; but it was also an international melange of Singaporeans, Norwegians, Australians, Germans, Indians, Irish tourists etc. Amongst them were a witty high school teacher who knew Greek and Latin and gave private lessons on them, an Australian who developed funky Japanese dictionary softwares, a guy who scammed the a lady working for a budget airline and an exchange student from Harvey Mudd who spotted a cool afro and goatee. We had discussions on the work of the local Wiki chapter, the Iranian revolution, the Goths, Vandals and Huns and the different layers of identity in being Lower Franconian, Bavarian and German at the same time.
It was refreshing to be able to meet new people. I had felt deprived of that for a very long time; maybe I could not have been able to concretely pinpoint that that was the missing element, but at least I realised today that getting to know fresh faces outside of usual institutionalised settings is integral to a social life. There has been a profusion of birthday parties recently, but more often than not these become a gathering of schoolmates, an assembly of people essentially in the same wider network. And when you glance at the little clique at the next table you would discover that there were people who were once close to you, but with whom you would not, these days, contemplate even exchanging more than a few words, or initiating a conversation. Even within one's own clique, there is all-too-often a vague sense of half-heartedness and disconnection.
There is too much that is spent and done, too much baggage that is weighing down on this world of mine that is slowing collapsing onto itself as I leave. I was reflecting about this on the train ride home; the train felt shaky and flimsy and one of the ceiling lights had gone out, but I knew I would be alighting very soon and heading elsewhere. I didn't know whether to feel sorry or nonchalant about the train; it was not something that seemed threatening to me.
As the cities of your emptiness start to crumble, do you feel a sense of relief? Or a sense of melancholy?
It was refreshing to be able to meet new people. I had felt deprived of that for a very long time; maybe I could not have been able to concretely pinpoint that that was the missing element, but at least I realised today that getting to know fresh faces outside of usual institutionalised settings is integral to a social life. There has been a profusion of birthday parties recently, but more often than not these become a gathering of schoolmates, an assembly of people essentially in the same wider network. And when you glance at the little clique at the next table you would discover that there were people who were once close to you, but with whom you would not, these days, contemplate even exchanging more than a few words, or initiating a conversation. Even within one's own clique, there is all-too-often a vague sense of half-heartedness and disconnection.
There is too much that is spent and done, too much baggage that is weighing down on this world of mine that is slowing collapsing onto itself as I leave. I was reflecting about this on the train ride home; the train felt shaky and flimsy and one of the ceiling lights had gone out, but I knew I would be alighting very soon and heading elsewhere. I didn't know whether to feel sorry or nonchalant about the train; it was not something that seemed threatening to me.
As the cities of your emptiness start to crumble, do you feel a sense of relief? Or a sense of melancholy?