The Great Gatsby

It is another simple and plain day that I should be grateful for. I have enough food, a vegetarian sub, nice little box of fresh milk, and juicy blueberries newly arrived from Spain. Oh, yes, I had a cup of decent hot coffee to start my day. The weather is rather sunny. I have the chance to stay in the very peaceful corner of the library at the edge of Fife, where the crawl of war has yet to reach. I have books to read for fun. I appreciate my life and I am contented. 

I've finished the Great Gatsby, well to be honest I failed to find it inspiring after seeing the movie. I had a chat on Daisy and Tom a couple of days ago with Vika, her discovery of Tom being a boring and common character kind of stuck in my mind. yes, I agree, Tom is just one of those many rats that you can easily spot from the crowd in Oxford Street. Tom seems to be a rather metropolitan figure, that, he would not simply exist if there is no city. I can hardly picture Tom from a village, this is just surreal. 

Enough of Gatsby, my grades are declining, and academically I am not doing well. I do not know what to do, I am strained and stressed but I seem to fail to find out a door within this labyrinth. 

I am now able to spell my friends' name out here, thanks to Jerome, my ego dwindled and become psychologically more balanced. 

Be optimistic

My naivety is built upon a beautiful speculative future we would share if you were willing to. the reality that you did not even bother to give me the answer, or allow me a chance to give it a go, make my wishful thinking stay alive. However, I've never pictured a flat rejection from you; that is perhaps the beauty of tragedy of my naivety. 

I still keep thinking all the possibility of my life, though I cannot spot on an exact moment of the beginning, perhaps there is not a moment. time flows from the very beginning without consulting us. It is this, wishful optimism prompt me to keep thinking about you. The hope of you answering me has perished long ago. the anticipation of bumping you again somewhere in the future, however, has not been excluded. this will probably continue till I die.  the unknownness allows my castle of dream and wish stays on the cloud of possibility and future indefinitely. 

but sometimes, I question myself, I shout at myself, Em, where are you. That does not seem to be that vital no more, since I did not expect you to come to me. My wish has now entirely been relied upon my open future, or the intricate destiny. the only thing I have is not a faith I have faith in all possibilty

Often it comes to mind that I should get a train ticket to Aberdeen. I would wander around Aberdeen, and I may probably see you somewhere when I open the door in a second-hand bookshop. haha, laugh at me if you want, yes, I have seen too many films with too much imagination. Yet this is indeed the my  hope at very depth of my heart. In light of the usual romantic-comedy plot, I shall perhaps reencounter you at a cafe and find out you are engaged. But in my little world, I guess I will see you in the street among the crowd. But my imagination stays at the particular moment, I do not know the upshot. 

Emily, I am disable of describing how much I miss you. When I said to Clarence, I genuinely believed that, even though you were quite bad-tempered in Kathmandu, I cannot imagine another girl whom I will love more and share so many interests with me. Do you remember we hummed the Vienna Wood Waltz in the Valley? There is so much love. I used to be subtle, but now I find no need. I just hope that you will come back to the trajectory my life very soon. Now, despite the existence of facebook, we have never been so remote, and you seem to be living into a different world.

The only feeling, if there is any, it is that, I am very, very upset.

The reason is unknown and uncertain, in fact, the reason is imagination. I imagine all those shit up and believe in it. What am I doing, I need a blanksheet, and I wish a new start. Only in this small place, no one recognize me, I can be myself, an anonymous ghost, pouring out my cheap emotions and redundant sentiment and useless tears, and lick my wound audaciously like a crying wolf. my little blog love is so unconditional that whenever I had a problem, there is always a blank page for me, to get off all those stupid and unreasonable and boring sentiment my chest, which is something I dare not, in millions years, to say it even to my parents and any friends. I took refugee from the world of books when I was small, I sneaked into the library, cause, no one recognized me, I was absorbed into the world of ernest hemingway, and Louis Cha, I could be whoever I want, I could go to Spain and meet Maria, and be a hermit in a mountain like some martial master in China. As I grows up, no more time for daydreaming, the reality is tough, I have to mask myself in a strong, firm and confident face at all times. I am so unwilling to unmask myself, cause I fear despise so much. I fear contempt from the other so much. I care my ego so much. I am such a loser.

Only here, I am allowed to be tedious, and long-winded and talk about how fucked-up I am, how I horrible I feel. I could not sleep a wink last night, cause the italian swept into my mind with Douglas Murray. Very creepy. Then she told me she had a boy friend today. haha. I dont know what I am doing. by the same token, the ghost of emily filmer, oh yes, I fear not to utter her name no more, come back again, she is not even real. We talked, I wishfully thought, (think) that we are possible, but of course, she replied me once in september, that's it. I did try to find her, and I had that stupid, impractical dream rooted in my mind that may be if I go to Aberdeen or Paris, just as what I joked long time ago, we may bump into each other again. She never replied me, she even disappeared on facebook. Probably she has deactivated her facebook, and she may well have deleted me on friend list. After all, I am just being wishful, she probably forget me anyway, I dont even know if she is still in Scotland. I have not heard of her, since Nepal.

I stop pouring my tears and sadness and pressure to my parents. I dont trust Alvin no more. I do not trust anyone in reality. I cant trust anyone, and I always afriad that they would despise my cowardice of showing my emotion nakedly. I got no one to talk to. But thanks god, I have a little corner here, and I am kind of able write.

I feel dizzy with a big headache. I am upset. I've used I more than 1000 times in this diary. I cant care less. I am fucked up, but of course, it is necessary to sum up here, that, I fell down, and now I came up and I am not beaten, I insist. and I try not to trust. I am suspcious, of relationships between people. Are they honest. I want to be as political as I can, the more I am, the safer and more indifferent I feel.

I am reading an article upon witchcraft, womanhood and religion in the medieval time.
I assure you that you have no resemblance to the witches whatsoever.
But you just popped in my brain, in front of these snaky alphabets.
I miss you so much so much, that it hurts. Are you still alive, Em? If so, Where are you?

I like staying in the library. I can be alone nobly, covering my incompetence of making friends. I am an oyster in the library. the blankness and emptiness and loneliness are passed into oblivion once I am in that dead silence. books keep me busy. time goes easy. 

where are you emily fimer?

E.A.L.F

E.A.L.F

I type this in every morning, afternoon, evening and night since my decision to come to Scotland and departure from Nepal. 

We have facebook. We have the internet. I thought that would be enough. We are born in the age of internet after all, everything goes beyond boundary at neck-breaking speed. I felt secure when I left you. Because I had my heart in CUHK. Until I knew I was going to Scotland, I often thought that was the end of the story. It was merely a summer adventure. 

You said you were in Aberdeen. I am at St Andrews. Only four hours train. We have skype. Why you can be so far, and so close? Where are you? Time waves many particulars into oblivion, but you are still there. 

alright - as usual, this is just a phase, right? I will forget you blah blah and I will laugh at myself after a decade right? perhaps so. But for old's time sake, E.M, play it, play the Vienna Woods Waltz. I miss you. Tell me that even it was just a wishful summer adventure, please put a clear full stop for me. Let me know this time, I can frame an excuse again, for my failure and incompetence. I prefer a exclamation mark or full stop, to a question mark. 

Emily, Alice, Louis, Filmer. 

there are always quotas for how much one can write every day. 

if you are good looking - you may well be paid a closer attention by Muse, whose love are generous only with Casanova. 

Grumpy KS.