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. 

a confession of a loser, again.

the cable car swinging slowly but rather steadily on the cloud, with a few people whom their face I can no longer remember, crawled on the route of the cloud. the train crushed the cable car into pieces. life and death is of a second and chances. I did not feel the pain, falling from the sky above cloud, my heart did not stop just as what I have heard. With a few indians, I touched on the soil of a jungle, People's teeth were ivory white, and their smile adorable, and swarthy skin mysterious. the rest I can't remember. I imagined so, now, I was looking for something. As usual there is no story, no point, no line, no people. This is not Kathmandu, I suggested myself quietly. Neither was this Switzerland. South Africa perhaps. A place where I've never been and know very little. It is five o clock now, I have not finished my essay which is due less than 24 hours.

Where the hell are you. there is no answer. Hide back into my mode, To be frank, I am just like anyone. Being serious about relationship is just a comfortable but lame excuse I can find for my failure and disability of attracting any girls. I am serious, I am just a fucking loser which has nothing to lose already, apart from my little piteous ego, which, does not worth a penny. Fuck me. ugliness is obviously a crime. no philosophy is going to defend that. we always do something different from what we say, after all, uh?