I think people are starting to realize that I am not me anymore. Or rather, 2001-2007 Tan Min Qi Alicia is long gone and I'm just well, not very robust and lively in terms of anything. How do I convince the people (nearly everyone who has known me for more than 2 years) that I am no longer that person. I lost that brain, that heart, that soul somewhere along the train-tracks while I was speeding into a life which I now, am not very happy with. It gives me untold amounts of pressure. This is what they mean when they say, the past will come back to haunt you. I have it thrown in my face everyday, apple pies of regret. My mother persistently refers to me in the past tense - my future, for her, is cast in a Botero sculpture minus the beautiful balloon-like fullness. I wish I was one. Plump and bursting at the seams with life -- a fruitful indulgence for life that only can remain inanimated, because if it was contained in a more blood-filled vessel, it would rampage about and devour all of God's creations. So it needs to remain set in stone, carved with tart love and sealed in a shiny veneer so that no one can touch it and awaken it from slumber.
What the fuck am I talking about.
I need to set up a timetable to force myself to study consistently. Second week of school and I'm already behind on my readings. Not very behind - just a couple, but still. This will trip me up in the future if I don't do something about it. But I've been too distracted, daydreaming about bouncing babies amongst books, and having tea in heavy porcelain mugs.
Which reminds me, I need to haul up some of my old poems to send them to Moniza. And write a strapping review of Fables for her to put into Infusion too. I don't really want to buy another edition of The Tempest because I went a little mad after the A Levels and bought the Complete Arden Shakespeare but there's no way I'm lugging that to school with the Freud Reader and the 324839423 other books I have to read. My pointer is currently hovering over The Life and Adventures of a Module and thinking of whether I should just post my response without thinking it through. I'm terribly afraid of making a fool of myself but after observing Hemingyay for the past one and a half years, I've come to realize that I must go forth and become utterly ridiculous in order to succeed. I wish I wasn't so afraid.
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