Maybe redemption has stories to tell
Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell
Where can you run to escape from yourself?
Where you gonna go?
Where you gonna go?
Salvation is here
…Dare You to Move
Switchfoot
Switchfoot concert was beyond awesome! Hate to admit this, but it is incomparable to James Morrison’s, in a different perspective of course. The crowd too was jumpily phenomenal!
Yes, yes I haven’t been writing. Blame bad habit. Or perhaps, old habit dies hard? Okay, let’s not get into that. I could go endless crapping. As if I’m not doing that now, but you know whatever letter punched down now, at the moment is uncontrollable. You see, I don’t draft. Haha. That sounded like I’m blowing off own trumpet. But yes, really, whenever the mind and the fingers mingle, it rocks non-stop. Whoa. Excuse the rocking adjectives used. It is just post-concert excitement. Gee, I sure am going berserk here. And yes, because I don’t draft, whatever revolves daily are forgotten. But thanks to another technology, images were captured to frame the events. But for now, I wish not to make use of this blog for photo uploads.
Maybe I shall let Syukri update on Switchfoot…not? You’re more of the factual writer than I am. And well, readers just adore your hmm… factual flair? Haha. I can’t find the right word dude, sorry. But you know I adore your writing. High five! Also thanks to him, I am writing this post. I forgot that February (supposedly January I think) celebrates my attempt on writing. And skimming through the post ‘From the Heart’ I wrote to commemorate this celebration sketched a grinning smile. I kept my promise not to delete posts randomly or because I feel like so. Hoorah me!
Writing is an art, of which it explores your wildest dreams. How one exerts others' works differ to another. Because we lead separate lives, much as we wish we are connected to one another, we just aren’t. Situations amalgamate us, but inside, no one else could understand better than we do. Words written accidentally match on purpose, we deem in authors' thoughts. At points, we intersect with their inner perplexity, that’s how genre surfaced and tastes widen. The gist is words are beautiful. There is no limit to define an art, and with genuine feeling, meaning of life can never be detached once grasped.
...From the Heart
February 19th 2007
I cannot believe I wrote that. No, seriously. I think biting figures too much have eaten up my poignant nerves. All I write now is anything but lyrical joined of letters. Also I seem to be depending on others’ works to tickle that melodious bone. Boo. To even steal mere hours of the day to read seems impossible. Exhaustion helps relinquishing the effort.
Surprisingly this is the first semester I don’t write on the nothing but of figures subjects, the horrifying, disgusting (one of my lecturers happens to be a pervert, seriously!), helpful, etc lecturers, the dozing off lectures, the mountains of workloads, and blah blah blah. Goodness. Bumping into Puan Noraini, Mr Teoh (my English lecturers) few times at the faculty makes me miss the anxiety of going to classes. I didn’t have to worry about assignments, stressful feedings of new topics, but just enjoy the class. Most importantly, being my noisy self. And having them entertained my loud appearance is soothing. Countless thank you from the deepest of my heart for not just teaching the subject, but for also instilling the life values in me. In other way, impromptu rendezvous with them help the blue sky outshines grey clouds.
Truth is, I find it sickly nauseating to write. No mood in fact, none, nada, nil, zilch!
Nevertheless, I hope to write a good one, just to celebrate my 2 years of blogging or perhaps to erase the conscience guilt of not being a good friend to the blog. Till then, Happy Chinese New Year! And enjoy the holidays!
