stupid blogger. the page which i'm looking at as i'm typing looks incredibly susceptible to crashing/hanging.

i'm sorry i actually mentioned that my roller coaster days are over. how silly, i've forgotten that i live in a drama serial. a very chong hei one, at that. i was actually feeling dumpy for the entire afternoon cos i've managed to unwittingly piss my mother off-over a really small matter, might i add-and now she's not speaking to me. nice. we were in vivo, which was a pity, cos that place has always reminded me of craziness and rollin good times, with my frens. so we, my parents and i, went to the coffee pacific company, or the pacific coffee company, for a drink while my dad read his newspapers and my mum did her bible study homework. and ignored me. so i fished out my book and begun to read, sitting in the freezing place for an hour or so before i came to my senses and went out to the open area and sat under the hot sun. it felt good baking there, and i stopped my reading and just sat there, alone, looking at my surroundings. there were many people standing alone (how ironic), smoking, or just standing by the railings looking out into the sea. and i wondered if they felt like i did: lonely, and well, dumpy. and then i began to wonder how many lonely people there were out there, including those who seem to have everything but have a feeling of emptiness within. and later as i walked in the shopping centre, i became more aware of those who walked alone, some looked as if they din't care, some looked down as they walked. are they lonely, too? maybe they really don't care, maybe they're just gazing at their new shoes, sometimes, you just cant tell. they say, eyes can speak alot that words cant. true, but what if people have mastered the art of shutting these windows to their souls?

recently i've been keeping messages in my inbox, even the kind you usually wouldn't think twice about deleting. now it's full with 216 messages. for what, i don't even know. mayb as evidence that some conversation took place. something to check back on when the memory in my brain needs confirmation. but you know, it wouldn't bite even if all these messages were wiped out. so what does that make me? i knew it. i'm a strange kid. i'm not even a kid. i'm a twenteenager.

there has to be some meaning in all this.
i wonder if i'm brave enough to cry.

dinnertime.