As every once in a while I would read through a number of my bookmarked blogs for updates, and again today I am struck by the sincerity and beauty of feelings laid bare in easy, frank narration.

When was the last I've written like that, I wonder? Oh I could gush, indeed, about events and books and random little things, make complaints, skimming and dipping like a dragonfly on the crystal clear surface of pond water.

But it's been the longest time since I've ever delved any deeper, to blog a full reflective entry. Certainly not in the last semester. Horror of horrors. I am appalled and utterly dismayed at the superficiality of it all.

There are drafts saved in notepad and never published, whether to protect my own feelings or to protect the feelings of others. Mostly the latter, because I am strangely devoid of the former. I don't know which is more terrifying-- other people who have feelings so sensitive they would be hurt so frequently and so badly... or a self with limited abilities to feel.

It is not so far from being a cyborg programmed to feel a little of everything, and a large dose of contentment, period.

I have noted in my resolutions--as yet unpublished, obviously-- that the one thing I must do above everything else, is to learn to love. It is a very curious thing to say, or even to think, but not completely unreasonable. I would have to teach myself to feel even if it hurts. And I think it does, when you feel tremendously. Like holding on to a pot of boiling water. I've only ever touched and let go--before the burning sensation sears through your veins crying. A light brush offers but a brief sting that is quickly forgotten, which perhaps explains why I could hardly remember... anything, about feeling.

My last memory of tears-- real, furious, wild choking sobs-- was, quite ironically, over the conflict of two--or three--different demands of me, all based on the feelings and wants of those who matter to me, and the awful realisation that I don't know... never knew, perhaps, what I really wanted. It's like scooping the air for something solid: nothing. Nothing but the curious, desperate desire for people to be happy, genuinely happy. I couldn't understand these demands, except that if I were to fulfil them I would achieve happiness in exchange-- and the happiness of these people would restore me to my happiness again. I suppose then it is always these people who keep me human with their ever-fluctuating emotions.

Pardon all these disjointedness. It's been so long that I have attempted to blog an entry such as this, and I feel terribly rusty, but I do suppose this is necessary. To return a little value to the blog, so to speak, because it's been too frivolous for too long.

But that will be that for now. We'll see what the new year brings, and write again.