What is a you?

What is a you?

Will you expire?

What is a me?

Lies and desire.

The world drags on.

A rose will bloom,

it then will fade.

So that’s the truth.

So that’s the masquerade.

"Dear Blog Entry..."

The following words of a guy called Tom Wilmot, who volunteered for six months in India, were recorded in the book Volunteer published by Lonely Planet:

"So many stories spring to mind, and so many come flooding back on re-reading my diary. This, in itself, prompts me to highly recommend keeping a diary. It can become a chore, but approach it with good humour and try to record all those little events as rgularly as possible. It really is worth it when you look back. It doesn't have to look beautiful (mine is barely legible), but looking back at it is one of those things MasterCard just can't buy!"

I would say about my blog what Tom Wilmot said about his diary. That is what keeps me going after walking away for such a long time.

It's a huge chasm, but stitch it up!

Just because I haven't updated my blog doesn't mean I'm dead.

Not that anyone would notice, anyway.

Except one person.

The whole time when I have been putting up one blog entry per day for the last two years, I have only ever told one friend.

That is how low key and private I am.

Now why did I stop writing suddenly? And why am I resuming now?

Two major, major involvements - one involving my work and the other my study - forced me to stop.

Somehow, when it was all over, I couldn't find the momentum to pick up the habit again.

Maybe the spell was broken.

Maybe the effort was disrupted.

Maybe the determination was washed away.

It had stayed like that for a good while until I felt the urge to do it again.

Not only to do a blog a day, but also to plug the holes of the past few months.

The mere thought of having to make up for a few months' work is frightening.

But if I just take one step at a time...

And one or two more, if possible,

then, one day, there will be no seam.

A pretty good test, this.

A Third of a Lifetime Ago

The other e-book that I am reading (yes, I am hopping among a few books, switching from one to the other depending on my mood and condition) is Kenny Dalglish's autobiography My Liverpool Home, and I am now at the chapter in which King Kenny talked about the Heysel tragedy in which 39 people died because of fans' trouble in the 1985 European Cup Final between Liverpool and Juventus.

It was a match I remember well. I was already a Liverpool fan back then. I wouldn't miss my favourite team's second consecutive European Cup Final for anything, even though the match was broadcast live on Hong Kong TV at the ungodly hour of 3 am (or was it 3:30?). Some childhood friends of mine were also diehard Liverpool supporters. To share the imminent glory of our team, we went to the hair salon at which one of them was employed and watched together. We were absolutely stunned and gutted, more by what happened in the hellish 90 minutes of chaos on the dreadful night than by the subsequent loss of our team by a controversial penalty. The day had dawned by the time we trudged home in dismay.

Taken back to that fateful night by King Kenny's reminiscence, I realise to my amazement that it was an incident that happened more than a quarter of a century ago. Given that the lifespan of an average man is composed of about three quarters of a century, it means that there has been about a third of my life between that night and now.

I can almost see time slipping away between my fingers.