for the past seven years, i have been late for nearly every birthday, and to date, i am nine days behind. right now, the spain-italy match will commence soon, forty-five minutes of a first-half that will yield an email that i have so far refused to read, for reasons i will elaborate on later. have not written since ah gong passed away, and things have been really hectic. then again, since when was my life not busy?

edinburgh was good, aberdeen a dream of sorts which i have not come to terms with yet, and barcelona was a life-long ambition that recently came to fruition. one down, thirteen to go.

spain have started with casillas in goal, from right to left in defence: arbeloa, pique, ramos, jordi alba; xavi, sergio busquets, xabi alonso; david silva, iniesta and... cesc fabregas. no david villa, no fernando torres. what gives? like phil ball, i believe soldado would have been perfect.

now, the big question. why am i afraid to see the mail? what can she say that will be so devastating? i have not declared affection, nor extended any overt hand of friendship. i have been, as friends have been repeating, sincere, and sweet if you will, and she has no reason to be unfriendly.

but i can be honest here, and i have, as usual, split personalities which veer in extreme directions. one view suggests that she was waiting for me, that she was truthful in her words to her best friend that if the guy did arrive in scotland, she would await him. i look at the touches of make-up she applied, the sia girl dress she wore on the same day, the sushi she made for me, the fact that she brought me to the library and literature section. that it was her practicum, and that she met me on the second day gives me reason to want more. yet, part of me warns against such unfounded optimism. she could have done it for anyone. she did more for her friend that came, who stayed in her flat for three nights. these forty-five minutes may be the longest of my life.
yet, to expect nothing is to expect no disappointment.

and having said that, i've exhausted myself.

ah gong passed away on the 19th.

the beauty of coincidences, ironically, necessitates the control of many variables. for one event to take place, the factors in the build up require precision, in the exact place, at the right timing. time is crucial, since two colliding forces of different temporal states will not produce the necessary synthesis of expectations-turn-reality. sometimes, the similarities, and consequently possibilities, outweigh the need for things to fall right into place.

now that i've finally met her, i'm not sure what to think, and how to feel. it hurts a little, to know that the fantasy disappeared across the road.

you can't avoid associations. i used to say that the love of my life will live across the street. it used to sound cool that the first one lived across me, while effectively, she didn't (if you're using the right angled 90 degrees rule). this kind of delusion, it can really last long, if one repeatedly convinces himself. "across the street", gives the kind of closeness that distance can bring, when she's really so far away a phone call sounds like it's from another reality.

sometimes when i look at certain blog pages, it is no wonder why people can't stay interested in one another long enough, for anything long-lasting. unless, it becomes habitual.

why do i need you to sustain me.

this post is going to be weird, and i'm not sure where it's going to bring us... but it may be that we have found the one person that appears intermittently in another world, she may be, just be, yet fading away, just as she should be.

i meant to post something, at various intervals during the course of three months, and somehow this action never materialized for a whole assortment of reasons.

25 years of age, the masters scholarship. and a thailand story that will have to wait.