As I read about the details that make up an understanding of China, I’m somehow reminded of sitting once every year in my room, sifting through the piles of scraps that I tossed into boxes or drawers for keepsake. Moments in the past would then come alive, and I’d bask in old happinesses, or squirm again at old follies. As I grew older, and wished to shake off the yoke of emotions and words and images that threatened to cobweb the present, the yearly ritual became more of a spring-cleaning, to throw away what I didn’t need to live in the onrushing days, to clear a messy-enough life of unnecessary clutter. Now, I miss the homely mustiness of faded paper and ink.

But the new is calling, I cannot go back anymore, this is getting clearer all the time. i still stash away ticket stubs and notes from others out of habit, but there's less need to live in the past now, with a sense of a present that i can live in being created now. i'm avoiding the h-word, cos i don't want to jinx the crazily savory nourishy days now - i'm unused to such richness after so many months of barrenness. i wish:

shup, that you'll be at peace soon, and that we could have your time here all over again, except this time i'll be a better friend who was just a phonecall away but now can't hear your voice anytime soon (ok the months will fly by, and then we can retro tog if you like)

jo, that we started writing to each other earlier, but i'm thankful we're writing this sem =) glad you liked your gift, sorry it's late!

fuzzy, that your wrist heals ASAP ie STAY AWAY FROM ICE, TREES, BOARDS TO SLIDE ON, so that we can have more adventures to wonder about our existence (how can 2 bumbly people be in harmony with the big bad world out there with all those inconvenient trees/cobblestoned streets + roller luggage)