Summer is just around the corner. And when i walk out of the hotel to get something to eat at the local convenience store, I could almost smell salt in the air. The kind that starts with your nostrils and end somewhere at the tip of your tongue.

My friends decided to go to the beach today, being their last weekend and all. They decided to have a taste of the kyushu sea, which, though its just a 5 minute walk from twins, we never had the time to really explore, till now.

There are many people at the beach today, I presume. collecting beachstones for memories and washing away their souls with whats real and whats happy.

And i am here, typing away on my notepad.. wishing myself to be far.. far away from here.

four bags - two for check in and two for handcarry - the sumtotal of my four and a half months stay in the land of the rising sun. there are no feelings really, anticipation, excitement, they all died down a long time ago, all that's left is the weariness, and the unbearable waiting.

i should be sleeping really.. in six hours ill be up and about adding finishing touches to the prototype we've been making, making reports, and doing some last minute file cleanups and sorting.. and yet im here.. finding comfort with ms notepad and a japanese keyboard that types a different character from what i expect it to.

lately ive been reading some of my works posted on this site, and it bothers me that i have not made progress. i dont know if feeling nothing is better than feeling pain, or if watching sesame street at 2:30 in the morning could possibly make a difference.. but thats what ive become... a stoic and an insomniac. funny that i can label myself now.,

i remember one time, a thai classmate went to this site and read some of my notes posted on the chronicles, he emailed me and said he was having a fine day until he came across my writings.. and thats when he remembered how miserable he was.. gee! i didnt know i sounded that miserable.. much less, i never thought i could make someone so miserable just by thinking my thoughts out loud.

anyway, this isnt about that. i dont even think i have a point here.. its just something i need to do. i need to write, if only to make me be able to sleep at night. i have to write, even though i dont have a story to tell... its a compulsion. a habit. and sometimes i dont realize that i actually am conveying a message.

where is this going really? i dont know... maybe packing bags just depresses the hell out of me.. or maybe im afraid that im going back to a place where everything else is different.. except me, or worse, maybe nothing has changed.

its irrational.. why must someone fear the coming of the night, when it is the light of the moon she wants to see.