Dear fastidious pointless diary,

I have no idea what induced me to write this whatsoever. I mean, I'm not bored, I'm pretty well-entertained by Tokyo Juliet and fanfiction, but it's just something's nagging at the back of my mind.

Do you know how it feels like when a hidden inspirations sneaks up stealthily like a ninja, and although you can't see it, you suspect it's lingering somewhere? Like perfume, I suppose. Well, I have this feeling, but I haven't tried doing anything about it. Write a poem? Ha. No one commented on the last poem I posted up on my blog, nor the song I wrote.

Do you know how hard it is to have a discussion of philosophy with others? Like is there really a God that exists, the possibilities of deities, debates, etc.? It's because most people don't know how to adequately express their views. Either that, or they don't know what you're talking about, or what to think. A bit of a pity, as I happen to like to reflect on these....

Several times in our lives, amongst the many events that occur, some events, however insignificant, might just leave a tiny imprint behind.When asked the question, "What do you treasure most", some will reply that it is their memories. Memories are all but lingering traces of the big things that happen.

Reflection is another thing. In your primary school days, you've walked through familiar aged hallways, looked out of the window during lessons, slipped on the uniform in the morning when you prepare to go to school--these things are insignificant perhaps, part of our daily lives. But yet, as we leave these places, we feel a subtle lack in us, but are never able to pinpoint it.

Perhaps you've never smelt the aroma of curry puffs baking an hour before recess, felt the cool wind stirring against plastic panes, felt the sensation of starched polyester against your skin, seen the rain in tiny crystal beads falling in a ribboned fashion from roofs, you probably have, but in essays or compositions, these things fade into the background, only making way for the more important portions--the time when you marched along the parade square under the hot sun for punishment, perhaps. Often the subtle has to make way for the bold, but in the end, only a precious few realise how the subtle is so important....

Everyday brings us something to reflect upon. The skies, the rain, the sunshine, everything.

Maybe it's in one's character to reflect, maybe it's not. It's in my character, though. Mostly about what I should or shouldn't have done, though now I understand regret is but looking back at the past wistfully, and that no amount would make me feel any better.

I hereby conclude this diary entry.

Signed,
CHANEl