Honestly speaking...
Here's everything, stream of conciousness style:

I'd thought I'd write about everything, just becuase I'm lapsing back into thought mode. Well yesterday I broke Mel's iBook adapter dashing across the living room, catching the cord on my ankle. I hope I can find somewhere to fix it. Fast. Cheap. Good. The inconsistant traid. But may it be.

So before rushing over to pick it up, I talked with a couple of old friends, from my elementary years. It seems that this period of my life is extremely retrospective. Conversations with Faiz and Fahmee dealing with the Nature of God and Isa were interesting to say the least, but talking with Tristan. Those were beautiful days. He remembers my songs, from 5 years ago. You never know how you affect people. Be aware, be responsible.

I picked up Thi at the airport, realising how far apart our worlds are. Oh well, Vanier is over, but good things to come. I will have to make it a point to hang out with the guys sometime this year.

I had a great time at Cath's church today, a Filipino night with food, song and dance. I watched, I danced, I sang, and boy did I eat. But as the night wore on and layers within started falling off, I started to marvel at how an entire country and it's history can condense itself into a single person, a single relaitonship, a single period of time in my life and ultimately, a single facet of me.

Doc John.

As I talked to Cath about Emilio Anguinaldo and his revolution against the spanish I found myself back in Manilla, with the Yeshuans and Powerhouse people, with dennis, in a Museum that took us though a crash course on the History of the Philippines...

The langauge, the people, the food, the intention, the moment. I found myself gravely missing Doc John. It seems that in my life, the entire Philippines existed for him. And then I dig deeper and realise that he is very associated with a particular period of my life. The sunshine coast of my British Columbia. There, powerhouse, singing, Dennis... and the Hannah that was less joyful, but more happy, co-existed in perfect balance. For a split second there, I was cursing time and yearning for yesteryear. I even let out a whimper of "I want my mummy" in front of Dustin. God forbid. He owes me a bashing.

And speaking of Dennis, it's tragic that I remember his blog address and torture myself endlessly by reading it. Well I won't call it torture as yet, not anymore. But it's like some sort of morbid fascination syndrome that kicks in. Like watching a horror flick or reading the news, saturated with rape and plunder. This is what my relationship with Dennis has evolved into: Morbid masochistic fascination. How pathetic. How liberating, how tragic. I hate my humanness, my inclination to read his blog and to... not be impressed.

How longs does it take you to get over 7 years? To Dennis, it seems 7 weeks surfices. It almost seems... inexpensive. For me, geez, I wonder why I existentially crave justice when there is none to be served? Why I am always at the center of my God damn world?

On a lighter note, I've forgotten Dennis' MSN contact and email addresses.
My little murder.
Welcome to my weakness, world.

Doc, why did it turn out this way?

Anyway, hanging out at Cath's place after was a welcome break from solitude. Not like I've been getting too much of it lately, but the notion of just hanging out, adgendaless, really brings a new dimension to group dynamics. You start valuing the worth of indivuals apart from their productive element. It as if everyone in the group were on a massive date, with everyone else. It felt like hanging out aimlessly with a boyfriend, except with 6 of them, and mostly female.

I did DDR, something that I swore I'd never do. I shot down the purist in me and discovered more truth about myself. I will miss Jon Hayes when he leaves for Korea. I will miss the ambling conversations we have about random politics, mostly he talking and I absorbing, like a toddler to a Mother Goose story teller. I hate it when grandual fixtures in my life, of which I am usually oblivious to, suddenly up and leave. But that's the beauty of life.

Gloria is such a blessing, I'm learning by just watching her. Inspired. Dustin is as ridiculous and in need of wrestling buddies as ever before. But I think the occasional attack has brought out a little more spark in me. I have arms and legs, and they aren't just for getting me to class and for typing essays. I'm glad Bena's back.

I love eyes that smile.

I wonder if, as Joe suggests, that my incessant niceness and happiness is unhealthy. But whatever, I'm not here on earth to be a people pleaser and I will be as happy and as nice as I damn well please. As Ive found myself responding silently to a lot of Seth's prescriptions to my lifestyle: If I actively choose to live my life this way, what's it to you? (I sound like happy-nice ball now don't I? )

Dennis Tan suggests that my happiness will fade the more aquainted I get with reality. I think it depends on which reality we're talking about.

I'd like to learn a bit from Ling yu's active decision making skills wrt the purging of the self. From false opinions, from unnessary baggage and people. It's something that I might find invaluable in life.

Good. I'm learning to become more detached to the crippled ideas of humanity and myself.