Snippets

It is four in the morning, and six days is all that stands between me and that Sydney-bound 747-400. Silence fills this house --this house that has been my home for the past ten years.


A vague, but deep undercurrent of emotion has been flowing beneath me for days now: bubbling over at times, though never for too long at that.


It isn't really sadness. It isn't really reluctance either. A combination perhaps ...maybe even none of the aforementioned at all.


There are bits and pieces that could have been arranged in better ways I think. Loose ends that should not have been left as such.


On the fringes of my mind, the thought of failure --and the reality of having failed-- to make certain things better is an eyesore to my otherwise brilliant skyline.


But alas, there is only so much one person can do. And sometimes when one thinks about it, one wonders if it is even remotely worth the trouble.


More often than not, the answer is a resounding no.


Feelings of excitement and that of elation remain as elusive as can be, having been worn down and drown out by the many months of diminutive progress towards the one ultimate goal of getting me onboard a jet plane.


And thus the solemn, the introspective, and the multitude of other feelings swirl together in an endless spiral: thinning out, closing in, and diffusing into one another to form an impossibly complicated flux of emotions.