I have no idea why of all days I choose today to resume writing diary. Back in 97/98 when I was alone in Paris, I faithfully wrote down all my encounters and feelings everyday. To be honest, I hardly have the courage and patience to read through all that I have written in the past. I need courage because most of these writings contain ghosts of the past. Is it necessary to literally read the past in order to deduce that I have indeed grown up? Today I have timed my reading speed. Let’s say each day I faithfully churn out one page of diary that is equivalent to the length of a page of any good novel, reading a year worth of diary requires me to sit still for eighteen hours and fifteen minutes. That is to provide that the material is a good read.
So why do I start writing diary again? Maybe it is because nowadays I have more time on my own. Especially when my wife is now working in the neighboring country. Or maybe I sense that I am now at this juncture, a juncture that will be full of memorable events. Rather than letting them evaporated like my Mauritius episode, this time, I wish to encode all these so-to-be historical events into digital bits – ones and zeroes. And hopefully, by the time I retrieve my digital journal and read in the distant future, Microsoft Word still exists.
Big question: What have I done today? Started reading the “Prozac Nation”, sped on the highway just to arrive at the airport 8 minutes before the counter closed (all because of my brilliant idea of stopping by Orchard and have dinner at Nooch), returned home and dug through all my CD backups to feed on the fragmented memories.
Looking at my emotional line, no doubt I am quite down today. And the classical music does not help.
Physical: -0.73
Emotional: -0.97
Mental: 0.76