How do I know I've moved on?
When I can't even remember the anniversary date no matter how hard I tried. I think I got it right but then again, I'm not sure. You still are the first person I think of when certain questions come to mind but I don't miss you at all. You're just a fleeting thought. Sadly, we're now strangers again.
Tuesday, 31 May 2011
Thursday, 19 May 2011
01
So I think I need to find a space where I can just type and type and type. Since I've left behind a chapter of my life (in Meridian), I know that I'm going to experience many new things I just feel like having a new, clean space.
Anyway, these days I've been busy working at Universal. If not I occupy myself by watching the telly in reading books. Here's something I read from a book which I found interesting -
"But though she belonged to him, though she lived in his shadow, as if she could not be away from him, she was not happy. She did not want to leave him; and yet she did not feel free with him. Everything round her seemed to watch her. he had won her, he had her with him, she was his wife. And she - she belonged to him, she knew it. But she was not glad. And he was still foiled. He realised that though he was married to her and possessed her in every possible way, apparently, and though she wanted him to possess her, she wanted it, she wanted nothing else, now, still he did not quite succeed."
and
"No, he wouldn't let her exert her love towards him. No, she had to be passive, to acquiesce, and to be submerged under the surface of love. She had to be like the seaweeds she saw as she peered down from the boat, swaying forever delicately under water, with all their delicate fibrils put tenderly out upon the flood, sensitive, utterly sensitive and receptive withing the shadowy sea, and never, never rising and looking forth above the water when they lived. Never. Never looking forth from the water until they died, only then washing, corpses, upon beneath the surface. But while they lived, always submerged, always beneath the wave. Beneath the wave they might have powerful roots, stronger than iron, they might be tenacious and dangerous. in their soft waving within the flood. Beneath the water they might be stronger, more indestructible than resistant oak trees are on land. But it was always underwater, always underwater. And she, being a woman, must be like that."
The Fox by D.H Lawrence
Anyway, these days I've been busy working at Universal. If not I occupy myself by watching the telly in reading books. Here's something I read from a book which I found interesting -
"But though she belonged to him, though she lived in his shadow, as if she could not be away from him, she was not happy. She did not want to leave him; and yet she did not feel free with him. Everything round her seemed to watch her. he had won her, he had her with him, she was his wife. And she - she belonged to him, she knew it. But she was not glad. And he was still foiled. He realised that though he was married to her and possessed her in every possible way, apparently, and though she wanted him to possess her, she wanted it, she wanted nothing else, now, still he did not quite succeed."
and
"No, he wouldn't let her exert her love towards him. No, she had to be passive, to acquiesce, and to be submerged under the surface of love. She had to be like the seaweeds she saw as she peered down from the boat, swaying forever delicately under water, with all their delicate fibrils put tenderly out upon the flood, sensitive, utterly sensitive and receptive withing the shadowy sea, and never, never rising and looking forth above the water when they lived. Never. Never looking forth from the water until they died, only then washing, corpses, upon beneath the surface. But while they lived, always submerged, always beneath the wave. Beneath the wave they might have powerful roots, stronger than iron, they might be tenacious and dangerous. in their soft waving within the flood. Beneath the water they might be stronger, more indestructible than resistant oak trees are on land. But it was always underwater, always underwater. And she, being a woman, must be like that."
The Fox by D.H Lawrence
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