His eyes stared intently at the mere amalgamate of light waves. His fingers nervously danced through his gelled hair, as if every strand were a choreographed masterpiece. The image looked back, this time more confident. His hands then tucked into his back pockets, and surreal motions of the ladylike blushed behind him. He ignored them and opened his mouth to sing. It was then that that voice was crushed by the arrival of the train.

Up there was meant to be the start of an essay but I thought it was more suitable as thinking space. What you're meant to think about is really anything at all. Of course the way I wrote did north a message; but the human brain has boasted variety. So comment on what you thought it was about, I'd be happy to hear from you.

Our generation is stabbed by image. Materialism and wealth, I have noticed, is a quietly exiting "so yesterday". In its place, its manifestations, is the plague of the way others see us.

The blockquote's subject matter is reflective underground MRT doors. Because of the lack of light from the other end, much of the light our corneas receive are our own reflections. They make excellent mirrors because of the size of the thing, which allows you to see yourself in entirety.

2nd March 2008. It's been three years now, goodbye old friend.