C'est si bon de partir n'importe où

My good friend Cheryl tells me that I'm a bottle of extra fizzy sprite. This bothers me.

I sometimes wonder whether I've become so wrapped up with the pace of life, so engrossed in the things we do, that I forget why I'm here.

The journey more than the ends should matter, and over these years, I feel unlike my old self.

For one, the system, the environment and even its constituent elements prefer, I think, even favour a certain type.

I miss the slap poetry. The cafes run by post modernist hippies. The time by the beach - though oh so crowded now, offers some refuge to the mind seeking some quiet.

And maybe we're no longer 18, as you rightly mentioned, Yoda.

In fact, I catch myself seeing happy 30-something people and I am wildly envious.

Of their carefree smiles. Of their bliss together. Of the joy in being and not having or wanting.

Over the years, perhaps it wasn't reconciliation with the system that took place. Maybe, it was simply resignment to the system.

I sometimes miss the old me. I am trying to find an old post from 2007 but I can't find what I'm looking for, which is some semblance of how I felt during this one incident. I think it was in September or October 2007.

I guess this means I should probably get back to work instead (for now).

Ah, I found the post.

I should start writing again, indeed.