Tuesday, October 21, 2008


And the wind stopped whistling when the bamboo bent the other way.
Oct 21 / 08 (12:59am)

There are some dusts in a room’s corners that are better off not swept. Just there, staying like little ornaments, to add a touch of rusticity and the like. You don’t remember them for a long time but suddenly, like the feeling of being stared at, there’s this flicker that makes you think of the dusts. You consider cleaning them up so that everything will be clean, spotless from the scrupulous and criticizing eyes, but then again, you think, how? What for? And most especially, why should I?

This is the irony of it all; you are seen as someone unclean but there’s no denying, you know, that once you’ve tried to settle things out but it won’t just work.

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