The array of emotions being displayed by me on a daily basis baffles me. On one side, I am singing on top of my lungs, mindlessly, after having cried for an hour for no reason whatsoever, followed by the action of pigging on junk. The same is reported while I apply a fresh coat of summer's day pink nail paint and plan my outfit for tomorrow in my head.


xxx

When art disturbs the comfortable recipient, the effect by large is devastating. Saw Richard Fung's Sea in the Blood at college today, for the second time. It is so evocative that it is almost disturbing. Love, loss set against disease and memories- almost touching a nerve. Didn't know the appropriate response to a piece of art which describes so many unsaid things beautifully. I cried because I didn't know if anyone else would be able to address the issues set in the documentary, let alone setting it with precision. Just any form of acknowledgement makes me break down, a problem that has lasted almost as long as the cause itself. That, and reminiscences. How, essentially, I am not a bad person.

God knows if I make any sense ever.