Heartbeats

The heart, the tiny one, does really beat, when the waiting was over.

Speechlessness. Only grateful tears.

Please keep growing and be stronger, my tiny tiny sweetheart.

Ultrasound

Waiting outside the ultrasound room of the clinic. Waiting for a sign, a sign of event—either of happening or of non-happening. Waiting for a verdict, one that concerns life and death.

Does faith or prayer have any place in a waiting like thus? The mind stops working, all sounds strike mute.

Waiting for a sign, a sound. A sound at the ultra level. An ultrasound of heart that beats, and will keep beating our hearts.

Just beat, please!

Site Maintenance

Site maintenance is never easy.

For no reason, the site server has been infected by the backdoor program W32.Esbot.C two days ago. Though it is best to clean the virus by rebooting the server into the safe mode (yes, I'm always regret for not running a Linux server), I have grave difficulty to follow the lead. I can only remotely control the machine, trying my best to kick out the Trojan horse which has seriously destabilizes the server performance for some time.

Again, for no reason, the virus suddenly disappears after several not so successful attempts at dispelling it. My limited knowledge of the server structure and equally limited experience in safekeeping the server cause this inexplicable phenomenon.

For now, I'm still uncertain of the server's status: whether the disappearance is temporal or permanent, or whether the site server will run cleanly and smoothly from this time on.

The very lesson I've learnt from this is simple: were I to be given a second chance, I will never run a portal-like site for many, but a personal site for me only.

The Final Class

N’s final class in summer. Accompanying him to all classes for the whole summer, I am sitting outside as usual waiting for him. The summer has been near its end and will end almost imperceptibly this way. Hard to accept. Drank many cups of coffee; many a thought germinated—while waiting.

Waiting in summer. Waiting for the summer’s end? Or waiting for the end of summer’s waiting for autumn?

In the end of all waiting, tender memories always arise and prevail, speaking of the beauty of the lost time that has never been fully appreciated back then, but appears all the more charming and radiant than ever at present.

N’s summer, my summer. Indeed a memorable summer.

In Short Of

Time, of course. Always running short of it.

As summer vacation is nearing its end, the anxiety for time shortage is rearing its head. How strong it is! And it’s getting only stronger by days.

Got to get hands on the translation project. Or simply be damned.

The Second Second Coming

The second coming fails to come, fails its eventuality and our expectation. Maybe what we are facing is a real hope that cannot know in any way, and can only be blind to, what is hoped for. Maybe the not-coming is in fact its very eventuality, is what the hope it brings forth really meant. Or maybe the coming is not prepared enough because we are not well-unprepared. All is in a mist. Yet all is glittering, gleaming, speaking of something that no one understands but may come to articulate itself shortly after.

The 6-month interval is sheer waiting for nothing.

And now is the second second coming. The same unexpected. The same of that for which we will never be ready. And the same as before will we welcome the coming.

It is the coming that makes the waiting waiting.

The First Dawn Walk with N

Walk with N at dawn. Last night N didn’t sleep well. Sour feet kept troubling him, interrupting his sleep. Too much exercise in the late afternoon that day. And most likely because of bad dreams—or bad memories.

Memories of being hit by me.

Regret. Heart tainted with remorse. Temper lost along with the loss of a football, followed by a greater loss of that part of me which would otherwise let me look straight into my own eyes.

The dawn was beautiful. Clouds assumed a chameleon life. A color magic. We walked and talked. Finally, I asked N to forgive me. Almost a moment of tears at least on my part. N smiled, saying he too has done something wrong. And he held my hand tightly and warmly.

I dare not explore what trauma I might cause, no, I must have caused in N. When the sunshine appeared to blaze the sky, I prayed, in full devotion and sincerity, that may god help me remember this moment. The first dawn I have ever welcome with N, and the last of my guilt and anguish as such.

N deserves my full love; I, however, am never so worthy of his as he ever thinks.

May the sun purge me of my guilt.

The Black Sun

Heated to extremity, the sun turns black. Turns that which looks directly into it blind.

Hit by the black sun, the building is going into spasm.

Encoding Babel

Moblogging is enticing. Yet the test on communicating between different encoded systems has turned out no satisfying results. Kind of like standing in front of a Babel tower with no hope of getting diverse tongues together in mutual talks. Finally gave up on the efforts as they had cost almost twenty hours of human health and energy. Those of mine, of course.

Decide going back to simplicity. If technology cannot make things easier but complicated, maybe it’s time to go back where simplicity reigns. Productivity, supposedly, starts there.

Forgotten

Almost forgot what has meant and should still mean the most in life.

Exhaustion on face, yet ecstasy in heart. Heading into the uncertain and unexpected, travellers in a foreign land were bound together in courage. Adventure always, and almost magically, turns one’s attention to what is simple, simply important, yet has been easily forgotten: being by my side someones always are.

Start thinking of the meaning of vacation.

Mobile Blogging

After quite some time of trial and error, a way is found, thought not without certain comprise, to post blogs on the move. Blogging by email, ftpping photos taken by the phone camera to the server, and cron-activating the entry . Though a simple 3-step procedure, a pda camera phone with GPRS wireless connection and a palm ftp tool are needed to make it really work. Time and energy exhausting to get it go.

Blogging on the move; a moving blogger; a blogging wanderer.

The only question left, however, is this: how often would one thus keep thinking and blogging thoughts after technologically empowered as such?

A fearsome question.

Rain Storm

A storm strikes.

A pool of water is in uproar of silence.