These days my life is literally on auto-pilot: I don’t have any immediate plans, and I simply try to make the best I can of each passing moment.

That’s because I’m making one final push at grad school, and being the one dimensional man that I am, I cannot really plan ahead until I know my “fate”.

But no matter how my “fate” turns out (not that I believe in pre-destination), I’m going to end up with some drastic changes in the way this nation of one man is governed. I’ll either leave behind a thousand memories and go wrestling the bitter cold in pursuit of knowledge, or I’ll simply settle down and do one of a thousand other things on my mind now.

Either way, I know I’m going to get closer to you, my dear reader, much closer than I’ve ever been. After much wanderings (more about that later), I’m finally moving ahead with the original plans I had for this domain when I registered it. For a clue, just raise up your head!

As usual, if you have any questions for me, just drop them in. I’m here to serve, I’m here to help, whenever I can.

Photo: George Appiah at Home - Accra, Ghana

This morning, while unpacking some documents to scan, I found a little piece of paper with these words below, written in my own hndwriting. I don’t know exactly when and why I wrote this piece, and I don’t even remember the subject here.

Yet this little piece of paper drew down buckets of tears — salty tears of sweet descent — as I read line after line. I wasn’t crying because of the content of the poem though: I was crying for the part of me that I’ve has slipped by. I was crying for my childhood writings I lost — literally hundreds of poems and short stories. I was crying for never daring to take my pen and paper to write once again, after all these years since I lost my writings.

And I was crying for all the days gone by, and for all the dreams left behind.

Update: From some other scribbles on this piece of paper, I’m almost certain of the context of this writing now. I wrote this piece, back then during college days, to my sister. But the subject is someone else. You see, there was this cute little girl, who was my sister’s roommate, who….

I wonder where she is now and what she’s doing. The memories are all coming back to me now. The tears are falling, once again, except faster this time. The battle continues. But who can see me? Who can rescue me?