Memories do not fade like your hair color.

Geez, I know it's been long since I last made some noise here. I guess I haven't been pondering over a lot of issues lately hence nothing much for me to pen down? Let me tell you something anyhow; I love long bus rides and I love my Cruisin' Stable Songs playlist in my iPod. Blast your ear drums, and think about life. How cool is that? Totally. ;)

Some food for thought though, will we always be haunted by the ghost of our past? Move on - a highly overrated cliche word that seems to be slipping out of everybody's tongue whenever they try to comfort some one. How do you move on? By sliding over? Or by rolling down the hill? Memories do not fade like your hair color. They are etched in your mind for a purpose. What if those memories are meant for you to use it as a bench mark? Blindly moving on does no good to us. Else, why don't all of us just be some zombies?

Scenario: Whoops, I broke a cookie jar. Hmmmm, it's all right. I'll just move on. Tomorrow if I break another cookie jar, it's perfectly all right again. :)

Heck, how the hell are we going to improve if we're all in this status quo? I'm really afraid of status quo by the way. Much as I would cringe if you show me pictures of say my secondary school year books now (I look horrendous, I friggin' swear), at least there is a difference between the past and the present.

I don't understand, I still get puzzled somehow. Can leopards really never change their spots? Are our behavior always a part of us, our character and personality setting us apart from every one else? You are irritating now. Ten years later, you are still very irritating. Why? Is it the environment we grow up in? Or is it the milk formula that was given to us back when we are an infant?

Before I get myself lost in this entry too, I had better end it quick. Maybe I was just filling this entry for the guilt of not making any noise here for so long. Or perhaps the train of thoughts of mine loves getting jumbled up. I love this quote by the way. By George Eliot, from Middlemarch.

“With memory set smarting like a reopened wound, a man's past is not simply a dead history, an outworn preparation of the present: it is not a repented error shaken loose from the life: it is a still quivering part of himself, bringing shudders and bitter flavors and the tinglings of a merited shame.”