Inaugural Post

I have never had the habit of keeping a diary. Naturally the idea of a blog is unnatural for me, if I can't trust a book with the reflection of my inner self, why would I do it over the Internet? Nevertheless, due in part to curiosity of the novel and in part to practical reasons, here I am. Vedi, Veni.

Malancholy is my favourite word. In the dictionary, it is defined as: 1) a gloomy state of mind, especially when habitual or prolonged; depression. 2) sober thoughtful; pensive. 3) archaic meaning of having too much black bile, a condition considered to cause gloominess and depression in ancient and Medieval medicine. To me, it describes a state of being that is both slightly sad and happy at the same time; a hint of gloom but gladly so. No depressing downward dismal, nor vulgar ecstatic glee. It's like listening to Chopin when it's raining; like the drizzling light rain on a beautiful Sunny day; like a grey clouded sky overcasting a sea of calm waves, brewing the next storm. It represents the way that everything has in itself, two contradicting sides, existing simultaneously. War and peace; ying and yang; matter and anti-matter. Nothing black and white, all but a shade of grey.

I have always thought that happiness is like luck, or cash, you will eventually run out of it someday. Elated gaiety will not only exhaust your reserve like a shopping spree, cheeky exuberance simply attracts the jealousy of the Olympian Gods who will strike down in punishment. Therefore I have always been careful of being too happy, abiding to a life of Confucian modesty, and humble ignorant bliss. But it hasn't worked.

I spend my life in pursuit of significance. The importance of every action, the weight of every word, the meaning of every place. Without significance, it has no meaning and is not worth doing. I have thus become too careful to experiment, be free and spontaneous, and subsequently intensely boring. I blame it on having grown up reading about extraordinary people. At my age, Alexander the Great had conquered the Persian Empire, and was hailed as the King of Kings. Unfortunately I have never been significant myself. I am not special or unique in any way. I no taller, faster or stronger, just average. Oh how I hate the word mediocre!

Despite what Freud said, I am not crazy. And I do not wish to be tested.

If anyone shall stumble across this page, I hold no responsibility for offending anyone. Not even for the posts written specifically to offend people. I have a wacky sense of humour, so inevitably my amusement will bait me into writing stuff in the pretense of quality comedy. If you don't like what you read, go away. Real life characters and events recounted here may be regarded as urban legends should the need of disacknowledgement arises. And lastly for the boilerplate, the author remains the right to refuse any claims made on this page. Like waking up from your last pleasant colonoscopy experience with veins full of midazolam, you do not remember reading that.