This is the first entry. The beginning as they call it. Everything has to start from somewhere. For me, I start on the first day in December. Today breezed through like the gentle evening winds.

I do love beginnings. Most of the time it starts slowly, much like this one. No matter how small it is, everything starts from something. And from that little speck of white, it will snowball into an avalanche.

I opened the door and went outside to taste the fresh air. I let my mind wander about. I felt as though I was high, as though the whole world was being seen in a different view. With all the colourful lights around me, it lit up a spark.

I opened the door and that was my beginning.

In a blink of an eye, the second day is here. And that one blink takes around eight hours for me. It was truly a blink as my dreams and nightmares were not present.

A blink of an eye is all it takes to clarify something. At first sight, the world can be a blur. The eyes cannot interpret in the first glimpse. It takes some time to absorb it. Most of the time, we underestimate the complexity of a certain thing.

Until we realise it. Or it is pointed out. Only until we stare long enough at that one thing for an obscenely long time and take a brief moment to ponder upon it we will be able to understand.

Ignorance is bliss. Knowledge is power. And curiosity has killed many cats.

I peek from the corner of my eye and notice a strange sensation. A strong feeling tells me that this is a different day. It tells me that where I am is not somewhere I often go but I have been here before.

I see colourful lights, tables, chairs, people, decorations, screens and food.
I smell food, perfume, cologne and the cold air of a conditioned area.
I taste food of different combinations of sour, sweet, salty and bitter.
I hear conversations, music, clinks, shuffling, voices and footsteps.
I feel the coldness, cloth, glass, water, skin and metal.

We rely on these sense to navigate our existence. Apart from all the good, it can also do the same for the bad. Ironically it is good that our sense pick up the bad. If not, we would never know.

The future; a place of tomorrow, where people see possibilities to look forward to. A place where dreams become reality for the optimistic ones. The future, the near-synonym of hope as most choose to believe.

These were words of which I typed while I switched between screens on the computer. It does not belong to me however; I have rented this computer for the time being in order to entertain myself with graphics which are ours to control. I am not alone though, I am out with a group of nine as we fictionally shoot each other on the screens using nothing but a mouse and a keyboard.

At the same time, I could be sending messages to people, reading the news, ordering food and so much more. Is this how the world will be in the future? Will we just sit down on our chairs, in front of a box to do our daily chores?

A headshot. I guess I should concentrate on the other thing rather than typing my thoughts. Maybe there will be machines in the future which will think for you. Who knows?

I have a name. It is my identity. I live with it as long as I am alive and I will be buried under it. My name is Eugene. You should probably know that by now. Everything has a name to classify itself.

What if none of us had names? What if we were all just Janes and Johns of the world? How would we get around? How would we know when we are being called? What would happen to famous people? What would happen to gossip? I pondered these questions as I strayed from the group momentarily.

Sometimes you feel the need to be alone for a short while to clear your head. Then all thoughts faded away as they called my name.

It grows inside, that strong sensation I try to fight. It enhances my senses in certain unexplainable ways. I can feel my heart pounding against my chest. My head spinning from the air I breathe. My eyelids droop above my eyes. I am an insomniac, tired yet not sleepy. Blood is pumping quickly through my veins. Lights, I see them clearly from the screen as they glare into my eyes. I can feel my heart pacing inside my head. I can feel my eyes going moist from the light. I feel like I am about to faint on top of my keyboard. My thoughts are not even present, fleeing away from the situation. Am I dead?

My feelings arise once more. I am only human after all. I have my flaws.

The hospital is not a scary place at all. Sure the coughing from patients, the blood on the clothes, pointy needles, agonising screams, strange-looking characters, dangerous-looking tools and suspicious-looking rooms may be worrying, but looking past those, it is not that scary.

I sat there patiently, waiting for my turn. Children ran by past me, giggling with joy. Me? I was sick. It was not life-threatening but it was life-changing. It was here from birth and it was here to stay. I accepted it.

Then, my name was called. I walked towards the second room. Children ran around me. I envied them.

Trapped; to be caught in something
(To be trapped in something)
Dedicated; to be committed to something
(To be trapped in something by choice)
Obsessed; to be compulsively concerned with something
(To be trapped in something by compulsions)

There is a fine line between dedication and obsession. One just sounds better than the other; however one can turn into the other.

I show very little dedication in my work and even less in my obsession. I am, however, trapped in my own inspirations, my own ideas which swim around in my head. I do not control them, they control me. Wild imaginations, constant dreams and stalking muses.

I stood in line. The line was long. I had been waiting for a while now. The line inched closer and soon there were just two more people away from my turn. Then I saw a familiar face pass by. There was a decision to be made. I decided to wait and get the job done before rushing off. I ran towards the direction of where she went. This place was where we met once more two years ago. I dashed as fast as I could. I managed to spot her. She walked into the crowd. I followed after her. I looked around in the midst of many people. Where had she gone? I took ten minutes to look around before I had to leave.

I wandered around in the billiard room, examining the craftsmanship of the billiard table when all of a sudden the door barged open. “Professor, Professor, Dr. Boddy is dead,” cried the servant, Mrs White. We all gathered in the middle of the second floor where Dr. Boddy’s body was found. Everyone at the party gathered around. There were six of us, Colonel Mustard, Miss Scarlett, Mr Green, Mrs Peacock, Mrs White and finally I, Professor Plum. We were all separated to various locations to find for clues. I started with the outside of the conservatory. We all had different ideas about who could not have done it, where it could not have been done and what weapon it could not have been.

Thirty minutes through and we gave a few suggestions, which were argued against. We crossed out various locations, weapons and people and finally it narrowed down. As I approached the study, Miss Scarlett came in my way. She was looking very suspicious. In the end, she made her way and I entered the study to clarify something. My thoughts were accurate. I faced the floor and accused Mr Green who had used a candlestick to kill Dr. Boddy in the Ballroom. All the proof pointed to him and he was arrested. Our game of Cluedo ended.

I never like making decisions at the last minute. I prefer to analyse and predict the upcoming events before making one. However I have made some on-the-spot decisions lately and it has been turning out pretty good.

However, the effect now can differ from the bigger picture. The future holds the outcome of our lives. My decision right now is to write this in a state of sleepiness which is unbearable to withstand. I think what I am writing might be nonsense. But, who knows? This might turn out differently for the people who are reading it.

Today was the last and the largest gathering of people whom I studied with in the same institution of education. It was also the last day for anyone who wanted to express themselves before it was too late. For me, I went around talking to people whom I would probably seldom or never even see for a long time. I never did infatuate with anyone from school.

The room feels empty. Such an absurd statement seeing that it is empty. I have a can of beer in my hand. I am not at home. A couple of friends and I rented this hotel room for a night because of the event which occurred prior. I decided to take a quick rest and have a moment to myself before the rest return.

Clock strikes midnight. There is a knock at the door. My alone time is up. The after-party is about to start.

I woke up in agonising pain. Last night was a blur... The first thing I did when I thought I had amnesia was remember my name. My name was clear to me. Wait... I remembered something. I could smell alcohol. Senses triggered memories and they did well. Ouch. Something was throbbing in my head, pounding hard on my cranium. My eyes opened and I found myself staring into a dustbin filled with wrappers and cans. The stench was horrible. My stomach felt bloated. I checked the time. It was only two in the morning.

That was my morning. My afternoon was not so great either as I was practically awake the whole morning. So I took a nap after consuming some charcoal pills. It is night now and I am feeling much better. I had fun though before the aches.

Something is not truly a living being until it commits these. There is nothing in this world which has the capability of thinking, unlike a baby, which has not committed that which we call sins.

I guess in order to eliminate these sins; we have to get rid of everything which I say would make a pretty boring place after. Is it not easier to live with what we have than try to obsessively to correct every mistake? Contributing a little can help to create balance.

Nothing is perfect in both perceptions of evil and good. We are human. We have our flaws.

Well, it’s hard to put it in words; the most cliched line. But it is true. How can you truly express a feeling and place it into an arrangement of letters? It is close to impossible. It is even hard for it to be written when you know it will bring sadness. I cannot bear to tell you face to face. So, I am writing this to you. I am going to leave now. Nothing will change my mind about my departure. I have caused too much trouble too even though you cannot see it. I wish you well for the future because you need it more than me.
1-2-1, 2-3-1, 3-4-1

-John

That letter was found on the table at about six in the morning. I guess he was serious but I am going to find him anyway. My friend decided to tag along. And so we’re on our journey.

It is the second day in my quest to seek John. We are crashing at a friend’s place. Both of them do not know about this mission because it only involves me. The rest of them were being creative and comparing artistic works. Both of them are more into visual art. As for me, I am next to them with my blue notepad, writing. My accomplice who followed me here is rather annoying and likes to sing what I have written. Overall, it has been pretty fun. However, John was nowhere to be found.

Third day of searching in this place. The host decided to host a barbecue party earlier. Before that, in the morning, I read a graphic novel about the writing of a script for a film about the first millennium and how those people reacted back then. Fear was all around them.

Necrophobia or thanatophobia; the fear of death.
But I do not think it truly exists. Maybe it is the pain before death. Maybe it is the loneliness after death. Maybe it is the torture after death. Maybe it is the incompletion of things one has to do on this world. Maybe it is the thought of leaving one’s loved ones.

I always thought death was just lying dead in my coffin in the land of thoughts. It scared me.

Today is the last day. My accomplice and I have already departed from our host. We were late for our bus actually. Hilarious story. We got dropped off at the wrong place and after twenty minutes of searching, we found out we were in the wrong place and had to rush to the other side.

Time is a funny thing. It can go on for hours and feel like minutes. It can go for a few minutes and feel like hours. They called it ‘lived time’, the psychological perception of time. Right now, it seemed as though it went too fast

I managed to get a hold of John and he is not coming back. John was a part of me. He was a good friend of mine and one who was not imaginary. I guess it is time to let go of the past. I have tried that before and failed. I just cannot. I think too much about things. Sometimes it does not allow me to move forward. I keep thinking. And then I ponder upon my thoughts. There is no easier way, unfortunately. I wish there was. Because now, I am slowly degenerating.

I cannot feel a thing; nothing at all. It is as though I am not alive; like I am dead to the world. You would think it is the coolest thing ever. That is where you are dead wrong. You would rather be dead than to have no feelings at all. When you cannot see, you would not mind the sight of ugliness. When you cannot smell, you would not mind the stench of garbage. When you cannot taste, you would not mind the horrible flavours provided. When you cannot hear, you would not mind the screeching sound of fingernails on blackboards. When you cannot feel, you would not mind a mixture of pain, hot, cold and touch. And when you do have all your senses, you wish for none.

Do you believe in balance?
Everything has its two sides. Everything has its opposites. And by opposites, I mean the absences of. Like light and darkness. The absence of light is simply darkness and vice versa. It is like a coin standing on its circumference, spinning around slowly as it tries to fall on either side. The thing is that it will never fall. It is perpetually there. It is in a perfect symmetry.

These two never-ending opposing forces it is what supplying the world with energy. Without it, the world would be dead. It is what drives the good to fight the evil and lures the evil to come out to play. Right now, there is an inner conflict within my soul.

Ever been drawn to a climax and suddenly you are left hanging off a cliff? Annoying, is it not? In the midst of something, you eagerly read, watch or listen, and out of nowhere there comes the abrupt end. Then curiosity raises its head and many questions are asked which we may never know. Though sometimes it is just the way it is and it is supposed to be like that. The best ending is the one which has not really ended. Ironic, is it not? In the same topic, there is something else which really annoys me. You know what I really hate?

Day twenty-three. It is a number as well. Our lives are built upon numbers, measured in time. Every second of our lives passes by constantly and consistently. We cannot ignore the fact that numbers are more than just symbols. It is a tool of measurement and prediction. Tick, and another second goes by. Eight more days and another year passes by. Imaginary as it may be, it exists as a reference for counting. We cannot ignore it, for if we do, unfathomable chaos will occur. This sentence contains exactly twenty-two words with one hundred and twenty letters and this paragraph has exactly a hundred and seven words.

A short riddle to keep you entertained: What has eight yet worth a hundred?

Our lives are linked.
Newton once said that every action has an equal and opposite reaction. If we do something, there are consequences from the opposing force. Unknowingly, it may hit as hard.

Chess has two sides as well. One could be the representation of light, the good side and the other is the opposite. Strategically, both will attack each other but the winner will only be determined when the king is caught. That is when your life will be ended and you will be chained down to either side.

White Bishop to f4. Black Pawn to f7. White Queen to e5, check.

Imagine, if you existed during the very first eclipse, how would you feel? You notice the sky turning dark and it is not because of clouds but rather an object circulating around the world. Slowly, it begins to grow darker. Torches are lit and people huddled together. The shaman is out, chanting a prayer. You begin to wonder what is this strange phenomenon happening and what will happen. A few minutes pass and it is total darkness in the sky. The sundial has stopped. Everyone is panicking. And after about eight minutes, the sun comes back.

I wonder how the first Christmas was and how people slowly accepted it. I bet not all of them accepted it the first time. Well, now Christmas is totally different from before, I bet. Either way, Merry Christmas.

Some say randomness is a psychological disorder. I just say it is simply imagination’s way of telling you to stop keeping him inside and let him run wild. It is the ability to say one word, linking it to a word which is linked to another word and it goes on until a word which has no direct meaning is formed. The order in chaos.

If I were to say pool, I could say computer. That is because pool is like billiards and it has an eight ball which shows you an outlook which is also a program for the computer. I do wonder if it is possible to find something not linked. I guess not though. Bananas contain lots of potassium.

I sit down, just thinking about all the secrets of the world. Curiosity draws me in again as well as certain inspirations. I begin to ponder about certain issues. Probably even start thinking about the meaning of life… Nope, that is just not me. I just think a lot about outcomes and try to figure out people. People are intriguing and contradictory. They try to be different; everyone tries to be different, and would that not make them the same? I guess I am simply curious.

Curiosity did not kill the cat. I did.

Sadness tells you something is bothering you. John is gone and I should not feel sad. He was the one who fell into a fairy tale of love. And yet, I do hold on to the hope that John will come back. He was a good friend. And yet I am curious to find out what will happen in my life without him.

We hold on to the hope that we will never be lonely. We are creatures that require social connectivity. When left alone for a long period of time, an outburst of insanity can occur due to an eruption of boredom. We hope to never become insane.

If you hold on too long, your hands might hurt. But what choice do we have?

Postscript: Antisocial does not mean incapable of socialising. It is a mental disorder where one lacks remorse, compassion, cautiousness and patience.

Ever written poetry? It is a beautiful art. The flow of your pencil in between the lines upon a paper. The wave of inspiration materializing in ink.

They say all art has a meaning hidden within. Probably but not necessarily because of the time, it is staring at you, right under your nose. They say you can tell a person by his poetry. I disagree. Poetry does not have to be personal.

They say a lot of things. I say as the time passes on, my poems mature with me and there are fresh ideas around. Though, I have to remember the first. The starting is the most important.

The only secret a poet has to hide is the meaning of his poems. If you choose to view the poem through your own perception, then it is your choice. A poem can be seen from all angles, some of which a poet does not know. But the only thing a poet wishes is for you to keep an open mind and see in at least two points of view. Only with two points are you able to read between the fine lines. Four points and you make a square. Eight points and you can think outside the box.

A glass of champagne in my hand. Today is the last day. This is the last entry. The end as they call it. However, everything has to come to a close. And unlike most conclusions, this one is rather refreshing.

Things are coming to a full circle. Ironically, the ending is about the beginning. The end of the year is always about turning a new leaf or even starting resolutions. For me, the course of this whole event was like a lesson. Lose something and in the end you will gain something new.

Change. Everything changes. As long as the numbers are moving, nothing is forever. Even this book of which I have written and you are reading will slowly turn to dust.

A minute to midnight. I hold a glass of champagne in my hand. The fireworks erupt as both hands hit twelve. I raise my glass in a toast with everyone around me and take a sip. It is the end; it is a new year.