I'm never one for complicated things, and neither am I one for new blog skins and templates. This one I guess will have to stick, although I know its not very masculine. But hey, who are we to decide that ballet is for women or misguided men, or that the colour black and rock music is for guys, or misguided women? In a bout of controversies, perhaps I'll mention the Da Vinci Code, which I found to be quite entertaining but quite controversial.. perhaps the Christian side of me leaped out and said 'This can't be right'. It certainly does loosen a few tight screws I had, and I'd better be more informed about what's right and what's fiction. Dan Brown has certainly created a great work of fiction. What fascinated me, besides the religious gibberish, was the mention of the mysterious number phi. It was used in the design of the Pyramids, on the Acropolis, and finds itself everywhere in the natural world. It also ties in with the famous Fibonacci sequence, where every subsequent value after 1 and 1 is the sum of the previous two numbers. If you keep on dividing every next value by the one before you it, you eventually come to, lo and behold, the number phi (which is 1.61803...). It's also known as the golden mean, and it's rather fascinating to see so directly a link between life and maths, something that hasn't really been something I had wanted to accept. I mean, wasn't maths supposed to be a model, a representation of real life to make things easy? Well that's enough for my math-side of the brain. Switch off to chemistry.. test tomorrow.

For those of you who know me well, you'll realise its not everday that I should post an entry about a great site. But this one's an exception. A hidden jewel, if you will. a scratched pearl is a blog like none other I've read, enchanting read, and most surprising of all, the stories, or rather, snippets, that are told are simple everyday things. Its like you read it and say to yourself, 'Why didn't I come up of that?'. That's the beauty of things. When you realise that someone has come up with something all too great that it was just beneath your nose. I'll have to look into how she writes. Maybe emulate it. Lol. But then again, you can't copy another person's writing style. In any case, her blog's a worthwhile read. And I must admit, I haven't had such fun reading a blog in a long, long while.

A poem dedicated to the girl who's inspired me more than anyone.. (The second poem is a free-verse poem; both shall go untitled)

A heart alone I used to be
Silent and lost in a dismal sea
But a flower sprung from your hands
Come green grass on the unforgiving sands
Daylight you sang into my night
Bringing vision a newfound light
I a part of you and you of me
A special heart you have so special to me

---

A smile to feed my soul
To fill that empty hole within
She told me goodbye
That moment lost
But somewhere and everywhere I see
A common thread a common mind
Perhaps a common heart as well
The memories locked within my heart
You have the keys and no one else
Unlock the treasures I have for you

And it reminds me of the bluebird
For it's a sad sad thing to hear it sing
It brings back the good times we've been through
I hear you I feel you I miss you
I see the moon and stars that shines on us both
So distant, so far away

But I hope

My movie marathon is finally over, perhaps much to the joy of my exasperated readers. I guess I was indulging a bit in my newfound computer software friend, Shareaza. It's virtues are not to be underestimated, for it ranks higher in my list of favourite peer-to-peer software than any other I've tried. It goes without mentioning that its also within a perfectly legal atmosphere, too. In any case, I'm reading The Da Vinci Code, much hailed by the reading community and aptly located on the top of the New York Times Bestseller list for many weeks in a row. I had thought it was completely over-rated but now I know that it's going to be a book that I've got to buy in paperback. (Yes, I'm reading the e-book). Tommorow I'm going to a sports elective to shoot a few hoops and try to kick a few goals around. (Hopefully, although some of my readers will know that most of its trying to do it, not necessarily succeeding in it. Lol). All inspired by that girl that I can hardly forget...

Movie Review for Pirates of the Caribbean (2003)

Directed by: Gore Verbinski
Starring: Johnny Depp, Geoffrey Rush, Orlando Bloom, Keira Knightley
Rated: PG-13
Runs: 143 min

Jack Sparrow (Depp) is a character who is hard to like and hard to dislike at the same time, which makes watching the movie all the more fun. At one moment you may doubt his actions, but the next you might find yourself confirming that indeed he is more than a mere savage pirate. His constant swaying motion is undoubtedly a bit peculiar, but then again it gives him that 'Sparrow'-ness that you can hardly find in any other film character. The constant reference to the 'Code' and how it ends up just serving as a 'guideline' is creative. The film describes how pirates under the guidance of Captain Barbossa, invading a port city and taking with them someone they think is Ms. Elizabeth Turner (who is really the Elizabeth Swann, daughter of Governor Weatherby Swann), believe that her blood and the gold pendant of Cortez she has will vindicate and anull the curse that prevents the pirates from death. However, only after they arrive at the treasure and replace the pendant and shed a bit of her blood do they realise that she isn't the person they need. The one they need is Will Turner (Bloom), blacksmith (and also, even though he doesn't realise it, son of pirate Bootstrap Bill and a pirate himself) and the man who's set out to save Ms. Turner/Swann with the help of an unlikely guide, Captain (pirate) Jack Sparrow of the Black Pearl. I was rather surprised at the way the Curse was presented in the form of pirates transforming into skeletons, but it was an ingenious concept nonetheless. I just wonder whatever happens to the Commodore in the end. It's a movie that I wouldn't be surprised if a sequel were to appear anytime soon, and I'd give it a hearty 9 of 10 for great performance and a plot that never ceases to pleasantly surprise. Recommended for all audiences except those who don't like skeletons fighting. Yo, ho, ho, ho a pirate's life for me!

Movie Review for Daredevil (2003)

Directed by: Mark Steven Johnson
Starring: Ben Affleck, Jennifer Garner, Colin Farrell
Rated: PG-13
Runs: 103 min

With Ben Affleck it's hard to not be watching a film that involves romance and some good action. I was very much satisfied in watching this movie (partly because I saw it on the telly and not on my 1024x768 screen) and because of the really good script and the surprising turn of events I find so enticing in movie plots. Ben Affleck plays the blind lawyer who, when he was a child, was doused with a chemical that rendered him blind but equipped with superhuman abilities in everything but his sight. In vengeance for his father's death due to some gang activity, he resolves to get justice to whoever he can, and thus becomes the Daredevil at night, the superman-ish ruby red cladded 'man without fear' who deals splendid blows to those who harm others. His ultimate objective: the Kingpin, crime lord of the Big Apple. The plot was fabulous, and the twist of events even more so. While one would expect Daredevil to be able to rescue everyone and everything and protect his warrior-girlfriend Elektra (Garner), it is not so. (Why? Why oh why?) While one would expect to finish off the Kingpin (Clarke Duncan) once and for all after all the crime he's directed, it is not so. The cliched catchphrase of the movie? 'Revenge doesn't take away the pain. Trust me, I know'. Splendid choreography, not to Superman or Batman-ish (although there are apparent elements of each), and wonderful stunts. Obvious that Ben Affleck only played the part when his mask was removed. And it also showed that heros too can get hurt. 9 of 10 for a movie that deserves to be seen or rented if you want some good action, but not necessarily something that will stay with you like a classic would.

Movie Review for The Bourne Identity (2002)

Directed by: Doug Liman
Starring: Matt Damon, Franka Potente, Chris Cooper
Rated: PG-13
Runs: 119 min

Pity I saw this film after I saw the Bourne Supremacy. Obviously Lyman's ability with the camera is superior and far better than that of Paul Greengrass who directed the Bourne Supermacy (which I earlier reviewed). Unbeknownst to me, I had already seen this movie I think back in Brazil but I hadn't correctly registered the title because I almost always never watched a movie from the very beginning as I am now. Matt Damon was equally exceptional in this film, as was Franka Potente and her role as the woman who ends up following Jason Bourne in his quest to find out who he really is after a lapse of amnesia that has Bourne wondering why people are coming after him to kill him. It's only after he finds out that he's part of a intricate secret botched program called Treadstone, and that this program is set to be closed, that he realises that the only way to save himself is to stop anyone who tries to kill him. Smart move, really. The action scenes were thrilling and fast paced; a definitely well orchestrated film. 8 of 10 for a good action-packed thriller you just have to see to be able to appreciate.

Movie Review for Escape From Alcatraz (1979)

Directed by: Don Siegel
Starring: Clint Eastwood, Patrick McGoohan, Jack Thibeau
Rated: PG
Runs: 112 min

I got this on DVD from a teacher who recommended it, and I could well say that this was a thrilling edge of your seat movie, despite the fact that even before you see the film you already know what's going to happen. This is Clint Eastwood's fifth emergence on film, if I'm not mistaken, and his remarkably quiet yet powerful demeanor is clear from the very beginning. It's based on a real story, following a certain Frank Morris, an inmate whose escape from various other prison institutions finally lands him at the Rock, the famous Alcatraz maximum security prison, where no man has ever escaped. Morris apparently did escape, although alive or dead right now is a mystery only he can reveal. Here's a real picture of his cell the grating which he used to escape along with two other inmates. My favourite character was inmate English (Paul Benjamin) because of his kind mannerisms and behaviour that makes you instantly feel sympathetic towards his situation. I just kept on thinking throughout the movie that there were so many things that went well in his favour that day. I guess the movie also exaggerated some things, but then again, the fact that Morris escaped is nothing short of an extraordinary thing isn't it? A well deserved 8 out of 10 for a movie with great techniques and music that has you pulling your hairs for fear that at any moment the escape cover will break.

Movie Review for Bruce Almighty (2003)

Directed by: Tom Shadyac
Starring: Jim Carrey, Morgan Freeman, Jennifer Aniston
Rated: PG-13
Runs: 101 min

You can never underestimate Jim Carrey and the way he has with his extended jaw. (Remember?: "Goood") His role as a Buffalo, NY newscaster by the name of Bruce Nolan (Carrey) who desperately wants the anchor seat, and who ultimately calls on God to help him, is utterly hilarious. Of course, it might have the devout squirming in their seats (I had a few fits of my own) but it was really well constructed. It just reinforced some stereotypes like dressing all white to symbolise God, and walking on water and dividing tomato soup like the Red Sea (how fitting, red), I guess. It also went back on the almost clichéd moral about how things in life are the best when you don't want more than you already have. The most hilarious part for me was when Nolan, endowed with his diving powers, takes revenge on Evan, a rival anchor with whom he had been competing for the seat of live news coverage. Evan, who appears on the news, suddenly breaks out, in his serious attire and coiffeured hair, talking about utter jibberish about poo and "I like-a da cha cha cha". The twist on Yahoo (into Yahweh) was comical, as well as the fact that the phone number that is shown on Bruce's pager (776-2323) actually is the phone number of Turner's Chapel Church in Sanford, N.C. whose pastor is actually named Bruce (MacInnes). I'll give it a good 7 out of 10 (Changing the ranking system), because Jim Carrey still has a lot of skill and goofeyness, and because the movie, like most others, has something to teach us all. Click here for a Christian perspective on the almighty Bruce and his movie.

Movie Review for The Bourne Supermacy (2004)

Directed by: Paul Greengrass
Starring: Matt Damon, Franka Potente, Julia Stiles
Rated: PG-13
Runs: 108 min

A veritable cat and mouse movie, or a hunter gets hunted type. Matt Damon does a good act as Jason Bourne, the man whose appearance in the previous movie brought him from the sea into the unknown world of covert assassinating. Now he's a free man, under a new name in the middle of India when his cover breaks, his fiance Marie dies, and Jason has to make sense of all the confusion that follows him. It's a bit hard, especially since the people who're trying to kill you don't realise that you aren't the person to be killed. And in order to get that difficult point across, Bourne hops to Naples, then to Berlin, and then to Moscow to deal with the men who try to keep him down. It's a quick paced movie, like all action thrillers, but I didn't really have a liking for the jagged home-made movie type of filming. Obviously it tries to bring in the panic, the unknown fear, but then again it interferes with understanding the plot, and so it gets to become more or less a blur of a film, especially in the areas where there's a lot of action. A fitting 3 of 5 for a movie whose protagonist's great acting doesn't get the filming it deserves.

Movie Review for The Terminal (2004)

Directed by: Steven Spielberg
Starring: Tom Hanks, Catherine Zeta-Jones
Rated: PG-13
Runs: 128 min

This movie I quite liked, especially for its interesting turn of events, although its not a movie I'd watch over and over again like Shrek 2. However, Tom Hanks does a remarkable job of playing the eastern European lost immigrant with a Bulgarian accent, although that could be credited to his wife, who happens to be half Bulgarian herself. The story is about a certain Viktor Navorski (Hanks) who arrives at JFK only to find out the country he left has just had a coup, the Vice President is assassinated, and in doing so becomes, until the US recognises the new government, a stateless refugee. His only home: the airport, where he forges an unlikely relationship with the workers, uses his creativity to get through the tough times, and annoys the airport security chief (and falls in love with a United flight attendant). The plot was surprising in the way it unfolded, for what I expected was so much different from what actually happened. As, for example, I thought Navorski would actually walk out of the JFK doors, or that Amelia Warren (Zeta-Jones) would accompany Viktor once he left the airport towards the end. It was a bit disappointing at the end to see Viktor leave behind his airport friends who supported him in so many ways without even a word of thanks. But I guess Viktor had more pressing goals to achieve. For those of you who did see it, did anyone notice that in the hat shop, when a guy announces to a lady that Viktor is leaving, and the shop lady replies that Viktor is heading home, and the guy corrects her by saying that no, he's going to New York, the customer she's attending to is wearing a hat that extends below his/her eyes? I found that insanely hilarious. Diego Luna (Dirty Dancing), who acted as Enrique Cruz, did a great job doing his part too. A good 4 out of 5 stars for the movie whose coincidences were a bit too remarkable but memorable nonetheless.

Another email from Yvonne. Remember her? Wierd how she somehow finds out my email address. Apparently she claims she knows me, but I don't recall an Yvonne, not from Brazil, New York, or Tokyo. And I had thought it was just a prank. A bit scary, come to think of it. But it wasn't anything elaborate. Just the words: "You seem lost". How apt, really. Maybe its Renata?

College apps are annoying. Period. I'd much rather fly to Cambridge or to the States rather than send a bunch of papers that don't give the slightest inkling of an idea of what I'm about. And I certainly don't like writing about a topic that they give me, like 'What has someone said, written, or expressed in some form impacted you and explain its significance'. Blimey. Ironically, I can't really give much information about why I want to apply to an Engineering major, especially since I suck at Physics. Maybe I should drop Engineering altogether and major in Literature, Creative Writing or Journalism. It certainly closes doors on some jobs, though. Well I must be boring you all about my school life. You must realise, however, that I spend 9-10 hours of my day at school, and its quite natural I talk about it. Yup. Like last year. 8:45-18:00. Sigh.

Looking back at my blog archives, its interesting to see how much I've changed over the past year. Perhaps I haven't changed outside the Internet forum, but its quite evident that my words have more meaning and significance than before. It's only a pity that my archives from before were lost. One difference I note is the present lack of 'ur's and lowercase letters. I guess I've moved out of that now. Most people have, it seems. Smart move.

Today I went running with a friend of mine, Daniel. It's funny how things go incredibly fast this year. I can't believe I just started school last week. I guess a lot matters on spending at least a year in school, so that people can gauge you and see what kind of person you are. It was like that at ESMS (New York) and PACA (Brazil). One funny exception was Bronx Sci, where I made friends really quick considering I was only there for a month. I even remember influencing a kid so much that I 'helped' him skip his first class! He wanted to go into the army, I believe, since we went off into the library to check websites and he went to the Army site. I wonder what happened to all the rest of the kids there? I still have the 'Goodbye' letter that my English class signed. Sigh. The teacher's already left. And I'm still looking for Mr. Stiefel. My lifelong mentor. My running coach at ESMS. Apparently he now lives somewhere in Westchester. I'd do anything to talk to him. Maybe next year before I go to college?

9-11 three years on. Time passes as fast as water through an empty sieve, it seems. I remember vivdly those moments when everything was a blur, chaotic, unpredictable, unknown. The candid words uttered at the lunch hall while I was still unsure about the magnitude of the things occuring just miles from school: "History is in the making". The shiver that ran up my arms as I heard the all too shocked voice of a reported on CBS radio. The utter disbelief as I turned on the television after being delayed on the subway. The moments spent staring at the horrific images printed on the NY Times. And yet, I realise that this can't go on, I can't go on recounting the details as though it happened yesterday. I guess I'm more of past-oriented person, one who relives the memories and brings it up at odd moments. And I'm going to have to move on. Even as it is, people still say that its ~years since 9/11 as though that fateful day were a shielded curtain between past and present, life and death, safety and insecurity. It probably was for a lot of people. But the past can only be kept there for the future to learn. We can't dwell on it.

That doesn't mean we can't put 9/11 into perspective. Each and every year there's going to be memorials, events to commemorate those who perished, books published about the odd Samaritan or the miracle tale. Can't anyone realise that 9/11 is just one indication of life's tragedies? How about the millions who die at the hands of famine, drought, war, disease and internal conflict? How many 9/11 memorials would suffice for them? Where did all the good-will donating money and blood go after the weeks that passed that New York morning? If only those words spoken by an English woman in front of Buckingham Palace could be applied to everyone: "We were all Americans on that day." It just comes to show that people unite when sympathy and pity demands it; otherwise, they're whatever they want to be: divided.

I love running. It gets addictive after a while. Especially since its the only sport that requires you to have a lot more stamina than anything else. Obviously you need the muscles, but the muscles at the wrong place serves no good. That's why rugby players are hopeless when things go beyond crashing into other people. And having muscles the size of the Eiffel tower on your right arm doesn't help you except to play tennis and swing a bat. (Among other sports I've obviously blatantly missed out). But the only sport that requires you to have a body of steel, legs of steel, and a mind of steel, is long distance running. Sure, you might say the triathalon and the Iron Man is the worst you can get in such instances, but then again each part of the sport doesn't last for 2 hours. That means you get to use more parts of your body for each sport, meaning you don't have to be doing a seemingly boring routine of lifting up your leg and setting it before you for a crazed length. (Like the marathon). What's even more remarkable is those who can finish the marathon smiling. I often see those slow motion television replays of runners (with their lips flobbing, should such a word exist, up and down like a runaway towel in the wind) and towards the end they look genuinely happy. Happy they came in first, or happy that the ordeal is over, I don't know. In any case, I like running because it involves a minimal amount of equipment, and a lot of endurance. You can say you play tennis or soccer or rugby (to which I would reply, airhead?) and you won't get much of a reaction (unless, of course, you beat Hingis) from me. But tell me you're a marathoner and I'm awestruck. (repeat after me: Hingis rules! Switzerland rules!)

In other news, I'm taking Harvard Model Congress or Model Gov classes as an added and unrequired elective for my creative component of my Creative, Action, Service section of the IB programme. I'm supposed to get 50 hours of each component, Creative being doing something creative, Action being something concerning sports, and Service about community service. Teaching is what I enjoy a lot, which is why I've got too many service hours to spare. Running completes my 50 hours of Action. I think. I hope. I hate the IB.

For lack of better things to post, here's the first part of my complete short story The Keeper of the Phare that I wrote during the summer. As always, the fun in reading them (or so I intend them to be) is trying to find out the hints and cues of where fiction meets reality.

He was a man of the sea, as bluntly as it could have been said. Often on quiet nights he would walk to the wooden docks that jutted out towards the open sea, and look up into the dark starlit sky, wondering if his presence could be acknowledged by the sandy bright grains that dotted the heavens. The sound of the waves reassured him most, its consistency a thread of reliability in the complex human society he belonged to. Not that his colleagues were unreliable- about some he wouldn't worry a bit- but then again the creaking of the dock hinges proved all the best remedy for his daily troubles.

Around his neck hung a pendant of pewter with a dolphin inscribed- a cheap souvenir from a distant cousin- and yet he found it represented him the most, for at any moment he felt compelled to jump into the ocean and disappear forever. Nay, he was no loner. He wasn't a social outcast, ignored and forgotten by the rest of the world. True, he hadn't a family, for his wife had left him for another man, and they had no children, and his parents had long since passed away, but that didn't make him a hermit by nature.

The lighthouse he took care of stood at the northern end of the tiny isle, no more than a hundred steps wide. Rocks decorated the outer fringes in a haphazard manner, and were it not for the wooden dock, climbing up the weather beaten rocks would have been out of the question. The lighthouse itself was constructed of solid stone painted entirely white, although its door conspicuously painted green. Inside was a set of thin green wired stairs that snaked up the constrictive structure, to just below the glass encased lamp that lit the way for oncoming ships. There was what was called his room, simple yet homely with its wooden floors and gas lit lamp that perched somewhat precariously on the wall. He could only afford a small window, for often waves would plummet the side of the lighthouse and any larger window would surely break. Therefore he would often read close to the window or by the gas lamp even during the day. There was one stove, a cupboard (in which he stacked foodstuff) and a bookshelf. A simple sleeping bag offered comfort for the night beneath the stairs that led further upwards, towards the switches and the lights.

It's been a while since I've changed the layout, and now that its the new school year and all I thought it fit to make things look a bit newer. Not that much is going to change, content-wise. School is okay, I guess, although there isn't the excitement this much this year because its just a continuation of last year, with mostly the same teachers, same textbooks, and same boredom. English class was quite fun, because we're studying Keat's To Autumn, which I found to be quite a coincidence because it reflected exactly the same kind of feelings I iterated in my last entry. It's gonna be fun deciphering that one, I bet. I dunno. I love autumn. Maybe it's the melancholic thing about leaves falling, and the fun you have kicking about fallen leaves. Maybe its the bonfires (or the thought of bonfires). Too bad all my good memories about autumn come from Geneva, Switzerland. I was 'locked' up in Brazil, and it was uneventful in New York. Tokyo autumns are worth mentioning too. Well gotta work on Physics. I'm taking a self-taught crash course of everything I'm supposed to know about Physics for the SAT II within the next month. Argh.

Tis almost autumn, my favourite time of the year. Obviously that sentiment doesn't stem only from the fact that I was born during this time, but also because autumn turns the heat of the summer into something a bit more acceptable. It's when the trees change their suits into more mature colours, when they all seem in anticipation of the bleak winter temperatures to come. It's when the wind picks up towards evening, and the sky turns pink and purple just before supper. Autumns just the perfect moment to get inspired. Some might argue spring is the best time for new beginnings and new thoughts (which is why the Japanese scholastic new year begins in April) but I'd say it's a bit too hurried and a bit too bright and colourful. Summer is too hot, winter too cold for the brain to grind its cogwheels and think.

In any case, I'll be publishing my story that I wrote during the vacations (The Keeper of the Phare), albeit with some revisions here and there. I'm also thinking about publishing one I wrote when I was 14 in NY entitled The Curious Antics of Mr. D.E. Morris. (I remember finishing the last chapter in Cancun, Mexico while on vacation. Why am I so inspired to write when I'm on holidays? Perhaps because I have little else to do...) It's got 9 chapters (25 notebook pages)! How on earth I managed to write it I will never know. I think I'll be following the same every Thursday method by 'publishing' a chapter or a section a week, if anyone's going to read it.

I'm also doing so major (well quite) music editing lately, during the time I'm procrastinating, so I'll be taking on a nickname to append to my repertoire of altered and snippeted music. It's been quite a while since I've fooled around with getting new nicks (last time it was Josh, before that was John) but now I think this one's a bit better: Kines. Read it as you like it, but officially its meant to rhyme with Guinness, as in key-ness. (It comes from the latin meaning 'movement') It's probably cooler though if you read it to rhyme with 'fines'.

The new school year begins, one that involves going back and forth from a building housing so many students you feel like a rat, and yet teachers cheerfully remind you that the place is 'home away from home'. I almost choke on my phlegm when I hear that. In any case, this year's a bit worse because I have a new uniform, with white starched logo-embroidered collared shirt accompanied by a pitch black dust-collecting pants that makes one look awfully similar to the waiters of the traditional Parisian cafes. Either that or the whole school is part of a choir.

The college application process begins, although always with the same gleeful reminder that 'your SATs are near' and that 'this year is most crucial'. I hope to run for Student Council/Government/Regime/Tyranny this year, since last year's society was quite frankly led by hopeless junkies. No yearbook materialised. No senior trip materialised. I hope I get a chance at changing that, although most people might shout out that I'd be trying fervently to implement a senior trip just because I happen to be one.

Being called a senior is freaky. Well here senior gets the meaning of age 70 or more, since most people in 12th grade are boringly called '12th graders'. But still, the fact that all my life (or most of it) I've looked up at those kids with big backpacks and bulging folders trudging along the path to school thinking about calculus, and then I look at myself and I cry out loud: I'm a senior? Truthfully speaking, I think every generation of students degrade, as in 'the kids who were in my class last year looked so much more mature/smarter than we are now'. Scary to think that teachers might, yet again with a smile on their face, claim we are the 'role models' of the school.

It's hard to set about describing yourself, for it takes a certain amount of 'looking outside yourself' to actually be able to come up with a good, objective character description that gives a relatively realistic view of yourself to someone you've never seen before. Moreover, physical descriptions don't suffice; indeed, my description will consist of more emotional, mental and spiritual aspects than anything else. For some, I may become a clearer person to understand -- for others, I may be as foggy as ever.

I'm not too outgoing a person. It's not that I don't talk or that I hate social events and I prefer staying at home-- on the contrary. I love socialising, talking, having fun. I guess I'm just not good at expressing myself. Especially when it comes to love and such, I can hardly know what to do. But that's a bit off the point, at least for the moment.

I laugh with my body. I know that sounds strange, but laughter is just something I love, both when it concerns me and others. Something of the utmost hilarity will most certainly involuntarily render my body into strange contortions, be it my head (tossed back) or my body. Not like weirdly. Just full of expression. (Which is strange, because I thought for a moment I had said I wasn't too good at expressing myself. Oh well.)

What I like the most, following laughter, is the smile. (Not in particular mine, but in others). I often wonder if I end up looking like a grinning, freckled kid with pushed out ears (not that I look like that, but you all know the image) because people (especially the female kind) look their best when they smile. Unfortunately there's the thing with cameras and photographs that renders natural smiles into mechanical figures that look like halfway between finding out you've been accepted into Harvard and at the same time finding out you have severe acute diarrhoea. Who, in their right frame of mind, would look at a photograph of themself and say, "This is really how I look"?

I don't drink and don't smoke; nor do I plan to anytime soon. For those of you who do smoke and/or drink and recall saying those very same words when you were 14 but giving up that promise a year later, you'll soon come to recognise a fundamental difference between you and I.

Not that I'm always trustworthy, or that whatever I say is the purest and most complete truth and/or promise that will, under no circumstances, be altered until the very day the shovel sends dirt over my coffin. I, for one, exaggerate. I know exaggerating things you say accounts for lack of credibility, because at some point people might ask, "Did you win $100 or was that $1?" I don't (at least I don't try to) mess up facts (but isn't that what exaggerating is?) but I do exaggerate for the sake of conversation.

I get really cold easily. Not that I'm physically frail and thin-boned like a matchstick. I don't know why, but if I immerse myself too long in the pool, I come out looking considerably bluer and shivering like a twig in a gale. It's quite embarrassing, really.

I like keeping physically fit. I know it's weird for someone who looks like a nerd (glasses) mistaken for a boxing bag (my crooked teeth) to actually think about anything in the domain of sports, but I actually do enjoy several sports: namely swimming, biking, climbing/hiking, archery (although I've never done it as part of a club) and canoeing. I have a few dream situations in mind:

1) Spending the night on a boat and sleeping under the stars
2) Spending the night suspended on a cliff-side tent (the ones that are hung by a few ropes stuck into the rock. If you drop your toothbrush it's going down for at least 200ft. Never look down. There's only a sheet of canvas or two that separates you from life and sheer insanity.)
3) Hiking to a very high and remote but beautiful place, seeing the sun setting over the horizon, perhaps with a significant other who enjoys such passions, and sleeping under the stars.

Hey! Don't you dare think my dreams revolve around sleeping (under the stars). Well, wait a minute, maybe you're right. Funny how my dreams reveal that I dream about dreaming, if you get what I mean.

I'm quite sarcastic, if you haven't gathered that by what you've read so far. I find sarcasm to be an art that is at the same time hard to conceive but easy to appreciate. It's a delicate art, because if you don't choose your words carefully you end up either offending someone when you had no intention to do so, or you end up being thrown into a pool, clothes and all (provided you have one).

I'm a nature person. (Quite evident, I'd say, by my choice of sports). I sometimes get overwhelmed by the beauty of things around me. I know these are no exactly teenager-things, because most kids my age talk about women and dancing and clubbing, which usually leads to conversation I'm sure you're all very familiar with. I prefer spending my time walking around a forest or sitting on a dock watching the star, and it's what I enjoy quite a lot.

I like writing. Not that I'm spectacularly good at it or that I spend hours upon hours scribbling on toilet paper my thoughts and ideas and stories. (Well, not on toilet paper, but I do have a few stories I'd like to publish here soon, provided there'll be someone who wants to read it) Rather, there are moments I get inspired and others I feel trite (yay! SAT word) and stale.

Which reminds me of a particular adage I think can be claimed to be my own original and that applies particularly to me:

What you keep you don't need -- what you throw away you do

I have a tendency to keep some junk out of pure sentimentality and/or pre-emptive necessity. I don't care what you think of this packet of sand-- it's my only part of an empty collection of sand I gathered from around the world (laughs). Or, perhaps I'll need this piece of wood for who knows what, so I'll keep it. And what do you know, the day after I throw that piece of wood away I find myself fishing in my drawer for a piece of wood I need for a science project.

I love animals. Especially dogs. They always evoke a certain foolish grin on my part every time I pass one on the street and it looks towards me (or the Puppy Chow advert directly behind me). Since I've never actually kept a dog I cannot be certain if my excitement and dedication towards having one will always be as present.

I'm more of a doer than a thinker. I learn best when I manipulate, design, construct, destroy, assemble, disassemble (and so forth) with my hands. I learn least under pressure and when confronted with a piece of paper with writing on it. Except books.

So there you go, a bit more about me that you otherwise might not have known. Whether it was the varnish on wood or a disaster on canvas I will never know. Your comments always help, as they do with my other entries. Just perhaps my catharsistic tabla rasa? (Utter gibberish, I think)

The following is the third (and last) part of a three-part transcript of my journal that I kept during my trip to La Marmorata Village in Santa Teresa di Gallura, Sardinia, during July-August 2004.

Aug 14th

Emotions run high. (After all, apparently she leaves next Friday). Emotions that can hardly ever be expressed. Which annoys me. Strange eh, when you think what you might have the most control over turns out to be the thing you control the least. Yesterday's farewells weren't be any means as sentimental and tear-filled as last week. It's the aura of 'I'm too cool/elevated to cry' that most likely prevents such a thing to occur. So be it. I'd rather prefer friends like those of last week.

Aug 17th

Argh.

Aug 19th

What a horrible week. The Club Ado hardly exists any more. There are certain 'factions' that divide it, and there's hardly anyone to talk to. For example, there's the 'so-called skaters and gothics' group who always wear black and try to act cool by smoking and drinking; there's the Italians, with whom we don't converse much; there's the couples: and there's all the rest. All the unwanteds, rather. For me, it's more of a language problem because my French isn't exactly the same as the way teenagers speak, and I don't have a wide range of vocabulary. I certainly don't fit in with the Italians, except for a 'Ciao' and a 'Come stai?' here and there. It's a pity, because I've got quite a lot of things to say but not the words to express it. So this week's been a disaster. Utterly. Completely. The hiking trip on Tuesday wasn't interesting. And I'm getting ravaged by mosquitos and flies. Argh.

Alone on a swaying dock
I think
Muse
Heart to heart with the sea and the stars
Soul to soul with no one
The light fades away
Beyond and faraway
Someone else
sits
Alone, on a swaying dock
Looking out into the horizon
At the same sky I am
Heart to heart with no one
Soul to soul with each other
We know the loss
The Hurt
Waves nudge the wooden planks
The moon looks over
In silence
Alone

(add: I thought of this one evening when I spent a few moments on a dock protruding from the right side of the beach. The poem that is produced in the first part of the transcript is a revised version of this poem)

Aug 20th

I hate Fridays. Especially since at the moment it's the 'Time to Say Goodbye'. Especially since someone I liked had to leave. (add: Her name was Marie-Charlotte, and while there's absolutely no possibility that I ever meet her on the face of this Earth for as long as I live, I have to say she was really hot. So hot you could fry an egg a mile from her face. So hot she'd make the sun look like a freezer. It's amazing she didn't actually boil the whole ocean while she was here. A doll, really, without all the poshness and the arrogance that normally comes with it. Whoever marries her will be the luckiest man on Earth. But I'm not one to say much, because I didn't get much of an opportunity to talk to her and find out what she truly was like. But she was really kind, nonetheless.) Especially since the only person I could talk to properly in English has to leave (I love ya Line!). At least I hope someone worthwhile comes to the club. Most of those this week weren't worth my breath to talk to.

Aug 21st

It's definite that I like sportive people (especially girls). lol. No further comment =) (add: include goofy smile in picture). (Scared that he'll be thrown around like a rag doll if she ever gets angry) (add: I later found out she threw a punch at a guy's arm when he mistakenly got her fingers stuck on the deck chairs. ow.)

Aug 22nd

I hate being unable to communicate well. It's a bit coincidental that I should be writing at the moment an essay about how the lack of communication between the characters within a story destroys and isolates each personality. Especially in relation to the other characters. How fitting, really. Applies to each and every moment of my time here. lol. Somehow it seems I manage, but often it feels like trying to keep your head above water when everyone around you is trying to pull you down (add: ever think of the swimming pool?) There's something like teen-talk that I just can't get a hang on. Like pig-latin, French style. Seriously, everyone's turning words inside out I can hardly keep up. Anyways, the only reason I'll miss this week is because of Ms. Sporty. No feelings yet. Just good friends (I think). Canoeing together tmrw [sic] morn! Woot!

Aug 23rd

It took me a while to get used to it, but it seems I finally have. In Brazil and in France (as well as some other European countries) there's a custom of kissing cheeks as a sign of hello. (Interestingly, while in Brazil and in Paris it's one kiss on each cheek, those in southern France or the East do the process twice, so it's left-right-left-right). I hadn't really gotten used to it in Brazil, which did make things a bit awkward, but now I seem to have gotten the hang of it. I guess that's one good thing about this vacation, not to mention the great people I've met. It's a good thing that MSN should exist. Now only Google has to come up with Google Messenger eh? At least I can keep in touch with the people I've met.

Aug 24th.

Happy b-day dad! Anyways, today was really (squared) good. She's (Ms. Sporty) is a wonderful person, unlike any I've met this past month. It's certainly good fortune that I be here at the last week. She had 'gone out' with another guy last week (who left on the past Friday) and so I'm not going to say/suggest anything out of bounds, that's for sure. Not that I'm going to do anything really. She's good at many sports and she's almost too nice. We had lunch together, just the two of us. Tee hee (add: add foolish grin here too). Apparently she plays Magic the Gathering too. We both share the sentiment that being in the Club Ado isn't the greatest thing (especially since many of its participants drink, smoke, and make a fool of themselves.) She is apparently of the mind that doing things in two's is the best way to have fun. Fine, even great by me! So we did windsurfing (although she, having done it less times that I have, was somehow better) and canoeing, as well as a bit of archery after lunch. I can't imagine anyone better to pass my previously mentioned dream plans with (add: will post this entry soon), not that I will or anything. Most people tire out too easily or end up wanting to socialise for purposes of getting a date. I enjoy the simpler things in life. Love's too complicated, and besides, for me, it's not something you'd have to search real hard to find.

Aug 25th

Things have gone a bit awry today, and it's going to take a while to gather my thoughts (add: I distinctly remember diligently cleaning my Swiss army knife for about an hour while I thought). It's just the type of conflict I hate, and it has to do with her, Séverine, although I hardly think she's even aware that I'm in such a state of angst. I guess I've gotten a bit too possessive of her in the sense that I enjoy my time most when I'm with her. When there's another kid/boy that comes into the picture, things go a bit wrong. In truth, I don't like to talk bad about people behind their backs, but this kid just gets on my nerves, in the sense that he's a player and he tries to act cool in front of everyone. It really destroys the amicable relationship between I and her, especially since the kid has gotten uncomfortably friendly with her. Then again I have no idea what she thinks of him.

I have this eerie feeling that these past few days have been not terribly unlike MTV's 'Dismissed'. Not that I watch it often, but I know the rules of the game, and were it not for the Time Out card, MTV could actually film an episode here. Nothing suggestive in our conversation, I assure you, but the mannerisms make it awfully similar. The problem is, it seems the kid has four Time Out cards and I only have two. (Besides the fact that I have to return back to my room to study, leaving them together). Grr. Perhaps I'm less cool or less stylish than him, but I can vouch that I have a better personality... Why can't he chase after the girl he originally liked, a girl called Jenifer? And I had thought things would be greater today....

That's the entirety of my journal. I hope you read it all, because otherwise it wouldn't be interesting reading snippets of events here and there. I dunno. Interestingly, I had completely omitted to mention two important things that occurred. I have already forgotten the date, but my family and I rented a car on a Saturday to visit Sassari, a large town about 2 hours from the village. It was quite cool to get a look around, especially at the market and the 13th century wall that once guarded the perimeters of the town. On the way back we passed Castelsardo, a small enclave with a hill upon which homes are clustered (not unlike a favela). A castle marked the top, although we failed to visit it and instead pounced upon the tourist souvenir shops. Typical, eh. lol. We also got reprimanded by a policeman because apparently we weren't allowed to drive up the hill except if we were residents. Being just a buncha Japanese tourists makes good excuse.

I also became mildly famous at the club for my killer flats. Flats, or 'plats' in French refers to jumping into the pool as flat as possible so as to land on the surface of the water with a distinct plaf. Most people wouldn't even dare to do it for money, because it hurts like heck (or so they say). Indeed it's a passion that shouldn't be repeated by others, because water can act as tough as glass, and most people would agree that falling flat upon glass isn't exactly the safest thing. I only did it because my jump was at most from an altitude of a meter, and because it was something most people didn't do. So much for the sake of making a name eh.