My life is a collection of playful episodes.
I feel this urge to write this down. Often times i just drift in and out of reality. I know I am present. But this constant lack is there. A lack of happiness. I guess He knows. But Father waits. In His patience. Am I intelligent? This used to bug me. But not anymore than it should. Flashes of class 2C. And I see Andrea. A young, happy and spirited child. I know and recognize potential. The same I saw in Vanessa. I believe in them. And yet, I still don't think I love the job. These little 'pages' aren't enough. I seek deeper and deeper. I am simply not keen to do something else but rather, probe deeper into my craft.

We are all influenced by who we read. Virginia (1) has caught my eye. I was 21. I made nothing out of her messages. Then at 33, it did. But not everything. Now at 53 I think she makes a lot more sense because my much-starved self is slowly emerging from the coccoon of life. The experiences I don't repel the informing script that pricks hard at my skin. I crave to know. It is my innate thirst to always know. That suddenly enlightened my tiny self within to see; yes! Motivation! I have always had this natural curiosity to uncover truths behind the curtains of obstruction. Along the way, the winds of time and tide shook my confidence a little. I am blessed. Indeed. Going through her life's words have been adventurous enough. I feel higher education has been a privilege. I am gleaming in this pool of satisfaction because I received the card of life. Through the dealer's craftful hands I was dealt one joker card. I have chosen playfully indeed. Not a thought as I trudge on each day. Where am I heading? I don't bother. Somehow I am not remorseful or regretful. I am who I am. My references to my 8th year are not without proof. Proof that I knew, and still do, that I want to live! I need to know what's up that tree! The trails of red ants that taunt me then never stopped me. I explored the yard, the backyard, the field...such immense joy! I get this same joy, elated, when I work. Sadly, not this job. But little old me refuses to see the shadows of impending loom. This whirpool shall NOT be the end of me because I know I have to get there. So what then?

I carve my life. Always have. I know not what begins this journey of "insignificance". I cannot apologise. I feel this way. I never chose life. But I begin to fancy it a little after being thrown overboard this heartless ship. Beguiled. Betrayed. The wounded soul so tortured for lack of better phrases since I have not read for ages. I will not abandon my mission but I do feel choked, like a clogged up a pipe that connects to a sink from the mindless prick. A sink that longs to exist and do its task of cleansing the dirty dishes of grime.Existing. I refuse. To merely exist. It is painful. I lie down. I grieve. I resist. I CURSE. I need to lie down. Much unhappiness lies within. I rebel against forces that dictate my very own actions. Nah. I don't once think it is influenced by the chapters of the deaf movie (2) but parallels. This wonder if things could have gotten better. No. By random selection, all things are. A complaining 'swinee', if I may say, will somehow choose this thought. So there. This much there is to pen. What IS happiness?

1. Virginia Woolf
2. History of the British Deaf Association
filmed by the Union of European Film
Festival at the National Gallery of