Fortuna.

When things fall into place they seem to follow mirror opposites, in reverse order from this time last year. Point of reflection lies along the calendar pages. Work your way where the paper bends against the metal clips and it rolls off the page in a spectrum of opposites. It’s kinda amusing how crazy insane awesome madness of the topsy turvy kind with whipped cream on top this year was. I can smile now, satisfied but it wasn’t pretty when you’re in the moment.

This doesn’t make much sense to a random reader like you. I know I haven’t been making much sense lately and my random readership is dwindling. This space is never a good barometer for whatever weather hangs above my head. Wait, actually it is but it hardly makes any sense without knowing the juicy details that’s unwritten.

That, you don’t deserve.

If you hadn’t realised by now, this is turning into a collection of open letters for very specific pairs of eyes. The problem, I realise, occurs when you think it’s about you ….when it’s not. It’s fun though. You’ll get the satisfaction of being flattered if correct or the delicious doubt of wondering if it was about you. Always write with an audience in mind: that’s the basic fundamental rules to writing.

So, I sound like an emonemo dweeb sometimes. Don’t worry, I’m fully aware of this. Slick on your happiest smile and wind the spring in your steps. The world cannot know how pathetic and stupid you can be, but you my lovelies get first class seats. Enjoy the torture of my horrendous storytelling on your bed. It’s the price you pay for hearing the first unedited unplugged version of any story. It’s hardly coherent.

Sunkist Smoothie.

If I was a more truthful storyteller this blog would be so full of juice, Sunkist would want to squeeze me, bottle me up and sell me for $2.60 at your local 7-11.

I think if i had more follow through and a better sense for self-exploitation, I’ll probably be pretty rich by now. I’m serious. I could write food pr0n, extremely flattering reviews, get you to vote and funny shenanigans solely for my utter lack of ability to fit into the mainstream ….I’ll probably be able to command huge internet traffic. Wit is not a commodity like most of the girls you date. You’ve made the right choice though. I am too good.

But I like my privacy and anonymity which is gradually eroding by the day. I can pretend I’m a superspy leading a double life full of superfunkyactiony things: good girl by day, overachieves by noon, lazy in the afternoon and then SUPERFREAK at night.

But then I’d be lying and lying is bad for your health.

I may be able to do just that this summer when I’ll unplug myself and commit pen to paper. There’s serenity in that. I welcome the change of pace and the sweet solitude. I’m coming back taller in more ways.

Have I told you I have a very wild imagination and if unbridled could lead to highly disastrous results?

I get distracted easily.

Where was I?

People are so willing to whore out their privacy and bare every sordid little detail of your life for a fee. There’s facebook for that. Even then, it creeps me out more and more that when I meet someone the question you ask is not what would you like to know about me but what do you already know about me. That’s creepy. I’m creepy. FACEBOOK IS MAKING ME CREEPY. What happened to good old fashioned innocence where you know nothing, no trace of history?

Oh I’ve got new phone! It is teh sex. It is a chunky white modest midranger.


It looks like a brick but I’m the kind who cares about inner beauty and it makes my music sound fantastic. Is it weird that I find how it seamlessly integrates RSS into a ticker on the interface exciting? Also it has google maps. I will never be lost when I don’t want to be found. I use every little feature of my electronics: use it and abuse it till death do us part. It is a Sony Ericsson W508. It’s a Walkman that can answer phone calls and sms people. I like it when you’re so well differentiated and the perfect accompaniment for espionage.

See that’s an example of an unnecessary detail but because I reek of supreme awesomeness, that becomes the most significant detail you’ve read all week because you don’t read enough and not reading the right things. I’m not being arrogant. It’s a probably a fact and remember all facts are probable.

Potatoes are fantastic tubers aren’t they? Fried in a light batter and you’ve got instant magic carb sticks for power lunch, fueling ambitions so big you can’t even see it. Maybe I don’t want to see it just yet because I’m afraid of having the wrong kind of expectations. It’s not that awesome is it? I mean it is but come on.. They harvest the best of Indonesian blood and ….well I’m…me. By virtue of upbringing, chance and circumstance I got this gig. All the merit you see is condensed in two pages. All my personality contained in one page. Are you sure you want me here? I’ve kept it quiet even from the closest few because well.. honestly.. it’s surreal and I’m afraid of drinking it in.
Because I worry worry worry that maybe I don’t deserve it.

Some battles are left unwritten. There’s drought on your anniversary this year. That little well dried up a few weeks ago and I can’t muster a contrite tear. It doesn’t mean I love you any less. I wonder what you’d say if you were here to see the pink strands in my hair, the flight tickets and the itinerary.

How did I begin again?

Fortuna’s wheel couldn’t have been a more apt metaphor.

This is going to be the last post you’ll see in a while until my feet touches the ground. When it does, it is likely to spin underneath me. I’ll send a smoke signal soon.

This is a goodbye, maybe.

But I’ll be right back.

I have learned that if you must leave a place that you have lived in and loved and where all your yesterdays are buried deep—leave it any way except a slow way, leave it the fastest way you can. Never turn back and never believe that an hour you remember is a better hour because it is dead. Passed years seem safe ones, vanquished ones, while the future lives in a cloud, formidable from a distance. The cloud clears as you enter it. I have learned this but, like everyone, I learned it late.

— From “West With The Night” by Beryl Markham