The next morning, I was texted by an unknown number, starts with +614, go figure. It goes "is this irwan?". Ah, an old friend. Its been long since I had anyone address by my first name. I asked 'em back who it is then the reply was something familiar, "her name is desert type. Oh, how bizzare. What a clown..." Oh, its her. Then there was something about getting coffee together with the other guys when returns and stuff.
******* ******* *******
In the evening, she buzzed me on my IM. It was quite surprising, given that we havent said anything for quite a long time. We talked about how words should be written more, when we couldn't speak. She lamented that she wrote a lot therefore she found it hard to speak.
"but when u write more, u speak more"
Then again, the outcome was quite contradictory. The more we write, the more we speak - in our minds. How is it possible? Is it possible? Because of writing, we speak less, reduced to moving our hands about desperately trying to get something across.
We'd ask ourselves, "what happened to all the words that we said?"
Do they bend?
Do they break?
And then come back together again? (Jason Mraz)
She said, "It brings back all kinds of memories". and the other things she thought she was missing out. Wishing she could observe the surroundings and when the moments are written down in words. The words.
I wish I could go back and write down the feelings I have....(Suddenly, this sounds familiar)
She mentions that she read my diary, again. (I used to have a "journal" which I use to write down things that happen, things I see and anything I think of writing about. At first, it was private. Then, it became less personal and I let some of my friends read them. Turns out they enjoyed it. Wish I could write something like that.
A year or so after finishing school, she insisted that I'd mail it to her. Which I did, because I thought I may not be needing it anymore).
It was embarrassing. Then we'd talk about friends whom we haven't heard for quite some time. Right before we ended our chat, I said:
"Always write a copyright reminder for everything you write".
Then, she insisted me to go to her blog. And, there, I found (or saw) it........
A page of my diary. What she wanted to show is that my name is cited:
"This diary is a sole property of Irwan Huzen Matusin.Created and copyrighted in 2000 by Irwan Huzen Matusin. This site is hosted by...."
Thats not just my name. Not even nickname. Its the whole bunch. I am not at the liberty of revealing the blog's address, because it is embarrassing. Yet, I find nostalgic. How I was honest, pure and straightforward. And how I wish I could write like I did back in the days.
"but when u write more, u speak more"
Then again, the outcome was quite contradictory. The more we write, the more we speak - in our minds. How is it possible? Is it possible? Because of writing, we speak less, reduced to moving our hands about desperately trying to get something across.
We'd ask ourselves, "what happened to all the words that we said?"
Do they bend?
Do they break?
And then come back together again? (Jason Mraz)
She said, "It brings back all kinds of memories". and the other things she thought she was missing out. Wishing she could observe the surroundings and when the moments are written down in words. The words.
I wish I could go back and write down the feelings I have....(Suddenly, this sounds familiar)
She mentions that she read my diary, again. (I used to have a "journal" which I use to write down things that happen, things I see and anything I think of writing about. At first, it was private. Then, it became less personal and I let some of my friends read them. Turns out they enjoyed it. Wish I could write something like that.
A year or so after finishing school, she insisted that I'd mail it to her. Which I did, because I thought I may not be needing it anymore).
It was embarrassing. Then we'd talk about friends whom we haven't heard for quite some time. Right before we ended our chat, I said:
"Always write a copyright reminder for everything you write".
Then, she insisted me to go to her blog. And, there, I found (or saw) it........
A page of my diary. What she wanted to show is that my name is cited:
"This diary is a sole property of Irwan Huzen Matusin.Created and copyrighted in 2000 by Irwan Huzen Matusin. This site is hosted by...."
Thats not just my name. Not even nickname. Its the whole bunch. I am not at the liberty of revealing the blog's address, because it is embarrassing. Yet, I find nostalgic. How I was honest, pure and straightforward. And how I wish I could write like I did back in the days.
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