Basket.

Just come off the back of over three hours of television - The Simpsons' Halloween Specials. It was a 2pm-9pm marathon special but I could only catch about half of it. Well, good enough for me, I suppose.

By far my most favourite TV program, this series is a gem, managing to seamlessly combine unparallaled, original satirical humour with crass body jokes and backing it all up with good artwork and flawless voice acting (the same person does the voices of Bart and Lisa, now that is talent; not to mention the ever-consistent, hilarious Indian accent of Hank Azaria). When Channel 5 still screened it regularly, it was the one thing I made certain to catch every time.

So it turns out this Halloween isn't so drab after all.

October 31st. For some reason, this always seems to be a very eventful date, whether personally or globally. I can remember in quite some detail the last few October 31stses, notably in 2000 when came the first-ever crash of an SIA aircraft, SQ006, at Taipei's Chiang Kai Shek International Airport.

But well, last year's is more memorable on a personal level. I remember it was the last day of school, and Halloween to boot, and everyone was happy and ready for the holidays (despite Project Work). A number of my classmates even planned to go trick-or-treating. It was a usual day at school, but with everyone in a carnival mood. None of the teachers very much interested in teaching, and even fewer of the students interested in learning. During the break for Chinese, we sloped off to Ghim Moh as usual and had a good lunch. Earlier, I had dropped off an SMS to Winston wishing him a happy 17th birthday (apparently he still keeps it) and we were exchanging messages when he tapped me on the shoulder right after I had sent off one. One of those funny little episodes of everyday life that just stick in your head for little reason.

GP was nothing (expectedly) and after school we were just in the canteen not doing much at all. Some carrom, some Connect 4, nothing about it. About 5 or so, the rest left for the trick-or-treating while I remained in the canteen with Zihao and Yen Yeong, looking at some meaningless word cards for SAT. We left at about 7pm with me accomplishing nothing but feeling happy and just a little bit irritated that I had to take SAT the next day.

Yes, those were good times. This year, it's going to be so drab. Well, I guess with the A-Levels four days from now, it can't be any other way.

Today I dared go where not even the bravest adventurer has dared venture. A lair of darkness, home to he who many have heard of only in whispers and speak of in likewise hushed tones. A place of fear from whence he who is shunned, who makes people turn away in horror upon first sight, emerges now only in blackest night to source for and consume the fresh blood of the land's freshest virgin girls.

In other words, I went to Jason's (it is obvious which) house.

You are all forgiven for initially thinking this blog was turning into some place where I would write erotic goth fan fiction weekly. Yes, I see the disappointment in your eyes. No, there is no need to hide it from me.

Humour aside (and someone is going to use that tagboard to go "WUT HUMOUR HUR HUR", so I'll beat you to it), I had a fun afternoon there. Relieved quite a bit of the stress that has been building (although maybe I've been doing too much stress relief and not giving myself enough stress as it is, shit) over the weeks.

Taking the MRT back, I had cause to reflect on human nature, as a rather large Indian woman pasted herself on one of the vertical metal bars in the train most emphatically made not for such an intimate purpose, oblivious to the fact that people, including me, were for want of a place to hold on to in order to avoid the ignominous fate of taking a tumble in public, which is something wont to easily happen on a train going at swashbuckling rush-hour speeds.

I mean, we speak of people who do not give up their seats to the elderly on MRT trains. While true, no one gives the other side of the story, whom I have had the good fortune to experience; on another, far-off afternoon, I was on the train back from City Hall and during a 25-minute journey no less than five commuters (including myself, I unabashedly admit) gave up their seats for the elderly. So it can't be all bad. But everyone who writes to the forum page on this topic makes it out to be. Either they are so unlucky that they never see such acts of good grace, or they see them but feel that since these acts are obviously warranted by a divine edict of sorts, there is no need to give praise.

Really, give credit when it is due. No one has a right to a seat on the bus or the MRT. Certainly, we being younger should respect the elderly and everything, but give us a break sometimes - life is hard in Singapore and people have bad days. Don't always see the bad side of people. Don't be generous with your condemnations but stingy with your praise - acts of kindness we do because we want to, not because we are obliged to, so please recognise that.

In addition, no one talks so much about those other inconsiderate people on MRT trains - such as that above. I bet if I had done it in school uniform, the school would have me up in days. But that's another story. We should actually pay attention more to those people who give others no chance to get off, instead pushing into the train the moment the doors open, those who decline to give way to allow you off the train, those who shove past you rudely without so much as an excuse me or sorry, or in my opinion the worst of all, those elderly who take up the entire width of a flight of stairs to toddle down to their destination when they can easily move to the side and allow the considerable number of people with far less time than them to pass; look, I don't mind them being slow and I perfectly understand why they can't go at a fast walking pace, but they should not hog the stairways like that. Being old does not give you a licence to do as you like - an inconsiderate elderly person is also an inconsiderate person.

Be consistent about it.

Lightning flashing just outside my window. I thought it was the lights coming on in the house across the street initially, then I realised, why are they turning on their lights like every few seconds? Does not compute. Quite a nice effect, really, though for some reason it puts me slightly ill-at-ease.

Today I was in school for the first time in nearly a week. I went only for the company. It gets really lonely at home a lot of the time now that my brother has gone back. I remember that years ago I always used to wish I had a younger brother (nearly did, but we do not really like to talk about that). It stopped after I became a surly teenager, but now the feeling is reviving. It just gets so cold... at home... sometimes. One needs one's moments of solitude, but an overdose of it gives one an incomparably horrid, empty feeling of vulnerability.

The closeness and warmth of human contact (not in the physical sense, for all sickos reading this, like our dear Mr Lai) has no substitute in this world.

1.30am and I'm here, listening to the rain pattering lightly on my window sill... cliched, of course, but it is really happening so I can hardly help that.

A quiet night, the silence broken only by the sound of the rain... a perfect time to reflect and reminisce, again. I was reading old chatlogs, largely from around this period (October-November-December) last year and some from the earlier parts of this year. Last year we reminisced so much about Sec 4... now those reminisces are themselves to become part of memory.

One year already? No, in fact, two years already? Still unbelievable.

Well, events of the past week have certainly filled me with nostalgia. Even though Farewell Assembly was the farce I fully expected it to be, it was still a reminder that soon it would be the end, the end to a lifestyle we all have come to know so well the past eleven years (no, I don't count kindergarten). January 2nd/3rd/4th (can't be later than that), first day of school; go to school, do work, survive tests/exams, talk with friends, talk with teachers, listen to teachers, etc - repeat until end of the year. No real changes to the formula. But after this year, we say goodbye to the classroom, to schedules, school uniforms, lessons and school as we have known it for so long.

I can't help but feel a sense of loss. I still remember my very first day at school, although only very vaguely. 1993 (when Mr Aaron Loh himself was still in school, hehe), Catholic High Primary. But let us speak of a first day I remember far more clearly - 1999, Raffles Institution. That day is still very clear in my memory; I remember waking up for a need to relieve myself - turning on the toilet light, the first thing I see is a cockroach. What a way to start the year; considering my luck since then, maybe it was a messenger of ill-omen.

So I had gotten into RI, the school with the most unique address in Singapore. Yes, there is one place and one place only located at 1, Raffles Institution Lane...

But never mind that for now. I had that fresh, slightly excited feeling I have on every first day of school, especially accentuated by the fact that I was going to a new school and going on to the next stage in my education. So we were packed off, a longer drive than I was used to, that is for sure (RI is 20 minutes from my house).

We got there nearly in time to be late for assembly, and I hurried to the astroturf (only then I knew not it was called this) to assemble. I managed to, with some difficulty, find the allotted patch of ground, and we carried on with the usual assembly things, national anthem, pledge and so on. Then it was into the hall for this fresh and exciting thing called Headmaster's Assembly, with the Headmaster as new as I was.

And well, everyone remembers what (or who rather) he spoke about, don't they? His first speech and about the only one everyone who sat through it remembers with any clarity.

The rest of the day was nothing special, induction into the school and the system and stuff like that. Zihao was there; so was Daniel. And the fact is, we didn't talk much at first. I tend to be very quiet at orientations and beginnings of years. It always takes time for me to warm up, that was the case with RJC as well.

It seems incredible that this has been all of five years, and close to six, by now. 1999 and the world was so different. Personally and globally - who remembers the Millennium Bug hoo-ha anymore? Yet it was all the rage then. So, from tight white shorts (mine were neither though) to the long pants of upper sec to the different (read: poor quality) long pants of RJC; it's been quite a journey. Cliched as this sounds - it all seemed like yesterday. The mud of Sarimbun, the quietude of the "A" huts, the junior block classroom six flights of stairs up, all the PSLs whose names I can still remember (I think), the (then) new junior block and (then) new Headmaster, the teachers, my early days in the RIGE (I used to suck a lot, now I guess it is back to square one) with Phillip Toh (whose common way of introducing himself was to write "Toh" on the whiteboard and who to us seemed capable of blocking out the sun) and of course, the new classmates and subjects... all the big and little new things that I had to get used to. I remember also my initial great opposition to going to RI (then my atheist leanings were not fully formed, and I asked for divine aid in avoiding it) because all my primary school friends ended up in Chinese High. Now all that is left of that opposition is a tantalising alternate history.

My time in RI certainly was fast. Once we settled into the rhythm of work and relaxation, Sec 1 was over before we knew it. Examinations? Now I realise how little of a deal they were. Secondary 2, much the same vein, although I had so much more fun. Seem to have touched on that before, so I won't repeat myself. Sec 3 rolled around soon - I found myself initially unable to deal with the new subjects and heavier workload, and floundered. A new class again, and I made some great new friends, so it balanced out, I guess (Sec 3 orientation, quite fun despite the sunburn, but nothing special). Then suddenly, we were Secondary 4 - last year in the school, already? Wasn't it just yesterday that we were clambering off the buses to be frog-marched to Sarimbun camp?

Secondary 4 was even faster. Soon it was Common Tests (which I did horridly in), then speedily, Prelims (which I managed to get past). Then graduation ceremony, the O Levels for real, Grad Dinner (Jireh + Amogh = lOaDs oF fUn), holidays and stuff...

Then, a new school all. over. again.

Start from scratch, I've got an OG to know and an Orientation with a creative name to get through. Well, at least no Walk of Initiation this time, and I kept myself clean. Whew.

Sad to say, I never did manage to gel with my OG. I guess we were just incompatible - I never knew how to begin a conversation with them and I suspect they can say the same for me. We had a (sort of) reunion that day though, the last day of normal lessons, and they had a cake and everything. I got into the photo.

It's hard to believe it has been nearly two years since. 1A01C, Mr Aaron Loh. You guys know the rest. We had so much fun then, didn't we.

Then the first 3 months were over and the real "fun" started.

But it was still great. I loved 2003; it was one of the best years I ever went through, despite the heavy academic workload, personal problems and IPW. I did so much last year, it was just incredible. It seemed to me that I hadn't lived before 2003. There is too much to recall from it - new school, new teachers, classmates, friends, subjects, issues, CCAs, activities... it was amazing. Pity it had to end sometime.

And so we get to 2004 at last. I remember the early days of this year. Early January and we are in the canteen spending our break, as usual, and Gen is commenting that time is passing so slowly. I can still hear her say that. We didn't believe those seniors who came back and warned us that our last year would pass before we knew it; now I, at least, believe them. It is past mid-October already - seemed like Term 1 was just last week. I know it isn't, but can I accept it?

Maybe this is why some have said nostalgia is a dangerous thing. My mind wanders so constantly to the past, sometimes recent, sometimes far distant. I can't forget and concentrate on what is important at hand. Sometimes, what I remember takes my breath away, or gives me this awful feeling of emptiness - all past and nothing to bring it back. It grips my heart tightly and refuses to let go. The more I remember, the more tightly the screws are turned.

This time last year, we were reminscing about Sec 4. Now that has itself become a memory. We commemorated anniversaries last year; now those are anniversaries in themselves. Has it really been a year? One entire year? My heart says no but my rational mind says yes, obviously.

So, one year since the promos? One year since the IPW scramble? One year since the Matrix Revolutions? One year since I had to go down to Boon Lay every Monday evening and take notes for the countdown? I still remember how hung-up some of us were about promos, not caring or knowing worse was to come, how we bitched about IPW but still managed to have fun doing it, how I drank copious amounts of black coffee as I took minutes and loved the stillness of the 11pm night as I made my way back from Boon Lay. Yet all those... they are one year past by now. I really can't believe it. Where did 2004 go?

"To remember everything is a form of madness..." - now I realise how right Hugh is. Memories crowd my mind, leaving space for little else. I can recall in such vividity that it is painful. From Sec 1 to now, enough memories for a lifetime. Primary school is too far away. Yet I still recall how we had a class reunion on December 29th, 2002 (or thereabouts, the exact date eludes me). We even played Whacko, although we still knew all of each others' names. Days later, I was to be classmates again with Jieqi.

I can't sleep, eat or go about my daily business without constantly thinking of all these, of everything that has happened in RJ, in RI, in the years that I can remember. The oldest memories cling to me like ghosts, sucking life-force as from some B-grade Hong Kong television thriller. Sometimes I'll just be reading for studying or doing something mundane and they will just force their way into my mind. I can't continue when that happens. I have to stop. The feeling - it is neither awful nor anything close to a nice sensation. The closest I can come to describing it is a sense of loss. All that is past, what a pity - it was great while it lasted.

Of course, I feel better after thinking back, after looking back. I realise actually how lucky I have been, for all the gripes about misfortune. I've been in fantastic classes down the years and made some great friends, probably for life. I've got to know so many people and gone through so many events and experiences of vastly different natures. It been, really, a great ride. I've enjoyed it immensely. To everyone I've had the good fortune of knowing down the years, in some way or another, everyone who has ever lent me a listening ear, offered me a helping hand when I was down or words of comfort in trying times, or simply been a good person to work with - thank you very much. Sincerely from the bottom of my heart.

Perhaps memories are not a bad thing after all. Still, I really have got to learn to put them down at least some of the time.

On October 14th, 1962, came from a U2 reconaissance flight over Cuba the first hard evidence that the Soviet Union was placing nuclear missiles and supporting infrastructure on Cuba, a mere 90 miles off the American coast. Although there had been suspicions for months, the photographs provided definitive proof of Soviet intentions, triggering off a superpower confrontation that was to bring the world the closest to nuclear war it would ever get (and hopefully, will ever get).

"We were eyeball to eyeball... and the other guy just blinked." It is hard to imagine what the world would have been like now had both superpowers been just that bit more hasty, just that bit more truculent. The famed nuclear clock stood at mere minutes to midnight in those fourteen days in October. Technically an act of war, the American blockade (quaratine, schmarantine) of Cuba could very easily have triggered World War Three.

Fourteen days that nearly changed the world. Forever.

I actually fairly often during the day think about what I want to write here, but usually forget it when I get to this screen. Isn't that ridiculous. Story of my life.

It has been a day of lazing/studying alternately at home. I don't think there is a lot the Econs department can do to help my understanding of the subject, prickly as this object of concern is. We'll find out soon enough how much I actually understand, at any rate.

I bought Civilization 3 and its expansion last week (kind of birthday present from myself to myself?), and I must say it was a bloody waste of twelve dollars. I can't call them heretics because Sid Meier is still around and responsible for this travesty; I can only conjecture that in the eight years since he made Civ 2 he has been possessed by a horse demon with little aptitude in computer game crafting. That can be the only explanation for this hell of a mess anyone at all actually dares to call a "computer game".

My main beef is they have made it far too complicated, what with special resources, only able to build irrigation next to fresh water, an overhauling of the combat system blahblahblah. The result is that the game is so much less fluid than its predecessor. I can't find what I want, and that irritates the hell out of me; the interface is a bloody nightmare. Civ 2 was so, so, so much better - all you needed to know displayed on the screen for you to very clearly see. And what the hell? Now workers and settlers are completely separate and unequal! How troublesome is that? It's like they went out of their way to piss off the casual player. Civ 2 was so easy to pick up. You begin a new game, B to build city, train a warrior, switch to produce settlers, move them out, found another city, rinse and repeat. Now you B to build city, navigate the mazy interface to find out more about your city, see it get disease, see it grow slowly because you can't any longer plop down irrigation so quickly, see it not have special resources so you can't launch a lightning game of conquest. It frustrates me.

I mean, why make the learning curve so difficult and everything so complicated? Simple wins the day for me. I'm a casual gamer, and so are most of the people out there. Serious gamers, sure, it would seem a fantastic game to them, to twist their minds and test themselves to the mettle, but me, I just want a game I can sit down to and relax while playing at the end of a long hard day. Civilization 3 is not that game; I had hoped it would be.

Bah.

Well, today was good fun. After a session of history in the morning, it was off to breakfast with Jason (I guess everyone knows which one), after which I somehow got sucked into playing seventeen straight games of international chess with him at McDonalds. We literally there three-and-a-half-hours straight playing chess. It doesn't get much better than this. Score: 10-6 his favour, with one draw. I lost as I tired towards the end.

Following that, something possessed me to head down to town with Daniel to Borders, with Jason still in tow. We poked around a while, and as Daniel stayed we went off and had a sort-of afternoon KFC snack, after which we roamed the streets aimlessly looking at expensive things I won't ever buy (guess whose idea it was to view such artifacts?). Then back home and reality; MSN not working, phone calls, maths questions. Then a fruitless attempt to establish a multiplayer Internet game.

Tiring day, it really was.

The post counter on my dashboard seems to be broken... has stayed at 332 for just about forever. The vagaries of technology. Hm.

A dull weekend, as is to be expected at times like this. Rather peaceful, actually, considering the emotional highs of this week. Everyone gets a little hung-up around results time, always happens, nothing strange there.

Back to school tommorrow for a lecture and then a GP mock paper. Boring stuff.

A far better day than yesterday, today was. Our last formal school day in RJC; I still remember the first so clearly. Well, all things must eventually end.

Soon the Mount Sinai campus will pass into history. After doing all that research on the history of RJC, I've come to respect both the place and the institution. RJC really has had quite a turbulent history, more turbulent than perhaps any other junior college. Or at least the way Mosbergen tells it...

But on to the present. Today was great fun; a very short day, especially as the last lesson was cancelled, then anxious waiting for our Literature results livened up by avid conversation, after which a bunch of us headed over to Gen's house for an afternoon of decadence. I can't believe how much food of all varieties we got plied with! Now that is great hospitality.

To make my day, I made a B for Lit, which gives some modicum of respectability to my overall results. Still not the best, they are, but this result restored some of my confidence after the hammer blows of lately.

I really have to go for it.

Yesterday, I had a conversation with a person I have always counted among my closest friends, and I found out how little I actually knew about him. How I effectively ever saw only one side of his personality, and went along with my own life thinking all was well and good and that was the way he is. I never discovered, or never tried to discover, the hidden side, to fully understand or appreciate this individual.

It's a sickening feeling, really. I was completely oblivious. Or maybe I just didn't want to know, to delude myself that people are always one-dimensional. It's easier if they are, but I'm a fool for wanting to believe that.

This has also set me thinking. About relationships and everything. How many of the people around us do we really have very strong bonds with? How many of our relationships are superficial, all smoke and no fire? How many of our so-called "extensive" social networks are built on slippery slopes with shallow foundations? Bluntly put, how many of our friends actually understand and appreciate us? Or do they just see one side, which is the side they like, and interact with just that one side, turning a blind eye to all else?

No one in the real world is flat. Everyone is dynamic. Everyone has multiple sides to their personalities, which appear at different times. Which we choose to show at different times. What, then, is a friend? Is it someone who likes only one face which you show to the world and will take off with the greatest speed once he sees that you are not wearing that face today? Or is it someone who genuinely tries to understand the multiple facets of your personality and accepts that you can't always be a happy, joyous, contented person full of good humour (for instance)?

Do we really put on a different mask for the different sorts of people we meet? I mean, most people have friends with many and various personalities and characters. You can't treat everyone the same. Yet is it in some way unethical to put on what is effectively a performance, to act, in front of people just to gain their trust and acceptance?

I really wonder how much we all know about the people we claim to be acquainted with, and even with the people we label as close friends. Do we know and accept them for who they are? Are we willing to tolerate their idiosyncracies and shortcomings? Are we going to be there to lend a helping hand or a shoulder to cry on when, as everyone does at some time or another, need one? Will we be ready to sacrifice for those we think are closest to us? Or will self-interest conquer all?

I don't think anyone can ever answer all the above questions. I think I have asked enough anyway. I should really give my own take on the subject instead.

For myself, I've always held it as a matter of pride that I have a relatively wide and extensive social network. That I know people from all over the place. Now that belief has been shaken to the core. Sure, I know quite a number of people; yet how much do I know about the vast majority of them? Not a lot. Will I be ready to help them at cost to myself? Will I even know when they need help? I really have no idea as to these questions.

Yet I must ask them of myself, and ask myself even more painful ones. Have I actually been neglecting those closest to me, tose who really care about me, those who offer the bitter medicine or advice, which causes me to turn away? Have I been too complacent, secure in the knowledge (true or false) that I have been a good friend to many? Perhaps I am not as "good" a person as I've always believed myself to be. I have chosen to blind myself with sweet self-assurances rather than face the hard and cruel facts.

I didn't know. Maybe I didn't want to know. To assume something is really making an ass of (a general) you and me. Perhaps I was even lying to myself that there wasn't anything I could do anyway. The fact is, I missed out completely on another side of a person I've always thought myself close to, and that is unpardonable. How many times was he really hiding his troubles behind his smiles and I so near was completely oblivious?

The guilt is terrible and the questions tortuous.

Today I was reading the fresh new copy of TIME Magazine and they ran yet another feature on "Asian Heroes" (like we're a zoo of some kind, things to be marvelled at, but that's another story). The one thing I was wondering was, why the hell are there so many movie stars, atheletes and pop stars up there?

Like, what the fuck have they done? 1) Get very rich and famous because they have talent (or sometimes, even if they don't have talent). 2) Change the cultural face of Asian societies, leading to a social revolution that will invariably and irrevocably change our YEAH RIGHT WHAT FUCKING BULLSHIT.

The fact is, they don't deserve to be there. Everyone knows Asia is huge, densely populated and home to most (although decreasing rapidly) of the world's poor and a vast number of its deprived, malnourished and abused. Now, in my opinion, only those who try to help this vast morass of unfortunates are true "Asian Heroes", not a silly athlete with, good for him, the ability to run very fast and flash a stunningly handsome grin for flashing press cameras. While he smiles, millions starve. He is given attention, they are not. That, I find, is utterly ridiculous.

The list, of course, did honour those who tried to help the continent's deprived, but very few. It focused so bloody much on one-dimensional millionaires. Well, culture is important and all, but I don't think it matters very much to have a general Asian culture when the majority of the continent is wallowing in poverty and hunger (which it is). To be real heroes, these greatly rich people should use their money, like, on these people. It is a free world and they can do what they like with their own cash, of course, but if they lavish it only on themselves or a few privileged, they don't deserve to be on any list like that at all.

That damned magazine is getting more and more full of rubbish. The Economist, all the way.

To all of you who today wished me "Happy Birthday", as well as those who went to all the trouble just to get a gift for me, thank you very much. You people have really made this a very special, wonderful and truly unforgettable occasion, and I really, really appreciate it.

So, it's been another year, and I'm now 18.

Well, it doesn't feel far different, but I think birthdays are always excellent times for self-reflections. 18 years is certainly not a very long time, but it's a fairly long period: nearly two decades. I mean, in 1986 they hadn't even completed the MRT, which so many of us depend on as a matter of life-and-death today. Can you imagine a world without the MRT? But of course, relatively, 18 years is less than the blink of an eye.

Ah, what am I saying. I have so much I need to spit out but I can't find the words. Ever have that feeling? It can be frustrating. Never mind, I'll try my best.

18 years... I don't know. Sometimes it feels like I just woke up and I'm suddenly this old, and sometimes it feels like an age has passed and I'm only this young. I probably have a long, long time ahead of me yet. I definitely haven't seen it all, yet sometimes I think I've seen plenty already.

But today, I feel like the former scenario, where time is concerned. It is all just so incredibly fast. Exactly one year ago it was a Saturday and I was at home preparing for the Promotional Examinations starting on Monday, 6 October. That... it... it does not feel like one year ago. It is hard, so hard to believe that it has been that long ago, and since then we have survived 12 more months and this is the last two weeks of lectures and last two weeks of schooling in the mainstream Singapore education system. Really, this is it. It's an ending, and next year is fraught with uncertainty. One year later, where will I be? I can quite honestly say, I have no idea. So much, again, would have changed by then. Will I be here in front of this computer, still maintaining this blog, writing almost the exact same things? Who knows?

Yet is it really a good thing to be able to predict the future? Sometimes we would rather not know.

I ramble too much. But I need to get it all out. Today was practically the last chance for enjoying myself until nearly two months later when I get (probably) a short window. All things must one day end and today it seemed to me that they were all closing. My brother flew off back to England today to begin his second year. I'm not going to be able to see him very often anymore after this year. I can't bring myself not to feel even a little sad at partings, of any kind, even if they are of a very temporary nature. For me, every parting is an ending. Today, the endings all seemed to come together.

We'll all have to part soon. I hope we can stay in touch with each other.

Thanks again everyone for the wonderful time you all gave me today. I really love you bunch.

Forty-five years ago today, Mao Zedong, fresh from victory over the Kuomintang in China's ruinous civil war, declared the formation of the People's Republic of China in Tiananmen Square, Beijing. It was a momentuous occasion. After nearly forty years of almost-continuous internal warfare and unrest, China was united under one central authority once more. The sleeping dragon, many said, was awake once more and ready to singe the world with its breath.

It was not to be, as Communist China retreated into its shell and remained there for the next three decades. By the time the Great Helmsman died in 1976, the PRC was in a parlous state of near-collapse. It was left to Communist China's third paramount leader, Deng Xiaoping, to push one of the world's oldest continuous civilizations on the road to finally fulfilling some of its vast potential.

Things are quite a bit less interesting in the real and present. Well, enjoy the interlude while one can, boring as it is.