Once again I sit here and stew in this little sinkhole of my own making, and wonder, what have I become since coming here?

Superficially, I am probably achieving all my little dreams and goals.

But if I dig slightly deeper, dare myself to look at the pile of junk that lies unattended somewhere in my head and heart, I know the little things still remain there, untouched, forgotten.

I think I’m actually afraid to start sifting.

Arthur

Pretty good start toYear 2,  I must say (:

Although when the ball gets rolling, I lose myself in the layers of moss and grime collected along the way.

Guess there’s only so much of me to go around?

It’ been fun embracing second year and all its grand plans.

Right now I’m sitting at my new desk, in my new room, in my new house…new meaning new to me, and not new in the sense of age, unfortunately. My chair has a new cushion, my bed has an extra pillow, cushion and two extra hedgehogs, my bookshelf looks rather pretty. Thank you IKEA, thank you random snow globes from places around this continent, thank you built in wardrobe. Room decoration is going rather well – not as glamorous as I’d expected, but well nevertheless.

I guess I’m happy.

But I’m also suffused with fear at the moment. Second year is going to be unbelieveably hectic and I don’t know if I can do this – juggling a billion responsibilities with people and myself. It might all take a toll on my sanity, and I might only get, as Nikki said, ‘weirder after another year’.

It’s an adjustment, I must say, coming back to Warwick after a month plus and seeing familiar faces in a different setting. It almost feels like an alternate parallel universe.

Hoo boy. All this ambivalence.

I cannot sing the old songs,

I sung long years ago

For heart and voice would fail me,

And foolish tears would flow;

For bygone hours come o’er my heart,

with each familiar strain

I cannot sing the old songs,

Or dream those dreams again.

I cannot sing the old songs,

Their charm is sad and deep;

Their melodies would waken

Old sorrows from their sleep;

And though all unforgotten still,

and sadly sweet they be,

I cannot sing the old songs,

They are too dear to me.

I cannot sing the old songs,

For visions come again,

Of golden dreams departed

And years of weary pain;

Perhaps when earthly fetters

shall have set my spirit free,

My voice may know the old songs,

For all eternity.

-Charlotte Alington Barnard

I find it ridiculous that I am only motivated to write when I am unhappy about something.

So here we go. A penny for my happy moment!

I’m supposed to compose a couple of songs for the upcoming Singapore Society musical – lyrics + song and the works, and at first it seemed like it should be easy. I mean, it’s a musical! Big fan here! Surely I can hear a tune coming into my head…even now…

Then when I actually got down to it, it was extremely hard (I’m not exactly the lyricising and the composing type). Because, trust me, when you are bad at this, and keep hearing OTHER songs in your head, you lose all semblance of originality.

Now I’m almost done with my first song, so it seems slightly easier.

Almost done.

First song.

Almost done, meaning I’ve got the lyrics and the melody- I’m just working on the semi-final touches before I can present it to somebody. Which means I’ve to record myself playing and singing it (!). This is not going to be funny.

I can hear it, I can picture it in my head! The whole scene! The singing! The dancing! The expressions! The colours, swishing, in time to the music (the production of which will be a task in itself).

This is eggciting indeed! I can’t wait for the whole thing to slowly unfurl and come to life.

I feel very contented today (: