.:Melaka:.

It's always good to be back in my hometown. I think the place where we had our first memorable skinned-knee, the first crush, the first jeer from your male friends subsequent to finding out about that crush, the first (and last) time one fell into the school toilet (don't ask me how that particular one happened, okay? All I can say is, I was particularly skinny when I was a kid). It's nice. Brings back the memories, the construct of your current persona, the building blocks of your psyche, the ruminations of an undigested (and probably as yet unfulfilled) dream. They are what eggs us on, what keeps us awake at night, what makes us cry, what spurs us forward, what sets us back. A memory is a double-edged sword. For instance, you swear that you'll never get hurt the way you did before, that you'll learn from your mistakes, that you'll never put yourself in such a position. But then you remember how good it felt to be loved, how at one point in time, you were happy. Then you sort of forget that the sword cuts both ways, and wham! you're back in the groove.

Esoteric? perhaps. Meaningless babble? More than likely.

Laters.