I once told someone that blogs were a waste of time, created to express a wish for others to understand their intentions without them actually having to confront said others, which ultimately belied a sense of insecurity.

Said someone nodded sagely, then set off to create one for me.

Well, not for me persay. He made one for near everyone in the group, and posted posing as them. For mine, he drew upon my letters (he was the old penpal mentioned somewhere below). To his credit, he never posted anything too personal. To his un-credit, he tried to use it to "solve" some issues I had at the time... kiddy angst crap he actually took seriously.

Stupid beyond stupid. Using other people's conflict so as to run from his own. Hmph.

In many cases I see adolescents using online diaries to aim their fustration at someone - stemming from an unwillingness? fear? of confronting them in person. Not that it is easy, of course. But the whole thing reeks of... something stinky.

Anyways, he gave the blog to me. After fiddling with the address I settled on the original one he gave it : clove-dom. The name itself arose from some RPG with them all...

I found myself tearing the other day for no good reason. I was walking home, and I stopped at the spot just under the tree at the corner. A vehemently large spider had taken up there, and its web was about two metres tall, and about a metre wide. Day after day, no matter how vicious the weather, I always found it there, clinging.

But that day the rain had been particularly heavy.

And, stupid stupid girl, I stood there in my school uniform with my heavy-assed bag and glasses askew, and actually teared. I had told myself everyday I had seen it that it would eventually disappear - nothing can last forever. Over and over, it will soon be gone.

I don't really know why I did that. Perhaps it just triggered something. Thought of Sarah. Why I don't really want to establish contact again.

Sarah was my best friend at St. Christopher's in Peneng. Warm memories, with muted colours, bit soft around the edges... that's what I remember. Of course there were the moment when I felt like a heel and the more exicting moments (like the motorcycle slamming into the car - woo). Partners in crime - we'd conspire to steal more chocolate under our mom's noses; late-night confessions - I had been carrying around the guilt of stealing crotons from the salad bar (croutons, for crying out loud); playing house using the SCS bushes - Sarah would pray and I'd recite. (in the church/temple/Sunday place)

Then we moved - Sarah back to France, I to Singapore. We wrote to each other, but as we grew older the letters stopped coming and going. But I don't really want to change this. I'm afraid that things would have changed too much, nothing like the old friendship. I don't really want the memories to be marred. We both grew up in different worlds - and I fear that we may have changed far too much for each other.

Just like the others.

Of course, if I did get ahold of her e-mail or sumfink, or if she messaged me, no way I'd pass it up. A bit of an oxymoron.

I'm just a little afraid, that all.

Nostalgia is such is soft word.