The air outside my office window, heavy with persistent greyness, is as cold as the air-conditioning inside. I step outside in temporary brain-dead mire, out into a biting wind that is supposed to chill, but instead becomes a vagary of familiarity. The breeze bundles me in invisible dulcet threads and takes me back in time in third-person perspective to a young twelve year old standing atop the cusp of a cliff overlooking a rough Tasmanian sea of whitecaps feeling the same breeze on my closed eyes and, feeling the Equatorial cousin of that same breeze, with a same loving caress, I suddenly am twenty going on twenty-one again, never having moved from the spot I had been rooted to outside the air-conditioned office.

But what a trip down memory lane, as ephemeral as it may have been.

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This closet blog had, to my great surprise, been discovered by a fellow blogger, whose writings I hold in deep admiration and respect, and subsequently linked. My sincerest apologies, but this blog still remains in a closeted realm for now, until I do decide to fling its doors open. Nevertheless, you will always be welcome to read and tag.. : )

I should change the link to Tetanus the Sleuth, do you not agree? ;p

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Seated at the far corner of a table for twelve yesterday at Da Paolo in Club Street, I admit that I was faintly awkward and uncomfortable with the proceedings. It was a feeling that I had initially hoped was merely a passing notion, but as the evening wore on, it became painfully obvious that I was increasingly being alienated from whatever absorbing conversation was taking place among the rest. As the pangs of frustration gradually took seed, I turned away from the faces and chatter to the bubbly in my flute glass and the quattro formaggi, seeking a temporary respite until Jan arrived - belatedly - to provide much-needed spiritual company.

Jun, being her usual sweet self, prepared a tiramisu (what? again!) surprise for Gena and me. And she must be telepathic in some sense - how else could she know my music preference that well? On account of how long I've neglected this friendship, I have to find some time to spend with her, I know I have to.

And.

Xinyi intoned that there has to be a time to leave and let go. Bless her heart.
So there will.

He steeled himself while handing her the card and letter as they parted on the five-foot way. He did not speak much, for there shall be little beyond that gesture, he had decided.

For all that used to be, this annual obligation still remains. I finally put this long-standing quandary aside with peace in my heart.

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Phil Neville has been hurriedly shipped to Everton and along goes my loyalties. Somewhat. He had always been an icon to me - instead of Beckham and his headlines / hair / flings / insert nicety - ever since I became a United fan, and it had always seemed as if my loyalty to United was inevitably bound to my loyalty to Phil the nice guy. What in the world am I supposed to do now that my stalwart is gone. Boohoo.