Rain - Somewhere - Seoul

26 April - Saturday

It’s 3.16 a.m. and it has just started to rain. I’ve got at 4.00 p.m. football match today and I can’t seem to sleep. I’m anxious perhaps? I don’t know. Disappointed perhaps? Not really, I don’t think so. Mad then? Doesn’t seem like it.

But I’m tired. That much I know very well. I’m feeling it on my waist and hip. It’s that feeling of being drained out.

Suddenly I feel rather mellow. The rain is becoming heavier. The heavy downpour suddenly gives me the creeps. I don’t really know why. But then again, I don’t think I wanna know why. I don’t even wanna think about it.

Why does it rain tonight? I can’t recall the last time it rained at night. It didn’t rained in Seoul very often, did it? I can’t remember. I can’t seem to recall.

The rain triggered some thoughts. Deep thoughts. Deep but trivial I think. Why? Coz it didn’t seem like it mattered much. Seems like? Yeah. You’re assuming? No, I’m guessing. Isn’t it the same? I don’t know. Perhaps. Does it matter? What? The assuming or the guessing or the knowing?

Made me termenung for a moment there while I’m typing this out.

Do you know that feeling when you’re looking, staring at something but you’re not actually looking at it? It’s like you’re looking through it but it’s not exactly see-through so literally you’re not looking through it. Just looking at it actually but yet, as if beyond it. It’s like me staring at my fingers now, typing all these words away while my eyes is pretty much stuck at the Y-key, T-key and the H-key. I’m conscious of what I’m doing but yet I’m not really there. Do you know what I’m trying to say? Does it even make any sense?

Does it have to make any sense?

The rain is slowing down. It’s getting softly. Gentler. The kind that reduces your heartbeat. The type that calms you down. That type. That kind of rain.

There are things we do, that we just do, for the sake of doing it. We don’t really question ourselves why we do it. We don’t bother. We just know that we do it. Do we have to do it? Not sure actually. We never really question it. Does it matter? What? Doing it or questioning it? Don’t know. Does it matter? I don’t know. But then again, do I really want to know? Is it worth knowin? Would it make any difference as to how I would wake up tomorrow morning? Well, actually yes. It would probably make me wake up late. But then again, you’re already sleeping late tonight. What difference does it make? I don’t know. Will it make a difference? Difference on what? The waking up late? Yeah, what else. I don’t know. Could be the sleeping late.

The rain is getting heavier again. It rushes my blood all through my veins. I can’t relax now. I’m sitting up already.

Why do I feel this way tonight? I don’t know. I just don’t know. But then again, I don’t think I want to know. Do I need to know? Does it matter? Does it make a difference? Can’t I just freely feel what I want to feel? Why do I keep having to question myself? Why do I need certainty? Why do I need to be sure all the time? Why?

Because we all know that we live in a word of uncertainty. Some sense of it would make us feel we’re somehow in control of one thing in this uncertain world of ours. It’s an illusion of control actually. It’s not even actual control. Just an illusion of it.

That’s the problem with us all. We believe in the illusions of things, of matters and of everything around us. We are the biggest illusionists to ourselves. We concoct up an illusion of what we want or what we think to suit our need for self-comfort. We are the biggest feeder of illusions to our soul. We are masterminds. Everyday. Every time. We know nothing is certain but yet, we still want to believe in it.

What are we? We are nothing but liars.

The only thing in life that is certain is our history. That’s solid certain. Nothing you can do will shake the certainty out of it. And there’s no need for illusions when it’s certainty. So, history carries no illusions. It’s real. All real. Just real. Realsm.

At the same time, I’m quite certain I’m wasting my time with this entry. But then again, no, I don’t think so. I think I do have a point to make across. Do I? I think I do. How certain are you that you do? Almost certain, actually. In what sense? You’re still reading aren’t you? Yeah, of course I am. That’s because you’re still typing it. So what if I stop typing? Then I’ve got no choice but to stop reading. Why do you have to stop? Because I won’t have anything to read.

True. I need an audience and you need a star. Don’t we complement each other? We do. You think so? I know so. How sure are you? I’m sure. Why do you say that? Say what? The complement part or the knowing for sure part? Both.

What’s perfect is not about how alike you are. Or how you are an exact clone of one another. It’s never that. Perfectness is about matching. It’s about needing and providing. It’s about giving and taking. It’s about charging and retracting. That’s what perfect match is all about. It’s the complementing. Like the Yin and Yang symbol. They match, perfectly. They need one another. They complement one another. That’s perfect.

Perfect is about your differences uniting you as one. Two becomes one. Unity. A match. Perfect match. Perfect.

Don’t you think we’re perfect?

5.43 a.m