Life is contemptuous of knowledge. It forces it to sit in the anterooms, to wait outside. Passion, energy, lies, are what life admires. Still, anything can be endured if all humanity is watching.

There is no complete life. There are only fragments. We are born to have nothing, to have it pour through our hands. And yet, this pouring, this flood of encounters, struggles, dreams... one must be unthinking, like a tortise. One must be resolute, blind. For whatever we do, even whatever we do not do prevents us from the opposite. Acts demolish their alternatives, that is the paradox. So that life is a matter of choices, each one final and of little consequence, like dropping stones into the sea.

You know there's always this period of time where you just feel like shutting yourself out from the bustling world and you just tell yourself that this is the period where you want to "re-generate" yourself. You don't know why. But you just feel like it. Your instincts tell you that. Perhaps this may be a fantastic time for reflection. For you to place justice on your own life. On your past doings. On steps to take on the road ahead. Sometimes it's confusing. Or rather, it's always confusing that one seldom always gets it. This game is never easy. But you and I have to play it. Differently. Occasionally, you ask yourself the reason for your actions. It's dubious. You contemplate your next step. And when you do it, you ask yourself yet again - WHY. But no one is ever that kind a soul to leave you a noble answer. And then you realise - Oh YES, I'm living in my own universe. An invisible globe where no one can penetrate, this is my life. I'm alone. It's funny to feel that somehow you don't belong to nobody else but yourself. Even though you know that you've got companion round you. And then you tell yourself - So what? Whatever it is, their lives don't bother me a tiny bit. They live in theirs, I live well in mine. No one crosses the line. I wouldn't want to myself becos' I don't see the point unless I pry. But that isn't my hobby. Then you wonder - Perhaps I'm feeling disconnected. Maybe I am disconnected. And in my opinion, this isn't a bad thing at all. Becos' all along, I've been so connected that I feel selfless. That someone else's life has taken over mine. Stripped. Empty. Soulless. And then the question evolves - Who Am I?

It's never at all so simple to reply to that. Nor is the task. Then you get a sensation. A message. Perhaps it's time.