That figment of imagination that I stumbled upon, somewhere; sometime ago.

"So what if the person I'm currently smitten with is the template of the ones that I fell for before? so what?"

So what eh?,

clearly, you've got some issues you need to come face to face with.

Where the hell did all the eloquent people in the world come from and how did they get to be so eloquent?

I have just finished reading Murakami's "the wind-up bird chronicle" and to be honest, I have this.. em, empty feeling inside. This, I assure you, is a direct result of the novel.

I am still not sure if this is a good kind of empty feeling, or a bad kind of empty feeling though. I'm still grappling with what the novel is all about. Even as I am typing this, I'm wondering, "what was all that about??"

In a way, I am typing this down to get rid of the feeling (or probably to better comprehend this feeling, or to be more accurate, to get rid of this feeling by better comprehending it. If you catch my drift).

Yes, I think I kind of get the whole general storyline but there are deeper ideas of the novel that I still could not particularly grasp.

Not to say that this is a bad novel. In fact it is far from it. This is just the kind of novel, which for me, requires some degree of thinking and analyzing before the understanding can even begin to dawn in. In all probability, on my part, the understanding might never arrive at all, but still it provokes me to thinkthinkthink, and that at least is certainly not bad. Just like what happened with sputnik sweetheart.

OK.I think i would probably have to re-read the book to be able to understand it. But this, I will do later. Much much later.

This is a book that sometimes have me feeling like I am slowly trudging through the pages, if only because some parts of the story are truly bizarre and let me tell you that the plots are not arranged in consequent order. So while reading this, you just have to have the conviction that the writer knows where he is guiding you, until you finally arrive where the pieces of puzzle fall into place. And trust me, there will be a point where the puzzle pieces falls into place and have the bigger picture unveiled to you. You just have to keep on trudging in order for them to do so.

Perseverance, my friend, usually pays.

But still, feeling like I am trying to find my way through a labyrinth-blindfolded, can be quite draining. And this is not an experience I would like to repeat anytime too soon, no matter how attracted I am to Haruki Murakami's style of writing.

I would say that I had enjoyed Kafka On the Shore, and Norwegian Wood much much better than this particular novel. Even Sputnik Sweetheart which have left me quite confused, I have taken to re-reading some random pages from it from time to time.

Thing is, I did not feel any affinity for any of the characters in the book. Not that I hate any of the characters or anything, I just didn't feel anything for them. Indifference might be the right word.

Usually when I am reading a book, I would become so engrossed with it that I feel like I am a part of the story. But not so much with this.

The best I can say is that curiosity was the largest part of the emotions that this book had stirred and alas, although the bigger picture was revealed to me, too many questions went unanswered. Well, maybe the answers were meant to be implicit, but to me they also come across as ambiguous (It is also possible that they are meant to be ambiguous) and I am left dissatisfied.

If you are expecting some kind of a review, then don't, this is not. This is me writing as I am thinking or thinking as I am writing, whichever.

Fiction.

We were running, so fast that everything around us became a blur of colours, and scents became a mixture of everything unidentifiable.

That should be the part where I said

"Stop."

Instead I had let us stayed that way, peaceful in our oblivion,

until we finally crashed and burned in a way that rivaled the intensity of fireworks, or of a torched mansion.

Honestly, who could give us a better ending?

Bittersweet.

homesick. sumpah.

No.

It is more of being homesick for things that has happened,

or of things that usually took place back at home.

Even as i am typing a thousands of images of people and places and events are flashing thru my brain.

Rasa macam, sedih, nostalgic, pleasant, rindu, excited, terkilan, and in the end, a weak smile.

Ever played around with those water color in tubes

When you mix several colour and you don't mix them properly, you would get that swirls of colours right? Each colour distinguishable, but impossible to extract.

Then you went on to mix them until all those colours blend to become one homogeneous shade that you wouldn't know the name of. Rasa macam tulah kot.

A cup of varied emotions thrown into a bowl.

Pour in some reels of memories,

add expectations and brutal honesty to taste. Mix well.

et Voila!-

a feeling I can't describe.

Hurmph can't wait to go home.

I'm well aware that not everything that I am homesick for will be replicated.

But half is enough;

half would be great.

After all a half plus a set of new ones will still make a whole.

A whole.

Bukan a hole.

Let's not do this.

Spent the whole time whining.

Looking but not seeing,

never trying to venture,

perceiving this world as unfit for us.

Demanding things to be handed over

as if what we do is rarely ever wrong.

When dusk sets in,

we wished,

We could be More-

how sad.

Drops Of Jupiter (a nonsensical rant inspired by a song by the same name)

well, hi.

Firstly, i hope that you're having fun out there in the milky way. How is Pluto? Is it as cold as everyone said it would be? I hope you managed to cheer him up and all. What with all the racket that people down here made about Pluto being a lesser planet. How can we demote a planet like that? It doesn't matter if it is named after the god of the underworld, don't they know, Pluto is sensitive.

But you. I bet you've already found a way to cheer him up.

Thanks for that last letter.You know, I could understand most of it except for the part where Aquarius and Leo was involved. What was that suppose to mean? It looked like Aquarius was dunking Leo in the water vessel, is that what it was? I just don't get it.

How did you do that anyway? How did you write stories from constellations? It seems so fascinating to me but I guess I'll never know will I?

Me.

Earth dweller.Ground walker.

I've never even been to the bottom of the deepest part of the ocean. Never even walked the trench. Too scared of the sharks, of the unknown, of that one eyed fish with its lamp-like antennae (I've seen it in a Doraemon paperback once and let me tell you, it don't look nice). Heck, it is possible that I would even get freaked out by the planktons being the illogical worrywart that I am.

I bet you're thinking the same- "Yeah, she's always been an illogical worrywart".

You always were the free spirit, and I, the shackle.

Oh well, let's not start again.

As I am writing this, (and I am writing this under the open sky, just like how we used to wrote) the sky is not that clear. The clouds are jealous of you, you know. They can only travel the troposphere, so you have to understand why they are being so difficult.

Despite this, Orion is beautiful at any rate. Orion was always your favorite did you remember?

And because it was yours, eventually it became mine too.

All those stars- Betelgeuse and Rigel and Bellatrix and The three Marys.

They have become exceedingly familiar to me- Even if it only means waving to them from down here.

Why did you go after that shooting star anyway?

Oh please don't read too much into this.

I am not a fan of psychological games and passive-aggressive craps.

So we good then.

mmkay?