3am

It's 3am and my mind is racing.

Sleeping is impossible. After tossing and turning and feeling my heart beat at about 170bpm for the last hour, I decided I was trying in vain.

So I'll write instead. Again, time seems to be flying by and again my life seems to be a whirl of an intangible mess of "things happening".

Looking at my last post, that nye incident seems a lifetime ago.

Let's see: since then, I have been on a 4-week long course that served to recharge me well; written many stories, some significant, others less so, won story of the month; joined a gym for almost 2000 bucks; went to see The Police - who were legendary. Sting is so bloody hot, even at his age, I hope my bf ages the same way; gambled and ate lots at chinese new year; invested lots of my CPF money; bought new shares in the market; and just tonight, finally caught No Country For Old Men.

It was so Coen brothers, if you didn't know theme or their work, the majority of the meaning of the film gets lost. It was also so Fargo - just in the southern states instead of the north. Made me think back of my film studies days, oh how we would all just sit around and dissect the film, sequence by sequence, and analyse all the social satire brimming beneath the strung-together shots. I kinda miss it. Not many would understand, but for those who do, the conversation is something I would have relished so even more.

So between churning some beautifully-shot sequences, and the macabre-ness of it all, it didn't help that my mind's still racing about my upcoming story.

It's been awhile since I felt that excited or emotionally attached to one story, it scares me while at the same time almost titillates me. I remember the last time I felt like that was when I had the news that no one else had back in London and I had got a freelance assignment from The Times to write about it. Although it wasn't in the end a really fair deal for me, because they gave my story to someone else to write the main piece, getting my name in The Times was enough to keep me awake in anticipation for a few nights.

That now seems so long ago, and how far I've come. I think if I could turn back time I would have demanded that I wrote the main story, but hey it's all lessons learnt.

Where I am now, I can't even begin to describe, only that the sense of fulfillment and unfulfillment overwhelms me at the same time. And it's like there's a vast, black, hole - with promises of the future and tasks left undone - that's hovering above, mocking me.

I have such high hopes for this story. For this year. For everything.

I really should be grateful J and I are doing so well. More than a year ago, back in the UK, our lives were inhabiting such an alternate reality: the dosh, the drinks, the work and the people.

Now, we're but a fraction of the way on our journey and the future, unknown but brimming with unimaginable outcomes, seem simultaneously a miracle and a curse.

I can only hope my story turns out the way I want it to, that the choices J and I make turn out the way that ultimately makes us happy.

There's wanting something so badly that you think about it all the time, and then perhaps you get it, and you knew you would anyway and you think that'd make you happy but it turns out to be a delusion that chains you to the expectations and tardy perceptions of this world.

So, do you, or do you not, really want all that?

I say Yes.

And no.