Epilogue

I think I have lost the interest to blog. It might be a seasonal feeling, y'know..the kind of fake assumption you make about yourself. But it's been like two months or so since I felt so weird. Blogging used to be fun and easy. Expressing thoughts and feelings used to be very easy. Whining used to be so natural, so easy.

Now it's getting hard. You have no idea on how often I log in, type a few sentences, erase them, and log out again.

I no longer feel the need to share stories. I've stopped writing on my journal. I'm afraid I have lost some part of me. The only thing that makes me very sure that I still love writing is that I am reading more than I write these days. And I listen to songs more than I play the guitar and compose lyrics. 

I'm certainly not shutting down this blog (it's like killing a five year old toddler..) but I guess I kind of like being this way. 

Now that (I assume) all of my friends have known what had happened to me, I feel so light, I could even float in the clouds. I even said jokingly to my ex-housemate that "Hiding a failure is like hiding a pregnancy. The longer you wait, the bigger it gets. And telling people that you've failed is like coming out of the closet, announcing that you're gay."

I nearly posted that after my emo announcement, but I guess it was too weird to be funny right after you're emo. 

2013 is nearly ending, I don't know whether I'm posting anything again before the new year, but yeah, hey, happy new year to you. I have some new stories like how it's raining heavily 24/7 here, and how I've become some sort of a Katy Perry fan, and how awesome is A Study in Scarlet, but I guess I don't feel so good when I try to blog about these little things like before. Uh.

Introducing Ricardo

Ricardo visited my room one late rainy afternoon. 

Like an old friend, he gave me a smile on my face, he told me that I still have a purpose to live.

He reminded me the days when I was a kid, in kindergarten, dipping my paintbrush almost everyday in drops of happy colours, proud and happy of every stroke I made with the brush, no matter how the paintings end up to be like. 

I may not be really good in everything that I attempt. I am a Jack of all trades, but who cares. Ricardo doesn't care, because he arrived on the day I stopped thinking whether I'm good or bad.

Ricardo was previously a sergeant.

Ricardo is tired of making decisions. His frontal lobe is all blue. He has no mouth to speak. He only has some camouflage face paint below his eyes, nothing else. Just eyes, a helmet and a whole load of colours.

I love Ricardo. I don't care if he's not an interesting subject to be drawn and painted. I only know that Ricardo's Frontal Lobe can be abbreviated to RiFLe, his face can one day become a good album cover art for my imaginary music album, and Ricardo's Frontal Lobe sounds like a good indie band name (RiFLe sounds more like rock or metal).

I might be inviting Augusto or Fabiano or Stefano after this.

Lucky One