And that’s just the way it is. Well today I was told by a friend that she was upset about reading what I wrote about my Thailand trip. This is what I said, not in the exact words, to understand my stance as a writer, that is to understand that I learn to compartmentalize myself, same thing as people who have schizophrenia, except that I know how to distinquish illusion from reality, and I know when the different parts of me struggle to be the real me. I think we all act differently towards different people, same thing when I am here writing, its a different me than the real me, well its still me, except sometimes it may only be a small part of me. Here I am a god of my world, who literally is a pimp of words, cleanser of minds, speaker of truth, entertainer of souls, I hardly give a damn about what anyone thinks, here I am narcissistic and brilliantly funny and I am always right and I am the authority of all things, and sometimes sound like an asshole (which may or may not be true in real life), and thats the persona I take on as a writer. In any case, my friend claimed that I spoke mainly of negative things in the Thailand trip, but thats not what I was writing about. I did not write about my trip, I wrote about the difference of human lifestyles, I wrote about how dependent I was on technology, and my inability to adapt to a less technologically advanced situation. Of course all she read about was how bad the bathroom was and how hot and humid it was and how hard the bed was, but she was missing the point. It wasn’t that I wasn’t grateful for the hospitality, its just I wasn’t used to it. But I believe in trying everything out in life, so if I could turn back time I’d still do it again, but I wouldn’t want to live there in the future. I like my comfort — I like my 42inch plasma screen, my wi-fi internet and my ice coffee and my winter-like air condition. In, any case, I’m not sorry about writing crap (about actual crap that I couldnt bring myself to unload, pardon the pun), I am just sorry that she had to read it. Oh well, I know, if I was her, I’d be angry at me too. She asked me why I focused on negative things, but thats what we read about in life. I remember I also wrote about an old woman mumbling to herself like talking to a ghost in the restuarant in HK, a couple who treated others like strangers, and well I never talked about how good the food was or how great a time I was having reading the damn book I had in my hands, but I wrote about loneliness of the human condition. Same thing we only read about plane crash and never the happy passengers, we don’t blog about the happy 3-year relationship we had until we broke up with someone, we don’t write about how happy we are until we are lost and miserable and depressed. I think people who commit suicide is probably 80% happy but he chooses to dwell on the bad things because that’s what he remember. After having said all that, those you know me personally, I think you should know whether what my stance is on what I write about. I believe I wrote that I was the center of the universe, this page don’t exist until you click here (I think I also imply that you don’t exist until I thought about you, but that may have been lost in the midst of things), I wrote that there was no God, if there was it was created by the human mind (no offense to Christians out there), I don’t believe in freewill. The list goes on… the writer me takes those topics serioiusly, but the writer me is also at times hidden inside the real me. If someone chose to take offense at the real me for what I write, well its your choice, in any case I hope my other articles of intellect and humor makes up for it. I have gotten long-winded again (like many of you who knows the real me also claim that I am), until next time.