God knows why I have started this blog. Is it going to be any different from the rubbish that I write in my journal or on my Facebook page? Is it going to solve anything?
Not really.
I am glad I found my 'bunny wabbit' book i.e. Watership Down. I don't think I read it when I was in Kampala, although I know for a fact that Sarah did and she loved it. I was only nine then, so it's not as though I would have enjoyed it as much as I am now. It's good to have these innocent, childish pleasures. Though I have no clue why I am regressing back to an infant-like state, whereby I keep singing 'bunny wabbit' like a five-year old infant.
Kampala. Hmm. It was lovely, what I remember of it. Very exotic and very different than the life I am suffering these days. Well, suffering is too strong a word. I am suffering myself. As in, I am being punished by having to spend my days and nights with myself. And what's worse is that I am making others suffer for it too. Though granted, it is only one person and that is my father. It's better than making my mother suffer; better than making my kind and generous aunt suffer. May God bless them both. But specifically my aunt. God must love me if He chose to balance the cruelty of one with the genuine kindness of the other. She and her husband will go straight to Heaven on account of the generosity and patience they have shown me these four years.
Well, I want to talk about what little I have experienced of Kampala. I loved going to school. It was a typical British education, with British teachers and then Ugandan teachers and a Filipino teacher who was in charge of P.E. Wonder how he got there! And every alternate Friday (or was it every Friday) we would have the afternoon off for special games; although I have forgotten what it was actually called.
OK, perhaps this wasn't such a good idea. The past is so intertwined with confused, sad and disturbing memories. I am mostly with regret of what might have been but never was.
Anyway, I have become a corpse. I am breathing and eating junk food but that is it. I have lost all human characteristics and have returned to the bare animalistic behaviour that I was supposed to rid myself of and aspire higher, towards the Heavens.
My poor father has a cold and I can't even make chicken soup for him. I hope I can make the settings on this so only I can read this. I really don't want others to read this. It's a load of junk from a confused mind and dead soul.
Not really.
I am glad I found my 'bunny wabbit' book i.e. Watership Down. I don't think I read it when I was in Kampala, although I know for a fact that Sarah did and she loved it. I was only nine then, so it's not as though I would have enjoyed it as much as I am now. It's good to have these innocent, childish pleasures. Though I have no clue why I am regressing back to an infant-like state, whereby I keep singing 'bunny wabbit' like a five-year old infant.
Kampala. Hmm. It was lovely, what I remember of it. Very exotic and very different than the life I am suffering these days. Well, suffering is too strong a word. I am suffering myself. As in, I am being punished by having to spend my days and nights with myself. And what's worse is that I am making others suffer for it too. Though granted, it is only one person and that is my father. It's better than making my mother suffer; better than making my kind and generous aunt suffer. May God bless them both. But specifically my aunt. God must love me if He chose to balance the cruelty of one with the genuine kindness of the other. She and her husband will go straight to Heaven on account of the generosity and patience they have shown me these four years.
Well, I want to talk about what little I have experienced of Kampala. I loved going to school. It was a typical British education, with British teachers and then Ugandan teachers and a Filipino teacher who was in charge of P.E. Wonder how he got there! And every alternate Friday (or was it every Friday) we would have the afternoon off for special games; although I have forgotten what it was actually called.
OK, perhaps this wasn't such a good idea. The past is so intertwined with confused, sad and disturbing memories. I am mostly with regret of what might have been but never was.
Anyway, I have become a corpse. I am breathing and eating junk food but that is it. I have lost all human characteristics and have returned to the bare animalistic behaviour that I was supposed to rid myself of and aspire higher, towards the Heavens.
My poor father has a cold and I can't even make chicken soup for him. I hope I can make the settings on this so only I can read this. I really don't want others to read this. It's a load of junk from a confused mind and dead soul.
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