It's already November. October passed into the next month quietly. Except for the phane crash of course. I heard about it on my flatmate's TV. I was studying and heard the word "Singapore", so I rushed out to catch the rest of it. My condolences to those affected.

It's getting really cold nowadays. And the rain is getting heavier. It's truly dreary. It looks like it's 8pm now, but it's still afternoon. The only colour you see is the orange of the falling autumn leaves.

How many more days till I'm home? 6 weeks more! And how many weeks have I been here already? About 6 weeks too! That's brilliant! I'm halfway there! I think I will survive this after all... I think I shall convery my room into a jazz lounge. I have tons of jazz MP3s and CDs (ok, not quite THAT many) and a good sound system (thanks to my computer!). All I lack are candles or a nice lamp.. beaded lampshade preferably. Or a lava lamp type thing. The fluorescent lamp is too bright for a jazz lounge. Jazz is so relaxing. Good for when you feel meditative.

[View of room from door. The door on the left leads to the toilet.]

Well anyway, the last couple of days have passed by uneventfully. There really isn't much happening I guess. I know how to make nice porridge now, thanks to a friend who came over yesterday - Celine. We had a bit of fun, listening to jazz and going off with another friend to the Bar downstairs to watch TV. They were showing Simpsons, and after that, a REALLY painful rugby match. I can't even remembre who were playing. Although I know one of 'em was the English team. Some guy came to watch the match dressed in the England rugby jersey. Must be a big fan.

I was reading Cosmopolitan the other day and there was some article which really made me think. One was about how 99% of the time, after a couple of drinks, married men would give in to the temptation of a one-night stand. What is happening to men these days? Is there n place left for idyllic romance and love? Where the guy stays faithful and isn't ruled by his balls? It's very revolting for me to think that men can be so untrustworthy. I hope there are still men out there who are faithful. Ugh. Just thinking about it makes me nauseous. Wives have to resort to private investigaion to get proof of their husband's infidelity. Those P.I. agencies send women to the pubs/bars the husband hangs out, then flirts and see if he bites and offers a private number ot other stuff like information on previous infidelities. All video-taped of course, by a high-tech camera (really small one), in the girl's handbag. Some husbands lie and cook up some sad "sympathise-with-me" story about how their wives aren't hving sex with them anymore (which is not true, according to the wives) to get the girl to go to bed with them. The bastards. Never look down on a woman's intuition. It's right nearly all the time. It's a scary thought. But it's important to distinguish pure suspicion (derived from jealousy) from intuition. I can't say how to do it. And to say that it's a feeling is too vague, but that's just what it is. Don't ignore it, that's the vital thing.

I don't know if I should be thankful that I can feel and think so deeply, or that I should feel hatred for being given this ability. Ono ne hand, being able to feel and think especially, is what makes us humans different, more superior even, from other animals. It's great to be able to reason why a certain thing happens, or how something works, and even to feel exhilarated when standing on a cliff with the wind blowing in your face, or to feel the warmth in your heart that normally accompanies love. But sometimes, I catch myself asking if it's worth being able to feel and think just for these reasons. Oftentimes, and in a world like ours now, sadness, grief, hurt and disappointment come more frequently and lingers in one's heart longer. Sometimes I think so much and so deeply about thinkg and feel such strong emotions that make me just want to scream at the top of my lungs for hours on end. Like a can of soda that's been shaken till it's about ready to explode. Maybe all I want is to escape all this. I don't even want to imagine how I'd feel if a loved one dies, but I find myself wondering how I'd feel if my husband dies, anyway, 60-70 years down the road. For an existance as short as ours (what's 80 years in the billions of year that the world has existed for?), we lead very intense lives. I don't know whether to love my mind or hate it. If I weren't able to think, I wouldn't even be writing this and wouldn't be getting the feeling that I'm being pulled in opposite directions. That's life for you.

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