Universities are filled with a strange sort of energy. Unfamiliar faces. People talking, people walking. Similar but unique. So many students pursuing different dreams through a similar path. So many young people on the brink of adulthood; no longer children but not yet grown. Hope. Angst. Confusion. Dreams. So many dreams. This masquerade of maturity reminds you of their youth. Connections of all kinds. Like an intricate web, spinning and spreading. You can’t help but wonder what strange tales will unfold here.

When I got your letter in the mail, I read it with wonder. Pages of writing, heartfelt words. Each word formed with careful precision, stroke by stroke, letter by letter. I turned it over in my hands. Emotions turned real; something to touch… Tangible feelings. E-mails can’t compete.

I want chocolate. I had a bar of Nestle Crunch this morning but I still want chocolate. Which is weird… I don’t eat chocolate (or even like it, usually) but today I want it. A lot. Anyway, I’m in an English tutorial, at the moment, so I can’t do anything about it but, after class, I’m going to walk to Breadtop and buy something chocolatey. Then I’m going to go to the gym and listen to my lecture recordings while working out. This is the reason I can’t lose weight. Goddamn random cravings. I’m definitely going over my calorie-limit today… and I have a dinner date tonight so skipping dinner is out of the question. ajhgsgdhjsg why.

        你好！哇 谢谢！听你这样说，我真的很开心。其实，我来澳洲的故事也没什么好说的，真的很无聊。。。我不到一岁的时候和父母一起移民到了澳洲。虽然我现在在堪培拉读书，我是墨尔本长大的。

        我小的时候对中国和中国的文化遗产没兴趣，不理解自己是中国人。虽然我父母从小都会逼我和我弟弟去上汉语补习班，我到小学四年级连自己的母语都不会而（听说都不行！）。我是九岁的那一年被爸爸带回国玩的时候才发现原来自己是中国人！我就这样爱上了中国和中国的文化，希望将来可以回国住几年。我真的很想体会一下在祖国和自己人过日子的感觉。

        所以，虽然我 China-to-Australia 的故事很无聊，我希望将来有机会说一说我回国 Australia-to-China 的故事！^^ 哈哈~

Ahhh, did I? Sorry about that; I didn’t notice… I’ll update my playlist again this weekend and I’ll try to remember to add it in. #45 - Do you have any sweet spots? LOL. Yes, I do. There’s a sweet spot at the back of my neck and between my shoulders.

J: Do you like to ski?
C: I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been.
J: What about surfing?
C: I don’t know. I’ve never tried.
J: Why not?
C: It’s more trouble than it’s worth to me.
J: It’s fun, though. You should try, some time.
C: Maybe. I’m not very interested.
J: Oh, I see… you strike me as someone who doesn’t love anything very much.
C: Perhaps, perhaps not.
J: Then what do you love?
C: Things. Just things, I guess.

The things I love, the things I’m passionate about, are things that can’t be voiced. Shared, perhaps, but never fully expressed. It’s hard to talk about the things I love because I can never convey the way in which I love them. I love the smell of the rain on a clear spring day; the coarse caress of a book as I turn its pages; the way words become meaningful over time as if woven together by a common magic. I love people - their complexity, their simplicity, their very inconsistency. I love life for all its ups and downs, trials and tribulations, triumphs and pending achievements. I love the future - bright, hopeful and ultimately unknown. I love the past - nostalgic in essence and stunningly beautiful. I love the present - an intricate weave of the gone and yet to come… And, sometimes, I just love. 

I can’t tell if that fluttery, ticklish feeling I’m getting is because of you, or if it’s just because I’ve had too much energy drink today.

I can’t trust you to love me because I know that - if I were you - I wouldn’t love somebody like me.

In the winter of that year, I ran into him again. By then, six months had passed since I had last glimpsed him, boarding the train and leaving the city of our childhood behind. Somehow, in that short span of time, he had changed. He had already begun his transformation from the free-spirited, bright-eyed youth I had known into the man he would eventually become. I saw him, across the road, surveying the surroundings we both knew so well - the park we’d used for our afternoon games, the fence we’d broken in the fall of ‘97, the playground he’d fallen off one day in May. The morning air was cool and crisp and, as I watched, he pulled his windcheater close, tightening it around the chest and adjusting his scarf before turning to leave. He turned, coming face to face with me across the empty street, his eyes widening in surprise. I faltered, a knot of complicated emotion catching in my throat, and raised a hand in greeting. He did the same. Welcome home. Yes, I know.

A big thank-you goes out to @meining for helping me fix my theme!