I am a person with a nomad of a mind. My thoughts spread to wide horizons, from the most boring of the mundane, to the most geeky of the technical world, sometimes barging into the overloaded pop and street culture, and many times shopping on news goodies from saliva-wasting politics, and even from world economics, which I don’t even know a drop of. But whether I know things, pretend to know things, or don’t know things at all, I just love writing them all down. That’s why I call this prized personal web log Rhems Fingers. I just love fingering things.
In person, I am both proud and humiliated to say that I am the antithesis of the mouth. You can call me silent, taciturn, or if you want to be rude, mute. It actually occurred to me that I should go see some shrink about my seemingly disinterest on verbal activity, but I don’t think it’s even worth the money. See, by the time I see one and he starts asking questions, I’m sure my mouth will not let the opportunity pass by, and then she’ll start throwing enthused impromptu speeches over his one-liner queries, and when the hour has passed, he’ll just send me home with a note that says “OK”.
I am innately imaginative, though I discovered that I am not the sensory type (visuals, dolby sounds, etc.). As an engineer and a half-breed perfectionist, I love to keep things in order even in my mind, unknowingly making a desktop manager out of it. I love consistency and variety and they should never, if possible, be detached from each other. And that’s why I can spend a hundred hours on one faved imagination, let’s say my dream house, and I can’t still let it go unless it’s been well constructed boldly, solidly, even just in the mind. Sometimes, my thinking hobby can be quite taxing. It’s one of my worst alternative to counting sheeps at bedtime.
The problem however is that my mind isn’t well coordinated with my hands. Sometimes, when I’m ready to write things down, the lovely imagery has flown away, leaving my poor mind in a blackout that doesn’t clear up when I’m infront of the computer. Nasty body parts.
But well, I want to believe I am an optimist and It’s been a second nature to let things, especially bad things, pass by. It’s ought to be a survival necessity, because as the recent health research would show, stress is the world’s most serial killer, and I don’t want to be stressed. So whether I just lost my bag, with my jacket, and atm card, and important school paper on it, I’m still taking my time to breathe. Maybe a heavenly soul just propped over it and brought to the lost and found office, although we don’t really have one, and maybe I can still get my things back.
I am not a very good writer, I just blab when I write. And that makes it difficult to put a nice snappy ending to this already long ABOUT post. So just like in the tv shows and in the movies, I guess I’ll just have to say the classic closing remarks. The end.
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