In Continuum.

Anonymous

You know how singers throw little things off the stage and the audience would catch them,or baseball players throwing a autographed ball into the crowd once their team team wins the World Series.Singers through guitar picks,empty water bottles,or sometimes even towels drenched in their sweat.Little things like that,and there under the state the audience recieve them,as if they are treasures of some kind,priceless and beyond measures.But the relationship doesnt go both ways,between whoever is on the stage and beneath it.The singer has a one sided relationship with the fans,no matter how much he claims to be connected to his audience,there will always be a distance between the metal barriers and the edge of the stage,the bridge between being a celebrity and a listener.

I feel like that sometimes,finding anonymous people posting on my blog,complimenting on my writings.It's flattering,to know that there is somebody other there other than myself,who appreciates what i do as a passion.But on the other hand there is that creepy side of things,with myself wondering,"Am i being stalked?".Because sometimes i do feel that way,having a bunch of people out there knowing everything about me(Since i confide everything to the blog),and i know not about them all.Probably a name or two sometimes,but i dont usually get past that stage,if you know what i mean.I dont usually know any more than a name or a conversation or two,because ultimately there is always the distance between the readers' eyes and the monitor,the miles that comes between that and my own computer screen.The physical distance,and i dont think i am ever going to bridge that gap.

But walking on the streets sometimes,you understand what it is like to be anonymous.Once you are in that state of mind yourself,you sort of forgive these people for leaving merely a name,or sometimes nothing at all.Because sometimes,it doesnt matter if people know you or not,or if they care about you at all.You just want to be unknown sometimes,like the way an artists would dress differently,with their caps pulled low and giant shades put on to avoid recognition.It is the same idea,to be anonymous in a crowd you are so tired of,sometimes you just want people to stare at you,acknowledge you to be just another fellow on the street,and walk on.

I was on the street yesterday,with a bag of books in my hand and my iPod plugged into my ears.I heard about the haze clouding over the cities yesterday afternoon,peaking 150 on the PSI scale.That's staggering,probably the highest since the crisis a couple of years ago when it reached 200.Or was it 220?Anyway,so there i was crossing the road between Orchard MRT and Wheelocks,not being able to see the giant television mounted on the side on Shaw Towers too clearly.Isnt this how the anonymous people might feel like?I thought to myself.In a way,hiding in the mist or haze,almost afraid and frightful of one's recognition.

I am beginning to enjoy the long walks on the streets alone.I used to detest that idea very much,thinking that it sounded rather lonely and stupid to be doing shoppings alone.But i guess the incident of the lingerie in my JC days imprinted that fear of shopping with the ladies.In fact,i like the freedom of going wherever i want,without the need of consulting your partner.Of course,with that comes the opportunity cost: The lack of a person to talk to over coffee.But i guess once in a while,it can be rather therapeutic.That is of course,other than retail therapy.

For some reason,a little smile and small gestures of courtesy,is magnified and enchanced between two strangers,two seemingly anonymous people.It's true,and you should try it by being nice to strangers once in a while.I was looking through the books in Kinokuniya at my favourite section(Literature),when a lady in her twenties bumped into me.It wasnt even the kind of bump that involved a brush of the shoulders,but it was more like a full speed run-in to me.Apparently she was writing something on her notepad,and she was so attentive she ignored my existence on the aisle,which sounds rather ridiculous because,how do you miss a person standing at nearly 1.8m tall?She smiled,blushed and moved on.Her male friend laughed at her afterwards,and raised my hand slightly at her,and told her that is is okay.It was rather funny,but in a way i thought the smile between two strangers were somehow elevated then,and it meant a whole lot more.Imagine it was a friend of mine,or somebody i know.And if he or she was to bump into me,the simple 'smile' wouldnt have meant as much,dont you think?

I enjoy sitting in the Beans outside Wheelocks.I mentioned this before,but when Samantha and I were there the other time,i remember her whispering to me,how she felt like a foreigner in that particular Beans.But i told her,that that was the whole idea of visiting it in the first place.Anyway,the feeling of not having a soul in the world to interrupt you while you are reading,endless chatter of the latest gossips and bitchin',i am beginning to treasure the serenity involved in absolute anonymity.