Even before I begin to write about what has been going on lately, I realise I am unable to. The elusive harmonies of internal complexities and daily interactions; emotions intertwined; the continuo of moods and emotional hues and humours; they all render this medium of external monologue unsuitable. Stream of consciousness would have been more suitable for the purpose of giving a feel of what last November has brought with it. Maybe fragments of internal monologue, perhaps splinters from the frozen stream of consciousness might do. The end product will not be coherent. The result will inevitably be unsatisfactory. Even before beginning to write about what has been going on lately, I realised I would be unable to.
The irony of it all. During the long desperate years of virtual stasis and futile attempts to construct a future, all I wished for was any future. This any future has been the present for the last five years, in the way daily life usually unfolds, as a seemingly recurring sequence of very short periods. Life, real life, has been eluding us, prizedly hidden in niches, nooks and crannies in time; present only in places away from this island prison; reserved for the Middle Kingdom where the triumvirate of Dream and Hope and deceitful Nostalgia reign. Very little life, very precious. We say that, in the midst of tedium and alienation and introvercy, change is secretly brewing. We know 2006 has been an annus mirabilis, and we know its moments were bitter and coarse and bruising. We have known meteoric elation and arid despair, both dulled by the stifling tones of provincial life and its trifling sensitivities, its honoured hypocrisy and its bombastic hollowness.
Yes, we still rage, rage against the dying of the light — or at least the absence thereof. Yes, we are still looking forward to again walking the big streets carrying our shopping home. Yes, we will ride trains and buses again going to work. Yes, we are again going to walk into a bar on a whim. Yes, we will again mingle with merry crowds at night. Yes, we will be listening to music among our books and be looking at the urban landscape out of the window into cold, cold November.
Until then we will continue performing little miracles against adversity and against our own shortcomings and insecurity and little despairs.