riendship is like a street. It is a street that exists between 2 people. It runs from the front door of one person, all the way to the front door of the other person. It connects people to each other. In order for this street to function however, it must be walked on, it must be traveled upon. It requires both parties to place their feet upon it and seek the other. In some cases, the path is so rarely taken that it becomes overgrown and unrecognizable. And difficult to navigate.
n some cases, the road is well worn and comfortable to travel both ways. Both parties familiar with the sights along the way. In some cases, it’s always one person who walks down the friendship street, this goes on until they get tired or fed up of always being the one doing all the walking, then stops walking down the street altogether. Then when the other person wonders where they’ve gone and go looking for them, they realize that they don’t know the way because they never walked down the street to their friend.
o, you might ask, what exactly is the point of this convoluted metaphor? It quite simple. If the street is a metaphor for friendship, then the act of walking is an analogy for the amount of effort each person is putting into keeping in touch and maintaining the friendship. In short, the moral of the story is, it takes two people to keep a friendship strong, and even if one goes all out, he will soon tire from his efforts and give up all together if be is not met half way.
It takes two people to build a friendship, but only one to destroy it. I am getting so tired of trying. Sometimes I wonder if I’m really seen as a true friend or just a number to dial in emergencies.
Cheers, Godbless.
Grey.
Talk about Life imitating art.
riving on Singaporean roads is bad enough, what with the insane-wannabe I’ve-seen-one-too-many-Fast-and-furious-movie-twats tearing up the streets with their “superior” driving skills and pointed lack of regard for safety (theirs AND yours). Then there’s the blissfully oblivious and spatially unaware soccer moms who drive SUVs large enough to eat your car. Then there’s the lao jiao* drivers who feel that they are entitled to the right of way every time and are always in a rush (in spite of their lao jiao-ness) and to whom the concept of common courtesy is completely alien.
f course, not all Singaporean drivers are like this. There are the courteous, decent people out there who make driving a pleasure. A wave or a nod when I let someone pass can make my day. It’s the rest of the general population and their ass-hat behavior that gets to me.
es. People on the busses and trains smell bad. REALLY bad. (Keep in mind that I sometimes have to spend hours trapped in a classroom with forty or so pubescent-ish boys after they’ve had PE lessons. I think my tolerance of odious odors is quite advanced. But nothing can prepare you for some of the fragrances you encounter in transit. You’d think it would be better in the mornings, with people freshly out of their showers and done with their toilets. Mais non! The stink on the busses in the mornings is almost as tear inducing as pepper spray. And it’s probably worse because you’re tired and still only semi-conscious and it hits you without warning when your defenses are down. Then there’s the “natural” odors… Don’t even get me started on those.
he site is still pretty bare bones as I’m still getting the CSS and other components up and running (anyone know a good hot-linkable media host for my illicitly obtained music?). am also in the process of readjusting some elements for this particular web format, so bear with me while I get my shit together.
