blog
John
quitacet
Agagooga
SkipI appear to be dead.
It seems that a significant fraction of the Singapore blogosphere has lamented; the offlining of my blog. I even have an obituary, written by someone I do not know. Interestingly, I seem to have touched more than a few hearts, even those of whom I do not know in real life.
It seems remarkable that in the 274 days that my blog was online, a circulation of 44,291 visitor-days managed to incur the wrath of one much more powerful than I. Whether the light of reason did illuminate a festering sore, or did words so irritate like a mosquito to a dragon, I do not know. But at any rate, it seems that I had grown out of my “lesser-known blog” status months ago.
I wrote my first post when the movers back in Singapore were packing up around me. There were scant moments left for me to express my profound sorrow at leaving home, for as permanently as the foreseeable future could be. The irony of having a bunch of moulding posts on a little folder on my desktop is not lost on me.
It appears to be, in every detail, my own wake, the behaviours of various people included. There are the first to know; there are those who mope around; there are those who call every one up; there are those who memorialize my achievements; there are those who selflessly help the bereaved to collect tokens of pei kum; there are those who are frightened; by the prospect of mortality; there are those who learn to value every day of their life; there are those who ponder the meaninglessness of it all; there are those who cry out at the sheer injustice of it all; there are those who have encouraged jovility and a calling to move on.
It was a death borne out of pragmatism, a death of uncompromising principles, yet another scar of paranoia where the small risk became outweighed by the sheer necessity of resources. It was a death that for some spelt the end of a golden age, and for others, a solemn reminder of the geographical localization of ethereal cyberspace. For them, it was a death that cast an imperceptible gloom on many who chose civic discourse over personal mundania and ennui.
A community had liked it enough to become regular visitors. They will sorely miss it, as I will.
The flame has gone out, but the wick’s spark glows still.