wednesday morning, (admist some kaypoh "readers" on the bus) i wrote this in my journal :

" all the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players.
a frightening thought struck me as i reached the station.
'are we all living the day as it passes? merely living day by day?'
i was on my way to school. as usual, boon lay station was crowded with mostly biz adults and students. when the train parked at the station, everyone rushed out in unison, packed forward like magnets to the stairs. it was like a herd, an orderly one. everyone just inched forward, taking one step at a time. in the same pace, we moved, the most well-ordered manner ever seen. most heads were down, a blank expression hung over their faces. in that moment, we all looked alike. lifeless, expressionless and rid of emotions.

Probably, you tend to see the life of others the way you perceive your own. it was just rather disturbing to see the entire crowd at the station that morning looking so worn out. maybe it was morning blues but i have never noticed something like this before. i wonder about many things. what will an accountant's life be like? i certainly don't wanna be washed with that jadedness. right now, i dont wanna live each day just trying to breathe, merely functioning. i want to be that fresh face in the crowd that looks up to the sky, beaming a bright smile. i want to be that face that once loved mornings and smiles to the start of each new day.

and i thought, what does everyone live for? what do you live for?"

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
~William Shakespeare, As You Like It Act 2, scene 7