It's a beautiful afternoon, just not very perfect.

Chopin's posthumous waltz no.20 echoes painfully through the flash widget in my blog. A mellow instrument to accentuate the tranquillity and abjection of the music. The screaming soul inside me resonates with relief and my body reacts in the form of hormones. Feels like everything and nothing at the same time. It is only subtly painful yet arrestingly numb. The shift between the comatose of emotions and the over-sensitivity of my ego made me what I am today. Indolence has invaded my life, and consumed it, without even leaving the slightest tinge of my old self or history.

I can sense the realisation of the truths of life in this piece, and fortunately it provides me momentary spiritual solace. I had always believed in music, but I had no idea of its ability to render emotions so compelling such that it is involuntary.

After five seconds, no more. Everything is over after the climax. No more fantasy, no more pleasure, no more self-delusion, it's back to reality, where post-climax problems are already staring into your face. A mirror, it is like one.

If we really think about it, death, is the true and ultimate purpose of our lives. I have over the last several years form such a knowing relationship with this true and best friend of humankind. But this image holds nothing terrifying for me any more, instead it holds much that is soothing and consoles me.

- W. A. Mozart

I guess I'm feeling the same as when Chopin composed that piece. It has dawned on me that I am quite self-centred, considering that many of the above sentences starts with the word "I". Well, maybe not.

It's a really beautiful afternoon, just not very perfect.