Saturday, cloudy.
After the talk with Dale, I found we are the same kind of people, dreamer or dream chaser. Both of us had travelled around, and also we have plans and will work on it. It's good. So just go ahead, at least, we have dream and never lose confidence.
It reminds me of the life in Manchester. I worked in post office and dealte with plenty of mails. The mails in the machines walked up and down. I called them "dancing mail". It could be me and could be any of us, dancing in the life journey, up and down, finanlly, to the destination.

It's been raining these days, cloudy and gloomy, such a bad weather. China Ghost Day just passed few days ago. Maybe ghosts are still wandering and tearing here.

I collected my diaries and typed into a file. Sometimes, looking back, looking the steps you walked, is kind of good thing although I alway go ahead and look ahead. You can get something from the past experience which might be a glue or guide for you in the future. Also, to refeel the life stories at that time, you would say, wow, how come? what did I do? why did I do this? Nothing wrong, you did it at that time because you are not prophet. So do not regret even it's so silly you found it today. At least you know, in the future, you won't make the same mistake. Keep the sweet memory and delete the sad one, go ahead with out burden.

How happy I should be if you were here with me, gathering wild flowers, chasing butterflies, daydreaming in the shade of these trees when the sun beats down, and strolling arm in arm on these lovely evenings by moonlight, with no other sound but the droning of insects.

If only you were here with me! If only you could see these mountains, in the moonshine or at sunrise, and the ample shade of the woods, and the azure-blue of the sky, and the green of the vines hidden in the valleys, all around the little houses, and the deep blue of the sea glistening over there, far away in the distance, and all these villages climbing up the sides of mountains.

At night, I listen at the window to all those leaves rustling, and amid the shadows that take on fantastic shapes. I glimpse a moonbeam slipping through the branches like a white ghost. I listen to the nightingale trilling away in the distance.

A heart overwhelmed and bewilled by......