Written yesterday, an hour to midnight.

The moon is so beautiful. I'm sorry, I know, you're thinking, is this all you can come up with?

My answer would be yes.

Here I am, writing at my table, an hour to midnight, scribbling away, my cursive in its most untidy form, and all I can think about is how beautiful that moon is? Well, yes. It is very beautiful. I know, in the past few entries I've been trying to place my finger on what was wrong with Man's existence, what was futile about it. Well, you know how, sometimes, when you sit down at the computer and get your brain fixed on one single topic and want to write something about it, but can't? But you just can't because something feels wrong about the setting? Something's just not right and you can't type anything on that topic because your brain keeps running off to far-off places like Saudi Arabia? Okay, maybe not Saudi Arabia, but somewhere else? Anywhere but the topic? Yeah, anyway, before I get too long-winded or too far-fetched, that was what I felt like. I've kind of learnt now never to force the issue if you can't think of anything. Yeah. If you do, nothing's going to come out except the odd burst of inspiration and short disjointed paragraphs that have almost nothing to do with the issue.

I was going to hit the sack early tonight, turn in early and wake up early tomorrow. I was going to finish studying tonight, but that thought was cut off somewhere at ten o'clock tonight. There are better things in life to do than that. Things to do like watching moonbeams shine down on your duvet in the cover of total darkness, like naughty children who need the reassurance of their grandfather. Things to do like watching the streetlights slowly blink out and fade away, sighing, to herald the dawn of a new day. Some things are just worth staying up all night for. Things that have been here before Math or Science, History or Core Subjects, Junior Colleges or the Internet ever existed.

At night, there's this ambient energy flowing over the cities, haven't you noticed? I guess not. At this hour, if you aren't online, then you're probably watching television or snuggling into the soft confines of a blanket in your air-conditioned rooms and comfortable beds. Maybe in this age and century, I should be considered completely insane, maybe I should be sent to Woodbridge, I don't care.

There are some things in the world that are worth climbing mountains for, getting dirty, wet, for, catching colds for, not showering for three days on end for. Just some things in life that are already there, waiting for us to discover them. They would be better than F4, 5566, Energy, Westlife, Blue, or any other music, drama act or painting. It's already there, if you would just care to turn the television off, unplug the phone, turn out the lights, and look. Stick your head out of the windown for five minutes, hell, five seconds would do, and just look. Take it all in, there's more to life than tests of the latest music. I know this contradicts some entries I've written, but this entry is special, it's different. I'm writing it by hand, on a sheet of paper, using a pen. My thoghts and emotions flying to me, hitting my five senses as my pen slides across the paper.

It's so much more different, this way of writing. I've been so long without it I've forgotten what it's felt like. I'm not talking about your test or essays, no, I'm talking about letting your emotions run with your writing and removing all the constraints that you ever set upon yourself when writing. You've no idea how great it feels, words cannot describe it. A computer cannot do this. No way, not in a billion years. When one types, one loses the feeling. Somehow, it just feels, well, odd, different. There is a need within me to just keep writing, letting my pen run across the page, carefree, wild, almost. Just for a second, a minute, a moment longer. I've filled up a page and a half now, and I know what I've written, unlike when I'm typing, sometimes I just lose track of the words.

No matter how fast the typing, how good the computer, it'll never replace the good old magic of writing. The feeling of it is different, that fleeting urge to pick up pen and paper and write. Never.

When I write, it becomes so quiet, I'm aware of the sounds across the road, and here, I'm not talking about doing work in an examination hall or a classroom, but writing of your own free will. When I write, everything becomes much sharper, clearer somehow. I'm aware of the smallest things, the clock ticking, the neighbour on the phone across the road, the squeaking of the bat, the car running across the road. Everything!

It's like an animal prowling in the forest. Everything is very quiet, he is aware of every sound, anything and everything, down to the trees, is making. A computer doesn't do that for me. It just sits there. It's cold, impersonal, unmovable. Sure, it can transport you to fun game sites like neopets, but it doesn't feel. Paper can transport you to whole new worlds! To me, feeling is very important. The computer types your words out in uniform letters. Yes, it's neat but it doesn't look personal, no matter how many colours you add onto it, how you change the shape, add music, personalize it, it can never replace paper and pen. Paper shapes itself to your touch, when your pen, writing with your pressure and your intensity, held by your fingers, touches it. I can't explain it, but paper is just better for me than any other electrical equipment, no matter how good. I'm nearing the end of the page now, the last line.

Tomorrow, I was going to type that I felt trapped by my own words, but now, this entry will sit proudly in its place. This two and a bit page long handwritten entry. My cursive's practically a scribble now, but the entry that's going online won't let you see that, oh no, every word will be uniform and neat, but, you'll know, won't you?

This was worth staying up for, I wish you could have seen me writing it. I'd like you to see the original copy of it one day, then you'd understand the passion flowing through me when pen touches paper, then you'd really know.

And now, goodnight.

The moon is spectacular tonight, the road is silent but for the whispers of the wind. Turn out that light, withdraw from the comforts of your room, unplug the computer, and join me, for a walk across dawn's beginning.

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