(please God grant me serenity and feeling of security...
a never to be found again scenery, London bridge station)

God, i hate going through my past.... this plain and silly person.
but i went through my old feelings this evening and can't help but think what a fool i've been... and it looks as if i had gone through no improvement at all...
isn't it ironic.

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Epilogue, april 23th 2005

Today, I have nothing apart from this passage to share with you. It's from one of the books, Kahlil Gibran's Broken Wings, that I discovered during the SARS period. I remember one day some years ago, it was typhoon and I was walking on my own in Tsim Sha Tsui in the furious wind, to QE hospital to visit his father. It felt like doomsday, the wind was furious and it was raining. Policemen running in the streets wearing their never-before-seen black rain-jacket seeming to do something important. Concrete slabs fell down from the old buildings right in front of my eyes, I thought I'd be hit by one of them in any moment.... And now, I'm sitting on my desk in my room. Looking out there are some big birds sliding, and the air was full of noises of the traffic. But there is something else, something else that I can't write on paper, can't describe but it just seems similar to that day... that typhoon day....

My sorrow for Marshall has been for long. Yesterday, I cried and cried and cried, only remembering this passage in my head. This I'll share with you, while I recede into silence, for I know today will be the end of my sorrow. Last night, the fire at last broke out and burned away my desire. As I finally understood what love means.

Thank you to everybody who have supported my dark days, I'll come out like a butterfly and flap my wings. You know what, I still have a lot of interesting things to share with you, you know what I am like, hubbly bubbly talking away everything and anythings....

With love,Betty

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1st Chapter of Kahlil Gibran's "The Broken Wings"

"Today, after many years have passed, I have nothing left out of that beautiful dream except painful memories flapping like invisible wings around me, filling the depths of my heart with sorrow, and bringing tears to my eyes; and my beloved, beautiful Selma, is dead and nothing is left to commemorate her except my broken heart and tomb surrounded by cypress trees. That tomb and this heart are all that is left to bear witness of Selma.

The silence that guards the tomb does not reveal God's secret in the obscurity of the coffin, and the rustling of the branches whose roots suck the body's elements do not tell the mysteries of the grave, by the agonized sighs of my heart announce to the living the drama which love, beauty, and death have performed.Oh, friends of my youth who are scattered in the city of Beirut, when you pass by the cemetery near the pine forest, enter it silently and walk slowly so the tramping of your feet will not disturb the slumber of the dead, and stop humbly by Selma's tomb and greet the earth that encloses her corpse and mention my name with deep sigh and say to yourself, "here, all the hopes of Gibran, who is living as prisoner of love beyond the seas, were buried. On this spot he lost his happiness, drained his tears, and forgot his smile."

By that tomb grows Gibrans' sorrow together with the cypress trees, and above the tomb his spirit flickers every night commemorating Selma, joining the branches of the trees in sorrowful wailing, mourning and lamenting the going of Selma, who, yesterday was a beautiful tune on the lips of life and today is a silent secret in the bosom of the earth.

Oh, comrades of my youth! I appeal to you in the names of those virgins whom your hearts have loved, to lay a wreath of flowers on the forsaken tomb of my beloved, for the flowers you lay on Selma's tomb are like falling drops of dew for the eyes of dawn on the leaves of withering rose."

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