A thousand apologies, my dear friends. Let me explain just what the hell is going on here. The internet connection is like having her menses for the past three to four weeks and I could not post anything on my blog. I mean, I can still access my blog and surf the net and stuff, but I just cannot seem to download or upload anything from the net. I tried posting an entry and all that appears is the title, and till now, I am still trying to figure out just what the f*ck is going on but like a woman having a period, there is no cure except for letting her have her way and bleed it out.

So, I am now at the library, cute librarian arranging a pile of books in front of me and I am of course visually raping her while concentrating on my typing simultaneously. I have only slightly less than two hours before the library closes (at nine) so here goes. Anyway, I watching a couple of beautiful romance films earlier on in the day (which kind of explains why I have less than two hours left with ) and I am currently filled with a million thoughts about The Time Traveller’s Wife and 500 Days of Summer. But more on that later, first let us rewind a few week back to July 15th, to the place where thousands innocent souls (and the nineteen Jihadist motherf*ckers) perished and where my first drop of tears were shed in America.

I still remember September 11th 2001 very vividly in my mind. Okay, it was the morning of September 12th in Singapore and I was walking to Lot 1’s McDonald’s at eight in the morning, the place where I have spent the last few weeks preparing for my O Levels examinations with Ayu . I was walking past the newsstand and this picture on the front page of The Straits Times caught my eye- it was the picture of the first plane flying into the World Trade Centre. I immediately bought a copy and proceeded to spend the next three hours reading every single report and witnesses’ account of the terrifying event. I do not recall even opening my Chemistry textbook that day.

Fast forward to July 15th 2009. So, here I am, at the site where it all happened. It has been almost eight years now, but if you believe time heals all wounds, then you are most probably one who also believes Santa Claus exist and Liverpool is going to win the EPL this season. I visited the WTC tribute centre (a temporary facility until construction of the new WTC is complete) and I tell you, the feeling cannot be more different than I first imagined.

Back in Singapore, I remembered all I had was pity. I pitied those Americans who died for no apparent reason, who died without saying goodbye, and those firefighters who died while trying to fulfil their duties. But here in New York, at the corner of Liberty and Church Street, right next to Ground Zero, I actually felt a tremendous amount of sadness and heart grieved for them. Suddenly, all my troubles seemed so minute compared to those who lost their loved ones because some crazy son of a b*tch woke up one day and decided to hatch this plan with twenty equally crazy sons of b*tches to crash some planes into buildings to prove a point. Yeah, I was going through a pretty rough patch myself in early July- work, colleagues, roommates and everything, but nothing too serious, you know, not so serious as to make me want to crash a plane into the Woodmere Club and burn all those son of b*tches colleagues of mine alive.

So, I was in the tribute centre and they were showing all these videos and images and playing sound clips of hysterical survivors screaming and crying. I saw an exhibit of this partially burnt fire-fighter uniform dug up from Ground Zero and so much was going through my mind. Here I am, behaving like a little kid, b*tching about carrying some trays and sh*t when the poor guy who was wearing this uniform free-fall from like thirty storeys while he was trying to save lives. There were many visitors at the centre that day, but I took my time and waited to see every single exhibit.

And then I saw something that moved me to tears- I saw this old grandmother in a wheelchair touching this missing person photo on one of the walls and then drying her eyes with her handkerchief. I shed a tear, maybe two, but I really felt so sad, so f*cking sad. My heart went out to her, but you know what? There were like a few hundred photos on the wall, God knows how many was a grandchild, how many a father, how many a husband, how many a daughter.

All right, I got to leave soon, the cute librarian just came over and told me the library is closing in fifteen minutes. Maybe her wink suggests she is keen to have some supper after she knocks off, but after typing my heart out in the previous few paragraphs, the last thing I need is a blowjob from some blonde chick I barely know. So, to those of you out there who think your girlfriend missing her period represents a massive problem, think again.

You know heaven holds the faithful departed.