Deep down inside, I've always had this unshakeable faith. In myself. That it would pan out. That things would be alright.

Now I'm not so sure.

I'm living in some bubble. In fact, I've lived in a series of bubbles, some concentric. One by one, they've burst. Now I'm on my last bubble, and it's going to pop very soon.

This whole straight and narrow thing, there's no point to it really. I've tried hard to do the right thing, as often as possible. Please everyone, be here, be there. Now the point is, you're so busy making everyone happy, you forget about what's happening to you. When it happens, all the people you tried to make happy are so busy being happy, they can't be bothered. Parents, friends, it doesn't really matter. What matters is self, as in selfish. I wish I were.

There was supposed to be a point that I was arriving at. But I can't seem to put my finger on it. Oh well, much like everything else, I've lost track.

Three things strike me. One written by a sometime team-mate and somewhat friend. One written by an American columnist. And one written for Kevin Arnold.

Prashant Iyengar: "Rostom Marker's entire family was killed in that accident. And there's nobody to mourn his death.. nobody to feel his absence. Makes me wonder...if memory is the pillar of existence.. Rostom never existed."

Mary Schmich: "Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's."

Kevin Arnold: "Memory is a way of holding onto... the things you are..."