A week into Hilary and things are OK I suppose. There were fireworks at Magdalen College School just now, and they were very pretty. I always have a spot for fireworks; remembered catching the National Day ones over summer, fighting w the sticky crowds at Esplanade, and always being dumbstruck and fascinated like a young child. There's something magical about fireworks, the way they break through darkness with short, evanescent sparks of hope. It's probably the ephemeral beauty that draws me the most, can never really explain it, but I dropped my shopping bags, stood in the cold and watched as, like fireflies, they flitted above for the merest moments before being sucked into the dark void, barely leaving a trace behind. And what is left is a tinge of sadness mixed with what was joy, luminous but shortlived.

Week's been going surprising easy, which makes me rather frightened, because I really should be doing more work than this. Filling in gaps without any clear plan, preparing for a tute next week, attending revision classes, and going to lectures like a keen bean. Off to London tomorrow to celebrate an institution which will soon cease to exist, but it's more the company that I'll be looking forward to, and cheesy performances of course! But it has been a good week. Had a good chat w Peishan last night over Skype, thanks as always. Being free of a pressing essay schedule has also given me plenty of time to ruminate, ponder and sometimes pine. Bought Murakami's Norwegian Wood and it's been my bedtime reading since -- it's been a while since I read anything non-academic but this is sustained by all recent standards, it's so compelling that I cannot put it down. Remembered J telling me how he felt melancholic for a while after he finished it, and I now comprehend what he meant. It's a little piece of magic that he weaves in his novels, all the wistfulness and the undercurrents of affections just seem to seep though my core, as if I could vicariously live and feel the ache.