Anyways, bookouts now are pretty much the same as ever, sans the sense of anticipation of what could be which I used to feel each time I stepped onto the MRT. Utterly unrealistic, I know, but that's just the way my mind functions. I'll move on, in good time, but move on to what seems to be the more important question. As for now, I simply need to focus and get this annoyance out of the way.

Had an outing with Amos and Merv again yesterday. There's a pretty good pizza place, Manhattan Pizza or something over at Orchard Central (was it?). We shared a pizza, pretty worth it imo, then caught Celeste And Jesse Forever at Orchard Cineleisure. Nice little movie about best friends who are separated (as in that thing preceding a divorce) and yet continue to hang out together, and how they move on in life. I'd probably watch it again haha, can totally see why Mos is a sucker for these types of shows. After that was a walk along Orchard. It's so freaking bright! Haha and I think I can get a little high when given the chance to express myself.

Paying more for handmade goods = A form of sadism indeed!

Just think about it, assuming 2 somethings - I don't really care what - appear pretty much identical, and of similar quality, the only difference being one was machine-made while the other was painstakingly made, maybe by some elderly man in the mountain, the last scion of a dying craft (I love my melodrama); branding aside, which would you buy? Which would you be willing to pay more for? Forgive me for hazarding a guess but I'm pretty sure most would say the latter. Or even better, give someone 2 identical somethings but tell them that one's machine made while the other is handmade, they'd probably choose the second once again. Why? Is is simply because we automatically assume that something is of better quality simply because more human attention has been paid to it? Does it give us a nice fuzzy feeling inside when we think about the chair we sit in, or the clothes we wear, or the rugs we tread upon being painstakingly and lovingly carved out/stitched/whatever over hours and hours? Or maybe it's some kind of perverse sadism; we simply love the idea that hours of blood, sweat and tears have been invested as some complete stranger toiled over the thing that we're so casually sitting in/wearing/stepping on.

Or maybe it just makes you feel special. In a world where it's all too easy to feel yourself drowning in anonymity, where anything you feel adept in, undoubtedly proud of, someone else can definitely do better, maybe wearing something that someone out there dedicated themselves exclusively to makes you feel all that more unique. Who am I to judge.

I realize that I'm selfish, I crave exclusivity. I don't mind sharing what I have with others, but I want it to be clear that it belongs to me. I guess I feel the same about relationships as well, which perhaps is why I'm so plagued by that emptiness. It's immature, I know, but it's something I can't help as well.