Something bugs me. Recently my girlfriend has got strange calls again and again. We have no idea what they want, why they called. We certainly can do nothing.

I hate this kind of people. In slashdot, most bashing and stupid comments by anonymous are ignored by most. We only respect comments from people who respects him/herself and us enough to show his/her own identity. Why should we be respecting comments from people who don't even have self-respectation?

When I post comments on any webboard, I always do with my full identity; my login which could trace to my real name and even citizen ID number (on some website). My ID is either ithilien_rp (or ithilienrp) or just my real name, rawitatpulam. I sometime post anonymously, too. But that's for comment that doesn't intend to be anything. Mostly a joke that doesn't have relation to/with anything/anyone in particular, and completely ignorable. Also I will do that only when I'm not already logged into the system and too lazy to do so. I never deliberately log out of the system to post anonymous.

Everyone has his/her own identity. You were born as you. I was born as me. Give your respectation to the world, and only then the world can give it back to you.


Today, at present time, now, whatever you call it ... I am working at my desk at the Dept. of Computing, Silpakorn University ... writing a chapter for my new book ....

For no good reason, or even for no reason at all, things in the past 7 years in Japan is running through my memory .. passing my internal eyes.

No. I do not want to think of them in particular. I do not wish to recall them now. I do not know why my mind is doing so.

In the middle of spring, not yet a summer, I went for Japan. Before I could feel the flow of time, summer had passed and then autumn, which soon followed by winter. It had been the regular seasonal pattern for me. It had been seven long years which now I feel was so short. All memories are now passing before my eyes as if it was only yesterday when all of them happened.

Memories of my first days in Japan, of my first group of friends, of when I moved from Tokyo to Tsukuba, of good old friends, good old places, ...

Memories of good old memories. Days passed, time passed. Past had passed.

The memories of the good pasts, however, had not. They are all alive inside me still, waiting for sometime to be recalled .. like today.