There is a microcrack on my right foot. I am sure it is still there.
The microcrack was induced during one of my after-work hiking trip in Bkt. Jambul back in 2006. During that time, I just slipped clumsily without falling down. In normal circumstances, it shouldn't hurt. But that day I could see dark clouds gathered over my head. I was admitted to the hospital during cny, discharged on the next day with a bandaged right foot and a pair of clutches which I never used (I am better in one-leg-hopping). After 5 weeks, the bandage was taken off but when my right foot was first touching the ground after 5 weeks, it hurt. It's just a microcrack, yet it hurt so much. First time in my life (not count my baby time), I walked so slowly, plotted every single step so carefully afraid of triggering the pain. After another few weeks, the pain went off gradually, I could walk fast fast again, then started to jog again, then hiked again.
I assume the microcrack already 100% mended. However, now and then, there were a few times, when I carelessly slipped or didn't walk properly, the right foot get painful again. I know it was the cries of that microcrack buried deep down inside the bone of my right foot. It is still there. It is still hurt.
Well, this blog is to commemorate the end of the service of my 2 pairs of shoes during this autuum; First, the trainer, a gift from Wan Ching, which serves me for 1 year and 10 months in the UK and other part of the world. The second pair is my slipper from my mum, which qualifies for at least a 5 year service award. It made me well-known as "the girl in slipper" in my lab. My silkroad friends knew him very well too. Its last service day is at Narita Airport, Japan during this Sept.
Autuum view of St. John playing field.
This photo was taken 1 or 2 weeks ago. Now, this tree has turned to brownish yellow.
This entire stretch of trees have become botak already. This is 2 weeks old photo.
Another exponential decay process. It has no more leaves now.
Churchill's wall in October. Should be botak now.
