Man! the anime wa addicting, after a wekk of no school, now I have to deal with the dread of going back. It's literally Monday. Oh, and I am sick, I think I'm going to catch a fever and my stomach aches. I think I want to throw up. There are certain things I need to watch. H.O.T.D, Durarara, Naruto, Zombie-loan.

I slept and studied with Leo, Vince, and Jean.

My diary is a mess.

What we would like to have.

Met up with #Mics at our usual spot. We talked for three hours about nothing and everything. He's one of the few people who can make me laugh until my stomach hurts without even trying.

We got into this whole tangent about how memory works — how two people can remember the same event completely differently. He swears the karaoke night was in 2024, I swear it was 2023. Neither of us bothered to check. It doesn't matter. What matters is we both remember it happening, and we both remember it being good.

"Maybe the point of memories isn't accuracy. Maybe it's just proof that something mattered enough to keep."

That one hit different. I wrote it down on a napkin and shoved it in my pocket. It's probably in the wash now.

I tore a page out of my physical diary today. Not because I wanted to destroy it — because I wanted to keep it somewhere safer than a notebook that's falling apart.

I don't know where I'm going to put it yet. Maybe I'll tape it into a better notebook. Maybe I'll scan it. Maybe I'll just keep it folded in my wallet like a secret.

Some things feel too important to leave in a book that could get lost or damaged. And some things feel too fragile to digitize. There's a tension there that I don't know how to resolve.

Later: I ended up putting it inside the cover of a book I never read. It felt right. Hidden but not forgotten. Close to something that matters even if the book itself doesn't.

Logged into #Habbo again tonight. Wandered around the #HIA base for a bit — still feels like walking into an office, but a comfortable one. The kind where you know where everything is and everyone knows your name.

I thought about #stronghandshake while I was there. Not in a sad way. More like... acknowledging the ghost. The Lucky Step room still exists. People still play in it. His furni arrangements are still intact. Nobody removed anything. That struck me as incredibly kind — the kind of kindness that doesn't announce itself.

#spiritxluv wasn't online tonight. I didn't expect her to be. But I checked anyway, which is its own kind of ritual at this point.

Ran into #Pipyir in one of the public rooms. We talked about the video project for a bit. They're planning something about the old mafia culture — the tagging system, the base defenses, the whole ecosystem that existed before agencies standardized everything. I might help with research if they want it. I've got enough memories to fill a wiki.

It's strange how a game I started playing at nine years old keeps giving me reasons to come back. Not the game itself — the people. Always the people.