Today I eavesdropped on a conversation over lunch. Eavesdropped because I did not contribute. It got me thinking.
A fragile bunch we are, tethering on the edges of multiple personalities, troubling ourselves and the people around us with the idiosyncrasies of our attention-seeking persona.
I remember the Animal Planet documentaries from television and how they depict animal newborns as feeble and helpless, but within hours of having their placentas licked off their still wet furs or scales, they're running around escaping from seasoned predators or snapping frogs off leaves for food.
Teenagers in Singapore are still feeding off their parents at the age of 18. Just because we can operate a microwave doesn't mean we're apex hunters at the top of the food chain.
Back to the main stream thought - the frailty of creation. In such a complex spider mind-map of blueprints, it is hard to ignore those who came off short of a few nails, or missed the software upgrade on the way out of the womb.
To the fortunate few, they appear to be stories and myths of a less-fortunate reality, a tale told through coffee and used to widen the audiences' scopes of the cruel world in which we live. In the end it's like watching an end-of-the-world film and then robbing old women after that.
To those near the epicenter of the tragic tales, the frailty of creation means more than a short story or a simple reminder. These creatures lose the fragmentation so enjoyed by memory and personify into a child or person once possessing the same hope-granting quality of a toto-ticket during Chinese New Year.
Human nature bid us help, but in doing so are we throwing them a buoy made of lead? And have we also confirmed the fact that they're swimming in a sea of wet cement?
Besides, all ya gotta do is put a crocodile into a room of daisies to make it all a cute picture.
Echo
Light fills the room as the heavy doors creak open. A single long shadow stretches down the aisle as Vincent Grey enters the hall.
He is a small man, but the solemn air shrinks him down to a pea as he follows his shadow down the rows of chairs and into the confession booth at the end.
The door slides open easily, and Vincent takes it as a sign of acceptance. The silent hall amplifies the guilt within him as he relates his confession in his head once more. He looks down on the chains at his feet, shambling his knobby ankles - these are but part of his consequence.
Sound settles and fades into a calm tranquil drone of still air. He opens his mouth to speak, asking for validation:
"Father, do you hear me?"
A firm voice answers, easing the shackles at his feet:
"I am here, my son. And so is He."
Vincent stumbles. All this time he’s been in prison he’s never felt so helpless, stepping into a cubicle and into the mercy of a faceless man sitting next to him; watching him through the veiled window; listening to his deepest regrets; depending on him to ease the torment he has been through.
Not long now, he tells himself. Not long before he pays for his crime.
“I have a confession to make.”
“I am here, my son. And so is He.”
Images run through his head – the same few that keeps him awake at night.
“Five years ago, I took the life of a little girl. She was witness to my crime and paid for her misfortune with her life. Everything happened to quick, I didn’t know what to do – the police were closing in on me, the bag suddenly felt so heavy, my debtors were waiting for me in the next street...”
The big man cries, burying his face in his hands.
“What made you kill her, my son?”
Vincent’s voice was muffled as he spoke through his tears.
“I don’t know! She was just there, and the next thing I know the gun fired and I was running away again.”
He breaks down, sobbing uncontrollably.
“I’m sorry Father! I will hang but I do not wish to go without knowing that I - ”
“It’s ok my son, we all make mistakes.”
“Please forgive me, Father.”
The sobbing of a pitiful soul echoes down the hall - a soul begging for forgiveness as he prepares himself for his final release on the electric chair. All he needs is forgiveness.
As his head hits the floor, he remembers how it all played out that day – he was running down the alleyway and she was on her way to school, coming out of a corner. He knocked into her and they both fell. In his haste to collect the bag of money he got impatient and shot the girl to stop her from crying. As he ran off again he caught sight of a man running towards the girl, a man he knew was her father.
That man now sits next to him, gun in hand, face hidden behind a veil – watching him, listening to him, waiting for the final moment when he would be released from his torment.
“Forgive me Lord, for I have sinned.”
He is a small man, but the solemn air shrinks him down to a pea as he follows his shadow down the rows of chairs and into the confession booth at the end.
The door slides open easily, and Vincent takes it as a sign of acceptance. The silent hall amplifies the guilt within him as he relates his confession in his head once more. He looks down on the chains at his feet, shambling his knobby ankles - these are but part of his consequence.
Sound settles and fades into a calm tranquil drone of still air. He opens his mouth to speak, asking for validation:
"Father, do you hear me?"
A firm voice answers, easing the shackles at his feet:
"I am here, my son. And so is He."
Vincent stumbles. All this time he’s been in prison he’s never felt so helpless, stepping into a cubicle and into the mercy of a faceless man sitting next to him; watching him through the veiled window; listening to his deepest regrets; depending on him to ease the torment he has been through.
Not long now, he tells himself. Not long before he pays for his crime.
“I have a confession to make.”
“I am here, my son. And so is He.”
Images run through his head – the same few that keeps him awake at night.
“Five years ago, I took the life of a little girl. She was witness to my crime and paid for her misfortune with her life. Everything happened to quick, I didn’t know what to do – the police were closing in on me, the bag suddenly felt so heavy, my debtors were waiting for me in the next street...”
The big man cries, burying his face in his hands.
“What made you kill her, my son?”
Vincent’s voice was muffled as he spoke through his tears.
“I don’t know! She was just there, and the next thing I know the gun fired and I was running away again.”
He breaks down, sobbing uncontrollably.
“I’m sorry Father! I will hang but I do not wish to go without knowing that I - ”
“It’s ok my son, we all make mistakes.”
“Please forgive me, Father.”
The sobbing of a pitiful soul echoes down the hall - a soul begging for forgiveness as he prepares himself for his final release on the electric chair. All he needs is forgiveness.
As his head hits the floor, he remembers how it all played out that day – he was running down the alleyway and she was on her way to school, coming out of a corner. He knocked into her and they both fell. In his haste to collect the bag of money he got impatient and shot the girl to stop her from crying. As he ran off again he caught sight of a man running towards the girl, a man he knew was her father.
That man now sits next to him, gun in hand, face hidden behind a veil – watching him, listening to him, waiting for the final moment when he would be released from his torment.
“Forgive me Lord, for I have sinned.”
Skimming the surface of wanderlust: memoirs of a bus ride addict
You might say this entry is of a provoked nature - one instigated by the need to express myself after a night’s out with a friend. That, and several more reasons whose motives are praiseworthy and results immensely satisfying.
First off, I am on a road - one that may either seem to be a waste of time or of great reward. We managed to draw the shape of a carrot in a meeting earlier (nothing beats self motivation huh), and the sail’s hoisted with the sound of two milo cups hitting the crudely varnished tabletop at Casuarina in Thompson.
Then it occurred to me that vitality is of much importance. In this tedious journey we are about to undertake we see ourselves pushing forward through the disabling clouds of uncertainty, no option of turning back.
Thank god I, like most overly-hopeful ignoramus, have a far too panoramic view of a perfect picture - one that stares me in the eye very often with a sweet smile and a slight tilt of the head.
Does wonders for the soul, I tell you.
And while we’re on the topic of travel, I will let you know that it has been a fair month since I took a long bus ride home, opting the fragrance of a jam-packed Mass Rapid Transit. Reason being my driving lessons at the SSDC in Yio Chu Kang.
I was told I like praise, but who doesn’t right?
On a seperate note, those who value their lives may want to steer away from the roads near Yio Chu Kang and Ang Mo Kio lest an mal-vigilant trainee comes roaring down the lane (yes, I lack clutch control).
But no worries, the long bus rides will make their comeback soon, as I tire slowly of standing in a train full of after-work odor.
Three things - get cracking; get nice nails; and get myself on a bus.
By default
Last night I had a dream. That dream was so good that when it was time to wake, I refused and went back to sleep instead, just so I could make the dream last a little longer.
So I fell back into slumber, and the nice dream continued. It's not often that you're able to pick a dream up after you've awoken. It has to be a good dream for you to remember that much.
It was a good dream, of something that could not have happened. Or rather I could not have seen it happen yet.
Maybe it's a part if a series of dreams? I do hope so.
It made me smile.
And a few minutes later, someone said hello in real life, and it made me want to dream further.
Silly, but true, this is my Thursday.
So I fell back into slumber, and the nice dream continued. It's not often that you're able to pick a dream up after you've awoken. It has to be a good dream for you to remember that much.
It was a good dream, of something that could not have happened. Or rather I could not have seen it happen yet.
Maybe it's a part if a series of dreams? I do hope so.
It made me smile.
And a few minutes later, someone said hello in real life, and it made me want to dream further.
Silly, but true, this is my Thursday.
Pat Pat
It's great to make a person smile, especially if you really give it your all.
Sleep tight then, and to all a wonderful tomorrow!
Sleep tight then, and to all a wonderful tomorrow!
Simple
It is a day like most days, honest and unfascinating, but only to those who lived it.
But to the few that were here, even the light shifting of gravel beneath our feet brougt a smile to our hearts.
While the sun shone down, we hid. While the cool wind, we shut our eyes. While the People passed by, we we walked on.
Such a fine day, though meaningless to many, was good enough for me.
But to the few that were here, even the light shifting of gravel beneath our feet brougt a smile to our hearts.
While the sun shone down, we hid. While the cool wind, we shut our eyes. While the People passed by, we we walked on.
Such a fine day, though meaningless to many, was good enough for me.
Slumber
How does one know when to wake?
Are we too pampered by our peers to see that we pose as nothing more than mere distractions? Or shall we persevere in the face of pretense, fighting our lost cause, each petty victory a groundless morsel of gratification?
But in our folly we continue our bliss, for blind hearts see not the warmth of true light, yet still embrace its ideal.
If such is sleep, then do not wake me.
Are we too pampered by our peers to see that we pose as nothing more than mere distractions? Or shall we persevere in the face of pretense, fighting our lost cause, each petty victory a groundless morsel of gratification?
But in our folly we continue our bliss, for blind hearts see not the warmth of true light, yet still embrace its ideal.
If such is sleep, then do not wake me.
Shadows and Waves
As I write this I’m being transported out of Ground Zero by a military aircraft. My assignment has not been completed but the authorities say there’s a likely second wave so they pulled me out.
Looking out the small window to my left, I could see what I left behind - the rotting carcass of a peaceful fishing town, now too weak to stand on its own, brought to its trembling knees by a force of nature. All around buildings lay flattened, some with its inhabitants still sleeping within. The local market - once bustling with life, lay adrift atop the resultant lake - becoming a part of the sickeningly beautiful picture I had been sent to capture. In my diary I had a picture of the town before it all happened, and looking at it reminded me of much happier times for its citizens
Birds flew past, streaking the surface of the underwater cemetery and picking up whatever scraps they could find. As they settle on the tops of the fallen houses, they blink slowly, surveying the area for more hints of food.
Otherwise the place was silent, as it was before the floods hit.
The storm had come suddenly. It was the beginning of the monsoon, so heavy rains were expected and no one thought otherwise. The town had been sleeping, it’s streets silent and filled only with the occasional echo of the neighborhood pet calling out. The slight creaking of the wooden houses as the strong monsoon winds blew were the only warning they got. Before long, the waters came, bursting the river banks and collapsing onto the town, erasing it in a blur of waves.
Twenty four hours later, the waters had subsided and they’ve decided to send me in for next month’s cover story. I had three hours to pack and I was to be ferried there via transport chopper. It was a six-hour flight, and I remembered wanting to throw up when I landed.
My name is Victor Green, and I have been sent here to take pictures. In my pictures I am to tell the tale of the survivors. When the call came in I heard my editor tell me: “Vic, here’s a chance for you to make it up to me for that screwed up job you gave me last time.”
I had no interest in profiling the plights of a recently unfortunate, but it paid the bills so I wrestled my better judgment into accepting the bribe.
Unfeeling bastard that he is, my editor sure has a way of making people do things his way. The moment I landed I was greeted by national security, who assigned me a jeep and personal guard. I was told the situation was abyssal, and that I shouldn’t go anywhere without Salib (my bodyguard).
Desperation had forced the hands of the locals. Ghosts haunt the waters, but the living tore the remains of their town up in search for salvation, blanketing their former homes in a shawl of destitute and pity.
So many times I asked the driver to stop because I wanted to snap a few pictures. I would get off the jeep, followed by Salib, and then take my places as Big Brother in the sorry lives of the survivors.
They shouted, they cried; people whom I had no need to know were lining up to tell me their stories. Through their helpless gazes I would tell their tale - a pregnant mother stood next to the well, attempting to either draw water or throw herself down ; a teenager and her sibling, clearing the rubble from their homes while calling out for their mother; a-deranged old woman grabbing stones and throwing them at us, yelling in her native tongue.
For every survivor there were 20 more dead. As we drove past the mass burial site I got off again, this time to take a few pictures of the people who perished. On the faces you see a myriad of expression - some resigned, some afraid, some nothing at all - all of them frozen in their last breath, falling victim now to the intrusion by my camera.
It was on the third day when I finally took notice of Johari. He was a frail old man, face beaten and worn from a life out at sea long before the flash floods destroyed his town and home. Barefoot he stood at a corner of the street, his eyes locked onto an empty pool of water I can only assume was his home.
For three days I saw him doing the same thing, muttering something at the murky depths.
I got off, changing my telephotos to portrait-snappers. I waved for an interpreter and got Johari talking.
“My wife always told me the river will kill us one day,” was his first sentence.
Like the cruel waters four nights go, Johari’s emotions and story crashed out of his hollow being. He was vivid despite being tired, a spark of color emerging from his broken vision of a life once lived.
It turns out the flood didn’t kill all his family members. The river and its waters had started that project a few years ago when he lost his grandson to them. He told me about the time he went looking for the little boy and all he could find was a plastic bucket floating in the water.
Next were his son and daughter-in-law, who were seasoned fishermen. He told me they should be glad they could see their son again. His wife fell to the flood.
So he stood, not asking for their lives back, but questioning the sparing of his. With his silent sob, tears trickled down the sides of his wrinkly face, drawing the clear line between reason and fate.
The interpreter told me Johari was singing a song about his family -
“Am I wrong to miss you, as the seasons pass?
So long ago it seemed, when I saw you last.
Is it wrong to need you, like flowers need the rain?
Where once I saw your brilliant smile, now I just feel pain.
Is it wrong to call your name, out towards the shadows deep
Beneath the waves where we once play, now you forever sleep.
Let me sin by wanting you, and needing you even more,
For here I stand alone and sad, upon the silent shores.”
The Way
There exists a kind difference between cruelty and ruthlessness, as there is a mocking revelation between kindness and pity.
But so often do we generalize things, that we take for granted the subtleties that present themselves - like the harsh words of a parent (I’ll kill you, you fucking ingrate!) against the rigidness of policy (If you want to riot, you will be arrested); or the dollar given to the auntie who sells tissues against the dollar given to the auntie because she sells tissues.
Do we not see the need to divide? Or have we experienced too much to be able to make a difference anymore? What about consequences - are we only driven by the end result, not batting a thought about how it is achieved? Are we reasoning too much, taking into account the fine salts of a main course instead of the quality of the steak?
I’m lost of course, because here I am ranting away in the middle of the night, over a thought I had in the course of the day while walking to the taxi stand.
But things like this happen to me, and thoughts like the above present themselves and leads me to question in hope of an answer.
Is it important to get an answer to every question? Well, I think for a kid like me, it perhaps is the very reason of asking.
I’ll need to be more mature to think that some questions warrant only a silent wave of the hand.
And the question in this case would be, like in most other cases and most vividly pointed out through a conversation with a friend the previous night (woah, he can cross-reference!):
Do we even care?
Philip
Surprising that two of my best buds are of the same name?
Don't be. The world's more freaked out than you think.
Philip just told me he wanted to settle down, and I'm really happy for him. See, I'm not the happiest person in the world, and there are very few things that can really make me smile. So when he told me he wanted to settle down and that the girl shared the same feelings, I was cheek-to-cheek.
Me and him go way back. I remember the days in primary school when we would be playing games during recess. There was the one-leg game, the softball (tennis ball and your forearm), and then there's the balancing beam (you had to balance all the way to the end and then play rock paper scissors with the champion to take his place and beat the rest of the challengers who came).
And in secondary school he'd be the one guy I can always go to relate my troubles. We'd spend hours on the phone, and I remember this particular discussion that ended up with my theory that the pyramids were built by an advanced race of dinosaurs.
He's an easy-going guy - always ready to take time off to head out with a seriously depressed me needing company and someone to smile with. He's been missing lately, what with education in the UK and now work, and I miss him already.
So we get our fix on Facebook and MSN. Right now I'm talking to him about money and people. He's far away in Southampton now, missing home. I told him we'd go KTV when he comes back in december and I can't wait.
Anyway back to the topic of marriage, and the need to be. I'm sitting on the other side of the fence for this one coz I think that as long as two people are in love, marriage is but a status less-deserving.
Do we question if winter should be cold? Or if scholars are smart? What about dogs being loyal or cats being lazy?
Some things in life just are, and we should be glad we get the chance to be.
For those fortunate enough to experience love, I guess marriage is a practical solution to the need to progress, get a house and make children. To me, for now, it's all a show for the parents.
Call me a romantic, but love is all I think I need.
That, and a little luck.
Don't be. The world's more freaked out than you think.
Philip just told me he wanted to settle down, and I'm really happy for him. See, I'm not the happiest person in the world, and there are very few things that can really make me smile. So when he told me he wanted to settle down and that the girl shared the same feelings, I was cheek-to-cheek.
Me and him go way back. I remember the days in primary school when we would be playing games during recess. There was the one-leg game, the softball (tennis ball and your forearm), and then there's the balancing beam (you had to balance all the way to the end and then play rock paper scissors with the champion to take his place and beat the rest of the challengers who came).
And in secondary school he'd be the one guy I can always go to relate my troubles. We'd spend hours on the phone, and I remember this particular discussion that ended up with my theory that the pyramids were built by an advanced race of dinosaurs.
He's an easy-going guy - always ready to take time off to head out with a seriously depressed me needing company and someone to smile with. He's been missing lately, what with education in the UK and now work, and I miss him already.
So we get our fix on Facebook and MSN. Right now I'm talking to him about money and people. He's far away in Southampton now, missing home. I told him we'd go KTV when he comes back in december and I can't wait.
Anyway back to the topic of marriage, and the need to be. I'm sitting on the other side of the fence for this one coz I think that as long as two people are in love, marriage is but a status less-deserving.
Do we question if winter should be cold? Or if scholars are smart? What about dogs being loyal or cats being lazy?
Some things in life just are, and we should be glad we get the chance to be.
For those fortunate enough to experience love, I guess marriage is a practical solution to the need to progress, get a house and make children. To me, for now, it's all a show for the parents.
Call me a romantic, but love is all I think I need.
That, and a little luck.
A Holiday.
Last week was spectacular - the kind where you have nights that you don’t want to end, and when they inevitably do you go home thinking about them and wishing for the next one to start; loads of smiles, meaningful conversations, and happiness.
Which made this one pretty much a bore. No offense to those who actually spent it with me, but there’s not as much leaving me wanting for more than the last one. There was a lull, and come Monday evening, I felt an urge to fill the void.
So I went for a bus ride. A long one.
I love bus rides. They’re just one of my versions of “sit down and watch the world go by” - romanticizing the moment and not heeding the evil shadow of reality. It is a ruthlessly innocent permutation of kiddiness that I have come to be known for at the O.
But this one was different. I had a purpose in mind - a reflection was in order, an excavation into my person given the situation of things - and the bus ride was going to help me chase that eventual conclusion.
A friend told me today that you can’t be yourself when you’re in the office, and I said I found it sad that we are more often someone else than ourselves.
On the bus I am me, a sad little person cramped into the back seat, looking carefully at each and every person that boards and alights. In the back of my mind was the reason I had come, but the allure of people-watching was too great to resist.
There were a lot of factory and construction workers - lugging their hauls of big bags from Little India back to their quarters. A couple boarded the bus, a sweet-looking girl too young for her choice of clothing accompanied by a starry-eyed boy too smart for his choice of clothing. Behind them were a group of Chinese immigrants, voices drowning the music from my Motorola wireless headsets (shameless plugging to be apologized for), who seemed lost because they kept asking each other if their stop was the next one.
The Indian man seated next to me kept looking out the window to my left, stretching his skinny neck out in an attempt to see through the darkness and reflections. His comrades noticed him and started talking to him, possibly providing guidance on where his stop was. They contributed to the lively exchanges by the Chinese and the man stopped craning his neck.
At this point I realized that all was simple in the search for an answer to my query. There was a beauty to the happenings on the bus that makes you feel like you’re a part of a big performance that plays itself out no matter what you try to do. It belittles you, removing your individuality and slapping you with the hot poker of being “just one of the people”, but you don’t mind because you’re enjoying the ride.
I had my answer, and then it was time to pick on the little things - the air conditioning was too cold, and someone brought the scent of durian onto the bus.
3 hours on the road, and I return home happy.
Philip
He had a family problem so he went off first.
I was stuck at the bus stop for awhile, and I got to thinking about the conversation we had earlier at the restaurant.
There are people who you smile with - those that really make you happy. While you’re with those people you don’t want the night to end, and when it eventually does you go home wishing for the next outing.
And then there are people like Philip - the kind that tells you the plain honest truth with all the intention of getting you to wake the hell up. Sure, he gets on my nerves sometimes, but he knows what kind of a person I’m like, and the kinds of stupid shit I always manage to get into. I can’t wait to go home, but I always take a lesson with me.
So he looks at me and tells me it’s fate. That’s like telling the people of Africa they won’t starve.
This guy is amazing. Whenever I’m with him I attempt to communicate to God. I’m not making fun of anything here, but I’m not a believer. Sure I think he’s there, but I never thought he was good for anything. He’s like a security blanket, and that was enough for me.
But this skinny prick sitting in front of me always makes me look up at the sky and talk. And when I do it’s always the same thing -
“You hate me don’t you?”
Weirdos. That’s what I call him and me. From dancing in the streets to blotching up songs in the Singapore Idol auditions, we’ve done it all. There’s a special place in this world for us, and it’s far far away from all the other normal people.
So stories were exchanged and advice traded. I called him an fool and he says I’m an idiot. Trouble finds us somehow wherever we go, and we make a picnic out of it.
His latest episode had something to do with a mobile phone and homemade pornography.
Don’t ask.
Mine had something to do with stupidity and a dream so far to reach the Everest Team won’t even attempt to climb it.
Then he pulls the fast one on me. I was munching down on my moneybag (some fried wanton thing with meat stuffed inside) and he said the F word.
As usual I started to lift my head up, ready to sprout my line. But something stopped me this time.
Fate.
Funny thing, this.
Let’s see how this goes, shall we?
Today
We rant.
Sometimes stories can only tell you as much as the author intends to. And nothing beats a well-placed ramble.
So here I go.
Today I had coffee. Something I thought I got rid of a long time back. I love the taste - bitter and sweet all at the same time. And the heat from the hot water stings you, reminding you not to take all of it at the same time.
But I am greedy, and so I ask for lower temperatures so that I become the master of my indulgence.
In the background, I’ve got Lucky by Mraz and Calliat. It’s a good song and I recommend anyone who reads this to turn it on now before you go on.
So the coffee - masterful concoction of the cliche of bitter and sweet - annotates us to the little moments in life where we enjoy both joy and sorrow, makes us think back on moments when our heart ached while our lips curled up in smiles. Add in the sting from the high temperature and you’re one good Forest Gump analogy away from a Booker Prize.
Do you hear me talking to you?
Across the water, across the deep blue ocean,
Under the open sky, oh my,
Baby I’m trying.
That’s the problem though - people don’t listen. And I’m not the one complaining either. If I had a dollar every time I got a missed call on my mobile…
So you shout all you want, as long as you’re happy.
Here’s a list of 5 things I like -
1. Cats
2. Smiles
3. Cooking
4. Having fun
5. Shirts and Shoes.
Ok so it’s six things, sue me.
People change things all the time, and we being The Rest of the World, can only sit and watch. There’s a certain beauty about last-minuteness that we fail to appreciate sometimes.
It’s spontaneous, it’s fun, it’s great… So it’s worth taking that unknown turn down an unknown road - if only just for that instant. That way you won’t spend the next few days wondering if.
Here’s a list of 5 things I would like to change -
1. People should smile more
2. Cats should all die naturally
3. The weather in Singapore should be like NOT HOT
4. I should be less temperamental
5. People should like change
So next time you see a dark corner, just jump into it ok? Who knows it might actually be fun.
They don’t know how long it takes
Waiting for a love like this.
Every time we say goodbye
I wish we had one more kiss.
I’ll wait for you I promise you
I will.
If I had 20 cents every time I hear someone promise something to someone else, I’d have more money than if I had a dollar for every time I miss a call on my mobile.
I, for one, would have contributed a significant amount to that trust fund. TRUST fund! The irony.
So last but not least, here’s a list of 5 things I think are most promised to people all over the world-
1. Stories have to have happy endings
2. It’s going to be better
3. Yes sir, your money will return to you at least double in 2 years
4. Bao jiat (sure sweet!)
5. I love you
But that’s not to say it’s all balderdash. I also believe that we all get what we deserve, someday. And till that day comes, keep at it ok?
Because nothing beats hard work. Now go sweat.
Uncategorized
There are many forms of happiness I've been told, and not all of them are good for you.
It's just one of those things that you say you understand, but lose meaning as you continue to think about it.
My advise for now would be to not refuse happiness, for it's often so hard to find.
But then again, what do I know?
It's just one of those things that you say you understand, but lose meaning as you continue to think about it.
My advise for now would be to not refuse happiness, for it's often so hard to find.
But then again, what do I know?
Not just a pretty face
“Why are the simple things always beautiful?” he used to shout to the audience.
On stage, he turns into this berated man, so angry and displeased with the world. He would stare at the audience in their plain black dresses and tuxedos, pointing his short fat fingers at them, asking them why.
And when the lights go out and curtains come down, he’d switch off. By switching off I mean slouched over the bar counter pissing himself after consuming half the nation’s worth of brandy. His eyes dazed, looking out into the cold. We didn’t know anything because he never talked about it. Thousands of people come to hear him talk and spit in their faces, but when the attention’s gone he’d shut up. Go figure.
This night is like every night, when the bearded man slouched over his beer and had a slight moment to himself before the next show. Sometimes we would think that he’s going over his routine – trying to get everything in order so the audience gets what they paid for – but then we figured he never gave a flying fuck about the silly people below the stage.
And it’s not like we didn’t try asking either. I knew Samuel from the past, and he was a jolly fellow who loved sharing the occasional story and good laughs. Something happened in-between being fat and jolly to turning into the fat version of Oscar the Grouch.
There were a couple of others besides me – regulars in the bar who just kinda stuck on for the end of the show. And by end of the show I mean End of the Show. With all that drinking and bathing in self-loathe, they’ve got a pretty hefty pot going on when the sucker’s gonna kick it.
I got my money on December.
The frost taps at the window, making cracking noises that scared the bar owner. Then he’d tell Gina to go tape up the damn windows so he doesn’t have to dock it out of her pay.
Gina’s a sweet one, always there ready to clean up after the poor sack. I reckon they used to know each other, but neither Samuel nor Gina wanted to talk or say anything about each other. All he does is make people laugh and then get drunk; all she does is laugh at his jokes and then clean up the mess afterwards. It’s a great relationship.
So on this night like every night, old Samuel got ready for the next round of sarcasm by downing his last brandy. All fired up, he’s take a deep breath and make his way to the front. Like always, he starts off with the line he’s known to be famous for – “Why are the simple things always so beautiful?”
“You sir!” he’d point his fat fingers at a particularly snobbish yuppie.
“What is the opposite of simple?”
“Complicated,” came the answer.
“They teach you to smirk like that in Harvard?” he’d spit at the man. And before he can retort, Samuel would move on to say the same question to five or six other snobs.
Complex. Compound. Contorted. Asymmetrical. Complicated. Convoluted. Brazen. Ravaged – the list goes on… But never was he satisfied.
“It’s all bloody messy isn’t it?” he’d scream at the pristine audience.
“Well I think it’s not the simple things that are beautiful, it’s the other non-simple junk that take the hell out of the meaning of the word.
“Any of you ever think about a mess that’s beautiful?”
A few hands raised.
“Don’t act classy with me you diaper-trained bookworm! You’re sitting infront of a man who’s asking one hell of a philosophical question here!”
A few put their hands down.
“The least you could fucking do is tip me. And laugh, damn you all.”
I never found it funny, but at this point the room would explode. I would look at Gina and she’d be laughing too, but not at Samuel. She’d take a long good look at all the civilized bullshit too proud to call Samuel a lousy no-good drunk and laugh.
Then they’d find each other, and if you look hard enough, you might see a smile come out of the stupid old fart’s face.
On stage, he turns into this berated man, so angry and displeased with the world. He would stare at the audience in their plain black dresses and tuxedos, pointing his short fat fingers at them, asking them why.
And when the lights go out and curtains come down, he’d switch off. By switching off I mean slouched over the bar counter pissing himself after consuming half the nation’s worth of brandy. His eyes dazed, looking out into the cold. We didn’t know anything because he never talked about it. Thousands of people come to hear him talk and spit in their faces, but when the attention’s gone he’d shut up. Go figure.
This night is like every night, when the bearded man slouched over his beer and had a slight moment to himself before the next show. Sometimes we would think that he’s going over his routine – trying to get everything in order so the audience gets what they paid for – but then we figured he never gave a flying fuck about the silly people below the stage.
And it’s not like we didn’t try asking either. I knew Samuel from the past, and he was a jolly fellow who loved sharing the occasional story and good laughs. Something happened in-between being fat and jolly to turning into the fat version of Oscar the Grouch.
There were a couple of others besides me – regulars in the bar who just kinda stuck on for the end of the show. And by end of the show I mean End of the Show. With all that drinking and bathing in self-loathe, they’ve got a pretty hefty pot going on when the sucker’s gonna kick it.
I got my money on December.
The frost taps at the window, making cracking noises that scared the bar owner. Then he’d tell Gina to go tape up the damn windows so he doesn’t have to dock it out of her pay.
Gina’s a sweet one, always there ready to clean up after the poor sack. I reckon they used to know each other, but neither Samuel nor Gina wanted to talk or say anything about each other. All he does is make people laugh and then get drunk; all she does is laugh at his jokes and then clean up the mess afterwards. It’s a great relationship.
So on this night like every night, old Samuel got ready for the next round of sarcasm by downing his last brandy. All fired up, he’s take a deep breath and make his way to the front. Like always, he starts off with the line he’s known to be famous for – “Why are the simple things always so beautiful?”
“You sir!” he’d point his fat fingers at a particularly snobbish yuppie.
“What is the opposite of simple?”
“Complicated,” came the answer.
“They teach you to smirk like that in Harvard?” he’d spit at the man. And before he can retort, Samuel would move on to say the same question to five or six other snobs.
Complex. Compound. Contorted. Asymmetrical. Complicated. Convoluted. Brazen. Ravaged – the list goes on… But never was he satisfied.
“It’s all bloody messy isn’t it?” he’d scream at the pristine audience.
“Well I think it’s not the simple things that are beautiful, it’s the other non-simple junk that take the hell out of the meaning of the word.
“Any of you ever think about a mess that’s beautiful?”
A few hands raised.
“Don’t act classy with me you diaper-trained bookworm! You’re sitting infront of a man who’s asking one hell of a philosophical question here!”
A few put their hands down.
“The least you could fucking do is tip me. And laugh, damn you all.”
I never found it funny, but at this point the room would explode. I would look at Gina and she’d be laughing too, but not at Samuel. She’d take a long good look at all the civilized bullshit too proud to call Samuel a lousy no-good drunk and laugh.
Then they’d find each other, and if you look hard enough, you might see a smile come out of the stupid old fart’s face.
Sight
They say that eyes are the windows to the soul, and as I look at the picture, I have never been more convinced.
I will change those eyes, and restore to them the shine that they deserve.
I will change those eyes, and restore to them the shine that they deserve.
Listless
It's one of those days when you just sit around and not do much.
It's depressing to see a weekend go to waste like this, but we're all still young, so I guess there's more to look forward to.
On a side note, Manhattan Fish Market - don't go there.
Saturday was spent trying to play badminton. As my colleague put it, I had actually been fasting for 2 days thanks to previously-mentioned 'restaurant', so it's kind of a given that I was panting an hour into the game. Still, we got a good 2 hours out of it.
It was Suntec for a shirt (kudos to the free voucher from the same colleague), and then to the office to get some work for the home.
Being sick for the last 2 days pretty much means I've got some overtime waiting for me in the office. Seeing how I pretty much spend the most of the time after work at home anyway, I guess it's still acceptable.
Note to self: get a life.
And then on Sunday, I took a gamble on the tummy and had nasi lemak for breakfast (and you wonder why the exercising won't work). Seems ok, so I stuck on for duck noodles for dinner. That one took its toil and I'm having a little bit of a relapse. Gonna take the pills the doctor gave me and hope it helps.
Other than that exciting episode, I've been pretty much staring at my computer screen doing most of nothing. Static.
Tried sleeping, but here I am in the middle of the night. Got some rest about 7pm so I think it's taking its toil.
Side note: get a life.
Seems typing works. Eyes are getting heavy, and I'm all ready for a post-mc syndrome Monday.
Thinking of some stuff, but hope those go away soon. Thinking of other stuff, but hope those go away too.
Ain't we all part of a sad sad bunch?
Adio.
It's depressing to see a weekend go to waste like this, but we're all still young, so I guess there's more to look forward to.
On a side note, Manhattan Fish Market - don't go there.
Saturday was spent trying to play badminton. As my colleague put it, I had actually been fasting for 2 days thanks to previously-mentioned 'restaurant', so it's kind of a given that I was panting an hour into the game. Still, we got a good 2 hours out of it.
It was Suntec for a shirt (kudos to the free voucher from the same colleague), and then to the office to get some work for the home.
Being sick for the last 2 days pretty much means I've got some overtime waiting for me in the office. Seeing how I pretty much spend the most of the time after work at home anyway, I guess it's still acceptable.
Note to self: get a life.
And then on Sunday, I took a gamble on the tummy and had nasi lemak for breakfast (and you wonder why the exercising won't work). Seems ok, so I stuck on for duck noodles for dinner. That one took its toil and I'm having a little bit of a relapse. Gonna take the pills the doctor gave me and hope it helps.
Other than that exciting episode, I've been pretty much staring at my computer screen doing most of nothing. Static.
Tried sleeping, but here I am in the middle of the night. Got some rest about 7pm so I think it's taking its toil.
Side note: get a life.
Seems typing works. Eyes are getting heavy, and I'm all ready for a post-mc syndrome Monday.
Thinking of some stuff, but hope those go away soon. Thinking of other stuff, but hope those go away too.
Ain't we all part of a sad sad bunch?
Adio.
Just Desserts.
They say karma's a bitch, and I'm facing her first-hand.
Ain't a good feeling, but some things just need facing up to.
Guess it's time to turn some attention on myself for a bit.
Ain't a good feeling, but some things just need facing up to.
Guess it's time to turn some attention on myself for a bit.
Queen
She moves across the water, delicate and slow.
Purposeful she waits, counting the minutes of the world.
A touch from her outstretched finger -
So gentle, so meek - turns all to a silvery gleam.
And upon the frozen surface, she begins her journey.
Many have seen her grace, but none see the imperfections -
Faults on the smoothness of her skin,
The sagging of her shoulder,
And the soft sigh from her lips.
But still she walks, a figure so tall and sturdy,
Across the shimmer plane of her dream,
Looking forward to a time so distant
When all she touches doesn't turn to ice.
Purposeful she waits, counting the minutes of the world.
A touch from her outstretched finger -
So gentle, so meek - turns all to a silvery gleam.
And upon the frozen surface, she begins her journey.
Many have seen her grace, but none see the imperfections -
Faults on the smoothness of her skin,
The sagging of her shoulder,
And the soft sigh from her lips.
But still she walks, a figure so tall and sturdy,
Across the shimmer plane of her dream,
Looking forward to a time so distant
When all she touches doesn't turn to ice.
Lost
Since the start of this morning, words have escaped me.
Maybe it's the sickness affecting me, but I've not been able to paint pictures in my mind, something that I've not found difficulty doing. The dreamer in me gives me direction, throwing me all sorts of ideas - wanderlust of the mind.
Much has happened since I last touched base with myself. I had started this blog for the exact purpose of charting my thoughts and emotions, but so very often I find myself lost, unable to bring to reality the many unphysical permutations of my everyday life.
But here I am, wandering and searching for the perfect place in the world - a picture of bliss and happiness so that I can put them to words for a newly-made friend.
For she is a delicate creature - strong and willful, but I look closely and I see the cracks on the surface. I'm beginning to think that mine is a great life, though lacking many, see the absence of so much of the pain and torment that many of my fellow human beings are exposed to.
That day I saw her cry, and it shattered my heart. Since then I've been trying to give her something worth smiling about, for she has the best smile, and those wonderful eyes, so often lost and vacant with the weight of her troubles.
Perhaps I can help her, perhaps she won't let me. The least I could do is try.
The world escapes me, this strange concoction of good and evil, and I am unable to write. Sorry dear friend, all I can do for now is smile.
Maybe it's the sickness affecting me, but I've not been able to paint pictures in my mind, something that I've not found difficulty doing. The dreamer in me gives me direction, throwing me all sorts of ideas - wanderlust of the mind.
Much has happened since I last touched base with myself. I had started this blog for the exact purpose of charting my thoughts and emotions, but so very often I find myself lost, unable to bring to reality the many unphysical permutations of my everyday life.
But here I am, wandering and searching for the perfect place in the world - a picture of bliss and happiness so that I can put them to words for a newly-made friend.
For she is a delicate creature - strong and willful, but I look closely and I see the cracks on the surface. I'm beginning to think that mine is a great life, though lacking many, see the absence of so much of the pain and torment that many of my fellow human beings are exposed to.
That day I saw her cry, and it shattered my heart. Since then I've been trying to give her something worth smiling about, for she has the best smile, and those wonderful eyes, so often lost and vacant with the weight of her troubles.
Perhaps I can help her, perhaps she won't let me. The least I could do is try.
The world escapes me, this strange concoction of good and evil, and I am unable to write. Sorry dear friend, all I can do for now is smile.
Sleepless
On a night like this - thin air crawling its way into the room, carried around by the hot and humid twilight - I am deprived of the peace of slumber.
If in sleep we creep towards death, it would be our aspirations that save us with the ropes of hopes and dreams yet accomplished.
On this sleepless night I pay homage to the kind souls in my life who have all shown me - one way or another - that tomorrow is worth waking up for.
To the lovers I say 'love on', for life really is too short to care about what others may think. If there is one true thing in this world it would be romance - if not of the lifetime, then of the moment. Pure, simple pleasure.
To the worriers I say 'I know', for it is the presence of company that eases the pain. Whatever weighs your shoulders down, there are more ways to solve them if you would only seek companionship. Fret not about the insensitivity of mankind, but rather ask yourselves if your problem is simple enough to bear on one's own.
To the wise I say 'teach me', for I lack the patience to truly be useful to this world. They say all good things come to those who wait, and I bear testament to its prophecy; I've yet to witness much good in this world, and am all too quick to condemn it.
So in closing, I speak to the ones on my mind now -
To the ones I love, thank you.
To the ones I worry about, I am here.
And to the ones who have taught me, I have learnt.
May we all find sleep.
If in sleep we creep towards death, it would be our aspirations that save us with the ropes of hopes and dreams yet accomplished.
On this sleepless night I pay homage to the kind souls in my life who have all shown me - one way or another - that tomorrow is worth waking up for.
To the lovers I say 'love on', for life really is too short to care about what others may think. If there is one true thing in this world it would be romance - if not of the lifetime, then of the moment. Pure, simple pleasure.
To the worriers I say 'I know', for it is the presence of company that eases the pain. Whatever weighs your shoulders down, there are more ways to solve them if you would only seek companionship. Fret not about the insensitivity of mankind, but rather ask yourselves if your problem is simple enough to bear on one's own.
To the wise I say 'teach me', for I lack the patience to truly be useful to this world. They say all good things come to those who wait, and I bear testament to its prophecy; I've yet to witness much good in this world, and am all too quick to condemn it.
So in closing, I speak to the ones on my mind now -
To the ones I love, thank you.
To the ones I worry about, I am here.
And to the ones who have taught me, I have learnt.
May we all find sleep.
To know true sweetness
"I think of you every day. You are in my thoughts when I'm walking home, when I go to sleep and even when I'm brushing my teeth."
I'm glad to be able to hear these from someone, and hope that it all works out fine in the end.
I'm glad to be able to hear these from someone, and hope that it all works out fine in the end.
Atom
There is an ant crawling about my laptop screen.
I thought i picked it up and released it into the dustbin earlier, but it seems to have made its way back.
Goes to show what you can accomplish if you don't give up.
Go Ant!
I thought i picked it up and released it into the dustbin earlier, but it seems to have made its way back.
Goes to show what you can accomplish if you don't give up.
Go Ant!
Sigh
I enjoy the good conversation. If you manage to catch me in one I can be quite hard to shut up.
I've had two particularly nice ones today - one from a long friend who's in the UK right now (hope you feel better soon Uma!), and one with a very nice hottie from work (your chocolate's coming soon!).
Unfortunately, I do not share the same social aspirations as most, and I find keeping quiet so much more attractive an option.
I've had two particularly nice ones today - one from a long friend who's in the UK right now (hope you feel better soon Uma!), and one with a very nice hottie from work (your chocolate's coming soon!).
Unfortunately, I do not share the same social aspirations as most, and I find keeping quiet so much more attractive an option.
The Joint Account
It's so scary I'm giving it a proper title, caps and all.
I guess it's a part of being together, or the preparation to be. For a good cause, yes, but as my darling sister put it - a small money box would also do.
Was on the bus today, passing by town and I saw the building, tall and alone in the empty sky, its red logo shining like a beacon of hope. It hit me then, that this could very well be the last time I make this decision. There was a questions I wanted to ask but for many years I've known the answer.
It may turn out another way, but chances are I'll never know coz I won't get a chance to ask.
Red and Shiny followed me throughout the winding curves of Orchard Road. There's a lot of people and even more cars. How I wish they'd all carpool and stop killing the environment. And stop honking the damn horns. You've already got 4 wheels how much faster do you want to go?
The guy next to me's sleeping, and he's leaning on me. The bus hits a bump and I toss him over to the other side and he wakes up. Sometimes people just need a little prod I guess.
I guess it's a part of being together, or the preparation to be. For a good cause, yes, but as my darling sister put it - a small money box would also do.
Was on the bus today, passing by town and I saw the building, tall and alone in the empty sky, its red logo shining like a beacon of hope. It hit me then, that this could very well be the last time I make this decision. There was a questions I wanted to ask but for many years I've known the answer.
It may turn out another way, but chances are I'll never know coz I won't get a chance to ask.
Red and Shiny followed me throughout the winding curves of Orchard Road. There's a lot of people and even more cars. How I wish they'd all carpool and stop killing the environment. And stop honking the damn horns. You've already got 4 wheels how much faster do you want to go?
The guy next to me's sleeping, and he's leaning on me. The bus hits a bump and I toss him over to the other side and he wakes up. Sometimes people just need a little prod I guess.
Stars
There's something magical about the song, how it paints a nice picture of a dark blue sky, and a man facing them baring his very soul.
I hope you comprehend.
I hope you comprehend.
A start
My last relationship ended on a low note, and I thought I'd never want to start another one again.
There are many reasons I give for being an emotional slob, too many to state here. From fleeting about the same old excuses to keeping dreams in check, I've never thought I'd want to say that I'm gonna give this whole love thing another go.
Finger's crossed, and here we go. If this ain't meant to be, please give me a sign... I've been waiting for one for oh so long.
There are many reasons I give for being an emotional slob, too many to state here. From fleeting about the same old excuses to keeping dreams in check, I've never thought I'd want to say that I'm gonna give this whole love thing another go.
Finger's crossed, and here we go. If this ain't meant to be, please give me a sign... I've been waiting for one for oh so long.
A night in chinese
For those who don't know me that well, I actually speak mandarin quite well (not as horrid as you might think I would anyway).
But I only speak it to selected people. I guess it comes with being comfortable around them.
Tracy is one such person. She hails from the CF brand of colleagues. It's amazing how we still keep in contact.
CF was fun. It was one of those offices I would really look forward to every morning. Not for the work of course, but for the people. They were a really fun bunch, and I ended up really missing them when I left.
Anyway, the night started off in Chinatown, where I was fashionably late for our night's out. She's been raving about this restaurant for awhile so we took the crow's path.
A lot of wasted food later we left and made for Chinatown. Anyone who's gotten to know me a little would know I have this emotional connection to the place. So I couldn't resist taking a walk there with this dear friend.
She hates walking by the way. :)
I decided to buy some bak kwa for the other gals in the office and we made for the famous one across the street. Sidetracked by the air conditioning, then by OG where Tracy wanted to get some toys for her boy back in Malaysia.
But we got it in the end, and then went for coffee (another long walk).
Then the talking began - about the old office, about the new people in the old office, about the new things the new people in the old office did, about the girl she wants to introduce me, about insurance, about young people nowadays, about married life, about me, about her, about everything else.
You know I'm in a really good mood when I rattle on like a highschool girl.
Time with Tracy's always nice, so I've learnt to make the best of it (that usually means more walking).
Paid my bills (she fainted), then went to the bank (I fainted), then the cab ride home.
I asked her to move to Sembawang so we can be neighbors and she asked me to move to Simei so we can be neighbors.
Funny thing was, it was all in mandarin.
wo de hua yu hai zhen de mei you na me cha ma!
But I only speak it to selected people. I guess it comes with being comfortable around them.
Tracy is one such person. She hails from the CF brand of colleagues. It's amazing how we still keep in contact.
CF was fun. It was one of those offices I would really look forward to every morning. Not for the work of course, but for the people. They were a really fun bunch, and I ended up really missing them when I left.
Anyway, the night started off in Chinatown, where I was fashionably late for our night's out. She's been raving about this restaurant for awhile so we took the crow's path.
A lot of wasted food later we left and made for Chinatown. Anyone who's gotten to know me a little would know I have this emotional connection to the place. So I couldn't resist taking a walk there with this dear friend.
She hates walking by the way. :)
I decided to buy some bak kwa for the other gals in the office and we made for the famous one across the street. Sidetracked by the air conditioning, then by OG where Tracy wanted to get some toys for her boy back in Malaysia.
But we got it in the end, and then went for coffee (another long walk).
Then the talking began - about the old office, about the new people in the old office, about the new things the new people in the old office did, about the girl she wants to introduce me, about insurance, about young people nowadays, about married life, about me, about her, about everything else.
You know I'm in a really good mood when I rattle on like a highschool girl.
Time with Tracy's always nice, so I've learnt to make the best of it (that usually means more walking).
Paid my bills (she fainted), then went to the bank (I fainted), then the cab ride home.
I asked her to move to Sembawang so we can be neighbors and she asked me to move to Simei so we can be neighbors.
Funny thing was, it was all in mandarin.
wo de hua yu hai zhen de mei you na me cha ma!
A large red stone...
"What?!"
Philip sat across the table, his hands flailing about in the jazz-filled air conditioning.
"But isn't that your dream?"
Twenty minutes later he got the gist of what I wanted to say. The arms are down but you could still tell he's quite worried about my decision. It's like a small boy told him he didn't like candy.
It's been so long, and finally I got the resolve to let it all go. I just hope I stick to my decision this time.
Philip sat across the table, his hands flailing about in the jazz-filled air conditioning.
"But isn't that your dream?"
Twenty minutes later he got the gist of what I wanted to say. The arms are down but you could still tell he's quite worried about my decision. It's like a small boy told him he didn't like candy.
It's been so long, and finally I got the resolve to let it all go. I just hope I stick to my decision this time.
Knowing your limits
The weekend has been a queer one.
Saturday's highlight was a nice night's supper with my bro after a rather infuriating afternoon. I feel fat, but who cares as long as I'm having a good time.
Sunday was a visit to one of my chiropractors' place to pass on a little knowledge on the stock exchange. Dinner followed and I was then annoyed by this old man on the bus.
I realized that I get really really high-strung when other people try to force their ideals on me. My first reaction is to get really defensive, after which I simply stop talking.
I myself would do much to heed my own advise: "not everyone wants to do the things you do."
Saturday's highlight was a nice night's supper with my bro after a rather infuriating afternoon. I feel fat, but who cares as long as I'm having a good time.
Sunday was a visit to one of my chiropractors' place to pass on a little knowledge on the stock exchange. Dinner followed and I was then annoyed by this old man on the bus.
I realized that I get really really high-strung when other people try to force their ideals on me. My first reaction is to get really defensive, after which I simply stop talking.
I myself would do much to heed my own advise: "not everyone wants to do the things you do."
Shining Eyes
These are the kinds that tell you stories, the kinds that make you want to stop and just stare deep into them and wander off into a dream.
And in that dream you're alone, sitting on clouds and looking down at the world below, not caring if you should plummet down to your doom. You're just contented with sitting and staring, watching the world go by.
They leave you wanting. Each time you look at another pair you tell yourself there's nothing as good as the shiny ones. Like diamonds in the midnight sky they sparkle.
But those eyes are rare, so hard to come by, and so easy to lose.
And in that dream you're alone, sitting on clouds and looking down at the world below, not caring if you should plummet down to your doom. You're just contented with sitting and staring, watching the world go by.
They leave you wanting. Each time you look at another pair you tell yourself there's nothing as good as the shiny ones. Like diamonds in the midnight sky they sparkle.
But those eyes are rare, so hard to come by, and so easy to lose.
Always
Today I went out with Abel and Adrian and forgot about the dinner I had at home. Also forgot to about the phone call I should make to my mum to let her know I'd be back late. Also turns out that my mobile chose to run out of juice on me.
So I ended up with 15 miss calls and a lot of smses from the family.
I was very touched. I went home and found my mum sleeping on the couch waiting for me, ready to smack my head silly. It reminded me of the time I went to Indonesia unannounced and was gone for a good week.
The lesson learnt?
There is always someone thinking of you, no matter how lonely you are, or how down in the dumps you feel... Just close your eyes and ask yourself who.
Don't make them think about you in vain, for it is the worst feeling in the world to anticipate and not receive. I've been guilty of not realizing, and am also the recipient of such treatment at times, and both ways it's not funny.
So let us close our eyes and visualize the faces of the people who would be thinking of us now. Take those faces, and place them in a nice place in our hearts, for we know that we are in theirs.
So I ended up with 15 miss calls and a lot of smses from the family.
I was very touched. I went home and found my mum sleeping on the couch waiting for me, ready to smack my head silly. It reminded me of the time I went to Indonesia unannounced and was gone for a good week.
The lesson learnt?
There is always someone thinking of you, no matter how lonely you are, or how down in the dumps you feel... Just close your eyes and ask yourself who.
Don't make them think about you in vain, for it is the worst feeling in the world to anticipate and not receive. I've been guilty of not realizing, and am also the recipient of such treatment at times, and both ways it's not funny.
So let us close our eyes and visualize the faces of the people who would be thinking of us now. Take those faces, and place them in a nice place in our hearts, for we know that we are in theirs.
With Moon River playing
This is the opening scene of Breakfast at Tiffany's.
In the span of a little more than 2 minutes, Audrey Hepburn shows you the one single place in a woman' heart where nothing can go wrong.
In the span of a little more than 2 minutes, Audrey Hepburn shows you the one single place in a woman' heart where nothing can go wrong.
A Change
I've decided to semi-move into the sister's apartment.
I guess it's a whole lot less lonely at home when you're got an animal and two other people to talk to. This means I'll have to shuttle in between the two homes so I can keep the parents company as well, but it's a quick fix to the 'being alone at home' problem that has recently resurfaced.
Don't we all hate being a dependant pain-in-the-ass?
I thought I got rid of that feeling a long long time ago.
But well, here's the panacea.
I guess it's a whole lot less lonely at home when you're got an animal and two other people to talk to. This means I'll have to shuttle in between the two homes so I can keep the parents company as well, but it's a quick fix to the 'being alone at home' problem that has recently resurfaced.
Don't we all hate being a dependant pain-in-the-ass?
I thought I got rid of that feeling a long long time ago.
But well, here's the panacea.
When shopping just won't do
Ever missed someone before?
It is a horrible feeling, yet also the best kind.
Spring flowers sit
Smiling from the morning's touch
Waiting for the rain.
And like all haiku there is a story to it. Maybe one day I can tell this tale of missing and hoping. I was crafting it a little as the sunshine shown through the window and touched my face this morning. Oh how I wish.
Still is the morning
When sun and rain and clouds meet
With much left undone.
The dog was lying down somewhere in the room because I felt something moving towards the door. She sat there, looking at me, but all I could do was remain lying in bed, enjoying the sun in my face.
I think the same things I've been thinking, and how they keep bringing me back to the same place I've always been. Deplorable situation really.
Fingers tapping slow
On the wooden tabletop
From morning to night.
But here I am nonetheless, missing.
It is a horrible feeling, yet also the best kind.
Spring flowers sit
Smiling from the morning's touch
Waiting for the rain.
And like all haiku there is a story to it. Maybe one day I can tell this tale of missing and hoping. I was crafting it a little as the sunshine shown through the window and touched my face this morning. Oh how I wish.
Still is the morning
When sun and rain and clouds meet
With much left undone.
The dog was lying down somewhere in the room because I felt something moving towards the door. She sat there, looking at me, but all I could do was remain lying in bed, enjoying the sun in my face.
I think the same things I've been thinking, and how they keep bringing me back to the same place I've always been. Deplorable situation really.
Fingers tapping slow
On the wooden tabletop
From morning to night.
But here I am nonetheless, missing.
To My Brudder, I'm Sorry.
August 2005, I received a phone call at the office informing me that someone from my previous camp had committed suicide.
The man on the phone was 2nd LTA Lee Ting Hong, Assistant Ops Officer for HQARMCEG, and the dead personnel was 3rd Sergent Adrien Seow. He had thrown himself off a building the night before and was found dead in the morning.
I had him on msn the previous night, and all he could say was "hiak hiak".
Ting Hong was a good friend of ours back in HQARMCEG. I had been transferred out to another department and haven't been in touch. When the call came after the night's msn message I was kinda expecting it.
There wasn't much to say - I asked the standard questions:
"How?"
"When?"
"Why?"
I knew the answers to all the questions, and I could tell that Ting Hong wanted me to tell him that I'd rush right down to the funeral and say my goodbyes.
But I didn't. At that moment in time all I could think about was how Adrien broke our promise to each other.
I'm not a likable person. I've been told I get too cocky too quickly, and that there's an arrogance that pisses people off. There was a very bad vibe when I got posted to HQARMCEG, and I could tell instantly I wasn't going to make a lot of friend there.
But there he was, ready do initiate me into the friendly side of things. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do for me, and we got close really quickly.
We belonged to the Ops room (well he did... I got included since we hung around so much), and there were a few more people he introduced me to - Samuel, the clerk; Ting Hong, the 2nd LTA; and Gilbert, the outgoing 1st LTA. We fooled around and became kings of our little blind kingdom.
Then Samuel went and killed himself in August 2004. Some say it was because of money, Adrien thinks it's coz of the girl. She was at his funeral and he didn't look very pleased. We went to Samuel's wake and I gave him a good long look.
"Goodbye," was all I could muster, but it's still more than what I gave Adrien.
After the wake he made me take a promise - that we wouldn't kill ourselves because of a girl. We've been telling each other our girl troubles (funny how all army guys got em), and I thought it would be a good thing to do - like a pact or something. That way when something went wrong I would always know beforehand and I could do something about it.
So the promise was made, and I went off to another unit. I could tell that he didn't want me to go, but he gave me his blessings anyway because it would be a lot better for me at the new posting.
That night on msn, he must have wanted to tell me he was going to break the pact. If I had asked on I'd be able to do something about it.
I was selfish bro, and I'm sorry. All this time I've been more concerned about getting my problems heard than to care more about yours. If there's anything I could change about my life, I'll go back then and get you out of the darkness somehow.
Nothing beats the love of someone who cares about you, and I got that love from Adrien. He cared for me as a brudder and a friend. The best I could do is to reciprocate.
Now, so many years later, I look back as I often do, and tell myself that I could've done more.
My birthday is almost here. I celebrated it with him once - we went for dinner.
Life isn't the same without you bro. The time we spent had been too short; you were gone too soon.
When I die and go to heaven, I promise I'll look you up.
Till then keep waiting. I'll be sure to pray for you.
The man on the phone was 2nd LTA Lee Ting Hong, Assistant Ops Officer for HQARMCEG, and the dead personnel was 3rd Sergent Adrien Seow. He had thrown himself off a building the night before and was found dead in the morning.
I had him on msn the previous night, and all he could say was "hiak hiak".
Ting Hong was a good friend of ours back in HQARMCEG. I had been transferred out to another department and haven't been in touch. When the call came after the night's msn message I was kinda expecting it.
There wasn't much to say - I asked the standard questions:
"How?"
"When?"
"Why?"
I knew the answers to all the questions, and I could tell that Ting Hong wanted me to tell him that I'd rush right down to the funeral and say my goodbyes.
But I didn't. At that moment in time all I could think about was how Adrien broke our promise to each other.
I'm not a likable person. I've been told I get too cocky too quickly, and that there's an arrogance that pisses people off. There was a very bad vibe when I got posted to HQARMCEG, and I could tell instantly I wasn't going to make a lot of friend there.
But there he was, ready do initiate me into the friendly side of things. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do for me, and we got close really quickly.
We belonged to the Ops room (well he did... I got included since we hung around so much), and there were a few more people he introduced me to - Samuel, the clerk; Ting Hong, the 2nd LTA; and Gilbert, the outgoing 1st LTA. We fooled around and became kings of our little blind kingdom.
Then Samuel went and killed himself in August 2004. Some say it was because of money, Adrien thinks it's coz of the girl. She was at his funeral and he didn't look very pleased. We went to Samuel's wake and I gave him a good long look.
"Goodbye," was all I could muster, but it's still more than what I gave Adrien.
After the wake he made me take a promise - that we wouldn't kill ourselves because of a girl. We've been telling each other our girl troubles (funny how all army guys got em), and I thought it would be a good thing to do - like a pact or something. That way when something went wrong I would always know beforehand and I could do something about it.
So the promise was made, and I went off to another unit. I could tell that he didn't want me to go, but he gave me his blessings anyway because it would be a lot better for me at the new posting.
That night on msn, he must have wanted to tell me he was going to break the pact. If I had asked on I'd be able to do something about it.
I was selfish bro, and I'm sorry. All this time I've been more concerned about getting my problems heard than to care more about yours. If there's anything I could change about my life, I'll go back then and get you out of the darkness somehow.
Nothing beats the love of someone who cares about you, and I got that love from Adrien. He cared for me as a brudder and a friend. The best I could do is to reciprocate.
Now, so many years later, I look back as I often do, and tell myself that I could've done more.
My birthday is almost here. I celebrated it with him once - we went for dinner.
Life isn't the same without you bro. The time we spent had been too short; you were gone too soon.
When I die and go to heaven, I promise I'll look you up.
Till then keep waiting. I'll be sure to pray for you.
The Sister's Wedding, Part Two
I got up at 6.45am and proceeded to get myself washed and cleaned and nice-smelling in anticipation for the big day.
The rest of the family has already been awake a few hours - my mum's more excited than my sister. Wait till you see my big day...
This here an abstract from my sister's blog:
"All the anxiety, all the preparations, all the stress. I wish it was tmr already."
Atta girl.
So the friends arrive, and they start chattering in the high-pitched noises that women make at weddings.
Then the relatives arrive and start chattering in the 'I'll-shout-in-your-face-because-I-know-you're-right-next-to-me' noises that relatives make at all damn occasions.
I just realized I had to pack ang baos. I got two ang baos.
The groom's damn early and wants to come up. My mum told him to wait because not all the relatives are here yet but he's here anyway.
I hear the noise at the door from my room, to which I've been banished for the good part of the morning because I'm the elder brother and needs to hide out in my room in embarrassment because I am ashamed of not getting married before she has.
Oh the guilt.
They're singing now, but I didn't see them prepare the customary wedding goodies for the groom and his mates so they're getting off easy. Good. Last thing I want my sister to do is get married to a pissed off groom.
So here I am, waiting for my big entrance. The stage is set for my baby sister's wedding, and I've lived to see it all.
Soak it all in, because this is fantastic.
The rest of the family has already been awake a few hours - my mum's more excited than my sister. Wait till you see my big day...
This here an abstract from my sister's blog:
"All the anxiety, all the preparations, all the stress. I wish it was tmr already."
Atta girl.
So the friends arrive, and they start chattering in the high-pitched noises that women make at weddings.
Then the relatives arrive and start chattering in the 'I'll-shout-in-your-face-because-I-know-you're-right-next-to-me' noises that relatives make at all damn occasions.
I just realized I had to pack ang baos. I got two ang baos.
The groom's damn early and wants to come up. My mum told him to wait because not all the relatives are here yet but he's here anyway.
I hear the noise at the door from my room, to which I've been banished for the good part of the morning because I'm the elder brother and needs to hide out in my room in embarrassment because I am ashamed of not getting married before she has.
Oh the guilt.
They're singing now, but I didn't see them prepare the customary wedding goodies for the groom and his mates so they're getting off easy. Good. Last thing I want my sister to do is get married to a pissed off groom.
So here I am, waiting for my big entrance. The stage is set for my baby sister's wedding, and I've lived to see it all.
Soak it all in, because this is fantastic.
A nice chat
Good company is nice to find, and when you do it's that feeling that you walk away with that makes it all worthwhile.
It's like you forgot all your worries, and all you can do is smile and be extremely hopeful.
I like smiling. A taxi driver told me I have a good one.
Thanks a bunch Serene.
It's like you forgot all your worries, and all you can do is smile and be extremely hopeful.
I like smiling. A taxi driver told me I have a good one.
Thanks a bunch Serene.
The Sister's Wedding
I'm happy for them.
Their is a really envious relationship - one where you can't help but look and smile at. Many times I wish I had something even remotely close to theirs.
Will get to work on that one, but for now, here's congratulations to my lil sis and her husband. May my life be but half as blissful.
I wonder how life would play out after marriage. There's so much preparation but then I think it's just another adventure for the couple. I'm not the best person to go to for relationship advise, but I guess it's something good to look forward to.
I also kinda know that I'll probably be better at the husband thing than the boyfriend thing. Don't ask why, but it's a hunch.
Their is a really envious relationship - one where you can't help but look and smile at. Many times I wish I had something even remotely close to theirs.
Will get to work on that one, but for now, here's congratulations to my lil sis and her husband. May my life be but half as blissful.
I wonder how life would play out after marriage. There's so much preparation but then I think it's just another adventure for the couple. I'm not the best person to go to for relationship advise, but I guess it's something good to look forward to.
I also kinda know that I'll probably be better at the husband thing than the boyfriend thing. Don't ask why, but it's a hunch.
Transformers? What Transformers?!
Not for minors.
Esquire's my kind of read, and of late they've been putting females on their cover and reducing their content by 1/3 as a result.
Works in my account. Who the hell needs to read so much anyway.
Click to see what I mean.
Gotta love the music. Chris Cornell everyone, from the Scream album.
Esquire's my kind of read, and of late they've been putting females on their cover and reducing their content by 1/3 as a result.
Works in my account. Who the hell needs to read so much anyway.
Click to see what I mean.
Gotta love the music. Chris Cornell everyone, from the Scream album.
Reasons for being happy
Today is yet another day in the series of days that has he in a good mood.
Let's start with the morning - I got up late, and had to take a cab to work for the third consecutive day running. Nothing to be happy about.
So I got on the cab feeling really grumpy and ready for a nice nap to start the working day. I remember the toilet cubicle sleeping episodes I've heard from a few friends and didn't want to give that a try.
So the driver decided to chat me up. Return of the grumps.
Apparently he's seen me before. He told me he remembers me because I smile really nicely. That and I'm tall.
He's gay, but who cares. What a way to start the day!
So the rest of the good stuff came at work. As I probably would have mentioned before I work with a bunch of gorgeous ladies. Today we had a birthday celebration for yours truly and two more July babies.
This here's the card they gave me. Did I ever mention that I loved them to bits? Thanks for the wishes babes!
Lunch came, there was a slight headache. Had a meeting, more work, headache went off.
We had cake! And Swenson's ice cream cones! And I got a tub of haagen dazs all to meself!
Nice way to end the week huh? Tomorrow I'm meeting Abel for dinner at Aston's Prime. Angus Ribeye, here I come!
P.S. Just noticed my entries getting very girly. Will revert back to moody grumps writing as soon as I stop being so darn happy.
Let's start with the morning - I got up late, and had to take a cab to work for the third consecutive day running. Nothing to be happy about.
So I got on the cab feeling really grumpy and ready for a nice nap to start the working day. I remember the toilet cubicle sleeping episodes I've heard from a few friends and didn't want to give that a try.
So the driver decided to chat me up. Return of the grumps.
Apparently he's seen me before. He told me he remembers me because I smile really nicely. That and I'm tall.
He's gay, but who cares. What a way to start the day!
So the rest of the good stuff came at work. As I probably would have mentioned before I work with a bunch of gorgeous ladies. Today we had a birthday celebration for yours truly and two more July babies.
This here's the card they gave me. Did I ever mention that I loved them to bits? Thanks for the wishes babes!
Lunch came, there was a slight headache. Had a meeting, more work, headache went off.
We had cake! And Swenson's ice cream cones! And I got a tub of haagen dazs all to meself!
Nice way to end the week huh? Tomorrow I'm meeting Abel for dinner at Aston's Prime. Angus Ribeye, here I come!
P.S. Just noticed my entries getting very girly. Will revert back to moody grumps writing as soon as I stop being so darn happy.
Of love and hate.
So the nights goes and I'm still trying to find someone to go in place of Philip to my sister's wedding. I tried my luck on a friend yesterday (actually a lot of friends) but no go.
So I asked Philip out (the other Philip). I've not seen him for ages and it seemed like a good thing to do seeing how I've already run out of friends to ask.
So he said no. His boy Joseph has a choir thing that night and he needed to be there. Tough luck.
I asked him out for dinner instead. Because I owe this man more than anything in the world for straightening my life out when I needed help the most. It's this dark episode where a man goes through the lowest of his low, and nothing seems to work out. There he was, like the best friends should be, reaching out and pulling me up from the slum.
Yes, he helped me fix my Transformers.
So we went for dinner with his two boys - Joseph and John. Swenson's was the word (I ask them what they want for dinner every time we meet, and they'll say dunno. Then we walk for a little and without fail they'll utter the magic eating place word).
They had chicken, and I had fish. I wanted the chicken more so I traded my fish with their chicken cept I had no more fish and they still had chicken. Oh the sin. I'll get fat for this.
I told Philip what's been going on in my life and he wanted to kill me for it. Then I made up for it by buying dinner. The kids got $5 to go to the arcade with and that usually knocks them out for the rest of the night. Oh how I spoil them.
So Philip and I got a little alone time. He was devastated over the loss of a very good friend. He had cancer and was just 23. Also was informed that another one of my pals didn't show at the good friend's funeral just because his ex would be there. The bitch.
Oh, how much we all suffer for love. My next relationship will give me loads to smile about - otherwise there's no point getting anywhere there anyway. I've lost so much time and effort with the last one so I'm gonna be really picky this time.
Sidetracking a little, my wonderful colleagues have been real darlings (in case you didn't know I happen to share my workplace with several gorgeous ladies) and I've had a few ask if I would be interested in knowing friends of theirs.
They must not value their friendships a lot. I'm an embarrassment in dates. I have several girls you can call for outstanding testimonials.
But back to the story.
Of love, I know little of. I have to admit I'm very old school when it comes to matters of the heart. I'm more likely to rehearse a single line a thousand times in my mind and then screw up the delivery. That, plus the line's not really gonna be good anyway and would most probably be misconstrued.
Lots to learn in that department, but casanova I'm not. Someone said I was wholesome (LOVE the curls). Good husband? Maybe, but noone's gonna want me as a boyfriend.
And of hate, there is nothing more genuiely overenacted than the curtain call of self-loathe. I bought a bag today. A nice bag, but a bag nonetheless. I wanted to buy two! And how's that for the great 6-month plan? That, and I can't help but want to pamper the two children. I'm like their favorite uncle - every trip out with me means a nice dinner and fun afterwards.
If I ever manage to get children (poor suffering girl who's going to be my wife be warned) they will be fat. Fat and pampered. Fat and pampered and very well loved. Especially if she's a girl.
There is this age-old story that starts like this - if your wife and your child were both drowning, who'd you save?
I'd save the wife. Nuff said.
So I asked Philip out (the other Philip). I've not seen him for ages and it seemed like a good thing to do seeing how I've already run out of friends to ask.
So he said no. His boy Joseph has a choir thing that night and he needed to be there. Tough luck.
I asked him out for dinner instead. Because I owe this man more than anything in the world for straightening my life out when I needed help the most. It's this dark episode where a man goes through the lowest of his low, and nothing seems to work out. There he was, like the best friends should be, reaching out and pulling me up from the slum.
Yes, he helped me fix my Transformers.
So we went for dinner with his two boys - Joseph and John. Swenson's was the word (I ask them what they want for dinner every time we meet, and they'll say dunno. Then we walk for a little and without fail they'll utter the magic eating place word).
They had chicken, and I had fish. I wanted the chicken more so I traded my fish with their chicken cept I had no more fish and they still had chicken. Oh the sin. I'll get fat for this.
I told Philip what's been going on in my life and he wanted to kill me for it. Then I made up for it by buying dinner. The kids got $5 to go to the arcade with and that usually knocks them out for the rest of the night. Oh how I spoil them.
So Philip and I got a little alone time. He was devastated over the loss of a very good friend. He had cancer and was just 23. Also was informed that another one of my pals didn't show at the good friend's funeral just because his ex would be there. The bitch.
Oh, how much we all suffer for love. My next relationship will give me loads to smile about - otherwise there's no point getting anywhere there anyway. I've lost so much time and effort with the last one so I'm gonna be really picky this time.
Sidetracking a little, my wonderful colleagues have been real darlings (in case you didn't know I happen to share my workplace with several gorgeous ladies) and I've had a few ask if I would be interested in knowing friends of theirs.
They must not value their friendships a lot. I'm an embarrassment in dates. I have several girls you can call for outstanding testimonials.
But back to the story.
Of love, I know little of. I have to admit I'm very old school when it comes to matters of the heart. I'm more likely to rehearse a single line a thousand times in my mind and then screw up the delivery. That, plus the line's not really gonna be good anyway and would most probably be misconstrued.
Lots to learn in that department, but casanova I'm not. Someone said I was wholesome (LOVE the curls). Good husband? Maybe, but noone's gonna want me as a boyfriend.
And of hate, there is nothing more genuiely overenacted than the curtain call of self-loathe. I bought a bag today. A nice bag, but a bag nonetheless. I wanted to buy two! And how's that for the great 6-month plan? That, and I can't help but want to pamper the two children. I'm like their favorite uncle - every trip out with me means a nice dinner and fun afterwards.
If I ever manage to get children (poor suffering girl who's going to be my wife be warned) they will be fat. Fat and pampered. Fat and pampered and very well loved. Especially if she's a girl.
There is this age-old story that starts like this - if your wife and your child were both drowning, who'd you save?
I'd save the wife. Nuff said.
When the stomach starts beating
My face is all of crimson red as I sat in the taxt thinking of what I just said. There were so many ways to say it, but I did it the best way I knew how - like a klutz's glorious fall over his own tongue.
"Not too shabby, you idiot. Not too shabby."
"Not too shabby, you idiot. Not too shabby."
I'm not all wax lyrical gloom doom grumps
It's been a nice week full of work and opportunities for me. Couple that that a few nice occurrences and you've got one hell of a life. I don't do this often, but you're gonna get a nice little rundown of what happened over the last few.
Adrian gt hitched a few weeks ago - the first of the As as I would like to call it. He pointed out the weird connection the three of us had over dinner three days ago:
Abel, Adrian, and Arthur. All born in 1982. Only one other sibling in the family - a younger one, all born in 1985 (lest for mine, the other two are also As - Andrea and Andrew).
Scary.
The sister's getting married the week after, and I'm really happy with how her life played out - loving husband, non-killer dog, comfy house. Congrats sis, I love ya and keep it up.
And then comes the next week. We're expecting more and more and MORE people coming down with the swine flu, so I'm gonna fire out a warning to all who I care about. Keep safe ok? I can't do with one less of any of you - some a lot more than others, but still my love goes out.
Wrote an entry in my facebook blog. Not the best, but it's the first piece of writing I've done in awhile. There's still this entry form for the short story writing competition on my desktop but I'm being lazy about that one.
And last of all, I've got many things to look forward to. Let's not screw this up this time ok?
Smile for me.
Adrian gt hitched a few weeks ago - the first of the As as I would like to call it. He pointed out the weird connection the three of us had over dinner three days ago:
Abel, Adrian, and Arthur. All born in 1982. Only one other sibling in the family - a younger one, all born in 1985 (lest for mine, the other two are also As - Andrea and Andrew).
Scary.
The sister's getting married the week after, and I'm really happy with how her life played out - loving husband, non-killer dog, comfy house. Congrats sis, I love ya and keep it up.
And then comes the next week. We're expecting more and more and MORE people coming down with the swine flu, so I'm gonna fire out a warning to all who I care about. Keep safe ok? I can't do with one less of any of you - some a lot more than others, but still my love goes out.
Wrote an entry in my facebook blog. Not the best, but it's the first piece of writing I've done in awhile. There's still this entry form for the short story writing competition on my desktop but I'm being lazy about that one.
And last of all, I've got many things to look forward to. Let's not screw this up this time ok?
Smile for me.
Stop.
"I miss you loads."
It's great to hear it, but somehow I'm just not prepared to do anything.
Somehow it just doesn't feel right.
So little things feel right, and those are so impossibly hard to attain.
Would you be greedy if you only wanted one thing in this world?
It's great to hear it, but somehow I'm just not prepared to do anything.
Somehow it just doesn't feel right.
So little things feel right, and those are so impossibly hard to attain.
Would you be greedy if you only wanted one thing in this world?
Quiet
There's something about being alone. Sometimes I love it, and when I don't I detest the feeling to the brink of fear.
It's like taking a hotel room for the weekend, putting yourself in a nice big comfy room away from the other distractions in life. You indulge and give yourself a nice reward for all the you have to do to make others like you.
Here you are your own critic, and I think one would truly be at ease with onceself in such a scenerio - distant, quiet, forgotten.
While the rest of the world goes about their motion, I stay guarded by the fascination I have with myself, lying lazily in a big warm bed thinking about nothing but the next hour on that same big bed.
But you wake up periodically and warn yourself that this cannot go on. There is the element of loneliness, and it bores deep into your sentiment, providing you with the thirst for company. That urge is not healthy, often accompanied with impulses to run towards the very same things you so often wish you were hidden away from.
But it's true, even the strong get lonely sometimes, and when that feeling comes, it's the pits.
It's like taking a hotel room for the weekend, putting yourself in a nice big comfy room away from the other distractions in life. You indulge and give yourself a nice reward for all the you have to do to make others like you.
Here you are your own critic, and I think one would truly be at ease with onceself in such a scenerio - distant, quiet, forgotten.
While the rest of the world goes about their motion, I stay guarded by the fascination I have with myself, lying lazily in a big warm bed thinking about nothing but the next hour on that same big bed.
But you wake up periodically and warn yourself that this cannot go on. There is the element of loneliness, and it bores deep into your sentiment, providing you with the thirst for company. That urge is not healthy, often accompanied with impulses to run towards the very same things you so often wish you were hidden away from.
But it's true, even the strong get lonely sometimes, and when that feeling comes, it's the pits.
No Way Out
It is a cruel reality - that it isn't fair to just everyone.
You see people all around, and you think they're just like you - living in a nice flat, holding good jobs, eating three whole meals every day.
Thing is, there are so many things that we don't see. And when we see them, the first thing we think about is how unfair it all is - that we shouldn't be doing what we're doing. That next plate of rice seems so guilty, the next shopping trip needless.
Truth of the matter is, there will always be that poor unfortunate person, like a kitten sitting in the middle of a street crying for your attention.
But do we do anything about it? Do we save the one single soul or go for the whole world? Do we even bother?
What's the use of saving one life if we're going to watch the others burn? What's the use of being noble if noone gets to see the effort? What's wrong with not bothering?
It's all one big question, and our individual answers determine the kind of fucked up personality we all have.
Either way, you're wrong. Just keep asking - you'll know what I mean.
You see people all around, and you think they're just like you - living in a nice flat, holding good jobs, eating three whole meals every day.
Thing is, there are so many things that we don't see. And when we see them, the first thing we think about is how unfair it all is - that we shouldn't be doing what we're doing. That next plate of rice seems so guilty, the next shopping trip needless.
Truth of the matter is, there will always be that poor unfortunate person, like a kitten sitting in the middle of a street crying for your attention.
But do we do anything about it? Do we save the one single soul or go for the whole world? Do we even bother?
What's the use of saving one life if we're going to watch the others burn? What's the use of being noble if noone gets to see the effort? What's wrong with not bothering?
It's all one big question, and our individual answers determine the kind of fucked up personality we all have.
Either way, you're wrong. Just keep asking - you'll know what I mean.
Salem Witch Trials 2009
Tonight I shall write about something more (or less, depending how much you already know and where you're coming from) frivolous.
So haikus, dreams, recipes and wishful thinking aside, the night was dedicated to a gathering between three friends and the conversation we had.
First off, I had a bad bad dinner, and that probably fueled the very strong stands I had for the issues we discussed; kim chi friend rice had never tasted to bad (I will disclose my recipe for the lovely dish at a later time).
We had originally wanted to go to Aston's for steak, but the long-lost obligations of many a guilty conscience resulted in the mother of all (haha) queues at BOTH Fish & Co. and Aston's. The trio wounded up at the Kopitiam - spacious, clean and oh-so empty.
We (I more than the other two) soon discovered that Aston's and Fish & Co. weren't solely to blame for the lack of support for the local hawkers at the food court.
Fast forward to my place, where we sat and caught up about our lives (and the lives of all us simple-class normristocrats). One friend showed us this really freaky forum where people tracked the progress of their soon-to-be completed (in the next three years hopefully, for the contractor's sake) HDB flat.
The over-enthusiastic fan boys posted pictures of their flats in its various stages of development, noting the number of foreign workers (new workers = faster work = sooner I can move in!), and even first-hand information about the worksite by the helpful (bribed) foreman!
Scary. Wonder what their investigative voyeurism will turn to when their flats are all done. Ladies, hold on to your underwear!
So one thing led to another, and since we're on the subject of homogeneous affordable public living, I got to asking why the higher floors cost more.
My stand was, as a public service, the HDB had no right to charge more for the different levels just because they are more desirable. As public housing, everyone who can ballot for the flats should be entitled to the same price for the same floorspace regardless of where they were situated within the site.
Then I got lambasted by two other views (which in my state of gastronomic insufficiency has gone under my radar) from the two friends.
View One (mine, the public servant) - Public housing people had no right to charge higher prices to people for the same land space in the same area simply because of demand.
View Two (Friend A, the businessman) - The different prices are of course due to the differing states of demand apparent in the different land spaces within the same area.
View Three (Friend B, the directly affected house buyer) - To the people who are getting the house, the price doesn't really matter. All I want is to get a flat that I like.
The ensuing debate is extremely enlightening, but my finger still hurts from the cut I received at my sister's yesterday (thin glass, busy hands, lousy skillsmenship in washing cups; don't ask) and I'll just leave you to debate it among yourselves.
Email me with your views if you have any! (idessential_99@yahoo.com)
This led to another debate between three of us, and that once again gave me the various views of various kinds of people involved - same issue, different stakeholders, totally varied arguments.
In all of the exchange, I am brought to a simple scene in one of my secondary school literature texts - I had never drew similes from school work, but I like to think I've grown somewhat since I was 17.
The Crucible, Arthur Miller.
ERP, Means Testing, Balloting Penalties... so many other policies that public service people have to come up with - all vastly different catering to an enormous demographic. What's amazes me is that they can all fit under the same overlying denominator - public opinion.
Thank you to the dudes who gave me the really good conversation. It's nice to talk about something more than my newest shirts (that's just me really) and that cute girl sitting by the corner (that's still me).
The wedding's next, and I can't wait.
So haikus, dreams, recipes and wishful thinking aside, the night was dedicated to a gathering between three friends and the conversation we had.
First off, I had a bad bad dinner, and that probably fueled the very strong stands I had for the issues we discussed; kim chi friend rice had never tasted to bad (I will disclose my recipe for the lovely dish at a later time).
We had originally wanted to go to Aston's for steak, but the long-lost obligations of many a guilty conscience resulted in the mother of all (haha) queues at BOTH Fish & Co. and Aston's. The trio wounded up at the Kopitiam - spacious, clean and oh-so empty.
We (I more than the other two) soon discovered that Aston's and Fish & Co. weren't solely to blame for the lack of support for the local hawkers at the food court.
Fast forward to my place, where we sat and caught up about our lives (and the lives of all us simple-class normristocrats). One friend showed us this really freaky forum where people tracked the progress of their soon-to-be completed (in the next three years hopefully, for the contractor's sake) HDB flat.
The over-enthusiastic fan boys posted pictures of their flats in its various stages of development, noting the number of foreign workers (new workers = faster work = sooner I can move in!), and even first-hand information about the worksite by the helpful (bribed) foreman!
Scary. Wonder what their investigative voyeurism will turn to when their flats are all done. Ladies, hold on to your underwear!
So one thing led to another, and since we're on the subject of homogeneous affordable public living, I got to asking why the higher floors cost more.
My stand was, as a public service, the HDB had no right to charge more for the different levels just because they are more desirable. As public housing, everyone who can ballot for the flats should be entitled to the same price for the same floorspace regardless of where they were situated within the site.
Then I got lambasted by two other views (which in my state of gastronomic insufficiency has gone under my radar) from the two friends.
View One (mine, the public servant) - Public housing people had no right to charge higher prices to people for the same land space in the same area simply because of demand.
View Two (Friend A, the businessman) - The different prices are of course due to the differing states of demand apparent in the different land spaces within the same area.
View Three (Friend B, the directly affected house buyer) - To the people who are getting the house, the price doesn't really matter. All I want is to get a flat that I like.
The ensuing debate is extremely enlightening, but my finger still hurts from the cut I received at my sister's yesterday (thin glass, busy hands, lousy skillsmenship in washing cups; don't ask) and I'll just leave you to debate it among yourselves.
Email me with your views if you have any! (idessential_99@yahoo.com)
This led to another debate between three of us, and that once again gave me the various views of various kinds of people involved - same issue, different stakeholders, totally varied arguments.
In all of the exchange, I am brought to a simple scene in one of my secondary school literature texts - I had never drew similes from school work, but I like to think I've grown somewhat since I was 17.
The Crucible, Arthur Miller.
ERP, Means Testing, Balloting Penalties... so many other policies that public service people have to come up with - all vastly different catering to an enormous demographic. What's amazes me is that they can all fit under the same overlying denominator - public opinion.
Thank you to the dudes who gave me the really good conversation. It's nice to talk about something more than my newest shirts (that's just me really) and that cute girl sitting by the corner (that's still me).
The wedding's next, and I can't wait.
Death by Arrogance
I turned on telly and there's this show - DIVAS.
The show explains itself - they invite divas and have them sing.
Imagine how sorry the producers must be... the episode's got Celin Deon, J-Lo, ALicia Keys, and a big fat lady who just sang "I'm Every Woman."
Pretty sure they didn't make it past the first episode.
On another happier note, I got me two new shirts today! A white one for Adrian's wedding and a super secret second piece that I'll for your eyes only.
Adrian's getting married... sigh. The joy some have.
The show explains itself - they invite divas and have them sing.
Imagine how sorry the producers must be... the episode's got Celin Deon, J-Lo, ALicia Keys, and a big fat lady who just sang "I'm Every Woman."
Pretty sure they didn't make it past the first episode.
On another happier note, I got me two new shirts today! A white one for Adrian's wedding and a super secret second piece that I'll for your eyes only.
Adrian's getting married... sigh. The joy some have.
Nice
So I was sitting there with Tracy having dinner (thanks for coming babe), and then this guy walks by.
Thin guy, spiky hair, backpack and ugly shoes. There's this smile on his face, and he smiles at the people who cared to look at him.
He also says "SHIT" at the top of his lungs every three seconds.
And he does it with a smile.
What a way to live life huh?
Thin guy, spiky hair, backpack and ugly shoes. There's this smile on his face, and he smiles at the people who cared to look at him.
He also says "SHIT" at the top of his lungs every three seconds.
And he does it with a smile.
What a way to live life huh?
A flash, nothing more.
Time is my strangest bedfellow, huddling closely with Memory and Desire. When they talk they resonate within me a cruel concerto of loss and regret - the grand result of the union of my emotional trinity.
Today saw a nice meeting with a friend - badminton and then coffee followed by a surprisingly al dante Agli Olio. Prospective as it seems, the main gist of things revolve not around our conversations, but of a vision I received as we were talking.
I like to look into people's eyes when they talk... sometimes. It takes a good conversation or a very high level of interest in the person for me to do it, but it does happen.
Tonight was one of those instances, and as I looked at her I was visited by a face I've been wanting to see and hear from, lost from me for quite a number of days now.
As the story would go, I blinked and she disappeared, only to return moments afterwards.
No I'm not seeing things, but perhaps it brings me to the apex of my losing battle.
Today saw a nice meeting with a friend - badminton and then coffee followed by a surprisingly al dante Agli Olio. Prospective as it seems, the main gist of things revolve not around our conversations, but of a vision I received as we were talking.
I like to look into people's eyes when they talk... sometimes. It takes a good conversation or a very high level of interest in the person for me to do it, but it does happen.
Tonight was one of those instances, and as I looked at her I was visited by a face I've been wanting to see and hear from, lost from me for quite a number of days now.
As the story would go, I blinked and she disappeared, only to return moments afterwards.
No I'm not seeing things, but perhaps it brings me to the apex of my losing battle.
A little surprise
A dinner with an old friend today left a nice impression in my mind.
It's one of those things that make you wonder and ask the question "what if"?
It's one of those things that make you wonder and ask the question "what if"?
Inertia
Moving forward, there are some things that we won't forget.
These are the ghosts of our conscience, constantly haunting us, nibbling at the very hands that sustain their existence. They tell us the moral alternative - to improve ourselves and not fall to the lore of our desires - but with their inner voice they latch on to the very reasons they exist, putting themselves forward as sacrifice for our misdeeds.
There are many things I regret doing, and there are many more that regret not having done. As I stood with the gun in my hand, watching the tears fall from the little girls' face, I explore my inner being searching for the chain that leads to my conscience.
He has fallen, and I have affixed a chain to him. Echoes are lost down the depths of my decisions, and I can no longer hear him.
But still I search, wanting a reason not to do what I'm about to.
The echoes are lost.
These are the ghosts of our conscience, constantly haunting us, nibbling at the very hands that sustain their existence. They tell us the moral alternative - to improve ourselves and not fall to the lore of our desires - but with their inner voice they latch on to the very reasons they exist, putting themselves forward as sacrifice for our misdeeds.
There are many things I regret doing, and there are many more that regret not having done. As I stood with the gun in my hand, watching the tears fall from the little girls' face, I explore my inner being searching for the chain that leads to my conscience.
He has fallen, and I have affixed a chain to him. Echoes are lost down the depths of my decisions, and I can no longer hear him.
But still I search, wanting a reason not to do what I'm about to.
The echoes are lost.
Sorry
A sudden bout of depression hit me. Just.
From identifying my identity and knowing my true purpose in life to crunching numbers and wondering why the hell my credit card bills are so damn high, I have come to the conclusion that I'm not as mature as I think myself to be.
I could go on and on about the lessons I've learnt and the mistakes I have to walk on past, but it all boils down to the same result - that I will revisit the same place, write the same words, and feel the same feelings.
Are we left to ponder our outcomes like toys neglected on a toddler's shelf?
What is the me I want? Is it the me I should be? What about the me others want me to be?
Strangely unnerving, but oh so true - am I the me, is me already in you?
From identifying my identity and knowing my true purpose in life to crunching numbers and wondering why the hell my credit card bills are so damn high, I have come to the conclusion that I'm not as mature as I think myself to be.
I could go on and on about the lessons I've learnt and the mistakes I have to walk on past, but it all boils down to the same result - that I will revisit the same place, write the same words, and feel the same feelings.
Are we left to ponder our outcomes like toys neglected on a toddler's shelf?
What is the me I want? Is it the me I should be? What about the me others want me to be?
Strangely unnerving, but oh so true - am I the me, is me already in you?
Cups
Guys, I'm sorry to disappoint you.
While at dinner today, I chanced upon a philosophy. It arose when I was trying to defend my lousy memory. I said I can only remember things from the most recent on - it's like I erase the older ones that I think I don't need and then replace them with the newer information; this would explain why I have the memory of a headless chicken.
For this reason I've not really remembered the birthdays of friends and loved ones.
But then again, there's this section of my mind that I dedicate to remembering things that are very sentimental - the words people say to me, the things I've done, and many other seemingly frivolous emotional junk.
Those I'll never forget. The first words, the first time I felt something, everything people say that left an impression.
So here's my analogy - that our (mostly mine I guess) memory is like a progression of our drinking glasses.
When we are young, we're like those big glasses you can find at IKEA for $2.99 - you use them to hold everything - warm or cold, to the brim or just a sip; we're open to suggestions, and our minds willing take in anything we throw in. That's probably why we still remember the Gummybear song, or the Ghostbusters' Anthem.
And then when the midlife crisis strikes, we're progressively turning into wine glasses - holding less liquid, but whatever we chose to contain is far more refined that the rubbish those young kids pour in their IKEA glasses. To get more wine, we'll have to drink the existing ones - that's me and my replacement theory.
Here's an example of what IKEA glasses hold (explicit language warning).
Lastly, we move on to the fine chinese cups that we see in front of graves. They're elegant, but hold very little water. If you pour too much, everything will spill. Oh, and you'll only use them when you approach the cemetery.
So there you have it - my theory of memory and the drinking glass.
While at dinner today, I chanced upon a philosophy. It arose when I was trying to defend my lousy memory. I said I can only remember things from the most recent on - it's like I erase the older ones that I think I don't need and then replace them with the newer information; this would explain why I have the memory of a headless chicken.
For this reason I've not really remembered the birthdays of friends and loved ones.
But then again, there's this section of my mind that I dedicate to remembering things that are very sentimental - the words people say to me, the things I've done, and many other seemingly frivolous emotional junk.
Those I'll never forget. The first words, the first time I felt something, everything people say that left an impression.
So here's my analogy - that our (mostly mine I guess) memory is like a progression of our drinking glasses.
When we are young, we're like those big glasses you can find at IKEA for $2.99 - you use them to hold everything - warm or cold, to the brim or just a sip; we're open to suggestions, and our minds willing take in anything we throw in. That's probably why we still remember the Gummybear song, or the Ghostbusters' Anthem.
And then when the midlife crisis strikes, we're progressively turning into wine glasses - holding less liquid, but whatever we chose to contain is far more refined that the rubbish those young kids pour in their IKEA glasses. To get more wine, we'll have to drink the existing ones - that's me and my replacement theory.
Here's an example of what IKEA glasses hold (explicit language warning).
Lastly, we move on to the fine chinese cups that we see in front of graves. They're elegant, but hold very little water. If you pour too much, everything will spill. Oh, and you'll only use them when you approach the cemetery.
So there you have it - my theory of memory and the drinking glass.
Ripples
A colleague came up to me today and told me she liked my writing - "Pages". It was a love story about a guy and his lost love and how he hated the weatherman.
Come to think of it, it was my facebook that she read! But hey, thanks for liking it in the first place!
If you ever chance upon this page, here's something for you and all those who bother -
A butterfly's trail -
Swaying in the frozen winds,
Marks the start of Spring.
Come to think of it, it was my facebook that she read! But hey, thanks for liking it in the first place!
If you ever chance upon this page, here's something for you and all those who bother -
A butterfly's trail -
Swaying in the frozen winds,
Marks the start of Spring.
Bad Week
Been sick.
Tried cooking that mushroom stir-fry thing today at Abel's and it turned out a little worse than yesterdays, but I think I've got it down already. Next one's gonna be good.
Seafood at Cold Storage's a bummer - "The Fresh Food People" indeed... I've never had worst squid. Shrimp was flaky when cooked too. I'll be coming down with a tummy ache soon, I swear.
Played like 30 minutes of badminton today before giving up. Think we're gonna head to a proper indoor court next time. My crunches stopped at 85 today... the last 25 was murder. The flu really did me in... I didn't even run this week.
On the other hand, I sat down to a McDonald's lunch today and found my stomach wrenching from the oil. Might be a good response to unhealthy food.
Live a good life, exercise, eat right, live long - that's my mantra for now. No use having to much money when you're old and then spending it all on medicine and hospital stays.
And all that's under control; other variables of your life you have to leave to chance (some of you might call it fate), so all the best.
Come Again - MFlo
Tried cooking that mushroom stir-fry thing today at Abel's and it turned out a little worse than yesterdays, but I think I've got it down already. Next one's gonna be good.
Seafood at Cold Storage's a bummer - "The Fresh Food People" indeed... I've never had worst squid. Shrimp was flaky when cooked too. I'll be coming down with a tummy ache soon, I swear.
Played like 30 minutes of badminton today before giving up. Think we're gonna head to a proper indoor court next time. My crunches stopped at 85 today... the last 25 was murder. The flu really did me in... I didn't even run this week.
On the other hand, I sat down to a McDonald's lunch today and found my stomach wrenching from the oil. Might be a good response to unhealthy food.
Live a good life, exercise, eat right, live long - that's my mantra for now. No use having to much money when you're old and then spending it all on medicine and hospital stays.
And all that's under control; other variables of your life you have to leave to chance (some of you might call it fate), so all the best.
Come Again - MFlo
What's new?
So you ask, with the sun in your face,
"What's new today? What lies in wait?"
So up you stand and away you'll be
Walking yourself down crowded streets.
So to work you go, to the big cluttered desk,
"Tomorrow I'll clean up this mess."
So and lunch comes before you know,
And you start to wonder why has time past so slow.
So fighting the food coma that comes around three
Not looking forward to the meeting in an hour to be.
So then comes five and then six arrives soon
You tense up while work continues to balloon.
"So much to do, and so little time!
Why can't the day end up to be fine?"
So lying in bed counting the hours left
"What's new today," all said in jest.
Loose Ends - Imogen Heap
"What's new today? What lies in wait?"
So up you stand and away you'll be
Walking yourself down crowded streets.
So to work you go, to the big cluttered desk,
"Tomorrow I'll clean up this mess."
So and lunch comes before you know,
And you start to wonder why has time past so slow.
So fighting the food coma that comes around three
Not looking forward to the meeting in an hour to be.
So then comes five and then six arrives soon
You tense up while work continues to balloon.
"So much to do, and so little time!
Why can't the day end up to be fine?"
So lying in bed counting the hours left
"What's new today," all said in jest.
Loose Ends - Imogen Heap
That's it.
What's happiness like?
I'll let you know when I feel it.
Dinner's made by me tomorrow - Steamed Chicken, Sambal Kangkong, and Lotus Root Soup - nothing fancy, but it's great to be back in the kitchen again.
I'll let you know when I feel it.
Dinner's made by me tomorrow - Steamed Chicken, Sambal Kangkong, and Lotus Root Soup - nothing fancy, but it's great to be back in the kitchen again.
I wonder
The world moves as I stay still;
A moment passes like the others
That made their existence short
And meaningless, doppelgangers
Of the same instance.
Senses stay while you dance;
A butterfly against the winds of time.
Incomplete, I stray
And watch from the side
As you flutter by.
A moment passes like the others
That made their existence short
And meaningless, doppelgangers
Of the same instance.
Senses stay while you dance;
A butterfly against the winds of time.
Incomplete, I stray
And watch from the side
As you flutter by.
My Plans for 2009
My dude's gonna come home from the UK in June, and we're going shopping!
We've been bros since primary school and I must say we've been out of touch since the whole having a girlfriend issue. Now that that's out of the way, I guess the least I could do is let him buy me a few shirts.
Then come September, we're going to Korea to do more shopping!
But till then, I'll just have to shop in Singapore. Took a look at some online shopping sites and damn we're missing out.
"Dude, I love your shirt."
"Yeah, and I hate yours."
Can't wait.
Ave Maria - Andain
We've been bros since primary school and I must say we've been out of touch since the whole having a girlfriend issue. Now that that's out of the way, I guess the least I could do is let him buy me a few shirts.
Then come September, we're going to Korea to do more shopping!
But till then, I'll just have to shop in Singapore. Took a look at some online shopping sites and damn we're missing out.
"Dude, I love your shirt."
"Yeah, and I hate yours."
Can't wait.
Ave Maria - Andain
She
I still remember the words.
"I can't help but think you would've done the same for her."
Well, she's right, and I have done much more.
On another note, it's been more than a month. Feels slower and slower each day.
"I can't help but think you would've done the same for her."
Well, she's right, and I have done much more.
On another note, it's been more than a month. Feels slower and slower each day.
In my eyes
Bits of the ceiling fall to the floor, crumbling into dust at my feet. I shuffle the fragments all around trying to find reason for my action, but it's all microscopic. Through the smoke I see him trembling in the corner where I left him, his fat ugly silhouette refusing to run away as I moved towards him, readying the shotgun with a resounding click.
He shifts his weight back; it takes some time coz there's a lot to move but he does it eventually and manages to carve a corner out of the rubbish that he's collected over the years - the same years he left me and the family lost and starving in the streets, begging for scraps and eating cardboard for warmth.
Cupboard surrounds him. I make him eat some of it to see if it tasted better in an expensive house. Fragments of brown snow drift across the room, his teeth chattering trying to chew on the boxes.
Click.
And one day he came by, asking mum if she wanted to make him some money for all the gifts he bought her. I remember the things he gave her - two useless children, a whole truck load of bad luck, a huge mortgage payment, and the ugliest husband in the world. He gave shit to her every day, and yet he came back, taking her with him and turning into the street with bright neon lights.
The snow turned white, and sharp. The chandelier above sang the overture to his fate as it crashed down in between him and me. He pushed some boxes my way to worm further into the corner. I kicked some glass his way, wondering if he'd eat them if I pointed the gun at his balls long enough.
Turns out he will.
Click.
He was crying now, like the way me and my sister used to cry. He hated children; my friends always got toys and candy from their dads. I got to clean out his used condoms and dirty magazines before buying breakfast for him and the broads he'd bring back, using money stolen from mum.
He hated children. I made sure he'd never have em again.
Click.
And as he screamed out in agony the names of my dead mother and sister, I screamed back with all the tenacity I could muster, vent up from all the years of searching and wandering from city to city asking about the man I hate most - the one person I didn't want to see ever again but yet have to because I needed to tell him one thing.
"You got her name wrong."
Click.
He shifts his weight back; it takes some time coz there's a lot to move but he does it eventually and manages to carve a corner out of the rubbish that he's collected over the years - the same years he left me and the family lost and starving in the streets, begging for scraps and eating cardboard for warmth.
Cupboard surrounds him. I make him eat some of it to see if it tasted better in an expensive house. Fragments of brown snow drift across the room, his teeth chattering trying to chew on the boxes.
Click.
And one day he came by, asking mum if she wanted to make him some money for all the gifts he bought her. I remember the things he gave her - two useless children, a whole truck load of bad luck, a huge mortgage payment, and the ugliest husband in the world. He gave shit to her every day, and yet he came back, taking her with him and turning into the street with bright neon lights.
The snow turned white, and sharp. The chandelier above sang the overture to his fate as it crashed down in between him and me. He pushed some boxes my way to worm further into the corner. I kicked some glass his way, wondering if he'd eat them if I pointed the gun at his balls long enough.
Turns out he will.
Click.
He was crying now, like the way me and my sister used to cry. He hated children; my friends always got toys and candy from their dads. I got to clean out his used condoms and dirty magazines before buying breakfast for him and the broads he'd bring back, using money stolen from mum.
He hated children. I made sure he'd never have em again.
Click.
And as he screamed out in agony the names of my dead mother and sister, I screamed back with all the tenacity I could muster, vent up from all the years of searching and wandering from city to city asking about the man I hate most - the one person I didn't want to see ever again but yet have to because I needed to tell him one thing.
"You got her name wrong."
Click.
It continues
I'm finding it harder and harder to find myself in the decisions I make.
Some help here?
Some help here?
Rocky
Things aren't going well for me now, but I guess it'll turn around soon.
Just need to calm myself and think.
Smiling helps too.
:)
Just need to calm myself and think.
Smiling helps too.
:)
My favorite Disney Movie
Beauty & the Beast - Beauty & the Beast
Beauty And The Beast - Celine Dion and Peabo Bryson
Tale as old as time
True as it can be
Barely even friends
Then somebody bends
Unexpectedly
Just a little change
Small, to say the least
Both a little scared
Neither one prepared
Beauty and the Beast
Ever just the same
Ever a surprise
Ever as before
And ever just as sure
As the sun will rise
Whoa, whoa, oh, whoa-oh
Ever just the same
Ever a surprise
Ever as before
Ever just as sure
As the sun will rise
Oh, oh, oh
Tale as old as time
Tune as old as song
Bittersweet and strange
Finding you can change
Learning you were wrong
Certain as the sun
(Certain as the sun)
Rising in the east
Tale as old as time
Song as old as rhyme
Beauty and the Beast
Tale as old as time
Song as old as rhyme
Beauty and the Beast
