mutilation

fuck. my cousins are asking me to go drinking and i so bloody want to because it will be a bloody fantastic way to begin the holidays by getting drunk and puking out along the street. but i can't, as always since i have to be up by 5 tomorrow to catch the coach to malacca.
stupid clashes, as always.

***

i think that self-mutilation is a phrase. and the meaning of phrase is crucial here.

***

the 7th month is here again and there are lit joss sticks inserted upon the ground, stuck in crumbs of soil, burning brightly through the night, fading as the night wears on and then turning into bright glares later on at night. the air has once more taken on a smoky pallor and each whiff of the night's air that used to be crisp on hot nights now brings ash to mind. burnt monetary offerings, the symbol of faithfulness and respect for ancestory sail through the air at regular intervals.

the car stops at a traffic light at the bottom of a hill and i see many people burning money offerrings at the top of the hill in big bins that mysteriously appear around the periods of august to september each year. the wind blows strong, but i am sheltered in the metallic frame of the car, only feeling the puff of the airconditioner. it is a strange feeling to be so cut off from the world that i cannot feel the wind against my skin, while everything else billows in the wind. like being in a house with the heater on in winter.
the ashes from the burnt money offerrings billow in the wind, flicker and glow in a shade of reddish-orange as the wind plays with the ashes. and i think about how similar we are to ashes in this aspect.