i wonder what i'm doing here once again, typing, knocking the keys on my laptops when mounting piles of work are just waiting for me to delve into them.
then again, maybe i'll take the easy way out - the yellow pill and just fall again. to fall into a deep sleep once again.
are you still taking yellow pills?
i realised today that i no longer need an answer, a reason to carry on. whatever i possess belongs to me alone and i'm accountable to no one, really.
and wow, surprisingly, this is the 200th entry of this blog. when i started it off, i meant it to be a public one - one that i could showcase on friendster and have lame pictures on it and the like. then i realised that i wasn't quite comfortable with the idea of my friends reading so much about my life. bah. and so i shifted for a while, closed this blog occassionally when i felt the need to, and opened it again last july or thereabouts, i remember.
so what has this blog seen me through? 2 relationships, 2 memorable ones and though i can't say for sure that i was the "dumper" for both, i was certainly the initiating party, both of them got the hint, i guess. and while the first relationship reminds me of bliss, pleasantries, hot summer days and outings and joy, i can't really say the same for the next, because the other party was apparently so sore about not being the initiating party that "it" began to spread vicious rumous about me to our mutual friends. now that is what i call, telling. thank you for telling me that you truly wanted me and were so upset at my actions that you just had to do it. thank god for sms-es. the next time i meet our mutal friends who give me weird vibes as a result of what you've been telling them i can just whip out my phone and show them your mushy, mushy messages, kept not out of nostalgia but out of my stint in the civil service - everything must be in black and white ah!
i can't even believe how my colleague could actually bring herself to ask me about my bonus. pffft.
i've been accustomed to the way that there is a pause after you dial the eight numbers on your phone. yes, there will be a pause and once the phone is switched off, it only takes 2 seconds for the phone to get into the voicemail mode. once the pause is longer than 2 seconds, however, it means that the line is getting connected, and that is when i hang up the phone.
to leave no trace behind. to know that something is for certain without you ever knowing.
gads. it's already half past eleven.
backs. naked backs and you notice a mole that you've never noticed before. will he stir if i cover him gently with the blanket? pores. i lift a finger and try to put it as close to his skin as i can without touching it. will my fingers touch the fine hairs. my lips part in concentration. i paint a pretty picture of us together.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Monday, April 02, 2007
mocking bird
it amazes me to be typing here in front of my laptop, comfortable as i am in my shorts and tube top. it amazes me to be able to witness the exact moment that the day turns to dusk and begins its' descent toward darkness.
or perhaps it's just that i'm been hibernating under the covers too much - the best times to fall into slumber are from the late mornings to the early afternoon, and then to get up a bit, read a murakami novel in bed, and then fall asleep again with your hair across your face, dreaming of norobu watayas, torus, creta and malta kanos, kumikos, birds that wind their springs, working in wig factories, men with faceless faces, hotel rooms, and of course, cutty sark.
and by the next time you rouse, it's already past seven, the skies are grey and dark and no more birds sing. the leaves of trees outside your window look unusually dark in the dimness and you don't bother to look harder at them. the leaves never change in reality anyway. or even if they did, like grow an extended network of veins overnight, you wouldn't know the difference.
you may shuffle along the cold white tiles in your bare feet, contemplate having a bath, then decide that it is probably not worth the trouble since you have been lying in bed all day anyway. and quickly, dusk slips into blissful darkness.
at night, i may wander around the house, looking at things around the house - the antique vase in the corner - i've never noticed its' existence before! the magazines dating back to 1991, i idly pick them up and flip through them. things that came through the mail and are lying in a heap upon the floor. i pick them up and read through bits and pieces of letters, bills, ads. crumpled receipts in my bag, long forgotten - not! i uncrumple them, smooth them out and read them - cashier's name? date? item bought? i recall and try and think what i'd bought, purchased, what i did that day, factors that led to the purchase of that item. and when i'm done with the skimming through of the receipts, i look into the shoe cabinets. i like to buy pretty shoes that i almost never ever wear - i'm the sort of person who can wear a single pair of shoes to death. that's why that single pair of shoes must go with practically everything in my wardrobe. which isn't difficult, considering that i'm such a blah-dresser. black, whites, greys. never the bohemian, though i'd once gone through a jappy dresser stage a month or two back. rouge, eyeliner, kohl, red streaks and the like. but anyway. shoes. pretty laced ones, wedges, pink heels, ballerina lookalikes. sandals. in a variety of colours, sizes, even. i buy and hog, and almost never wear them out. i run my fingers over the pretty texture - shoes from hongkong and london, the touch brings to mind a memory. and i stare, fixated at everything else unfolding in front of me - this is what i like to see - elements of my past life being brought to life just by thinking, reminising.
and when searching in my own house no longer suffices, i just grab the keys to the car and run downstairs and get into the car and blast Cassie's Me and You and usually, the first place i head to is Astro hotel at the east side and i get out of the car and gaze across the drab carpark. then i get back into the car and make a slow drive this time across the singapore river and gaze at the majestic buildings, hotels and skyscrapers and i wonder what i'm doing while getting all the way there.
in that same breath i'd head back home and sated, i'd fall asleep in the hall, without a comforter this time, with the balcony door half open and the sounds of the first birds chirping in the air.
and so, another day passed.
or perhaps it's just that i'm been hibernating under the covers too much - the best times to fall into slumber are from the late mornings to the early afternoon, and then to get up a bit, read a murakami novel in bed, and then fall asleep again with your hair across your face, dreaming of norobu watayas, torus, creta and malta kanos, kumikos, birds that wind their springs, working in wig factories, men with faceless faces, hotel rooms, and of course, cutty sark.
and by the next time you rouse, it's already past seven, the skies are grey and dark and no more birds sing. the leaves of trees outside your window look unusually dark in the dimness and you don't bother to look harder at them. the leaves never change in reality anyway. or even if they did, like grow an extended network of veins overnight, you wouldn't know the difference.
you may shuffle along the cold white tiles in your bare feet, contemplate having a bath, then decide that it is probably not worth the trouble since you have been lying in bed all day anyway. and quickly, dusk slips into blissful darkness.
at night, i may wander around the house, looking at things around the house - the antique vase in the corner - i've never noticed its' existence before! the magazines dating back to 1991, i idly pick them up and flip through them. things that came through the mail and are lying in a heap upon the floor. i pick them up and read through bits and pieces of letters, bills, ads. crumpled receipts in my bag, long forgotten - not! i uncrumple them, smooth them out and read them - cashier's name? date? item bought? i recall and try and think what i'd bought, purchased, what i did that day, factors that led to the purchase of that item. and when i'm done with the skimming through of the receipts, i look into the shoe cabinets. i like to buy pretty shoes that i almost never ever wear - i'm the sort of person who can wear a single pair of shoes to death. that's why that single pair of shoes must go with practically everything in my wardrobe. which isn't difficult, considering that i'm such a blah-dresser. black, whites, greys. never the bohemian, though i'd once gone through a jappy dresser stage a month or two back. rouge, eyeliner, kohl, red streaks and the like. but anyway. shoes. pretty laced ones, wedges, pink heels, ballerina lookalikes. sandals. in a variety of colours, sizes, even. i buy and hog, and almost never wear them out. i run my fingers over the pretty texture - shoes from hongkong and london, the touch brings to mind a memory. and i stare, fixated at everything else unfolding in front of me - this is what i like to see - elements of my past life being brought to life just by thinking, reminising.
and when searching in my own house no longer suffices, i just grab the keys to the car and run downstairs and get into the car and blast Cassie's Me and You and usually, the first place i head to is Astro hotel at the east side and i get out of the car and gaze across the drab carpark. then i get back into the car and make a slow drive this time across the singapore river and gaze at the majestic buildings, hotels and skyscrapers and i wonder what i'm doing while getting all the way there.
in that same breath i'd head back home and sated, i'd fall asleep in the hall, without a comforter this time, with the balcony door half open and the sounds of the first birds chirping in the air.
and so, another day passed.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
in slumber
we talk, we laugh, we stub out our cigarettes on cold grey concrete tables and then we get up and leave. i feel cold because the cold stone benches have left imprints of the cold on my thighs. otherwise, i do not. i rarely feel cold anymore these days. even when i do, i shrug off the thought of wearing a cardigan, the thought of going through all that trouble, just to warm myself, seems inconsequential. why go to all that trouble just to ensure my own comfort? creature comforts, they just don't seem that important to me anymore. living is just a mere inconvenience - the very thought of having to wake up in the mornings, put on my make-up and go about my daily mundane tasks - the very thought just bores me. put me through endless meetings and the shoving of information down my system, the involuntary retch and fight against the ideals that are pushed across to me everyday, on a daily basis, nothing ever excites me anymore.
i've spent many days huddling under the comforters. in the comfort of my own room, i dwelled. the parents were away, so i had the whole house to myself. i padded around in nothing but my underwear and bedroom slippers. mornings meant i got up, brushed my teeth, opened the door to pick up the newspapers, accquainted myself with the obituraries - how very morbid a way to start the day. i'd look and gaze at 70 something men and women and wonder about their deaths and wonder if like what my father had said - those with the bible verses "i have fought a good fght" printed above their photographs really did die of cancer. i stared at thirty something men and wondered why they never had the chance to get married and what would happen to their wives and children, if there were any indicated below. i browsed through the business section, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone's name, but sadly, i never did. i skimmed through the home section, boring myself to death with details of gory accidents, news on huge corporations going to court for a variety of reasons and wondered about life going on while mine stopped.
i'd gaze out of the windows and stare at the bright morning sun till waves of multi-coloured spots wavered before me and i felt the ground move. then, shading my eyes from the sun, i had to sit and rest before i passed out.
under the covers was the best part of each day for me. i didn't feel sleepy, but i just felt the need to get away from the world and to just fall into slumber was the easiest way to do it. so i would close my eyes and lie under the comforter, no matter how hot it was, i always buried myself under the comforter and waited for sleep to consume me. it became easier each time i tried to fall asleep. i didn't even need my comfort source - the yellow pill designated to be take for flu - you taught me that. you who now are gone from my life and is heard of no more.
some days i just call your phone late at night and listen to your voice on the automated voicemail. i've never left a message before though. it wouldn't be my style.
strangely, now that you've not called and you've probably gotten the message, i feel lonely. i wish you were still calling me and messaging me and then i'd know that you perhaps remembered me at least.
that in some obscure corner of the world,
i might linger in a figment of your thoughts.
that in your unlined sleep,
i may slip in
as a shadow of a memory of a dream
i remember running 5km on the treadmill in the gym. no easy feat for a self-professed non gym bunny, but i made it, 2 days in a row. i felt as though i was trying to run as fast as i could, away from myself. and when i got tired, it perhaps stopped me from thinking further. perhaps that's why my body gave up on me. i needed the respite.
my tattoos and ear-holes. i never liked having them, but i felt the need for them. or, correction, not the need for them, but perhaps, i felt the need to go through the process of it. the pain. pain is important. maybe someday, laser can work to erase all my marks.
essentially, i hate looking forward to things, because time, ultimately, just passes you by, no matter how enjoyable the moment, like a slap in the face, like a yell of jubilation - there! the moment's gone and you won't be able to relive it! and if things don't match up, then it pretty much ruins everything else from there.
my huddled brain's too tired to think further. guess i'm better off in slumber.
i've spent many days huddling under the comforters. in the comfort of my own room, i dwelled. the parents were away, so i had the whole house to myself. i padded around in nothing but my underwear and bedroom slippers. mornings meant i got up, brushed my teeth, opened the door to pick up the newspapers, accquainted myself with the obituraries - how very morbid a way to start the day. i'd look and gaze at 70 something men and women and wonder about their deaths and wonder if like what my father had said - those with the bible verses "i have fought a good fght" printed above their photographs really did die of cancer. i stared at thirty something men and wondered why they never had the chance to get married and what would happen to their wives and children, if there were any indicated below. i browsed through the business section, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone's name, but sadly, i never did. i skimmed through the home section, boring myself to death with details of gory accidents, news on huge corporations going to court for a variety of reasons and wondered about life going on while mine stopped.
i'd gaze out of the windows and stare at the bright morning sun till waves of multi-coloured spots wavered before me and i felt the ground move. then, shading my eyes from the sun, i had to sit and rest before i passed out.
under the covers was the best part of each day for me. i didn't feel sleepy, but i just felt the need to get away from the world and to just fall into slumber was the easiest way to do it. so i would close my eyes and lie under the comforter, no matter how hot it was, i always buried myself under the comforter and waited for sleep to consume me. it became easier each time i tried to fall asleep. i didn't even need my comfort source - the yellow pill designated to be take for flu - you taught me that. you who now are gone from my life and is heard of no more.
some days i just call your phone late at night and listen to your voice on the automated voicemail. i've never left a message before though. it wouldn't be my style.
strangely, now that you've not called and you've probably gotten the message, i feel lonely. i wish you were still calling me and messaging me and then i'd know that you perhaps remembered me at least.
that in some obscure corner of the world,
i might linger in a figment of your thoughts.
that in your unlined sleep,
i may slip in
as a shadow of a memory of a dream
i remember running 5km on the treadmill in the gym. no easy feat for a self-professed non gym bunny, but i made it, 2 days in a row. i felt as though i was trying to run as fast as i could, away from myself. and when i got tired, it perhaps stopped me from thinking further. perhaps that's why my body gave up on me. i needed the respite.
my tattoos and ear-holes. i never liked having them, but i felt the need for them. or, correction, not the need for them, but perhaps, i felt the need to go through the process of it. the pain. pain is important. maybe someday, laser can work to erase all my marks.
essentially, i hate looking forward to things, because time, ultimately, just passes you by, no matter how enjoyable the moment, like a slap in the face, like a yell of jubilation - there! the moment's gone and you won't be able to relive it! and if things don't match up, then it pretty much ruins everything else from there.
my huddled brain's too tired to think further. guess i'm better off in slumber.
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