After a long while, nothing seems to have changed. I seem to be stuck in a time warp of some sort, living and existing in the moment and then looking back to see that time has passed and little has changed.
Perhaps it's a mid-life crisis, perhaps it's not. All I'm left wondering about is whether there is any meaning to life at all. Therein lies the paradox of existence - do we exist for others? To be part of the world, as we know it, to fulfill the roles that we think we are supposed to? Or do our lives really belong to ourselves and that we are free beings, to act as we wish?
I'd like to fag actually. As always, I think I am looking for respite, release. To smoke and to blow puffs of smoke up into the air, kick off my shoes and to linger on a steel chair and listen to the waves far, far away and the sounds of the planes taking off, transporting all those in its' steel body to different places, transporting them to their dreams, their desires, each trip a different one.
I tap my fingers languidly against the lined, steel table. I notice that one nail is chipped, so I decide to inspect my nails. I notice that my nails tend to slant in one direction, due to an old habit of mine - a tendency to pick at the sides of my fingers, and in this case, mostly just picking on one side of my fingers. My nails are turning yellow. I then look at my rings, my constant companions, not out of an inability to let go of the past, but rather, out of the way I've grown used to feeling them around my fingers - my fingers feel naked without them.
I walk towards the sand and take off my pretty sandals. My skirt billows in the wind and flaps around my calves. I think of fingers around my ankles and the last time I curled my feet under me when I sit. The sand is dry and crumbles beneath my feet. I do not fear stepping on glass or stones, for there is no more pain that I am no longer numb to. I walk towards the waves and then my feet sink into the sand. I think about walking further and further into the sea - there would come a point when the sea bed dips suddenly.
I was so close to you today, so much so that I believe we were looking at the same spots of light, inhaling the same wafts of cigar smoke mixed with the charred smell of grilled food.
Friday night was spent at a dingy pub called "Tattoo" at Far East. Dark, cramped and warm, uncomfortable stools that make one wonder where to place one's feet. Smoke wafts around and there was a hazy, unbelievable aura to the place. Add booze to the picture and everything turns into a dream.
Bright lights to hurt your eyes and to smash you back to reality, people rushing past as if you never existed as part of the human race - to each his own - is that not understood enough?
To think and wonder and then conclude that much is in vain - to stiffen up and forget to think.
To lose yourself.
I was close to you and I wonder if you sensed that. You've haunted my dreams for the past few nights. In one dream, I saw you sitting at the back of a room with a book in tow, a white book. Lost fragments, I can hardly fathom what the dream was all about, suffice to say there could always be better dreams.
The shutters were down but I spied lights beyond, beyond and beyond. The distance between you and me an endless one with boundaries that stretch far beyond.
Outside, joss sticks provided me respite with the knowledge that half an hour ago, someone rolled up the shutters and placed a few lit joss sticks upon the altar.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Monday, April 03, 2006
rain
walked past rows and rows of niches with photos of those long gone discoloured, in the place that time seemed to stand still. for those people, at least. immortalised within the niches, put to rest with two dates in red or gold, one when their life began, one when their lives ended.
looked at the niche of a baby sealed together with her mother's and wondered if her mother died of grief a few years after her child died at the age of 3. walked past the niche of a pair of twins who were born and died on exactly the same day. looked at the loving picture of a couple who died before they were 40. looked at the niche of a boy who died at 14 and wondered how many of the dead took their own lives.
saw the niche of a beautiful lady whom i remember died in a diving accident 7 years ago when i was still in JC.gorgeous she looked, even on the photo on her niche. what was left on her niche was a faded rose, droplets of water rising against the plastic wrapping, a testimony that she was missed. that someone perhaps dropped by on a hot and languid weekday afternoon, walked up alone to the 2nd storey of the row of niches in which she was placed, put a rose at her niche, stepped back, thought of her and her smile, her joy and laughter, her tears and pain, looked at her photo and tried to remember her full of life, but seven years on, that isn't easy. traced his fingers across the engravement of her name, perhaps. did a tear roll down his face? we shall never know.
***
Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory;
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the beloved's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
***
it's like waiting for a sailor to return from sea, when the sea is turbulent and the skies are grey.
it's like waiting when you know waiting is in vain.
it's forbidden fruit.
and i wonder and dream about eyes, wet from rain and tears, droplets of water cogulating on a whisp of fringe.
your fringe.
***
you should fall. you should lose your balance. you should lose and have the taste of defeat. the sour taste of defeat accentuated by taste of tears seeping into the corners of your mouth as you desperately try to contain them and blink them away fiercely.
you should fall, you who have never fallen.
you the one in orange staring idly at the world going by, your feet in rubber slippers and you stare the the grey floor you trotted about as a child. the ants who weave around the floor in circles. you watch them idly, never noticing the girl on a bicycle.
you in orange. you the fidgety one. you the one i think of.
looked at the niche of a baby sealed together with her mother's and wondered if her mother died of grief a few years after her child died at the age of 3. walked past the niche of a pair of twins who were born and died on exactly the same day. looked at the loving picture of a couple who died before they were 40. looked at the niche of a boy who died at 14 and wondered how many of the dead took their own lives.
saw the niche of a beautiful lady whom i remember died in a diving accident 7 years ago when i was still in JC.gorgeous she looked, even on the photo on her niche. what was left on her niche was a faded rose, droplets of water rising against the plastic wrapping, a testimony that she was missed. that someone perhaps dropped by on a hot and languid weekday afternoon, walked up alone to the 2nd storey of the row of niches in which she was placed, put a rose at her niche, stepped back, thought of her and her smile, her joy and laughter, her tears and pain, looked at her photo and tried to remember her full of life, but seven years on, that isn't easy. traced his fingers across the engravement of her name, perhaps. did a tear roll down his face? we shall never know.
***
Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory;
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the beloved's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
***
it's like waiting for a sailor to return from sea, when the sea is turbulent and the skies are grey.
it's like waiting when you know waiting is in vain.
it's forbidden fruit.
and i wonder and dream about eyes, wet from rain and tears, droplets of water cogulating on a whisp of fringe.
your fringe.
***
you should fall. you should lose your balance. you should lose and have the taste of defeat. the sour taste of defeat accentuated by taste of tears seeping into the corners of your mouth as you desperately try to contain them and blink them away fiercely.
you should fall, you who have never fallen.
you the one in orange staring idly at the world going by, your feet in rubber slippers and you stare the the grey floor you trotted about as a child. the ants who weave around the floor in circles. you watch them idly, never noticing the girl on a bicycle.
you in orange. you the fidgety one. you the one i think of.
Monday, March 27, 2006
get used to it :)
For the power of beauty will sooner transform honesty from what it is to a bawd, than the force of honesty can translate beauty into his likeness. This was sometimes a paradox, but now the time gives it proof.
I did love you once.
You should not have believed me, for virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it.
I loved you not.
Get thee to a nunnery - why would you be a breeder of sinners? I am myself indifferent, honest, but yet I could accuse me of such things, that it were better my mother had not given me life. I am very proud, indifferent, ambitious, with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them beck than I have thoughts to put them in. What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves all, believe none of us.
-Hamlet, Shakespeare.
Shakespeare's the only genius with words. now, do YOU know when you're being insulted? :)
I did love you once.
You should not have believed me, for virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it.
I loved you not.
Get thee to a nunnery - why would you be a breeder of sinners? I am myself indifferent, honest, but yet I could accuse me of such things, that it were better my mother had not given me life. I am very proud, indifferent, ambitious, with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them beck than I have thoughts to put them in. What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves all, believe none of us.
-Hamlet, Shakespeare.
Shakespeare's the only genius with words. now, do YOU know when you're being insulted? :)
Friday, March 17, 2006
when
I wish I could say that many things have changed in the course of 6 months, but nothing much has changed. I was just thinking the day before that instead of searching along the streets of booze and decadence and lanes filled with the raucous laughter of the drunk, I now search along the housing estates, past the men in thin cheap white shirts crying for their livelihood, cajoling others to stop and take a look at their durians, or the various fruits of the seasons. I walk past the men togged in white shirts and ties, barely past reaching adulthood, a stack of leaflets in hand, resorting to fake smiles and cajoles as a trade off for their time. I walk past the ladies with painted faces who sit and varnish their nails as they wait for customers to arrive, customers who browse unceasingly through the pile of clothes, nitpicking, and who vanish as quickly as they come, hopes of earning a quick buck from the sales of the items hopeless vanishing, evaporating.
Instead of looking at bright lights and fast cars, I now look at clothes hung on bamboo poles, billowing in the wind, a testimony to air molecules moving, rushing past each other in a dance of love. I now look at bright lights of a different sort - they blind the eyes and you've to be careful not to look directly at them. When in the past bright spots were tandem to the night sky and the bright lights flashed and swarmed before your very eyes when music blared in the background, the fluorescent lights now only serve to hurt your eyes.
When in the past I grabbed my gym bag and headed to the pub alone after a solitary dinner and watched the words "absolut" rotate unceasingly across the walls and bored waiters trip over themselves as they tried to serve me and bouncers asking me what was in my huge red bag and advising me to up my protein intake before exercising (think soy products and egg whites), I now search the neighbourhood streets where medicine men tout their latest products and men and women of different ages with degrees of varying interests in the products stop by to watch the medicine man break glass bottles with a thin piece of paper, sweat dripping across his forehead and rendering the cheap thin shirt to be plastered to his back in a layer of sweat.
When in the past I never thought much of the old man with his little grandson who chuckled shyly at the many glances towards him cast by so many teenage boys and girls whenever his grandfather brought him to the exercise corner in my college, now I wonder whether the old man still exists in this world and what has become of that young boy.
When six months ago I was still in the classroom with almost 35 seven year old children and trying hard not to scream at them, a seafood dinner followed in the dingy coffeeshop well-known for their crabs. I remember licking the spicy gravy off my fingers and the place that we sat at and how we had to wade into a stall in order to make use of the wash basins situated inside the stall.
And while it was sweet while it lasted, I no longer think about you, not even when I was away and watching the sea in a foreign land or in my stupors along life, tumbling over the abysses and finding my way up again.
"I am on another flight away, away from Singapore once again. I wait in the departure lounge, reading yet another Murakami novel. This time, it is Dance, Dance, Dance. A science fiction novel that outlays the boundaries of realities and makes me think of fiction in a new light. I board the plane and get to a window seat. I sit next to an old man and his wife, they are huddled in blankets and remind me of what winter in England must be like. I only have a cardigan on.
And then I see you. On a flight to Tokyo."
Perhaps you recognize me, perhaps you do not.
"It is like an ordinary day and the wind streaks through the cold air, streaming through leaves. Like fingers weaving through unyielding coldness.
On a humid and cold morning as such, the sky seems water-painted. Clear visions of colour are passing before my eyes. The tree outside my window thinks it is spring and time to bloom and it is right. On such a morning, it is difficult to imagine that the world is moving, that people are in motion and that clouds are drifting lazily by.
You are but an imagined concept, one that is built up upon dreams, visions, hope and a tiny bit of reality. What transpires may never be fulfilled."Perhaps not, or perhaps I don't want it badly enough to.
"Perhaps it shall provide me with a clue as to whether it was a deliberate one or an accident. not that it really matters. i guess i just need to find out. was he crying with fright at all the noise? was he in a hammock hung down from the ceiling? did they make sure he was in a different room?
i imagine the house without any air-conditioning, a bright day or perhaps a humid night. the leaves were not flying in the wind due to a lack of it. the sheets would be stained with sweat. a pink nightgown or perhaps shorts and an oversized top. the rotating fan causes a slight breeze in the room. and something magical occurs."
When once I searched the streets of decadence, I now search the faces of the common people, the grief-stricken ones, the ones clad in cheap shirts and flat slippers.
Instead of looking at bright lights and fast cars, I now look at clothes hung on bamboo poles, billowing in the wind, a testimony to air molecules moving, rushing past each other in a dance of love. I now look at bright lights of a different sort - they blind the eyes and you've to be careful not to look directly at them. When in the past bright spots were tandem to the night sky and the bright lights flashed and swarmed before your very eyes when music blared in the background, the fluorescent lights now only serve to hurt your eyes.
When in the past I grabbed my gym bag and headed to the pub alone after a solitary dinner and watched the words "absolut" rotate unceasingly across the walls and bored waiters trip over themselves as they tried to serve me and bouncers asking me what was in my huge red bag and advising me to up my protein intake before exercising (think soy products and egg whites), I now search the neighbourhood streets where medicine men tout their latest products and men and women of different ages with degrees of varying interests in the products stop by to watch the medicine man break glass bottles with a thin piece of paper, sweat dripping across his forehead and rendering the cheap thin shirt to be plastered to his back in a layer of sweat.
When in the past I never thought much of the old man with his little grandson who chuckled shyly at the many glances towards him cast by so many teenage boys and girls whenever his grandfather brought him to the exercise corner in my college, now I wonder whether the old man still exists in this world and what has become of that young boy.
When six months ago I was still in the classroom with almost 35 seven year old children and trying hard not to scream at them, a seafood dinner followed in the dingy coffeeshop well-known for their crabs. I remember licking the spicy gravy off my fingers and the place that we sat at and how we had to wade into a stall in order to make use of the wash basins situated inside the stall.
And while it was sweet while it lasted, I no longer think about you, not even when I was away and watching the sea in a foreign land or in my stupors along life, tumbling over the abysses and finding my way up again.
"I am on another flight away, away from Singapore once again. I wait in the departure lounge, reading yet another Murakami novel. This time, it is Dance, Dance, Dance. A science fiction novel that outlays the boundaries of realities and makes me think of fiction in a new light. I board the plane and get to a window seat. I sit next to an old man and his wife, they are huddled in blankets and remind me of what winter in England must be like. I only have a cardigan on.
And then I see you. On a flight to Tokyo."
Perhaps you recognize me, perhaps you do not.
"It is like an ordinary day and the wind streaks through the cold air, streaming through leaves. Like fingers weaving through unyielding coldness.
On a humid and cold morning as such, the sky seems water-painted. Clear visions of colour are passing before my eyes. The tree outside my window thinks it is spring and time to bloom and it is right. On such a morning, it is difficult to imagine that the world is moving, that people are in motion and that clouds are drifting lazily by.
You are but an imagined concept, one that is built up upon dreams, visions, hope and a tiny bit of reality. What transpires may never be fulfilled."Perhaps not, or perhaps I don't want it badly enough to.
"Perhaps it shall provide me with a clue as to whether it was a deliberate one or an accident. not that it really matters. i guess i just need to find out. was he crying with fright at all the noise? was he in a hammock hung down from the ceiling? did they make sure he was in a different room?
i imagine the house without any air-conditioning, a bright day or perhaps a humid night. the leaves were not flying in the wind due to a lack of it. the sheets would be stained with sweat. a pink nightgown or perhaps shorts and an oversized top. the rotating fan causes a slight breeze in the room. and something magical occurs."
When once I searched the streets of decadence, I now search the faces of the common people, the grief-stricken ones, the ones clad in cheap shirts and flat slippers.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
sinew
i was at MPH and i scoured the bookshelves for the kafka book today. at first i passed the chick-lit section, and then i wondered on and saw books by atwood, nicholas evans - the divide - the book i borrowed in december and never managed to read, and the i spotted it. i don't recall whether it was the cover with the painted face that first drew my attention to it, or whether it was the one with a black cat and a white background that drew me to it. i looked at the covers and then i looked at the prices, one being inconsequentially cheaper than the other by five cents, and then i looked at the quantity, one being the last one on the shelf and the other with around five copies of it remaining. the content would be the same, the translator was the same - philip gabriel - and then i saw that the one with the black cover had a scratch on the mid portion, around the right hand side, and i decided to take it anyway because the scratch reminded me of you, because i usually only see your right profile and i've never quite got down to figuring out whether that scratch was a fold caused by the crease and lines of your pillow after you get out of bed, creased with sleep as you are, or whether it was a testament to a fight, nails, sinew, flesh under skin, glass? a smash of glass, a fall? a fall caused by a trip and the delicate cheekbone that hits the ground. perhaps. that much i shall never know.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
grille
the sky's now turning grey as i speak. respite is in the air, the last week before school closes. i wish i could speak of summer breeze and restlessness, of the smell of summer that comes after spring, but i can't.
the grille gates have not changed and today i got off the bus. the same bus that i was on 5 years ago that stopped abruptly when a car sailed merrily into the lane the bus was travelling along. strangely though, that the driver of the car was more shaken than the driver of the bus, pausing and getting out of the car with a look of astonishment. astonishment at the near-accident, astonishment at escaping and perhaps ridicule.
that time 5 years ago, i don't know where he was. pottering around the wet market perhaps, gnawing on his fingers. cut your nails, please. playing with stones, fruits, grass, bits. many many things change in 5 years. like the other time when we went to block 213 to a tiny room and listening to songs that included "alleluiah". i still remember suggesting that we use that song while it rang out "alleluiah!" pretty weird.
there are many called fuckwits around me.
i'm tired.
i don't mind the rushes and sprouts of youth coming back to me, after all i could have forgotten what it was like once to be young and dumb. i'm not infalliable, i'm not perfect.
the grille gates have not changed and today i got off the bus. the same bus that i was on 5 years ago that stopped abruptly when a car sailed merrily into the lane the bus was travelling along. strangely though, that the driver of the car was more shaken than the driver of the bus, pausing and getting out of the car with a look of astonishment. astonishment at the near-accident, astonishment at escaping and perhaps ridicule.
that time 5 years ago, i don't know where he was. pottering around the wet market perhaps, gnawing on his fingers. cut your nails, please. playing with stones, fruits, grass, bits. many many things change in 5 years. like the other time when we went to block 213 to a tiny room and listening to songs that included "alleluiah". i still remember suggesting that we use that song while it rang out "alleluiah!" pretty weird.
there are many called fuckwits around me.
i'm tired.
i don't mind the rushes and sprouts of youth coming back to me, after all i could have forgotten what it was like once to be young and dumb. i'm not infalliable, i'm not perfect.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
blinding
a torrid dream today or perhaps from the night before, a movie on egyptian pyramids and the title was one of those "names" that i coined myself, nothing very different from intrasingence and there i saw it on the poster. come to think of it, i think it reminded me of the movie "the mummy" or perhaps "the mummy returns". and movies then conjure images of lost youth, of 6 years ago when i was in a cushy job albeit with low pay, with a (store)room of my own, attaching film slides to movie synopsis and then mailing them out to the media. the various organisations. the days when not doing anything meant that there was little to do and how many things could be gone without being done, unlike now when not doing anything actually means the inability to list things in order of priority, simply because everything just has to be bloody done.
but i'm losing my grasp for words perhaps in this sated, muted concious act of simply wanting to type.
i resent the scholars' choice that appear with the straits times today, simply because it reminds of of the world of possibilities out there and how the world has already stopped for me.
i ate chips at the pavillion he built before he left a thousand years ago. one by one with my slippers on the ground and my feet tucked under my body. i felt it ironical since the other time i was thinking about waddding into the pool and here i was, in a different time and place at a similar pool.
but i'm losing my grasp for words perhaps in this sated, muted concious act of simply wanting to type.
i resent the scholars' choice that appear with the straits times today, simply because it reminds of of the world of possibilities out there and how the world has already stopped for me.
i ate chips at the pavillion he built before he left a thousand years ago. one by one with my slippers on the ground and my feet tucked under my body. i felt it ironical since the other time i was thinking about waddding into the pool and here i was, in a different time and place at a similar pool.
Saturday, February 25, 2006
fish
and why are you out when you should be in the city of blinding lights, the city where no one sleeps, the city with restless hearts and loud music to drown out the words in your head? and why were you at the city of blinding lights that very day when she was probably miles, millions of miles away from you, sailing above the clouds with brightly manicured nails and a plastic smile in tow?
we take trips all the time, and i can't remember the last time i went to the airport though. nothing much has changed, not the bright blue contrast of the sky against the green leaves waving in the breeze, not the winding road that leads downwards and then upwards again, with the familiar landmark right in front of you, the throngs of people who all look the same despite your differences, simply because you've seen enough of the world.
***
when i got home i opened the tube of moisturiser and realised with a start that whatever i'd placed inside in a bid to forget its' existence, had tarnished, was now blackened with age, and i realised that by the simple act of just placing it there without thinking further was already the start of the end. i'll not forget that day when i rejected the ride and took a bus to the infamous sultan road and simply drank. i can't remember which floor i was on though, or perhaps that was simply the start of a few drinking sessions. either way it was the beginning of the end and a welcome end.
***
i went back to the church that i went to on a weekly basis ten years ago and it's fucking changed. however, i've realised that i'm able to sieve out changes and to simply remember places as they once were, not because change is bad, but simply because i've become resistant to changes in some ways. i can't figure out the reason. perhaps time has passed me by so fast and ignored my desires for it to still, for it to slow.
and i'm amazed that the bunch of us have known each other for seven years. it seems like only yesterday that we were in chaos over studying for the dreaded As, the day of my first A level paper when i went to mac donalds and chanced upon a suicide and a dead body in a mud pit on the way home, the hours of writing essays, and then the wait and dread for the papers to end and looking forward to prom-time when the papers finally ended. and the excitement of supposedly beginning a new life with uni life when you find out that nothing really changes, because by 18, you've almost seen enough of the world to get sick of it.
and it's seven years now.
***
i also remembered how i reared turtles in primary school and let them go in the pond one day, the same pond into which i dropped my specs one fine day in march perhaps, those lazy bright hazy days when i didn't want to go home and those days when an extra outing to church meant a brighter day. those days when i could still count my age by the fingers on my hands and that time when you wadded into the pond to reach into the water, fishes swimming around your ankles.
***
and sunday tomorrow.
we take trips all the time, and i can't remember the last time i went to the airport though. nothing much has changed, not the bright blue contrast of the sky against the green leaves waving in the breeze, not the winding road that leads downwards and then upwards again, with the familiar landmark right in front of you, the throngs of people who all look the same despite your differences, simply because you've seen enough of the world.
***
when i got home i opened the tube of moisturiser and realised with a start that whatever i'd placed inside in a bid to forget its' existence, had tarnished, was now blackened with age, and i realised that by the simple act of just placing it there without thinking further was already the start of the end. i'll not forget that day when i rejected the ride and took a bus to the infamous sultan road and simply drank. i can't remember which floor i was on though, or perhaps that was simply the start of a few drinking sessions. either way it was the beginning of the end and a welcome end.
***
i went back to the church that i went to on a weekly basis ten years ago and it's fucking changed. however, i've realised that i'm able to sieve out changes and to simply remember places as they once were, not because change is bad, but simply because i've become resistant to changes in some ways. i can't figure out the reason. perhaps time has passed me by so fast and ignored my desires for it to still, for it to slow.
and i'm amazed that the bunch of us have known each other for seven years. it seems like only yesterday that we were in chaos over studying for the dreaded As, the day of my first A level paper when i went to mac donalds and chanced upon a suicide and a dead body in a mud pit on the way home, the hours of writing essays, and then the wait and dread for the papers to end and looking forward to prom-time when the papers finally ended. and the excitement of supposedly beginning a new life with uni life when you find out that nothing really changes, because by 18, you've almost seen enough of the world to get sick of it.
and it's seven years now.
***
i also remembered how i reared turtles in primary school and let them go in the pond one day, the same pond into which i dropped my specs one fine day in march perhaps, those lazy bright hazy days when i didn't want to go home and those days when an extra outing to church meant a brighter day. those days when i could still count my age by the fingers on my hands and that time when you wadded into the pond to reach into the water, fishes swimming around your ankles.
***
and sunday tomorrow.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
incomprehensible entry
the radio is now blaring a song which suspiciously sounds pretty "chinese-ey", what with all the ai-ee-ai-ee-aii. but it's a welcome change from hearing it enamate from those dusty miserable computer speakers in school. so thursday is today and the week is soon going to be over. but not quite since there is official duty on bloody saturday. a bloody saturday i repeat. probably shall pop across the causeway sometime before this week draws its' final breath.
oh and i've ordered clay for my poor art class pupils, who have been so bored in my classes that they are still brushing off the mildweed and cobwebs. so clay it shall be to occupy them for two weeks and to shut their mouths for two weeks.
so v'day came and went and by the way i'm having nightmares at times. the last i dreamt was about this stupid guy and me and we went into this house of horrors. anyway the point was that there was this monster or some human who was like a monster and wanting to keep us there, we had to creep out of the house when he was sleeping, then run for our lives to the nearest bus-stop. and the damn place was somewhere in bukit batok with bus 315. i believe there IS a bus 315 really, actually.
oh and the reason why i dream of bukit batok is also partly because my mum met my cousin at the interchange last night and she was wasting time walking around the shelves of ntuc because she was waiting for her hubby to pick her up from yishun. not at the location my mum met her, she still has to take a train to yishun. in her pregnant state. oh and that is why i think marriage is a dead institution. not an institution of love, really. i think it suffices to marry another as long as you don't want to club each other on the head all the time, resulting in untimely deaths. because of love or lust, we get together. we part if we get sick of each other. if there are flowers and wine and nice dinners, we stay together as a testimony to the illusions of love that hinder us from looking upon love itself. and soon, due to the illusions of love, we get married and start to have children.
and that is when the shit often hits the fan.
women get bloated, ugly, whiny, oily, the insecurity fans and spreads. post-natal blues.
and you almost never looks as you do post-baby. and then the flowers disappear and love too fades.
how lame is marriage?
***
and i envy the younger generation. a wave of jealousy at what i deem i've been cheated of during the period that is supposed to be one of the best in my life. where were the handphones, the neo-print machines (okay we had them but the or-beet ones), the laugter, the friends, the MONEY?
as usual i think money often makes the world go round, but that doesn't mean i'm a materialistic bitch. it's just the way things are.
forgive this incomprehensible entry anyway. next better one.
oh and i've ordered clay for my poor art class pupils, who have been so bored in my classes that they are still brushing off the mildweed and cobwebs. so clay it shall be to occupy them for two weeks and to shut their mouths for two weeks.
so v'day came and went and by the way i'm having nightmares at times. the last i dreamt was about this stupid guy and me and we went into this house of horrors. anyway the point was that there was this monster or some human who was like a monster and wanting to keep us there, we had to creep out of the house when he was sleeping, then run for our lives to the nearest bus-stop. and the damn place was somewhere in bukit batok with bus 315. i believe there IS a bus 315 really, actually.
oh and the reason why i dream of bukit batok is also partly because my mum met my cousin at the interchange last night and she was wasting time walking around the shelves of ntuc because she was waiting for her hubby to pick her up from yishun. not at the location my mum met her, she still has to take a train to yishun. in her pregnant state. oh and that is why i think marriage is a dead institution. not an institution of love, really. i think it suffices to marry another as long as you don't want to club each other on the head all the time, resulting in untimely deaths. because of love or lust, we get together. we part if we get sick of each other. if there are flowers and wine and nice dinners, we stay together as a testimony to the illusions of love that hinder us from looking upon love itself. and soon, due to the illusions of love, we get married and start to have children.
and that is when the shit often hits the fan.
women get bloated, ugly, whiny, oily, the insecurity fans and spreads. post-natal blues.
and you almost never looks as you do post-baby. and then the flowers disappear and love too fades.
how lame is marriage?
***
and i envy the younger generation. a wave of jealousy at what i deem i've been cheated of during the period that is supposed to be one of the best in my life. where were the handphones, the neo-print machines (okay we had them but the or-beet ones), the laugter, the friends, the MONEY?
as usual i think money often makes the world go round, but that doesn't mean i'm a materialistic bitch. it's just the way things are.
forgive this incomprehensible entry anyway. next better one.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
a song
trails of music, tinkles of notes, a shred of a voice singing about a big concept called "if". and i was dreaming about the last time i heard this song, not too long ago, but not too recent either, i can't remember exactly when, but it must have been one of those times in the black freezing room with my feet on the cushions, my arms hugging my legs to my chest in a futile attempt to keep warm. perhaps it was that time when i stared opposite and noticed a girl, a normal prebuscent girl, i've no idea what made me take special notice of her that one day, she, walking down orchard road, and later seeing her in the room opposite, gave me a start.
***
oh i dread weekends now, for their inability to stretch beyond, into nothingness, into promises of pampering, lazy afternoons, of lazy jaunts, of smoke and gyrates, of shopping with sunglasses, of royal copenhagen tea lounging.
and instead, each weekend rushes past me, drowning me in a swirl of marking on saturdays till the afternoon, depriving me of a long nap in the evening when i've to wake up for church, depriving me of partying and booze most of the time, plunking me into a grease-filled place with grimy tables and stools when i indulge in oily food (no, that isn't so bad after all actually) and making me go round in circles of worry at the coming week ahead - am i on task? what do i need to do for the coming week ahead? on sunday.
but it's just another start on a monday, not exactly blue but not exactly a day when i jumped out of bed thinking of joy and an inability to wait and see how the day turns out. pah.
and so my days will be over-run with deadlines to meet and things to accomplish. but whose aren't?
oh, and exactly a year back, life "began" for me. one of the beginings.
***
oh i dread weekends now, for their inability to stretch beyond, into nothingness, into promises of pampering, lazy afternoons, of lazy jaunts, of smoke and gyrates, of shopping with sunglasses, of royal copenhagen tea lounging.
and instead, each weekend rushes past me, drowning me in a swirl of marking on saturdays till the afternoon, depriving me of a long nap in the evening when i've to wake up for church, depriving me of partying and booze most of the time, plunking me into a grease-filled place with grimy tables and stools when i indulge in oily food (no, that isn't so bad after all actually) and making me go round in circles of worry at the coming week ahead - am i on task? what do i need to do for the coming week ahead? on sunday.
but it's just another start on a monday, not exactly blue but not exactly a day when i jumped out of bed thinking of joy and an inability to wait and see how the day turns out. pah.
and so my days will be over-run with deadlines to meet and things to accomplish. but whose aren't?
oh, and exactly a year back, life "began" for me. one of the beginings.
Saturday, February 11, 2006
211
as usual i was staring idly out of the windows, the orange light on my i-pod shuffle flickering periodically and the tracks jumping as a result of a lack in battery power and me thinking, fuck. i'd thought i just plugged it into the damned laptop the other day.
the other day? which day? the days are flickering by, remnants of a life perhaps not lived. the morning is the same everyday - when i make it to the door, trudging wearily there, i'd think, how did i make it this far? referring to the distance between my bed and the door, actually.
most days i'm up long enough to see the hands of the clock merrily join together as one at 12. and most days i'd feel i've not slept enough since reality flickers with dreams and they come together as one to haunt my sleep. my lucid sleep.
i don't brim with excitement at the start of a new day. yet i'm past being angsty, jaded, cynical, squealing. i watch with an air of detachment. i recognise how certain things never change and i sardonically laugh at myself at times.
the bus sailed through routes familiar to me for the past 4 years and i was left thinking about how it was like travelling for 3 hours to-and-fro to a place commonly described as a god-forsaken place in the west for four long years.
and obviously now nothing's left of those 4 years but certain friends, memories that aren't tangible enough to remember vividly. like dredges in the mud. like sand weaving past your fingers when you pick it up.
my plant died the other day because my mother dropped the entire pot of it on the floor and i threw the pot away. at first there were three beautiful plants and then 2 died during december, suitably, i deem they died suitable deaths for reasons that only i shall know.
without a thought.
once i took them full of hope and ironically, i lost a friend on the same day that they were given to me. not even a year has gone by, but it was time to die anyway.
and i sailed past the first floor of what was thought of as a "shophouse" and the backdoor was left open, so the door-grilles served as a suitable frame for which i could peer through. but the moment was gone and i could see nothing.
and then i began to think of black.
black huge frames framing her face, blocking her eyes, the windows to the world, what i perceive the world with, leaving only pores, a tiny rosebud of a mouth, a nose dusted with freckles. hair flying past in the wind, a tribute to air molecules and the certainty that wind has a life of its own, without a doubt.
a black skirt that flies up in the wind, and perhaps that mango top that she regretted buying when it wasn't on sale yet. (it's all your fault)
end the piece with a pair of silver heels and she gets out of the car and walks in a non-descript manner. she puffs and lets the cigarette fall to the ground and steps on it with her silver heels and moves her shoes from side to side, with her sole still on the ground and the sharp end of a heel still in the air.
then a man enters the picture.
i no longer posses angst as a license to be silly, stupid or to indulge in vices. i posses a languid air that allows me to flit however, in my own thoughts.
i need a fix.
and for those who've asked why i've stopped writing, it's because i've not seen the need to. :)
the other day? which day? the days are flickering by, remnants of a life perhaps not lived. the morning is the same everyday - when i make it to the door, trudging wearily there, i'd think, how did i make it this far? referring to the distance between my bed and the door, actually.
most days i'm up long enough to see the hands of the clock merrily join together as one at 12. and most days i'd feel i've not slept enough since reality flickers with dreams and they come together as one to haunt my sleep. my lucid sleep.
i don't brim with excitement at the start of a new day. yet i'm past being angsty, jaded, cynical, squealing. i watch with an air of detachment. i recognise how certain things never change and i sardonically laugh at myself at times.
the bus sailed through routes familiar to me for the past 4 years and i was left thinking about how it was like travelling for 3 hours to-and-fro to a place commonly described as a god-forsaken place in the west for four long years.
and obviously now nothing's left of those 4 years but certain friends, memories that aren't tangible enough to remember vividly. like dredges in the mud. like sand weaving past your fingers when you pick it up.
my plant died the other day because my mother dropped the entire pot of it on the floor and i threw the pot away. at first there were three beautiful plants and then 2 died during december, suitably, i deem they died suitable deaths for reasons that only i shall know.
without a thought.
once i took them full of hope and ironically, i lost a friend on the same day that they were given to me. not even a year has gone by, but it was time to die anyway.
and i sailed past the first floor of what was thought of as a "shophouse" and the backdoor was left open, so the door-grilles served as a suitable frame for which i could peer through. but the moment was gone and i could see nothing.
and then i began to think of black.
black huge frames framing her face, blocking her eyes, the windows to the world, what i perceive the world with, leaving only pores, a tiny rosebud of a mouth, a nose dusted with freckles. hair flying past in the wind, a tribute to air molecules and the certainty that wind has a life of its own, without a doubt.
a black skirt that flies up in the wind, and perhaps that mango top that she regretted buying when it wasn't on sale yet. (it's all your fault)
end the piece with a pair of silver heels and she gets out of the car and walks in a non-descript manner. she puffs and lets the cigarette fall to the ground and steps on it with her silver heels and moves her shoes from side to side, with her sole still on the ground and the sharp end of a heel still in the air.
then a man enters the picture.
i no longer posses angst as a license to be silly, stupid or to indulge in vices. i posses a languid air that allows me to flit however, in my own thoughts.
i need a fix.
and for those who've asked why i've stopped writing, it's because i've not seen the need to. :)
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Hearken me, I'm back
and i was also thinking that i no longer had to search for myself in booze and bright lights and wafts of smoke and strange people and reflections and walks like a damn cat on the prowl on heels over broken pavements, sidestepping cracks in the concrete and listening to the wind speak.
but i guess there is no end for it yet.
and it's strange that i have to enter a classroom 2 hours later with the pupils having little inkling about what transpired in the last 20 hours or so that we last met.
i'd thought that among the bright lights, i'd found myself. perhaps it's just an illusion, or perhaps what you'd said to her on a bright weekday afternoon on a lush green court with brick red ground still rings true, the sharp words piercing the summer's breeze like a javelin. it's all in the mind, though i'd hearken not to think so.
the strange bodies all squashed on a platform, the people waving their cigarettes in the air and the smoke leaving whitish trails in the calm, undisturbed air, the individual buried with his face in a pool of vomit, the swirls of beer and froth on the ground, the blue tops above taxis that scream "take me", and now this reminds me of that last day we met when the cab that i narrowly missed taking had some semblence of a meaning to me since it represented when we met, but in the end it all didn't matter, because everything was too late, just simply too late.
hello, old life, life of drudgery, of late nights, of fatigue and of dreaming of planes. hello.
but i guess there is no end for it yet.
and it's strange that i have to enter a classroom 2 hours later with the pupils having little inkling about what transpired in the last 20 hours or so that we last met.
i'd thought that among the bright lights, i'd found myself. perhaps it's just an illusion, or perhaps what you'd said to her on a bright weekday afternoon on a lush green court with brick red ground still rings true, the sharp words piercing the summer's breeze like a javelin. it's all in the mind, though i'd hearken not to think so.
the strange bodies all squashed on a platform, the people waving their cigarettes in the air and the smoke leaving whitish trails in the calm, undisturbed air, the individual buried with his face in a pool of vomit, the swirls of beer and froth on the ground, the blue tops above taxis that scream "take me", and now this reminds me of that last day we met when the cab that i narrowly missed taking had some semblence of a meaning to me since it represented when we met, but in the end it all didn't matter, because everything was too late, just simply too late.
hello, old life, life of drudgery, of late nights, of fatigue and of dreaming of planes. hello.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
addicted
today we formed a ring together and moved to the left and then to the right. i also realised with a start that today marked 11 years since i wore a white top, shorts, had on my black shoes and walking around white-washing, spotting a white-washer, escaped into the washing and realised there was no way out. today also brings to mind a bible-togging aged man who has aged as much as i have. i wonder if the drain that i stomped on angrily has been fixed. or is it still loose, hanging over the culvert and lying in wait for its' next victim to jump up in fright as a clanging sound erupts from putting on too much weight on one portion of it.
so i marked in school today once again and had this weird conversation with my colleagues about food and sex, through no fault of mine since there is a magazine with the words "have sizzling sex tonight" displayed prominently near my shelf, which obviously does not belong to me. so there was much talk about helicopters, if you do know what they're getting at. i'm still unclear but i think i've figured it out :)
i shopped at somerset today. bought a pink tee with a wide collar and another pair of beach-shorts. i need them for blah days when i don't know where i'm going. i sat in the smoking open-air section of starbucks and had my latte with a mango cheesecake which melted in my mouth and smelt ash, cigar smoke and conversation mixed with the acrid taste of expresso. it's at times like these that i find coffee tastes like water mixed with cigarette ash. and i'm also convinced that i'm a potential chain smoker, if i do decide to pick it up at least. give me my coffee and pills to tide the day, and also a pencil to tap in hand to signify an action.
i went to this tiny church on the outskirts of busy orchard, where i passed by while walking to mohammad sultan once and which i took a picture of in the dark.
dinner was a lovely sweet, spicy, bitter, sour affair at siam kitchen, which i'm into nowadays. i love glass noodles, tiny peeled prawns, chopped corn, chicken wrapped in pandan leaves, thai fishcakes and tom yum soup.
then it was off to "addicted" where the songs, music and visions brought me back to headier times, times when we were carefree and free and love was an easy word. so long since. so long since. i hitch a ride home and never turn as i walk towards the lift and all of a sudden i recall lights shining behind me, imprinting me against the pink tiles for a moment, and how you looked with the backdrop of the brick tiles, the white walls, the tiny palm trees, and time stopped still for a while.
so i marked in school today once again and had this weird conversation with my colleagues about food and sex, through no fault of mine since there is a magazine with the words "have sizzling sex tonight" displayed prominently near my shelf, which obviously does not belong to me. so there was much talk about helicopters, if you do know what they're getting at. i'm still unclear but i think i've figured it out :)
i shopped at somerset today. bought a pink tee with a wide collar and another pair of beach-shorts. i need them for blah days when i don't know where i'm going. i sat in the smoking open-air section of starbucks and had my latte with a mango cheesecake which melted in my mouth and smelt ash, cigar smoke and conversation mixed with the acrid taste of expresso. it's at times like these that i find coffee tastes like water mixed with cigarette ash. and i'm also convinced that i'm a potential chain smoker, if i do decide to pick it up at least. give me my coffee and pills to tide the day, and also a pencil to tap in hand to signify an action.
i went to this tiny church on the outskirts of busy orchard, where i passed by while walking to mohammad sultan once and which i took a picture of in the dark.
dinner was a lovely sweet, spicy, bitter, sour affair at siam kitchen, which i'm into nowadays. i love glass noodles, tiny peeled prawns, chopped corn, chicken wrapped in pandan leaves, thai fishcakes and tom yum soup.
then it was off to "addicted" where the songs, music and visions brought me back to headier times, times when we were carefree and free and love was an easy word. so long since. so long since. i hitch a ride home and never turn as i walk towards the lift and all of a sudden i recall lights shining behind me, imprinting me against the pink tiles for a moment, and how you looked with the backdrop of the brick tiles, the white walls, the tiny palm trees, and time stopped still for a while.
Friday, January 13, 2006
se7en
sometimes you search for words to play around with, some words are over-used, some skip happily over your mind as you try to reach over and grasp hold of a semblence of a way by which to convey your meaning. at times, words fail, they are pointless, they fail between the barriers between articulation and conveyance of a specific meaning.
i'd never thought of you that way, if only you could hear, not just hear but also listen, hearing and listening akin to seeing and searching for the meaning, meaning the elusive character that eludes our grasp everytime.
we spend our lives searching, often, for that which is in front of us.
and when was there a need for me? how did this need arise and from where did it stem from? creation of reasons, creation of needy reasons, this is all getting too blatant.
cremation of you.
If you can't make your mind up,
We'll never get started.
And I don't wanna wind up
Being parted, broken-hearted.
So if you really love me,
Say yes.
But if you don't, dear, confess.
And please don't tell me
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps,
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps,
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.
by cake.
but the lyrics to the song bring to mind some half-past-six-long-gone jewellery ad and some girl in a black/grey smocked tunic dancing around - was it so?
and reeks of pathetictism. if there were only such a word.
so perhaps? not, please.
i'd never thought of you that way, if only you could hear, not just hear but also listen, hearing and listening akin to seeing and searching for the meaning, meaning the elusive character that eludes our grasp everytime.
we spend our lives searching, often, for that which is in front of us.
and when was there a need for me? how did this need arise and from where did it stem from? creation of reasons, creation of needy reasons, this is all getting too blatant.
cremation of you.
If you can't make your mind up,
We'll never get started.
And I don't wanna wind up
Being parted, broken-hearted.
So if you really love me,
Say yes.
But if you don't, dear, confess.
And please don't tell me
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps,
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps,
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.
by cake.
but the lyrics to the song bring to mind some half-past-six-long-gone jewellery ad and some girl in a black/grey smocked tunic dancing around - was it so?
and reeks of pathetictism. if there were only such a word.
so perhaps? not, please.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
brine
you know
it wasn't quite
so long ago,
that we ate
crabs
in a dingy coffeeshop
with oil, grime and dust,
fingers picking
eagerly into crevices.
walking sideways,
akin to crabs,
along the briny beach.
walking sideways as we shouldn't have.
fridays remind me of art,
blue fingers and hypothermia.
of screams and
balancing paint on art paper.
it's hard to think of what the mind conjured,
when it's no longer present.
why is it that the same song
no longer regales the same emotions?
i think and try,
but the song never brings more
than the movie to mind.
and which is that?
you ask.
i smiled at the whiteboard,
knowing what transpired.
you at midnight,
a friend who left.
you changed your number.
it isn't the same.
the phone that rang.
the phone hidden under the pillow.
a shrill ring that pierces the air.
a shrill ring past midnight.
conjuring images of horror,
blood and the unexpected.
has it been a hundred days then?
i wanted to sleep while watching you.
it wasn't quite
so long ago,
that we ate
crabs
in a dingy coffeeshop
with oil, grime and dust,
fingers picking
eagerly into crevices.
walking sideways,
akin to crabs,
along the briny beach.
walking sideways as we shouldn't have.
fridays remind me of art,
blue fingers and hypothermia.
of screams and
balancing paint on art paper.
it's hard to think of what the mind conjured,
when it's no longer present.
why is it that the same song
no longer regales the same emotions?
i think and try,
but the song never brings more
than the movie to mind.
and which is that?
you ask.
i smiled at the whiteboard,
knowing what transpired.
you at midnight,
a friend who left.
you changed your number.
it isn't the same.
the phone that rang.
the phone hidden under the pillow.
a shrill ring that pierces the air.
a shrill ring past midnight.
conjuring images of horror,
blood and the unexpected.
has it been a hundred days then?
i wanted to sleep while watching you.
Friday, January 06, 2006
it lies, unopened
i realise yesterday who thomas reminded me of.
***
the fact that a prominent minister of singapore will be kick-starting the light-up ceremony over at chinatown brought to mind o'farrell's characters, mel and jake, the crowd, the push, the pull and how you just flow in a crowd, devoid of direction, moving as if attracted by the pull of a magnet in the direction the general want to go. there was an outlet and they wanted to leave, but a man carrying beer bottles dropped them, the glass bottles broke into tiny shards of glass and the beer foamed and swirled out upon the ground. they had to return to the crowd once again though why they preferred being pushed around the crowd to stepping on shards of beer seems unfathomable to me unless they were barefooted.
and then i thought of last year this time when we were together watching the certain minister's son instead kick-starting the event, walking through the crowds, pushing our way through, sidestepping and worming our way into any fatigable corner in order to move, just to move will do.
and then stuck and not moving, the firecrackers went off without warning and there was cheer and merry-making and you could literally see the crackers lighting up in bountiful sparks.
and then we meandered our way to burger king and sat down and ate and has it already been a year dammit?
***
your present lies unopened in my bag.
***
the fact that a prominent minister of singapore will be kick-starting the light-up ceremony over at chinatown brought to mind o'farrell's characters, mel and jake, the crowd, the push, the pull and how you just flow in a crowd, devoid of direction, moving as if attracted by the pull of a magnet in the direction the general want to go. there was an outlet and they wanted to leave, but a man carrying beer bottles dropped them, the glass bottles broke into tiny shards of glass and the beer foamed and swirled out upon the ground. they had to return to the crowd once again though why they preferred being pushed around the crowd to stepping on shards of beer seems unfathomable to me unless they were barefooted.
and then i thought of last year this time when we were together watching the certain minister's son instead kick-starting the event, walking through the crowds, pushing our way through, sidestepping and worming our way into any fatigable corner in order to move, just to move will do.
and then stuck and not moving, the firecrackers went off without warning and there was cheer and merry-making and you could literally see the crackers lighting up in bountiful sparks.
and then we meandered our way to burger king and sat down and ate and has it already been a year dammit?
***
your present lies unopened in my bag.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
the shallow entity
it's quite sad to be stuck in somewhere resembling a time warp when the world goes on outside your cocoon.
***
i think of your full fringe now swept to the side and i think of how i tied my hair up today and yet my nape wasn't exposed because i was wearing that semi-shirt that i bought when i was with you, while things were still fine. i'm glad i can still fit into that shirt.
the pink. Mr Brightside the Pink. this suddenly reminds me of my pinky ring that i bought myself when i declared independence and which i lost somewhere in bugis, either left in the gym shower or slipping off my hand as it glides through the air in a futile attempt to catch the bus.
when switching on the current i think of seven years ago when i was all alone in that big school and how you were all alone too and how your bus rides to school ensured that you would pass me by every morning. i still remember shouting to you over the phone that you shouldn't let your life be such, that if it were such, you'd be better off dead by jumping into a river. at that exact moment, it hadn't occured to me that a river was probably a shallow entity.
but you're fine now and done good, that much my green eyes must rest. you have a big car and a fancy girl with pink hair and not much that i care about you but for god's sake stop trying to get to me when i know you don't care about me, it doesn't bother me much. oh, the pink again.
since when was i so associated with pink?
i lost the pinky ring and now i still absently graze my thumb across the base of my tiniest finger, hoping to reach for a tinge of metal and the criss-crossed patterns engraved on the ring. i could always reach for hers but it isn't the same. and for that, i won't.
words of the day: celebrated - initiative, infer, indulgent? no, of course not. briny.
everyday is a winding road darling, it's how you wind you way through it perhaps. but some days simply suck.
it's just the start of term, just the start of term.
***
i think of your full fringe now swept to the side and i think of how i tied my hair up today and yet my nape wasn't exposed because i was wearing that semi-shirt that i bought when i was with you, while things were still fine. i'm glad i can still fit into that shirt.
the pink. Mr Brightside the Pink. this suddenly reminds me of my pinky ring that i bought myself when i declared independence and which i lost somewhere in bugis, either left in the gym shower or slipping off my hand as it glides through the air in a futile attempt to catch the bus.
when switching on the current i think of seven years ago when i was all alone in that big school and how you were all alone too and how your bus rides to school ensured that you would pass me by every morning. i still remember shouting to you over the phone that you shouldn't let your life be such, that if it were such, you'd be better off dead by jumping into a river. at that exact moment, it hadn't occured to me that a river was probably a shallow entity.
but you're fine now and done good, that much my green eyes must rest. you have a big car and a fancy girl with pink hair and not much that i care about you but for god's sake stop trying to get to me when i know you don't care about me, it doesn't bother me much. oh, the pink again.
since when was i so associated with pink?
i lost the pinky ring and now i still absently graze my thumb across the base of my tiniest finger, hoping to reach for a tinge of metal and the criss-crossed patterns engraved on the ring. i could always reach for hers but it isn't the same. and for that, i won't.
words of the day: celebrated - initiative, infer, indulgent? no, of course not. briny.
everyday is a winding road darling, it's how you wind you way through it perhaps. but some days simply suck.
it's just the start of term, just the start of term.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
the new year beckons
no. i refuse that. it does not beckon, it stamps its' feet, bangs at the doors, demands to be let in, stomps in and kicks the door shut.
it has come unannounced and is unapologetic, blatant and demanding. it demands you do something to welcome it, it demands attention and craves to be celebrated.
you welcome it unwillingly, annoyed by the need to usher in it when you've not let go of the past.
2005 was a blast. maybe not quite the blast that the term "blast" conjures to mind, but still, an eventful year.
after all, this was the year i did so many things for the first time, things i hadn't dared to do before.
i graduated, i taught, i drank, i danced, i slept, i wrote, i revelled, i dreamed, i thought, i travelled, i read, i cursed, i loved, i hated.
some friends are no longer friends, some were known only for a few hours when something sparked between us and created a wave that carried me on for another month or so. some friends were found after more than five years, some friends are totally lost now. some are best lost.
it's difficult to sum up the year in so many ways - guess i'm already late to this since it's already the second day of the new year, but closure, closure.
all in all, i learned. and while i'm not exactly welcoming that unwelcomed guest who came one too early, i guess, i'll live with it.
onward 2006.
it has come unannounced and is unapologetic, blatant and demanding. it demands you do something to welcome it, it demands attention and craves to be celebrated.
you welcome it unwillingly, annoyed by the need to usher in it when you've not let go of the past.
2005 was a blast. maybe not quite the blast that the term "blast" conjures to mind, but still, an eventful year.
after all, this was the year i did so many things for the first time, things i hadn't dared to do before.
i graduated, i taught, i drank, i danced, i slept, i wrote, i revelled, i dreamed, i thought, i travelled, i read, i cursed, i loved, i hated.
some friends are no longer friends, some were known only for a few hours when something sparked between us and created a wave that carried me on for another month or so. some friends were found after more than five years, some friends are totally lost now. some are best lost.
it's difficult to sum up the year in so many ways - guess i'm already late to this since it's already the second day of the new year, but closure, closure.
all in all, i learned. and while i'm not exactly welcoming that unwelcomed guest who came one too early, i guess, i'll live with it.
onward 2006.
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
dreams, clarity
last night in slumberland i dreamt of you and us teaching chemistry in some village school where pupils needed to use pipettes, which you forgot to give them because you missed me too much. or so you said in the dream. strangely, that only sought to increase my unease and i'd to think about ways to distance myself. all in naught, the past is past.
and the past was yesterday, where i re-opened dusty diaries of yesteryear and read through them, marvelling how much a person can change in the course of 6 or 7 years.
and the past of 6-7 years also came back in the form of 50 short messages that raised hell with my mobile phone, to the extent that i stopped shutting my clam shaped phone.
actually i think your life is simple and fine just the way it is. i was thinking about you and how you both work long and late hours and how you both make time to go for dinner after working late and how you'd always fetch her around. it's just a very simple life that people like me can only dream about. so therefore, there is no need to proposition an affair. or so i think.
along with the dream on the science lab, i also dreamt to rearing tiny terrapins, which disgusted me to no end for though i can say that i'm not afraid of creepy-crawlies i have this sudden strong aversion to terrapins and shelled creatures. i can recall putting the tiny minion in the water sink and watched as it expelled eggs and the entire terrapin separated into two parts. most discomforting to watch. and then someone filled the basin with water and fish and the fish began to eat up the eggs of the terrapin just like that. talk about dying without a cause.
the last part of my dream ended with a run after the buses, for without boarding the buses, it would be a long, long walk out to the main road. the streets there were reminiscent of side streets, lanes near beaches like marina, east coast, or the incredibly foresty areas near punggol where i used to pass by all the time 5 years ago when i still worked on an island and transport to that island was by speedboat to-and-fro in the morning and then evening.
so we were running after this long-uber-long TIBS bus service 190. yes, i know it goes to choa chu kang and there are no sandy beaches there, but it didn't stop for us. we got pissed at the prospects of waiting for another bus and perhaps even walking the entire way out, so we chased after the bus and banged loudly on the bus- yes, it was going THAT slow.
so i presume the bus-drivers (there were 2) got a huge shock of their lives cos the next thing we knew, they lost control of the bus and it plunged into the beach, the sea. the long bus broke into 2 parts and sank, the only 2 survivors being the drivers.
what a boulevard of dreams. restful sleep next time perhaps. and tonight, party time, drunk time, groove time.
i pray i race through time though lying prostrate, i hope the world spins merrily around me, i hope so many sntaches of everything comes back to fill me up for the next few months.
and the past was yesterday, where i re-opened dusty diaries of yesteryear and read through them, marvelling how much a person can change in the course of 6 or 7 years.
and the past of 6-7 years also came back in the form of 50 short messages that raised hell with my mobile phone, to the extent that i stopped shutting my clam shaped phone.
actually i think your life is simple and fine just the way it is. i was thinking about you and how you both work long and late hours and how you both make time to go for dinner after working late and how you'd always fetch her around. it's just a very simple life that people like me can only dream about. so therefore, there is no need to proposition an affair. or so i think.
along with the dream on the science lab, i also dreamt to rearing tiny terrapins, which disgusted me to no end for though i can say that i'm not afraid of creepy-crawlies i have this sudden strong aversion to terrapins and shelled creatures. i can recall putting the tiny minion in the water sink and watched as it expelled eggs and the entire terrapin separated into two parts. most discomforting to watch. and then someone filled the basin with water and fish and the fish began to eat up the eggs of the terrapin just like that. talk about dying without a cause.
the last part of my dream ended with a run after the buses, for without boarding the buses, it would be a long, long walk out to the main road. the streets there were reminiscent of side streets, lanes near beaches like marina, east coast, or the incredibly foresty areas near punggol where i used to pass by all the time 5 years ago when i still worked on an island and transport to that island was by speedboat to-and-fro in the morning and then evening.
so we were running after this long-uber-long TIBS bus service 190. yes, i know it goes to choa chu kang and there are no sandy beaches there, but it didn't stop for us. we got pissed at the prospects of waiting for another bus and perhaps even walking the entire way out, so we chased after the bus and banged loudly on the bus- yes, it was going THAT slow.
so i presume the bus-drivers (there were 2) got a huge shock of their lives cos the next thing we knew, they lost control of the bus and it plunged into the beach, the sea. the long bus broke into 2 parts and sank, the only 2 survivors being the drivers.
what a boulevard of dreams. restful sleep next time perhaps. and tonight, party time, drunk time, groove time.
i pray i race through time though lying prostrate, i hope the world spins merrily around me, i hope so many sntaches of everything comes back to fill me up for the next few months.
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