The sun was beating down on the apartment on a Sunday afternoon. It made the sofa scorching hot and my glass of water sickly tepid. I wasn't doing much, just lying on that sofa, feeling just as tepid about life as that glass of water.
Too much conflict in the head. Too many regrets in life. Too many words left unsaid.
I learnt about regret in Cognitive Psychology; it's called counterfactual thinking. The words 'counterfactual thinking' is almost self-explanatory - it is thoughts which counter facts (duh) - about things which did not happen, but yet we wished had happened.
With counterfactual thinking, we'd consider the possibility that there were other paths we could have gone down had we done something differently. Maybe we could have rephrased something we said or taken ten seconds less to tie our shoelace as we were leaving to catch a train. Maybe...maybe...maybe...
Obviously, and unfortunately, you only consider all this in hindsight, so by then it would have been too late to have done anything.
Yeah...maybe you shouldn't have bothered to tie your shoelaces this morning...
...or said those words you said. Maybe you should have chosen to say something else or not say anything at all.
Feeling a little silly now, aren't we, spending so much time thinking about things which haven't happened. But yet we still play this stupid game with ourselves and by ourselves. We wish we could forget but it plays around and around in our heads like a broken tape recorder with OCD tendencies.
Before you know it, the sun had gone down and you're left on a couch which, by now, has braved enough heat to stay warm for the rest of the night. Too bad that's the only comfort you have as you're left with the hangover of a whirring, worried head..
The water is still tepid; you feel like shit; I will keep playing that broken tape recorder.
Sunday 16 September 2012
Monday 10 September 2012
Tread Carefully
In a room covered by memories,
a lamp lights a corner
revealing stones and dust,
shards of glass
waiting to be trodden on.
And then there comes the feet
bare and white
which find their way
onto this battlefield of your hurt,
turning toys into ghosts
and smiling photos
to pictures on obituaries and headstones
stark white with death and loss.
So honey, tread carefully within this space
for there is nothing for you here...
...just what needs forgetting
and what needs letting go.
"Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams."
a lamp lights a corner
revealing stones and dust,
shards of glass
waiting to be trodden on.
And then there comes the feet
bare and white
which find their way
onto this battlefield of your hurt,
turning toys into ghosts
and smiling photos
to pictures on obituaries and headstones
stark white with death and loss.
So honey, tread carefully within this space
for there is nothing for you here...
...just what needs forgetting
and what needs letting go.
"Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams."
Saturday 11 August 2012
Unlucky
Tragic,
the lost of time;
the child who runs
and cries in vain;
You stop
why can't you see
paranoia and pain
that belongs nowhere
in remission
hidden.
Trains are missed
by seconds and steps;
So typically unfair;
you see no one go spare.
Friday 27 July 2012
Fields of Flowers
What do you want, boy?
Running in circles,
directionless, and confused
you brought me along for the ride.
We crashed in the field
and you got up and left
while I lay there.
Winds crept up
and winters lurked around corners.
I watched the light change
and the skies darken
while waiting for spring
so that I could
make friends with the flowers
who you left me with.
Summer is now mid way
and flowers have nothing to say
and I'm left with thoughts
which I will bring into winter
when it comes - the thoughts
you left me with
to remind me again and again
that this loneliness is my own
when these flowers die
come winter once more.
Running in circles,
directionless, and confused
you brought me along for the ride.
We crashed in the field
and you got up and left
while I lay there.
Winds crept up
and winters lurked around corners.
I watched the light change
and the skies darken
while waiting for spring
so that I could
make friends with the flowers
who you left me with.
Summer is now mid way
and flowers have nothing to say
and I'm left with thoughts
which I will bring into winter
when it comes - the thoughts
you left me with
to remind me again and again
that this loneliness is my own
when these flowers die
come winter once more.
Thursday 26 July 2012
Mothers in the Store
Mothers on task
strolling down aisles
children by their sides.
Arms start grabbing
for carrots and cans
frozen peas and crisps
while grabbing their children
who run amok amongst shelves.
As fathers are not seen
sat hidden in cubicles
mothers come to lie
on each other,
rolling prams into groups
and talking about life,
bitching about children
and husbands. So sad
they are reduced to this,
talking and lurking
behind backs.
Caring not for their own
but looking elsewhere.
What do you do when they
wander, wanting
what they don't have, neglecting
what they do have?
strolling down aisles
children by their sides.
Arms start grabbing
for carrots and cans
frozen peas and crisps
while grabbing their children
who run amok amongst shelves.
As fathers are not seen
sat hidden in cubicles
mothers come to lie
on each other,
rolling prams into groups
and talking about life,
bitching about children
and husbands. So sad
they are reduced to this,
talking and lurking
behind backs.
Caring not for their own
but looking elsewhere.
What do you do when they
wander, wanting
what they don't have, neglecting
what they do have?
Monday 16 July 2012
It comes Full Circle
On a trail so frequently used
where the earth wears thin and fades
something happens.
It begins and then ends
much happier than in the middle
where confusion lay and thoughts
ran wild. It finishes so well
with an exchange of something
which began so far back
time couldn't even comprehend.
It's all ended now,
with a tinge of sadness,
and it lies discretely in the earth
which will forever be walked on.
It won't forget
even when I have;
so the story will remain
buried in the earth,
not for me but for others
who trod this path in time.
where the earth wears thin and fades
something happens.
It begins and then ends
much happier than in the middle
where confusion lay and thoughts
ran wild. It finishes so well
with an exchange of something
which began so far back
time couldn't even comprehend.
It's all ended now,
with a tinge of sadness,
and it lies discretely in the earth
which will forever be walked on.
It won't forget
even when I have;
so the story will remain
buried in the earth,
not for me but for others
who trod this path in time.
Tuesday 12 June 2012
Thursday 7 June 2012
Composing Deception
I will write the lies for you
which cover people and dates
and you will slip through each sly trap
to get through to the other side
with me and only me.
I helped you dodge and hide
from the pair of eyes who cared for you so
and I've helped you cheat with pride
the person you once thought was yours;
tis' my gift for you
and you welcome it too,
I feel sorry for the other person
but I'm a stupid girl
so I'll accept the lies and deceit
as none other than my own.
which cover people and dates
and you will slip through each sly trap
to get through to the other side
with me and only me.
I helped you dodge and hide
from the pair of eyes who cared for you so
and I've helped you cheat with pride
the person you once thought was yours;
tis' my gift for you
and you welcome it too,
I feel sorry for the other person
but I'm a stupid girl
so I'll accept the lies and deceit
as none other than my own.
Tuesday 29 May 2012
Homeless at Heart
Moving constantly,
foreigners migrate
from house to pavement
sipping coffee on dividers.
Nowhere to go
no here, no there
no base to call home
and then there's winter
that comes unannounced;
alone in time
a cold heart to hold,
where to now?
Nowhere it seems,
like the lost child
wandering astray
no parents to care
no hands to hold
and homeless at heart,
so lost but true
does the foreigner's way go.
foreigners migrate
from house to pavement
sipping coffee on dividers.
Nowhere to go
no here, no there
no base to call home
and then there's winter
that comes unannounced;
alone in time
a cold heart to hold,
where to now?
Nowhere it seems,
like the lost child
wandering astray
no parents to care
no hands to hold
and homeless at heart,
so lost but true
does the foreigner's way go.
Saturday 26 May 2012
Train Times
Solace was found
on a train
bound for Guildford.
It wasn't to last
and it wasn't true.
But the train was still Southbound
on winding paths
through fields and towns
and in the distance houses
filled with families
(with their children and dog)
who put aside irreconcilable
differences to stay together.
The train stopped and the door opened
to welcome a sight of
platforms, and train tracks
and houses of similar stature.
And solace is lost
amongst the sea of train travellers
looking for platforms
checking the time.
So we lose ourselves in the pace of life
and see no one
and expect no one
like a child lost at sea
with no one's hand to hold.
on a train
bound for Guildford.
It wasn't to last
and it wasn't true.
But the train was still Southbound
on winding paths
through fields and towns
and in the distance houses
filled with families
(with their children and dog)
who put aside irreconcilable
differences to stay together.
The train stopped and the door opened
to welcome a sight of
platforms, and train tracks
and houses of similar stature.
And solace is lost
amongst the sea of train travellers
looking for platforms
checking the time.
So we lose ourselves in the pace of life
and see no one
and expect no one
like a child lost at sea
with no one's hand to hold.
Wednesday 23 May 2012
Eternity
I want to question 'eternity'. What is it? Why did we give it meaning? Why do we say it?
It's such an unrealistic view of life. Nothing lasts for an eternity - everything dies in the hands of time. Feelings ebb away and events fade into the depths of memory.
You can't salvage time. It's one of those things which only holds its existence at that instance before becoming nothing but the past.
It's all in the past now - all part of the fucking untruths and we are left with counterfactual thinking:
What if...what if....what if....?
It's all too fucking complicated. And regrets seem to last too long even when you have a metaphysical eternity. But then again, it might just all ebb away together with the feelings...unless you don't let it go.
The sun is now setting - and the day fades away. Go away day...go away...the thought of eternity is too painful.
It's such an unrealistic view of life. Nothing lasts for an eternity - everything dies in the hands of time. Feelings ebb away and events fade into the depths of memory.
You can't salvage time. It's one of those things which only holds its existence at that instance before becoming nothing but the past.
It's all in the past now - all part of the fucking untruths and we are left with counterfactual thinking:
What if...what if....what if....?
It's all too fucking complicated. And regrets seem to last too long even when you have a metaphysical eternity. But then again, it might just all ebb away together with the feelings...unless you don't let it go.
The sun is now setting - and the day fades away. Go away day...go away...the thought of eternity is too painful.
Monday 21 May 2012
Chasing Daylight
Hovering over everything
the skies have dimmed, the tea's gone cold
no one to greet me, as we run against time;
I am going home, on air
where time is irrelevant
unlike the ground below us
which runs on clocks
and where lives
are governed by sleep,
but here,
nothing matters.
We are in a void
of stillness and insignificance
so lonely, so isolated
so unnervingly bare
where the only thing we can do
is chase daylight
which eludes us until
the rumble of engines brings us round
from our timeless sleep
and says "Here you are."
And light rushes in, almost unprecedented,
and life begins again.
the skies have dimmed, the tea's gone cold
no one to greet me, as we run against time;
I am going home, on air
where time is irrelevant
unlike the ground below us
which runs on clocks
and where lives
are governed by sleep,
but here,
nothing matters.
We are in a void
of stillness and insignificance
so lonely, so isolated
so unnervingly bare
where the only thing we can do
is chase daylight
which eludes us until
the rumble of engines brings us round
from our timeless sleep
and says "Here you are."
And light rushes in, almost unprecedented,
and life begins again.
Tuesday 15 May 2012
Chasing Trains (not Dreams)
I spend my life chasing trains;
platform-to-platform, train-to-train, town-to-town,
and it never ends, not properly anyways.
From Guildford to Woking
on to Clapham and London,
the final destination is never seen
or found; all that is seen are scenes
of houses and fields which whiz by, unnoticed.
While children play and cows graze,
on the only place they know as home,
I look for mine in the cluttered mess
but no matter how many trains or towns
I cross and leave, there is no home
just places and people who I smile in passing
and then abandon, in search for my own;
even if it were in those arms, which die eventually
I would seek it, still, for trust and security
but there is no home
(not yet anyways)
just houses of children, fields of cows
and of course, more trains,
to keep me company on rainy days
until the tracks end
in a burst of light and all is found.
platform-to-platform, train-to-train, town-to-town,
and it never ends, not properly anyways.
From Guildford to Woking
on to Clapham and London,
the final destination is never seen
or found; all that is seen are scenes
of houses and fields which whiz by, unnoticed.
While children play and cows graze,
on the only place they know as home,
I look for mine in the cluttered mess
but no matter how many trains or towns
I cross and leave, there is no home
just places and people who I smile in passing
and then abandon, in search for my own;
even if it were in those arms, which die eventually
I would seek it, still, for trust and security
but there is no home
(not yet anyways)
just houses of children, fields of cows
and of course, more trains,
to keep me company on rainy days
until the tracks end
in a burst of light and all is found.
Saturday 12 May 2012
What They are Fighting for
Step on the foot of a soldier
and cry for the mother who loses her son;
weep for the child who loses his father;
be devastated for the wife who loses her spouse.
Hearts die in the hand shortly after
and bullets lie bloodied on the ground.
The ruthless killing of many by those
who don't even know them.
and they fight blindly for patriotism and victory
but in the process, forget
mother
wife
and child.
So breathe a sigh for those they leave
for their country for which they fight
and hold on to their pain and hurt
with that strange realisation
that all they are fighting for remains pointless,
and unnervingly bare
only to render the loved, lonely in life
and directionless in their death.
and cry for the mother who loses her son;
weep for the child who loses his father;
be devastated for the wife who loses her spouse.
Hearts die in the hand shortly after
and bullets lie bloodied on the ground.
The ruthless killing of many by those
who don't even know them.
and they fight blindly for patriotism and victory
but in the process, forget
mother
wife
and child.
So breathe a sigh for those they leave
for their country for which they fight
and hold on to their pain and hurt
with that strange realisation
that all they are fighting for remains pointless,
and unnervingly bare
only to render the loved, lonely in life
and directionless in their death.
Where has it all gone?
What happened to two years ago? It's almost like a non-reality which will never exist again. I think I let it die..not intentionally, but the Armageddon of the situation forced the slow death of two. I don't suppose there's much that could have been done but at the same time, there's a guilt which nibbles at my shoulder.
Goodbye insanity.
Goodbye you, who I knew.
Goodbye travelling buddy.
Goodbye the other quarter.
See you in time
But I don't believe I will.
Goodbye insanity.
Goodbye you, who I knew.
Goodbye travelling buddy.
Goodbye the other quarter.
See you in time
But I don't believe I will.
Sunday 6 May 2012
What you deserve
Look here
and here
and here.
Mother never told you that you were beautiful
and it was unfair it drove you to tears.
So harsh was this judgment of fools
but yet I can't convince you
that their words were untrue.
Look there,
over there
no...over there
Isn't that you, the person who you really are
a person who will love and care?
Don't hide that person in the dark;
you don't deserve to be marred
by those who bury you in the mud.
Hear that
that sound
that soft sound
They're calling you to heaven where you have a place
and there are tears which fall to the ground
but knowing that this is your release
makes me smile and falter to say
"Finally, you've now been found".
Saturday 5 May 2012
Fire
Why is there silence on the battlefield?
Not a detonation, not a shot, not a footstep -
silence has never been so awkward
in the vast emptiness of battle.
Are we all waiting for the first move to happen
or are we playing a game of uncertainty
based on assumptions that perhaps, there is
no war - just misunderstanding and unnecessary
fear? I don't know; I'm standing here
gun in hand, and with gashes on my leg
and yet, there is no retaliation
just silence, which exaggerates the tension
until I let fire
and they come out,
defense on high
and they come at me.
Not a detonation, not a shot, not a footstep -
silence has never been so awkward
in the vast emptiness of battle.
Are we all waiting for the first move to happen
or are we playing a game of uncertainty
based on assumptions that perhaps, there is
no war - just misunderstanding and unnecessary
fear? I don't know; I'm standing here
gun in hand, and with gashes on my leg
and yet, there is no retaliation
just silence, which exaggerates the tension
until I let fire
and they come out,
defense on high
and they come at me.
Monday 30 April 2012
Agnosticism in Prayer
Dear Higher Being,
Are You there? Are You
listening?
I have a question
which has lain in remission
almost dormant in my mind.
Can You take us by the hand
give us hope and love
and the faith of
perhaps, a believer?
I don't know Higher Being,
but I don't have time to question
whether You're really there.
Because I need Your help
to guide the friend who knows that
You are there, in the minds of all
harbouring warmth and care
and ultimately, unprecedented
love.
I know You're there,
holding the hands of believers
(if not mine)
and although I do not believe
I will give prayer
for the friend who follows
in your grace, so that You can be
with her,
to give her faith,
to give her hope
and ultimately...
....to give her love.
☺
Are You there? Are You
listening?
I have a question
which has lain in remission
almost dormant in my mind.
Can You take us by the hand
give us hope and love
and the faith of
perhaps, a believer?
I don't know Higher Being,
but I don't have time to question
whether You're really there.
Because I need Your help
to guide the friend who knows that
You are there, in the minds of all
harbouring warmth and care
and ultimately, unprecedented
love.
I know You're there,
holding the hands of believers
(if not mine)
and although I do not believe
I will give prayer
for the friend who follows
in your grace, so that You can be
with her,
to give her faith,
to give her hope
and ultimately...
....to give her love.
☺
Saturday 28 April 2012
Thursday 26 April 2012
Hanging
Tell me if you know about death.
...
I didn't think so. Well, neither I nor the others know about it
...
I suppose it's silence, death - the non-existence of me, you or the world. I wonder where consciousness goes. Perhaps it fades, dims - I want to say it dies, but that's barely descriptive.
...
Piercing eyes, glare down on me. Is that God? I don't know...I don't know whether to believe in him or shirk this higher being as nothing but a figment of my morale imagination. What do you think?
...
No opinion, eh? Let's start again, do you know what's in death?
Nothing
I imagined so. I guess you agree with me when I say: there is nothing in our future. We are headed to nothing...and we will become nothing .
Yes we are headed to nothing. We leave everything in life for nothing in death...
...but isn't it nice not to have burdens, pain and sorrow? Think of the darkness which you can have all to yourself in which neither societies nor laws exist and with its absence brings absolute freedom and tranquility.
And the loved ones...
They don't exist. What's there to miss or mourn when, all you know in death, is solitude, peaceful solitude.
Question your concept of darkness; question your concept of black death; question your desire for nothingness - it's so rewarding - so, so, so rewarding.
...
I didn't think so. Well, neither I nor the others know about it
...
I suppose it's silence, death - the non-existence of me, you or the world. I wonder where consciousness goes. Perhaps it fades, dims - I want to say it dies, but that's barely descriptive.
...
Piercing eyes, glare down on me. Is that God? I don't know...I don't know whether to believe in him or shirk this higher being as nothing but a figment of my morale imagination. What do you think?
...
No opinion, eh? Let's start again, do you know what's in death?
Nothing
I imagined so. I guess you agree with me when I say: there is nothing in our future. We are headed to nothing...and we will become nothing .
Yes we are headed to nothing. We leave everything in life for nothing in death...
...but isn't it nice not to have burdens, pain and sorrow? Think of the darkness which you can have all to yourself in which neither societies nor laws exist and with its absence brings absolute freedom and tranquility.
And the loved ones...
They don't exist. What's there to miss or mourn when, all you know in death, is solitude, peaceful solitude.
Question your concept of darkness; question your concept of black death; question your desire for nothingness - it's so rewarding - so, so, so rewarding.
***
A body hangs from the tree in the park. Its dark silhouette looms at the corner of the eye, and catches the attention and fear of others. It swings in the wind, waving farewell while mocking the others who could only stare in horror.
Tuesday 24 April 2012
Misled
What did you say to the dead boy?
You whispered something. Don't lie.
Blood trickled onto tar and you are left standing there...shocked? Sad? Indifferent?
Indifferent. I thought so. You feel neither guilt nor remorse. It's like you planned the death of this child whose eyes are now empty and devoid of essence.
But the music plays in heaven - and the child looks down to see you still on earth - still mortal - and that's what you deserve to be for the rest of your life. Unfortunately for this child, whose hand you once held, and misled onto a busy road, he will forever remember you and want you to cuddle him for you are his father who he loved in life and now can only hate in death.
"I won't let you go"
You whispered something. Don't lie.
Blood trickled onto tar and you are left standing there...shocked? Sad? Indifferent?
Indifferent. I thought so. You feel neither guilt nor remorse. It's like you planned the death of this child whose eyes are now empty and devoid of essence.
But the music plays in heaven - and the child looks down to see you still on earth - still mortal - and that's what you deserve to be for the rest of your life. Unfortunately for this child, whose hand you once held, and misled onto a busy road, he will forever remember you and want you to cuddle him for you are his father who he loved in life and now can only hate in death.
"I won't let you go"
Saturday 21 April 2012
Pay
Churches stand attention
for God is coming, and
he is searching for death
and sin. But never did He look
high nor low for the ones
who play love like a game.
Take a stand, cowards!
Your faith is frail in His hands.
You cannot escape this
and repentance is nothing
but a futile attempt
at reclaiming life.
Justify nothing, you shall
because justice is only
for the innocent
(which you are not)
so you will forever have
sin and death
and hell
where you will go.
for God is coming, and
he is searching for death
and sin. But never did He look
high nor low for the ones
who play love like a game.
Take a stand, cowards!
Your faith is frail in His hands.
You cannot escape this
and repentance is nothing
but a futile attempt
at reclaiming life.
Justify nothing, you shall
because justice is only
for the innocent
(which you are not)
so you will forever have
sin and death
and hell
where you will go.
Wednesday 18 April 2012
Wrong
Twiddling thumbs by the Wey River, I hang my head down. I wasn't expecting anyone but I wished I were. It was all hopeless, knowing that I'd done wrong and not been able to fix it.
A boat chugs down the Wey River. It disperses the gaggle of ducks which were swimming peacefully.
The realisation of futility dawned upon me; I can't fix things - I can't fix the mistakes I made and my conscience and others' consciences were judging me. You're so stupid - so damn stupid.
A boat chugs down the Wey River. It disperses the gaggle of ducks which were swimming peacefully.
The realisation of futility dawned upon me; I can't fix things - I can't fix the mistakes I made and my conscience and others' consciences were judging me. You're so stupid - so damn stupid.
Monday 16 April 2012
Parking Lots
The car chugged heavily under me. I can feel it - it chugged, vibrated, and groaned but I remained steadfast that I was going to find a space. My eyes scanned the dim parking lot for an empty slot for which I could park my car in. The only source of light was the overhead fluorescent bulbs, which threw a disgusting bluish-white hue over all that I could see.
Even as I steered the car into the next row of parking lots, I had a feeling that it was going to be futile. It was the kind of futility which is usually accompanied by the monotony of consistent failure. I had been in this blooming parking lot for almost an hour now - it's just been row after row of fruitlessness.
I eventually reached a point where giving up was not an option (despite my lack of hope). I had invested too much effort and time in this and I found myself zooming up and down obsessively looking for this space which I desired. No luck. Every turn yielded more disappointed and my lack of progress was killing me. But of course, that's when I spot it - an empty space and god did I relish this seemingly triumphant moment.
I positioned the car quickly in front of this space to make sure that other desperate drivers knew that it was taken. And as I snorted in pride at the other forlorn drivers, I adjusted the car to ensure smooth parking. I reversed and found my bumper up against a pillar.
Damn my (non-existent) driving skills!
I tried one more time.
No. Another miss.
I had driven into the pillar again.
Come on. I want this space. I really want it.
Pillar.
No! I want to get in! Damn it!
Pillar.
Come on!
And I was in. I turned the engine off and found myself exhausted. The whole thing seemed so climatic in my head. Never in my life had something as trivial as finding a space to park seem so significant as it had then. I laid back and let out a sigh. It was over. I got out of the car and left smiling, knowing that this space was hard-earned and deserved.
It's now been three days since that little event. And god, how my triumph then seems so pathetic now.
Even as I steered the car into the next row of parking lots, I had a feeling that it was going to be futile. It was the kind of futility which is usually accompanied by the monotony of consistent failure. I had been in this blooming parking lot for almost an hour now - it's just been row after row of fruitlessness.
I eventually reached a point where giving up was not an option (despite my lack of hope). I had invested too much effort and time in this and I found myself zooming up and down obsessively looking for this space which I desired. No luck. Every turn yielded more disappointed and my lack of progress was killing me. But of course, that's when I spot it - an empty space and god did I relish this seemingly triumphant moment.
I positioned the car quickly in front of this space to make sure that other desperate drivers knew that it was taken. And as I snorted in pride at the other forlorn drivers, I adjusted the car to ensure smooth parking. I reversed and found my bumper up against a pillar.
Damn my (non-existent) driving skills!
I tried one more time.
No. Another miss.
I had driven into the pillar again.
Come on. I want this space. I really want it.
Pillar.
No! I want to get in! Damn it!
Pillar.
Come on!
And I was in. I turned the engine off and found myself exhausted. The whole thing seemed so climatic in my head. Never in my life had something as trivial as finding a space to park seem so significant as it had then. I laid back and let out a sigh. It was over. I got out of the car and left smiling, knowing that this space was hard-earned and deserved.
It's now been three days since that little event. And god, how my triumph then seems so pathetic now.
Saturday 14 April 2012
Jom Main
Playing games on a different field,
destined to lose by a mile;
however, what was there for yield
but the glory and of a child
which would soon end up in a pile.
Kita berpantun melafazkan hati
but who am I kidding
considering no one will listen to me;
never to be heard
or taken seriously.
Decrepit and abandoned
saya berdiri sendiri
sambil bermain emosi
that shouldn't have existed
on a lonely evening with tea.
destined to lose by a mile;
however, what was there for yield
but the glory and of a child
which would soon end up in a pile.
Kita berpantun melafazkan hati
but who am I kidding
considering no one will listen to me;
never to be heard
or taken seriously.
Decrepit and abandoned
saya berdiri sendiri
sambil bermain emosi
that shouldn't have existed
on a lonely evening with tea.
Friday 13 April 2012
Captures not
Knowing
never really helped.
Still groping in the dark
looking ever so depressed
knowing that
she did not know
would only suffice
to kill. But yet,
the darkness looms
and blossoms not
into spring but
into a second winter.
Snow darkens the sun
and breaks down again
into nothing which can be
held or loved or helped.
And so be the creature
who dies alone
in metaphorical winter
which captures
no imagination and
no hearts
for which to love it so.
never really helped.
Still groping in the dark
looking ever so depressed
knowing that
she did not know
would only suffice
to kill. But yet,
the darkness looms
and blossoms not
into spring but
into a second winter.
Snow darkens the sun
and breaks down again
into nothing which can be
held or loved or helped.
And so be the creature
who dies alone
in metaphorical winter
which captures
no imagination and
no hearts
for which to love it so.
July 10, 2008
I think reality just slapped me in the face. I'm still amidst my
holiday spirit but I've just realised that I have a lot more to do than I
thought I did.
I have to do UCAS. I have to study for History AS. I have to start work on Math. I have to write essays for Tiow. I have to do my attachment. I have to find and file up all my papers. I have to mentally and EMOTIONALLY prepare myself for the horror which comes in the form of AS results.
I have to do all that. You may think that, considering I have a month, I should have more than enough time but let me run you through HOW it has to be done.
UCAS will need me to go through all my past achievements and write a god damn personal statement. Considering the fact that I don't have an impressive resume, I have to write down every little particle of achievement I can find.
HISTORY AS is in November and I know balls about Singapore and it's kiasu-ism.
TIOW'S ESSAYS will take some time because I need to analyse the weaknesses within my previous essays and it is essential that I get them right this time.
ATTACHMENT will take 2 weeks. I also have to decide whether I should do a law attachment or a psychology one.
FILING UP SHIT will take forever cause' my papers are e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e
AS RESULTS are out on the 10th of August (I think) and I don't think I'm ready to face my results especially Stats.
I'm nervous as hell....
shit
I have to do UCAS. I have to study for History AS. I have to start work on Math. I have to write essays for Tiow. I have to do my attachment. I have to find and file up all my papers. I have to mentally and EMOTIONALLY prepare myself for the horror which comes in the form of AS results.
I have to do all that. You may think that, considering I have a month, I should have more than enough time but let me run you through HOW it has to be done.
UCAS will need me to go through all my past achievements and write a god damn personal statement. Considering the fact that I don't have an impressive resume, I have to write down every little particle of achievement I can find.
HISTORY AS is in November and I know balls about Singapore and it's kiasu-ism.
TIOW'S ESSAYS will take some time because I need to analyse the weaknesses within my previous essays and it is essential that I get them right this time.
ATTACHMENT will take 2 weeks. I also have to decide whether I should do a law attachment or a psychology one.
FILING UP SHIT will take forever cause' my papers are e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e
AS RESULTS are out on the 10th of August (I think) and I don't think I'm ready to face my results especially Stats.
I'm nervous as hell....
shit
Thursday 12 April 2012
Perfect
I stare at my bowl of salad.
Every leaf of lettuce matters.
Every slice of tomato is crucial..
Every drop of dressing is calculated...
My life is perfect. Down to the last gram.
Numbers flash around in my hazy head as I attempt to deduct and omit more by each passing day
- smaller lettuce leaves tomorrow
- thinner slices of tomato tomorrow
- no dressing tomorrow.
My life is perfect. Down to the last drop.
I have no time for friends - I spend my time feeding my obsession with hunger and oh how I love the thought of self-devour. It's such a powerful feeling.
Right, so, tomorrow there will be
- smaller lettuce leaves
- thinner slices of tomato
- no dressing (just salt and pepper...a lot of salt)
But if I feel like I can push myself further, I'll do even better than that...I'll make it perfect
No salad.
Every leaf of lettuce matters.
Every slice of tomato is crucial..
Every drop of dressing is calculated...
My life is perfect. Down to the last gram.
Numbers flash around in my hazy head as I attempt to deduct and omit more by each passing day
- smaller lettuce leaves tomorrow
- thinner slices of tomato tomorrow
- no dressing tomorrow.
My life is perfect. Down to the last drop.
I have no time for friends - I spend my time feeding my obsession with hunger and oh how I love the thought of self-devour. It's such a powerful feeling.
Right, so, tomorrow there will be
- smaller lettuce leaves
- thinner slices of tomato
- no dressing (just salt and pepper...a lot of salt)
But if I feel like I can push myself further, I'll do even better than that...I'll make it perfect
No salad.
Sunday 1 April 2012
Subtly Forgotten
September returns
in time. The leaves brown
and die, almost like
a foreshadowing of the death
of one year gone. Livid
with disappointment and talk,
so many reasons to leave;
almost like a confusion of love
which was never to be conceived
in time. The leaves brown
and die, almost like
a foreshadowing of the death
of one year gone. Livid
with disappointment and talk,
so many reasons to leave;
almost like a confusion of love
which was never to be conceived
Wednesday 28 March 2012
Counting Sheep
I really shouldn't be awake at 3am on a weekday. I'm tossing, I'm turning - my attempts at falling back to sleep are futile.
Counting sheep?
One sheep, two sheep, three sheep...Shaun the Sheep. A heap of sheep. Sheep shit.
My mind wanders. Clearly counting sheep isn't for me.
I'll start again:
One sheep
I need to clean up the room before Sunday. The laundry needs doing and the floor needs hoovering. I don't understand where all this mess is coming from - I really don't.
Two sheep
The plural of sheep is 'sheep'. It isn't 'sheeps'. I remember this because father told me this when I was six. He told me this again when I was ten when I made that mistake in my English test. This time round he gave me a pretty good chastising for forgetting.
Three sheep
I've got a lot of packing to do. I'll need to do this on Saturday. On top of packing the volumionous amounts of chocolates I intend of bringing with me (for family), I want to bring back some of the clothes I (can) no longer wear. They're in a box on top of my cupboards like a corpse in a coffin waiting to be buried.
Four sheep
When I get back I'm going to continue painting the bedroom wall with the acrylic paints I have tucked away under the bed (provided my sisters haven't found them and used them up). The last time I painted the wall, I was working on an image of a leaveless tree. Dried and dead, its branches were like thin cracks which crawled across the wall - thin cracks...like the hands that were painting it...
Shaun the Sheep
My sisters love that show.
...
I turn over and look at the clock - it's 8am. Looks like counting sheep works after all. But fuck, now I'm late...
Counting sheep?
One sheep, two sheep, three sheep...Shaun the Sheep. A heap of sheep. Sheep shit.
My mind wanders. Clearly counting sheep isn't for me.
I'll start again:
One sheep
I need to clean up the room before Sunday. The laundry needs doing and the floor needs hoovering. I don't understand where all this mess is coming from - I really don't.
Two sheep
The plural of sheep is 'sheep'. It isn't 'sheeps'. I remember this because father told me this when I was six. He told me this again when I was ten when I made that mistake in my English test. This time round he gave me a pretty good chastising for forgetting.
Three sheep
I've got a lot of packing to do. I'll need to do this on Saturday. On top of packing the volumionous amounts of chocolates I intend of bringing with me (for family), I want to bring back some of the clothes I (can) no longer wear. They're in a box on top of my cupboards like a corpse in a coffin waiting to be buried.
Four sheep
When I get back I'm going to continue painting the bedroom wall with the acrylic paints I have tucked away under the bed (provided my sisters haven't found them and used them up). The last time I painted the wall, I was working on an image of a leaveless tree. Dried and dead, its branches were like thin cracks which crawled across the wall - thin cracks...like the hands that were painting it...
Shaun the Sheep
My sisters love that show.
...
I turn over and look at the clock - it's 8am. Looks like counting sheep works after all. But fuck, now I'm late...
Sunday 25 March 2012
There's always one
I sat across him at dinner.
I observed his table manners and scruitinised every flick of the fork and jab of the knife - he was trying to make a point (with a mouth full of food) but no one was listening. This was quite a common scene when we went out.
I suppose I should have empathy for him - perhaps he was just socially awkward. However, with one irritating hand gesture after another, my empathy quickly turned to annoyance and I found myself being very cold and unfeeling towards his needs.
He's like an outlier, in a sense that, he wasn't really like the rest of us; socially, he stood outside on a marooned platform designed just for him completely oblivious to social practices.
I observed his table manners and scruitinised every flick of the fork and jab of the knife - he was trying to make a point (with a mouth full of food) but no one was listening. This was quite a common scene when we went out.
I suppose I should have empathy for him - perhaps he was just socially awkward. However, with one irritating hand gesture after another, my empathy quickly turned to annoyance and I found myself being very cold and unfeeling towards his needs.
He's like an outlier, in a sense that, he wasn't really like the rest of us; socially, he stood outside on a marooned platform designed just for him completely oblivious to social practices.
Saturday 24 March 2012
Opportunity Lost
Drunken nights
counting down. Knowing
this will all soon end
and the nights replaced
by sober ones which force
memories to be made,
and perhaps I will die
remembering.
But for now,
having had whatever,
I will sleep
and forget I ever wrote
this in the first place.
Wednesday 21 March 2012
Disagreements
"I've never heard
this song before,"
dad admitted. I smiled
and mum scowled
while sisters laughed
at the elders' ignorance.
"Coldplay," I said
only to hear mum say
"Oh. Are they gay?"
Unimpressed, I huffed
while sisters chuckled
and when the chorus played
the dogs barked
and howled
in unison with "Paradise";
it was like painful cries
of canine futillity
because I remained
unmoved and indifferent
to the signs of dislike.
Sisters were still in a chuckle
when one of them says
"Let's listen
to High School Musical"
this song before,"
dad admitted. I smiled
and mum scowled
while sisters laughed
at the elders' ignorance.
"Coldplay," I said
only to hear mum say
"Oh. Are they gay?"
Unimpressed, I huffed
while sisters chuckled
and when the chorus played
the dogs barked
and howled
in unison with "Paradise";
it was like painful cries
of canine futillity
because I remained
unmoved and indifferent
to the signs of dislike.
Sisters were still in a chuckle
when one of them says
"Let's listen
to High School Musical"
Desperation in the Library
Sat in the library,
the day was grey;
in retrospect,
I hold no significance
of that day two years later.
So much has changed,
so much was resolved,
and so much was uncovered.
But music reminds me
of that grey day,
sat in the library
reading up on neuronal synapses
and eating disorders; I gasp
and the breath dies again
in the empty room
of which I know reside,
miles away from that library
in which the past now haunts;
never again to remember
or repeat or relive; but yet,
the emptiness leaves
a void of desperation
which remains unfilled in the heart
and so it stays, exposed
and vulnerable, calling
for love which is
nowhere to be seen.
the day was grey;
in retrospect,
I hold no significance
of that day two years later.
So much has changed,
so much was resolved,
and so much was uncovered.
But music reminds me
of that grey day,
sat in the library
reading up on neuronal synapses
and eating disorders; I gasp
and the breath dies again
in the empty room
of which I know reside,
miles away from that library
in which the past now haunts;
never again to remember
or repeat or relive; but yet,
the emptiness leaves
a void of desperation
which remains unfilled in the heart
and so it stays, exposed
and vulnerable, calling
for love which is
nowhere to be seen.
Monday 19 March 2012
Worth Nothing
Maria: I missed it all. I never got to see it grow, I never got to see it breathe - it was a stillborn. And I blame myself for its death. I am such a bad person - horrible...evil...
Curtains close. Two men walk onto the stage. One of them is John. He walks with his head down. Next to him is Dave who smokes a cigarette as he walks with John.
John: I don't think she realises how much she's disappointed me. I had so much hope and...maybe I expected too much...
Dave: I don't understand why you keep thinking about it.
John: Because I thought she could...
Dave: Forget her. She clearly isn't capable. There are others out there who can - don't hang around with someone as useless as her.
John looks up at Dave.
John: Light me a fag, mate. I'll come with you. Show me...
Dave lights John a cigarette, pats him on the shoulder and walks off stage. John stands puffing on his cigarette. Maria enters.
Maria: You know I didn't mean to...I mean I didn't know what to do.
John looks down on her and continues to smoke his cigarette.
Maria: I'm sorry - I've been too afraid to say anything to you...until now...but there, I've said it! Please forgive me!
John (as he speaks, smoke comes out of his mouth and nose): There's nothing to forgive.
Maria: Wha-what? What do you mean?
John blows smoke in Maria's face
John: There is nothing to forgive. Because you don't exist.
John walks off stage and Maria stands on stage alone, almost in tears.
Curtains close. Two men walk onto the stage. One of them is John. He walks with his head down. Next to him is Dave who smokes a cigarette as he walks with John.
John: I don't think she realises how much she's disappointed me. I had so much hope and...maybe I expected too much...
Dave: I don't understand why you keep thinking about it.
John: Because I thought she could...
Dave: Forget her. She clearly isn't capable. There are others out there who can - don't hang around with someone as useless as her.
John looks up at Dave.
John: Light me a fag, mate. I'll come with you. Show me...
Dave lights John a cigarette, pats him on the shoulder and walks off stage. John stands puffing on his cigarette. Maria enters.
Maria: You know I didn't mean to...I mean I didn't know what to do.
John looks down on her and continues to smoke his cigarette.
Maria: I'm sorry - I've been too afraid to say anything to you...until now...but there, I've said it! Please forgive me!
John (as he speaks, smoke comes out of his mouth and nose): There's nothing to forgive.
Maria: Wha-what? What do you mean?
John blows smoke in Maria's face
John: There is nothing to forgive. Because you don't exist.
John walks off stage and Maria stands on stage alone, almost in tears.
Sunday 18 March 2012
Giving Up
I knew I was going to lose you the first time we said "hello". It was a brief introduction, that first day - neither of us expected life to go this far - but yet, it did and this whole time, I was all set to lose you.
The months rumbled on in the deep undercurrent of despair. This was on my part of course - you were no longer here to feel it with me. I suppose that's how life goes. It's so unfair but then again, perhaps it wasn't meant to be. So, why the hell am I complaining?
A rhetorical question that was. It can't be answered and it probably isn't worth asking.
Meaningless Travels
Do you know what it's like
to travel on trains? Buildings
whizzing by when actually
they stand still like head stones.
People outside vanish in the speed
and all that is left to see
are the distant fields
where cattle graze.
And so my trip from Surrey
to London, takes me past
calm fields and quiet villages
but soon I see the countryside
morph into the suburbs.
Fields and small houses
begin to vanish. In their place,
tall, narrow buildings, all
looking-alike. Clapham Junction
never seemed more grey
with their multi-coloured
buildings of similar structure.
That was not my stop
So I travel even further
and I watch Clapham
being replaced by London.
And then we stop.
Passengers spill out
onto platforms
and shoot past the gates
before dispersing into London
and I was left...
...standing on the platform
watching it all
feeling empty because
nothing I had just seen
meant anything to me.
to travel on trains? Buildings
whizzing by when actually
they stand still like head stones.
People outside vanish in the speed
and all that is left to see
are the distant fields
where cattle graze.
And so my trip from Surrey
to London, takes me past
calm fields and quiet villages
but soon I see the countryside
morph into the suburbs.
Fields and small houses
begin to vanish. In their place,
tall, narrow buildings, all
looking-alike. Clapham Junction
never seemed more grey
with their multi-coloured
buildings of similar structure.
That was not my stop
So I travel even further
and I watch Clapham
being replaced by London.
And then we stop.
Passengers spill out
onto platforms
and shoot past the gates
before dispersing into London
and I was left...
...standing on the platform
watching it all
feeling empty because
nothing I had just seen
meant anything to me.
Sunday 11 March 2012
The Trouble with Love
It's almost like a lie, the first few months. Sitting under the school ramps, out of view of roaming teachers, we let our heads float...
...but wait, before we got there, I knew this was all a lie. Affection, at the age of thirteen, would only last so long. If only I had the courage then to say so but I didn't and so I lived the lie quite reluctantly.
Three months on, it died and thank god it did. I walked through the school corridors past my friends who wondered where he was (not with me that's for sure). They whispered and formed rumours of a dramatic ending in our relationship which didn't occur.
More lies...more lies...and more to come, I think...
...but wait, before we got there, I knew this was all a lie. Affection, at the age of thirteen, would only last so long. If only I had the courage then to say so but I didn't and so I lived the lie quite reluctantly.
Three months on, it died and thank god it did. I walked through the school corridors past my friends who wondered where he was (not with me that's for sure). They whispered and formed rumours of a dramatic ending in our relationship which didn't occur.
More lies...more lies...and more to come, I think...
Here with Me
"I didn't hear you leave
I wonder how am I still here
I don't wanna move the things
it might change my memories
oh, I am what I am
I'll do what I want
but I can't hide
I won't go
I won't sleep
I can't breathe
till you're resting here with me"
I wonder how am I still here
I don't wanna move the things
it might change my memories
oh, I am what I am
I'll do what I want
but I can't hide
I won't go
I won't sleep
I can't breathe
till you're resting here with me"
- Dido
Saturday 10 March 2012
A Story about Forgetting
I will think about you again in the future, years after you have not crossed my mind.
I will think about you again while I walk down a park in Surrey and think about the words you said to me and the way you comforted me when I felt the world bear down on me. It will all come back to me in an influx of memories; everything which time suppressed will reappear in an instance and I will be able to dwell with it for awhile.
But, two hours later, I will go home, to the town I now live in, and forget you completely and quite reluctantly. And there will be another time void in which my memory of you will not exist.
I will return to the park again at some point and I will remember you. However, while the void stretches on, you will have been forgotten and only when the right time comes will you exist again.
I will think about you again while I walk down a park in Surrey and think about the words you said to me and the way you comforted me when I felt the world bear down on me. It will all come back to me in an influx of memories; everything which time suppressed will reappear in an instance and I will be able to dwell with it for awhile.
But, two hours later, I will go home, to the town I now live in, and forget you completely and quite reluctantly. And there will be another time void in which my memory of you will not exist.
I will return to the park again at some point and I will remember you. However, while the void stretches on, you will have been forgotten and only when the right time comes will you exist again.
Tragic Findings
Your door was shut
so unlike the days before,
always open and always
welcoming to the younger minds
who loitered in the corridors.
I suppose, there's no reason
to leave it open now,
now that you are gone.
The note your students left you
remained on your door
like a cherished reminder
of your presence and life,
but it was not meant to be -
life I mean, it wasn't meant
to last. And you silently
drifted away under our ignorance
and naivety, thinking life is
forever; oh, the lessons we've learnt
this year: working, learning,
living. And you walked us
through all of it but left
yourself out of the latter.
Forgetting yourself
and remembering others
exempted you from life
and taught us a lesson about
loss and regret; but in your name
we will cherish this lesson so
just as much as we wished
we had cherished you
during those days
when you had left
your door open.
so unlike the days before,
always open and always
welcoming to the younger minds
who loitered in the corridors.
I suppose, there's no reason
to leave it open now,
now that you are gone.
The note your students left you
remained on your door
like a cherished reminder
of your presence and life,
but it was not meant to be -
life I mean, it wasn't meant
to last. And you silently
drifted away under our ignorance
and naivety, thinking life is
forever; oh, the lessons we've learnt
this year: working, learning,
living. And you walked us
through all of it but left
yourself out of the latter.
Forgetting yourself
and remembering others
exempted you from life
and taught us a lesson about
loss and regret; but in your name
we will cherish this lesson so
just as much as we wished
we had cherished you
during those days
when you had left
your door open.
Wednesday 7 March 2012
The Door Left Ajar
Did you ever consider
a little "hello"
when that door was left ajar,
or perhaps a "thank you"
on lazy afternoons
between lectures on Biology
and Cognitive?
Perhaps not... but no...
...we must not reflect
on what we could have
but did not. But let's reflect on
the times we laughed
hysterically in the lecture hall
deciding on whether a heater
is more important than water
on the moon. Because in the backdrop
of our snickers and childish jokes
there was another who looked
over us and smiled and guided us
as we laughed, and thought about
studies by Asch and Milgram
and grew from what she taught us.
On a day when disbelief
numbs the senses and drives us to
retreat, we can always wipe away
tears knowing there was some closure
because we had grown
and learnt and matured
in her presence.
And although that door
will not be left ajar anymore,
being more of a person than we were
when we first met her
is good enough proof
that we will always miss her
and will always cherish her so.
a little "hello"
when that door was left ajar,
or perhaps a "thank you"
on lazy afternoons
between lectures on Biology
and Cognitive?
Perhaps not... but no...
...we must not reflect
on what we could have
but did not. But let's reflect on
the times we laughed
hysterically in the lecture hall
deciding on whether a heater
is more important than water
on the moon. Because in the backdrop
of our snickers and childish jokes
there was another who looked
over us and smiled and guided us
as we laughed, and thought about
studies by Asch and Milgram
and grew from what she taught us.
On a day when disbelief
numbs the senses and drives us to
retreat, we can always wipe away
tears knowing there was some closure
because we had grown
and learnt and matured
in her presence.
And although that door
will not be left ajar anymore,
being more of a person than we were
when we first met her
is good enough proof
that we will always miss her
and will always cherish her so.
Saturday 3 March 2012
Swift Reality
Words on words
they tell lies like birds
stuck on the fence
with their hearts tense
never to be freed
and left with no feed
to live and fly
and so they all die.
they tell lies like birds
stuck on the fence
with their hearts tense
never to be freed
and left with no feed
to live and fly
and so they all die.
Thursday 1 March 2012
Misguided
Toiling in the deep
so troubled and undone
the memories and the weep
under the cold, unfeeling pun
so distraught in the summer
never again to forgive her.
General consensus
about the death by unplugging
the machine that gave her licence
to be submerged amongst the living
but now she dies, this time for real
alone because her kids were afraid to feel.
Long, bending corridors
on a day lit by sunshine
to meet the one who opens doors
and makes sure she doesn't toe the line
so careful and so scared
that the others could only have stared.
so troubled and undone
the memories and the weep
under the cold, unfeeling pun
so distraught in the summer
never again to forgive her.
General consensus
about the death by unplugging
the machine that gave her licence
to be submerged amongst the living
but now she dies, this time for real
alone because her kids were afraid to feel.
Long, bending corridors
on a day lit by sunshine
to meet the one who opens doors
and makes sure she doesn't toe the line
so careful and so scared
that the others could only have stared.
Tuesday 28 February 2012
Like Everything Else
It ends on the note
that nothing can continue.
It dies on the grave
which took breath to unearth
And it dissipates into non-entity
like everything else
at the end of time.
that nothing can continue.
It dies on the grave
which took breath to unearth
And it dissipates into non-entity
like everything else
at the end of time.
Sunday 19 February 2012
I have Opinions (Wow!)
Now for a rant from the top of my head..
I'm writing my very first opinionated post about life...yay...
...moving on...
Over the last month or so, I experienced some Facebook woes which stemmed from some slightly unsettling posts made by a person who I know but don't really see very often in my everyday (non-cyber) life. These posts were subtly aimed to upset me and make me feel like a rubbish person.
Now before we start jumping to conclusions about this, I just want to mention that these posts were in response to a comment I made to this person when I met him at the train station (i.e. real life). Basically I told him that the hat he was wearing didn't really suit him and he got touchy about it and decided he would (subtly) accuse me of being an unsupportive friend on Facebook.
sigh
So, here's my question to you, my dear (and very scarce) viewers of this blog: Is Facebook really the best way to communicate across feelings and messages to a specific person (subtly or otherwise)?
Clearly, after this incident, my anwer is no. To be honest, up to the point that this happened I was completely indifferent to the whole question but it's now clear to me that subtle hints on Facebook can be more caustic than face-to-face remarks.
Yes. I was really upset by this. Thank you.
I'm by no means implying that we should all boycott Facebook for its anti-social tendencies because I am just as bought into the Facebook culture as everyone else...
...I mean, I post random statuses, make weird notes, tag people in funny and slightly inappropriate photos, stalk my lecturers (I joke), etc. etc.....
...However, I do not believe Facebook should be a place for personal battles to take place. I recently wrote an article about how non-Facebook users are actually happier than hard core Facebook users and I'm beginnning to see why - to live your life on Facebook is to subject yourself to any hurtful comments/messages which people are too afraid to tell you to your face in real-life.
Let's face it - what we say/post on Facebook is not said by us but by our cyber-persona. And unfortunately, our cyber-persona has a hell lot more confidence than the real 'us'. Basically, what goes onto Facebook are normally the things we don't say in real life mainly because it is either something that could get you into trouble or something that could hurt someone else's feelings. But yet, we still post it up with the intentions of expressing displeaure towards another (to all 1000 of your Facebook friends)
Woot...social interaction just got more complicated.
But anyways, that's my rant for today. I can't be bothered to end this properly because I just can't be bothered to form a proper conclusion to this rant...but then again, what rant has a conclusion?!
Again, if you've bothered to read all the way to the end of this post, why not leave a comment to tell me what you think? Besides, I want some reassurance that I do have visitors on this blog.
I shall now leave you with a smiley face --------------------> :D
I'm writing my very first opinionated post about life...yay...
...moving on...
Over the last month or so, I experienced some Facebook woes which stemmed from some slightly unsettling posts made by a person who I know but don't really see very often in my everyday (non-cyber) life. These posts were subtly aimed to upset me and make me feel like a rubbish person.
Now before we start jumping to conclusions about this, I just want to mention that these posts were in response to a comment I made to this person when I met him at the train station (i.e. real life). Basically I told him that the hat he was wearing didn't really suit him and he got touchy about it and decided he would (subtly) accuse me of being an unsupportive friend on Facebook.
sigh
So, here's my question to you, my dear (and very scarce) viewers of this blog: Is Facebook really the best way to communicate across feelings and messages to a specific person (subtly or otherwise)?
Clearly, after this incident, my anwer is no. To be honest, up to the point that this happened I was completely indifferent to the whole question but it's now clear to me that subtle hints on Facebook can be more caustic than face-to-face remarks.
Yes. I was really upset by this. Thank you.
I'm by no means implying that we should all boycott Facebook for its anti-social tendencies because I am just as bought into the Facebook culture as everyone else...
...I mean, I post random statuses, make weird notes, tag people in funny and slightly inappropriate photos, stalk my lecturers (I joke), etc. etc.....
...However, I do not believe Facebook should be a place for personal battles to take place. I recently wrote an article about how non-Facebook users are actually happier than hard core Facebook users and I'm beginnning to see why - to live your life on Facebook is to subject yourself to any hurtful comments/messages which people are too afraid to tell you to your face in real-life.
Let's face it - what we say/post on Facebook is not said by us but by our cyber-persona. And unfortunately, our cyber-persona has a hell lot more confidence than the real 'us'. Basically, what goes onto Facebook are normally the things we don't say in real life mainly because it is either something that could get you into trouble or something that could hurt someone else's feelings. But yet, we still post it up with the intentions of expressing displeaure towards another (to all 1000 of your Facebook friends)
Woot...social interaction just got more complicated.
But anyways, that's my rant for today. I can't be bothered to end this properly because I just can't be bothered to form a proper conclusion to this rant...but then again, what rant has a conclusion?!
Again, if you've bothered to read all the way to the end of this post, why not leave a comment to tell me what you think? Besides, I want some reassurance that I do have visitors on this blog.
I shall now leave you with a smiley face --------------------> :D
Friday 17 February 2012
My Audience
Hello brain, why did you leave me
standing on the cliff in incoherent bliss;
did I offend you so that you couldn't even carry
the directionless rants of this little miss?
Oh hello people, you make me sick
but wait I didn't mean that, that was a lie;
what I meant is you make me tick
but I'm going anti-clockwise, aren't I?
Well I shall leave this poem for now
slightly unfinished and unmeaningful
but it doesn't matter, I'll still bow
and exit this stage like an idiotic fool
standing on the cliff in incoherent bliss;
did I offend you so that you couldn't even carry
the directionless rants of this little miss?
Oh hello people, you make me sick
but wait I didn't mean that, that was a lie;
what I meant is you make me tick
but I'm going anti-clockwise, aren't I?
Well I shall leave this poem for now
slightly unfinished and unmeaningful
but it doesn't matter, I'll still bow
and exit this stage like an idiotic fool
Thursday 16 February 2012
[None]
On such dreary days
we die. And there is an underlying
fever of hate and dismay
which enunciates all the undoings
of time and people
until we're left with just so little.
What is it about this
hell? Can we not salvage time
and revive it with a kiss
or am I just going to be the mime
which acts out life
in a wordless confine?
Let it all go into the darkness
of time.Forget the troubled
which hides the black mess
as the heart still wants to be cradled
like a baby fresh from birth
and not buried in the earth.
we die. And there is an underlying
fever of hate and dismay
which enunciates all the undoings
of time and people
until we're left with just so little.
What is it about this
hell? Can we not salvage time
and revive it with a kiss
or am I just going to be the mime
which acts out life
in a wordless confine?
Let it all go into the darkness
of time.Forget the troubled
which hides the black mess
as the heart still wants to be cradled
like a baby fresh from birth
and not buried in the earth.
Monday 13 February 2012
Bercerita
Cerita Bahasa Melayu beza daripada cerita Bahasa Inggeris kerana kegunaan bahasa yang berbeza memberi kesan yang berbeza. Itulah salah satu fakta yang kita memang sudah sedar tentang.
For example, when I say, "I'm hurt", you're more likely to think that I've fallen over in a clumsy heap and injured myself.
Tetapi apabila saya kata, "Saya sakit hati", anda tahu saya merujuk kepada kesakitan emosi.
Sadly, I have to admit that my ability to write anything coherent in Malay is deteriorating by the day due to the lack of use.
Adakah saya akan cuba memperbaiki masalah ini?
No. Because if I ever use this language these days, everyone's going to think that I do not want them to know about what I am saying. And I don't want to be judged.
However, now that I've admitted that I do use Malay to have secret conversations with others, you'll want to know what I've just typed above.
☺
For example, when I say, "I'm hurt", you're more likely to think that I've fallen over in a clumsy heap and injured myself.
Tetapi apabila saya kata, "Saya sakit hati", anda tahu saya merujuk kepada kesakitan emosi.
Sadly, I have to admit that my ability to write anything coherent in Malay is deteriorating by the day due to the lack of use.
Adakah saya akan cuba memperbaiki masalah ini?
No. Because if I ever use this language these days, everyone's going to think that I do not want them to know about what I am saying. And I don't want to be judged.
However, now that I've admitted that I do use Malay to have secret conversations with others, you'll want to know what I've just typed above.
☺
Ini adalah Masalah yang tidak boleh diceritakan
Sesiapa yang sudah melupakan masa kanak-kanak ialah seseorang yang tinggal dalam kesunyian.
Janganlah lupakan rumah pertama anda
Janganlah lupakan sekolah rendah anda
Janganlah lupakan keluarga anda
Because when others leave you...
...merekalah yang akan jaga hati anda....
Janganlah lupakan rumah pertama anda
Janganlah lupakan sekolah rendah anda
Janganlah lupakan keluarga anda
Because when others leave you...
...merekalah yang akan jaga hati anda....
Sunday 12 February 2012
A Poem found amongst my Lecture Notes
Nineteen years old and counting
we scribble pictures of the lecturer,
oh I wonder how you carry on teaching;
under the giggles of naive teenagers.
Bugged teeth and a devil horn
and a tail to go with that too;
geez, no wonder you look forlorn,
we're not the only ones drawing you.
We pack up quickly as the lecture ends
and you sigh at the thought of doing this again
but a student looks at you and says "nice ass"
and this is why you keep coming back in.
we scribble pictures of the lecturer,
oh I wonder how you carry on teaching;
under the giggles of naive teenagers.
Bugged teeth and a devil horn
and a tail to go with that too;
geez, no wonder you look forlorn,
we're not the only ones drawing you.
We pack up quickly as the lecture ends
and you sigh at the thought of doing this again
but a student looks at you and says "nice ass"
and this is why you keep coming back in.
Saturday 11 February 2012
Silent Virtue
The music plays on as the snow begins to settle on the lawn outside - just more proof that life still goes on even though the dismembered aspirations lie limp on the floor.
Fly up to the surface
and just start again
It was never meant to manifest itelf any further than it had but nonetheless, with or without the exchange of words, you still want the best for them.
All the best
I head off into the woods and sit down amongst the snow-laden trees. It is always a wonder where those footsteps are now. I want to believe they are in a better place and for the most part they probably are. There is no question that everything still rolls on as usual - the only thing which is out of sync is the emotions which once did not exist.
Lord I don't know which way I am going...
...still got such a long way to go...
Fly up to the surface
and just start again
It was never meant to manifest itelf any further than it had but nonetheless, with or without the exchange of words, you still want the best for them.
All the best
I head off into the woods and sit down amongst the snow-laden trees. It is always a wonder where those footsteps are now. I want to believe they are in a better place and for the most part they probably are. There is no question that everything still rolls on as usual - the only thing which is out of sync is the emotions which once did not exist.
Lord I don't know which way I am going...
...still got such a long way to go...
Thursday 9 February 2012
The Problem with Dreams...
Sadness shook the unconsciousness away and tears began to fall at 4am that morning. It seemed almost futile to go back to sleep so a hot breakfast seemed well-suited for the current occasion.
30g of porridge with 1/3 cup of soymilk and 2/3 cup water. Standard.
It was that fucking dream again. The one where the dreamer was a child and was taken away from the comfort of her childhood bed to be left at an orphanage. This was a reoccurring dream since the age of eight - it keeps coming back - and it won't let me grow up.
As the years fall behind, many other dreams manifest themselves from the new experiences and expectations which pop up in time. But somehow, those other dreams were never feasible and only crumble between my fingers the harder I try to hold on to them (like feta cheese).
I finished my breakfast. It was 4.20am.
I listened to Coldplay's "Charlie Brown" to pass the time.
In my scarecrow dreams
when they smash my heart into smithereens
be a bright red rose come burst through the concrete
be a cartoon heart
light a fire, fire the spark
light a fire flame in my heart
It meant so much but helped so little. Oh how symbolisms can only bring meaning but not healing. By the end of the song, I wondered how many more fallen dreams could I take...
...but I then reminded myself that there were other hearts out there which were more severed than mine. Just like how the lyrics could only bring meaning, my orphan dream could only bring sadness...but not hurt me. Dreams are not reality; they are mere untruths which exist in the individual heads of dreamers.
There was a lot more to smile about by 7am because consciousness invited no dreams and reality was allowed to run its course.
Somewhere the streets are made of gold...
30g of porridge with 1/3 cup of soymilk and 2/3 cup water. Standard.
It was that fucking dream again. The one where the dreamer was a child and was taken away from the comfort of her childhood bed to be left at an orphanage. This was a reoccurring dream since the age of eight - it keeps coming back - and it won't let me grow up.
As the years fall behind, many other dreams manifest themselves from the new experiences and expectations which pop up in time. But somehow, those other dreams were never feasible and only crumble between my fingers the harder I try to hold on to them (like feta cheese).
I finished my breakfast. It was 4.20am.
I listened to Coldplay's "Charlie Brown" to pass the time.
In my scarecrow dreams
when they smash my heart into smithereens
be a bright red rose come burst through the concrete
be a cartoon heart
light a fire, fire the spark
light a fire flame in my heart
It meant so much but helped so little. Oh how symbolisms can only bring meaning but not healing. By the end of the song, I wondered how many more fallen dreams could I take...
...but I then reminded myself that there were other hearts out there which were more severed than mine. Just like how the lyrics could only bring meaning, my orphan dream could only bring sadness...but not hurt me. Dreams are not reality; they are mere untruths which exist in the individual heads of dreamers.
There was a lot more to smile about by 7am because consciousness invited no dreams and reality was allowed to run its course.
Somewhere the streets are made of gold...
Wednesday 8 February 2012
What Wednesdays bring...
Wednesdays promised nothing. It passed by ever so silently and ever so slowly as I sat wondering about the trivial things in life.
This morning's burnt toast left a bitter aftertaste in my mouth and it was determined to taint the taste of any food I was going to have for the rest of the day.
It was pathetic how a single bad item could change your perception everything else on that day as my burnt toast had done. While I am aware this was just down to my lack of culinary expertise and technical know-how as far as toaster-using was concerned, I couldn't help but feel that this was basically all my fault.
Having said that, some things aren't always your fault and in the wake of betrayal, sometimes you can only ever attribute blame to an external source, namely someone else who lacked any sense of loyalty.
Words can only heal so much.
On dreary Wednesdays like today, I wish I could delve deeper into the minds of those who were disappointed and brought down by the other they trusted. I want to know what scars were made and how to heal them...
...but none of that is any of my business.
So I can only watch from a safe distance as the hurt eats them up from the inside out and watch the bodies grow limper with every passing day. Helplessness is all I feel - and really, all I want to do is give them a hug and tell them that everything will be alright.
This morning's burnt toast left a bitter aftertaste in my mouth and it was determined to taint the taste of any food I was going to have for the rest of the day.
It was pathetic how a single bad item could change your perception everything else on that day as my burnt toast had done. While I am aware this was just down to my lack of culinary expertise and technical know-how as far as toaster-using was concerned, I couldn't help but feel that this was basically all my fault.
Having said that, some things aren't always your fault and in the wake of betrayal, sometimes you can only ever attribute blame to an external source, namely someone else who lacked any sense of loyalty.
Words can only heal so much.
On dreary Wednesdays like today, I wish I could delve deeper into the minds of those who were disappointed and brought down by the other they trusted. I want to know what scars were made and how to heal them...
...but none of that is any of my business.
So I can only watch from a safe distance as the hurt eats them up from the inside out and watch the bodies grow limper with every passing day. Helplessness is all I feel - and really, all I want to do is give them a hug and tell them that everything will be alright.
Monday 6 February 2012
Burnt Toast
I don't understand why I constantly end up with burnt toast. It's not that hard a task to watch the toaster in the morning. It's not like I have anything better to do (besides getting changed, brushing my teeth, ironing my shirt, completing my unfinished work etc. etc.).
Anyway, so I burnt my toast again this morning and left the kitchen smelling like it was set ablaze at some point in the night. I hoped no one noticed: I grinned at my housemate as I walked out the door with my charcoal toast on my plate - she'd never know it was me.
Needless to say, I only got through half of the toast before deciding that eating a carcinogenic slab of charcoal was probably not a good idea. I abandoned it and got changed for work. Looking at myself in the mirror, I caught a glimpse of the half-eaten toast on the table - no butter or jam or marmalade or Marmite - their absence on my toast was a cloying reminder of what was once an obssession but is now just a matter of bad habit.
The thought moved me slightly as I put on the shirt which once didn't fit me and hung on me like an oversized rag. The realisation didn't seem to want to leave and so I took it to work with me.
By 4pm, I was about ready to stab the computer with my massive, bare hands. The documents I was working on didn't seem right and the perfectionist (or paranoia) in me was throwing a childish tantrum in my head. I resisted letting this tantrum manifest itself in front of my colleagues and I left them to continue tapping away at their computers. Oh how trivial this angered moment will seem in 30 years time - it would all seem like nothing but a distant memory.
I got home at 6pm, after a long walk around (and around and around and around and around and around) the park only to be greeted by, none other than, this morning's burnt toast. Fuck...it's like it's following me. So I've put up with time and psychological conflicts to be haunted by the connotations of burnt toast. Why, oh why are you still in my ever-so-slightly big head?
Of course I discarded the damn thing. The toast I mean, not my head, though had I been able to discard my head together with the memories, I'd have been more than happy to. Unfortunately, that's not how disorders work - they stay with you even after several years and cling even more when you try to get rid of them.
Well life still goes on...and I still wake up to a new day to start afresh once more. So I get on with my routine of...
1) Snoozing my alarm clock five times before getting up
2) Brushing my teeth
3) Putting the kettle on
4) Putting the bread in the toaster
5) Reading the news...
....but oh, what do you know - burnt toast, yet again.
Anyway, so I burnt my toast again this morning and left the kitchen smelling like it was set ablaze at some point in the night. I hoped no one noticed: I grinned at my housemate as I walked out the door with my charcoal toast on my plate - she'd never know it was me.
Needless to say, I only got through half of the toast before deciding that eating a carcinogenic slab of charcoal was probably not a good idea. I abandoned it and got changed for work. Looking at myself in the mirror, I caught a glimpse of the half-eaten toast on the table - no butter or jam or marmalade or Marmite - their absence on my toast was a cloying reminder of what was once an obssession but is now just a matter of bad habit.
The thought moved me slightly as I put on the shirt which once didn't fit me and hung on me like an oversized rag. The realisation didn't seem to want to leave and so I took it to work with me.
By 4pm, I was about ready to stab the computer with my massive, bare hands. The documents I was working on didn't seem right and the perfectionist (or paranoia) in me was throwing a childish tantrum in my head. I resisted letting this tantrum manifest itself in front of my colleagues and I left them to continue tapping away at their computers. Oh how trivial this angered moment will seem in 30 years time - it would all seem like nothing but a distant memory.
I got home at 6pm, after a long walk around (and around and around and around and around and around) the park only to be greeted by, none other than, this morning's burnt toast. Fuck...it's like it's following me. So I've put up with time and psychological conflicts to be haunted by the connotations of burnt toast. Why, oh why are you still in my ever-so-slightly big head?
Of course I discarded the damn thing. The toast I mean, not my head, though had I been able to discard my head together with the memories, I'd have been more than happy to. Unfortunately, that's not how disorders work - they stay with you even after several years and cling even more when you try to get rid of them.
Well life still goes on...and I still wake up to a new day to start afresh once more. So I get on with my routine of...
1) Snoozing my alarm clock five times before getting up
2) Brushing my teeth
3) Putting the kettle on
4) Putting the bread in the toaster
5) Reading the news...
....but oh, what do you know - burnt toast, yet again.
Friday 3 February 2012
Ghostly Instigations
The ghost of girls drift silently up and down the corridors. Only a few of us can sense them. Their eyes were constantly peering over our shoulders as if to mock us for what we couldn't get away with.
Burnt toast.
Not an excuse. It still stayed on our plates, waiting to be relinquished of its existence just like how our minds had to relinquish control to the system.
No scraping the burnt bits off bread we were told.
Heads down, we studied and analysed each crumb on our breakfast and estimated the amount of milk in our coffees. It was all futile.
Somehow the voices of the ghosts found their ways into our heads and they snickered at us and drove us into anger. Control should have always been ours, regardless of the safety of our lives. And so we clench our fists and bring them down heavily on the table, only to be restrained and counselled for our misbehaviour.
The ghost of girls still laugh at us.
We were let go eventually. One-by-one we filed out of the building, and the sudden realisation of freedom dawned heavily with death upon us. We knew and learnt nothing more than the words of the ghosts and we follow through their hypnotic instructions to self-destruct and harm.
If you're lucky (which I almost was), plans in life take a sudden turn and they urge you to kiss the ghosts goodbye. But sometimes when plans fall through, it invites the ghosts back in and their presence acts almost like a calling for the obliteration of the self like the way the noose beckons death upon its victim.
So the ghost returns. She's sitting on the bed next to us, her hand on our shoulders. She speaks to us like the way anyone would but her voice stands out and amplifies in the air. She wants us back and she is determined to make sure she has us back.
Burnt toast.
Not an excuse. It still stayed on our plates, waiting to be relinquished of its existence just like how our minds had to relinquish control to the system.
No scraping the burnt bits off bread we were told.
Heads down, we studied and analysed each crumb on our breakfast and estimated the amount of milk in our coffees. It was all futile.
Somehow the voices of the ghosts found their ways into our heads and they snickered at us and drove us into anger. Control should have always been ours, regardless of the safety of our lives. And so we clench our fists and bring them down heavily on the table, only to be restrained and counselled for our misbehaviour.
The ghost of girls still laugh at us.
We were let go eventually. One-by-one we filed out of the building, and the sudden realisation of freedom dawned heavily with death upon us. We knew and learnt nothing more than the words of the ghosts and we follow through their hypnotic instructions to self-destruct and harm.
If you're lucky (which I almost was), plans in life take a sudden turn and they urge you to kiss the ghosts goodbye. But sometimes when plans fall through, it invites the ghosts back in and their presence acts almost like a calling for the obliteration of the self like the way the noose beckons death upon its victim.
So the ghost returns. She's sitting on the bed next to us, her hand on our shoulders. She speaks to us like the way anyone would but her voice stands out and amplifies in the air. She wants us back and she is determined to make sure she has us back.
Pigeons
Pigeons,
not very smart things
just like the one who checks it
always at the wrong place
at the wrong time
saying the wrong things
night and day
day and night
the world spins and unexpectedly
stops, hidden away in the dark
under the tree which burned
like daylight and churned
hot butter. Weeping days
on the beach and crying days
on the bed, while time passes away
under the pigeon's wings it goes.
not very smart things
just like the one who checks it
always at the wrong place
at the wrong time
saying the wrong things
night and day
day and night
the world spins and unexpectedly
stops, hidden away in the dark
under the tree which burned
like daylight and churned
hot butter. Weeping days
on the beach and crying days
on the bed, while time passes away
under the pigeon's wings it goes.
Thursday 2 February 2012
Times a'flying
Think back to cold 2009;
Never did they think she'd live.
Look now in 2012;
Now she doesn't think she will
Up Front
I don't want to know
when nights opaque with hate
bear heavy shoes on the girl
and boy who know nothing
of life and anger.
I don't want to speak
on days which hearts break
and crumble unexpectedly
on a rock by the river
which sweep away drunk memories.
Trouble not the minds
of the innocent for they
know nothing of love and hate
but do speak of romantics
and of authors and poets
for they hide emotions in words
and hide feverish desire in hearts.
Tuesday 31 January 2012
That Music
Oh it plays on.
even when I'm not ready to receive it
but oh the memories
they come so vividly in the night of direness.
I'm so sad I can't share it
because it all exists in my head
where only the imagined-you
can hear it.
even when I'm not ready to receive it
but oh the memories
they come so vividly in the night of direness.
I'm so sad I can't share it
because it all exists in my head
where only the imagined-you
can hear it.
Melodic Unhappenings
Piano concerto,
why does the melody drag me away
off the ground, above the mountains
and through the clouds? Darkness
assumes the light of the moon
and we lose ourselves in the deep
notes of the keys.
Piano concerto,
why do you take me home
to the house steeped in monsoon?
Did you intend to bring me memories
which only serve to taunt
with what is no longer there?
The girl who played under the tree
and in the tree
is now there no more and
neither the house nor its occupants
exist in this sliver of time.
So piano concerto,
are you trying to remind me
of the breaking of innocence
and to teach me about the loss of time?
If so,
why do it now
when I am sat alone
with nothing more than myself
and the memories which kill to remember?
why does the melody drag me away
off the ground, above the mountains
and through the clouds? Darkness
assumes the light of the moon
and we lose ourselves in the deep
notes of the keys.
Piano concerto,
why do you take me home
to the house steeped in monsoon?
Did you intend to bring me memories
which only serve to taunt
with what is no longer there?
The girl who played under the tree
and in the tree
is now there no more and
neither the house nor its occupants
exist in this sliver of time.
So piano concerto,
are you trying to remind me
of the breaking of innocence
and to teach me about the loss of time?
If so,
why do it now
when I am sat alone
with nothing more than myself
and the memories which kill to remember?
Sunday 29 January 2012
How Did You Not See
Idolising you made a difference to words.
A charming typewriter with no aspiration
moves closer to poems and rhymes.
Dead though, now she lies
in a room of typhoid-carrying flies
sadly mistaken for and misperceived as
a promiscuous devil who
played with and
preyed on the
open hearts of men;
instead, really, she was an innocent one
never tried once
to misplace men
even for herself or anyone in fact;
dead though, now she lies....
....
....
...and oh, how I am disappointed in you.
A charming typewriter with no aspiration
moves closer to poems and rhymes.
Dead though, now she lies
in a room of typhoid-carrying flies
sadly mistaken for and misperceived as
a promiscuous devil who
played with and
preyed on the
open hearts of men;
instead, really, she was an innocent one
never tried once
to misplace men
even for herself or anyone in fact;
dead though, now she lies....
....
....
...and oh, how I am disappointed in you.
Knowledge
The nights of knowing so
backfires on the plotter
but still hurts the victim.
Cheers for that.
Saturday 28 January 2012
Permanence
Oh how your lies
penetrate the night;
sleepless in bed, staring
fixated at the light
you gave me when
the day was young.
Throwing the blankets off
and wandering into the dark
my shadow falls at the corner of the loft.
Oh my child, are your feelings stuck
on the memories you formed
in the throes of love?
Or were they merely expectations
based on misconceptions?
Dear child. You die
knowing you were all but nothing.
Tragically dissipitating
and constantly disappearing.
Why do you hold on so long
to the nights of young
and unfaithful songs
which no longer hold meaning
let alone hold promise.
Carpenters sing in the lonely air
and I hold on tight
to what I have left:
a pillow, a blanket, and the
unnerving image of the light
you sent to me
on a cold, naive night.
penetrate the night;
sleepless in bed, staring
fixated at the light
you gave me when
the day was young.
Throwing the blankets off
and wandering into the dark
my shadow falls at the corner of the loft.
Oh my child, are your feelings stuck
on the memories you formed
in the throes of love?
Or were they merely expectations
based on misconceptions?
Dear child. You die
knowing you were all but nothing.
Tragically dissipitating
and constantly disappearing.
Why do you hold on so long
to the nights of young
and unfaithful songs
which no longer hold meaning
let alone hold promise.
Carpenters sing in the lonely air
and I hold on tight
to what I have left:
a pillow, a blanket, and the
unnerving image of the light
you sent to me
on a cold, naive night.
Game On
You play the very same game you said you didn't like.
It's called exclusion. I spent quite a lot of time pondering about the rules. It dawned upon me that this game only spelled out hate for the losing player and I wanted no part in it.
But somehow I got drawn in.
I lose, of course, because I didn't pay attention to the strategies I used (actually, what strategy?). I don't process instructions very well either to be honest. Maybe that's why I lost. I don't know. Can you tell me where I went wrong?
Oh wait....everyone's leaving. I guess the loser doesn't move on and isn't told where she went wrong. It's always a mystery isn't it? I guess I'll never figure this one out.
It's called exclusion. I spent quite a lot of time pondering about the rules. It dawned upon me that this game only spelled out hate for the losing player and I wanted no part in it.
But somehow I got drawn in.
I lose, of course, because I didn't pay attention to the strategies I used (actually, what strategy?). I don't process instructions very well either to be honest. Maybe that's why I lost. I don't know. Can you tell me where I went wrong?
Oh wait....everyone's leaving. I guess the loser doesn't move on and isn't told where she went wrong. It's always a mystery isn't it? I guess I'll never figure this one out.
Here you go, mother;
here's your useless child.
Friday 27 January 2012
No More
I know I shall play no more games
on the battlefields of hate.
How ironic to discover
you have only learnt to play.
I cannot partake in these
nonsense sketches. I resist
temptation, greed and hurt
to avoid becoming the dark devil
in order to save your bleeding soul.
on the battlefields of hate.
How ironic to discover
you have only learnt to play.
I cannot partake in these
nonsense sketches. I resist
temptation, greed and hurt
to avoid becoming the dark devil
in order to save your bleeding soul.
Thursday 26 January 2012
Not to be Heard
"Sorry"
was said
on a non-existent plane.
Joy
succumbs
to over-whelming guilt.
So much for Burns, Wordsworth
and the bloke who wrote
Kubla Khan
high on opium.
Hello to Thomas, Larkin
and the married
Plath and Hughes.
So much of the
unromantic
deadened the pain
which pulsed so thick
through the breakable chain.
A slit of the
[I won't say it]
ends the night young.
We starve ourselves naked
never having begun.
So the rubber band
snaps,
tensions soar high
and they wander around
with their lies.
But I say sorry
on an imaginary plane
which not only does not transmit
but also does not suffice.
was said
on a non-existent plane.
Joy
succumbs
to over-whelming guilt.
So much for Burns, Wordsworth
and the bloke who wrote
Kubla Khan
high on opium.
Hello to Thomas, Larkin
and the married
Plath and Hughes.
So much of the
unromantic
deadened the pain
which pulsed so thick
through the breakable chain.
A slit of the
[I won't say it]
ends the night young.
We starve ourselves naked
never having begun.
So the rubber band
snaps,
tensions soar high
and they wander around
with their lies.
But I say sorry
on an imaginary plane
which not only does not transmit
but also does not suffice.
Wednesday 25 January 2012
In Peace, I will not be Left.
The year ended
flat.
No goodbyes or happy smiles
we leave. And joining them in the new years
will not be me
or so it seemed.
Leprous walls and doors
with a strip of green which travelled with me.
Sterile floors
mopped with alcohol
hiding that gleam
that mad gleam
which only this floor possessed.
Join the club.
We sit in isolation.
Isolation Club,
twiddling our thumbs.
The smell of burnt toast
we ate.
We only needed
the smell
and the sight.
Nothing more than the
non-physical touch of
neccessity.
Bitter battles
between mind and
gut. You clench your fist until
your palms bleed but still,
you don't understand.
Do you love me Anabel?
If Anabel is what you call it
then No
Anabel does not love you.
Then who is to love this
frame? Who is to love this
thing?
Only a parent could love
or perhaps not even them.
Stuck between obssession and reality
the doorway begins to shut.
Which side are you on?
Which side are you on?
I have one foot out the door
only one foot on the outside floor.
Such a child, you are
Such a child.
flat.
No goodbyes or happy smiles
we leave. And joining them in the new years
will not be me
or so it seemed.
Leprous walls and doors
with a strip of green which travelled with me.
Sterile floors
mopped with alcohol
hiding that gleam
that mad gleam
which only this floor possessed.
Join the club.
We sit in isolation.
Isolation Club,
twiddling our thumbs.
The smell of burnt toast
we ate.
We only needed
the smell
and the sight.
Nothing more than the
non-physical touch of
neccessity.
Bitter battles
between mind and
gut. You clench your fist until
your palms bleed but still,
you don't understand.
Do you love me Anabel?
If Anabel is what you call it
then No
Anabel does not love you.
Then who is to love this
frame? Who is to love this
thing?
Only a parent could love
or perhaps not even them.
Stuck between obssession and reality
the doorway begins to shut.
Which side are you on?
Which side are you on?
I have one foot out the door
only one foot on the outside floor.
Such a child, you are
Such a child.
Tuesday 24 January 2012
Monday 23 January 2012
Here for You
The doubts in my mind exist almost like a deadly entity. It sits there waiting to spring up admist my lack of self-confidence. Never to resist a chance, it hovers silently over time and space. And I'm ever more aware of it during times of distress.
We forget you
it says. If only I could forget it. It's too strong. And it lies deceivingly dormant under the dead leaves of autumn.
Chase me once...
...catch me,
and lay me down in death. Its hands so cold and so unfeeling that I feel like I'm sinking into darkness
Thursday 19 January 2012
Grit
Silent grudges...
..ooh..don't think I want to be part of that.
What a undeniably trivial thing to partake in. Why do you choose to throw the words at people you dislike? Isn't it better to say nothing at all?
Okay you've proven your point. Let's change the subject. Have you noticed the weather recently?
Clearly not. You won't let me move on will you? Stop talking...you're hurting my ears. Driving me up the wall, you are.
Oh swift silence...where be you now?
Wednesday 18 January 2012
Down
Depression exists in so many forms and is triggered by even more sources. I'm not going to go into the causes (because they are too subjective) but I am going to get you thinking about the way depression masks itself on a day-to-day basis.
Case study #1
It's Friday...and Harry is in need of a break. Work's too much, that girl in the cubicle next to him is a pain in the arse and the memories of the abusive past lover is sitting at the back of his mind like a pile of bricks. Watching McIntyre on the telly doesn't help anymore - it just reminds him of the nights spent on the sofa with the person he once loved. And talking on the phone does nothing but remind him of the girls he tried to pick up when that same lover abndoned him.
The rest of the night is spent in a haze of booze and bright neon lights and the next morning was, well, spent rolling around in bed trying to piece together last night's events in a more coherent format.
Friday night repeats itself on Saturdays night and Sunday is spent wondering whether the weekend existed at all. But at least the memories stopped flowing in for a change - at least it was a weekend of relief.
Case study #2
It's whenever...and Julie spends her nights crying. The day is dominated by the rowdy kids in the kindergarten she works in and the nights are spent allowing the memories, suppressed during the day, to flow back into her head. She can't stop crying about the memories of a lost family member but as distraught as she was, she couldn't express sadness during the day.
She works, drone-like, chasing hysterical children around the playground and mopping up the mess little Adam always makes in the kitchen. She often comes home wondering where the day had gone when in actual fact, as far as her mind is concerned, the day never existed.
When the weekend comes about, she finds herself walking around endlessly, trying to drown the memories in a blur of long walks. She starts at 10am and gets home at 7pm. Before she knows it, it's Monday again. Time to say hello to the little darlings...no more time for memories
These are coping mechanisms in two cases. They manifest themselves to hide an underlying anguish.
I want Harry and Julie to know I am sorry. And that I wish I could do more to help.
Tuesday 17 January 2012
Sunday 15 January 2012
Knowing
I'll never know now, what you would have said to me? Perhaps it could have been warm words of praise and love. But you left unexpectedly, and together with your words, you vanished, leaving me to merely imagine what they could have been but never will be.
The ashes burn so quietly, and I see the tears trickling down the faces of those who loved you. I know nothing of what is to come - I just know of what had not happened and what will never happen.
The ashes burn so quietly, and I see the tears trickling down the faces of those who loved you. I know nothing of what is to come - I just know of what had not happened and what will never happen.
Another Letter
Dear Liv
Please let me hide with you. I don't want to stand here alone because it feels like an eternity. You left us and it's all so hard without you. Did you fly through the branches of the dark trees as you left? Did they try and catch you and stop you on your way out? Will it try and stop me?
You were beautiful Liv. And as you left you leave our hearts in ruins. The funeral was just a beautiful reminder of the goodbyes I never got to say to you. And oh, do I regret it so.
Please let me hide with you. I don't want to stand here alone because it feels like an eternity. You left us and it's all so hard without you. Did you fly through the branches of the dark trees as you left? Did they try and catch you and stop you on your way out? Will it try and stop me?
You were beautiful Liv. And as you left you leave our hearts in ruins. The funeral was just a beautiful reminder of the goodbyes I never got to say to you. And oh, do I regret it so.
You are pulled from the wreckage,
Of your silent reverie.
You're in the arms of the angel,
May you find some comfort here.
Of your silent reverie.
You're in the arms of the angel,
May you find some comfort here.
Saturday 14 January 2012
Friday 13 January 2012
Smash
I slept deeply again, only because I've tired myself out crying. These tears, no one knows they exist. And the pain, I channel to the people inside my head - they are the only people who want to listen to my voice.
I've lost my soul in the crowd of people. It zipped off in the midst of the busy day and only came back in the lonely hours of the night - and they bring the tears which spell regret and hurt. I wish someone would have told me how to do things and speak the words which have cracked under the surface. No one did, and I didn't speak and I lost it all and gained regret.
I replay the past over and over in my head like a broken tape recorder. And I act out scenarios which will never ever happen in real life. By midnight, I'd invented a movie in my head but that's the only place it will ever be in - my head. It doesn't exist in the real world and I can only ever wish it did.
I wish I had said more and had said better things. But I just let the random rambling stumble out of my mouth. I'm so stupid - and will forever remember that I am.
I've lost my soul in the crowd of people. It zipped off in the midst of the busy day and only came back in the lonely hours of the night - and they bring the tears which spell regret and hurt. I wish someone would have told me how to do things and speak the words which have cracked under the surface. No one did, and I didn't speak and I lost it all and gained regret.
I replay the past over and over in my head like a broken tape recorder. And I act out scenarios which will never ever happen in real life. By midnight, I'd invented a movie in my head but that's the only place it will ever be in - my head. It doesn't exist in the real world and I can only ever wish it did.
I wish I had said more and had said better things. But I just let the random rambling stumble out of my mouth. I'm so stupid - and will forever remember that I am.
Thursday 12 January 2012
Speech
Can we speak again
under the murmur of others?
Is it possible to whisper
over the cries of sorrow?
Or have we joined the worlds
separated by a canyon?
I think I've burned the forest
And there are bodies
lying on the ground.
under the murmur of others?
Is it possible to whisper
over the cries of sorrow?
Or have we joined the worlds
separated by a canyon?
I think I've burned the forest
And there are bodies
lying on the ground.
Monday 9 January 2012
Gone
The last of that generation has gone to sleep, leaving, in the wake of its passing, the younger generations.
Smoke
inhaled. So
It floats and
Hell notes
And words
lie
Smoke
inhaled. So
aromatic.
It floats and
wafts
before
dying
again.
Hell notes
lie singed,
burnt.And words
lie
motionless,
and wholelyunsaid.
Saturday 7 January 2012
It's all good
Altruism in human nature is the most unrealistic ideal which exists.
The selfless man is an overly-romanticised idea conjured up in the minds of people to hide the lack of benevolence within society. It's an idea which does exist neither within groups nor between individuals. What we see as altruism is just a show which others put on in order to portray themselves as the ideal.
*rolls eyes*
The attack on the vulnerable on the street of New York receives no reaction from its witnesses. Even as the body falls to the ground with an eery scream and the blood leaks onto the dingy back alley, no one does anything. Yes, jaws drop and eyes widen but that's the only as much reaction as it would ever receives. No one helps; no one responds.
[typewriter chinks]
*rolls eyes*
The boy trips on road and scrapes his knee. Crying, he gets the attention of another child standing by the road waiting to cross. The child does nothing but stares at the crying boy. No help is given. The child keeps looking and says nothing, not even to alert someone about it. The lights turn green and the boy crosses.
There's a loud thud and the sudden revving up of a car. A car zooms down the road and the child crossing the road is lying on the road with blood trickling out of his ears. There are no adults around, only the crying boy is there - and he just stares; jaw drops, eyes widen.
*stops typing*
The selfless man is an overly-romanticised idea conjured up in the minds of people to hide the lack of benevolence within society. It's an idea which does exist neither within groups nor between individuals. What we see as altruism is just a show which others put on in order to portray themselves as the ideal.
*rolls eyes*
The attack on the vulnerable on the street of New York receives no reaction from its witnesses. Even as the body falls to the ground with an eery scream and the blood leaks onto the dingy back alley, no one does anything. Yes, jaws drop and eyes widen but that's the only as much reaction as it would ever receives. No one helps; no one responds.
[typewriter chinks]
*rolls eyes*
The boy trips on road and scrapes his knee. Crying, he gets the attention of another child standing by the road waiting to cross. The child does nothing but stares at the crying boy. No help is given. The child keeps looking and says nothing, not even to alert someone about it. The lights turn green and the boy crosses.
There's a loud thud and the sudden revving up of a car. A car zooms down the road and the child crossing the road is lying on the road with blood trickling out of his ears. There are no adults around, only the crying boy is there - and he just stares; jaw drops, eyes widen.
*stops typing*
Friday 6 January 2012
June 28, 2009
I feel completely and absolutely...
drugged.
I guess the panadol and copious amounts of caffeine is not agreeing with me this morning. Down with a god-forsaken flu which is determined to render me emotionally and mentally numb for the next few days or so. I guess it's a good thing. Then I won't remember most of the boring bits of KTJ. But hey, life hasn't been completely bad. Up till yesterday, I had a very optimistic May Ling popping in and out of my room and at the end of today I will have a should-be optimistic Wen Shi coming back from her Penang trip....and by tomorrow (or Tuesday) I should have a rodent-loving roommie back.Last night's SNE was spent, once again, on the floor. This time next to Mr. Ang who glared at me everytime the shutter went off. Not the best impression to give an ex-army cadet. Anyways, in editing the photos, I ended up turning most of them into monochromes and I'm not to happy bout that but that's the only way to overcome the hedious lighting. I've got bland, colourless photos now =S.
4th of July will be mourning day.
time to buy the coffin.
drugged.
I guess the panadol and copious amounts of caffeine is not agreeing with me this morning. Down with a god-forsaken flu which is determined to render me emotionally and mentally numb for the next few days or so. I guess it's a good thing. Then I won't remember most of the boring bits of KTJ. But hey, life hasn't been completely bad. Up till yesterday, I had a very optimistic May Ling popping in and out of my room and at the end of today I will have a should-be optimistic Wen Shi coming back from her Penang trip....and by tomorrow (or Tuesday) I should have a rodent-loving roommie back.Last night's SNE was spent, once again, on the floor. This time next to Mr. Ang who glared at me everytime the shutter went off. Not the best impression to give an ex-army cadet. Anyways, in editing the photos, I ended up turning most of them into monochromes and I'm not to happy bout that but that's the only way to overcome the hedious lighting. I've got bland, colourless photos now =S.
4th of July will be mourning day.
time to buy the coffin.
Monday 2 January 2012
Where is she?
She left you slightly prematurely.
On a cold, desperate night, you unlocked the door of her bedroom and lay on her bed. You left the room exactly the way she'd left it and you could still sense your daughter in the room. It was like she was still here - her school bag lay on the floor, unzipped as if she was mid-way through emptying her bags when she left.
You wished you could hold her hands again. But that can only be relived in memory now. She was your daughter, your baby girl, your precious darling but now she belongs to no one - not even to existence.
On a cold, desperate night, you unlocked the door of her bedroom and lay on her bed. You left the room exactly the way she'd left it and you could still sense your daughter in the room. It was like she was still here - her school bag lay on the floor, unzipped as if she was mid-way through emptying her bags when she left.
You wished you could hold her hands again. But that can only be relived in memory now. She was your daughter, your baby girl, your precious darling but now she belongs to no one - not even to existence.
Ignorance
It would be so much easier to expect nothing. It cancels out the disappointments which only expectations can bring. Unfortunately, humans are predesposed to be curious - basically, we're digging our own graves
It all explains why people jump of bridges and land with a sickening crack when they hit the concrete below.
Sunday 1 January 2012
Rant
Here I come, being a bit of an arse as usual. Can't be bothered to think about anything beyond now just because everything seems pointless. The night is now here and New Years has ended on a bizarrely lame note. Just another reason to keep my head in one piece and to not get distracted by the crap I normally get engrossed in. Tapping away at my phone I am - never really injecting much conscious thought into my words. They all float away limply implying nothing much more than the incoherent sentences in my head.
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