Friday, April 29, 2005

I should stop myself from thinking too much. The mind can indulge in hide-and-seek within this continuum. Beyond that? A vacuum awaits. I need to make a conscious decision. Something must be done so that nothing is done to upset the equilibirum.

Lunch consisted of an egg prata and a roti jalah. While the obvious preference was for the former, I was tucking into the roti jalah so that I would end my meal with the egg prata. Consuming the roti jalah did not translate into an inclination towards it. Rather, the reverse was true. It was my zeal for the egg prata that led to the initial consumption of the roti jalah. A vicious cycle ensued.

I think I've just upped the crank factor. Heh.

Thursday, April 28, 2005

Spontaneous Combustion

Boredom must have plagued us all after our Science course. It all started when F revealed a confiscated pen which sent a weak electric pulse to the unsuspecting user, evoking astonished cries. Gleefully, he pounced on each oncoming victim and reeled in felicity if the pen garnered yelps. Attempting to escape his clutches proved to be futile for he soon pinned my hand down and administered the "hand massage". Soon, a crowd of seven had gathered in the staff room. Next in line was L who glared at F. F took to his heels as L chased him up the spiral staircase, out of the staff room, down the adjacent staircase and back into the staff room, where the cycle repeated itself till L tired himself out. F took refuge at the spiral staircase, pleading aloud for mercy. Vengeance was sweet as L eventually masked F's entire desk in toilet paper. Surrounding colleagues had a good chuckle. After all, it was a rare effulgence of credulity. Even Number One was not spared and he was a good sport about it. Now, what would the parent at the entrance think of us? Nobody seemed to care at that moment. A commented that F should start confiscating more items from pupils......Gee!

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Colorgenics Mood Analysis

For fun, laughter, peace and joy (read: nothing else better to do):

Colours: 5 0 4 3 6 7 1 2

You are longing for a little love and tenderness. At present you are feeling very sensitive and need a sympathetic shoulder to lean on. You don't need any further stresses, strains or arguments so take a deep breath and relax.

Of late, everything seems to be going so slowly - far slower than you anticipated - and this is causing you much anxiety and frustration. It would appear that there is little you can do about the series of events that now seem to be taking place. In spite of the fact that you feel like 'giving up' - don't. Take a deep breath and start over again and you will find that eventually the expression 'All's well that ends well' will have an extra special meaning for you.

The way things are at this time it is necessary to 'go slow'. All the pleasures that you have anticipated should be left in abeyance until some future date, but all is not lost, you are able to derive and achieve considerable gratification from someone quite close to you.

Your inherent powers and perseverance are in danger of being overwhelmed by excessive stress. You have a great deal of resilience which is being overtaxed by the continued attempt to overcome existing difficulties but you are sticking to your objectives in spite of the intolerable pressure. After considerable reflection you believe that it is impossible to reverse the situation and so you would truly like to be free of it altogether.

Trying to cope with conditions which you think are beyond your capabilities has led to considerable anxiety and stress. You now feel that you are not capable of coping with this situation and indeed any situation which could arise from what you consider to be your personal inadequacy.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------
I don't know.
I really do not know.
I don't know what I should know.
I should know what I don't know.
I want to know
But yet I don't want to know.
Can I not know?
Can I know?
Will I know?
I will know.
But I won't know
When I will know.

All arrows point to one direction: Sleep beckons.

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

Define ME

  • ME (English): A single entity. A self-reliant identity. An assertion. A monosyllabic affirmation. A pregnant pause. A claimant. A proclamation.A predicate nominative.
  • MOI (French) : Pretentious. Deflection of guilt. Questioning. Self-doubt. Flirtatious.
  • WA (Hokkien): Exclamation. Surprise. An expression to show envy. Cocky. Gratified Astonishment. Bewilderment.
  • NGOH (Cantonese): Homophone of 'gnaw'. A helpless physical degeneration. Relentless atrophy.

This is Me.
U cannot be Me.
I cannot be U.
It's Me.
Be Me.
Let Me Be.

Monday, April 25, 2005

Go Fourth.

This is my 4th posting today.

Something's made me sad. I've so much to type, but I won't. Misery needs no scaffolding.
I could go on if I wanted to, but I won't.

Taken from http://turn-to-flames.tripod.com/id51.html :

scars

You see my soul, it's kind of gray.

You see my heart, you look away.

You see my wrist, I feel your pain.

You know my cheeks aren't wet from rain.

Though it's been awhile now I can still feel so much pain.

Like the knife that cuts you, the wound heals.

But the scar, that scar remains.

Have you ever been hurt and the place tries to heal a bit,

and you just pull the scar off of it over and over again.

When will people understand that words can cut as sharply as any blade, and that
those cuts leave scars upon our souls?

Not all scars show. Not all wounds heal.

Sometimes you can't see, the pain someone feels.

I drew the blade across my wrist to see how it would feel.
I looked into the future, there was nothing to reveal.

If I could take a knife and cut off every part of me that I hate..

there'd be nothing left.

Scars are wisdom in disguise.

Maybe my face will lose these scars

Cause sometimes they keep me home at night

Where I duck under the covers

And wince when I see the light

Give me a box of pushpins so everytime I cry I can pin my lonely picture to
the wall and fill my room with my pain and sorrows, until one day, when there's
no room left, I'll pin them to where the pain is really coming from...my heart..

I've got the scars to prove that love has had its day and way with me.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lovely poem. Despondency at its fluent best.

Sunday, April 24, 2005

A Poem for Mich (from Del)

A Poem Written for Mich (Copyright of Mich)

Michelle...

a name that rolls off the tip of my tongue

from its residence in my heart

euphonious resonance that it is

reverberating within

touching me ever so often

a name that brings

sweet sweet honey to my soul

like being lost in a field full of flavoured flowers

immersed in the beauty of it all

Miracle of creation

angels rejoice

the day u were birthed

designed by God above

set on earth to radiate

love warmth joy

to those fortunate enough

to be stringed delicately to your sunlit countenance

Oh blessed man that I am

that fate has crossed our paths together

that I can receive with open arms

your showers of dedication

giving me hope

in this sometimes dark world that we share.

Nothing much I can do

save to accept your gift with grateful smiles

and to be as true to u

as u have to me

all the days of my life

and forever more.

--Del

#*&@*#$&#$*@?!!

Copyright of Mich

Drifting in the air,
Free without a care.
Kaleidoscopic sight
Exuding a fragile might.

Enclosed spheres of air
Brimming with utopic dreams
Carved to perfection
Finding their destination

Evoking awe and wonder
In masses which strut and saunter
The majestic array climaxes over
This masquerade starts to falter.

Melodious rhapsodies fade,
With naivete and innocence laid.
Faced with the inevitable curse,
Fulfilling a destiny to burst.


So, if the symbols (#@*#(@#@?@!! were looming in your head, the poem was about Bubbles.
Did you get it right? -applause-

A conscious effort in translating Tong Hua :

I've forgotten how long it has been
Since you've retold your favourite story
Pondering over it, I'm starting to worry
Have I done something wrong again?

You told me with tears in your eyes
Fairytales are nothing but lies
I can never be your Prince
Perhaps you'll never know
The moment you said you loved me
The stars shone brightly in my sky.

As in the fairytale, I hope to be the angel that you love
Spreading my arms, turning them into wings to protect you.
You must believe that we will be like those in the fairytales
Bliss and happiness are our endings.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ballads.
Soppy Ballads.
Soppy Ballads with saccharine cliches.
Always bring tears to my eyes.

Is Honesty The Best Policy? Or is that a sham to make people look like idiots in the face of Truth?

George Washington looked at the apple tree which he had just chopped down with his hatchet. In a state of panic, he buried the tool of guilt. His father was enraged and demanded to know who had chopped his tree down. After struggling within himself, George sighed and admitted, "Pa, I cannot tell a lie. It was me who chopped down your tree." Instead of the expected lashing admonitions, George received his father's mercy and learnt the virtue of honesty.

My moral compass is whirling in all directions. Is Honesty truly the Best Policy? I did something right/wrong last night. (Technically, it ought to be 'this morning') As always, it was compelling to tell the truth. But was divulging the truth the right thing to do? Did it escalate into something terribly wrong?

I feel so screwed. I've lost two friends this year. MF backstabbing and igniting flames of deceit which YL lapped up & the complicated mess with Ange. Just when I thought I'd found a potential good friend, I screwed it yet again. What is it about me that causes such a vicious cycle? He said "the only constant is change". My mantra would be "the only constant is being screwed". Name an aspect of my life that isn't screwed.

Throngs of people weave in and out of our lives daily. Few are integrated along with the daily grind. It isn't easy to actually communicate with someone, let alone have similar interests. Naturally, a gem was revealed and we got on pretty fine, at least online. It was comforting to have a friend who finally had similar interests and way of rationalizing through situations.

Everything was right. There was only one wrong. I hadn't told him I'd known who he was. Or at least, his name wasn't alien to me. As we bantered, as more was revealed, as he allowed me into his life with nuggets of information about himself, I felt a surmounting urge to say something. Like young George Washington, I cannot tell a lie. I don't know how to. And so I told him.

Although he's said it isn't my fault, I still feel like turd. Smashed turd.

What had started out to be a seemingly innocent desire to have a new confidant, soon resembled a conspiracy theory taken right out of a bad B-grade movie. As always, I had to assert myself. However, the more I said, the more I was sinking in quicksand. Right now, I have no idea what he thinks of this persona typing away furiously at the keyboard, trying to string a sentence which makes sense. I flatter myself. Perhaps he doesn't bother at all.

-Sigh-
My intentions are always misconstrued. Misunderstandings arise easily. Words can be uttered to placate someone, but nobody knows what the heart beholds. Truth is often hidden to avoid confrontation and moments of awkward silence. Perhaps I think too much. Perhaps I should take consolation in our simultaneous retort that "thinking too much isn't a good thing".

More importantly than the impression that has formulated in his head about me, I'm overwhelmed with extreme guilt, which explains the smashed turd scenario. Blissfully ignorant to my identity, he'd shared his thoughts with someone who wanted to listen. A safe ground for him to trod upon. Then, his safe world suffered a rude shock.

I feel like crap. Shittified (if there's such a word).

I did not want to be another statistic of his troubles. He had had enough. Although he has never said it, I feel like a two-headed snake. Appearing to be a true friend on one hand, but witholding a significant piece of information on the other. I had no other weird/conniving intentions to begin with, yet the irony now is that I probably appear to be a deceitful liar. At least to myself. Darn it. It gets worse as more words appear here.

While I sought for a friendship without any inhibition, and thought that I'd found a potential good friend with no other intentions, somehow things seem messy now. Embroiled with trouble has always been a familiar state, but never my forte.

Mich has never wanted to be a liar, nor a deceitful person. Mich has no intention of entering your world only to trample all over it. Mich thinks the more she says, the worse it gets. The more Mich tries to explain herself, the more dubious Mich thinks it seems to you. Mich has enjoyed chatting tremendously as you are the male reflection of herself. Mich always does stupid things without stopping first to consider the consequences, thus leading to this awkward stage. Mich is terribly upset although you have said that it's not about Mich. Mich blames herself for creating this. Maybe it affects you minimally, but Mich is affected deeply. Mich has done many stupid things before, this being one of the mere statistics. Mich doesn't know what to say. Mich thinks you'll probably think she's crazy but Mich knows that you're not an empty shell. You analyse a lot too. Which makes Mich feel like crap now. Mich was looking for a good friend with shared interests and we happened to be at the same place at the same time. Mich knows that Mich can say all she wants but it is you who decides. Mich just wants to say she is terribly sorry. Apologies may not matter, for they are easily uttered. But Mich doesn't know what to do in such situations. Mich can only say, "I'm sorry. Please forgive me." Mich hopes to continue the usual banter and smacking as before with no other misconstrued intentions. Mich is such an idiot, eh?

Thursday, April 21, 2005

Family Portrait

"Higher, Pa! Higher!" the little girl squealed as she sat on the swing. She loved Sundays. It was the only day when she could enjoy breakfast with her father. Pa was a busy man whose daily routine revolved around early morning departures and late night returns. Sundays were special. Pa would take her out occasionally to the beach or the nearby suburban malls. It didn't matter to the little girl where they were. Pa was with her. That was all that mattered.

The young lady tapped the old man on his shoulders. "Ma wants to talk to you,"she articulated, keeping her poise. Thrusting her cell phone into his hands, she waited with arms akimbo. He was barely recognizable. A shadow of his former self, his shirt hung loosely on his skinny frame. Many questions bombarded her but the only one she heard was "Why, Pa? Why?" It had been four years since he had left home one day and did not return.It was mere coincidence that they had met amidst the crowd. As the shrivelled figure handed the cell phone over, she struggled to maintain her composure. Lacking courage, she kept her questions to herself and walked away from the man. Her pace quickened as more questions surfaced. "Well, it is only fair,"she muttered to herself as she disappeared into the throng of people ahead. "He's the one who'd first walked away from us." She brushed her thoughts aside and threw herself into the comfort of retail therapy.

Family Portrait by Pink

Chorus:
Can we work it out? Can we be a family?
I promise I'll be better. Mummy I'll do anything.
Can we work it out? Can we be a family?
I promise I'll be better. Daddy, please don't leave

In our family portrait we look pretty happy
We look pretty normal, Let's go back to that.
In our family portrait we look pretty happy
Let's play pretend like it comes naturally.


Poignant lyrics of a song. Dramatic turns of events with some semblance of a fancy novel.
Unfortunately, that lethal cocktail is my life story.
Cheers to that.

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

The Little Match Girl

Shadows cast upon this life. In darkness I trudge. Who is there to listen? Who is there to care? There is only so much a friend can do for another. Ironically, I want to be left alone though i yearn for companionship. I wish to be egged on and encouraged. Someone. Somebody. Anybody. Heck, I'll settle for Nobody.

Stirs of cries. Voices plague me constantly. Attracted to Pandora's box,walking away is far from my mind. During these past few weeks, I've been thinking a lot. Emotionally, physically & mentally drained, what is the journey for? Pull up my socks. Get back on my feet. These are mantras I'm used to. But do I want to? My comfort is in the known - knowing and being accustomed to pain.

If my train of thoughts derailed, would I be happier? Would I be beaming if my mind is in a clean slate? I struggle to come to terms with the vote swinging both ways. Having doubts is my constant mental state. Peace is a rare commodity. At least to me.

My smile plasters the pain inside. The purse of my lips conceal this secret jealously. Pain is my sole identity. I do not want to share it. I'm laughing because there's comfort in my pain. It is a familiar tingling sensation, an old friend of mine.

Behind the cheerful facade, lies the little matchgirl. Cold and alone, she wishes to be strong. She takes comfrot in the sole cloak that barely shelters her against the harsh cold. Clinging onto the last boxes of matches, her struggle is futile. Despite her bravado, her body succumbs to the physical atrocities of Mother Nature. She lived alone, clutching onto the last straws of hope that barely kept her afloat. In death, she is alone. An inconspicuous figure to be forgotten as soon as her last breath is drawn. Hypocrites point and express sympathy but as quickly as their tears are shed, her memory is deserted along the lonely pavement she rests upon. The little matchgirl is, afterall, a girl. A child. Children should be seen and not heard, they say. She suffers a fate worse than a child. She is neither seen nor heard. That is her place in the complicated hierarchy of life. In solace, she finds her peace in the simplicity of death.

Everyone thinks I've no worries. I'm not as courageous as they think I am. Neither am I as cheerful as they make me out to be. If they only knew, if they only took time to ask.....but would I tell? If they only knew all my struggles in life. Jaws would drop and admiration would be expressed at my strength. But, is that what I want? A vicious cycle of overtly expressive compliments? Pride bolts that door of communication. I want to break free but I've been imprisoned for too long. I've been imprisoned in my own tower of refuge as opposed to my castle of agony.

Death was the Little Match Girl's chilling anodyne. Sanity beguiles me to know better. What is my anchor in life?