Inside.

Meow.

Anew.

A new iPad.
A new BMW.
Smiles.

Happiness?

No.

Where The Sky Meets The Sea.

Where the sky meets the sea,
Make a memory at ECP.

There is a place where she runs to find solace; one which diffuses latent agony.

There, she fixates her gaze at the sea and allows its waves to sketch the past imbued within.

Erstwhile, she smiles at each recollection and expels her sadness at its passing.

Her haven has become an entrapment in itself -

sky • sea • ships • sun • sand

Invariably of a singular graft, these register present hurts.

Of pain; Of shackles ; Of nought.

Warranting a flagrant disregard for the fervid mangle, familiar thoughts shuffle before fading in her memory closet.

It is her way of coping.

ECP is where she runs to,

To run through the pages of time,

To run away from reality.

As Cobwebs Lay Thus.

A large part of me has died since 2007 and I've never been the same within, though the plaster on the wall continues to masquerade otherwise.

I admit that it is a daily struggle.

I don't know what good it does to tarry and linger and hope and what-have-yous. In fact, if you were to ask me, I do not quite understand this irrational aspect of myself.

Am I not the confident and articulate go-getter as people deem me to be?

Why then, is this chip a sorry aspect in my life?

As darkness cloaks, tears sidle up and meander forth before finding the ground.

I owe this abyss to You - What is it about You that I cannot release from my consciousness?

I've tried to distance myself and quell the strangled chokes. Yet, all it takes is a word, a smile or a sweet gesture to undo the good that I've calcified.

Is this of hope, malcontent, stubbornness or plain stupidity?

This is me, honest as I am.

I'm afraid of moving, lest You return.

I'm afraid of keeping still, should You not return.

Perhaps You can unlock this quandary.

Star light, star bright,
The first star that I see tonight;
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have the wish I wish tonight.

Merry Christmas, You.

Just A Minute.

2.22
There's nothing to do.

Quirks of the insane,
A semblance of the sane.

Imbued in each frame,
Nothing's quite the same.

It's all but inane.
A ruse to hide my pain.

Oh! Wow! Whee!
It's 2.23!

Almost.

Almost -

Is not good enough.

In Black and White.

Come to the Father, though your gift is small
Broken hearts, broken lives, He will take them all.

The black and white keys danced in accordance. Her gaze transfixed, these familiar objects soon made way for that which clouded her sight.

On a particular day each week, yellowed memories are renewed with vigour.

It is still ; then it envelopes and she purses her lips to quell what brews within.

These pains, they do fall

and gently caress her crumpled mien.

Blown Away...

... by the cost of my shoes - 3 pairs to be exact, to the tune of approximately $500.

Yet, the adrenalin rush ebbs as soon as I step out of the boutique(s).

I am not materialistic.

Neither am I a snob.

I do like a certain lifestyle, furnished by moolah from the sheer hard work that I put in to get the grind going.

But don't get me wrong. It's really fine to do without. I could tote a Prada and yet have no qualms about going to a hawker centre for a meal. I don't mind taking a walk to my destination. I do wear jeans and tees like any typical Singaporean.

I know that my persona on Faceb00k negates this.

It is the grand facade to the world;

To distract from that which matters most; to conceal the deepest void within.

And there are things that I do intentionally to make You think little of me,

So that You'll dislike me and drift away.

And in time to come, this blistering pain will cease to gnaw and I shall heal.

Ain't Mich silly?

-SaD sMiLe-

Obiter Dictum.

When does one draw the line?

Throw in the towel?

Can the end justify the means if it is for the greater good?

Is it wise to abandon social convention for personal pursuits?

Arduously so,

Mich is learning not to give a hoot about what others think.

Ashen.

Immense pain.

Trying but failing miserably.

Anger brews at the self; it is comforted with trickles.

She blames nobody but herself,

For missing You.

She doesn't want to.
She doesn't enjoy this.
She's not being stubborn.

She cups her mouth with her hands as a wave overcomes her,

And she bursts into tears.

Try as she might, a portion remains ashen.

For a large part of her has died ever since.

Stashed!

My work schedule is packed even though 2011 has yet to arrive.

That, and the fact that I get calls daily with potential students who are trying to worm their way in. What's strange is that when each mentions the colleague, friend or relative that has given them my number, my mind draws a complete blank.

Unfortunately, I cannot accomodate everyone and the waiting list is stuffed as well.

It sure looks like 2011 is going to be an adrenalin-pumping year for this workaholic again!

That elicits a mix of Hurray (70%) and Sheesh (30%)!

Upon This Blanched Plebian. =(

Of late, afflictions have been florid in rhetoric.

How so?

A malicious allergy, of which the prime suspect was the platter of tiger prawns, had me itching on the night of V's wedding at Raffles Hotel.

Thereafter, childhood asthma milted my lungs after more than two decades and on certain nights, I have been wheezing upon exhalation.

Determined not to be an outcast, a low-grade fever pays tribute to this plebian on a daily basis, particularly after meals. Pays? the grammar Nazi would frown. Yes, pays - for it plagues me even as I speak, or rather, type.

By now, you would have thought the list has been exhausted. Well, so did I.

• A dull ache in the upper-right abdominal area;
• Mild to severe cramping in said area;
• Diarrhoea lasting two days;
• Nausea;
• Colic;
• Light-headedness;
• A generic sense of surrealism

Meet the rest of the hoi polloi that have been wreaking havoc on my frail institution since 27 November.

The immune system has gone quite awry, I'd say.

If I Should Err, Then Let It Be.

There are things that I do - Deliberately. Consciously. Intentionally.

To make You dislike me.

To keep You away.

It's better that You think little of Me than for me to summon Hope.

There's only so much of that which one can have.

Time after time. Cycle after cycle.

I've not changed when it comes to You.

I just let You think that I have.

And in doing so, the searing pain will eventually ebb.

Crunching The Digits.

She clasped her phone.

Fending off fractal shreds of inundated yearning, rationale gurgled and demanded its fair share of attention.

No.

Her curled fingers rested on the plateau.

Its euphonious ring would not wade into treacherous ground.

Not today.

il communication.

As you would know, I'm a huge fan of the brilliant Jon Stewart.

Viewing the week's episodes in one fell swoop, albeit in reverse chronological order, fuels my grey matter.

That said, you've got to love the witty pun in the above screenshot! =)

Fellow Jon Stewart enthusiasts can watch the full episode here.

Take Action -

Be decisive.

Be incisive.

Be swift.

Razzle-Dazzle

Loud crackling riveted my attention towards the sky.

It was the 4th Anniversary of Viv0City.

Choreographed by Lus0 Pir0technia from Portugal, we were in for a real treat, albeit unanticipated.

Now, that ain't too bad for an incidental trip to the washroom! =)