The-Hellfire-Club

What Lies Beneath

2010-09-03T11:18:00.000-07:00

The sea was plastic, like the kind you find on the screen-saver of a computer; lifeless and unassuming and yet somewhat soothing. It was too smooth like a thick frosting on a cake just waiting to be disturbed. I would like to take a knife and leave a mark on this soft cushion of water. Sadly, not even the rough sawing of a dozen sea-faring vehicles could disturb this peace; the sea merely folded onto itself , returning to the stillness it was before. The baby sea was playful, clutching tightly onto a ferry and rocking it gently sideways like a child with its bathroom toys, bouncing and buoying the ferry, providing its passengers with a short ride before getting bored. I cannot bring myself to hate it; it dances its seductive dance. I cannot forget what it took from me, but like looking into the eyes of an innocent child, I can't bring myself to hate it; and the bestial urge disappears.

Evening Fantasia

2010-08-09T01:03:00.000-07:00

The sun is setting; the sky an azure shade. Now that the bulk of the day is done, I can rest. Even the clouds seem to agree; dragging their feet across the sky, hanging on to each other, pulling each other along. A lump followed after them, like a baby whale keeping up with its pod. Birds dived in and out of the sea of trees laughing and playing with each other.

Oh the evening sky certainly is beautiful, as though God had mixed too much water into his blue palette and splashed it across a giant canvass, spreading the diluted color over us (The baby whale is gone, left with the pod) The birds continue to dance and dive, dance and dive; individually and together. Are they family or friends? Why are some alone and some in a flock? How can some simply separate themselves from the crowd? Time rewound itself, and I was again a child wondering, imagining what it is like to be a bird, what it is like to fly.

I would like to fly endlessly towards nothing in particular, but just fly against the backdrop of the sky; worries and concerns become their own solutions. I would land on a leaf of a palm tree to rest and gaze at the world around and the world below wanting to tell them the beauty is up here, and with a light kick off the leaf, I take flight again. But alas, the dreams of a man are but merely dreams, providing a short avenue for escape before reality hails us back.

Mistakes were made

2009-11-20T10:25:00.000-08:00

It is that time again. There comes a time in a person's life, a time in the night, when we look back on the decisions we have made, wondering if we have got it right or wrong; When we think of the secrets we've been keeping from the people around us, and how terribly shocked they would be if they were to find out.
When the hour comes, the loneliest hour, or a moment which one can cling to, to escape this harsh reality; when it seems too late to go to sleep, yet too early to be awake. A time when people are bound by the same, a common feeling of hopelessness. When one knows and even feels what it is like to want to die; how it hurts to smile; how we hurt ourselves on the outside to try to kill the thing on the inside.
What do we tell ourselves then? What do we keep hidden from others? No one knows I've done something wrong; no one knows I've lost my last real friend. Imagine the isolation; seeing the world as through a window or glass, on one side all the happy untroubled people, and on the other side you...
The hour will come, the hour between early morning and dawn, between the moon and sun, and when it passes, we wait for the next hour to come.

History Repeating: Second time around

2009-10-15T10:43:00.000-07:00

I know things now. I realize now that our "friendship" had all the depth of glass of wine; obviously I didn't know him very well, or I would've known that he is capable of such cruelty; and obviously he didn't know me very well, or he would've known how deeply hurt I was when he decided to leave me for dead, to pick up the broken pieces by myself; or maybe he did...
I am furious with myself but even more so at him; I believed him, but he made me, no, let me believe him. I was open to the possibility that I had found someone whom I could share my troubles, who were not half a world away, who I could confide in without speaking into a phone receiver. I was filled with rage, though I did not let it consume me; anything would set me off, a book that had been left on my desk, a cupboard door that refused to stay shut; I was even furious at my deceased best friend's little sister and my close friends for being just like me; scared and broken, stubborn and human, and always refusing to let things go.
Every single time that he said he was sorry, that he hoped I would confide in him, that I would trust him; I believed him, a fat lot of good it did me. It is so hard to tell someone who isn't around to go to hell. I was even angry at him, for not being able to see my close friends one last time before they died; he had told me he "felt" the time was not right for me to visit them yet, I know he couldn't have known how things would turn out, no matter how highly he thought about himself, how much he saw himself above the maddening crowd.
Of course looking back now, seeing his descriptions of himself, how he saw himself; his excuses for his sins are laughable, his reasons are pathetic. He saw himself as a psychologist, a philosopher, a saviour of the world; full of wisdom and compassion; believing himself to be able to understand human nature and being able to relate to people, especially people whom have had difficult lives similar to his. How he "likes autistic kids" until they become teenagers, which he then treats like a plague; how his "compassionate nature and ability to understand people's motivation" makes him a better thinker, bordering on better human being than others; and especially how his painful past makes him "shy and afraid to open up", causing him to hurt others.
The rotten apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I wish I had realized it then, he is his father's son. Abandoning the people who accepted him and forgave him once he got tired of them, and committing this horrible act over and over again; never realizing he is more like his father than he cares to admit, more like the previous boyfriends he had, that he will continue being his father and burning bridges and destroying relationships because he refuses or is too scared to change. Adding to his inhumanity is his obsessive need to brag about his "abstract and philosophical mind" and of course his "boundless compassion".
I thought he was the sorriest human being God ever created, if he still or ever believed in God in the first place, but now I just pity him for he is going to die abandoned, just as he abandons others. I wonder though, after seeing how many people testify to his kindness, after sacrificing so much to get him through his troubles, why it doesn't extend to me? Perhaps the compassion was just a command of opposed human-selfishness/sinful-nature...

History Repeating: Like it was

2009-10-13T11:52:00.000-07:00

I must've been at fault somewhere, I kept thinking about it but I still didn't understand. Or maybe, perhaps the world is at fault? He used to be needy. He used to call every single time he felt bored; sometimes even when he wasn't; as if I were his real bother. But as time passed on, with those days, he came to realize it...realize that I'm not his real brother, not anyone particularly important. He just wanted me as a replacement for his previous servant whom he got tired of. After he realized that, he started to bear a strong hate towards me. In his heart, after his father walked out on him and his mother, he has been endlessly gathering hate; then he started to search, for something he could release his anger on. Then I appeared...
At first he only made me accompany him into the wee hours, making me pay for his trips home, pay for his meals. He would apologise a few times, while saying he appreciates what I was doing for him. And I believed him. Until that day, the first time I ever asked for something; he decided it was to my best interests that he should avoid me. He's thoughtful, isn't he...
Everyday after that brought with it a new set of lies; I gave him the benefit of the doubt; for two months I held myself together, but it was too much. I was filled with a tiny spark of hope, I kept thinking it wouldn't be too long, wondering when would it be before I could speak to him again. I kept thinking, what was it I did that was so wrong, that I had to be treated like that? I still don't get it after thinking it through. So I just waited, waited for the day when he would explain, when he would apologise, when I could final say what I wanted to say to him on that day.
The days of waiting were hard. It hurts. It's hot. I wanted to cry. I couldn't stand it. I couldn't end them. I wanted to hide. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. I wanted to escape. I wanted to shut myself in. I wanted to hold it in. I wanted to scream out loud. I wanted to go crazy. I was broken. I was burned. I was stabbed. I was bullied. I was played around with. I was crushed. I was stepped on. I was driven away. Again and again, I realized there was no difference from when he hadn't and had gotten tired of me.
Who has he set his eyes on now? To whom will histroy repeat itself?

Death of the Undying

2009-10-05T12:16:00.000-07:00

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am the thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints of snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

I am the gentle Autumn's rain.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there, I did not die...

Destruction's Right Hand

2009-09-29T11:40:00.000-07:00

From the moment we wake up in the morning(What time is it?), till our head hits the pillow at night(Did I remember to turn off my computer?), our lives are filled with questions(What should I wear?), simply ones that are easy to answer(How should I go about my day?). But some questions are so dangerous that the truth is not an option....
As I meet people, as I am introduced to and have to acquaint myself with them, quietness is confused with sullenness and they assume I'm an artist, that my "still waters" must be the result of my struggle as a poet or painter; claiming I appear lost in deliberation, as though I'm wondering how to rhyme this couplet, or what brush stroke to use on that profile. If only they knew....
Perhaps I am becoming like my mother, the type of person who can never get the name of anything correct, and not just meaning every so often the title of a song or the occasional new movie release slips her memory, no; meaning every title of every artistic project, of every film, book and musical arrangement, has been revised in the faulty synapse in her brain.(Do you know what's that song called? It was sung by a girl. She sings. She's a singer. She sings lots of songs. You teenagers really like her.) As always she swims through details, like an aquarium fish, in her own little world of lights and bubbles.
Am I sane? Or am I crazy? Those aren't courses of action. But they can be for some. Constructing ultimately two paths to be taken; do we take the safe, smooth road, or the bumpy, winding route? These are the choices of life. To the simple traveller, a thought to indulge in one's flaws would be simple to answer and soon forgotten; but to the long, hard wanderer, how much would one indulge in one's flaws? What are those flaws? Are they flaws? Faced with haunting questions, questions which clearly should haunt the average person, Have I made the right decisions in life? Am I a support to my friends?
It is the thoughts in our head that terrify us the most. The questions that are so hard to ask, because we are so afraid of the answer.(Am I more like my parents than I'll admit?) These are the many buttons that are waiting to be pushed(Will I go to Heaven?), buttons that when pushed(Is there anyone at all whom I can trust?), and we get the answer we want and that is where happiness begins; but when we don't...well...what doesn't kill us, makes us stronger.

Created Feelings

2009-09-20T09:43:00.000-07:00

I cannot say with confidence that the feelings I experience are genuine. I am merely a creation of God, everything that I am, everything that I have is not to be called mine; Not my body, not my posessions...Is there anything that is truely mine?
When I think that these emotions and feelings could be artificial; that I could just be, in fact, an empty doll; that my entire existence is a simulation created by computers...would that feeling be artificial as well? Would it be so terrible if there was something that is mine and mine alone?
Where do feelings go? It's disturbing how one can be pushed around by one's feelings, how dangerous, but then what else would drive us forward? For what are dreams without emotions to deem them worthwhile; what are friends and enemies without emotions to define them, to seperate them into their respective categories?
Are my feelings an artificial creation? Am I just a work of fiction meant to be written off?

A Spy in the House of Me

2009-09-07T10:24:00.000-07:00

What's that on the floor? Has it always been there? Where have I seen it before? Perhaps it was the middle of January that I first saw the mark on the floor. In order to fix a date, it is necessary to remember what one saw. So now I think of the the weather on that day; I think of the food I had eaten. Yes, it must have been January.
How readily our thoughts swarm upon a new object, lifting it a little way, as ants carry a blade of leaf so feverishly, and then leave it...I might get up, to have a look at the mark, but I dare not; because once a thing's done, no one ever knows how it happened. Ah, the mystery of life, the inaccuracy of thought, the ignorance of humanity!
Why if one wants to compare life to anything, one must liken it to being blown through a hurricane - landing at the other end without even a single hair on one's head; shot out at the feet of God entirely naked; tumbling head over heels in the street like brown paper parcels being blown in the wind; with one's hair flying head back like the tail of a race horse. Yes, it seems to express the rapidity of life, the perpetual waste and repair, all so casual, all so haphazard...
What was I just doing? I want to think quietly, calmly and spaciously, never to be interrupted, never to have to rise from my chair, to slip easily from one thought to another without any sense of hostility or obstacle. I want to sink deeper and deeper, away from the surface, with its hard separate facts. To steady myself, I catch hold of any idea that first passes...Banana...its familiarity relaxes me. It was the game he and I used to play; banana...(things that are yellow)...smoker's teeth...banana again...(things that have its shape)...dildo...and we would pause and stare at each other for a moment...and we would laugh. O how we laughed...
What was I thinking of? I shower of thoughts fell from some high heaven onto my mind. I wish I could hit upon a pleasant track of thought, a track indirectly reflecting credit upon myself, for those are the most pleasant thoughts, and very frequent in the minds of mouse-coloured people, who believe genuinely that they dislike to hear their own praises. They are thoughts like this: I was with that particular group, discussing films; I said how the portrayal of Asian-Americans in Final Destination 4 are all seen as replicated mannequins. All the time I'm dressing up the figure of myself in my own mind, lovingly, yet not openly adoring it, for if I did that I should stop myself. We have to protect ourselves from idolatry that could make it ridiculous, or too unlike the original to be believed any longer.
My God, I hate my reflection, always having that dead look. Suppose the looking glass smashes, the image disappears, and the figure with a forest of depths is no longer there, but only the shell of a person which is seen by other people. What is knowledge? What are our learned men save the descendants of witches and hermits who crouched in caves and in woods brewing herbs, interrogating mice and writing down the language of the stars? I can imagine a world, a world where one could slice one's thoughts as easily as a fish slices water with its fin.
There's no harm in putting a stop to one's disagreeable thoughts by looking at something(Oh look there's a mark on the floor) Indeed, now that I have fixed my eyes upon it, I feel that I have grasped the plank in the sea; I feel a satisfying sense of reality. Here is something definite, something real; like waking up from a nightmare, to worship reality, to worship solidity, to worship the impersonal world which is proof of some existence other than ours.
Where was I? What had it all been about? A banana? Ants? Humanity? Film? A game? I can't remember a thing. Everything is moving, falling, slipping, vanishing....I'm peckish. Maybe I'll have some chocolate(Oh look there's a mark on the floor) That's it...it was about a mark on the floor.
Argh it's a spider!

The Perfect Circle

2009-08-31T09:31:00.000-07:00

Lives and things are different, I am not God. I know a life that has ended can never be returned, I know it is hard to see someone moving and playing, just a little while ago...stop. I can't create life, I can't create anything. Life certainly has its morbid patterns. When you live, your life will end sooner or later, the body will return to the earth, grass and flowers will grow on top of it, the soul will nourish the hearts, and it will live on in the hearts of other people. Everything in this world flows around and circulates; that goes for human lives too. I understand all of this, but it's still hard to make a child understand death, and even harder for adults to accept it.
The basic idea of a magick circle is the power of the circle; a circle represents the circulation of power; by casting it and evoking it, the power is able to manifest itself. By knowing the flow of power and it's laws, one can accomplish a great many things. One who accepts all of that, understands it, and creates it; that is what a magician does. The world is constantly flowing; a person dying is part of that flow; to revive a person is to reverse that flow. What do you think will happen then?
Still...have you ever wished you could make the dead come back to life? How many times have you asked yourself this question?

A Spark To Pierce The Dark

2009-08-23T10:19:00.000-07:00

So with the house empty and the doors locked and the mattresses rolled around, those stray airs, advance guards of great armies, blustered in, brushed bare boards, nibbled and fanned, met nothing in bedroom or drawing room that wholly resisted them but only hangings that flapped, wood that creaked, the bare legs of tables, saucepans and china, tarnished and cracked.
What people had shed and left – a pair of shoes, a sports cap, some faded jeans and coats in wardrobes – those alone kept the human shape and in the emptiness indicated how once they were filled and animated; how once hands were busy with buttons and zippers; how once the mirror had held a face; had held a world hollowed out in which a figure turned, a hand flashed, a door opened, in came other people, rushing and tumbling; and went out again.
So loveliness reigned and stillness, and together made the shape of loveliness itself, a form from which life had parted, solitary like a pool at evening. Loveliness and stillness clasped hands in the bedroom, and among the sheeted chairs and jugs, iterating and reiterating their questions – will you fade? Will I fade? – pure integrity, as if the question they asked scarcely needed that they should be answered.
But beauty is not everything. Beauty had its penalty – it came too readily, came too completely. It stilled life – froze it. One forgot the little agitations; some light or shadow that made the face unrecognizable for a moment and yet added a quality one saw for ever after.
What was that? Oh, just a spark...just a spark...

Two Shadows

2009-08-15T11:03:00.000-07:00

Such an expression of unhappiness was enough by itself to make one's eyes slide above the paper's edge to the poor man's face - insignificant without that look, almost a symbol of human destiny with it. Life's what you see in people's eyes; life's what they learn, and, having learnt it, never, though they seek to hide it, cease to be aware that life's like that, it seems.
A face opposite - a boyish face - yet the knowledge in that face. Marks of reticence are on that face; lips shut, eyes shaded, doing whatever it could to hide or stultify his knowledge. A terrible thing about him, that face, that man, is that he does nothing at all. He looks at life, and with infinite weariness he moved his head from side to side until, like a top exhausted from spinning, it settled on his neck.
The flyer was no protection against such sorrow as his; the best thing to do was to fold the paper so that it made a perfect square, crisp, thick, impervious to life. Thus now armed with a shield of my own, I glanced into his eyes. He pierced through my shield; he gazed into my eyes as if searching for any sediment of courage at the depths of them and dampening it to mud. The bitterness in his eyes was like lemon on cold steel; seemingly saying "If only you knew". "O but I do...."
My lips pursed as if to spit venom at his words, pursed they remained. All I did then was to rub furiously at a spot on the glass; rubbing as if to rub something out forever; some stain, some indelible contamination. But the spot remained for all my rubbing, and I could only sink with the shudder and the clutch of the arm. He saw me. A smile of infinite irony, infinite sorrow, flitted and faded from his face. But he had communicated, shared his secret, passed his poison...

And so the demon smiled

2009-08-10T09:07:00.000-07:00

It was an uncertain afternoon. No one could have predicted what would happen that day; whether the time would fly, where the minutes, the hours and eventually the days, months, the years would, wheel swiftly like tire of a speeding car, making them pass one another across the sky; or if it would crawl and one could count the seconds as they passed by, like ants that trooped one after another in the single orderly, conspicuous fashion that would bore a child to the point of prompting him to cause a disturbance, to upset the dull, systematic procedure thereby causing some form of entertainment and excitement.
Once again, he must stop, between acts, between the beginning of a video and the end; between taking a glass and raising it to his lips, to confirm his existence. Gone were the days when he could laugh freely, or make a conversation go smoothly without an awkward pause or a rising lull, where he felt for whatever he was doing; where his reaction to things were not of complete indifference. Always when this happens, he would seek out a friend, surely that would be the simplest way to confirm one's existence, by the acknowledgement from others, or was it merely the mentality of a selfish child?
Object permanance, or the awareness that objects do, in fact, exist when one can no longer see them is an affliction that most children do not contract, leading them to become utterly terrified when their parents walk out the front door to work, or why babies are surprised at the uncovering of hands across the face in the game common to most cultures. How could he be sure he exists when there was no one around to perceive him?
He was forced to look at things, computers and television sets, phones and air-conditioners, books and DVDs; things which seem so ordinary but when one puts them together, they make up a life, a life which may or may not have existed. And he would come to the realization, that he was the world, the life that was filled with these things and his existence does not matter, for life as it tends to do, would move on.

525,600 minutes

2009-08-01T11:31:00.000-07:00

Another 525,600 minutes have passed, another 525,000 precious moments. How do you measure it all? In days spent at work; At the number of tests taken; Or in the meals you've taken?
When I was young and somewhat foolish, and feeling totally outcast from the world, I used to wonder if there were others like me...and dream about the future we might create. Then, I actually encountered some, and aspects of that dream turned out not to be so...pleasant. We were creating a future not for others, but for ourselves, in our image. As with every era in human history, perhaps even natural history, good seems ever balanced by evil. The higher and more glorious the summit we strive for, the greater and more hungry the abyss that we leave behind. That's why I chose to take my cue from another man, whose promise was so tragically cut short. Some see things as they are and say "Why?"; others dream things that never were and say "Why not?". Why humanity is so fractured I do not know - why some of us have brown hair and others do not - but that should not, must not matter, for fundamentally, we all come from the same stock. We are born of this world, composed of the same raw materials as the cosmos itself. A potentially magnificent family of sentient beings.
We fight because we must, that is reality. But why we fight must never be forgotten. That the yearnings; the hopes that bind us together as a species are greater and more lasting than the petty conflicts that drive us apart. That we are brothers, and sisters, parents, and children. And ultimately, the character of a person, and the deeds that flow from it, must matter more than the colour of their skin, or the structure of their genome.
My eyes sometimes give me away. Veteran's eyes, warrior's eyes. When you've seen what I've seen, the memories leave their mark. What matters afterwards is choosing which ones you embrace; the moments of death and horror, or those that uplift the spirit. Is this what rules us now? Are we so afraid of what the future represents; are we so terrified of our children that we must crush them? Life is a gift; every breath, every step we take is an expression of hope, that we can build on today to make a better and brighter tomorrow. Nobody should be the subject of so much hate; nobody should have to feel so afraid, simply for existing; because when you embrace those dark absolutes of the soul, you embrace the essence of evil.
Looking back, the thing I remember, the thing back then we always forgot, was how young we were. As we grew and gained knowledge, we were all part of the crusade to achieve the best in life, to compete and fight; was that why it never crossed our collective minds that we were children? By the time I was old enough to drive, I'd seen more pitched battles than I can easily recall. I'd been to the stars, I'd faced off against quasi-gods, fought demons, travelled in time, seen friends die. And killed. I believed my cause was just - Did that then make my heart pure? Or simply paper over the doubts? Learning is another word for growth. It happens whether we like it or not, an immutable reality of nature. Hope takes us one way, fear another, as some of us have learned...to unimaginable cost.
I am only human. Is that my mistake? We are children of God; he taught us how to live with love and with purpose; He helped us find the greatness in ourselves and the wonder in creation; He made us better than we could ever dream; we were special; we were blessed. Our flaws make us human; being human allows us to overcome them. I went in search of a dream, never realizing that it was tainted from its inception. The fear and hatred I perceived in the world was but a reflection of what was in my own heart and soul. It may be that we are as God made us; but we must also be held accountable for our choices in life and the actions that flow from them.
Another 525,600 minutes have passed, another 525,000 precious moments. How do you measure it all? In the dreams we dream; in the truths we learned; or in the love you have shown? How do you measure...a year in the life?

Running to Stand Still

2009-07-26T10:26:00.000-07:00

Had it already been three months since he had visited this area; which he categorised among his favourite places to visit should he be alone, which was quite often, to simply gaze out to the boundless energy emitted by the sea, the grandeur and splendor of it; or should he suddenly be thrust with the luxury of having nothing to do, to simply take a walk?
Yes! Yes it has, three months. When this shapeless form rose like a dragon, in all its majesty to swallow what he held dear. How did he feel then? How does he feel now? He couldn't afford to think about it now; he was offered distractions to draw attention and concentration,; does he resent it, or does he welcome them? He doesn't know; he can't afford to think.
But now...Ah...now, so fine was this evening (no, this entire day) except for a streak of wind here and there that the sea and sky looked all one fabric, as if sails were struck high up in the sky, or the clouds had dropped down into the sea. A piece of construction machinery had drawn in the air a great scroll of smoke which stayed there curving and circling decoratively, as if the air were a fine mesh which held it all together. The shore looked as if it was conscious of the sea, and the sea looked as if it was conscious of the shore, as if they signalled to each other some secret message of their own.
Now was when it started, this unreality. What he saw in front of him, the sea, the waves, the shore, all fading into the darkness of the night, seemed unreal, as if it all were merely sketches on a frail piece of parchment, and he could easily shred this fragile pattern with a mere swipe of his hand. All around him, unreality appeared and he was forced to stop, to get his sanity to the safety of the eye of the hurricane.
He had lost friends. Some to death...and some to their inability to cross the street. It was truely frightening, this unreality; the only thing that had ever frightened him to tears. He wanted to shout Doesn't anyone see this? He had to escape this unreality, yet he couldn't when eventually faced with it.
Finally, as the world shook itself down to sleep, he left.

Once Upon A Life

2009-07-18T12:28:00.000-07:00

A cloudy day, I'm at the coast

and slowly strolling by.

I was thinking to myself

when something caught my eye.

I sat down all alone

in the huge and empty place.

Gazing silently at the ground

when a tear ran down my face.

Then to no one in particular

I began to tell my tale.

I made a mistake in my life

but I didn't know it was so bad.

Every time I try so hard

I still can't get it right.

On the verge of breaking down

and giving up the fight.

They thought that I would never learn

They lost all hope in me.

And then I started rotting inside

Slowly and painfully.

I gave my best, I tried and tried

I thought that I did well.

But yet they thought it otherwise

it was then that I could tell.

They would never think me good

no matter how hard I try.

I lost all confidence in me

as the days went by

On the verge of giving up

all I had achieved,

he came up and said to me

You do not have to grieve.

Who was this person who was so kind?

He would soon become my friend.

And every time I felt down,

he'd lend a helping hand.

I'd like to thank this friend who helped

though I am still the same.

He taught me how to love myself

and I was not to blame.

The Briar Rose

2009-07-17T12:11:00.000-07:00

The fateful slumber floats and flows

about the tangle of the rose.

But lo! The fated hand and heart,

to rend the slumberous curse apart.

There lies the hoarded love, the key

to all the treasure that shall be.

Come fated hand the gift to take

and smite this sleeping world awake.

Good Night, and good luck...

Speed of Thought

2009-07-10T11:20:00.000-07:00

The sea tosses itself and breaks itself, and should any sleeper fancying that he might find under the moonlight an answer to his doubts, a sharer of his solitude, throw off his bedclothes and go down by himself to walk under the stars, no image with semblance of serving and divine promptitude comes readily to hand bringing the night to order and making the world reflect the compass of the soul. It would appear almost useless in such confusion to ask the night those questions as to what, why and wherefore, which tempt the sleeper from his bed to seek an answer.
I was glad to rest in silence, uncommunicative; to rest in the extreme obscurity of human relationships. Who knows what we are, what we feel? Who knows even at the moment of intimacy, that this is knowledge? The mind and the brain; one of them,the latter starts working consciously the moment I awaken and stops as soon as I reach work; the mind (or my mind) balances itself on thin ice or at the pinnacle of a pointed tower or mountain that rocks with violence and anger, while I struggle desperately to maintain my stability. I would choose the mind, for though it (or mine) be unstable and perhaps unpredictable, the way it flits this way and that or how it catches on some things while it jumps over others; all at speeds that should we not write them down, we shall soon forget them; and yet writing them down would require an impossible speed with a pen.
And he wanted not only to say one thing, but everything. Little words that broke up the thought and dismembered it said nothing. About life, about death, about love – but no, the urgency of the moment always missed its mark. Words fluttered sideways and struck the object too low. Then one gave it up; then the idea sunk back again; then one became like middle aged people, with the look of apprehension. For how could one express in words these emotions of the body? Express that emptiness there? It was one’s body’s feelings, not one’s mind.
What does it mean? How do you explain it all? For the whole world seemed to have dissolved in this night of all nights into a pool of thought, a deep basin of unreality. Was there no safety? No learning by the heart of the ways of the world? Could it be, for everyone or for philosophers and thinkers, that this was life – startling, unexpected, unknown?

Psalm of Strength

2009-07-08T10:19:00.000-07:00

If Satan thinks all this is enough to

merely rattle the foundations my faith

in you O Lord,

he is pathetically wrong.

I will walk through the haze,

for you are guiding me.

I will brave the storm,

for you give me shelter.

So let them come, in their

hundreds and thousands,

wickedness in all its forms.

I will fight for I know,

I do not fight alone.

I faced tougher challenges before,

and stronger foes. I had survived,

I was victorious then, how much

more so now with the Lord, my God

on my side.

In you, my strength lies.

Through you, victory waits.

O Load, may your mercy shine goodness

upon the earth, now and forever more.

A room without anyone

2009-07-05T08:24:00.000-07:00

So they're gone, he thought. He felt curiously divided, as if one part of him were drawn out there in the depths of space or in some far heaven - it was still day, blazing; no one was around; everything looked this afternoon at an immense distance; the other had fixed itself doggedly, solidly, here in this room without anyone.
He saw his computer screen, blank; as if it had floated up and placed itself black and uncompromising directly before him. It seemed to rebuke him with its cold stare for all his hurry and agitation; this folly and waste of emotion (for he had let himself be ushered around by his emotions to this place and that, rushed around doing this and that); it drastically recalled him and spread through his mind first a peace, as his disorderly sensations trooped out of the room; and then, emptiness. He looked blankly at the screen, with its uncompromising black stare; from the screen to the sky.
He had no more appointments, he had put things right, and in doing so had subdued the impertinences and irrelevances that plucked his attention and made him remember how he was such and such a person, had such and such relations with people, he took his hand to press a key. For a moment it stayed trembling in a painful but exciting ecstasy in the air. It felt as though the key he pressed would determine his fate, as such he must choose carefully. Yet all had their hidden dangers, any key he pressed would commit him to innumerable risks, to frequent and irrevocable decisions. Still the risk must be run; the key pressed.
With a curious sensation, as if he were urged forward and at the same time must hold himself back, he made his first quick decisive stroke. Of course nothing happened; he hadn't expected anything to happen, he only saw a blank space reflecting his image. What could be more formidable than that space? Here he was again, drawn out of gossip, out of living, out of community with people into the presence of this ancient formidable enemy of his - this other thing, this truth, this reality, which suddenly laid hands on him emerged stark at the back of appearances and commanded his attention. He was half unwilling, half reluctant. Why always be drawn out and haled away?
This form, challenged one to perpetual combat, challenged one to a fight in which one was bound to be worsted. Always (it was in his nature, or in his kind of thinker species, he did not know which) before he exchanged the fluidity of life for the concentration of mind, when he seemed like an unborn soul, a soul devoid of body, hesitating on some windy pinnacle and exposed without protection to all the blasts of doubt. What then was he living for? What then was he working for? He would live; and he would die. What was the point of doing it then, and he heard some voice saying he will never find happiness, saying he will remain alone, as if he were caught up in one of those habitual currents which after a certain time, experience forms in the mind, such that one repeats words without being aware any longer who originally spoke them.
Never find happiness; always alone, he murmured monotonously to himself, anxiously considering what his plan of attack should be. For the blank mass loomed before him; it protruded; he felt it pressing against the backs of his eyes. Certainly he was losing consciousness of outer things. And as he lost consciousness of outer things, and his name, and his personality and his appearence, and whether anyone was in the room or not, his mind kept throwing up from its depths, scenes and names, and sayings and memories and ideas.
As always when this happens, his heart rages in its cage; his mind rages in its prison; his spirit rages in its captivity, they scream out in unison; they sing, shrill and sharp, a song without words; with their bright eyes they stare intensely at him, driving him back to the brink of an abyss; driving him to skirt the very edges of the world that leads to nothingness; driving him beyond the blurred line between thought and insanity. He has to bang his head against some hard door to call himself back to his body. Alas, they've returned....

The Unseen Colours

2009-06-28T07:36:00.000-07:00

The air was in a shade of cornflower blue, fermenting the room; making it a deep azure. How long has it been like this? I vaguely remember the atmosphere being a golden yellow. When did it become blue? The rest of the house was either in shades of teal or cerulean with only the kitchen being a burnt orange. I was nervous; I was not familiar with this scene, but I took comfort in the fact that, at least there was still colour.
I could hear the dark brown voices in my head, whispering, but still louder than the crimson roar of traffic, or the orange chatter of the crowds. The voices were always there, sometimes blood red; sometimes a dark purple, but all lasting, and all staining; like a painter accidentally spilling a drop of lavender on his ocean picture, or a piece of cloth that ran in the wash; its colour seeping into the fabric of the other clothes; ruining them. I try my best to ignore them, to try to bleach those filthy colours out of my head, but to do that would mean erasing the rest of the colours as well...
I pass people, outlined with amber and green, with their orange chatter (sometimes it would fade to violet or a dull indigo) Everything I saw used to be coated with a line of silver, but even that was fading away. Its sparkle was starting to dull inevitably to become grey. It was a steady process, and I could feel myself wanting colours, be they vermilion or magenta; celadon or fushia to dump on the greying areas of my life. I wanted the colours explosive and bright to swirl and dance around me again when I wake up.
But for now, I could only continue my futile fight to bring back the colours. Before it all becomes grey; and before the grey seperates itself in the manner an amoeba may split itself, or a common science experiment to demonstarte the effects of magnetism by seperate metal grains from salt, to become finally, black and white. My life would then just be black and white. If one could live such a life, would one want to? Or is it better for the white to fade, and the black to completely cover....

Chapter of Darkness

2009-06-20T00:40:00.000-07:00

What does it all mean then? What can it all mean? He asked himself, wondering whether, since he has been left alone, it behoved him to end his life or forge ahead. What does it mean? A catchword that was, caught up from some book, fitting his thought loosely, for he could not, tonight; every night, contract his feelings, could only make a phrase resound to cover the blankness of his mind until the vapours had shrunk. For really, what did he feel? Nothing, nothing - nothing that he could express at all.
The moon laughs. Like everything else this and every night, words spoken became symbols, and wrote themselves all over the dark grey walls. Eyes so blurry with tears; What kind of expression did he have then? What was the face that greeted him in the mirror? He couldn't see anymore. He struggles along with his fragile wings; like an insect drawn to flame, although he is burning himself, he continues ahead regardless. How much does one person gain in a lifetime? How much do they lose?
What is happening? Things seem bigger, there appears to be too much space. If one was to give a name to this feeling, what name would be suitable? (He closed his eyes now; it granted him a sort of reprieve, as though he were really dead, and for that short time, he could see them again) It's funny...it's strange...it's sad. In a world deprived of light, he felt certain he was able to see it. An exit filled with light; tempting him. He felt certain he was going mad; either the madness will find him and kill him, or he will do it himself.
The tears won't stop. He swallows the fallen shards of lies, tearing up his throat; despite all that he knows; that God is with him; that he has support from other friends; despite all that he is, the pride of the seven sins; the strong one, he is dying....

*Our feet become entangled in the deep darkness. We fall many times, stained by the darkness. But we continue walking, because in front of us, you were always calling.
Joining the broken paths together, I walk on.*

To the God I hate

2009-06-15T09:48:00.000-07:00

If I killed myself, would you forgive me? If I died, do you think I could take all this with me; all this pain; or at least some of it? I had waited; I had wanted, for you to say "You can come home now. You can come home." All I ever wanted was to come home...
If I killed myself, would you be angry? I lived my life taking care of others. They would call at all hours, crying out to me. My father beat me again today; he beat my mother, he beat me. My brother is straying away from me; I feel myself getting further and further away from him; I want him to be safe. What happens when I have no one to take care of? What happens now...
If I killed myself, would you hate me? Would it have mattered that I came to know you; to believe in you? My freedom was forfeit long ago; I am still trapped here, in this shell; this world. What do I do now? Everyday, to live, unhappy; to struggle through the day; and then to wait, for tomorrow to come. Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare...
If I killed myself, would you despise me? I stand in the midst of my tears, everyday, watching as I hurt myself, and hurt you. By dying, you bore the weight of all our sins. If I died, do you think I can bear the weight of all this pain? People won't have to watch those around them suffer and die; a person won't have to watch the friends he cares about self-destruct; children won't have to bear the consequences of being born. Please let me die...
If I killed myself, would you blame me? I hold the light and the darkness of my heart, trembling to embrace the shadows tearing me apart. I can give up all the dreams that I have chased; they mean less than nothing to me now. I know what I am meant to do, but I am stuck, in the place that I am in. How can I break free...
If I killed myself, would you condemn me? It would be simple to say I hate you; it would be easy, but things are never so simple. I liked seeing her smile; I liked getting their phones calls, they made getting through the day easier. Now I am left with use-to-bes. Why are good people suffering; dying? It's not their fault; why can't I take their place...
If I killed myself, would you let me? Is this what you wanted; for me to live, unhappy; worthless? Every illness that comes my way, every accident that I encounter, every pandemic that spreads, I pray to die; for you to finally say "Come home". When can I finally be free...

Knocking on Heaven's Door

2009-06-12T08:31:00.000-07:00

He stands accused; there is a long list of his sins; of everything that he has done wrong. He is ashamed; there was no where for him to hide. This is the day; he must answer for his life; but what would he say? He woke up; he went to work; he completed his work; he ended his work. He smiled at people, those people smiled back; he laughed, he talked; he held back tears. Other people had more, they did this and did that. Julius completed another painting; he moved the tree further to the center, getting rid of that awkward space; he had put a reminder in his phone to remind himself to move the tree. Stephen wrote another song; poem, in his notebook where he scribbled lyrical tunes which popped into his head every now and again; and every so often, whenever his songs are completed he compiled them. Yes, they had that - and he, only this - holding back the tears.
But why? He did not know. He could not understand how he had ever felt any emotion or any affection for what he is doing. He had a sense of being past everything, through everything, out of everything, as he held back his tears, as if there was a bubble - there - and one could be in it, or one could be out of it, and he was out of it. It's all come to an end, he thought, while he held back his tears. That was what he was thinking, this was what he was doing - holding back his tears - he felt, more and more strongly, like the steady rise of the waves on the ocean, or the buildup of cholesterol after years; decades of unhealthy living and eating, outside of that bubble; or as if a shade had fallen, and, robbed of colour, he saw things truly. The world was very shabby; there was no beauty anywhere. Every morning, it has now become a struggle to remember the reason, to get up, to get moving; what am I doing this for? What possible reason is there for continuing this?
How many times had he been here before? It isn't the first time, he had knocked on this particular door before. And always before, he was sent away, or did he walk away on his own accord? He simply gives himself a little shake, the shake that one gives a watch that has stopped, then the old familiar pulse will begin beating, as the watch begins ticking - one, two, three, one, two, three. And so on and so forth, he repeated, listening to it, sheltering and fostering the feeble pulse as one might guard a weak flame with one's hand, and off he went, still smiling, still holding back tears.
But all watches, as with everything in this world, stop working, just as the flame will eventually go out, what then? He will have to step through the door.

The longest time

2009-06-10T06:42:00.000-07:00

At a loss....for everything...what to do, where to go. Throughout the course of the day, I took comfort in this haiku

Fly bird like a kite

and take my troubles with you

in the winter's wind

Is it too late to do anything now? The tears won't stop...they won't stop. I don't want to do this anymore. Every illness that comes along, I pray that it kills me, gives me an escape. I didn't die this time, now I have to live each day as the joyless vaccuum that it is.

Be my angel and set me free...Please kill me

The Reason

2009-05-24T03:09:00.000-07:00

For now he did not need to think about anybody. He could be himself, by himself. And that was what now he often felt the need of - to think; well not even to think. To be silent; to be alone. All the being and doing, expensive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others. Although he continued to mingle, to socialise, it was thus as that he felt himself; and this self having shed its attachments was free for the strangest adventures. When life sank down for a moment, the range of experience seemed limitless. And to everybody there was always this sense of unlimited resources, he supposed; one after another, you, me, everybody, must feel, our apparitions, the things you know us by, are simply childish. Beneath it is all dark, it is all spreading, it is unfathomably deep; but now and again we rise to the surfaceand that is what you see us by. His horizon seemed to him limitless. There were all the places he had not seen; the plains of Africa; he felt himself absorbing the rich culture in a teahouse in Japan. This core of darkness could go anywhere, for no one saw it. They could not stop it, he thought, exulting. There was freedom, there was peace, there was, most welcome of all, a summoning together, a resting of on a platform of stability.

You socialised with firm composure, casual; laughing in that velvety voice as others hear it, but to me was the sound of stone striking against stone, perhaps without being aware of it, that when your ghost passed, though he was occupied with his minor distractions; thoughts, he could not help noticing as he passed , the barrier that surrounds you. It saddened him, and your remoteness pained him, and he felt, as he passed, that he could not protect you, and, he was sad. He could do nothing to help you. He must stand by and watch you. But the ghost could not speak to him. He could not interrupt him. He wanted urgently to speak to him, about the things that have happened. But he resolved, no; he would not interrupt him. He was aloof from him now in his solitude, in his loneliness. He would let him be, and he passed him without a word, though it hurt him that his oh-so-human charge should look so distant, and he could not reach him, he could do nothing to help.

The existence of Ghosts

2009-05-23T13:06:00.000-07:00

In this world, there should exist an entity like that. Are there people that are not sure if they even exist? A Ghost. It can't be helped since they are ghosts, to act as a ghost. Being treated as such, it can't be helped. What do you see when you look upon a creature such as this? Do you even see; Can you hear; the anguished cry of these poor souls? We exist! We exist! We exits! Yes we see you; Come with me. I shall tell your story; Come with me and we can help each other, like the shark and the remora, like the crocodile and the scavenger birds, like the flower and the bee, I shall help you just as you shall help me.
The sun and moon run their course. Your purpose is done, you cannot exist without me; You need me, need my help whereas I no longer require your services. Go back, go back; to your dark thoughts and the dank underbelly of civilization. What do you see then? A person completely devoid of emotion at that time, or feelings that are so powerfully present that even his ability to twitch, whether nervously or in anger and frustration, at having been naive or at your betrayal or at himself, has been paralyzed. Away you run, grazing the axis of the earth by an inch; you would not stop for the one whom you called friend; who though he would have liked to accept you back; to deny your betrayal, holds out his hand; you would not stop for the one whom you treated like dirt, whom you grazed also by an inch, to perhaps tease him; so close, yet so far; you will never be able to reach me; nor for the one whom you commanded like a servant; entertain me; amuse me; provide for me; who calls out "Please! Tell me what is it you want!" as you dash past. You are off like a bird, bullet, or arrow, impelled by what desire, shot by whom, at what directed, who could say? Only away from the ghost.
What of the ghost? It is after all, just a ghost. No one would bother, no one would notice if it faded away; disappeared, like smoke from a cigarette vanishing quickly; quietly after being blown out, or freshly fallen snow which at first, distinct, individual, each unique in its own way, but then falls to the ground, to merge with the rest, and finally to become, merely as people see, part of the landscape. What of the ghost? He; She; It, waits, and waits, and waits; to be acknowledged; until it is acknowledged. Come with me. I shall tell your story.....

The Sacred and The Sinful

2009-05-10T10:12:00.000-07:00

Who is sacred? Who is sinful? Is it you or me? I who has always been firm and strong, I who played the games you are playing now, I who was in the driver's position, now crawl forward; begging. You who were lost and alone, who were reliant and wanting, now beckon and retreat. I am now coaxed and cajoled, in the manner similar to the gentle cooing of a mother hen to her chicks as she spreads a protective wing over them; to shelter them, by you who entered my life. I who had no need for entertainment on the bus or the train; I who am satisfied with a simple book, or a view with which to occupy my time, now circle and revolve around you. Now as I read the first line of a book (Mrs Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself) I stop to think "How are you?" "What are you doing now?"; but I cannot continue; I cannot suffer interruption just yet and I return, like a bird to its nest or a rabbit to its borrow, to my book. (Mrs Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself) "I hope you are ok" (Mrs Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself) "Are you doing well?" (Mrs Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself) "How are you feeling?..........
Curses on you; damn you; curse you. I now live with the threat of you dying; of you not being well; of you suffering, you did this to me. You who now take on the world on your own; you who used to share with me your troubles but now exclude me. You who spoke to me with enthusiasm and excitement but now whose voice is like stone striking against stone. You who contacted me every day but who now shuts me out; and you do these so simply; casually; as casually as if adding a pinch more salt to a stew. Damn you; curse you.
Now, whatever words I could glean from you, to me those words conveyed an extraordinary joy, as if it were settled our friendship was renewed, and the wonder to which I look forward to, for years and years it seemed, was, after a night's darkness and a day's warm glow, within touch. But there were other times, times which I both loathed and dispised you, not for making me let my guard down and then shutting me out; no, but for making me experience emotion; anger, worry, happiness, sadness and anguish. During those times, had there been an axe handy, a knife, or any weapon that would have gashed a hole in my chest and killed me, there and then, I would have seized it . Such were the extremes of emotion that you excited in my heart by your mere existence. For having missed you; for worrying about you; am I sacred or sinful? You who caused me pain and worry; are you sacred or sinful?

The Family

2009-05-08T10:32:00.000-07:00

Father Sun awakens, morning starts. Nothing starts without him, everything ends without him. Everything revolves around him, he dictates what we should do. He glows faint orange; sometimes gentle, sometimes angry; but always constant, commanding us to awaken from slumber. Who among us can resist? He sparkles white, beating down on us hurrying us to our jobs; our schools; our appointments. Then shines yellow ushering us home after our activities. He dictates when we eat; orange, we eat; white, we eat; yellow, we eat. Who among us doesn't obey?
Mother cloud. flowing and gentle; soft and serene, covers us. Sleep, sleep, she coos; I'll cover you don't worry. Your father is rushing you to work, hurry, hurry, but don't worry, I'll shield you from him. Slowly drifting, almost lazily, but constantly changing; I'll make a curtain; I'll make a blanket; I'll make a car; I'll make a heart. I shall make things, so people can see; but what they see hinges on what they want to see. Soft and serene but at times harsh and dark. Do not anger me; do not provoke me, for I can be as harsh as your father.
Sister moon glowing with mystic light. Oh sister, sister, oh my sister; like parents, like daughter. Changing, like mother; but predictable like father; yet surrounded by mystery; an aura of mystique. You rely on daddy; using his light; his power to maintain your glow, you cannot refuse. So you change, crescent, then new, then half, then full. But all the same, still predictable, like father; also still controlled by time.
Brother stars; mischevious and playful. Winking and blinking; disappearing and then reappearing. That is where you are hiding; no here; no here; and there; and there; and there. Overshadowed by your father, hidden by your mother, outmatched by your sister. You dance and play among them, not caring, independent. There you are, laughing and giggling to yourself; no here you are; no there; no there, always mischevious and playful.

Of Friendships and Repetition

2009-05-02T12:51:00.000-07:00

Looking at the far distance, he thought of his friend; thought of a bench by a reservoir, thought of his friend sitting by himself hung round with that solitude which seemed to be his natural air. But this was suddenly interrupted, he remembered, by the moonlight flickering off the watery reflections, upon which his friend, stopping, pointed and said "Such beauty and mystery," an odd illumination into his heart, he thought , which showed his friend's simplicity, his sympathy with humble things; but it seemed to him as if their friendship had ceased, there, on that bench by the bank of the reservoir.
After that, his friend started work. After that, what with one thing and another, the pulp had gone out of their friendship. Whose fault it was he could not say, only, after a time, repetition had taken the place of newness. It was to repeat that they met. But in this dumb situation with the moonlight he maintained that his affection for his friend had in no way diminished; but there, like the body of a young man frozen in time for a century, with the red fresh in his cheeks, was his friendship, in its acuteness and reality laid up across the water in the reservoir.
He was anxious for the sake of this friendship and perhaps too in order to clear himself in his own mind from the imputation of having dried and shrunk - for his friend lived in the secrecy of darkness, whereas he still saw a glimmer of light - he was anxious that his friend should not disparage him yet should understand how things stood between them. Begun long months ago, their friendship had petered out on a bench by the reservoir, where the moonlight flickered off the watery reflections; after which his friend started work and he started school, and their paths lying different ways, there had been, certainly for no one's fault, some tendency, when they met, to repeat.

The City of Wind

2009-04-29T08:53:00.000-07:00

I drift, I drift; between groups, between friends; between places and tasks. I drift through time; space, at home in all but none are home, I drift. Wandering this world where I only drift, I strive to move but cannot, I can only drift. On the other side of time, lies the city of wind, where I reside, seperate and distinct from you and you and you, and yet apart of you. I drift among you, settling and then drifting again, a ghost, wandering aimlessly. In this city of wind, I cry out; singing an endless song; but no one hears it; it is lost in the wind that carries me. On the other side of dreams not yet known, lies the city of wind, where I reside. Can't you hear me? You can't; my voice is lost to the wind that caries me further and further from you and you and you. You will forget me, till the day the wind carries me back, till I drift back, as I'm carried back to you, in this city of wind.

I see....

2009-04-20T08:28:00.000-07:00

"I see the city beneath me," said Robbie. "The roofs, the buildings, the railings; they beckon me. 'Come, come, don't be afraid'. I'm sorely tempted, to feel the rush of wind blowing against my face, to look into the very eyes of death and laugh. This railing I can conquer; that high wall I can scale; I mounted continuously, whether conspicuous or not, to greater heights. Come with me Tommy; Come with me Danny. Let us challenge each other as we jumped and lept. I see the buildings and say to them Amuse me; I see the roofs and say to them Challenge me; I see the railings and say to them Put up a good fight! My blood rushes, my heart pumps; I say to the universe Bring it on..."
"I see the people on the street," said Stephen. "so small, scurrying about like animals running around farmyards with their heads cut off. For what? Where is this man rushing to? Or this woman? Or these people? I want to make stories about that man, that woman, those people. How strange; you glance up from your book; you take your headphones off and look around. What are you looking for? I want tot ask; to make phrases. You retreat behind your book again; you put your headphones back on. What are you hiding from? What are you trying to drown out? I want to ask them; to know them; to understand them. I want to write about them; but alas How?"
"I see myself strutting down the street," said Cathy. "I see myself topping my class in my English test; I see myself winning a trophy in racket ball; I see my friends congratulating me; I see my parents smiling with pride. Only then can my existence be acknowledged. I see heads turning, people staring as I walk down the street. I see them coming up to me and starting a conversation, laughing at my jokes, replying to my comment. How are you today? I'm fine thank you. And you? I'm fine as well. Just had my breakfast at StarBucks and I'm now on my way to school. That's nice, I was also just on my way. Oh shall we walk together then? We shall, we shall. I see my existence in the eyes of people"
"I see my skin glowing so radiantly in the moonlight," said Laurie. " Do my earrings go with my blouse? Does my skirt make my look fat? O I have to touch up my makeup. Red is my colour; No green; Yellow; Blue. Diamonds go with everything; No topaz; No Opal; No Amber. My hair should be smooth and silky; No light and bouncy; No curly and short. Should I wear a sweater over my blouse? Should I wear a blue one or a red one? Should I have worn jeans instead of a skirt? What about pants? What colour pants? I want to sparkle, I want to shine. To have guys whistle at me, just like they do Ashley. I want to follow her, but I want to surpass her. Alas good looks are such a burden."
"I see my PDA so full of messages," said Tommy. "Errands to run, places to go, jobs to do. My work is never done. I shall pick up the dry cleaning on my way home; I shall fetch my sister home from soccer practice; I shall complete my portion of the thesis for the research paper; I shall study for my test on contract law. So much to do, so little time. I shall do this first, then do that; I shall pick up my sister first, then go back to my dorm to study for my test. I shall pick up the dry cleaning on my way home after fetching my sister and complete my portion of the work before studying for my test. Everything is planned."
"I see the pattern of the world weaving and entwine," said Ashley. "The winds are blowing eastward, as the crow flies, causing the Santa Ana winds to reach Los Angeles. People will complain and grumble. Laurie's hair will suffer; She will likely blame me for jinxing her. Her spirit is strong, but so is mine. Everyone of us is strong; Tommy is strong enough to complete his errands and still study for his test without help from anyone. Robbie is strong enough to conquer any challenges. Gerald is strong enough to stand alone on his feet. But somethings amiss; the energy around us grows unstable, frightening even. everything is connected. This will affect that, and that will affect this; a violent chain of events is about to occur. My spirit reaches out to grasp the energy, to control it. As my eyes close and I go into my trance, gnostic state. I can feel him sensing something too; that's my boy."
"I see the way I sit," said Danny. "This is comfortable for me but perhaps this way would be better, or this way? How would this look to others? Is it too flamboyant? Or too boring? I should be asking Laurie but she can't tear her eyes away from herself. I want to make a good impression, be they on strangers or friends or acquaintances. I take note of how my hand moves; I take note of how my feet are positioned when I stand. Do I look nonchalant? Should I be leaning against something? Should I fold my arms? My feet should not be spaced too far apart when I walk; my arms should not swing too wildly. My face should have colour, expressions to let people, perhaps Stephen, guess what mood I'm in. Now that I'm sitting, how should I sit? What expression should I have?"
"I see only black and blue," said Julius. "There isn't enough colour in the night. The stars are white, the sky is black. How boring yet beautiful. I could paint a picture of this night of all nights; and I could paint a picture of tomorrow night of all nights. Would there be a difference then? It is nice to see so many stars again; an unknown beauty from the stars and moon. Alas it's a crescent one tonight. What will Ashley say about that? Or Gerald? Is it an omen? What if the sky was green? That would make a pretty picture; a green sky with blue clouds. I could paint a picture of that and show it to everyone. O but what shade of blue? What shade of green? What should the rest of the picture contain? The landscape? Creating my own reality; That is how Ashley, Gerald and Stephen would put it."
"I see everyone," said Gerald. "I see those whom I would do anything for. Those I would trust my life with. But alas, such things don't last forever. Even marriages are nulled by death. Even if one stays married in his lifetime, when he reaches heaven, the marriage is nulled; void. Even God didn't mean for marriages; relationships to last; how much more so with our motley gang of misfits. What would happen if one of us left? Would that make a difference? How big a difference would it make? What if the one didn't leave, but died? What difference would that make then? Ashley is meditating again; perhaps she senses something amiss? Robbie is brimming with energy as usual; waiting to take on the next challenge. Danny is shifting about; probably concerned about how he looks to others. Laurie is complaining to whoever is listening about not having enough light to apply her makeup. Julius and Stephen are talking; perhaps creating their own world, Stephen through words and Julius through drawings. Cathy and Tommy are talking about school and work. Here above the roar of the maddening crowd, we see everything."
"What I see; I see all of you. Robbie, Laurie, Cathy, Tommy, Danny, Julius, Stephen and you, Ashley. I see you in my reflection in the mirror; a little of each of you in me."

As the world turns

2009-04-02T02:28:00.000-07:00

Drop upon drop, silence falls. It forms on the roof of the mind and falls into pools beneath. For ever alone, alone, alone, - hear silence fall and sweep its rings to the farthest edges. Gorged and replete, solid with middle-aged content, I, whom loneliness destroys, let silence fall, drop by drop.
But now silence falling pits my face, wastes my nose like a snowman stood out in the yard in the rain. As silence falls I am dissolved utterly and become featureless and scarcely to be distinguished from another. It doesn't matter. What matters? I reflect now that the earth is only a pebble flicked off accidentally from the face of the sun and that there is no life anywhere in the abyss of space.
In this silence, it seems as if no leaf would ever fall, or bird fly; As if the miracle had happened, and life were stayed here and now; And we had no more to live. But listen, to the world moving through abysses of infinite space. it roars; the lighted strip of historyis past and our kings and queens; we are gone; our civilization; the seas; all life. Our seperate drops are dissolved; we are extinct, lost in the abyss of time, in the darkness.
Silence falls; silence falls. But now listen; tick tick; honk honk; the world has hailed us back to it. I heard for one moment the howling winds of darknessas we passed beyond life. Then tick tick (the clock); then honk honk (the cars). We are landed; we are on shore; we are living, billions of us, in this world.

Of Man and Humans

2009-03-31T12:35:00.000-07:00

Oh, life, how I have dreaded you; Oh, human beings, how I have hated you! How you have nudged, how you have interupted, how hideous you have looked on the street, how squalid sitting opposite each other staring in the train! Now as I climb this mountain, from the top of which I shall see Africa, my mind is printed with brown paper parcels and your faces. I have been stained by you and corrupted. You smelt so unpleasent too, lining up outside doors to buy trinkets. All were dressed in indeterminate shades of red to blue, never even a colour of neutral properties. None had the courage to be one thing rather than another. What dissolution of the soul you demanded in order to get through one day, what lies, blowings, scrapings, fluency and servility! How you chained me to one spot, one hour, one chair, and sat yourselves down opposite! How you snatched from me the white spaces that lie between hour and hour and rolled them into dirty pellets and tossed them into the wastepaper basket with your greasy paws. Yet those were my life.
But I yielded. Outcries and shouts were covered with my hand. I did not go out into the street to break a bottle in the gutter as a sign of rage. Trembling with ardour, I pretended I was not affected. What you demaned, I did. If you wanted me to debase myself, I will do so; If you wanted me to die, I will die. So terrible was life that I held up shade after shade. How much more must I endure....how much more can I endure?

Thoughts on a saturday afternoon

2009-03-30T08:38:00.000-07:00

O how wonderful it feels, this feeling of oneness. I enjoy it to its fullness, this solitude. I enjoy staying up past the witching hour, where everyone wanders about in their dreams, where I can be no one but myself. But time is short, just thirty more ticks of the hand, I shall have to put on the pretence. Lipstick to stretch my smile, eyeliner to brighten my eyes, blush to add life to my face; all so I won't dampen the mood of those whom I call friends and acquaintences. I can't afford to appear weak, I have to stay strong. There are those who need me to be strong. If I should be ill, I shall stand tall; if I should be injured, I shall walk strong; if I shopuld be fatigued, all the more my mind should be sharp.
Fifteen more minutes. It lasts forever and always ends too soon. My mind drifts, to people and things; to music and places. They're interupted by a voice, he asks a question; I answer; I smile; he leaves. So sudden and so quickly this exchange took place; how quickly my mask must be on, and how just as quickly it comes off. Ten more minutes, I begin the countdown, almost as if to my doom. Nine...eight....seven....the trickle of people becomes a torrent. I am safe for now, safe above the rapids; but soon I shall have to venture down and be swept away by them. When that happens, I shall drown; my body shall merge with theirs; and I shall cease to be one anymore.

Of beginning and continuation

2009-03-19T12:22:00.000-07:00

I have died. I died in spirit; I died in hope; I died in psyche; all deaths are one death. The children play; the students study; the people mount rapidly to the conspicuous heights. Life passes. The clouds change perpetually over our houses. I do this, do that, and again do this and then that. Meeting and parting, we assemble different forms, make different patterns. But if I do not nail these impressions to the board and out of the many men in me make one; exist here and now and not in streaks and patches, like scattered snow on far mountains; and ask acquaintances as I pass through their lives about the movies and read my books and purchase also my favourite snacks, then I shall fall like snow and be wasted.
Examinations, jobs, commitments, obligations, destiny and purpose. Too many; too many selves; too many continuations. Stop! I desire so much to be accepted; and struggle, leaning against the wind, bottled up, with my heart blue and my eyes running water, I wish that a little artist would cuddle on my knees; I think my favourite dish is liver and bacon; and so am apt to wander to the narrow streets where there are frequent houses of entertainment, like the magic of the Moulin Rouge, and the shadows of those street merchants passing at the end of the street, and dregs of the streets fighting. But I say to myself, recovering my sanity, examinations at 2.30, jobs in a month, commitments tomorrow, obligations everyday, destiny and purpose every minute; every hour. The weight of the world is on my shoulders. Here is the pen and paper; but I cannot sign my name, I, I, and again I; for it never was just I, only I.

I feel....

2009-03-17T10:06:00.000-07:00

I feel the gale beating against my face; daggers of light pierce through the clouds and onto the asphalt, casting cracks upon their paint job and polish. The birds soar overhead; singing erratically, individually, overlapping each other. Some sat on window sills and railings; still and unmoving, save the sharp, sudden flick of their heads from side to side. They seem to know the eventuality that is to come, only now waiting; watching. The city stretches before me, at night the lights twinkle and flicker, so many lights; numerous, too many for me to count. If one of them went out, do you think people will notice? The cold concrete is urging my feet off the asphalt, urging me to fly. My body moves on its own, over the edge, the concrete grows bigger; faster; larger, then...black.

I hear the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks; hugging the shore; kissing the sand. Colors all around me; the yellow beneath my feet; between my toes, the green ebbing and flowing in front of me, the grey above me; domineering and swirling. Now the birds dart frantically around; screeching as though in protest...or encouragement. The chill of the water shoots through me; sending more shivers as more of myself gets lowered into its depth. I need a weight of magnitude enough to weigh myself down, but I don't have one.I shall sink or swim; letting Poseidon do with me as he pleases, as I go into her cruel depths into her liquid embrace. All I see now is green; green and black. I hear nothing now. I feel cold. The black is spreading, engulfing my vision. Finally I see nothing. I hear nothing. I feeling nothing.

I see familiar surroundings; my bed, my room, odds and ends everywhere. One thing is out of place. My every action is slow and deliberate; the knife gleaming, reflecting my image; distorted. I can't look at myself, my anger is aroused. The pain is sharp; blood sprays the room. Shakespeare comes to mind. "Oh happy dagger. This is thy sheath. There rust and let me die.". It will not take long. First my body will feel weak, then my mind shuts down, and my eyes take in its final glimpse of the room. Then....black.

I taste bitterness, emitting from the back of my mouth. I open my eyes, taking a look around me. Emptied bottles surround me, the same with packets and pill-holders. They corner me; encircling me. How much longer do I have? It's very quiet; the sun breaks through the curtains onto me, warming my body. Yet I'm growing colder, dizzier; more light-headed. I lie back down, to prepare myself for whatever comes next. The air around me gets colder, as though affected by my body. The bedsheets feel cold; my hands feel cold; only the sunlight carries warmth. As it beats down on my slowly freezing body, vainly trying to warm it back to life.

I smell something; a smell came from below, of must and dust and abandonment. I couldn't care less; one day perhaps some sooner than others, our bodies will become like that. I hate this smell; I want things to smell nice. like the scent of flowers, coming into full bloom; or the fragrance of fresh fruit and cream; or even the aroma of good food; anything but the smell of decay. But i cannot do anything about it; I want to but I can't; I cannot suffer interruption just yet. Soon I won't be able to smell anything; not flowers, not fruit, not food and not decay. The plastic wraps around my head, securing itself with tape. I smell my own breath; I do not like it. It stinks of fear; reeks of nervousness. And yet, I detect traces of relief; is that good or bad? I don't have time to decide, there is fewer; less of it for me to analyse. But why bother? I bid this confusing sense farewell as everything goes black.

I am....

2009-03-11T12:44:00.000-07:00

I am a slave without a master; a guardian angel without a host. I do not belong to myself; my life was never wanted, never needed; I do not exist for myself. Born of sin; never wanted, I am a summoned creature; a genie in a bottle, to be called upon when wanted. I do not do things for myself, i do it for others, whatever is needed of me. I do with a smile; like a portrait on the wall, that's all I'm good for. I excite pity from others, not love. Therefore I suffer horribly. I see everything - everything except one thing - with complete clarity. That is my saving. That is what gives my suffering an unceasing excitement. That is what makes me dictate, even when I am silent. And since I am, in one respect, deluded, since the person is always changing, though not the desire, and I do not know in the morning by whom I shall sit at night, I am never stagnant, I rise from my worst disasters, I turn, I change. Pebbles bounce off the mail of my broken, bruised body.
I am a servant; a pet. my masters call when they want company; comfort. I am not asked about my needs, I am merely called tofulfill my purpose; what I was created to do. I am sent away when I'm no longer needed; like a mongrel pup; a toy that is discarded when its owner is bored with it. I didn't choose this purpose, it was thrust upon me like the wind blown in my face; like the sunlight that beats down on my body. I cannot do anything for myself; what I can do is only for others.
I am the teddy bear you hug when you're lonely; sad, and thrown aside when you're not. I am the blanket wrapped around you; covering you when you're cold, and tucked away when you're not. I am the pet that you call to your side when you're seeking companionship, and abandoned when I grow too old. Like a prostitute; gigolo, I don't exist for myself; I exist for others; I don't do things for myself. Back in my realm; in my bottle, I sit waiting, for the next person to call me forth; to summon me; to decide when they wish to notice me; to decide when I should exist in their lives.
I am the pet; the slave; the prostitute; the genie in the bottle...I am nothing; an object; an accessory; a tool to make your life easier; happier. I have no feelings; I am an accident; a mistake and so am given this task.

The lone penguin

2009-03-05T07:22:00.000-08:00

The penguin sits atop its egg. Stoic. It is his egg, but it isn't. It is not his eggs alone, he shares it with his partner. Oh! Where is his partner....he has no partner, he does it all alone. He sits, unmoving; unwavering and alone, atop the egg, warming it; protecting it; looking after it, alone. Who looks after him?
He braces the blizzards and winds; but he thinks about the egg. He fights hunger and fatigue; but he thinks about the egg. Oh! Where is his partner...he has no partner, he does it all alone. He looks after the egg. Who looks after him?
With the flip of a page, the season passes; the egg hatches; his partner returns. His partner tends to the young hatchling, feeding it. His job is done, his purpose fulfilled; he no longer has eggs to look after for now, no partners to cover for. He goes to recover himself, to feed himself, to look after himself. But oh! Where is his partner....he has no partner, he does it all alone. Who looks after him?

My sin; my punishment

2009-03-04T11:47:00.000-08:00

Words and words and words, how they gallop - how they lash their long manes and tails; I give myself to their backs, I fly with them. Yet there is some flaw in me - some fatal hesitancy, which, if I pass over, turns to foam and falsity. yet it is incredible that I should not be a great writer. What did I write last night if not prose? Am I too fast, too facile? I do not know. i do not know myself sometimes, or how to measure and name and count the grains that make me what I am.
I cannot catch it; this light that filters through my fingers. It shines, beating down on me, from the people around. It hurts my eyes but doesn't blind me. It glows, not like the fireflies; faint and soft, it glows; radiant and bright. I cannot catch it; it surrounds me, but it doesn't.
My shadow keeps following me, always persistant; always dark; always there. It's keeping even the fireflies away. I run...it follows; I hide...it finds; I stumble...it captures. I'm being swallowed, Help! I'm doomed...I can never grasp that light, warm; soothing. It repels me from those around, I can't go near. I've made a choice, a resolution to find that light; to seek its warmth; to feel its embrace. I see it! I can feel it; but I can't. I can touch it; but I can't. That is my sin; that is my punishment. I can have it; but I can't.
I scream in agony, every cell cries out in torment, every fibre of my being shouts out in pain. I want to give; I want to enrich; I want to return to the world this beauty that you've shown me. I will bind them in one garland and advancing with my hand outstretched will present them - Oh! To whom? Nobody accepts them; nobody gives their garland to me. I want to tell you something; trying to expose a secret told to nobody yet; I am asking you (as I stand with my back to you) to take my life in your hands and tell me whether I am doomed always to cause repulsion in those I love? The light that filter through my fingers, and strikes my garland in the dirt.

The sunrise at sunset

2009-03-04T07:07:00.000-08:00

A short walk...that's what I need. Along the beach perhaps; the waves, the sound, the tranquility. On the tops of the crags the ocean fills my sight, just a thin yellow stripe along the edges; maybe a light blue at the corners. The waves rush in to kiss the shore; hugging the sand with a sort of reluctance to let go. It's being pulled back...No! No! But another one takes its place and another one after that, desperately clinging; pining, like lovers seperated. What of the shore? It just lies there but at the same time calling out; pining. Yet it all still seems to be one-sided. Will the ocean not give up?
Again the rumble starts, the flashes begin, the sky falls. I hate it....I hate this; this having to protect myself; this running away, seeking cover; shelter. They fall forming a curtain. They blend, losing their individuality. Strobes of light dance in front of me, faster and faster, pale light flickering with watery reflections. What lies beyond the veil? Behind the curtain? I cannot draw it back. My hand simply passes through; yet I cannot go through it, I cannot see through it....What lies beyond the curtain?
I ignore the flickering lights that dance in the air. I have more pressing matters to attend to. There they go, one after another everyone leaves. A lion and his lioness walk together away. Curses on them...they're following me, forcing me to look at their majesty; at their glory. I can see it...what binds them...a piece of thread; a thin piece of paper. It will not last, it will break and yet at the moment they are satisfied. Fool! Lies! Shameless lies! Hoping to draw envy with falsity. The lion and his lioness....who exactly do I envy?
They sit; together. I hover behind, mocking; scorning; yet envious. The trees pass, the sea pass, the vehicles pass; but they remain if only for that moment, they remain satisfied; one could even say...happy. My heart rages in its cage; my mind rages in its prison; my soul rages in its captivity. They scream out in unison; they sing, shrill and sharp; a song without words. The entities that sang erratically and spasmodically, seperately and individually, now sang together in chorus; now together, as if suddenly conscious of companionship; now together, as if to the pale blue sky. Sadness was in their song, and loneliness, and apprehension of pain, and joy that is beyond reach. They sang, their wordless song, swerving high over the trees, singing together as they chased each other, escaping, pursuing, bouncing off each other as they turn high in the air. And then, they dropped down and sat silent within me, with their bright eyes glancing, and their attention turned this way, that way; aware, awake; intensely conscious of one thing, one object in particular.
I struggle to breathe. I want to be saved; want to get off. Alas! There is no bell....there is no bell. I'm being tormented by the lion and his lioness; but which one do I envy?

The loop of the ticking clock

2009-03-02T11:43:00.000-08:00

Time passes. The clock ticks. The two hands are soldiers marching through a desert. The large black bars on the clock face are green oases. The long hand has marched ahead to find its oasis. The other, painfully stumbles among hot stones in the desert. It will die in the desert.
Look, the loop of the figure is starting to fill with time; it holds the world in it. I begin to draw a figure and the world is looped in it, and I myself am outside the loop; which I now join - so - and seal up, and make entire. The world is entire, and I am outside of it, crying "Oh save me, from being blown forever outside the loop of time!"
It expands; it contracts. From its creation to its survival, it expands, and contracts. Expand again it shall. Soldiers grow longer; taller. Move swifter; make haste, for it shall once again contract. Perhaps more stones; perhaps more oases. Find them! Expand! The soldiers take one step; the loop convulges. It's will is not to expand; it has no will. Expand it shall. I shall expand it. Within it I am whole; I shall go, beyond the desert, to find new oases. Soldiers be with me; they are with me; forever moving forward.

Through the looking glass

2009-03-02T11:24:00.000-08:00

That is my face. In the looking glass on the wall - that face is my face. But I will duck behind the curtains to hide it, for I am not here. I have no face. Other people have faces; Neville and Simone have faces; they are here. Their world is the real world. The things they lift are heavy. They say Yes; they say No; whereas I shift and change and am seen through in a second. If they meet a stranger he looks at them without laughing. But he laughs at me. They know what to say if spoken to. They laugh really; they get angry really; while I have to look first and do what other people do when they have done it.
I choke. I am rocked from side to side by the violence of my emotions. I imagine these nameless, these immaculate people, watching me from behind bushes. I leap high to excite their admiration. At night, I excite their complete wonder. I often die pierced with arrows to win their tears. Therefore I hate the looking glass which shows me my real face. Alone, I often fall down into nothingness. I must push my foot steadily lest I should fall off the edge of the world into nothingness. I have to bang my head against some hard door to call myself back to my body.

Why part 4: Why is everything wrong?

2009-03-01T08:20:00.000-08:00

I don't know how. I don't know when. I was just suddenly in my body again; seeing things from my perspective again. And when it happened, memories of the day came flooding back. I was at the library, browsing through the novels of the wold's greatest writers. H.G Wells, Virginia Woolf, Emily Bronte, Earnest Hemmingway...
Already I was getting the familair sense of malaise. I had suspected many reasons for it. The alcohol from last night, a curse casted out of spite or anger, or simply because that's just the way I am. It couldn't be the alcohol. I wasn't even near drunk last night. It couldn't ba a curse. The person who would place a curse on me isnot that childish even if I broke her ring; plus I would be able to tell, if it was a curse. It couldn't be just me alone. I've experienced malaise before but never to this extent. Something must be happening....
It just struck me. I don't know how I know or who decided it, but right there and then, I knew. My happiness is forfeit. That was when all this madness started. I walked to the community centre right next to my house. I remember stepping out into the rain. I remember sitting in the shelter after. I remember my expressionless eyes in the mirror. Throughout those times, I slipped in and out of consciousness, perhaps instinctive projecting my astral form outof my body, maybe to escape the pain, maybe to see things from a better perspective. But one thing was consistant throughout. That was knowing the fact, the truth...
I'm trying not to let it get to me. But every once in awhile, I see it. I see it in on my computer screen; in the shadows out of the corner of my eye, in the reflection on the window. And when I do, I get fits of madness. I want for it so much not to be true. But in my heart I know I can't change my destiny, my fate. Perhaps it's karma for all the stuff I've done, well I couldn't care less what the reason is. I'll just have to get used to it. No matter how much I seek happiness, I won't be able to catch it.
My happiness is forfeit...my happiness was forfeit long ago. One thing I've decided though, is to help others find their happiness. It's the closest I can get to experiencing my own happiness...It's the only thing I can do.....in this lifetime.

Thoughts on a rainy afternoon

March 1st 2009, Sunday

Why part 3: Why is this happening?

2009-03-01T08:01:00.000-08:00

He opened the door. And was greeted with familiar surroundings. Yet it all seemed strangely foreign to him. What is going on? Where am I? What is the time? He staggered to the bathroom. Looking into the mirror, he saw himself, just as how I'm seeing myself. He looked into his reflection's eyes. Was it fear that gripped him next? Lifeless and blank his eyes were; souless. He backed away from the mirror, seeing his own reflection back away too. But how is this possible? He saw fear in his own eyes, yet they remained lifeless and blank; devoid of emotion. What is happening to him?
He reached out to touch his reflection. He tried to touched his heart, or at least where his heart should be; a symbolic representation of wanting someone to touch his heart perhaps; of wanting someone to give his heart to; someone to love. But it was useless, his reflection simply reached out it's own hand to touch his, as if preventing it's heart to be touched. Another representation? About how no one will never be able touch his heart; how there is no one to give his heart to; no one to love? Or is he preventing it himself? He turned away, unable to look at himself any longer. He staggered to the shower where the warm water replaced the earlier iciness of the rain. Once again losing himself to the onslaught of water....

Why part 2: Why does it hurt?

2009-03-01T07:36:00.000-08:00

Sitting down in the shelter afterwards, against the wall, soaking wet. As the minutes, possibly hours of solitude pass, I began to go insane. I began to look at myself. I'm not myself, but then who else could I be? I'm seeing myself sitting there, lifeless; souless; emotionless. Where am I looking from? It seems to be all around. I can see the back of my head, but at the same time, I can see my own face. I can see from the top, I can see from the bottom; I can see from both sides. I can see myself....
He didn't move at all. He just sat there, staring at nothing in particular. His wet fringe dangling in front of his eyes. He seems to be staring at the drops of water dripping from it; counting them; one...two...three...four...He's probably feeling cold.
The hours pass. His clothes slowly dried, though not completely. He got up and as though in a daze, exited the building. There weren't many people. Passing a few of them, one turned to him and asked "Are you alright?" He didn't answer. He just stared blankly at him or her. He didn't pay attention. The stranger offered to lead him to the general office of the building. He didn't answer. He just gazed in the direction of another building, not taking his eyes off; not following the stranger. eventually, he began walking towards the other building. Of what happened to the stranger, he did not know, nor did he care. He just kept on walking, slowly and silently....

Why part 1: Why does it rain?

2009-03-01T00:43:00.000-08:00

A grey day today....grey days for the last few days as well....like black fog in the sky. As if the skies themselves are weeping for all the hurt and suffering that people are going through. Indeed alot of people have been getting hurt lately. Why? Why does it rain?
I don't know why I chose to do it, I just did. As the first few drops of the cold shower hit, I felt strangely comforted. Standing underneath the watery assault, I let the feelings pierce my heart...and let the tears flow freely. The downpour was heavy and cold, just like my heart and the hearts of others who are suffering but whom no one cares enough to bother with. Crying in the rain, the tears mix with the raindrops. It's like you're not really crying at all but still get to let those feelings out.
I lost track of how long I was out in the rain. I just sat down, hoping beyond all hope the rain can wash away the hurt and pain the same way it washes away my tears. The cold winds howled. Forked lightning slashed the darkened sky. My legs wouldn't move, my body doesn't move. It wants to stay there, for just a while longer. If only for just awhile, it wants to stay numb...

Repost: Birth of the Seven Sins

2009-02-27T05:54:00.000-08:00

It is often said that misery loves company; truer words have never been spoken. Brought together by loneliness, dispair and desperation, they have ruined as many lives as they have helped. They have witnessed many horrors and caused such horrors.

The first to be born was Lust. The personification of passion, the exquisitity and beauty of it. She is a rose with many thorns. To behold her was to fall instantly in love, and be horrified at having done so.
The next was Greed. Her nature was simplicity in itself. To covet what she can't have and to continue doing it until she has everything she wants. Unaplogetic and headstrong, compromise is not an option, nor is acquiescence.
The third was Sloth. His nature conceals the tremendous personality and secrets in his heart that he reveals only to the select few fortunate enough to be counted among his inner circle.
Next came Pride. Too proud to depend on others and too refined to breakdown. The thing that defined him was his ability to maintain dignity in the most undignified of situations. A consummate professional, he maintains his hard earned reputation; classy and as refined as his namesake.
The fifth was Wrath. With fiery red hair to match her personality, her friendly nature belies the rage and bitterness that fester within her. She possesses a big temper which can lead to big consequences.
Next came Envy. No one understands bitterness and resentment better than him. Not having come to terms with his own inner demons, he dispises those who think they understand what he's going through.
The last is Gluttony. His unsatiable appitite extends beyond physical hunger to that of vengence againest those who wronged him. A deadly combination of vengefulness and a ravenous appitite, he will swallow even his emotions to accomplish his goals.

Bound together by loneliness, dispair and desperation, they have grown untrusting beyond the core. After years of sharing their bitterness, they were no longer just friends. Feeding off each others' strengths, they empower each other. Individually they are formidable but together, they wield enough power to decimate anyone who stands in their way. What they love and hate, they do so with full ferocity, with nothing held back and what they seek, they seek with the same singlemindedness. Woe betide those who stand in their way for they will learn firsthand the kind of power the seven sins command. What they do defines them, not having earned their names for nothing. They can hurt or they can heal, the option depending on their mood. A word of advice: The seven are not to be trifled with and no matter the circumstance should always be regarded with suspision and always approached with caution.

Of happiness and meaning

2009-02-26T12:02:00.000-08:00

I was thinking today. When was the last time I was happy? I was thinking about it for an hour an a half waiting for a friend to arrive but the answer didn't come to me. I can't remember the last time I was genuinely happy. Can anyone remember when was the last time they were happy? I try to recall the time I spent with my close friends. Was I happy then? Probably. But was I genuinely happy? I don't know...
How can you tell if someone is genuinely happy? Is it when he/she is happy for no apparent reason other than being alive? Do you necessarily have to do something in order to feel happy? Can't someone just feel happy for no reason? Most people would probably consider that as going insane. Why do people have to do something to feel happy, why can't they just be happy for the sake of it or because they're so blessed either with great friends or with a good life? Well maybe some people do feel happy for these reasons, maybe others won't label them as crazy but is there all there is to happiness?
How would I know if I am happy in the first place? Is it when I'm smiling, or when I'm being enthusiastic? For those who think so, WAKE UP!!! Not everyone who smiles is happy. Not everyone who actively engages in activities is happy. Smiles can be faked. Actions can be forced. Stop deceiving yourselves, not everyone who appears happy really is happy!!!
So when was the last time you were happy huh? Those who say "Gee I'm always happy" can go drown yourselves. No one is happy all the time!!! There is bound to be at least some suffering in your "oh-so-perfect" lives, and if there isn't, go experience some misery you cheery fools!!! Experience it and realize that the world is not as nice a place as you ASSUMED it was. Experience it and learn how to relate to those who are not happy instead of expecting them to simply cheer up! As if telling them to cheer up will solve anything! IDIOTS! MORONS!
Even if I was feeling happy, was it real or was I just telling myself how I should feel? When you score well for an exam you are not enthusiastic about, you won't be happy, you'll just be feeling "ok" or just fine. Only your peers or your parents will be telling you "Oh you should feel proud that you managed to score so well." . The perhaps you simply psych yourself into thinking you really do feel happy when it's actually other people telling you how to feel. Why in the first place would you let others decide how you should feel? That's a really stupid thing to do.
Anyway, it doesn't matter if you cannot remember when you last felt happy. Just because you can't remember doesn't mean you can't experience it again. Don't let anyone stop you from seeking your happiness. Even if people who claim to be your mentor advise againest it, continue to wish for your happiness. They think they know what's best for you, they think they speak for your interests. Don't be deceived by them. Who are they to speak for your interests? They don't know you well enough to speak for your interests. who better to know your interests then you yourself and God. Continue to wish for your happiness, stronger and stronger.

P.s. I'm a little tipsy at the point of posting this but I suppose everyone can tell. I don't intend to delete it nor my previous post as they show my feelings at the point of posting them. When I look back, I can reminece and reflect on myself. Anyway, it's said that when you're drunk, youre at your most honest. Did this truthful post hurt? I hope it does, I really stand by my point on experiencing suffering in order to learn something.

Useless....Powerless...Helpless

2009-02-20T11:48:00.000-08:00

Why? Why do good things happen to good people? What did they do to deserve the suffering that has been poured down on them? I keep thinking about it till a thought came to my mind. What is it that makes these people "good"? They are human all the same. They haven't done any major charity work. They still sin just like anyone else. Just what is it that makes me consider these people good?
The only similarity is the family situation. All of them have come from broken families or suffered some form of abuse before. And now, one of them has grown strong, independent, able to handle whatever hardships that come his way and manages to score well in his exams on top of everything else. Acting as father, mother, brother and caregiver to his broken family with a smile on his face. Another has learned to cherish the people close to him. He learned that life is too short to pretend he doesn't care. Now he attempts to repair the damage done, after years of fighting, to his dysfunctional family. Yet another has danced with devils and trod on dangerous ground to escape and develope his spiritual side. Now he thinks up ways to better himself and the world. Having learned truths and gained wisdom from his experiences, he tries to make the world see them while at the same time, pursuing his own happiness. Is this what it takes? These people are just humans after all, but what truely makes them different is the pain of loss and loneliness that they have suffered. Is this really what it takes for people to learn truths? It's no wonder terrorists are born.
This is what makes me consider people as "good". The suffering experienced by these people and the wisdom that they learn from them. They have already suffered enough. Why do they need to suffer more? Why when the one taking on the roles of an entire family, has to have more hardships loaded onto him? Why is the one trying to mend his family's shattered relationships, seeing the already fragile relationship crack even more? Why when the one merely trying to make the world better and educating others, get misunderstood and ignored? And why can't I do anything to help? Why is it that all I'm able to do is stand on the other side of the glass and watch as they get hurt?
Like caring for a cancer patient. All I can do is watch as they slowly and painfully die. I cannot take away their pain. I cannot even share it. All I can do is force a smile to show how confident I am that they can and will pull through. I can only watch from the sidelines, feeling so helpless, so useless and so powerless to help. Is this called love for others? If it is then I want nothing to do with it. What good can it do to help others? Does it magically solve people's problems? NO!!! It doesn't do a single ******* thing but make me feel the hurt and the pain of watching those people suffer!!! I'd rather not feel, I'd rather not watch....
@#$% @#$% @#$% Why can't I do anything. Why do people still keep coming to me for help? I just sit there and do nothing. What do they come to me for? I can offer nothing but my time. What can time do? What can love do? What can words do? NOTHING!!!!
I can offer nothing....I'm truely sorry....I can offer nothing

Tales from abroad: Beyond the Nostalgia

2009-02-18T07:13:00.000-08:00

I feel as though I'm going mad again. Walking the familair streets that were once my home. Streets where I grew up, where I learned my craft, where I witnessed horrible things and caused such things. The streets are just the same. The same homeless man lying in the same corner. I offer whatever coins I had, the same thing I do everytime I pass his spot. A child cries in the distance; An abandoned child perhaps. I pick it up, looking into its eyes, eyes so full of fear and loneliness. So many abandoned children, I don't bother to check its gender anymore. Leaving it at the orphanage is all I can do. The same punks throwing their weight around. How big does a weapon make a person feel. I'm doing them a favour, reminding them just how small they are in the grand scheme of things. The trash pickup should have come in a few hours to pick them up. Even after all this, I still feel unsettled. The streets are the same, it's me who has changed.
If I am to go mad, then I shall merely speed up the process. Going to places where common sense has no meaning, lands of no reality, where you are what you are not. Hoping I can finally discern that which plagues the darkest corners of my mind. For sure, you have to be lost to find what cannot be found. After what felt like years, I returned to consensus reality.
The line between insanity and enlightenment is often blurred. I emerged from the flames, changed as anyone would be after that ordeal. I found out what I was searching for all along; what I had always suspected I wanted but did not want to admit. It started out as friendship, which turned to budding affection and finally to whatever it is now. I dare not say love...it's such a loose, vague and unreliable word but ultimately, that's what we all seek, someone to love. And when we don't have that, all that's left is emptiness and loneliness.
My time is short. The people around me are beginning to question and so many other obligations. I'm not grateful for these distractions. I wanna bury myself but it's not working. I guess it'll have to wait while I pacify my distractions. In the meantime.....I don't have an answer to what I can do, or what I should do.

Tales from abroad: Of Life and Learning

2009-02-17T22:28:00.000-08:00

Life and Learning

Life is but a stopping place,

a pause in what's to be.

A resting place along the road

to sweet eternity.

we all have different journeys,

different paths along the way.

We were all meant to learn some things

but never meant to stay.

Our destination is a place,

far greater than we knew.

For some the journey's quicker,

for some the journey's slow.

And when the journey finally ends,

we'll claim a great reward

and find everlasting peace....

Of Cold and Sorrow

2009-02-13T09:09:00.000-08:00

We've both come a long way. It was probably a touch of destiny as you so often put it; and at the same time a trace of fate most cruel. So many days have been cursed by us through the deeds we did. Days where neither of us can look to the sky with hope, where no joy can be seen in our smiles, where harsh reminders wait us at every corner.
How did things end up like this? The scary thing is not even all that we've braved but that it might not be over. No...it definitely isn't over. We are more alike than we both care to admit. These are your words not mine. That's true, I just never wanted to admit I was like you, I never could have done what you did; to me and to others. Argh...I'm beginning to think Davy Jones was right. It's not worth feeling what fleeting joy love brings. Better to carve out my heart and lock it away to concentrate on more "practical" things. Sometimes I wish I didn't care so much, especially about you. Those feelings have led me to do things I almost always come to regret.
How nice it would be to leave my body for awhile. maybe take a trip to Avalon. Sitting in the silence of the Ebon Rose or maybe to the Winding Way where I can distract myself. Anything that would enable me to stop feeling this horrible, wretched emotion. Even death would be preferable to this. We've tried to kill each other in the past and you've succeeded on more than one occation. Sadly, I always lose to you in this area; the lives of others seem meaningless but yours...yours was the one I couldn't take.
Sorrow. Sometimes I think you're summoning her just to torture me, and sometimes, I really wish it was you and not me who is unconsciously summoning her. Perhaps you were right, perhaps I really am not so different from you, perhaps like you I'm best dipped in shadow and in blood and perhaps I've always have been but never realized it.
Argh...it's so cold...so very cold

Beneath the surface

2009-02-09T07:56:00.000-08:00

When we stare into the sea or any body of water, what do we see? We can see how high it rises, but can we truely see how deep it goes? When we look at the surface, it distorts what we see below it. What may seem shallow may actually be deep, what appears to be deep may be shallow. We can never truely know what's beneath the surface unless we dive in, into the unknown.
But then again, how much do we really want to know about our friends? As long as they do nothing against us and keep themselves clean, what does it matter what goes on beneath the surface? We keep our hurts and pain to ourselves, we put on a convincing smile and no one would think about finding out anything more. They see us laughing, having fun and assume us to be fine, that everything was alright with us. Each of us have things going on beneath the surface, we're all human, we all have secrets and pain. None of us are who we appear to be on the surface. Everyone should know this, or at the very least have an idea about this sort of human trait. Yet more often than not, we only see what appears on the outside and neglect or afraid to venture further. No one can be blamed for this, after all, it is dangerous to just delve into the unknown, not knowing what you'll find there, whether it's in other people or ourselves. We may uncover secrets we wished we never knew. We may discover things which challenge our very perception of reality. Is that why we don't dive right in? because it's safer and less threatening?
On the surface, the queen bee lives in luxury. Waited on hand and foot by worker bees and protected by drones. All she has to do is lay eggs. On the surface, she is royalty, a queen and majesty. Who decided that it should be seen this way? What may appear to be in charge of the rest may actually be working for the rest. Worker bees get to fly away, to leave the hive to find pollen. Even drones get to do that...but what about the queen? Forced to constantly lay eggs or else her existence will be ignored and a new "queen" will be chosen to take her place. Who is serving whom? We were told to see it that way. Since young, adults have told us, the queen lays eggs and the other bees look after her. Bred from a larva to become the "queen", her fate was decided by the other bees, destined to lays eggs till the day she dies, during which a new bee will take her place. Did God intend for this particular bee to be the queen or the slave?
We just see other bees waiting on the queen and automatically assume she's calling the shots. We never bother to see deeper. Seeing the queen bee living in luxury, just like seeing a person full of confidence and leading a rich full life, we just take it as that is the absolute truth about the person. Does the person have any secrets that still haunt him? Is he hurting or lonely? Is he facing problems or having troubles? We don't know and we don't care. As far as we're concerned, the person so cheerful on the surface, is just as happy beneath the surface.

Timeless

2009-02-06T21:06:00.000-08:00

The photos unveil all memories

events so long ago

One simple face, with eyes so bright

A face I do not know.

He's smiling in a cute costume.

He's in a foriegn land.

A little girl with a grin so wide,

She holds her brother's hand.

Flip again, more pictures of

the happy little boy

sheltered by his mother's embrace,

safe in a scary world

A baby, but those same big eyes

Their gaze as though on me.

A man holds him up, smiling wide,

so proud of him was he

The darling child, loved by all he knows

yet unaware of what love is

Center of attention, all eyes on him.

So sweet in ignorant bliss

My heart gives a flutter, I know this boy,

that same fearless pride

memories clouded by time

now stay by my side

I held his hand, I heard his thoughts

and with him I did stay.

But all that's gone, I long to be

that boy I knew so well.

But change, with her swift hands had come.

In the end, only time will tell.

To feel death...

2009-01-30T09:06:00.000-08:00

How would people feel if I die? Would they feel sad? Or Angry? Would they feel happy? Or relieved? Of course the textbook answer is "I would feel sad". Is that truely how you would feel? Or is that merely how you think you should feel? Does everyone always feel sad when someone dies? Was everyone sad when Hitler died or was everyone sad when Ghandi died? Is there a right way and wrong way to feel when someones dies, whether it's someone close to you or a complete stranger? Consider this. A mother lives for her child. She lives to take care of her child. That's how she defines herself. So when the child dies, the mother has nothing to live for anymore. She may feel sad about this, but what would the first emotion, her first thoughts be? Would she be happy that she doesn't have to care for the child anymore? Or would she be angry that she cannot care for the child anymore, that now she'll have to think about herself, live for herself?
On the other hand, how would I feel if I died? Knowing that everything will just move on, that life will continue, will I resent it? Or would it be consoling to know that I wouldn't have to go through it anymore? How should I feel when I'm dying?
Is a reason for death a factor in determining how people will feel? Does suicide evoke certain feelings than natural causes? The obvious answer is yes, but why? The result is the same. Why would the reason for death make a difference? If a loved one commited suicide, how would you feel? If a loved one died of natural causes, how would you feel? Would your feelings be the same? If I were to kill myself, I would embrace death, but if I were to die of natural causes, I wouldn't know how I'd feel.
Alot of people say they will feel sad when I die. How I wish they'd stop. Stop assuming how you would feel; Stop pretending you will feel sad. Look inside yourself and face your feelings. If you're going to feel angry, then feel angry. Why are you forcing yourself to feel sad? If you're going to feel indifferent, feel indifferent. Just because tell you that you should feel sad when people die doesn't mean you should feel that way. Why are you letting people decide how you should feel? Should you feel sad because everyone else is feeling that way?
Would I feel angry when my loved ones die? Or indifferent? I cannot know, I don't know for sure. One thing I do know is that people may feel alot of emotions when there is death, but sadness is rarely the main thing, the first thing, they will feel.

Acceleration = Rate of change of Speed

2009-01-24T09:33:00.000-08:00

We all move at different speeds. Some people power through life and never look back. Others take life one step at a time. The best would be knowing when to speed up and when to slow down.
Emotions are the fuel, they can cause us to go faster or slower. Happy people tend to move faster. Their happiness gives them the energy to move. Anyone who is happy will have trouble sitting or standing still in one spot. They would want to give full vent to their emotions, to move as fast as they want to. But sad people on the other hand, they move at a slow pace. All the energy they have are used to remain afloat, to stay alive. They have very little energy left to move and can only trudge along behind those who are happy.
Sad people cannot share their problems to each other. Their own problems are absorbing enough; very few can afford to ignore their own problems and still offer help to others. The sad ones have no choice but to turn to the happy people to share their problems with. At this, most happy people slow down their lives to match the speed of the sad person, doing it because they care and knowing the sad person cannot match their own speed.
But some happy people refuse to slow down, they rush through the whole process of what they consider "helping", leaving us, the sad people more broken and more miserable than before. These people expect us to simply "cheer up" or "be happy" and don't understand why we can't do it. These people then impose their own standards on us. They expect us to match their speed, they expect the problems the we are facing to simply disappear after a single conversation and offer no additional help or encouragement after that one conversation. They are unwilling to give up the some time out of the happy mood they're in to even pretend to help. Seeking additional help from them would be met with scorn and disinterest, telling us to "stop being such a baby" or "What do you expect me to do" and the worst would be "Huh what problem". After repeated attacks of this kind, we gradually lose hope. We share our problems less and less, so that we won't get hurt by your attacks anymore. Yet you keep asking "Why didn't you tell me you were facing a problem" all the while not accepting that maybe you were the ones who pushed us away in the first place, all the while having forgotten what it felt like to be sad. Yes, you have forgotten what it's like to feel down. Staying in your own happy world, surrounding yourself with activities to avoid becoming sad, doing so many things at once to cover the silence of loneliness so much so that you've forgotten. Sad people are just like any injured person. If a friend is having a fever, would you check up on him everyday to see if he's feeling any better? Or would you just attach a few empty words of so-called encouragement on a piece of paper and expect him not to need anything else from you. A caring person would want to make sure his friend is doing well on his way to recovery because it is a process and not an outcome. Because you have forgotten what it was like to be sad, you have also forgotten how to recover from sadness. You have forgotten that recovery is not when we have stopped being sad, when all the sadness in us has been oust like an exorcism, but it's when little by little, the sadness goes away, replaced by your love that was shown. We can see how much we mean to you through your actions. We can tell if your attempts are out of genuine concern or simply out of obligation because we are your friends or because we should love others because Jesus loves us. Jesus loves us because he wants to, not because he has to. He gave up his life as a sign of love. Perhaps you don't really want to care, perhaps you don't want to give up what you have acheived in which case we'd rather you just ignore us than try to help, because it will only show how little you care.
Caring for people requires alot of sacrifice. Jesus proved as much when he died for us. Yet the solution is simple. That is your friend who is hurting, a friend whom you said you would be there for. When he asks for help, don't ignore him. When he tells you his problem, don't treat it as triviality. When he tries to bring his point accross, don't get distracted. When he's explaining his problem, don't change topics. When he tells you you've been doing all the "don't"s, don't continue doing them.
And when, because you refuse to change, he tries to push you away to avoid getting hurt again.... don't let him. It's not what he really wants.

Numbness

2009-01-23T22:37:00.000-08:00

I wanted to get by without thinking about anything. I didn't want to think. I was looking for an out. Where I didn't have to think, didn't have to feel. What I had to deal with everyday made me so desperate. I devoted myself to shutting out all sensation. I wanted to be numb....

I devoted myself to becoming pure, in my little box of a world. So that sadness, loneliness and anxiety wouldn't destroy me. I've seen them before, those stares. I've seen them in people's eyes, in the classroom. And not just from them, but behind them as well. hey were always there - in the cafeteria, in the teachers' lounge, and I knew what they were. In the depths of those stares, the same look of pity, that you use when you look at failures. After that, I lost control. My only wish was to be numb, and there was only one sure solution. I could've ended it. Why didn't I?

My six senses screamed out in protest. I couldn't do it. So I looked for alternative solutions. I buried myself in books and spiritual activities. Before I knew it, the voices around me disappeared. Many things disappeared. It is said that when someone undergoes immense mental strain, they will find a way to escape from it and relieve the burden. Minor problems can make you scribble unconsciously, or shake without knowing it. Giving oneself such simple stimulation to get one's mind off stress. I want to be numb again...

Extinction

2009-01-23T11:00:00.000-08:00

When you keep talking to a brick wall, eventually you get tired, and eventually you give up. This is where we can see God's infinite patience and grace. I'm not God, I don't have his patience; I wish that I had. I cross one hurdle only to find I have another blocking my path. Do I still continue, knowing what lies ahead are only more hurdles? Should I even bother? I can just sidestep the hurdles, passing by them safely without too much strain. Why should I hurt myself trying to get accross them, only to look back and see other people having to cross them as well? Why do others have to hurt as well? Is it worth me hurting myself while other still end up getting hurt? If that's the case I should just give up crossing the hurdles. I should just sidestep them because I'm not strong enough to handle them anymore. Others may want o perservere or they may, like me, decide to sidestep them too someday. maybe I'll even get back in the race again, but for now, I'm tired; just very tired...

The time to Live

2009-01-23T10:36:00.000-08:00

That's what people do. They stay alive for each other. A father who is living in an unhappy family. He wants to escape but he can't. He has an obligation to his family. So he stays, miserable, for his family. Does he run away to find life? Or does he stay to meet death? What am I living for?
People have no idea do they, whether they live for themselves or for others? But they keep on living anyway, not knowing what is it exactly they are living for. When you're living a life you're unhappy with, do you die to find life? Or do you live to face death? Someone has to die, in order for the rest of us should value life more.

Prayer

2009-01-21T08:13:00.000-08:00

O Lord I need you. I don't know why I'm having it so hard. I love you and I know you love me. John 3:16 lets me know how much. I cry, I hurt, my heart is heavy. God I need you right now I ask if there is anything in my heart or if I have done wrong in any way please forgive me and give me a clean heart. I know that I fall infinitely short of grace, but dear Lord, I pray you once again help me to be a good person. You know I struggle to be good and I pray you give me the strength to overcome my sinful desires. I look as I slowly hurt myself and most importantly hurt you. I never realised how much I need you in my life. Because of you my life is transformed and now I don't know how my life can carry on without you. I know that in the world there are more serious issues that need your attention than my petty prayer. But I haven't felt this alone in eleven years and I really need someone to turn to. I feel like giving up. I don't want to but so many things are not going right in my life right now. I want to disappear but I don't. I want to fade away but I don't. I want to die but I don't. Life is getting harder by the day and I know I need to stay strong. please help me. I'm broken. Please God, let me know you are there.

In Jesus name. Amen

Of death and misery

2009-01-21T07:31:00.000-08:00

You stupid, stupid, stupid fool. This time you fell hard. Really hard. You brought this upon yourself; You dug your own grave now you have to lie in it. What are you going to do? What can you do but pray and pray and pray...

Ghosts

2009-01-19T10:55:00.000-08:00

Nobody

Nobody knows me
Nothing before the day that I came
Like others who've lived and prayed for the same
They don't even know my different names
Nobody knows

Nobody sees me
Blessed me with luck, the rule of their art
I've been all they hoped each day from the start
But no one has seen the dreams in my heart
Nobody knows

They've painted my face
They've chosen my past
They've nurtured my pride
in the role that they cast
But inside there's a place
A place where nobody knows
.
.
.
.
The days alone, the nights of hell
The tale the broken-hearted tell
A life to live where love's cold
Within these walls of guilt and gold

I learnt the role, I made the deal
I know I'm not allowed to feel
I never meant to feel so much
The need to feel your gentle touch...

Of love and loss

2009-01-19T10:45:00.000-08:00

Falling in love

Falling in love is just that

Falling

Out of control

Of your heart and your soul

Falling in love is just that

Falling

That's how it feels

Falling head over heels

Losing your heart is just that

Losing

Too high a cost

When it's given it's lost

Taking a risk is just that

Taking

Been there before

I can't take anymore

Why love when love hurts?

Why love when love ends?

I know how it feels

when it turns and pretends.

It ends with the pain

and the making amends.

Why love when there's peace

in the making of friends?

Of existence and being

2009-01-13T10:04:00.000-08:00

As stated by Jean-paul Sartre, man first of all exists, encounters himself, surges up in the world, and defines himself afterwards. The meaning here is man is born (exists), experiences the world around him and developes his character (encounters himself), accomplishes many things (surges up in the world), sees himself as and makes the world see him as "a kind" of person, whether good or evil; self-sacrificing or self-centered (defines himself).
Every once in a blue moon, something comes along that threatens our existence, causing it to face breakdown. This "something" can be anything from a tragedy or maybe, just maybe an innocent yet insightful comment by another person. When this happens, we are put face to face with the naked meaninglessness of our perceived being, and the results can be devastating. An archetypal example is the example of the perception one has of himself where he sees himself as above the maddening crowd only to find out after years, maybe decades, he is merely part of the crowd or possibly even beneath it. After a long while of seeing yourself as " a sort" of person, someone says something that makes you question if you really are "that sort" of person. When this happens, the person's world shatters, and when that happens, it also brings into question whether his other perceptions are true.
The person is then forced to decide, whether to re-evaluate his existence or to live as any other human being. When he re-evaluates his existence, the person will be faced with three choices. To either live with the possibility that his perceived worlds might not be as such, to re-examine his perceived worlds to form new perceptions or to commit suicide. With the first option, the person will experience angst, sometimes called dread, anxiety or even anguish. He will have to live with the fear that his worlds and his perceptions might not be concrete and could break down. Seldom will people commit suicide which is to abandon his existence. To re-examine his worlds and make new ones, he would need extreme humilityto admit he is not what he thought he was and the will to change his perceptions. If done correctly, it would result in the creation of a new existence which proceeds to a new being.

A little something about me^^

2009-01-12T09:46:00.000-08:00

Dreamy Idealist (DI) - Appearently I'm one

Dreamy Idealists are very cautious and therefore often appear shy and reserved to others. They share their rich emotional life and their passionate convictions with very few people. But one would be very much mistaken to judge them to be cool and reserved. They have a pronounced inner system of values and clear, honourable principles for which they are willing to sacrifice a great deal. Joan of Arc or Sir Galahad would have been good examples of this personality type. Dreamy Idealists are always at great pains to improve the world. They can be very considerate towards others and do a lot to support them and stand up for them. They are interested in their fellow beings, attentive and generous towards them. Once their enthusiasm for an issue or person is aroused, they can become tireless fighters.For Dreamy Idealists, practical things are not really so important. They only busy themselves with mundane everyday demands when absolutely necessary. They tend to live according to the motto “the genius controls the chaos” - which is normally the case so that they often have a very successful academic career. They are less interested in details; they prefer to look at something as a whole. This means that they still have a good overview even when things start to become hectic. However, as a result, it can occasionally happen that Dreamy Idealists overlook something important. As they are very peace-loving, they tend not to openly show their dissatisfaction or annoyance but to bottle it up. Assertiveness is not one of their strong points; they hate conflicts and competition. Dreamy Idealists prefer to motivate others with their amicable and enthusiastic nature. Whoever has them as superior will never have to complain about not being given enough praise.

As at work, Dreamy Idealists are helpful and loyal friends and partners, persons of integrity. Obligations are absolutely sacred to them. The feelings of others are important to them and they love making other people happy. They are satisfied with just a small circle of friends; their need for social contact is not very marked as they also need a lot of time to themselves. Superfluous small talk is not their thing. If one wishes to be friends with them or have a relationship with them, one would have to share their world of thought and be willing to participate in profound discussions. If you manage that you will be rewarded with an exceptionally intensive, rich partnership. Due to their high demands on themselves and others, this personality type tends however to sometimes overload the relationship with romantic and idealistic ideas to such an extent that the partner feels overtaxed or inferior. Dreamy Idealists do not fall in love head over heels but when they do fall in love they want this to be a great, eternal love.

Got the personality test from a friend's blog^^ Here's the url if u wanna try it
http://www.ipersonic.com/

The rainbow in the dark

2009-01-11T09:39:00.000-08:00

Sometime last week, was at my school's cafeteria with thinking about some stuff. There's a fountain thing near there and it was on at full blast. Then for some bizarre reason, I kept staring at it. I was with a friend at the time and I snapped in and out of my "trance" whenever he talked. During one of the silences that occur between us, I asked myself what the heck was I doing staring at a fountain. So from the depths of my consciousness I realized I was trying to see a rainbow. Well I thought it was weird so I searched deeper. I don't know much about rainbows or how they're formed but I do know that they can be seen when sunlight shines through water. I thought back to the shows I've seen where someone spews water into the air and creates a rainbow. So I thought since it's relatively the same thing, I should be able to see a rainbow, and when I didn't, I just kept on trying to see one. As if trying to see one would cause one to really appear.
I thought maybe God was trying to test me or tell me something so I thought about the significance of rainbows. I finally came to a symbol that people associate with rainbows. A sign that it may be raining but the sun is still shining; a symbol of positivitism that helps people get through the storm; alot like God right? I thought about how i kept trying to see the rainbow even though there was nothing I could do to actually make it appear which I guess is what everyone should be doing. Even though it's raining and we feel down, we should always try to see the rainbow, always try to see God. And if we don't see it, we should still keep seeking the rainbow, alwyas continue to seek God. Just as the rainbow brightens and lifts our mood during the storm, Gods also does the same.
Alright at this point, the post might not be making as much sense as I hoped it would but I'm sure some people will get the meaning.

The house of four strangers

2009-01-05T11:02:00.000-08:00

If a person's parents are unhappy in their marriage, would it be better if they divorced? Or would it be better, easier, if they remained together? Together but unhappy; together but miserable; together but resentful?
Perhaps it would be better if the parents divorced. It wouldn't be so crowded in the house anymore. Everyone won't be so frustrated of bouncing off each other anymore, especially the father. The children will have their own rooms where they can hide and retreat into their safe haven, where they could pretend everything was fine and they will wake from the nightmare in the morning. The relatives would also find it too awkward to visit on Chinese New Year but will still send red packets as according to tradition. As for choosing who to live with.....that's not a decision the children can make; not when the people they have to choose between are strangers to them and to each other as well. Money would be tight though if this were to happen, and as the children realise money is...,was,...is the only thing real in the the house of four strangers, they also realise it's not something they are willing to give up.......yet
And so they "family" stayed together; for whatever reason that remains forgotten in their minds. Perhaps to maintain appearences that they are not failures as parents or perhaps of their obligation. And they continue to live till this day. The father still trying to establish his manhood by ordering and insulting the others; the mother still given up on life and living in her own fantasy world where everything is perfect for her; the daughter who is desperately trying to win approval by conforming to find friends and getting good grades for her parents; the son who remains invisible, drifting in and out of the picture as and when the parents feel like including him.
Observe such a family; the father barks orders and does whatever it takes to get people to follow them so that he can feel good about himself. The mother is now trapped in the fantasy land of hers where the family she has is how she wanted it to be and is unable or unwilling to leave. The daughter, so utterly dependent on other people to define her existence that she has lost her sense of self. And the son who tries to hide but no matter where he retreats to will end up bumping into one or all of the others, each time leaving the encounter a little more bruised; a little more battered, walking away a little more bitter; a little more jaded.
Would things be better if the parents divorced? What will the relatives think on Chinese New Year? Perhaps they would cut off all ties from them or perhaps the father in his own all-wise father-ness, he could save this family somehow so that they could go to that wretched event year after year and sit together with the rest of the seemingly happy families.

Of follies and errors

2009-01-03T12:49:00.000-08:00

It wasn't your fault...none of it was. Perhaps I was overly-sensitive or maybe I was too caught up in myself that i reacted...in...that way. Like I said, I wish I don't notice the things I do for people, whether it's the comfort I give, advice or a simple helping hand. It always ends up filling me with grief and disappointment. I end up thinking " Don't you remember what I've done for you? All that I've done?" I never believed in "Do unto others what you want done unto you" but started to when i read Mark 4:24 I just wonder sometimes why can't I see it happening.

In the past, I crossed impossible hurdles and faced challenges far beyond my capabilities. I was victorious then and I shall be victorious now, more so because of the strength I receive from God and the courage he gives me to face them. But then again, you already knew that didn't you? By all accounts you could have went your whole life without concerning yourself about me, knowing I'm tough enough to survive; yet you did anyway...
So thanks for caring...thanks for noticing...but most importantly, thanks for understanding. I can now only pray that I can be half the friend that you've been to me.

Of men and brothers

2009-01-01T08:44:00.000-08:00

What makes you do these things? What deranged part of your brain gives you the "OK" signal for you to trust again? Whatever happened to "You're better off sovling your own problems"? You'd better hope your psyche can find a way to repair itself again...or this might be the very last time you trust someone.....
How different are we from everyone else? We say we're different; we claim we're special; but how different are we really from the rest of the world? We say we want others to understand, to be proactive but do we extend the same gesture to others? Do we make the effort to find out all we can about a person? When a person tells you something, a problem, thoughts or feelings, do we remember them? Do we care to remember the troubles they're facing or limitations they have? Do we remember what they have done for us; the help they gave us?
I was a slave to the world, to sin and to satan. When I trust myself, I trust the monster that he made of me. When I trust God, I trust his children, still sinful, still imperfect and still end up disappointing. Who then can I trust? I try to meet the world halfway. I try to help out 100%, try to make sacrifices for those important to me. I don't care if no one notices...I just wish I didn't either.

Of problems and solutions

2008-12-27T08:59:00.000-08:00

You're better off sloving your own problems. They're YOUR problems; the definitive term being "Yours", no one else can feel as strongly as you do about them. They are seldom important enough to other people for them to even put in 50% of effort to solve. Why seek help from others only to be disappointed again and again? No one else will care enough about your problems to try to help, You're better off solving your own problems......
In times of crisis, when spirit is broken and heart is hurting, how do you measure how much a person cares? In the gifts they give, the time the spend, the sacrifices they make, the number of times they ask "Are you ok?" or the way they try to help? Others can ask "Are you ok?" every hour, every day but does that mean they care? They can ask but they don't listen when you tell them your problems; offering half-hearted solutions. By asking it, do they actually help? Or do they think that by asking it they are fulfilling their obligation as your friend? Do gifts define how important you are to your "friends"? You get them gifts yet receive none in return only to find out that they get gifts for others and they get you something cheap and thoughtless. Would you rather receive something meaningless or nothing at all? Sacrifices. If a friend needed company or someone to talk to, would you drop whatever it is you're doing, however important it is, to see to your friend? What if the solutions they offer are simply lectures and I-told-you-so's. They think they're helping but are actually not.
How important are you in their eyes then? How does it feel to know you hold no place in their heart, in their lives.....

The Untold Blues

2008-12-25T11:10:00.000-08:00

Have you ever lived my life?

Spent one minute in my shoes?

If you haven't, tell me why,

you judge me as you do?

You never understood me,

But then again ,you never tried

You never noticed

as I slowly died inside.

I sought help from others

of whom you disapprove

bombarding me with lectures

telling me to choose

You think me emotional

you think me weak

That's how you see me

as how I'll always be

I try to tell you

to make you understand

but you refuse to listen

while pretending you still care

You came up with "solutions"

while ignoring my words

thinking that will help me

but are really causing me hurt

Have you ever lived my life?

Spent one minute in my shoes?

If you haven't, tell me why

You judge me as you do...

Of loneliness and pain

2008-12-21T00:30:00.000-08:00

The untold truths

of wisdom lie

solely in the beating

of the heart of an

ill-treated child

whose wounds will heal

and heart will seal

but memory will never die.

When a part of you dies, you're supposed to grieve, to be able to mourn your loss. But sometimes, the people who caused your pain will have robbed you of that option. Something that's lost but yet not truely lost, never able to experience what was taken from you and yet not able to forget what was done to cause your loss. Kept alive in your memory but dead in your heart. When that happens, the only thing left to do is to say goodbye...

Secrets

2008-12-18T10:26:00.000-08:00

There is a certain time every evening, it occurs after everyone has gone to sleep and right before turning in ourselves. It’s a time when we think about the secrets we’ve been keeping from my friends, and how shocked they would be if the truth was discovered, and how we would do everything in our power to keep that from happening. Just as we’re about to turn in, we also think about our friends, and the secrets THEY may be keeping…

You will never see me in despair, or enraged. You will not see the tiniest bit of regret. Living in my family, has taught me there is one sure way of hiding my secrets from others. That’s why in my family, there is nothing more deceptive than a smile.

Funny observation

2008-12-13T11:36:00.000-08:00

Sometimes you just feel like the whole crowd gets the joke. Everyone except you.
And what else is there to do but laugh along and pretend to know what everyone else is laughing about? What else is there to do but try to fit in, even though you know you don't? Not really.
Everyone likes to be surrounded by friends. No one really likes being alone, no matter what they say. But then again, popularity comes harder for certain people. People who were never meant to be the center of attention, so why not give the limelight to someone else? Why not blend in with the bloody walls like you always do? Why try so hard to be noticed?

Society's outcast

2008-12-03T08:58:00.000-08:00

Dark of the Darker Darkness

Look at him, the guy who stands

so silent and alone

Look closely now and can you feel

the sadness he has shown?

There's something in that guy which makes you

fel so bleak inside

So much pain all bottled up

secrets that he had to hide

Do you feel his pain now that

you've looked into his eye?

Look deeper now and then you'll see

Betrayal and the lies

Never knew that words could hurt

He had been so naive

Didn't know what was in store

when he chose to believe

Everything happened so fast

He couldn't comprehend

He felt lost with nowhere to go

And didn't understand

Startled and bleeding on the ground

He called out for a friend

But no one answered him and no one

lent a helping hand

He catches your eye now and then

Why do you look away?

Can't bear to see such darkness there

what more is there to say?

He gives a smile but there's no joy

His face is just a mask

His tale's been told, he turns to leave

you'll remember him at last

Of Heroes and Matyrs

2008-11-25T10:19:00.000-08:00

I was just think today, there isn't enough suffering in the world. I'm all for world peace and love toward all men but humans just won't do it unless they have something precious taken from them. The wars over the years have been bad but at least they showed just how precious life is and how much we should treasure it. Even disasters like the tsunami and 9/11 incident got people helping one another. It got people showing compassion; it got people putting others before themselves.
Just look at humans these days! Growing up in your happy families where your parents love you and you didn't have to struggle from killing yourself. I'm not saying that it's wrong but FOR GOD'S SAKE step out of your fantasy land and try to understand that the world isn't as perfect as you were raised to think; step out of your comfort zone and experience it.
(E.G. Friend A says to friend B "It would mean a lot to me if you came to my ceremony."
Friend B says "Sure. Is anyone I know coming?"
Friend A says "I asked but they're busy."
Friend B says "Oh then in that case I don't think so. Have fun at your ceremony though."
Friend A says "Aww come on. You can make some new friends."
Friend B says "I don't wanna. I'm too shy.")
Does anyone see anything wrong in the above situation? Anyone? Why are people so self-centered now? Is the only way to make you people understand taking something important away from you?
Self-centeredness is one thing but not even trying to understand others is another. People meet someone who doesn't fit their standards of normal and brand them an outcast. Those people read "Oliver Twist" and think they know what it's like to be an orphan. They have a 5min conversation with someone from a broken family and think they know what it's like to come from one.
Self-centered and ignorant; why are these people still alive? They don't even bother to try to change. God help me...help me...

The poery corner

2008-11-23T08:35:00.000-08:00

The Winding Way

Sometimes I want to sit back and do nothing,

And yet I have to do everything.

Sometimes I want to try and do everything,

But I am limited and end up doing nothing.

Sometimes I feel too young to be an adult,

And other times I feel too old to be a careless child.

I think I know who I am

But then I don't know myself at all.

There are so many things I have to do

But I don't want to.

There are so many things I want to do,

But I don't have the chance to.

I'm supposed to be growing,

Sometimes it doesn't feel like I have.

But somehow, I'm not the same

In one way or another, I've changed.

I'm supposed to be moving forward,

But right now I'm stuck.

Caught in between two worlds,

And it's tearing me apart.

There are too many places to go,

For me to settle down in just one.

There are too many ways to live

,For me to live just one.

When I want to be an adult,

I find myself held back by childhood.

When I just want to be a kid,

I find myself bound by adulthood.

I want to do nothing,

I want to do everything.

I want to sail beyond the horizon,

But it's always out of reach.

I'm on a search, I know,

But what am I looking for?

This is life, I'm living it,

But I know there's something more.
I want to live for something, but what?

See, the problem is that I don't know

A thousand paths lay before me,

And I don't know where to go.

I want to know the answer now,

But it can only come with time.

Either way, I have to find it myself,

No one can find it for me,

the journey can only be mine.

Somehow I'm trapped in confusion,

When everything should be so simple and clear,

But I'm still trapped,

And the solution is nowhere near.

Poem repost

2008-11-20T08:07:00.000-08:00

The Red Tree
I saw apretty tree that night
with leaves a deep dark red
It beckoned me and I followed
without a word being said
Haunted by such beauty I
stepped closer for a look
Then I saw- but just a glance
yet one glance was all it took
A glimpse of a tear-stained face streaked past
those blazing brown eyes
one second-he was gone with the wind
but my senses tell no lies
He was somewhere around, I felt him near
that poor tormented soul
What suffering he had endured in the past
will soon begin to unfold
I looked for him around the tree
A game of cat and mouse
Unguarded memories came to me
memories of a house
These memories were not mine but yet
who else's could they be?
I searched for the boy whose heart was
so alike the dark red tree
The house- A cold, bleak, broken place
with windows and a door
From afar I could hear the screams inside
something crashed onto the floor
A little boy ran out- escaped
His black hair stained with blood
A tall dark shadow which made me shiver
emerged and soon gave chase
The boy was caught and brought back there
with no one to save him
Screams and sobs disappear through the door
into the darkness forever
I find myself back at the tree
and heard a sad song sung
I looked up and saw the boy, whose body
from a branch was hung
That blood dark hair, those brown eyes which
stared down from above
The song came form the tree itself
mourning his lost life
His body swayed gently with the breeze
His face was streaked with dirt and mud
I touched the trunk and it was wet
stained with drak red blood
Filled with horror, I turned and ran
away from what I'd seen
away from the boy still hanging there
away from what he'd been
Time has passed, though he remains
etched in my memory
Those brown eyes they knew no love
the boy and the blood red tree
As time passed, I slowly realized
But no, it couldn't be
That boy, whose soul so battered and bruised
was in fact really me...

Unlikely Friendships

2008-11-13T08:54:00.000-08:00

The world is filled with unlikely friendships; odd pairings that to the casual observer make absolutely no sense at all. No matter how closely we look at it, we can never comprehend the nature of a single perfect friendship.
Everyone has a perfect friend out there in the world; someone whom they "click" with; someone with whom after meeting for the first time, feel as though it's the millionth time. Such friends are paired by God. They outshine your "best" friends by much. Best friends can relate to you but it is the perfect friend who can truely understand you.
There are many ways you can tell if someone's your perfect friend. When you're having a conversation, and you draw a tic-tac-toe sign without reason. They don't stop the conversation to ask why you've drawn it; they just start as an "X" or an "O" without a break in conversation. You acn sit with them in complete slience yet still walk away feeling as though you've had the best conversation of your life. There are many ways to know if the friend you've known is your perfect friend but the only sure way is to recognise the matching auras.
I've met three such people in my life and I think God for putting them in my life. Even though I've lost touch with one of them I'll always remember her. For those who have yet to find their perfect friend, have faith; God has a plan for you, it probably just isn't time for you to meet yet. Everyone has at least one. Someone who asks the right questions to get you to talk about your problems and someone who says the right thing to make you know that they're there for you. Someone whom you don't have to explain what you're thinking about or express who you are because they already know.
Such is the nature of a single perfect friendship.

Within the darkness....

2008-11-04T10:34:00.000-08:00

The well of memories, always so near the surface, takes him once more - The well of painfulmemories - of lies, of betrayals...
Why do you do this to yourself? Why do you let yourself get hurt? After everything that has been done to you; everything that has happened; How could you start to trust? You were protected; safe - until you took a chance and...trusted. You knew the benefits of trusting but it is so risky to open up, to love. So dangerous to trust. Yet you did it anyway despite your best instincts.
Your old self is no more; turned to ashes. You cannot go back to what you once were -- not after what you've done. You let yourself get close to others and let others get close to you. You took that step; that unchangable, irreversible step. Now your heart is open; vulnerable...
What will you do now.....

Of Fire and Madness

2008-11-03T07:59:00.000-08:00

How do you define madness? Is it when you hear a voice talking to you? And that voice is telling you to do things; like telling people about him? Telling you that if you continue to sin you'll go to hell? Would it still be considered madness if everyone else is doing it also? What if only a majority are doing it or if half of the world's population is doing it? What exactly is madness....

If that voice told you to kill yourself or to kill people to prove your faith to him; and you go ahead and do it; does that make you mad?

What happens if you are really mad or if everyone assumes you to be mad? Will you end up losing your dignity? Will someone care? Will you be able to wake the next day from the nightmare? Can you stay sane through the madness.....

Days of my future past

2008-10-28T07:45:00.000-07:00

Alrite lemme just start by saying that I'm too lazy to fill in the rest of the school survival journal but the fact that I'm writing this should prove that I'm still alive (Praise God) Anyway funny thing happened today; ASTON RAN OUT OF FOOD!!! ARGGGHHHH THE HORROR!!!!
Haha actually they just ran out of spaghetti, chicken, fish and burgers which is pretty much everything. So you can imagine the endless, mindless process that I had to go through to explain why we only have steaks.
Alrite have to stop for now. About to play a scary game. (Can't wait><)

About two hours later

Whooo what a confusing game. No instructions were given but the graphics were pretty decent. Anyway, suffered my first attack by my coursemates today during lecture and was reminded of how cruel they can be. Even the Christ folowers in my course are brutal and superficial to the extreme. I am really gonna need God's strength to survive and his love to even talk to them. Please pray for me.

School survival journal day 1 and 2

2008-10-21T09:25:00.000-07:00

Day 1(meant to post this yesterday)
Nothing eventful happened today. Felt weird being back in school, almost like I'm an alien who just landed. Collected some contacts for sowing todaybut they didn't turn out so fruitful. Almost forgot how immature 1st years can be. Anyway have to thank God for giving me the strength to get through the day n for keeping mass comm students away from me. My defences are not ready for an attack by them yet.

Day 2
Today was worse than yesterday. Arrived in school only to find that the ppl I was supposed to go getting contacts with are not there. One was late and the other overslept. So didn't get any contacts at all. On the plus side, a cute girl gave us free drinks n sunflower seeds just to take part in some competition haha. Oh and then headed to parkway to help kelvin get ready for his 1st day at wrk(He's still currently telling me about how it went. Apperently he ate some bad chicken and potatos) Have to thank God again for giving me the strength to get through the day.

A Christian called Gabriel

2008-10-16T08:02:00.000-07:00

Whoo it's been awhile. Glad to say that I'm over my blue period...and I'm now beginning a new one. School's starting soon and I am SOOOOO not looking forward to the new semester. On top of that, Bradford Mead in "Ugly Betty" just died. I know he's a sinful guy but he died when he finally realized the truth. That's really tragic, to come to far only to have happiness snatched away.
I am EXTREMELY grateful that I have Jesus in my life, that I have God in my life now. When I recall his words "Never will I leave you. Never will I forsake you", I feel that the semester won't be so bad....Oh who am I kidding! Of course it'll be bad! It'll be absolutely horrible! It's like being poked in the eye with a burning stick!
But I'll survive, I will get through the whole semester. Braving the storms(assignments) and especially facing the demons(coursemates) and maybe, just maybe even cross impossible hurdles(loving my coursemates) AndI will stand tall at the end of the semester and I will praise God for his love, his grace, his mercy and for giving me the strength to do it.

P.S. Oh that's right, the reason I started this post is to announce something. Those who know me already know what it is but I thought I should make it official. I gonna be baptised WHOOOO!!! That is all(Guess what my baptised name is heehee)

P.P.S. Oh and I did a quiz today about my personality. I think it's all crap but one thing they said about me really struck me. No other personality quiz has ever said that about me before. So here it is: "You are concerned about your image and the way others see you. This means that you try very hard to be accepted by other people. It's time for you to believe in who you are, not what you wear." Dude That is soooo true haha

P.P.oh who cares! This post started out quite heartfelt but now it's turned out to be a post full of lameness. Now I'm feeling depressed, horrified, excited, emo and annoyed that school is starting. At the same time I'm feeling joyful, grateful and anticipative. Alrite ya see, this is what happens when you let your feelings run wild. XP

Of mistakes and regrets

2008-10-04T10:05:00.000-07:00

It's been 2 months....since I got to know you, and I don't regret a second of it...but I wonder, just wonder if maybe YOU do....? I am often amazed at your compassion and mercy for other people. Your love, kindness, and generousity of giving and giving but expecting nothing in return except our faith and obedience. I just sometimes wonder...why they don't apply to me...? Back in the days, I had no right to speak to you and ask for blessings, but now i do...or so I thought. Am I still not worthy enough? Do you regret having one more person to pay attention to? Was it a mistake to have accepted me? Would it have been better if we never met....?

I shall wait for your answer...or your condemnation...whichever comes first....Till then, I shall continue to have faith, to believe and to pray....

Quirky habits part 2

2008-09-17T11:51:00.000-07:00

Remember the list of odd habits I have that I posted here some time ago? Well I found out that I have another to add to that list. It seems that I repeat sentences and/or phrases said by other people. Haha I personally don't agree but my friends have said so and I guess I should amuse them.

Went to watch the premire of a Singapore made film called " The Days" last week. When I reached the cinema, I saw posters of the movie saying something about "Remember the days...and something about the superbowl" so I thought the movie was about American football or bowling; turns out that the movie was about gangsters in the olden days. Just what connection does the superbowl have with gangsters? (This was when I realised that there is no such thing as false advertising; just STUPID advertising.)
You'd think the stupidity would've ended after the movie but Mediacorp has decided to continue its tradition of spreading propaganda. Reporters started to "interview" oops...my mistake...started to "force positive comments" out of people. Turns out the whole movie was suppose to be in support of the yellow ribbon project only the movie doesn't show anything related to the yellow ribbon project AT ALL. In case some of you don't know, the YRP is to give a 2nd chance to ex-offenders but all the movie shows is one of the offenders going insane and ending up in a mental hospital after the other offender got killed. I very nearly became stupid after watching the movie but I didn't cos my pride won't allow it. Oh and Singaporens being Singaporens will say just about anything to get on television. (Even giving positive comments on a VERY crappy movie.)
God I pray that stupidity and vainity will be exorcised from these people by the power of your word.

P.S. I should state that the movie was that crappy. The filming techniques were very good. Camera angles, the shots and film editing were good. The plot was the thing that made it phenomenally stupid.

Pandora's Box

2008-09-07T08:31:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time since I last posted...too long I suppose...but then again time means very little; so little, when pieces of the puzzle are missing...that I don't notice its passing. That is a sure sign of indifference. How does it feel like to not feel anything at all? No fear, no love, no joy and no hate.
Feelings all come in a set. When you lock one emotion away, you lock the rest away as well. You will end up feeling nothing; you will have no emotion. Just a cruel sense of humour and a cold, cold heart. Vice versa, when you release one emotion, you release the others as well. Is it worth it to release hate just to release love? Is it worth it to release sorrow just to release joy?
Is it worth it to open Pandora's Box.....

Repost : Birth of the seven sins

2008-08-28T09:24:00.000-07:00

It is often said that misery loves company; truer words have never been spoken. Brought together by loneliness, dispair and desperation, they have ruined as many lives as they have saved. They have witnessed many horrors and caused such horrors.
The first to be born was Lust. The personification of passion, the exquisitity and beauty of it. She is a rose with many thorns. To behold her was to fall instantly in love, and be horrified at having done so.
The next was Greed. Her nature was simplicity in itself. To covet what she can't have and to continue doing it until she has everything she wants. Unaplogetic and headstrong, compromise is not an option, nor is acquiescence.
The third was Sloth. His nature conceals the tremendous personality and secrets in his heart that he reveals only to the select few fortunate enough to be counted among his inner circle.
Next came Pride. Too proud to depend on others and too refined to breakdown. The thing that defined him was his ability to maintain dignity in the most undignified of situations. A consummate professional, he maintains his hard earned reputation; classy and as refined as his namesake.
The fifth was Wrath. With fiery red hair to match her personality, her friendly nature belies the rage and bitterness that fester within her. She possesses a big temper which can lead to big consequences.
Next came Envy. No one understands bitterness and resentment better than him. Not having come to terms with his own inner demons, he dispises those who think they understand what he's going through.
The last is Gluttony. His unsatiable appitite extends beyond physical hunger to that of vengence againest those who wronged him. A deadly combination of vengefulness and a ravenous appitite, he will swallow even his emotions to accomplish his goals.

Bound together by loneliness, dispair and desperation, they have grown untrusting beyond the core. After years of sharing their bitterness, they were no longer just friends. Feeding off each others' strengths, they empower each other. Individually they are formidable but together, they wield enough power to decimate anyone who stands in their way. What they love and hate, they do so with full ferocity, with nothing held back and what they seek, they seek with the same singlemindedness. Woe betide those who stand in their way for they will learn firsthand the kind of power the seven sins command. What they do defines them, not having earned their names for nothing. They can hurt or they can heal, the option depending on their mood. A word of advice: The seven are not to be trifled with and no matter the circumstance should always be regarded with suspision and always approached with caution.

Why am I not happy? I'll tell ya why...

2008-08-27T08:14:00.000-07:00

...cos of my stupid insecurities that's why. And the only person who can help me is busy. Well that's great, just great. Ha! S'no problem, I can tough it out. I haven't been happy my whole life why should I be happy now? What's worse is that I can't eat chocolate or oily food cos of this stupid persistant sore throat that's been going on for about a week. I'm upset and without my comfort foods. You know there is something wrong when you're upset cos you're upset. Well shan't make this post too long(since it's probably gonna get deleted anyway) soooo...Good Night world and God Bless.

Poem repost

2008-08-22T10:43:00.000-07:00

The Red Tree

I saw apretty tree that night

with leaves a deep dark red

It beckoned me and I followed

without a word being said

Haunted by such beauty I

stepped closer for a look

Then I saw- but just a glance

yet one glance was all it took

A glimpse of a tear-stained face streaked past

those blazing brown eyes

one second-he was gone with the wind

but my senses tell no lies

He was somewhere around, I felt him near

that poor tormented soul

What suffering he had endured in the past

will soon begin to unfold

I looked for him around the tree

A game of cat and mouse

Unguarded memories came to me

memories of a house

These memories were not mine but yet

who else's could they be?

I searched for the boy whose heart was

so alike the dark red tree

The house- A cold, bleak, broken place

with windows and a door

From afar I could hear the screams inside

something crashed onto the floor

A little boy ran out- escaped

His black hair stained with blood

A tall dark shadow which made me shiver

emerged and soon gave chase

The boy was caught and brought back there

with no one to save him

Screams and sobs disappear through the door

into the darkness forever

I find myself back at the tree

and heard a sad song sung

I looked up and saw the boy, whose body

from a branch was hung

That blood dark hair, those brown eyes which

stared down from above

The song came form the tree itself

mourning his lost life

His body swayed gently with the breeze

His face was streaked with dirt and mud

I touched the trunk and it was wet

stained with drak red blood

Filled with horror, I turned and ran

away from what I'd seen

away from the boy still hanging there

away from what he'd been

Time has passed, though he remains

etched in my memory

Those brown eyes they knew no love

the boy and the blood red tree

As time passed, I slowly realized

But no, it couldn't be

That boy, whose soul so battered and bruised

was in fact really me...

And the dawn breaks...

2008-08-14T09:24:00.000-07:00

I got the latest book of the Twilight series and I can't wait to read it. It's called Breaking Dawn. But as much as I would like to, there is another that I have to finish reading 1st. Or well, I don't really HAVE to finish it 1st but every time I try to concentrate on the events unfolding in the Twlight book, my thoughts just keep shifting back to the other book which makes it hard to enjoy my favourite book, the book I've been waiting 8 months for it to be released. Oh for those who have no idea what the Twlight series is, it's about a love triangle between a human girl, a vampire and a werewolf. Well up till the events of the 3rd book, the girl decided to choose the vampire and broke the werewolf's heart. Now the werewolf is running; away from the pain; away from his emotions; away from everything. I can relate to that...

P.S. I watched a movie about a 15 year old guy who gets a girl pregnant. That's all I'm gonna say.

Of sins and sinners

2008-08-10T08:02:00.000-07:00

There is a widely read book that tells us everyone is a sinner. Of course not everyone who reads this book feels guilt over the sins they commit. At the same time, there are those who assume more than their fair share of guilt. (Guess who I'm talking about hehe)

There are a few of us who try not to sin anymore but it is REALLY REALLY hard. Ok ppl probably haven't got a clue what I'm talking about which is a pity on one hand and a huge relief on another. It's a pity cos no one, or not actually no one but very few ppl will know what I kind of temptation I have to resist and its a relief cos very few ppl will know what kinds of atrocities I've committed in the past.

Alright better not stray too far from the topic. The point is that I'm tired of sinning and more importantly I'm tired of the judgemental look that a certain someone always gives me when I talk to him about my sins. I'm tired of wishing death on complete strangers just cos they exhale in my airspace and I'm tired of wanting to throw things at happy couples cos they just just seem so happy. Every sin leaves a mark and they shall stay with you until you decide to erase them. Of course some marks are harder to erase than others and some sins are harder to absolve than others.

There is a widely read book that tells us everyone is a sinner. But not everyone feels guit over the sins they commit. In fact, most sinners simply vow to do better tomorrow and choose to worry about their sins, another time. (You know who you are)

P.S. I haven't seen Journey to the center of the earth and The Mummy: Tomb of the dragon emperor yet.

The sins of the past have come back

2008-08-07T09:22:00.000-07:00

Memories of my past have been returning gradually, reminding me of the things I've done. It's not surprising, I've faced my demons before but it's the 1st time I've had to face so many at once. It's a little overwhelming but it's nothing I can't handle. All my life i've not let myself succumb to my past demons and I'm not about to start now. At least this time I know I'm not fighting alone.
Still it's surprising that the memories I've tried so hard to forget are coming back. I'm not afraid but I'm don't like remembering them. I think the only thing to do now is to...as much as I hate to admit it...Talk. I don't like talking, esp about myself but it's the only way to stop the nightmares from continuing and there is only one person (this time) whom I can talk to. The time is coming in a mere 2 days so I'll just have to hold out till then.
It's ok though. I've been holding out for years which feel like centuries, facing and fighting of my personal demons each time they surface. 2 more days wouldn't hurt.

Many happenings

2008-08-03T10:55:00.000-07:00

Rmb when I said I wanted exciting things to happen? Well...things are happening, boy are they happening. Underwent a life-changing...change...for lack of better word but I'm not gonna post it on this blog. Oh and rmb the guy who fell for the waitress, well he's desperate for a girlfriend, really desperate. We met up on thursday at Vivocity to catch up since he quit his job and we haven't seen each other for awhile. He told me how he kept jumping from one girl to another in the hopes of finding a girlfriend, only he hasn't been successful. He even asked another waitress from work to go out with him and he had to converse in mandarin with her, something which he is NOT very good at. Also, when we went to eat at KFC later, he asked the girl sitting next to us for her number. She said she was attached but he still asked her to be friends and after some coaxing from me, they exchanged numbers. I really don't know what to say to him.
It seems alot of bad things are happening. One of my church friends' laptop got stolen while they were playing street soccer, and then another one's ankle twisted the very same day. And just this evening, right after the Festival of Praise, one of them broke down and cried. Then his whole body tensed up and he became immobalized on the ground. I feel guilty cos he wept cos he was worried about his friend who has been having family troubles. I think he must have felt very helpless about the situation cos he sorta curled up into a fetal position which signifies the period of time in the womb when the baby is most helpless. Luckily a nice lady stopped to help and drive us to the nearest hospital (Bless her). The doctor said he was fine and it was just a fever but still...yeah...feeling abit guilty. Don't know if the bad things that have been happening are due to me.

EMERGENCY!!!

2008-08-02T10:30:00.000-07:00

Everyone meet me online tonight at 9. We have much to talk about...

Sharing stuff about me (God forbid)

2008-07-30T09:51:00.000-07:00

Alright I know I've got alot of quirks that alot of ppl keep asking me about and I'm tired of answering them (although the ppl who ask these questions don't even know about this blog) BUT still they can't blame me for not making it known to the public. So...(takes a deep breath) here goes...

1) I prefer standing up to sitting so that if there is a crazed madman who suddenly barges into the room or comes charging forward, I can leap out of the way in time or at the very least defend myself better.

2) Whenever I'm in deep thought or preoccupied with something, I like to pace about. It's NOT cos I have to go to the bathroom so stop asking me that.

3) Apperently when I'm frustrated or irritated, my English accent becomes more apperant. I don't know if I'm doing it or not, it just comes naturally to me, I do it subconsciously so if I am doing it, please don't be alarmed. On the plus side, it makes me unique while on the down side, ppl who know about this particular quirk can easily tell when something is bothering me.

4) I don't like ppl walking so close behind me. It just makes me uncomfortable so don't blame me if I take a few furtive glances behind me. I dunno why I do it (maybe it's cos I've been backstabbed one too many times so now I just like to cover all my bases) but I just do alright so get used to it haha.

5) I'm quiet ok. That's the way I am so please stop asking me WHY I'm quiet. I've been backstabbed too many times(see no. 4) so I'm a little...less trusting to say the least. That being said, it takes a longer time for me to warm up to others. It took me a few years just to open up to a guy who is now one of my...greatest friends. Also, to my close friends, great friends and good friends, when and if I don't talk, it's not cos I don't think of you as a friend but I just can't think of anything to say.

6) I classify friends according to levels. The lowest level starts at the associate level, followed by the acquaintence level, then the friend level, good friend, great friend, close friend and lastly the best friend. The level of stuff I share with ppl are also according to the levels, the higher the level, the more stuff I share.

7) Speaking of sharing, I don't just blurt out every single thing on my mind (unless you're my close friend or best friend, where I just let the crap come out of my mouth). If ppl wanna know what's going on in my life, they are gonna have to ask. I won't talk about my problems unless ppl ask. The good friends and great friends that know about this know that they are going to have to ask very specific questions or else they won't be able to find out anything.

Alright that's all the quirks I can think of. If I think of any others I'll update. Cheers=)

Debt to society

2008-07-26T22:44:00.000-07:00

I think society functions based on the theory of debt. People go through life repaying or trying to repay debt which they owe others. be it a debt to our parents, kids, spouses or especially our basic instinct. For example, we have an obligation to our parents for raising us so we take care of them when we grow up and start working. But before that, our parents also have an obligation to us for bringing us into this cruel world so they are obligated to raise us. The same goes for when we have kids of our own. We have an obligation to the human race to have kids for continuation of the human race. When we get married, we have an obligation to god to stay married cos we swear we would "love, hornor and obey; till death do us part". Which is why divorces are so frowned upon. We have an obligation to our spouses to keep to the promise we made to them and vice versa. We have a debt to our country for providing us with public facilities that's why we pay taxes. We have an obligation to almost everyone we know. An endless cycle of repaying debt and obligation.

Booorrriiinnnggg part 4

2008-07-24T10:08:00.000-07:00

YES I"M STILL WAITING FOR SOMETHING EXCITING TO HAPPEN!!!
Nothing's happening...why isn't anything happening? And I'm starting to talk to myself...bad sign...really bad sign...
Oh well, maybe I'll just create my own excitement. I know I'll write "Just Married" on both my arms and walk around throwing confetti on myself. Or I could go around yelling " HELP! HELP!MY BUTTS ON FIRE!" Ya know what? I think I'll do just that...cept I'm exhausted so I'm just gonna take a long nap first.

Booorrriiinnnggg part 3

2008-07-23T07:21:00.001-07:00

I'm STILL waiting for something exciting to happen...