Digress, and back to you again.

More than ever during times like these - like what, exactly? Even I'm not sure what they are - I need to talk to you. Or I want to. It's not a need, or is it? Is it more of a want than a need, or do wants gradually become needs? I don't know, I'm digressing.

It's not when I'm sad or depressed or angry at the world or whatever; it's those particular moments. Like when you hear a certain song it transports you back into the scene when you first heard it - how you felt, where you were and what you were, even. I want to share those feelings with you again, albeit it probably wasn't anything worth talking about. I don't even remember much of our dialogue, actually. Were those words, phrases, sentences even considered conversations?

No, they were prose. There wasn't a beginning (or did it have one?). There wasn't an ending (it didn't need one). It was just... the middle. Full of ramblings and going-ons that I don't even remember now. I thought I could but I can't remember now. Why do I like to delve into this endless and meaningless(?) chatter - except that it wasn't meaningless and I still don't think it is.

Why aren't you trying to continue what you said you wanted? This doesn't equate to love - what the heck is love, anyway? Just a word that doesn't serve to explain itself - but I might be in love with those words. They were beautiful, sometimes hurting, but still true. I miss those words.

I know where you are, but, where, no really, where exactly are you?

MTF.

G:
Remember - now the world is changing.
They need people from different fields.
MBA schools are now heavily recruiting sportsmen for business schools;
where they know NOTHING about business,
and their managers manage their money.

V:
Really?
You mean in the US?

G:
Yeah, I read it in Businessweek.
You want to know why?

No. 1:
The world is becoming or has already turned into a flat-ceiling society where everyone get access to any information.

No. 2:
Who cares even if you don't have business knowledge?

No. 3:
They want sportsmen to be in their business school for their qualities - their determination, perseverance, and team work. In businesses, people work in teams and everything is about teamwork.

This article definitely enlightens me, even in the real world.
Companies recruit people from different fields to manage their companies.

For instance, Toyota is recruiting people who know NOTHING about cars to manage -
because they want a different perspective.

Many American companies are recruiting from Singapore too, and putting Singaporeans in their offices now.

I think this phenomenon is happening really quickly especially since the economy is in such a mess now.

People are eagerly looking for ways to increase their profit and the only way is to step away from convention and tradition.

That's what I think.
I don't know why I suddenly became so philosophical.
Hope this gives you hope.

-

It does, dear.
Thank you.

Going back.

Down the lane of past
Again, again and again
Eyes clouding over with
unexplained hesitation
I hate you, and
I hate myself, and
I still think about how
it would have turned out

I prefer this feeling
to be anger;
Anything else so
I won't have to face
the smiling faces of both.

You (don't)
deserve to be happy.

And we hope,

against all logic,

against all experience.

A heavy heart,

and tears in her eyes when I came in.

I look at the wallpaper on my phone and think of how she must be feeling, how she must feel everyday just lying there, staring at the ceiling with that shaft of light next to her.

It's such a damn waste that she can't be surrounded by kids whom she'd love and take care of. In my mind there's always an image of a smiling and contented woman, but we all know she can't be that. That imaginary woman is just that - imaginary, and she'll never exist nor be able to.

Lying there is no less painful than being a vegetable. Vegetables can't move like her, they can't eat, talk, they can't even open their eyelids. But they are thinking endlessly; their minds and dreams moving a million miles a minute. Thinking all day. And all night. Sleeping and waking without anyone noticing. And thinking again. No pain, no way to show that you're still alive other than the beep of a heart monitor and the rising and falling of your chest. Choose to die? That isn't even a possibility.

Even a minute would seem like forever. In this case, it is forever.

-

It's not always better when you have that choice.
When you hurt people by choosing.
When you hurt them by not choosing.

What if.

I still think about this _____.

Sometimes _____ appears -

in my dreams.

And I still

keep some things. The only things left.

And some in my book.

For both.

You can't lose someone you never had.

Speaks for you.

Speaks for you.

A picture of days gone by

Dewy air
The rain in full swing
Listening, looking at nothing
Guarding these moments in silence
No escaping the fleeting breeze
Mistakes encroaching upon small things,
gradually
Past those of importance
Onto old mistakes by turn
My slavish and unyielding tongue -

Not anymore.

Beneath the clear I try, to no avail,
to peek
Words start playing coy
Having grown accustomed to
We have both been weaned from the truth
Speaking of ideals in fiction
Unknown expectations
and the trails we'll blaze,
yet

Blank page.

We don't forget. We never do.

I have to make myself interesting for you, I think.
I'm not good enough to be, I think. And that is a 100% correct statement, when it actually comes down to it. No excuse.

You don't know me at all, yet you know me so well. I am already this when it comes to you.

Ms.

Knocking into the windowsill, they go all out, head-on, and pitter-patter no longer is so - sounds more like stones slamming, into the night 'cos they've lost their way, it's dark, the splatters are just sounds made factual by science, the earth is thirsty, so parched, so it comes down like a blanket and covers all; things get washed away, everything glisters and blurs, then something blows, something that toys with the foliage I can't see, like the something happening at this instant that is not touchable or visible; but thinkable, inner-self crap is not what it is, more like an internal mind-jab that the brain refuses to dodge, mostly consisting of memoirs without actual memories, heartaches of an 'imaginary friend', the heart aches, the mind breaks into small fragments, one of those belonging to you, and maybe another on another day and the other on a different one but tonight one of those has flown through the darkness and the wetness and the currents in the air to that place where it resides, just for tonight, that night, the other night.

You chipped in

when it came to breaking off a piece. It replays.
Not all the time, but it does.
You're getting there. Am I.
-

Horrible things do happen.
Happiness in the face of all of that?
That -
not the goal.

Feeling the horrible,and knowing that you're not gonna die from those feelings...
that's the point.

Coming home to a post-it.

I'm talking but I'm mute.
It's not over.

Everyday, it's like I never left you at all.
Like coming home to a post-it.

Look for you.

I don't want to only when things go wrong.

I can hardly speak

I understand why you can't raise your voice to say


We're bound to be afraid.
Afraid to face, afraid to trust, afraid to speak, sfraid to hear.
We run for our lives. We're not so different from animals after all.
I can't admit.

Pain.

You just have to ride it out. You can only hope it goes away on its own, hope the wound that caused it heals. There are no solutions, no easy answers, you just breath deep and wait for it to subside.
-

Some other will do a better job.

I am still.

We deny we're tired, we deny that we're scared, we deny how badly we want to succeed. And most importantly, we deny that we're in denial. We only see what we want to see and believe what we want to believe, and it works. We lie to ourselves so much that after a while the lies start to seem like the truth. We deny so much that we can't recognize the truth... right in front of our faces.

-

To understand this denial is too much to ask for anymore, yes.
But.
I'm still asking.

One out of many.

One grown cold,
Restored to beauty for eternity.



Two lives and two souls that may never collide again.
Sometimes goodbye is a second chance.

You are the bigger person.

Far away.

Maybe we're never coming back.

-

What can be done;
To take,
from whatever that is left
So you will be able to see.
To let you
in the only way I know how.
.

I'm sorry.

People have scars. In all sorts of unexpected places. Like secret roadmaps of their personal histories. Diagrams of all their old wounds. Most of our wounds heal, leaving nothing behind but a scar. But some of them don't. Some wounds we carry with us everywhere and though the cut's long gone, the pain still lingers.

This is for you. I tried, but in the wrong way.
Regardless of whatever, you matter. In the right way this time.

For once,

I'm not running anymore.



I wished I had used my time to know you.

If it's such a bother,

Sometimes, the people who matter the most are the ones who don't bother. On the contrary, those who dwell backstage, the ones behind the scenes; they are the people who come right out of their way to know you. They surprise you.

We always look at things on the surface. We take people at face value. We put so much attention on the ones on-screen, we neglect the people who are behind the curtains. The ones whom we forget take their bows at the back. Sometimes all they need to remind them that we do care is a gentle touch, a reassuring word, a casual greeting, a small response. A 'yes, please', a 'no, thank you'.

Small things.

They do not require us to put them on pedestals. They do not pressure for special treatment. They are the ones who prefer to stay on the same level with us, so they can take a walk in our shoes, try and understand how we feel and take effort into giving us their replies. These people, we should learn to treasure.




don't bother.

Wake up.

Reality. It's so much more interesting than living happily ever after.

-
It feels weird.
Silence, can be deafening.

What's worse,

new wounds which are so horribly painful or old wounds that should've healed years ago and never did?

Maybe our old wounds teach us something. They remind us where we've been and what we've overcome. They teach us lessons about what to avoid in the future. That's what we like to think. But that's not the way it is, is it? Some things we just have to learn over and over and over again.

-
I dislike looking to talk. It makes me feel needy. A different kind of needy. I don't like needy, of any sort. I used to be. I may still be. But I don't want to be.

I want to know why it always encompasses us. Why we feel the need to share, why we feel the need to be heard, why we feel like we can't hold it in, other than for purely superficial reasons. And as for hiding behind superficial dresses, yes, that is how I am. How I've always been. But that doesn't make me wrong. The truth is, we never really know which is the dress we really want. We think we do, but we don't. Dresses do not necessarily make us happy. Sometimes all we want may be just... a pair of leggings. A scarf. Not a damn dress.

Dresses are highly overrated.

Driveway.

I think it was the damned song.
Her eyes, her earnestness.
"Dr. Grey."

"They think that you're taking advantage of me and they think that I'm using you.

But they don't know us.

They think that we're ugly but I know that we're beautiful. And we can adapt to a hostile environment."
Up at the ceiling, where we come from.

Stand By Me.

Forlorn, dejected, somber.
What an expression.
"For what it's worth, I want you to fight."

"Thank you."

I am a rock.

I am a rock.
I am an island.
-

This thing thumping in me, is an idiot.
It deserves something else, better or worse.

What in the !@#$%^&*&()_)+ am I typing.

At this moment, now.

We're both in this, together.

The words crave expression
Accompanied by thoughts lingering
And ignorance teasing
Like an old balloon, it is held
Released with too much eagerness
Hoping she finds alleviation
With the new air

Not too much, not too much to ask at all.

Good morning, sunshine.

Waking up today, it was cold out
There's something I should say, but I can't get my head around
The bends in your brain and your elaborate pain
Makes me tired

As an old balloon, I hold my breath
Like a penance paid too soon, and with too much eagerness
To know what is true
When air is changed by you
Makes it hard
.

I think last night

you were driving circles around me.


Not everything's about you. It doesn't matter even if it was.
You'll never be happier than you are now, and there's really nothing wrong with that.

I'm selfish, too.
-

Fleeting, as it may seem.
Nothing passes without rememberance.
Like an old photograph, fades.
And negatives lost.
Even so.
Bittersweet, the indifference spared.
We're here, then we're gone.

.

Right from the beginning, I couldn't explain why I felt as if something bad was going to happen.
Now I know it was you.
Were you telling the truth, like you always do?
I wish I could doubt you. Just this once.

Starting with your right hand.

Chords learnt.
It's too sunny a day for this song.
It's soothing, though.

I haven't felt like this in a long time.
Work doesn't make my nerves tingle.
Countless e-mails and Word documents.

Somewhere along I uncover photos, those seemingly taken ages ago. I wonder how I felt. I don't remember. Maybe that's the entire point of making decisions. You decide whether you want to relive it or not. Maybe it's when you can't decide that memories replay and you feel like you want to make new ones.

I noticed I said 'I'. Is that wrong? Must it always be about the other? I seem to take notice of all the wrong things, look forward to events that do not necessarily mean anything to anyone. Except maybe me. And maybe not as well. Maybe I'm just trying to make it a 'thing'.

I don't know. Stupid ramblings.

Stop

raining,
thinking,
searching,
giving,
waiting,
being.
It's the wrong kind of place to be thinking of you.
Quit playing around.
Stop singing.
Stop wanting to hear it.
Is it alright?
It's not alright.
I don't want to hear it.
It's a small crime, and I've got no excuse.

I've got, a message.

My song is love
Love to the loveless shown
And it goes on
You don't have to be alone

Your heavy heart
Is made of stone
And it's so hard to see clearly
You don't have to be on your own
You don't have to be on your own

And I'm not gonna take it back
And I'm not gonna say I don't mean that
You're the target that I'm aiming at
Got to get that message home

My song is love
My song is love, unknown
But I'm on fire for you, clearly
You don't have to be alone
You don't have to be on your own

And I'm not gonna take it back
And I'm not gonna say I don't mean that
You're the target that I'm aiming at
And I'm nothing on my own
Got to get that message home

And I'm not gonna stand and wait
Not gonna leave it until it's much too late
On a platform I'm gonna stand and sing
That I'm nothing on my own
And I love you, please come home

My song is love, is love unknown
And I've got to get that message home

To tell you.

'You don't like me very much, do you?'

"Er.."

'No, it's good, it's good,
because I need to tell you something.
I need to tell you because I need to tell somebody and..
You're a robot. You can take it.'

"Okay."

'I can't tell you here.'

"Okay."

'I can't.'

"Okay."

'Okay.'

It's not like I can

expect anything.

I need everything to
be
slowly understood.
To not make myself
go
down.
Like how I did before.
I need to listen, to observe, to sense, to feel.
I need less of actually thinking, of interpreting.
Less assumptions.
Less thoughts.
I want to be caught up in those moments.
To just be present, just there, just like that.

It's so much more beautiful that way.

Sometimes some things cannot be fixed.

We all go through life like bulls in a china shop.
A chip here, a crack there.
Doing damage to ourselves, to other people.
The problem is trying to control the damage we've done,
or that's been done to us.
Sometimes the damage catches us by surprise.
Sometimes we think we can fix the damage.

What I am to you,

is not real.
you do not need.
is not what you mean to me.


How to even begin.
Describing the inner workings of the heart.
Not possible.
(Those) moments are all we have.
Keep them close.

Spinning.

Head bursting with thoughts.
Irrelevance.
Unprecedented feelings.
Heart isn't working today.
Holidaying in Utah.
Seemingly swelling irises.
Hurts to look at the screen.
Weariness; no relief though.
Should really try to sleep.

She's not happy.

She sits alone, watching the telly.
They stand behind her.
Arrivals. A gentle touch, a squeeze of her hand.
She smiles.
Anger brews quietly around her.
Arguing, chairs screeching on the floor.
Nasty words spewing amongst.
She sits and watches. She listens.
She asks.
No, no. It's nothing, they say.
It continues. She watches still.
Hurried, violent departures.
Awkwardness, uncomfortable silence.
Still she sits alone, watching her telly.

The air around seems different now.

Idiot. (I am)

Blurry like a railroad journey
You get down, so
You need the music that enrings
You've got someone in your hand
Another in your mistiness
And several in your open arms
Sometime, sometime

Maybe you’ll pin nothing else on me
I get down sometimes
And I am perforated plenty
It’s you on the train
You don’t know where you’re heading to
Or even where you started out from

Noone ever talks to me like you do
I don’t like what you say, but at least it’s true



Perforated plenty.

What I really need.

The smiles, glances, laughter and that fifteen minutes.

Who doesn't?

Can anybody truthfully say:

I don't ever judge others.
I don't ever look down on others.
I don't ever malign others.
I'm never selfish.


Don't say it too soon; you never know what you might or might not do.

Not supposed to

be happy when you initiate.
be happy when you respond.
be happy in your 'presence'.
be happy when you are just there.

'Cos some parts are broken.

I do not need this.

But I might want it.

We can't always have the things we want. It would be too easy then. We're an uncontented species, always wanting to achieve more, always wanting to climb higher. What we're all forgetting is that the higher we go, the lower we'll fall eventually. If that's not called asking for it, I don't know what it can be called.

On a more random note,
I would like to hear more from you. It does calm me down.

Possessed to obsess.

I have this compulsive, obsessive personality disorder which drives me to sprout nonsense and babble on about random issues and bare embarrassing facts and say things without thinking or not really saying whatever I wanted to say in the first place and dodging questions which I know I want to answer.

I just can't stop thinking or waiting or thinking again.

It doesn't mean I'm already on another train or waiting to climb on board one. I just want to stay on the platform and watch the passing trains. Being here calms me down and makes me feel contented.

You're my person.

Thanks for being that for me.

Thanks for being emotional, secretive, mysterious.
More importantly, thanks for coming back to fix me.

Thanks for letting me stay, for listening, for offering.
Thanks for uncondtionally supporting me.
Thanks for telling me it's okay to make mistakes, and that I do deserve everything good.




Thanks for being you.

I want to make you happy, too.

I knew I knew it then.

'The truth is painful.

Deep down, nobody wants to hear it, especially when it hits close to home. Sometimes we tell the truth because the truth is all we have to give. Sometimes we tell the truth because we need to say it out loud to hear it for ourselves. And sometimes we tell the truth because we just can't help ourselves. Sometimes, we tell them because we owe them at least that much.'

It's only my heart,

save yourself.


I'm just the same.
Same as I ever was.

I guess I should know better,

when it comes to falling.




God my heart's going to spontaneously combust.
I hate this feeling so much.
I can't seem to let go today.
What's wrong?
There's no such thing as what anybody wants, there's just too much of us filled with nothing.

Does what I didn't say speak for itself already?

At the end of the day, there are some things you just can't help but talk about. Some things we just don't want to hear, and some things we say because we can't be silent any longer. Some things are more than what you say, they're what you do. Some things you say cause there's no other choice. Some things you keep to yourself. And not too often, but every now and then, some things simply speak for themselves.

The Look.

I think it was on the last day of the last year of my supposed adolescence.



It's so stupid/not stupid(?). Just go/don't go(?) and leave my thoughts alone.

80 46.

Apparently if you

1. start experiencing uber-dizzy spells and see black spots whenever you stand up,
2. and feel as if the world is spinning when you try to change your sleeping position in the middle of the night and it gets so bad you feel like puking,
3. and take your blood pressure and these two numbers appear after the final beep on the machine,

you're doomed.

Those numbers are evil. They trigger the 'crazy woman' gene in your mom and cause her to exclaim aloud and run around muttering to herself. That or she'll start handing out grapes and loads of raisins to you feverishly. Or both.

It was a miracle she didn't start feeding me like a baby with 'gaga' and 'googoo' sounds.

ACPM's dream; 2-16-14-4-15-6-10-7-1-8-3-11-13-9-17-18-5-12

Underneath the sheets.
My place.
Awkward, then awareness, comfortness.
Scooted over.
Ant with his retainers in car.
Arms around hips.
Norm, even convo.
'Kiss me.'
Mom's car, we sat.
Stopped play.
'This is the happiest day/This is a happy day'(?)
Mom drove down to park; introduction.
Out on a strange road.
You playing your favorite new/boring game.
Your cheek.
I napped, woke, and saw.
Girlfriends: none 'cept Thai - Tina? Tyna?
Manuevering your way at the wheel.
Such stuff that dreams are made of.
I hope I never wake up.

Like I'm invisible.

Guess I can't help again. Or even listen.

Don't cling to things; everything is impermanent.

'Learn to detach.'

But wait, aren't you always talking about experiencing life? All the good emotions, all the bad ones?

'Yes.'

Well, how can you do that if you're detached?

'Ah. You're thinking. But detachment doesn't mean you don't let the experience penetrate you. On the contrary, you let it penetrate you fully. That's how you are able to leave it.'

I'm lost.

'Take any emotion - love for a woman, or grief for a loved one. If you hold back on the emotions - if you don't allow yourself to go all the way through them - you can never get to being detached, you're too busy being afraid. You're afraid of the pain, you're afraid of the grief. You're afraid of the vulnerability that loving entails.'

"But by throwing yourself into these emotions, by allowing yourself to dive in, all the way, over your head even, you experience them fully and completely. You know what pain is. You know what love is. You know what grief is. And only then can you say, 'All right. I have experienced that emotion. I recognize that emotion. Now I need to detach from that emotion for a moment.'"


I thought about how often this was needed in everyday life. How we feel lonely, sometimes to the point of tears, but we don't let those tears come because we are not supposed to cry. Or how we feel a surge of love for a partner but we don't say anything because we're frozen with the fear of what those words might do to the relationship.

The approach was exactly the opposite. Turn on the faucet. Wash yourself with the emotion. It won't hurt you. It will only help. If you let the fear inside, if you pull it on like a familiar shirt, then you can say to yourself, "All right, it's just fear, I don't have to let it control me. I see it for what it is."

Same for loneliness: you let go, let the tears flow, feel it completely - but eventually be able to say, "All right, that was my moment with loneliness. I'm not afraid of being lonely, but now I'm going to put that loneliness aside and know that there are other emotions in the world, and I'm going to experience them as well."


Detach.

It's been awhile.

Hello blogger, me, myself, and I again.

Present mood: Restless. If I were a cork, I'd pop!

Been tied down with family issues (not always my own), hospital visits, burning the Styles & Trends midnight oil every Wednesday night, liars, worrying concepts and !@#$%^&*() warring FMP zones - I'm beat.

Speaking of which, I've been worried sick about the FMP issue since we got wind of bad news last Tuesday. Can't help feeling all hopeless and anxious in a fling-myself-off-a-building way.

I'm serious.

I don't get why WE have to have a Plan B, especially since WE have been the ones who were serious with our concept since the beginning and have progressed so much beyond The Others. ARGHHHHHHHH. I reallllllllllllllly am worried. To the max. This is the final stretch. Our moment of glory and achievement. And before we can even climb halfway up the Ladder of Triumph some others just have to shoot us down first.

Not that we're down already. But in a sense I can't see any future in this anymore. This truly sucks. It blows. They blow.

Goddamn it. There's just no way to make it better unless they bow out. And I believe they should. But then again is there any way we can find a better idea than them? One that will beat them hands (and legs, and the rest of them) down.

This is absolute crap. GOD SAVE ME. SAVE US. GIVE US A DAMN SIGN.