In Death We Trust.

The past few days have been filled, with both activity and food. As busy as an international jet-setter yet the mind never fails to drift and wander in the moaning moors of contemplation, of disdain and sickening speculation. No doubt I have been happy but that malingerer of a thought has been loitering in the back of my mind throughout. I know not what to think and when I think of what is to happen I can only feel sorry. I can only stand behind the one-way mirror and watch, a spectator and almost an accessory to this heinous crime.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. I smell blood in the air. I hope that it only comes from my own wounds...

Propagation of the Truth.

Midnight. All is quiet. The silence is both soothing to the soul as it reeks with its indiscreet slither of insanity. All is still. All but that silent thump. *thump* *thump* *thump*, it goes slowly and - as if growing impatient - it slowly becomes louder and louder until *CRASH*.

What began as an innocent little pat would slowly become an incessant flurry of mad flailing and pounding upon the walls. The masons, the guards and gatekeepers are diligent. They stand fast and hold the fort. The walls will hold. There shall be no defeat this day. This day. What about the next? What about the month ahead? What about the future? Will fatigue not find its way into the souls of these obstacles? These shields of meat? Will not we succumb?

The city will soon tire of the ringing in its ears. Blow upon blow, it grew from a silent rhythmic harmony to a skippy beat and when the cacophony reaches its crescendo, will the city still be there? Will the walls hold? Not on this day. We are tired, we are hurt, but we have yet to be broken.

Hold fast and still my dears. Perhaps they can't see us shaking from the outside... We will win and they will never know of this...

D.A.R.D.

What we can always rely on with confidence is who we are - our own personal Northern Stars to guide us through the sins we commit. The blank slates of our life continuously imprinted upon by grace, marred by betrayal, caressed by romance and love, defaced beyond recognition by loss and missed opportunities yet embroidered with memories of beauty and the mystical. The sins of our fathers, they haunt us like they were our own. Countless folds upon folds of unvoiced agony alongside the multitude of tears shed for joy, sorrow, grief and anger emanate within us. Silently dictating which path we take along the labyrinthine journey of life. Every step one takes along their path inevitably becomes an indispensable part of them, becoming one with the traveller's personal vat. Personal. Who we are. Who are we?

Some believe that we are the product of what we are put through, twisted metal scraps regurgitated from the grinder. Others believe that we are what we were taught to be, perverse images of flamboyant ideals.

Although I cannot invalidate the two, I must add that there is more to the equation. We are also the fruit born of what we want to become. Our capability to learn through interaction and through observation allows us to take a look at the bigger picture and decide what we would like to become. What I speak of has been labelled as intra-personal intelligence. Such introspection exists but is not practiced by all. Looking into one's self is not always simple and may be harrowing for some.

It is the examination of what we have become as a result of the collective trauma and glee which we have seen and been put through. We do actively choose what we become but it may not always be a choice we readily or even consciously make but there is always a choice. Heavily dependent on what one believes in for him or herself: True Justice, True Love, True Peace, True Joy, the list continues. The quest we embark upon is for the personal development of ourselves as engines of our beliefs.

Alas, through the twine of some lives, there is not time enough for such petty self-indulgence. Life carries on and little or no concern goes along with the decisions which are made with repercussion to the neighbour. The road is rocky, worn are the wheels but the truck which is them will still trample upon the livestock it ploughs through. The collateral is of no consequence to the actor. The injured lie broken and spiteful and decide to bring their truck to the fields...

Thankfully, I have no car yet.

The incoherence. I love it! I love it!!

Where The Yellow-Brick Road Crumbles...

Life is but a dream. That is what it seems to be at the present. A mundane, meandering, slow-boating dream filled to the brim with subtle chaos.

'lo the pressing of those on the other side of the glass as they smear their faces upon the dome of the life I would like to call my own. Watch as they attempt to leave an impression of their hideous grimace upon the frames of my mind. They leave nothing but more; more shit on my wall to face.

It seems a custom I hold to myself that everything I attempt will end in failure. The confidence I portray is but the presence of the Masque or care (which in the case of the latter would be the lack thereof).

Less than a moon has past since I was told that I had spent close to two years working on something which might be deemed insufficient or irrelavent. Would I face the axe for the shame which currently dwells within me? The bile of bitterness returns directed otherwise at not only those which shot me to pieces but to the shards over the ground which made up myself.

Far from eager to learn of the fruit my labour has borne, far from ready to approach strangers and request that I be compensated for my 8.30-6.00 hours and far from ready to deal with everything else being smeared on my face.

Escapist, guide my path. Where shall I hide next?

Drizzling.

I remember holding you, holding you so tight.
I remember feeling the warmth of you in my arms once again.
The smell of your hair always seemed to sober me to the fact that I loved you.
The stuff of magic, how simple I thought it would be just to hold you like that,
just to engage in that embrace, be the embrace.
To be able to feel your heart beat,
to lie next to you listening to you breath,
to try and breathe with you,
like one being,
To watch you sleep.

Seeing that again brings memories so dear to me,
but the words you spoke and what you asked of me was no short from baffling.
It reminded me that it was not real.
That question awakened me and slapped me out of it although I kept dreaming.
How could it be that you would ask that of me?
How could it be true that you would want that still?
How could I answer that?

We just lay there, as I held you in my arms.
So simply, so close.
The tenderness of your lips still tingles on mine,
I saw it all again, the way it was, the way I thought it should be.
But I knew.
Once you find out you're dreaming, you rise in disappointment.
I do not know how I would answer what you asked of me.
Impossible.

But I fear the answer should fall far from yes.

22...

Today marks the end of my 21st year. Last night my friends held a little party which I would like to think was for me. Drinks aplenty, food abundant, the music was to my liking... a little too much to my liking I'd say.

Happiness was what I had felt. Something that I hadn't felt purely for a long time. Alas, this happiness was not to be pure either. I was as happy as my capacity allowed at the time. I spent the entire night orbitting the emptiness which was the core of my existence then; it has been for a long, long time now. A simple shrug and point was all I needed to reaffirm myself that as happy as the occassion was, it was not for me. The happiness alas, was not for me. I know not what can ever fill this hideous vacuum which now resides in my heart... I know not why it or I was even there to begin with.
To be with my friends. People who I celebrate. People who remind me of the cheer that we are capable of creating for ourselves, to celebrate what we've all been through, to celebrate "us"-ness. A little insight from a dear friend soon had me questioning as well, why some of us were there. The uniqueness of the atmosphere of this little party soon unfolded into what a more observant me would have noticed without fail from the very beginning. For that night, it was not only our voices which were strained when the songs became singable... Manners? We lacked in them that night. Some of us even more so but what is one to do about such lax in conscience?
Smiles thrown here and there, laughter poured out of our hearts at each little antic we found ourselves doing... which of those smiles were donned at heart as there were on face?
As the night came to a close, I walked out of the room in which I had fallen aslumber and walked out to see that I had indeed missed a party. I had had a party robbed of me. I had been robbed of my birthday... I had been robbed of what used to be in this now vacant space inside... My wholeness, gone and along with it... someone else...
I do thank the hosts and all of my friends present for the organization and attendance of the little reunion. I fear though that I must say this has been the most melancholic of parties I've attended. I had fun. I really did. I enjoyed myself. But I was not fully myself to begin with.

Thank you Bishan, Thank you Kristie, Thank you Xinch, Thank you Bsim, Thank you May. And Sorry. I tried...

22.

Let It Simmer and then Watch It Fade.

The frustrated anger from my last post was as always, short-lived and soon overcome. That wasn't something that would create any obstacle at all for myself. What would indeed be hard to overcome is somewhat more substatial than anger. It would have to be the cacophony of all the experiences that we had shared, all the dreams and plans which I had thought would happen one day and the nethermost desacration of my already derelict hope.

I have since decided that I shall just continue to be who I really am. Some minor things will be tweaked and of course I should pay attention to more things and to act when action is called upon. Sitting back and watching things happen is marvelous, yet there are certain things in which one must stand up and act for or against.

I shall take with me bitter-sweet memories and cherish what we once had and scrap everything else which is irrelevant. Irrelevant? What was relevant/irrelevant? This doesn't make things any easier. "Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all"? Well, I've found loving someone isn't as simple. The reason being that even having lost, I yet still love... Or do I?

"I would say that it is her loss but why do I feel that I've lost so much more?" No matter how that is phrased it ends up being the words of a self-absorbed fool mocking the very foundation of what people call love. Do not approach me and tell me that it is merely a method of making oneself feel better because any fool could look at the bigger picture and see he is but adding to his jug of sadness and only ends up with an overflowing tank.

The other side of the coin?

It seems to have been an aeon since I last posted something of substance at all. Much has come and gone since. More has gone however. Sadly.

The period of silence was not because I was too busy to blog. It was because I felt no whim to blog. I decided that I would ignore things such as this for a while. But tonight it's different. I'm in a "I-want-to-pour-my-heart-out" sort of mood. I feel like doing a little ranting so I can say things that I really feel like saying and putting some thought into text.

"Always give and not take". What have I learnt from that? Well, what goes around doesn't always come around like you'd want it to. Sometimes, the ettiquitte of a smile and some warmth isn't returned. You try to think of something to talk about and you hope you can soup up something which could break at least the 5-minute barrier so that you can gladly tell yourself "at least we can still talk" and at the back of your mind as you also seem to remember that it would be normal for the other person in question to reciprocate and also think of and try to talk about something which would be more than 2 lines to avoid observing a monologue. This is all of course if the other party in question is interested at all in such communication (note that 5 minutes was merely an example. I'm sure you got it).

I wonder why I bothered with those long pauses. Why I bothered to think of things to say when it was obvious that what I had to say didn't matter but would only matter if I said something wrong.

I've always thought of myself as a person who gave and I've always tried to live up to that. The extent to which I carry out my claim is unknown to me but I try. Maybe I should become more of a taker. Being a little more selfish may prove to be more practical. I should wait to be served, listen in on what could potentially be wrong and what I could potentially use as the currency of a synonym of blackmail. Of course I should watch my every step and ensure that I myself do nothing wrong leaving the other party at a loss of reason. Building such guilt and thronging the balance of power in my favour. Life would be easier. I would be happier and be able to sleep at night knowing that I have nothing to worry about other than what I can dig up from that other's cesspool.

To compliment that, I should also aspire to be completely unforgiving. Strike forth with wrath so furious that repentance would be known as stabbing a pair of scissors in your thigh - and that would only stop me from arguing and putting it in your face. I'll still make sure to hold it against you.

I should be less trusting as well, never ever letting anyone near anything of my possession and at the next moment's opportunity I shall plunder and ransack every possible nook or cranny to discover more filth within you so I can dig it out and smother it all over your face again.

I should be merciless and ruthless. Hot-cold will not work with me, I will let you "brew in your own stew". No, it's none of my business, you're having a hard time? I'll leave you to it. Support? Support is for losers. Wait, if that were true, then you would need it wouldn't you? I think I'll call you something else. I know! "Boyfriend". Or was it Ex?

Oh deary me, I'm so sad, I'm so angry at myself for letting this happen! What shall I do now? I miss half of what was me. Or so I thought. I should end it all. I don't want to carry on this way, I should end me. But I'm not suicidal yet... Tears? What tears?

I am not the happiest man on Earth right now and I am ranting because I can. If you have a problem with this, call me and we can sit down for tea and scones. My treat. Pfffffffft.

Lonely, Yeah That's The Word...

It's been 8 months now since the last post. I'm sure the absence of posting has reduced the already minute amount of readers. I worry not as this is a personal blog anyway.
I've been away for a while now. Away not from where I geographically belong but from who I used to be. I think I'm back. Home sweet home? I think not. Yet then and again, it may be so.
You've heard tyme and tyme again, "lonliness in a crowd" is far from unheard of and I has it. It's not a disease that I loathe but rather a state of being which I used to revere. Sure I whore a lot - whore being the fact that I fly here and there around the social arena called "college" and I seem to be getting by well enough - but it's not as it once was. The feeling of emptiness has never been this big. A crevasse within me.

For those who know of my relationship (and there are so many of you [to me]), don't get me wrong, I'm still in it and I still love You.

Sometimes it's hard to think about change. I claim to be flexible yet there are some things I wish didn't have to change. Sadly, things do change. The progress as of late has been somewhat disorientating. Maybe some things change to fast, maybe I just can't accept the fact that it has happenned (the change) and maybe sometimes I hate the changes. But to what avail?
As a friend once said (in a personal message on her MSN), "logic does not apply to human emotion". The current state exemplifies this.

If you're reading and wondering what I am going on about and why I am being so incoherent with my post, you obviously haven't known me long enough to know that what I post here is never the full story (to all stories pertaining to my personal life) nor is it meant to enlighten others on what I think. This is my rant zone and rant I shall.

Back to what I wanted to talk about. Loneliness. As much of a hedonistic social nutcase that I appear to be at times, I wish to be alone. It almost seems to me that socialization is just business (and business isn't too bad) not only do I enjoy it, I love it. But I also yearn to be alone. 11 months back, things changed. Socialization seemed less important and instead I wanted other company. Still needing to be able to connect to others, I still continued to socialize (and I still do so till today). Recently it seems that such social masturbation has become insufficient to me. I still enjoy doing it, but it's not what I really want. I want to be who I am. I want to be myself, not burdened with the cadavers of what I've done or what I've been said to have done and worry less of what others would say or how they would react. I do not wish to be a slave to my own empathy. Such freedom will not however find it's way to the confines of my life it seems. I am who I am and I am burdened with this load of mort. Such is the price of accountability or attempted responsibility.

I am lonely, by myself, in myself, only with myself. I only wonder when I will take my load and shove it through this crevasse and walk away.

Rose Garden

Rose Garden

A Rose, A Petal, A Stalk, A Leaf and Thorn.
Underneath all the shade of the greenery,
In the damp and scintillating scenery,
Does a silent crying, dying heart lay torn.
Betwixt the creepers like something forbidden,
A constellation now, sweet starlets of dew,
Reflect morning sun: kaleidoscopic hues,
Lie true emotions of a soul well hidden.

The flowerbeds are in full bloom and the hedges finely trimmed,
The winds pick up and falls to a halt again, there is silence.
Suddenly, an explosion, as if the sky began to scream,
The Heavens crash down in swift, divine and natural violence.
The Sun, like a savior, drives the clouds away, it finally ceases the rain.
The Garden once more will rise anew, all until lightning strikes it again.

This is my latest piece. I haven't written in a long time. Lack of inspiration maybe? It would be nice to write about something happy for once but I guess that isn't my nature (no pun intended). It may not be the perfect piece but it's a piece of my mind.