Deliriously happy.

"La peggior solitudine e essere privi di un'amicizia sincera." F.Bacon, on a quote from a Baci chocolate.

The incredible junk-food diet result: I've lost half a kg. From two weeks of eating chocolates, pre-CNY goodies, fastfood... And that is before my shopping-pasttime this week! Kinda scary and makes me wanna swear off junk food. Although I've bought black and white M&Ms today. And ate Long Johns' ... Heh. So I'm unhealthier and thinner now, ironically. Shall hit the gym to 'gain weight' again.

The week was extremely tiring as somehow I look like I enjoy shopping and have the tenacity to trawl the whole urban malls in search for that elusive perfect top/pants/apparel... Went shopping on Tues, Thurs, Fri, Sat... claustrophobia now. Despite the baby-decline; Singapore still has thousands of people in town. I'm a picky buyer - material- and color- wise, at least. I actually like buying online. Basically I can fit into any 'S' top so long as it covers my midriff... Turned fashion consultant to my dear guy friends and mum this week. Found it frustrating - realised slightly plump people have a really negative self-esteem about the way they appear to look like in the mirror. Tried to be encouraging by suggesting helpfully certain colors and cuttings they might look better in. Felt that maybe it's me too - I take hardly any effort to stay the size I am. Found that fashion is terribly mean to people who are a plus size. Both trips turned out quite well though, with perseverance. Mum found quite a number of tops that really suited her despite her complaints that she felt like a dumpling. She was so happy she bought me a skirt too. It does pay off...

After a fortnight of no news which made me slightly uneasy, Ches emailed. He's back. But sick. I had this ominous feeling about him, and actually wrote it in some compartment of my ever-frenetic gray matter. Alas I never acted on it and with each day grew increasing dread (okie I'm exaggerating on my overactive imagination)... but yes, I'm glad he's back. It seems not-so- distant compared to onboard a big ship sailing in the big black sea. Have the notion of hopping up and paying him a visit. Yea?

Ever so tired but deliriously happy, its been said that you can't 'feel' your organs, as you can't feel your intestines, your liver, blah blah... but I can feel my heart beating happily. Its just so long since I've had a hug. From someone I love. And other heart-beating stuff too. The stuff that sends magic butterflies lurching up my tummy and tickling and taunting with pleasure. Yum.

If a purple plastic bag could speak, it would say:

There's a purple plastic bag (2, in fact) in my house from Sainsbury that states: "Good Food Costs Less", which ironically is filled to the brim with some old files destined for the incinerator.

I'm trying out a junk food 'diet' for now. My theory being that those poor girls who indulge in junk food once a while will get fat, thus me will only eat junk food and ...get thinner. I don't think I have that high a metabolism to burn fats while I'm sitting down reading/surfing/thinking; so it must be the regular intake of fast food. It helps that I've been 'trained' since young. Would call my mum a junk-food-cook too. Heh (Sorry Mum, but the pasta's great!) On Monday I ate mango ice cream, fries and chicken chop for lunch, pizza and campbell's alphabet soup for dinner... Yea, I have a fondness for the nice twister fries at mcd's... is it called the 'prosperity fries'? Haha. It goes well with tartare saus. And I'm newly fixated on M&Ms - Peanut Butter's on the top for now. Sis said there was a 'Shrek' version that consisted of only shrek-colored M&Ms. Can't seem to find it, at least not at my local ntuc... Think only town areas or Cold Storage would stock it. I wonder if junk food will take off some years of my life? Hmmm. But I agree that Good Food Costs Less. Don't find restaurant food that fantastic anyways. The portions look too good to eat. And its too quiet, I get self-conscious in quiet places easily. I'm a fast-food and hawker centre type of person. Really. Really really really.

Went to JB yesterday, just felt like going out of "the city"(aka island paradise) for a while. Left at 11am was back at 5pm. Our seamless efficient public transport system. Realised that there's actually THREE buses going to JB - one SMRT/exTibs, and the 160 and 170 of SBS'... not counting the Malaysian-owned yellow smiley faced buses. Once again, we are spoilt for choice. And the fare being actually lower than what I pay if I want to go to town, I shall consider going JB more often. Stocked up on my Hollister tees, a third of the price here. Say less than S$15 for one... That's my environmentally friendly way of stretching my budget! And yes, I'm a brave one, I.went.there.myself. All by myself. No imaginary friends. Hoo. For me it's a cheap piece of cake considering I went to KL myself(by road) and I went to Sarawak myself(by air) so why not our friendly neighbor JB? Must admit though, I was rather fearful of those fearsome robbers who supposedly eyed you once you stepped out of the customs' ... I looked warily at the taxi-touters, wondering which was the pseudo one. After hearing Frank's story of his brother and 5 guy friends being robbed at Holiday Inn Plaza,(the one famous for dvd pirates) I definitely clutched my pouch tighter as I climbed the overhead bridge. Maybe it's my imagination but the beggars looked more sinister than before. I did go Holiday Inn Plaza once, alone too...but that's another story for another day. So yes, I had a great workout traversing the 4 storeys of the nearest mall, mentally stretched my faculties by doing an auto-conversion of RM to SGD on every retail stock, (I must mention that S$100 gets you RM223, its very enticing now... feel quite rich there le)... it was fun! And later on in the day, watched Elektra which was surprisingly good. I'm a Alias fan, naturally like Jennifer Garner too. Her acting's credible and the cinematograhy was good, way better than Daredevil's. =) All in all it was a fulfilling although tiring day.

Motivations of an unscrupulous kind

I'm being bugged.

By... myself? The past Rachel gets shooed away and locked up like a caterpillar in a finely spun spider's web. The future Rachel says to the present one: Now, now. We must all behave ourselves. Don't get drunk or even half-drunk. Act decent. Stop being so wilful. The present one happily cheers itself up in the company of decent, good, friends while ignoring the past's cries for rescue. A few years later the past finally unwinds itself from the tangled mess of web it has spun itself into. It comes, face to face with the present while the future dissipates with a poof! into thin air. And that's where it gets complicated.

A note to guys: (Perhaps I should be lecturing on Relationships 101: Communicating with the female gender) Firstly never ask a lady 'Are you alright?' when you know she's not unless you're expecting a wack on the head by her killer slipper. This also applies when she's sick or feeling/looking miserable. It is highly imprudent to comment on the obvious. Basically she's not in a jovial state of mind already. Also applies when she's crying, or about to. Never say the dreaded words 'Don't cry', it will only make her feel like crying more. And hating you for spoiling her mascara and feeling weepy and generally unhappy. Yep. At times like this just offer the nice manly shoulder and listen to her blabber till she's exhausted.

Then congratulate yourself on how s.n.a.g you are.

In many ways this season, I question my motives in doing things. Personal motto is always to be sincere in every dealing. But yea, there is still the question of the past repressed eventually catching up with the 'no regrets' present and the hopeful future. Was so troubled that all through yesterday an inner voice told me to 'Talk to Mr Foo" - this highly enlightened being who looks ageless - really; besides being charming, kind-hearted and chivalrous AND suave, I would like to believe that sometimes, he takes that little bit of effort to look out for me. and welcome me into his humble abode, his gang of merry, friendly men not found in other habitats. Unashamedly I told him about my inferior motives and lack of integrity in certain methods I was applying to my life. He provided me food for thought (and was a definite instument in uplifting my spirits) for he said that although my motivations were not unscrupulous, they certainly meant well. Which is true, in a way - I never meant harm or hurt to anyone that might be impacted by me. In living life too close to the edge I'm beginning to realise that I'm always saved in the nick of time when I call. Each day is a decision by itself, formed by a bubble of thoughts, hopes and dreams - one which, when not treasured, quickly fades away into obscurity.

Show me the way how; and I will bravely follow.

It takes on another meaning

Sometimes certain things in life take on a deeper, more significant meaning when certain experiences are attached to it. Happens to me all the time. It's called 'an anthropological fetish'. I always get attached to places, food, books, people... Well Mum sent me an email today about this 2 sisters, KL inhabitants who were saved in the midst of the tsunami at Phuket. I cannot help but feel touched at the way God ministered to them, through the song 'Still'. I've always been a fan of hillsong music, and this song is one of my personal favorites but significantly for me now as for them, this song takes on deeper meaning.

"When the oceans rise and thunder roars
I will soar with you above the storm
Father you are King over the flood
I will be still know you are God"

Let God be God.

The existing state of affairs = ?

Warm feelings in the midst of the brainfreeze...

Well I can safely say I'm out of my (early) quarter-life crisis right now and I'm glad I don't have to face it again when I'm 25. For the past months now I have not been 'myself', guess I was frustrated, depressed and searching for something fulfilling to do with myself. I feel now its like as though I've been through a car-wash, first I'm scrubbed, then swooshed with water, then rinsed, sprayed, and finally coated with some snowy white cleansing thing and scraped, and pushed out. If I could give this time of my life a title, it would be 'Snowy-white car-wash at the quarter-life crisis'. Oh I did enjoy part of it, the not-using-my-brain part, the lazy sunny days at the poolside, the gym... But metaphysically it was at an all-time low. Felt that my life did not amount to much. Thank God its all settled now, in my heart and otherwise. Career-wise opportunities are picking up for me, also in ministry and other stuff.

I think in everything there is never something really bad - Oh yes its supposed to be a Romanticism thought - In the most melancholic moments the state of happiness will come, though transient. As I analyse myself, I start to change, too. Is the girl in the mirror really me? Why do I see different facets of myself that are quite unseen before? To change the status quo for me right now means a promise of unhappiness for both, possible stress and lots of publicity which is really an unecessary strain. Besides I don't want to make empty promises I can't keep, although this week I've realised many things. Things about myself. About the world we live in. About others. About being self-conscious. About how we care for others who care about us. And how we want to let ourselves be seen so as to avoid shortchanging them and to avoid stirring up controversy. Deep deep thoughts... =) So I don't have to reason so much, as neither he nor me are in any hurry to explain the status quo to anyone. Aye! Please let me hold on to this small bit of happiness in my otherwise dreary monotonous and slightly dark life. Everytime Mr H (hedgehog) smiles that killer smile of his, many lightbulbs just starts to glow inside. That's when I get that warm feeling. Mmmm. Nice.

Preface to RESTART:: About the artist/creator

"All art is at once surface and symbol. Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.
Those who read the symbol do so at their peril. It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.
Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex, and vital.
When critics disagree the artist is in accord with himself. We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely.
All art is quite useless. "

-Oscar Wilde, "The Picture of Dorian Gray".

http://www.hoboes.com/html/FireBlade/Wilde/dorian/

Am quite inspired by what Wilde wrote in this preface, so I made it mine. It sums up nicely what I think but what I never dared express in words. The things I create, poems, songs, stories, abstract drawings: all reveal a part of my soul. Yet, it conceals what I wish to conceal, and expresses only the basic elements of what is felt at the surface; painting a picture that is startlingly innocent to a reader's eyes yet imbued with nuances of stirrings from within the psyche.

I guess I must say more about my short story :RESTART, here, before I actually forget the true meaning of what is being unsaid. Yes, I tend to be forgetful. That's why I can lead a (relatively) happy life. It's not so much as a parody abot technology as I'd like to believe, at its core, it is basically a love story - albeit a bittersweet one. Yea I always make the faux pas of having the dramatic element of someone dying in all my stories, guess I'm still pretty inexperienced to weave a tale with less melodrama so it'll have to do for now. RESTART... I wrote it from an obviously male point of view, the female - Kazumi having INFJ qualities and the guy INTP... hopefully it seems that way... I wanted to convey the dreamlike, misty feeling one gets while thinking of something before sleeping, and actually imagining it while in a state of semi-conscous, so that the line between illusion and reality is merged and it actually happened - in fantasy. Also, for me I'm concerned about the detached relationships of human beings. Why they don't spend quality time with each other anymore and why when I do, tongues start wagging. Why people don't tell people real things that they feel for each other. Like a simple - I care for you; it doesn't have to be cringed at when it is a sincere expression of the intimacy you share. Like all my short stories (not many!), this one is semi-autobiographical, and it holds a special significance for me, why I chose a pseudo-japanese-english context; and I did fold cranes too, but I did not make it past the 500+ mark. It's sort of a new realm for me with sci-fi and tech into it, I do like this story actually. It symbolizes hope, and the stuff that dreams are made of, I don't want to wake up and find it shattered. =)

RESTART

::A short story, copyright mine::

With tentative fingers, I traced the outline of the keypad in front of me and, closing my eyes, pressed down on them. Twice. I nodded my head in assent to no one in particular. My feet nervously tapped the dusty floor, to a silent beat, drumming on like a never ending military march. Tap tap tap. Pause. Tap tap. Tap tap tap… …There she was, with sparkling, dancing eyes, her girlish, glossy lips always curved into a serene smile. I wanted to kiss her so bad. I thought I saw a look of – frustration; and perhaps anxiety on her demure face; almost like a flicker of a candle’s flame, it was there one moment, and gone the next. Wondered to myself whether I should bring it up – glanced inquiringly at her, but she was almost like her usual self.

Part of me wanted to encircle her in my arms, grasp her and show her the horizon streamed in pinks and purples, the sunset orb tinged with orange in the distance, the silhouette of the dark woods beyond. To show her a world where love means freedom from pain, where people in love walk on fluffy, silver-lined clouds laid out on long paths before them; they pain rainbow-hued intensities with their breaths, and where being in love means to dance happily to the strange and wonderful sounds of ice-cream bells tinkling in the distances, merged with the sounds of children’s laughter and trees’ leaves, rustling in the evening breeze. It pains me to see that she has not known any of this.

In the months that I have known Kazumi, she has always stayed constant – her beauty pure, mirroring the radiance and childlike wistfulness within. When her dark eyes dance, it lights up the whole place like how fireworks burst with a breath-taking brilliance – except that hers was more contained, bursting in a way where I could be the sole appreciator. She impressed me constantly with her delicate movements and conscientious efforts of perfecting every undertaking; even small and rigorous tasks she seemed to accomplish with ease, and grace. I did not think I could love someone like her, then. I still love her, now. I played it like a game, the game of love, like everyone else, like all the senseless beings that were furiously giving and taking; almost like the stock exchange – callously trading for better, higher, richer. She was the prize, every inch of her fragile, flawless self. But to me, somewhere between the halfway mark, the game became real.

Kazumi. In the semi-conscious state drifting somewhere between sleep and awakening, her name seemed imprinted on my lips. I mouthed it then, always, as I curled up beside the screen. Tap tap tap. I could see her slender fingers gingerly brush over my unruly hair, and as I slept, her breath was warm on mine.

We spend long afternoons together, not saying anything, for it was silence that brought us comfort instead of words. We went to Hyde Park where she watched the squirrels with their long red tails animatedly gliding from bough to bough. She loved them. She loved animals. Even Seki’s dog, boorish; with a dull, uneven coat; and listless eyes. She would whisper into its ear and look at it in a sort of quiet understanding. Kazumi never asked me for anything, but I wanted her to be happy, so much happier when she was with me, than with anyone else. I bought her cute Tiffany charm bracelets and Royce truffle chocolates. Only the best for my princess. She always smiled sweetly with gratitude, bowing in politeness when she accepted them.

Thank you, Craig. Domo.

She wore my velours to tennis with me, and my bonds PJs at night. She’s mine, I thought. Everyday I told her I loved her. Always had this irrepressible notion of her leaving me. Like Mother, who told me she was going to the moon with another of her new lovers, this time a scientist-millionaire. She always had a frivolous nature. They took off in Novogordsky with several other scions and heiresses. The auto-piloted rocket never even made it past the atmospheric surface. Could she not have waited till it was safer? Foolish woman.

One day, Kazumi presented me with a silver tin, feather-light. I shook it and it rustled back. With a grin on her face, she pestered me to open it. I did.
It contained one thousand paper cranes, folded by the dear lady herself. Paper cranes, some smaller than my fingertips; others bigger and colored with swirled motifs; but none bigger than the palm of my hand. A thousand cranes – Means longevity ; she said shyly, when I asked her about the significance. I gently squeezed her hand, touched by the effort, knowing that this is truly her way of showing her affections for me. This means we will be together, forever? I asked. She looked down for a fraction of a second, hesitant to reply. I suspected that if she had chosen to reply in the affirmative, she would have nothing more to give or expect. She responded - It means that… you will live, forever, in my heart.

I could have spent every waking moment in her presence and not regret the time or energy spent together. For each day was lived in happiness, endless walks down buttercups-lined trails, hand-in-hand, we would stoop to pluck off fresh blackberries and eat them, competing to see who could spit the pits further. Other days, we would go to the beach at night, huddling close with a flask of cocoa, excitedly pointing out the stars to each other. But, abruptly as she had came, she left. Without a word, without a clue. I tried to search for her, through the galaxies I frantically looked and leapt up at any mention of her name. To no avail- she was gone. All I had was something that seemed like the ending of a dream – overwhelming negative feelings about the whole episode replacing the joy I once lived for. I had lived, breathed, and shared my life with her. But she was an automation. Something inanimate that had to expire, one day. Perhaps she knew she had to be replaced soon, by a newer version, and instead of lingering, being something of an irritant worse than spam, she ejected herself from the system, initializing an effective destruct and destroy of her core self; the rest, flung into space, shattered into minute pieces.

The moderators told me this was an anomaly that had never happened before. Apparently Kazumi Ver3.0 was infused, or infected with a virus that was not apparent before – it was a malfunction, an oversight in her creation. That Kazumi was prone to be affected by her feelings, which over time becomes love. There was no choice. It was either this or a solitary existence of being condemned by all creatures alike. She did not belong to this world. Nor to any other. Something so perfect, so flawless, so beautiful and dream-like would never have a chance to exist here.

The screen blinked at me, jolting me from my reverie; prompting: END? Or: RESTART?

After an eternity… or what seemed like it, I chose the latter. With tentative fingers, I pressed down. Twice.

"Wrote this as a parody of how technology seemingly becomes one with our emotions, breaking boundaries on fantasy vs reality. "

Simply amazing... part two

Well.

The pieces of the puzzle are finally interconnnected.

It's strange how it turned out actually. I was telling him a story about the (old) singapore two-dollar note (yes, it has a story to it) and ended up giving it to him. He opened up his wallet to place it in a blue thingy from years ago - something which I had not seen for a long long time. Wow, I thought. This guy has kept it for so long.

The 'it' in question is actually a card-sized blue folder that comes as a compliment with one of the adult-transitlink card that was produced way back in '98. That card has mosaic-like square prints on which, using the folder-thing, codes of the mosiac acutally forms many pictures; but without the folder the card is useless, and vice versa.

He, has kept the folder, without the card.

I, kept the card without the folder.

So here lies the puzzle. Went home, found it between my trunk of old love-letters and correspondences I hoard. Took it out - it was in really good condition. I wondered to myself, why did I keep this piece of 'junk'... for so long? It did not and does not now hold any sentimental value for me, therefore to hold on to it (without the folder it is useless, more so with the ez-link card being in usage...)

Maybe one day I would find the person that keeps the folder.

Found him although I was not searching for him.

Maybe he, too, kept the folder in his wallet for these long years in the hope that one day, it would be reunited with the card. And the 'wait' paid off. Sounds too good to be true, yea... It's amazing how normal everyday stuff - 'junk', so called; becomes meaningful when there is a hidden significance attached to it.

I don't go around hunting for these 'significances', but maybe, just maybe, they come, looking for me.

Because I'm open to them? Because I believe in them?

Perhaps everything around us have meanings and connections in symbols or languages we cannot understand as yet.

As for the card, for so many years being enclosed in the trunk, if it has feelings I hope it's happy with its new owner, who will always keep it, jointly with the folder, in his wallet - close to him constantly.

Wish I could be an inanimate object sometimes. =)

Simply amazing isn't it?

Me, rookie blogger. Realised today that if I type (in yahoo.com's search engine) 'a purposeful life', my weblog is the third site to appear on the list (out of over 576000...) ; and if I type 'singapore rachel lee' (yes that happens to be my name)... it's 3rd-placed. Curiously thinking if in meat-space (as opposed to cyber-space) , if people were to do a quick search for me, what would they type in the search bar ... Would 'a purposeful life' really be an apt description? Or would something else describe me better, better than a name I was born with and the country that I live in?

Thanks to Nedstat Basic 3.0 I can now track everyone that comes to read. Well, not specifically, but at least the countries they are from, and how they came. I'd like to believe in this cyber-space where new horizons are being bridged and landscapes changing at whimsy, (who knows - my site might just disappear tomorrow if I take a fancy to hitting the 'delete blog?' button...) some alignment brought these anonymous people here. And with the trepidation of all writers who value their writings, I hope that those who came found it a nice place to linger in, for a brief moment in space, that somehow I'd connected with them, in some way.

Am quite excited as today there's cause for wonder, and to murmur the words 'Simply amazing isn't it?' when I look and see the things that are set in motion, pieces of an interconnecting puzzle that fall into place, reason unknown. I'm brimming with excitement and happiness mixed with anticipation like a child who has just discovered bubbles, or on the first day of year-end holidays Sometimes small insignificant 'junk' speaks to you in volumes about their identity - and yours, too.

And a small something is going to find its owner who will keep it treasured and close, always.

Oh I can't wait...

Passing Glances //:: In transit

::A poem. Copyright mine.::

Say
Words hung unspoken on lips
Both times lingering
Both in transit.
Archetypal semblances
Of a misguided intiative
Searchingly looking --
For its been said
Eyes are like windows
But I’ve tried
I’m tired of seeing nothing
Except my own;
Reflection in a distressed mind
Round, black
Dread
The day after tomorrow
It brings a reality
Of a fragmented notion repressed.
Sooner than that
The day comes
When
We pass each other;
Both pretending
Eyes that do not see,
Ears that do not hear
For now let it be
Something that never existed
Delete the snapshots
Hide the words
The soundless brushing under the carpet
Of what might have been.
The temporary alignment
Of two, in transit
Passing glances that mean anything but.
And so, I walk on
Because I have nothing to say.
Because the fragility of my emotions
Crashes louder than a piercing scream
On the parquet floor
Beneath
The window of my soul.

Soundless rants with

Was just thinking, how come 'heartless' means something like cruel, unrending... when it actually should mean "heart-less". As in, don't have the heart to do this, or that. Well the Queen's preferred tongue does have its fallacies. Read today in Symbology 101 that 'occult' means 'natural'... wonder what would my pastor say if I replace the word 'natural' with occult then... 'It's in my occult self to do this kind of things, wad... " Hoo. Think the cold weather has dulled my senses, I seem to lose the capacity of thinking millions of thoughts today, my mind is on a one-track snail's-progress mode which keeps repeating, like a broken cassette recorder (ah, the good old days) : "finetune the songtune." That dark song with a light-tempo which I penned yesterday. After a whole day of finetuning it the lyrics to the tune seems hugely unfitting and in my harmonious mind; goes through several remixes with residual tunes floating around in my head that the melody seems remarkably like a mix of pseudo-rock-chinesepop-radio remix rivalling the best on the music scene.

Well, at least I'm satisfied with how the chorus turns out anyways. All thanks to a flash of inspiration while I was in the 'recording lounge' aka shower, last afternoon. So, I guess it is possible to harness the subconscious mind and only leave room for a small pocket of sentimental thoughts, to remain in control of my emotions. Small, small pockets. I've always believed in positive thinking, and also I know that my mood hugely affects others around me, quickly, they become apathetic too. Focusing on the greater good for humankind I will thus forsake being sincere and closely veil the vacant eyes. Only opening them to a worthy, select few. Napoleon Hill said: "The reason man may become the master of his own destiny is because he has the power to influence his own subconscious mind." If this statement is true, why does it makes me squirm? I think on one aspect we are more affected than we realise, by the things happening around us. We just internalise it and discard those we cannot make sense of.

It begs the question of, am I reacting to this thing because it happened in this way? Or vice versa, does this thing happen in this way, because of my reaction?

I'm no philosopher but I am intrigued by human relationships and how it is constructed in the physical reality. But I think Hill's reasoning is not sound - it is the deception of the enemy... In other words, the god of this age. (Which begs the question who is the god of this age...? I do not claim any association with that devious fellow.) Do we sometimes let things happen thinking that it just happens, by chance? Or is there something more to it, are we following an unseen hand guiding us in daily decisions? A fellow-observer neighbor remarked to me recently that my way of thinking is dangerous, 'cuz my mind is very...persistent, that I can befuddle myself through rationalising away things and therefore believe in my own psychotic theory. Well actually he did not put it in this way but that was the underlying meaning, although unintentionally spoken, I did ponder on it.

I do deflect hurtful things that people direct to me, perhaps due to my liberal upbringing, I allow and accept their right of freedom of speech, and also the analytical part of me would think that there is a cause to their reaction, and the effect is not intended wholly on me. Perhaps it is also subconscious on their part - a spiteful comment that is later brushed off as a joke, taken lightly. But I'd like to ask them though, why do you say that? Or rather, what caused/inspired/effected you to select this phrase to represent your subconscious mind?

This desolate, dark road

Wrote a song today. Copyright mine.
(To be played in E Key.)

I elict sympathy
From the shadows of the dreamless spaces -
Rapidly haunting, breathe;
I gasp: again I hear
The voice of my own
Echoing
Cries like the rain that never dies.

Would you wonder
If, years later would you continue on,
In your eternal sunshine?
It keeps merging me
Carelessly above the line of illusion
Emptiness
Fades for once darkens to light.


Now I, walk alone
On this desolate, dark road;
I will not turn away
Nor look into my soul
Behold your pretty face
With dazzling eyes -
Stirs me up inside
Hope is
But a waking dream;
Wake I?

An unopened envelope

The eye of Sauron sees more than it ought to.

Hope is a waking dream.

My thoughts are sporadic and vague today. If only they do not speak in parables but illuminate the meaning in actuality, then would I have the strength to move forward. But like the ones before me, my heart bleeds, though I do not wear it on my sleeve but keep it hidden and un-enroached upon. If a flower could cry, it would have drowned itself in a salt lake.

He will forget me, in time. There are signs that it is already starting to happen. And to continue on, would be anguish for both. Especially for me, where memories of sweetness and joy clings my very nature of pleasure and excitement.

Cease to remember my number. Or remember my name.

I have a character weaker than I thought. A steel resolve, broken only by a pensive glance. Deemed it unwise to carry out according to plan. Therein lies the unopened envelope in my pretty beige pocket-bag, adorned with european floral motifs. The envelope, plain white and sealed, its fate unknown. Will it thus wither there, or redeem itself at another opportunity to present itself? Or like junk mail, thrown carelessly into the trash... gone, together, forever (for there is but one copy)...lost. It was meant to be read although it did not bring happy news.

It was meant to end before it was started.

It was meant to end this way.

Subdued perusal of naivete

Kai said I looked 'lost' today, well I guessed it was because I was pondering over some issues, that was why altho' I really did enjoy myself at the birthday celebration, sometimes my mind wanders. But I should start at the beginning. Which was yesterday, at YAS. With a tremulous heart, I responded. And cried, shuddering gasps that seemed to come from someone else. Was told, to forget the past failures. The failed relationships. The victories in life. And move into the future with a new anointing. So, me who haven't cried in a while (3 months now) finally opened the floodgates and boy, it felt good. After that I just wanted to whimper in a small corner with my head, heavy with its burdens, supported by the corner of the walls. Didn't want to see anybody, or talk cheerily, but just to take some time out to reflect and respond. I'm relieved that finally, I'm trying to move on. Andy said, don't try to forget him. If you try, you won't. Just know that it's possible by the grace of God. Its strange, but after that when I reached home, the tears wouldn't stop. They dripped out slowly, unceasingly, and last night's sleep was awful, woke up so many times that I lost count.

Currently reading this novel, 'Jane Eyre', by Charlotte Bronte. On page 160, it says:
'...and it is madness in all women to let a secret love kindle within them, which, if unreturned and unknown, must devour the life that feeds it, and, if discovered and responded to, must lead ignis-fatuus-like, into miry wilds where there is no extrication.' I guess she said my inmost thoughts that I used to have and now, (still festering); better than what I could have journalled myself.

So today I was drained. And cold. A bit wet. The weather's still unpredictable, it rained the whole day but thankfully ceased in the evening. Was a bit subdued, but guess the rest couldn't tell, 'cuz I was a new face to them anyways. I still can't believe that I've only known Izac as a friend for 8 days, and yet, we have a deeper connection fueled by the bittersweet and similarly coherent memories we share, in the past. Not that it was congruent, just that we could both share our 'life-stories', and parts of it reflected each others', thus we could connect in this emotional way where others could not(establish this connection with me), not even in years.

Yea, and Izac's been the sweetest, nicest, most charming ...guy. The way he is defensive in his speech, but later betray himself by saying the most sensitive things. I'm extremely touched(and it takes a lot to touch me, honestly) by the very sweet gesture of saving the slice of cake with the nice pink creamed rose on it for me (awwww...) but being the shocking person I was, half of it ended up on his face. And he let me do it, too. Later he said he was too stunned to react, and when he saw it in the gents' mirror he laughed and laughed 'cuz he looked like a clown. We had a good laugh over it afterwards and I don't regret doing it... but yes, main thing, I was touched. Score!

And he sent me home after, at the insistences of his nice, well-meaning college classmates. Well, it did help that I live 3 bus-stops away. Had a nice walk, him all wet - dunked in the pool 7 times, draped in a towel and two shirts... and me. Thanks for the company to the doorstep. It's a privileged sight yea =P...not many guys have this opportunity! Score! Have a feeling I'll see much of him this year. It would give me delight and pleasure to do so, yea. =)