When I decided to take up sailing in jc, the people around me never failed to ask why. Much as I kept to my story of expedient training for a lazy mind and sluggish physique, it was really the impression a tv drama left on me when they centred the lives of main characters around varsity sports. I still remember those vernal faces with their unabashed passion for life, embodied in that singular pursuit of racing on water; which child wouldn't mistake youth as the right to dive for lurking challenges? Such reflections roused my spirit, and then they were translated into a symbolic desire to learn to sail.
Truth be told, I volunteered myself for the shambles like an unsuspecting goose the day I joined the school sailing team. Each Colours award was exchanged with blood, sweat and tears. In staggering proportions (it's the one reason seawater stays salty). Accomplishment was the amount of verbal abuse I managed to secure within a single session of training.
But then, I also learned to fly. As if empowered with wings, I surged across the waters in full embrace of the wind. I felt the breeze on my face, in my hair, wrapped around my arms and legs; it was everywhere. I thought I was soaring, but it was really the water transporting me.
If the sails were my wings, the water is you. On my own, these wings would never have lifted off. Beside you, the possibilities take flight.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Wish Upon A Time
It's unbelievably good fortune, how an ugly duckling has today the privilege to be regarded as a graceful swan by a few kind spirits.
I didn't always use to be like this. Pleasant, confident, easy-going. I know I'm still a rigid perfectionist in the eyes of many, but I'm certainly a far cry from the snub prefect in primary school.
Actually, I never even suspected that I was worth something; much less the possibility that I was smart. It's true I breezed through my education, and my bosses seem to like me, but I appeared so ordinary next to my scholarly and popular friends. I still do. I've entertained many a thought that they were my mates only because I made them shine. Yet they would insist on giving the world only to be as together a person as I.
The world is one confused oyster, isn't it. Which was why I determined in my heart, that the person who said one's defenses break down with age, was wrong, right from the start. Because regardless of the verity of the statement, I resolved to make it so.
Today I have not let down my guard, I have simply made it less offensive to the unacquainted soul. My untrusting disposition has been explained into paranoia, taken for elitism, and disguised as insecurity. Behind this graceful facade, the ugly duckling abides as real as ever.
I didn't always use to be like this. Pleasant, confident, easy-going. I know I'm still a rigid perfectionist in the eyes of many, but I'm certainly a far cry from the snub prefect in primary school.
Actually, I never even suspected that I was worth something; much less the possibility that I was smart. It's true I breezed through my education, and my bosses seem to like me, but I appeared so ordinary next to my scholarly and popular friends. I still do. I've entertained many a thought that they were my mates only because I made them shine. Yet they would insist on giving the world only to be as together a person as I.
The world is one confused oyster, isn't it. Which was why I determined in my heart, that the person who said one's defenses break down with age, was wrong, right from the start. Because regardless of the verity of the statement, I resolved to make it so.
Today I have not let down my guard, I have simply made it less offensive to the unacquainted soul. My untrusting disposition has been explained into paranoia, taken for elitism, and disguised as insecurity. Behind this graceful facade, the ugly duckling abides as real as ever.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Is It Selfish, Really?
In my conception, lovely is the world in which I am happy, simply, while the people around me are going along just as blissfully.
Seeing the joy written on their expressions is enough to light up mine, you know? It's never occurred to me that I would need to know why their hearts sang or how bland water could taste sweet; just as long it remained so for them. Neither has it ever occurred to me that I should have a part to play in their happiness; it was true that I would gladly share in their delight, but surely our lives were our own to lead? And if you accomplished something today that gratified you to no end, you could count on me to experience the same euphoria within. If, too, you should ever need me, hold no doubts that I am always here.
Certainly, having you around to share in the exhilarating ups and downs has multiplied my joy to exponential measure. But why has physically spending time with you become the basis of which makes or breaks our friendship? If previously we supported each other, why would it be any different now? Why should it? Unless someone has changed. I haven't; have you?
I still care. Just not in the way you most value. But are my ideas so selfish, really?
Seeing the joy written on their expressions is enough to light up mine, you know? It's never occurred to me that I would need to know why their hearts sang or how bland water could taste sweet; just as long it remained so for them. Neither has it ever occurred to me that I should have a part to play in their happiness; it was true that I would gladly share in their delight, but surely our lives were our own to lead? And if you accomplished something today that gratified you to no end, you could count on me to experience the same euphoria within. If, too, you should ever need me, hold no doubts that I am always here.
Certainly, having you around to share in the exhilarating ups and downs has multiplied my joy to exponential measure. But why has physically spending time with you become the basis of which makes or breaks our friendship? If previously we supported each other, why would it be any different now? Why should it? Unless someone has changed. I haven't; have you?
I still care. Just not in the way you most value. But are my ideas so selfish, really?
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Nothing Ado
What do you do when you find a flaw in your life? I have learnt to appreciate beauty in the breakdown (as the song goes), and would more often than not angle an area of gaping lack so that it could be re-interpreted as fulfillment. I was never the type to strive for change (just not worth it, if by good fortune, you think the way I do...)
So what happens when there's a glaring defect that you find no other way around, except to have it forever removed from your life, yet couldn't? I'd love to hate you.
But the worst part about hating someone, is that the burden falls solely upon your shoulders to keep it up. I have no wish to punish myself for anyone's mistakes. And the effort entailed in shutting someone out only goes to show how important she still is. Nothing ado with that kind of senseless struggle from now on. The distance between thrall and release. One thought is all it takes.
And after all the denial and agitation, with all the harsh words taken out, the fact remains that you are a blemish in my life. This truth I accept.
Perhaps Freud, like many other great minds, was right. Society comes together for progress. The culmination of which is death.
So what happens when there's a glaring defect that you find no other way around, except to have it forever removed from your life, yet couldn't? I'd love to hate you.
But the worst part about hating someone, is that the burden falls solely upon your shoulders to keep it up. I have no wish to punish myself for anyone's mistakes. And the effort entailed in shutting someone out only goes to show how important she still is. Nothing ado with that kind of senseless struggle from now on. The distance between thrall and release. One thought is all it takes.
And after all the denial and agitation, with all the harsh words taken out, the fact remains that you are a blemish in my life. This truth I accept.
Perhaps Freud, like many other great minds, was right. Society comes together for progress. The culmination of which is death.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Engulfed by Allegory
Whereas I have a reputation for procrastinating on just about everything, the sprawl of grey matter in my head would like to clarify that it was never a willing accomplice to your discontentment. Because, as I have been coerced into illustrating, it certainly makes no delays (nor discretion, for that matter...) in having me informed about the malaise posed by even trace amounts of stress in my body.
As usual, my brain thinks it knows better. Or maybe it's addicted to keeping me on my toes. I don't have recurrent dreams, because that would easily classify them as nightmares (as if my brain would make it so convenient for me); they're definitely not the stuff of cotton-candy either. It's simply mentally-induced harrassment of the self. Harrassment because frustration in the surreal is uncalled for in the absence of apparent stress.
They lurk around in an assortment of shapes and sizes. Sometimes I am trying to escape the clutches of a shadowy, faceless monster in slow motion. Other times I could traverse the world yet have my destination evade me. One thing characterizes my experiences though: I go round and round in circles, and at the heart-rate of urgency too. At least I've no lack of creative juices, I guess.
A friend of mine posted a rather interesting tagline on his msn some while ago: I spend all my time in the lab because I don't have a girlfriend; I don't have a girlfriend because I spend all my time in the lab. What better way to surmise my agony: I have tension dreams because I am stressed out; I am stressed out because of my tension dreams.
As usual, my brain thinks it knows better. Or maybe it's addicted to keeping me on my toes. I don't have recurrent dreams, because that would easily classify them as nightmares (as if my brain would make it so convenient for me); they're definitely not the stuff of cotton-candy either. It's simply mentally-induced harrassment of the self. Harrassment because frustration in the surreal is uncalled for in the absence of apparent stress.
They lurk around in an assortment of shapes and sizes. Sometimes I am trying to escape the clutches of a shadowy, faceless monster in slow motion. Other times I could traverse the world yet have my destination evade me. One thing characterizes my experiences though: I go round and round in circles, and at the heart-rate of urgency too. At least I've no lack of creative juices, I guess.
A friend of mine posted a rather interesting tagline on his msn some while ago: I spend all my time in the lab because I don't have a girlfriend; I don't have a girlfriend because I spend all my time in the lab. What better way to surmise my agony: I have tension dreams because I am stressed out; I am stressed out because of my tension dreams.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
To Eventually
So the saying goes that every tiny nudge forward brings you one step closer to Forever. And wherever it may be, that place is somewhere I profoundly long to reach. Because on that pinnacle is how I know if everything Now makes any sense.
Eventually shall we be able to weigh the merit of this pursuit we boldly declared 'ideal'. In the full knowledge of its benefits, as well as the sacrifices it entailed. Should it even be labeled ideal at all?
The enterprise was at first motivated by a self-perceived need to justify our actions in front of others. You don't know how many friends relate pure distaste for such situations. But somehow along the way this purpose fell off, and what continues to drive this quest is an innate desire to keep believing. That what feels so right could not turn out to be too wrong.
Along the way too, I smell the flowers and sunshine. The march is not all a difficult one :) As I progress farther and farther from the onset, I realize that with each crossroad I face, new decisions require brand new evaluations. And they no longer constitute an accurate guage of that which they set out to determine.
Perhaps the answer I am looking for lies not in the destiny I will finally obtain, but in whether it belongs with you; perhaps I am seeking to find no answer at all. Because if the dreaded outcome should so unfortunately emerge, that's when my tracks are prematurely halted to a reluctant end.
It is not so much a test of speed as it is of stamina. But with my hand secured in yours, what does it matter that I should have to devote a whole lifetime to this journey.
Eventually shall we be able to weigh the merit of this pursuit we boldly declared 'ideal'. In the full knowledge of its benefits, as well as the sacrifices it entailed. Should it even be labeled ideal at all?
The enterprise was at first motivated by a self-perceived need to justify our actions in front of others. You don't know how many friends relate pure distaste for such situations. But somehow along the way this purpose fell off, and what continues to drive this quest is an innate desire to keep believing. That what feels so right could not turn out to be too wrong.
Along the way too, I smell the flowers and sunshine. The march is not all a difficult one :) As I progress farther and farther from the onset, I realize that with each crossroad I face, new decisions require brand new evaluations. And they no longer constitute an accurate guage of that which they set out to determine.
Perhaps the answer I am looking for lies not in the destiny I will finally obtain, but in whether it belongs with you; perhaps I am seeking to find no answer at all. Because if the dreaded outcome should so unfortunately emerge, that's when my tracks are prematurely halted to a reluctant end.
It is not so much a test of speed as it is of stamina. But with my hand secured in yours, what does it matter that I should have to devote a whole lifetime to this journey.
Friday, June 8, 2007
The Tough of Effort
Tough is not the willing of yourself to advance despite your most ardent objections.
Tough is the incomprehensible resistance of the mind against your most violent desire for the contrary.
It's one of those days when my commitments simply don't make sense anymore. My world revolves around meaninglessness. Just when I've almost forgotten the revolting taste of a twisted gut, I am stricken with a bitterness in my mouth that can't be washed away. I wish I could give them all up, cast myself in total abandon, and close my eyes. To curl up and hide. To cry. And be given the luxury of choosing never to wake up again. Tough is precisely because you don't want any of that at all.
Just one of those unpleasant side-effects of happiness, I guess. Without such lows the highs wouldn't be labeled thus.
Tough is the incomprehensible resistance of the mind against your most violent desire for the contrary.
It's one of those days when my commitments simply don't make sense anymore. My world revolves around meaninglessness. Just when I've almost forgotten the revolting taste of a twisted gut, I am stricken with a bitterness in my mouth that can't be washed away. I wish I could give them all up, cast myself in total abandon, and close my eyes. To curl up and hide. To cry. And be given the luxury of choosing never to wake up again. Tough is precisely because you don't want any of that at all.
Just one of those unpleasant side-effects of happiness, I guess. Without such lows the highs wouldn't be labeled thus.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Old Shoes
On the one hand was familiarity. She had spent very many years with them, good ones and bad, and there was comfort in knowing exactly what to expect.
On the other hand was potential. Her potential waiting to be unleashed. One more go at defining her self; who knows if she would ever be given another chance to grab hold of life.
But the old shoes came first, and to this immutable fact she was bound. They, too, were once the centre of attraction. Slick and lustrous to behold, velvet to the touch, and cushy to the sole. Adorned with the most exquisite lace and beadwork.
Fate decreed that she had to lay her eyes upon that unassuming display. They offered her only fixation and unceasing bewilderment. It was not so much their appearance as the connection that was compounded within her. It encroached upon her heart and locked her emotions. Her will was left defenseless against its beckoning.
She couldn't recall for what reason she decided to put them on. And then it triggered an insuperable urge to pursue. For a while, this splash of excitement seemed to confer infinite strength. Her brainish recklessness she mistook for courage.
All of a sudden she was afflicted with quivering anguish. Except the crash back to reality didn't split just her head. Her frustration, like the pressing wind, was flaking her spirit, and as she crumbled layer upon layer, her head tugged urgently for riposte.
She couldn't recall for what reason she decided on habit over vindication. She had chosen now. At least there was solace in the commonplace. Moreover, it wouldn't be considered sacrifice. Those darling novelties exuded in appeal, and would certainly gather no lack of admirers. But if only she hadn't tasted their goodness, then perhaps what you don't know you can't miss. Yet how could she forsake the past in its faded glory? After all, she was quondam too.
********Epilogue********
Dedicated to she who has impacted more lives than one.
It was for what once was that what now is. And as much as I am grateful, I concede I really shouldn't be. You know, moral justice is but a social concept. Recognize that you don't have to be; or at least, I hope you no longer are.
On the other hand was potential. Her potential waiting to be unleashed. One more go at defining her self; who knows if she would ever be given another chance to grab hold of life.
But the old shoes came first, and to this immutable fact she was bound. They, too, were once the centre of attraction. Slick and lustrous to behold, velvet to the touch, and cushy to the sole. Adorned with the most exquisite lace and beadwork.
Fate decreed that she had to lay her eyes upon that unassuming display. They offered her only fixation and unceasing bewilderment. It was not so much their appearance as the connection that was compounded within her. It encroached upon her heart and locked her emotions. Her will was left defenseless against its beckoning.
She couldn't recall for what reason she decided to put them on. And then it triggered an insuperable urge to pursue. For a while, this splash of excitement seemed to confer infinite strength. Her brainish recklessness she mistook for courage.
All of a sudden she was afflicted with quivering anguish. Except the crash back to reality didn't split just her head. Her frustration, like the pressing wind, was flaking her spirit, and as she crumbled layer upon layer, her head tugged urgently for riposte.
She couldn't recall for what reason she decided on habit over vindication. She had chosen now. At least there was solace in the commonplace. Moreover, it wouldn't be considered sacrifice. Those darling novelties exuded in appeal, and would certainly gather no lack of admirers. But if only she hadn't tasted their goodness, then perhaps what you don't know you can't miss. Yet how could she forsake the past in its faded glory? After all, she was quondam too.
********Epilogue********
Dedicated to she who has impacted more lives than one.
It was for what once was that what now is. And as much as I am grateful, I concede I really shouldn't be. You know, moral justice is but a social concept. Recognize that you don't have to be; or at least, I hope you no longer are.
Friday, June 1, 2007
最美的平凡
Even my childhood is gladder.
Not long ago, I re-lived those days as a child when the swing seemed to give me wings. The world was a cheery, propitious place because if I could fly then I could achieve so much more. I was a kid who believed in myself :)
Those were truly happy times. And you'd suppose if those positive experiences left no unfinished business, then they are as good as anyone would have them. Except they could get better.
And, truth be told, even I didn't realize, until I got to swing along with you :) Remember the lady with the child in her arms was laughing at us because we appeared to be 5-year-olds all over again, albeit larger than life. We couldn't stop grinning from ear to ear, although that description is perhaps more accurate of me than you. And then those smiliar occurences of yesteryears were jolted from memory and refreshed; enhanced even.
It's mind-boggling how when you meet someone you get along with, you wonder where he's been all this while. And you couldn't believe how you survived so long without this kind of breathtaking bliss in your life. You don't only wish to share with him all that the future holds, you're convinced how much more enjoyable past endeavours would have been with him around.
My dearest, there's something about you that makes the ordinary resplendent.
Not long ago, I re-lived those days as a child when the swing seemed to give me wings. The world was a cheery, propitious place because if I could fly then I could achieve so much more. I was a kid who believed in myself :)
Those were truly happy times. And you'd suppose if those positive experiences left no unfinished business, then they are as good as anyone would have them. Except they could get better.
And, truth be told, even I didn't realize, until I got to swing along with you :) Remember the lady with the child in her arms was laughing at us because we appeared to be 5-year-olds all over again, albeit larger than life. We couldn't stop grinning from ear to ear, although that description is perhaps more accurate of me than you. And then those smiliar occurences of yesteryears were jolted from memory and refreshed; enhanced even.
It's mind-boggling how when you meet someone you get along with, you wonder where he's been all this while. And you couldn't believe how you survived so long without this kind of breathtaking bliss in your life. You don't only wish to share with him all that the future holds, you're convinced how much more enjoyable past endeavours would have been with him around.
My dearest, there's something about you that makes the ordinary resplendent.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Chubby Cuddlelies
Also known as babies. Rotund little bundles of exceeding bubbly joy :)
I couldn't imagine what kind of prissy individual would actually prefer skinny toddlers. Which is why all babies have tummies. It's what makes them appear exquisitely dashing in their miniature outfits. They also babble in the most adorable of ways. It's true their self-absorbed musings are impossible to decipher, yet aren't you simply captivated by their throaty gurgles? But their most irresistable feature must be the baby scent. No one I know ever gets enough of those redolent handfuls.
Isn't it interesting that everyone sets out on an implicit mission to make an infant smile? You'd throw out all dignified behaviour and replace them with monkey faces, clown antics and off-key tunes for the sake of so much as a wrinkle of his princely nose. If you should be so fortunate as to gain their pleasure, the delight on their faces absolutely brightens your day. It's a kind of satisfaction beyond human explication.
And baby Uncle is one such plummy boy :p I give him regular tummy rubs just to hear him laugh. He rewards attention showered upon him handsomely through his sparkling eyes, and believes that television deserves his most intense babbling. For some strange reason, baby Uncle is also pre-occupied with teeth. He flashes his own set boastfully in reciprocation to similar gestures from others. Perhaps he is proud that his pearly whites abound and are perfectly aligned where there is none to begin with in the case of other little guys (and he would have you know he put in much effort to achieve that effect).
It's true that given baby Uncle's boundless energy, he sometimes demands more time and devotion than I am able to sustain. The occasional lack of sleep has certain implications on my other responsibilities.
Still the sweetest thing remains, that when he snuggles up to you and gives you the most tremendous bear hug he can manage, that's when all your dearest recollections of the past fuse with the present and merge into the future in one whirling confusion; and you wish your throbbing heart wouldn't resonate so.
I couldn't imagine what kind of prissy individual would actually prefer skinny toddlers. Which is why all babies have tummies. It's what makes them appear exquisitely dashing in their miniature outfits. They also babble in the most adorable of ways. It's true their self-absorbed musings are impossible to decipher, yet aren't you simply captivated by their throaty gurgles? But their most irresistable feature must be the baby scent. No one I know ever gets enough of those redolent handfuls.
Isn't it interesting that everyone sets out on an implicit mission to make an infant smile? You'd throw out all dignified behaviour and replace them with monkey faces, clown antics and off-key tunes for the sake of so much as a wrinkle of his princely nose. If you should be so fortunate as to gain their pleasure, the delight on their faces absolutely brightens your day. It's a kind of satisfaction beyond human explication.
And baby Uncle is one such plummy boy :p I give him regular tummy rubs just to hear him laugh. He rewards attention showered upon him handsomely through his sparkling eyes, and believes that television deserves his most intense babbling. For some strange reason, baby Uncle is also pre-occupied with teeth. He flashes his own set boastfully in reciprocation to similar gestures from others. Perhaps he is proud that his pearly whites abound and are perfectly aligned where there is none to begin with in the case of other little guys (and he would have you know he put in much effort to achieve that effect).
It's true that given baby Uncle's boundless energy, he sometimes demands more time and devotion than I am able to sustain. The occasional lack of sleep has certain implications on my other responsibilities.
Still the sweetest thing remains, that when he snuggles up to you and gives you the most tremendous bear hug he can manage, that's when all your dearest recollections of the past fuse with the present and merge into the future in one whirling confusion; and you wish your throbbing heart wouldn't resonate so.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
At the Next Turn
I've always looked forward to the next turn for something to hold on to. Outlandishly splendid and fulgurant; what about something like love.
How romantic to pretend what surprises may spring upon you around the corner :) Tall, dark and handsome prince charming sweeps me off my feet? With the cutest smile? Someone like Harry Osborne in Spiderman 3 would surely be to die for, even with that radioactive scar. It's exciting thinking about paradise unfolding at the very next moment.
But I found out that the next swerve could also take something away without my letting go. No longer splendid and fulgurant; nothing more than love.
How could it be that the very same things I used to cherish, today I am simply unable to tolerate. There is an indomitable craving for change. Perhaps I refuse to admit that former things bore my fickle mind, yet why do I feel like I've been settling for less far too long? It dawns on me suddenly what better things actually. And then the realization is overbearing. It overrides all previous inclinations, and I struggle to even vaguely recall the way it was. If only I could identify the difference between the past and present, and still appreciate the beauty I left behind. But I can only accept that I am no longer me.
What lies beyond that next turn?
How romantic to pretend what surprises may spring upon you around the corner :) Tall, dark and handsome prince charming sweeps me off my feet? With the cutest smile? Someone like Harry Osborne in Spiderman 3 would surely be to die for, even with that radioactive scar. It's exciting thinking about paradise unfolding at the very next moment.
But I found out that the next swerve could also take something away without my letting go. No longer splendid and fulgurant; nothing more than love.
How could it be that the very same things I used to cherish, today I am simply unable to tolerate. There is an indomitable craving for change. Perhaps I refuse to admit that former things bore my fickle mind, yet why do I feel like I've been settling for less far too long? It dawns on me suddenly what better things actually. And then the realization is overbearing. It overrides all previous inclinations, and I struggle to even vaguely recall the way it was. If only I could identify the difference between the past and present, and still appreciate the beauty I left behind. But I can only accept that I am no longer me.
What lies beyond that next turn?
Friday, May 11, 2007
Did You Know
Words, when strung together in certain ways, could very well take on a life of their own. You know when they evoke a whole new set of emotions each time you go through them in exactly the same sequence.
Some thoughts could tire you to sleep every night, and yet you start missing them the next moment you wake up. You know when you would actually deal with the fatigue rather than stop those thoughts from recurring.
When I'm upset with you, I'm even more upset with myself for being so.
Happiness is not the absence of sorrow. Because bad experiences have no business limiting your potential ;)
Some thoughts could tire you to sleep every night, and yet you start missing them the next moment you wake up. You know when you would actually deal with the fatigue rather than stop those thoughts from recurring.
When I'm upset with you, I'm even more upset with myself for being so.
Happiness is not the absence of sorrow. Because bad experiences have no business limiting your potential ;)
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Accidentally
I don't know how it was that the clouds in my skies parted, and the moon illuminated the stars for you and me. But you know, they were twinkling in an almost knowing manner. That I would finally find it in me to appreciate their beauty. Because you taught me to slow down and to take time.
And I haven't figured out if it's your scent that's gotten into my head, blocking my senses off everything else; or if it's my head being incapable of shaking off those thoughts of you, it seems your presence never leaves mine.
When was it that you stepped into my world? For I detected not so much your presence as the first rays of dawn that you brought along. And so I no longer needed to hope, because then those hopes came to pass right before my eyes.
I'm still learning your affectionate ways; unapologetic and never ashamed. Now my vision is coloured with your love. Sometimes I ponder if all good things eventually come to an end. For I know that if ever you're not around, I could not see ice cream in the same way again.
More than all the wealth and achievement I could ever hope to gain, your companion would I gladly be.
And I haven't figured out if it's your scent that's gotten into my head, blocking my senses off everything else; or if it's my head being incapable of shaking off those thoughts of you, it seems your presence never leaves mine.
When was it that you stepped into my world? For I detected not so much your presence as the first rays of dawn that you brought along. And so I no longer needed to hope, because then those hopes came to pass right before my eyes.
I'm still learning your affectionate ways; unapologetic and never ashamed. Now my vision is coloured with your love. Sometimes I ponder if all good things eventually come to an end. For I know that if ever you're not around, I could not see ice cream in the same way again.
More than all the wealth and achievement I could ever hope to gain, your companion would I gladly be.
Monday, May 7, 2007
Electrifying
What differentiates one person's touch from another.
Do you think perhaps it's the speed and intensity of the transfer of electrons?
With the right amount, your skin tingles, your heart palpitates, the scent lingers.
Or the contact could mean nothing at all.
Do you think perhaps it's the speed and intensity of the transfer of electrons?
With the right amount, your skin tingles, your heart palpitates, the scent lingers.
Or the contact could mean nothing at all.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Attentional Bias
For what it's worth, you can't find what you're looking for, unless you know what you were looking for. The legendary Sherlock Holmes said so himself (not sure the source, so it's either I did read it, or my memory is playing construction games again).
Hence when you set out with pre-conceived notions, it might very well be the case that you disregard any other pertinent observations that do not fall in line with your theory. Attentional bias is a very astounding mechanism. It preserves identity and prevents overload of the cognitive system. At the same time, naturally, it allows for an efficient but potentially inaccurate summary of the events that occur in your external environment. The concern involves the implicit trust that we place in these automatic processes.
I wonder why we don't ever question the assumptions by which we operate, when the mind must be about the safest context we can hope to take on such risks. It appears almost as if the brain were only meant for involuntary regulatory functions. Perhaps most people do not know how to identify their underlying assumptions to start with. But I would have you know, it's much like considering the possibilities of any option to infinity. Even the absurd ones (yes, for a good laugh! =p).
But ok, I'd have to admit it's easier said than done. My inadequacy is displayed in full flourish whenever I go shopping. After perhaps 10 whole years of practice (and this estimate is conservative), I still fail to grasp the intricacies involved. So much has got to be considered before the assurance of a satisfying purchase can be made possible. Sometimes I suspect one could only be a fortune-teller in order to actually be able to anticipate the various inconveniences that might crop up in the course of an excursion in your new outfit.
My list of questions for self-interrogation normally goes like this:
1) Is it pretty? Is it different?
2) Does it fit? Does it flatter me?
3) Colour too normal? Too loud?
4) Will everyone else on the street be wearing the same?
5) What occasion could I wear it to?
6) Do I have clothing to match?
7) What about shoes?
8) Material suitable for machine-wash?
9) Will it stretch and go out of shape when it's hung out to dry?
10) Anything else I should consider...?
And it's always the last question that utterly trips me. Most pieces of clothing I bring home wouldn't measure up as well as they did in the fitting room. And of course I should have known that the pants might be hanging too low on my hips to NOT be revealing whenever I sit, or that it might CREASE up in unsightly ways when I start taking strides like I usually do; or that slit in the mini-skirt will totally stretch open because people MOVE, or it might be perpetually too tight for my tummy not to show, or too long for casual outings; and so my rantings go on and on...
And yes, they were all there right from the beginning. It's just hilarious how I don't see it until it's too late.
Hence when you set out with pre-conceived notions, it might very well be the case that you disregard any other pertinent observations that do not fall in line with your theory. Attentional bias is a very astounding mechanism. It preserves identity and prevents overload of the cognitive system. At the same time, naturally, it allows for an efficient but potentially inaccurate summary of the events that occur in your external environment. The concern involves the implicit trust that we place in these automatic processes.
I wonder why we don't ever question the assumptions by which we operate, when the mind must be about the safest context we can hope to take on such risks. It appears almost as if the brain were only meant for involuntary regulatory functions. Perhaps most people do not know how to identify their underlying assumptions to start with. But I would have you know, it's much like considering the possibilities of any option to infinity. Even the absurd ones (yes, for a good laugh! =p).
But ok, I'd have to admit it's easier said than done. My inadequacy is displayed in full flourish whenever I go shopping. After perhaps 10 whole years of practice (and this estimate is conservative), I still fail to grasp the intricacies involved. So much has got to be considered before the assurance of a satisfying purchase can be made possible. Sometimes I suspect one could only be a fortune-teller in order to actually be able to anticipate the various inconveniences that might crop up in the course of an excursion in your new outfit.
My list of questions for self-interrogation normally goes like this:
1) Is it pretty? Is it different?
2) Does it fit? Does it flatter me?
3) Colour too normal? Too loud?
4) Will everyone else on the street be wearing the same?
5) What occasion could I wear it to?
6) Do I have clothing to match?
7) What about shoes?
8) Material suitable for machine-wash?
9) Will it stretch and go out of shape when it's hung out to dry?
10) Anything else I should consider...?
And it's always the last question that utterly trips me. Most pieces of clothing I bring home wouldn't measure up as well as they did in the fitting room. And of course I should have known that the pants might be hanging too low on my hips to NOT be revealing whenever I sit, or that it might CREASE up in unsightly ways when I start taking strides like I usually do; or that slit in the mini-skirt will totally stretch open because people MOVE, or it might be perpetually too tight for my tummy not to show, or too long for casual outings; and so my rantings go on and on...
And yes, they were all there right from the beginning. It's just hilarious how I don't see it until it's too late.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Speechless
If a picture paints a thousand words,
Then why can't I paint you?
The words will never show,
That you I've come to know.
****************
The naked mole rat is a pinkish-grey, furless, wrinkled little rodent. For a long time, he was too caught up in his own burrowed world to recognize the sunlight and all the life it inspired. Then one day, he peeped up at the surface and was greeted with a deep breath of fresh air. His lungs exploded with exhilaration.
The endless range of open spaces and their vibrant depiction ignited his passion for existence. He held onto every single day. He spent every waking moment soaking up the sun. He embraced its energy and warmth. Every dark cool night was spent in anticipation for the next promise of dawn. Like an overwhelming stream of thoughts racing through his brain; no longer left wanting.
The sun inquired the reason for such absolute devotion. He turned and simply said, "Just you".
****************
I love you too.
Then why can't I paint you?
The words will never show,
That you I've come to know.
****************
The naked mole rat is a pinkish-grey, furless, wrinkled little rodent. For a long time, he was too caught up in his own burrowed world to recognize the sunlight and all the life it inspired. Then one day, he peeped up at the surface and was greeted with a deep breath of fresh air. His lungs exploded with exhilaration.
The endless range of open spaces and their vibrant depiction ignited his passion for existence. He held onto every single day. He spent every waking moment soaking up the sun. He embraced its energy and warmth. Every dark cool night was spent in anticipation for the next promise of dawn. Like an overwhelming stream of thoughts racing through his brain; no longer left wanting.
The sun inquired the reason for such absolute devotion. He turned and simply said, "Just you".
****************
I love you too.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
A Tribute
It was a good three years you gave me. And I shall always treasure the moments we shared. The times you saw me through and the joy you brought me I shall surely not forget.
You know, you were the sweetest creature. Ever so mild tempered. In the face of illness and age, you remained good natured to the end. You were never impatient with me, but instead displayed tenacity in your will to survive. It was I who became disheartened as I saw you slowly wither with each passing day.
You were the cutest baby. And the most faithful companion to your brother. As you matured, I learned to appreciate the sharp chin and knowing eyes. You were good-looking :) Your fur was the delicate mix of brown with a tinge of grey. And that streak down the middle of your back was so reminiscent. Your parents would have been so proud of you.
As I gradually busied myself with the outside world, I thought you turned into a burden of mine. It was one more responsibility I had to cater for. Making sure you had clean food, fresh water, new bedding; perhaps my dad finally decided I was doing such a slipshod job he took the liberty to improve things on his own...But it was you accomodating me all along.
There's a space in this house that will always belong to you. That spot which now seems starkly empty. Perhaps it's the blinding white tiles that are creating a optical illusion, but somehow the lack in the place you occupied doesn't stop staring out at me. I wish I could have spent more years with you, but I guess we all move on sometime. And if your time now is no longer meant with me, you have all of my blessings on your next embark.
You know, you were the sweetest creature. Ever so mild tempered. In the face of illness and age, you remained good natured to the end. You were never impatient with me, but instead displayed tenacity in your will to survive. It was I who became disheartened as I saw you slowly wither with each passing day.
You were the cutest baby. And the most faithful companion to your brother. As you matured, I learned to appreciate the sharp chin and knowing eyes. You were good-looking :) Your fur was the delicate mix of brown with a tinge of grey. And that streak down the middle of your back was so reminiscent. Your parents would have been so proud of you.
As I gradually busied myself with the outside world, I thought you turned into a burden of mine. It was one more responsibility I had to cater for. Making sure you had clean food, fresh water, new bedding; perhaps my dad finally decided I was doing such a slipshod job he took the liberty to improve things on his own...But it was you accomodating me all along.
There's a space in this house that will always belong to you. That spot which now seems starkly empty. Perhaps it's the blinding white tiles that are creating a optical illusion, but somehow the lack in the place you occupied doesn't stop staring out at me. I wish I could have spent more years with you, but I guess we all move on sometime. And if your time now is no longer meant with me, you have all of my blessings on your next embark.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Fox and the Fruit Garden
Nope, foxes don't prey on gullible sheep like us biased, petty humans choose to believe. They totally get hung up on organic fruit cultivated with the most rigorous tender loving care in the finest orchards; actually, only one orchard in particular. And only one fox that I speak of.
So the story goes that one day, as this pleasant, very humane fox was going on his usual rounds of prying into nobody's business, he caught glimpse of this most wonderful fruit garden. Its soil bursting with all the juicy magnificence of red, yellow, and orange! He conceived of the euphoria that would ignite at the touch of his tongue to the cool texture. What a moment of transcendence.
Encircling the orchard was a tall wooden fence whose height reached further than the sky. Our poor hero got dizzy just thinking about looking up; he would never do it to climb over the barrier. But his preoccupation drove him to daily marches around its perimeter, come rain or shine. His efforts were finally rewarded when he noticed one keyhole of a crevice tucked neatly from sight by the heaping weeds. It was small, alright. He would have to lose a tiny bit of weight to gain entrance into his paradise. Such a very insignificant price to pay for an abundance of gratification. He reveled in his good fortune :)
That happy day eventually arrived and he found himself on the other side. One could not even begin to imagine the rate at which he feasted. His mouth was open for a longer time than when he had all four wisdom teeth extracted in a single sitting. You could literally watch his lean arms turn muscular. And then he was satisfied. He rolled over for a well-deserved nap.
He awoke to clear blue skies and warm sunshine. From afar the laughter of playing children drifted to his ears with the touching breeze. Birds were chirping in melodious synchrony to his leisurely roam. He detected his outlet back to the rest of civilization and began squirming with a complacent smug on his face. He was proud of having accomplished his plan so smoothly. And then he felt a pain sear through his body as a splinter jabbed at his ribs. He was stuck.
He would have to lose a tiny bit of weight to gain exit into his paradise. But isn't it such a very insignificant price to pay for an abundance of gratification? He amused himself with that thought :) After a few days naturally, he made it out to the other side.
And then he caught glimpse of this most wonderful fruit garden. Its soil bursting with all the juicy magnificence of red, yellow, and orange! He conceived of the euphoria that would ignite at the touch of his tongue to the cool texture. What a moment of transcendence.
*****TheEnd*****
The work's not original; I must have read it on the web somewhere. I acknowledge my sources with much gratitude. A good story goes a long way.
So the story goes that one day, as this pleasant, very humane fox was going on his usual rounds of prying into nobody's business, he caught glimpse of this most wonderful fruit garden. Its soil bursting with all the juicy magnificence of red, yellow, and orange! He conceived of the euphoria that would ignite at the touch of his tongue to the cool texture. What a moment of transcendence.
Encircling the orchard was a tall wooden fence whose height reached further than the sky. Our poor hero got dizzy just thinking about looking up; he would never do it to climb over the barrier. But his preoccupation drove him to daily marches around its perimeter, come rain or shine. His efforts were finally rewarded when he noticed one keyhole of a crevice tucked neatly from sight by the heaping weeds. It was small, alright. He would have to lose a tiny bit of weight to gain entrance into his paradise. Such a very insignificant price to pay for an abundance of gratification. He reveled in his good fortune :)
That happy day eventually arrived and he found himself on the other side. One could not even begin to imagine the rate at which he feasted. His mouth was open for a longer time than when he had all four wisdom teeth extracted in a single sitting. You could literally watch his lean arms turn muscular. And then he was satisfied. He rolled over for a well-deserved nap.
He awoke to clear blue skies and warm sunshine. From afar the laughter of playing children drifted to his ears with the touching breeze. Birds were chirping in melodious synchrony to his leisurely roam. He detected his outlet back to the rest of civilization and began squirming with a complacent smug on his face. He was proud of having accomplished his plan so smoothly. And then he felt a pain sear through his body as a splinter jabbed at his ribs. He was stuck.
He would have to lose a tiny bit of weight to gain exit into his paradise. But isn't it such a very insignificant price to pay for an abundance of gratification? He amused himself with that thought :) After a few days naturally, he made it out to the other side.
And then he caught glimpse of this most wonderful fruit garden. Its soil bursting with all the juicy magnificence of red, yellow, and orange! He conceived of the euphoria that would ignite at the touch of his tongue to the cool texture. What a moment of transcendence.
*****TheEnd*****
The work's not original; I must have read it on the web somewhere. I acknowledge my sources with much gratitude. A good story goes a long way.
Monday, April 9, 2007
In Other Words
Maroon. It's become the colour of my memories. Remember we sat there laughing over the littlest things. Only once, yet so vividly imprinted on my mind...
Totally. That's your pet phrase which has also become mine. You added Blissfully to the list. But I can't bear to sound out that word, now that you're no longer near...
Butterflies. How I wish I had had them immortalized. I keep thinking about the experiment you designed. You know being right about nail polish means nothing at all, if there's no one with whom to share the joy...
Envelopes. In my favourite colour too. The pictures we drew are the only ones I'd frame up. In case there won't be another time...
You make me laugh. And then you made me cry...
I miss you.
Totally. That's your pet phrase which has also become mine. You added Blissfully to the list. But I can't bear to sound out that word, now that you're no longer near...
Butterflies. How I wish I had had them immortalized. I keep thinking about the experiment you designed. You know being right about nail polish means nothing at all, if there's no one with whom to share the joy...
Envelopes. In my favourite colour too. The pictures we drew are the only ones I'd frame up. In case there won't be another time...
You make me laugh. And then you made me cry...
I miss you.
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Counterfactual Thinking
I heard the phenomenon was initially observed from photos of competition winners. First runners-up consistently appeared with a more solemn expression than second runners-up. It would almost seem prestige was awarded in the order of 1st, 3rd, 2nd. Social researchers attribute the disatisfaction to a heightened sense of loss. These players speculate over what outcome might have been, should they have done things just slightly differently. The position of champion was so near, now yet so far. Perhaps personal best had not been achieved, but most would deny the notion of greater capabilities apart from oneself. Nothing more than a great deal of self-delusion.
And counterfactual thinking results in puffy eyes. Against your knowledge. Which is why most of us retain absurd theories about lack of sleep, stress, or even excessive crying, as the main culprits. The fact is when the mind takes leave to dwell upon past issues, your consciousness no longer operates in the present. You know not really what you do. As if everything occured in a trance. It's definitely not my idea of fun.
Fortunately, minds are volatile socialites (at least mine is), and they have the relieving tendency to drift between dimensions. At the enticement of foreign clarion calls, it propels back into the current because there is never anything as fulfilling as vacuous chaffer.
Unfortunately too, when I'm alone my stick-in-the-mud of a brain takes it to be the equivalence of idling. By which time it is promptly transported into the realm of Impossibility. Perhaps it's beguiling here where the semblances are endless; even if the marvellous conjurations conclude there where they begin. Yet like an addiction, it only draws you in.
And counterfactual thinking results in puffy eyes. Against your knowledge. Which is why most of us retain absurd theories about lack of sleep, stress, or even excessive crying, as the main culprits. The fact is when the mind takes leave to dwell upon past issues, your consciousness no longer operates in the present. You know not really what you do. As if everything occured in a trance. It's definitely not my idea of fun.
Fortunately, minds are volatile socialites (at least mine is), and they have the relieving tendency to drift between dimensions. At the enticement of foreign clarion calls, it propels back into the current because there is never anything as fulfilling as vacuous chaffer.
Unfortunately too, when I'm alone my stick-in-the-mud of a brain takes it to be the equivalence of idling. By which time it is promptly transported into the realm of Impossibility. Perhaps it's beguiling here where the semblances are endless; even if the marvellous conjurations conclude there where they begin. Yet like an addiction, it only draws you in.
Friday, April 6, 2007
寻找那最终的天堂
Much as I fiercely guarded my independance and insisted on my own destiny, I used to think that I needed strong shoulders to lean upon. It wouldn't matter, then, whoever should happen to be the owner of those pillars of support. For it cannot be underestimated the extent to which solitude can compromise a person's resolve. And the reason being obvious: To feel wanted. Be it strengths or weaknesses. The whole and the impaired alike. Like the supporting cast wishes to be just as loudly applauded.
Although things don't work that way, if you hadn't already realized. At least I won't let it. I still hold on to the belief that there's someone out there made for you. He's the one you need this lifetime. Not merely a source of comfort and refuge. Not because his pretty face takes your breath away. Nor because his kindness leaves your will defenseless. More than just another stimulating conversationalist. But because he simply is. One doesn't fall in love with neither charming eyes nor luscious lips. Neither intellectual debates nor virtuous attributes. Don't fall for an impression, fall in love with him!
And if ever someone needs you like you need him, that's when you know, you just might have uncovered what's been worth the waiting for =)
Although things don't work that way, if you hadn't already realized. At least I won't let it. I still hold on to the belief that there's someone out there made for you. He's the one you need this lifetime. Not merely a source of comfort and refuge. Not because his pretty face takes your breath away. Nor because his kindness leaves your will defenseless. More than just another stimulating conversationalist. But because he simply is. One doesn't fall in love with neither charming eyes nor luscious lips. Neither intellectual debates nor virtuous attributes. Don't fall for an impression, fall in love with him!
And if ever someone needs you like you need him, that's when you know, you just might have uncovered what's been worth the waiting for =)
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
If One Day
Have you ever suffered a heartache? It's what happens when someone touches your heart, and then decides to let go. At that very same moment, your heart laments its indelible fate that it would never again be given the choice to stop beating. And so this wondrous muscle starts to ache in a somewhat exaggerated, prolonged fashion. So as to allow you the full extent of its musing.
I remember the moment it all began. We were at the bus-stop near my place. I asked if you had seen my note. You simply murmured; to think you wouldn't even have confronted the issue if I hadn't plucked up every ounce of courage in my soul to do so...And then I told you what I thought was best for you. I wanted you to be happy. You only smiled.
When I reached home, I wondered why my cheeks were moist. And then the wrenching inside of me was palpable. So now I sit around to fight back the tears. I try to run whenever I can. It's still true speed creates miracles in setting the head back on reality. But did you know it does nothing to purge a broken heart. I find no other way out.
If one day time should come to a standstill for me, and I could attempt the most reckless of behaviours without abiding by the consequences; I would have you know, that I resent model answers the world over.
I remember the moment it all began. We were at the bus-stop near my place. I asked if you had seen my note. You simply murmured; to think you wouldn't even have confronted the issue if I hadn't plucked up every ounce of courage in my soul to do so...And then I told you what I thought was best for you. I wanted you to be happy. You only smiled.
When I reached home, I wondered why my cheeks were moist. And then the wrenching inside of me was palpable. So now I sit around to fight back the tears. I try to run whenever I can. It's still true speed creates miracles in setting the head back on reality. But did you know it does nothing to purge a broken heart. I find no other way out.
If one day time should come to a standstill for me, and I could attempt the most reckless of behaviours without abiding by the consequences; I would have you know, that I resent model answers the world over.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
From Me To You
I've been unable to recall the origins as to how I got down to reading "Someone to Watch Over Me" by Judith McNaught. However, I do know that I ever only read Romance novels when I visit the public library. Because it is a habit to borrow two books; one of more serious content, and another easier read to balance. So perhaps for the want of something to occupy my mind and time, I went down to the nearest branch and started browsing. Funny I don't remember the other book now, but it could very well be for the better; friends tell me I indulge in the weirdest topics. And they say it as if that were supposed to frighten you. :s
The story finds Leigh and Logan Manning as one of New York's "perfect" couples. A fateful snowstorm lands Leigh in hospital and renders Logan missing. Thus we delve into the truth behind the glamour. Please don't be so quick to dismiss the plot as another cheesy commercial venture because that's not what was most impressionable about the book. It turned out that Leigh had an encounter in her younger days with the now notorious Michael Valente. At that opportune moment when the famous actress was facing immense distress after her accident, he revealed his true identity with a promise to love and take care of her. For me, having read this story at a time when I was rather disillusioned about love, I was sorely upset with its poor coherence to reality. I couldn't help being so acutely reminded about my own loneliness that you won't believe how much it took for me not to get angry. But I digress.
Lately, it occurred to me that the interesting part happened during one of Leigh's theatre performances. A gift basket of pears was sent backstage accompanied by an enigmatic note. What was written was a mere two words: Love me. Now that I think of it, I've no idea actually if it were from Valente, or a stalker whose identity remained unresolved to the end. Leigh's first reaction was fear. She was horrified by the idea that her stalker knew her to such personal detail. I would have been quite terrified myself :p So I guess the pears were from Valente, considering it wasn't a horror series...In the end, after having rationalized for quite some time, she convinced herself of a different explanation that was quite ingenious. She decided that the note really meant Love, me as in the phrase that Logan would have signed off with. At that time of the incident, Leigh was still in a blissful relationship with Logan, so I felt that Valente was rather selfish in his actions, although that remains but a thought. Perhaps he was appalled by Logan's shady business dealings and believed that Leigh deserved better.
Anyway, I was struck by the simplicity of the delivery of such a profound notion. I keep thinking there's a profound message somewhere, that is. Because if there is one, it evades me still. I only know that I was very impressed with the fact that one almost insignificant comma could do so much to change the meaning of the phrase, and as a result, turn the whole situation over. Aren't you at least in awe of its implications? It's symbolic of what miscommunications could cause, or the things that could have been but didn't come to pass...Which is why, I guess as much as Leigh was very fortunate to have someone to watch over her, and that the couple (Leigh and Valente) were really meant to be, it was Valente's persistence in pursuing his convictions that created a happy ending. Leigh eventually agreed to be his girlfriend. They were married soon after. The beauty of fairy tales :)
The story finds Leigh and Logan Manning as one of New York's "perfect" couples. A fateful snowstorm lands Leigh in hospital and renders Logan missing. Thus we delve into the truth behind the glamour. Please don't be so quick to dismiss the plot as another cheesy commercial venture because that's not what was most impressionable about the book. It turned out that Leigh had an encounter in her younger days with the now notorious Michael Valente. At that opportune moment when the famous actress was facing immense distress after her accident, he revealed his true identity with a promise to love and take care of her. For me, having read this story at a time when I was rather disillusioned about love, I was sorely upset with its poor coherence to reality. I couldn't help being so acutely reminded about my own loneliness that you won't believe how much it took for me not to get angry. But I digress.
Lately, it occurred to me that the interesting part happened during one of Leigh's theatre performances. A gift basket of pears was sent backstage accompanied by an enigmatic note. What was written was a mere two words: Love me. Now that I think of it, I've no idea actually if it were from Valente, or a stalker whose identity remained unresolved to the end. Leigh's first reaction was fear. She was horrified by the idea that her stalker knew her to such personal detail. I would have been quite terrified myself :p So I guess the pears were from Valente, considering it wasn't a horror series...In the end, after having rationalized for quite some time, she convinced herself of a different explanation that was quite ingenious. She decided that the note really meant Love, me as in the phrase that Logan would have signed off with. At that time of the incident, Leigh was still in a blissful relationship with Logan, so I felt that Valente was rather selfish in his actions, although that remains but a thought. Perhaps he was appalled by Logan's shady business dealings and believed that Leigh deserved better.
Anyway, I was struck by the simplicity of the delivery of such a profound notion. I keep thinking there's a profound message somewhere, that is. Because if there is one, it evades me still. I only know that I was very impressed with the fact that one almost insignificant comma could do so much to change the meaning of the phrase, and as a result, turn the whole situation over. Aren't you at least in awe of its implications? It's symbolic of what miscommunications could cause, or the things that could have been but didn't come to pass...Which is why, I guess as much as Leigh was very fortunate to have someone to watch over her, and that the couple (Leigh and Valente) were really meant to be, it was Valente's persistence in pursuing his convictions that created a happy ending. Leigh eventually agreed to be his girlfriend. They were married soon after. The beauty of fairy tales :)
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Forlorn Cause
Whenever I'm not very careful (something which happens very often), I get afflicted with this baffling relapse of melancholy. I sulk the entire length of the day, the frowns being especially menacing in the early mornings when I just arrive at work. My colleagues will attest to the fact that the words, "I'm definitely snapping at you" are absolutely intelligible on my forehead. Or they're being tattooed on their brains by the lazer rays shooting from my eyes. Or the presentiment of hostility starts pervading the air feeding off oxygen, suffocating everyone else in the room.
Normally my disposition improves after a trip to the washroom. Because then I am confronted with my hideous sight in the mirror, and I convince myself that someone so pretty really shouldn't be looking so scary :p But recently, things are taking a downturn. I realize I'm not even pretty. And no measure of pleasantry is going to alleviate such a terminal condition :( I've lost the motivation to recover from my rather imposing habit.
Normally my disposition improves after a trip to the washroom. Because then I am confronted with my hideous sight in the mirror, and I convince myself that someone so pretty really shouldn't be looking so scary :p But recently, things are taking a downturn. I realize I'm not even pretty. And no measure of pleasantry is going to alleviate such a terminal condition :( I've lost the motivation to recover from my rather imposing habit.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Her Summer Rendition
The horizon was an expanse of vast endless blue. The ripples on the water surface hinted of mystery within its depths, just as it promised exciting unknowns beyond the skyline. Her eyes rested on his lips as he spoke; they were curved gently into a smile. And as they moved together and apart, together and apart, she wondered what drew them back each time they parted...She made a joke to ease her tension.
He gave of his love ever so freely, and it touched her heart even now. He readily settled into this way of life of giving in to her, and never did question if it were all worthwhile. For him, they were together now, and all that mattered was in making it work. She felt so inadequate next to him. Her mind constantly focussed on their compatibility. Although she saw his efforts to please, she did not experience the bliss that was supposed to accompany them. She forced that thought away once again.
Not just somebody to get me through the night.
He gave of his love ever so freely, and it touched her heart even now. He readily settled into this way of life of giving in to her, and never did question if it were all worthwhile. For him, they were together now, and all that mattered was in making it work. She felt so inadequate next to him. Her mind constantly focussed on their compatibility. Although she saw his efforts to please, she did not experience the bliss that was supposed to accompany them. She forced that thought away once again.
Not just somebody to get me through the night.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Summer in my Mind
They were strolling arm-in-arm along the edge of the water, lost in the soothing embrace of the breeze. The glowing sun caressed her cheeks into a tender blush, her hair prancing to the tune of the humming wind. His eyes glistened like crystals atop the deep blue water, his laughter a melodious tribute to the day they were made for one another.
"What is the colour of your love, my dear?" She inquired as they gazed upon the perched rainbow in all its splendor, "They say love blossoms. 'Blossom' was always a colourful word."
He placed her palms in his as he began to recite, "Blue is when I'm trying to forget the feeling that I miss you. Green is when the jealousy swells and won't go away in dreams. Yellow is a little hazy and mellow when I feel your eyes on me." She laughed, "Feeling fine! Sublime! When that smile of yours creeps into my mind."
He persisted, disregarding her mock humour, "But when I close my eyes, I am colourblind. I simply want you, and I don't know why." He touched his lips lightly to her brow and breathed in deep of her sweet scent.
Colourblind - Darius
********************
Nobody told me you'd feel so good
Nobody said you'd be so beautiful
Nobody warned me about your smile
You're the light, you're the light
When I close my eyes
I'm colour blind
YOU make me colourblind
********************
"You know, if only you'd allow yourself, you'll find I'm not the only one. Maybe, I was simply at the right place at the right time." She was always trying to be sensible. Perhaps she did provide a delicate balance to his flightly ideals, but he sometimes resented the impersonal remarks that made his devout convictions appear ludicrous.
"How are you so certain I'm the one?" she could be truly pesky when she put her mind to it. Like the Summer that he held on to, like the Summer that came and went anyway; she was as near as he wished her to be, but also as far as she managed to run.
"What is the colour of your love, my dear?" She inquired as they gazed upon the perched rainbow in all its splendor, "They say love blossoms. 'Blossom' was always a colourful word."
He placed her palms in his as he began to recite, "Blue is when I'm trying to forget the feeling that I miss you. Green is when the jealousy swells and won't go away in dreams. Yellow is a little hazy and mellow when I feel your eyes on me." She laughed, "Feeling fine! Sublime! When that smile of yours creeps into my mind."
He persisted, disregarding her mock humour, "But when I close my eyes, I am colourblind. I simply want you, and I don't know why." He touched his lips lightly to her brow and breathed in deep of her sweet scent.
Colourblind - Darius
********************
Nobody told me you'd feel so good
Nobody said you'd be so beautiful
Nobody warned me about your smile
You're the light, you're the light
When I close my eyes
I'm colour blind
YOU make me colourblind
********************
"You know, if only you'd allow yourself, you'll find I'm not the only one. Maybe, I was simply at the right place at the right time." She was always trying to be sensible. Perhaps she did provide a delicate balance to his flightly ideals, but he sometimes resented the impersonal remarks that made his devout convictions appear ludicrous.
"How are you so certain I'm the one?" she could be truly pesky when she put her mind to it. Like the Summer that he held on to, like the Summer that came and went anyway; she was as near as he wished her to be, but also as far as she managed to run.
而我知道 - 五月天
********************
我想 我听懂你 话中的话
。
。
。
微笑 紧紧咬牙 给你祝福 你自由飞吧
你说 温室没有 灿烂的花 (你总是很有想法)
就这样吧 就这样吧
我同意 可是我 泪如雨下
********************
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
If Not Talent, At Least Speed
I've never considered myself talented. I know too well that I'm not. It's just, I seem to come to the right conclusions that tiny bit faster than my counterparts. I attribute it to my healthy habit of jogging.
Running sets the heart pumping with gusto. It speeds up the physiological engine. Some while ago, I realized that's not all there is to it. It was a happy revelation to find out that even brain processes quicken. Neural impulses literally bolt across synapses. The violent pace shakes up the whole internal system, and many times, I am jerked out of my sappy ruminations against my will. Not that I've had anything to regret, really.
So perhaps I could train on my speed; it MUST be the mechnical way to creativity and perceptual acumen. Otherwise, what would nerds rely on to achieve the quality of randomness that human beings so idolize? Sheer hardwork being already monopolized by the animals...
By storing momentum, I become more efficient in developing inspiration when the need arises. Which means I am literally able to summon inspiration in a snap. How about that.
Running sets the heart pumping with gusto. It speeds up the physiological engine. Some while ago, I realized that's not all there is to it. It was a happy revelation to find out that even brain processes quicken. Neural impulses literally bolt across synapses. The violent pace shakes up the whole internal system, and many times, I am jerked out of my sappy ruminations against my will. Not that I've had anything to regret, really.
So perhaps I could train on my speed; it MUST be the mechnical way to creativity and perceptual acumen. Otherwise, what would nerds rely on to achieve the quality of randomness that human beings so idolize? Sheer hardwork being already monopolized by the animals...
By storing momentum, I become more efficient in developing inspiration when the need arises. Which means I am literally able to summon inspiration in a snap. How about that.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Happiness
When you have once seen the glow of happiness on the face of a beloved person, you know that a man can have no vocation but to awaken that light on the faces surrounding him; and you are torn by the thought of the unhappiness and night you cast, by the mere fact of living, in the hearts you encounter.
- Albert Camus
Albert Camus was born to a French Algerian (pied noir) settler family in 1913. He was an activist, among many things, and like many writers during World War II, reflected his fervent opinions through war-time journalism. Camus remains one of the largest influences in my life. I encountered the absurdist fiction L'Etranger during my undergrad days, and my worldview has not been the same since. Absurdity has to do with the paradox of life as inherently meaningful while the end of which renders much activity pointless. In the novel, Meursault was found guilty of gunning down an Arab. It was irreconcilable why he shot 5 times when he was right on aim at the first try. Yet he didn't appear repentant, at least not in the eyes of the public. Rather, he accepted the consequences with a calm indifference that aggitated every notion of justice. For me, it was an explicit affirmation that it was alright to move on after what's done has been done. The crisp obstinate act of sealing up the past seems to confer infinite courage to the bearer of its message. After all, why choose to live in a shadow?
So, what I'm trying to get at is, that despite Camus' dark stories with their seemingly fatalist undertones, he's an optimist at heart (am I trying too hard or was it totally evident...)! I guess he simply focused the lens the other way. It is perhaps man's instinctive tendency to gather meaning on hindsight. And the moment one considers the imminence of death, all that meaning, as if constructed on a column of air, collapses into the gaping abyss of nothingness. But if only we would realize that in the same way as life was pointless, dwelling on history was only a redundant gesture that is symbolic at best. Instead, look ahead and trudge on. Like the song that goes, "don't stop, never give up".
I think that's why I'm no longer embarrassed when I buy lunch only to have it all crash onto the floor :p I would have to admit that it doesn't help that the stall owners are ever so obliging to refill my plate at no extra charge. But also how very liberating, and I declare my life a happy one with no qualms *blinks proudly* In the end, Camus asserts, that's what life is supposed to be. Your happiness derived from making that possible of others :)
Which brings to mind, I don't think the grudge-bearing (that's what you do when you dwell on the past, isn't it?) accomodates very well within this scheme. I guess I should grow up already.
- Albert Camus
Albert Camus was born to a French Algerian (pied noir) settler family in 1913. He was an activist, among many things, and like many writers during World War II, reflected his fervent opinions through war-time journalism. Camus remains one of the largest influences in my life. I encountered the absurdist fiction L'Etranger during my undergrad days, and my worldview has not been the same since. Absurdity has to do with the paradox of life as inherently meaningful while the end of which renders much activity pointless. In the novel, Meursault was found guilty of gunning down an Arab. It was irreconcilable why he shot 5 times when he was right on aim at the first try. Yet he didn't appear repentant, at least not in the eyes of the public. Rather, he accepted the consequences with a calm indifference that aggitated every notion of justice. For me, it was an explicit affirmation that it was alright to move on after what's done has been done. The crisp obstinate act of sealing up the past seems to confer infinite courage to the bearer of its message. After all, why choose to live in a shadow?
So, what I'm trying to get at is, that despite Camus' dark stories with their seemingly fatalist undertones, he's an optimist at heart (am I trying too hard or was it totally evident...)! I guess he simply focused the lens the other way. It is perhaps man's instinctive tendency to gather meaning on hindsight. And the moment one considers the imminence of death, all that meaning, as if constructed on a column of air, collapses into the gaping abyss of nothingness. But if only we would realize that in the same way as life was pointless, dwelling on history was only a redundant gesture that is symbolic at best. Instead, look ahead and trudge on. Like the song that goes, "don't stop, never give up".
I think that's why I'm no longer embarrassed when I buy lunch only to have it all crash onto the floor :p I would have to admit that it doesn't help that the stall owners are ever so obliging to refill my plate at no extra charge. But also how very liberating, and I declare my life a happy one with no qualms *blinks proudly* In the end, Camus asserts, that's what life is supposed to be. Your happiness derived from making that possible of others :)
Which brings to mind, I don't think the grudge-bearing (that's what you do when you dwell on the past, isn't it?) accomodates very well within this scheme. I guess I should grow up already.
Mr Egghead
Mr Egghead is a bobbing head with a perfectly arched smile, two thick dots as eyes and rosy cheeks, encapsulated in an easter egg. He holds the answers to all your burning questions.
Me: Isn't he a jerk?
E.H: *nods*
Me: Isn't he such a pretty boy, though?
E.H: *nods*
Me: Don't you just love him?
E.H: *nods*
Me: Do you ever say no?
E.H: *nods*
Me: Well, can you do so next time?
E.H: *nods*
Me: Do you like me then?
E.H: *maintains the jolly big smile with a casual shake of his head*
Me: Isn't he a jerk?
E.H: *nods*
Me: Isn't he such a pretty boy, though?
E.H: *nods*
Me: Don't you just love him?
E.H: *nods*
Me: Do you ever say no?
E.H: *nods*
Me: Well, can you do so next time?
E.H: *nods*
Me: Do you like me then?
E.H: *maintains the jolly big smile with a casual shake of his head*
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
A Good Night's Sleep
When the shroud is finally lifted from your eyes, doesn't it just feel like you woke up from a good night's sleep? :) The obsession suddenly doesn't seem so compelling anymore. Your mind is a clear track, making you a free man. And once an inlet has forged its way, that's when all the reality seeps in. Things somehow begin to appear as they are, not as I want them to be. And then you realize how wrong all those perceptions were. I'm fazed. But the best part, I can't seem to recall the clouded emotions now that I've 'seen the light'. Sure feels good after spending such a long time struggling, so much so it's become a way of life.
So, I've woken up. And made a good friend in the process. It may not be the outcome I wanted, but it's a very agreeable one, nonetheless. I cherish this friendship; shall always do so.
All in a good night's rest.
So, I've woken up. And made a good friend in the process. It may not be the outcome I wanted, but it's a very agreeable one, nonetheless. I cherish this friendship; shall always do so.
All in a good night's rest.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
The Littlest Things
My new craze that is Lily Allen's 'Littlest Things'. The music simply entrances me into abandoning whatever it is I was doing and devoting my total attention. This fascination comes after Death Cab by Cutie's 'Follow You into the Dark'. Lyrics and vocals; pretty much sums up my soft spots.
Words do a lot to me, you know? The most insightful remark to have ever blurted out of my mouth was: "Memory is a very good thing. It allows you to obsess over unsettled business over and over and over again. Until you finally get down to resolving them." Actually, the moment I said it, I was taken aback. I never knew I was capable of stringing words in arbitrary combinations, only to ponder over their lucidity after. But on thought, they make good sense. Because conversations replay in my mind a long time after they have in deed ended. And that's how I guage your standing in my heart; the amount of time my brain spends wandering aimlessly in the myriad of my memories of you, not as if I have control over the mechanism :s I would recall detail after detail, incorporating each into my existing consciousness of your endearing comments, refining my impression of you with every addition. Sometimes it occurs to me to figure out the significance of certain statements, in order to make decisions about the kind of person you really are, the stuff with which you are made of, your attitude towards me and how much sincerity is being involved. These processes don't usually happen explicitly (unless, of course, you mean too much to me :p), nevertheless I am not spared the side effects.
Several times I have to exert effort so as to stop myself in the tracks of taking you too seriously. Because I don't merely hold you to the big things you promise; I remember even the minute portions. The problem being I hurt myself like that. The worst is knowing that it's not your fault, but an ultrasensitivity not reflected in the average human condition.
Words do a lot to me, you know? The most insightful remark to have ever blurted out of my mouth was: "Memory is a very good thing. It allows you to obsess over unsettled business over and over and over again. Until you finally get down to resolving them." Actually, the moment I said it, I was taken aback. I never knew I was capable of stringing words in arbitrary combinations, only to ponder over their lucidity after. But on thought, they make good sense. Because conversations replay in my mind a long time after they have in deed ended. And that's how I guage your standing in my heart; the amount of time my brain spends wandering aimlessly in the myriad of my memories of you, not as if I have control over the mechanism :s I would recall detail after detail, incorporating each into my existing consciousness of your endearing comments, refining my impression of you with every addition. Sometimes it occurs to me to figure out the significance of certain statements, in order to make decisions about the kind of person you really are, the stuff with which you are made of, your attitude towards me and how much sincerity is being involved. These processes don't usually happen explicitly (unless, of course, you mean too much to me :p), nevertheless I am not spared the side effects.
Several times I have to exert effort so as to stop myself in the tracks of taking you too seriously. Because I don't merely hold you to the big things you promise; I remember even the minute portions. The problem being I hurt myself like that. The worst is knowing that it's not your fault, but an ultrasensitivity not reflected in the average human condition.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Boys to Men
What it takes to date younger men. Men who, in my eyes, are yet boys.
I realize it entails a respectable amount of courage. Courage to accept what it means for the kind of person that you are, the impression you would make on others, the way of life you eventually settle down to. The conversations that shape your experiences, and the experiences that shape your attitudes; they become you. Either that, or you lose yourself.
What is it about love? Do I need an intellectual connection? Or perhaps merely companionship. What form of companionship, then? Pets can be great company too. How important is physical comfort and emotional support? If he doesn't understand you, can he really soothe the pain? But if you think being together is all about being happy, is there such a thing as objective fun?
Along with the many unknowns are promises of great risk. Risks of failed expectations. Expectations which are properly self-imposed. In the end, I know there's no need for a reason to fall in love. In fact, one doesn't have to be in love to embark on a relationship. But if only it weren't such damaging vice.
I realize it entails a respectable amount of courage. Courage to accept what it means for the kind of person that you are, the impression you would make on others, the way of life you eventually settle down to. The conversations that shape your experiences, and the experiences that shape your attitudes; they become you. Either that, or you lose yourself.
What is it about love? Do I need an intellectual connection? Or perhaps merely companionship. What form of companionship, then? Pets can be great company too. How important is physical comfort and emotional support? If he doesn't understand you, can he really soothe the pain? But if you think being together is all about being happy, is there such a thing as objective fun?
Along with the many unknowns are promises of great risk. Risks of failed expectations. Expectations which are properly self-imposed. In the end, I know there's no need for a reason to fall in love. In fact, one doesn't have to be in love to embark on a relationship. But if only it weren't such damaging vice.
Thursday, February 8, 2007
The Coming Winter
She was fresh out of school. Life had always been smooth-sailing for her, even now. She started to work shortly after graduating; idling unsettled her. And in all boldness she embarked on a new phase called post-adolescence. Within 6 months, her colleague approached her. Nothing had changed except her curiosity toward the other gender. So she plunged headlong into the alliance, bursting with pride and ignorance.
She began to see shades of gloom bleaker than darkness. She was defeated. Her world was one bloody, teary mess. But it did not collapse.
Before she had time to think she was engulfed in another suffocating affiliation. What lovely poetry, "I built you a home in my heart. With rotten wood; it decayed from the start."
*****Chapter2*****
The sweet taste of coffee. She wondered why it never struck her until now. The tastiest morsel wasn't half as tempting. So this she substituted for food; her reduction lost focus.
She saw the world through the eyes of others. She learnt of her languishing state. But life was because she was living, and in this manner she carried on. She was proud of her new job though. She did not see meaning in her hectic lifestyle or the racing pace of life, but she enjoyed working to the point of exhaustion. It was a sense of achievement she never felt before.
The boys didn't stop falling in love with her candid ways. Except she wasn't being candid. She was confused. She confused them. Then she met him. He was all of the right things. But he didn't love her.
*****Chapter3*****
She recalled her impression as she surveyed the room for the first time. Her attached status conferred a certain conceited attitude of a self-confessed right to choose. This coupled with her reckless tendencies. Her eyes lingered upon him. It wasn't always easy to specify the rationale of a whimsical fancy.
There was nothing outstanding about his appearance. He wasn't tall, not stylish, rather domineering in any exchange. It was his obstinacy that left its mark on her mind. He also knew to retort her impudent remarks. It was a kind of refreshing that began to seep into her heart. Without her consent. Then it refused to budge.
The weather was turning cold. She could finally make use of the second blanket too. Perhaps the chill stiffened her bones, but at the same time, it conveyed acute sentience. Humour was in everything she came across. She was laughing enough to offset a lifetime of sorrow. It was strange that amusing incidents followed her wherever she went. Once, it occured to her that she was the risible material.
*****Chapter4*****
They became friends. It was true he only approached her whenever he needed help, but it usually ended up in casual chatter. She would pamper him in her small ways; he stopped saying thanks. They uttered otiose statements for the sake of the other. Was a time he taunted every advance of hers. Gradually, they turned evasive on the topic. It were as if outings were events they'd always engaged in, it was absurd to reason out established practice. Friends roused with curiosity. A few inquired. They remained in silent agreement.
Not acquaintances, not lovers either. It was up to her to ask him out. He indulged her largely. His demeanour reeked of ambiguity. Her moods oscillated between euphony and grief.
She blamed her studies for the deteriorating eyesight. It caused her world to lose vibrance. Everything hovered around a shade of grey. The colour of his car. Her favourite sweater he once complimented. The nights they spent out together. His nocturnal environment that she adopted.
*****Chapter5*****
She saw well and clear what he wanted. She let herself sink deeper into the hurt anyway.
Time pressed on relentlessly. It shrouded her senses, as if the world were always a single pallid entity. What was left but to preserve the shards of a lavish dream. As she buried this memory, she relinquished her very self. It was an effort that entrapped the soul even as it liberated her being. But it lent a certain lightness to her steps, and for a while, she was happy. This happiness, like a teardrop, shimmered in the white that was all around her.
*****TheEnd*****
She began to see shades of gloom bleaker than darkness. She was defeated. Her world was one bloody, teary mess. But it did not collapse.
Before she had time to think she was engulfed in another suffocating affiliation. What lovely poetry, "I built you a home in my heart. With rotten wood; it decayed from the start."
*****Chapter2*****
The sweet taste of coffee. She wondered why it never struck her until now. The tastiest morsel wasn't half as tempting. So this she substituted for food; her reduction lost focus.
She saw the world through the eyes of others. She learnt of her languishing state. But life was because she was living, and in this manner she carried on. She was proud of her new job though. She did not see meaning in her hectic lifestyle or the racing pace of life, but she enjoyed working to the point of exhaustion. It was a sense of achievement she never felt before.
The boys didn't stop falling in love with her candid ways. Except she wasn't being candid. She was confused. She confused them. Then she met him. He was all of the right things. But he didn't love her.
*****Chapter3*****
She recalled her impression as she surveyed the room for the first time. Her attached status conferred a certain conceited attitude of a self-confessed right to choose. This coupled with her reckless tendencies. Her eyes lingered upon him. It wasn't always easy to specify the rationale of a whimsical fancy.
There was nothing outstanding about his appearance. He wasn't tall, not stylish, rather domineering in any exchange. It was his obstinacy that left its mark on her mind. He also knew to retort her impudent remarks. It was a kind of refreshing that began to seep into her heart. Without her consent. Then it refused to budge.
The weather was turning cold. She could finally make use of the second blanket too. Perhaps the chill stiffened her bones, but at the same time, it conveyed acute sentience. Humour was in everything she came across. She was laughing enough to offset a lifetime of sorrow. It was strange that amusing incidents followed her wherever she went. Once, it occured to her that she was the risible material.
*****Chapter4*****
They became friends. It was true he only approached her whenever he needed help, but it usually ended up in casual chatter. She would pamper him in her small ways; he stopped saying thanks. They uttered otiose statements for the sake of the other. Was a time he taunted every advance of hers. Gradually, they turned evasive on the topic. It were as if outings were events they'd always engaged in, it was absurd to reason out established practice. Friends roused with curiosity. A few inquired. They remained in silent agreement.
Not acquaintances, not lovers either. It was up to her to ask him out. He indulged her largely. His demeanour reeked of ambiguity. Her moods oscillated between euphony and grief.
She blamed her studies for the deteriorating eyesight. It caused her world to lose vibrance. Everything hovered around a shade of grey. The colour of his car. Her favourite sweater he once complimented. The nights they spent out together. His nocturnal environment that she adopted.
*****Chapter5*****
She saw well and clear what he wanted. She let herself sink deeper into the hurt anyway.
Time pressed on relentlessly. It shrouded her senses, as if the world were always a single pallid entity. What was left but to preserve the shards of a lavish dream. As she buried this memory, she relinquished her very self. It was an effort that entrapped the soul even as it liberated her being. But it lent a certain lightness to her steps, and for a while, she was happy. This happiness, like a teardrop, shimmered in the white that was all around her.
*****TheEnd*****
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
Intensity
You know, I've been writing compulsively over the last two months since my life came to a standstill. I log multiple entries in my online diary every day without fail. I continue to write articles for my friend despite being overloaded with reports at work. And those demand lots of technical writing. I haven't had time to consider homework yet.
One of the first (and most impressionable) modules from my undergrad days was this called 'Writing Home'. It blew my mind away with the promise of agency in constructing even safety. I could feel secure in my own world, one which I was responsible for conjuring, engineered exactly to my taste, and wouldn't fall apart unless I fancied. The imagery, then, always appeared as I wished; it was more steadfast than my tangible environment.
The wonders of writing. I am reminded of the Italian author, Italo Calvino, who wrote in 'The Nonexistent Knight' that the effects of writing were therapeutic, at the same time as it shred your world to pieces with the falsity it upheld. So one cannot have her cake and eat it. Time is an investment that cannot be split between two accounts. The more serious my focus inwards, the less adapted my physical context. You know you've crossed a certain threshold, the day people begin to call you weird.
One of the first (and most impressionable) modules from my undergrad days was this called 'Writing Home'. It blew my mind away with the promise of agency in constructing even safety. I could feel secure in my own world, one which I was responsible for conjuring, engineered exactly to my taste, and wouldn't fall apart unless I fancied. The imagery, then, always appeared as I wished; it was more steadfast than my tangible environment.
The wonders of writing. I am reminded of the Italian author, Italo Calvino, who wrote in 'The Nonexistent Knight' that the effects of writing were therapeutic, at the same time as it shred your world to pieces with the falsity it upheld. So one cannot have her cake and eat it. Time is an investment that cannot be split between two accounts. The more serious my focus inwards, the less adapted my physical context. You know you've crossed a certain threshold, the day people begin to call you weird.
The Beginnings
Maunder \MON-duhr\, intransitive verb:
1. To talk incoherently; to speak in a rambling manner.
2. To wander aimlessly or confusedly.
(source: dictionary.com)
My exact intentions.
It's a tough world inside. With no one to listen, much less understand. If no tangible target at which to explode, at least the make-believe of someone. I'm not sure why it works this way; but the promise of someone out there, who will see this and connect, motivates me.
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