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 :)

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.

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.

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
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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
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"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
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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
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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.