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The Stories

Tuesday, 01 June 2010

Remorse

It is amusing to revisit your own blog site after more than a year of not signing in, knowing full well hardly any one visits any more, and still want to write something. I have always thought I must have been pushed to such an emotional trough that the compulsion to write was just the bottom of the well. But no. It is not. It is simply a reminder that my ability to translate my thoughts tangibly is proof that I am still within sanity's range. And it is here that I must deposit all that swirls in my head.

It is never easy to wake up and realise that a phone call can make you question the truth of your friendship with another human being, especially one in whom you have invested time and effort. It is this questioning that led me to a day of, how shall I put it, foul moods and uneasy interactions. I am still pondering this friendship. It is simply wonderful when you understand that caring for someone doesn't necessarily translate into something good. If the other party is fully incapable of grasping the concept of your advocacy, then it is high time that you disengage from all this unnecessary unhappiness. So that is what I shall do. To be less of a busy body and to be concerned with matters and emotions that are not trapped within the deprecating cycle of destruction by conscious choice.

At the same time, I have also realised reading a good book in a train is doing me more good than imagined. And that good book happens to be written by D. H. Lawrence. It provided me with a better outlet for energy output and focus. Of course, you can't finish a book like you can a song in three minutes, but with the former it's like a long-term relationship. But I do wonder if Tolstoy is something I want to read on the train, given its bulk and incredible smallness of font (I bought the really cheap one from Penguin. So much for saving money...).

In any case, nothing is better than doing what you desire in the quiet environs of one's own home. And revisiting one's blog and depositing a random entry can be a joy in its own right, if otherwise unnoticed.

Sunday, 17 May 2009

What I Think Of When I Am Tired

I wanted to mention that I met Apple in Jurong Point while Kenneth and I were shopping around. That was really quite some time back, and I was supposed to mention it some time back anyway. Procrastination is my friend. Such a strange meeting. A moment in time where his world and mine intertwined. Yet, the Area X we shared in the combination of our two spheres was small. The distant friend. Not yet an acquaintance, not really a friend. There was a history, and then it stopped. And what history we had left was reduced to an awkward meeting of ten minutes. What little knowledge I had of him just got lesser by the fact that we were no longer in the same school, no longer hanging out in the same clique. And yet I cherish that history for the possibility of a future.

I saw a face, and then another. They were the faces of youth. Or maybe my eyes were getting older. But these faces were full of promise. And I used to look into the mirror and know that I once possessed a face like that; now no longer.

The intimacy of silence and willing conversationists. I talk less when tiredness bears me down. And because I talk more on a usual day, people tend to regard me as being angry or moody when I talk less. But the silence allows me to think and answer more respectfully and effectively. This silence is thoroughly enjoyable and should be pursued. It is like a pianissimo on the strings in a piece of music that catches you off-guard with a fortissimo on the brasses that proceeds it. WHAM!

And yet my attention is drawn no more than to a myriad of promising faces. A myriad of promising faces. Promising faces. Faces. And faces they will remain, nothing more, nothing less. Just faces I don't remember no more.

Monday, 30 March 2009

Running Away

I love the feeling of running away -
from something, someone.

My feet bring me forward,
a rush in a need -
for escape, a way out.

And when I finally get away,
I stop to face them -
my sins, weaknesses.

In splendour.

On a side note, I can't stop listening to the songs on CQ's blog.

Monday, 02 March 2009

Scars Make You Stronger For Life

I had a scar once, a blemish on the perfect skin just covering the finger joint of the middle finger on my left hand. I remember I used to fancy it, looking at it every once in a while. This was during my upper secondary school days. I try to recall how I got the scar but nothing connects. And then my scar went away after a few months. I guess it healed. I also remember how sad I was when it went away. The skin just covering the finger joint of the middle finger on my left hand was perfect again.

But it didn't mean that it wasn't there anymore.

Saturday, 03 January 2009

A State Of Confusion

Feeling down in the dumps is not something I'm used to. I resist all forms of negativity in calmness and patience, with reasoning and logical arguments. For once, I had to submit myself to the whims of my emotions and that of my friends. I do not enjoy being a spoilsport, wet blanket, or any label mentioned in the same breath as the mentioned two. But this time I had no control over my emotions. The control room was never open to my commandeering. I found that very odd.

This time, I had no idea what was going on. The stirrings in my heart felt existential but invisible. Maybe I was overwhelmed by the grimness of the turn of events. It was no longer a fight for pride. It was a fight for guilt. I did not understand. The tables turned unceasingly all the time. I did not enjoy this ride at all, but I had to sit in anyway. The seat belt was not operating properly but so was the operator at the console. Nothing felt right. And so I was in a state of confusion, a constant flux of ups and downs.

I can't wait to go back to something more familiar, more settling, more comforting. Something perfect. Something so rich in feeling but unbelievably stable. Something so full of ups and downs but gives a conclusion no matter what.

Friday, 26 December 2008

Our Personal Belongings

'We' is a dangerous word. 'We' always wants some kind of belonging, to someone or something. To feel wanted is something all too natural, something 'we' calls love. 'We' always assumes that love is a want and thus a belonging. 'We' marks a distinction between individual and group. 'We' belongs to the group, never the individual. It is until the individual uses 'we' that we see that there is nothing in 'we' but me. Survival of the smartest.

Then there's the thin line between possession and understanding. Must lovers spend time with each other to the point of useless excess? Must parents buy their children's love to the point of a painful lack in development? Must friends be in such a state of distress when friends have friends of their own? Can people not see that their own friends have friends of which they are not a part of?

The problem comes when one tries to integrate everything. An acceptance of reality is required in understanding the delicate balance of love and selfishness. Both are equally important, as well as equally bad, but we make a choice. People should be able to choose whom they want to spend time with. This is a clear mark of wanting belonging love. And if not clear enough for the rest not chosen, it means they have miles to go before understanding the fundamental concepts of trust and of other people having a life beyond their own.

If it belongs to you, say it. Own it. If not, it is considered wise to at least own your mouth and control it.

Friday, 07 November 2008

Why I am now like this

And I looked at it and said, 'What's in it for me?'

It looked away, entertaining the thought that it was getting closer to me than it ever did before. It replied wryly, 'Forgetting who you are.'

I toyed with the idea, unsure of my own motives. I looked and it and asked, 'Can you make it as painless as possible?'

'It won't take much effort on your part', it said.

There was a contemplative silence.

'Yes', I said definitively.

And I sold my time to the devil.

Thursday, 23 October 2008

Musings

Learning how to use GarageBand is quite fascinating.

Listening to myself on radio is weird.

Sharing public transport with a classmate you don't talk to is awkward.

Knowing you have taken on too many projects will always be a learning experience.

Picking up the pieces and trying again will always repeat itself.

Making your intentions known always creates some kind of conflict.

Not making your intentions known always creates some kind of conflict.

Coming home, writing this is head-splitting.