telescope

Do you believe in telepathy? That the universe consists of the physical where the linguists thrive, where we speak what we think feel experience, where those who speak with clear articulation and coherency and with wit and intelligence outperforms the users of fundamental speech. And then there is this other realm in which the romantics reside where they believe in the embodiment of love and emotions, where life is fluid, fate destined and where words are nothing but that of squiggly lines.

And this universe might perhaps be telepathy. Because don’t we all wish to be understood, to be found in translation?

Today, Ellis asked what the world might have been like when internet was invented. It was just a passing comment but I secretly decided that’ll be my goal for today – to imagine how it must have felt to someone who’s never seen or heard of the internet before. Then I thought, that perhaps it’s not big a deal. It mustn’t be… The Internet and Telepathy aren’t that far apart. The former being the linguist or the scientist who had managed to take this atom of a human’s instinct which we also call mind reading and build it into a tangible concrete working system. Amazing.

Yesterday, I was having dinner while watching Modern Family and felt this incredible need to call my father. An urge so necessary, I can’t describe it in relation to anything else but that of needing to pee after holding your pee for 7 hours. It’s disgusting but that’s how it felt. At the very same time, while I was in my living room, comfortable, watching tele, phone to my ear, it was thunder storm miles away in Singapore. My dad too was in the living room, but frantic, rushing towards the window, trying to close it, trying to shut the wind out, slipped and fell, head to the floor. His heart must have tried to ring me, to tell me to come home to close the window.

I could go on with more examples, like how I asked ariel’s car which door leads to the right house to which I turned around and saw her at the window. I don’t really know the point to this post actually.. except to say that I spent the day running errands alone and this idea had been keeping my accompany. Perhaps it’s comforting to know that I might be far away.. from Aretha, from Tony and the Big Bang Family, from Kaptain Kernel Korn and from my friends.. But that if I think of them hard enough, they’ll miss me too.

boxes

Saying goodbye is easy.
It’s the part where you walk away,
and I’m not allowed to look back…
That’s the part that really stings.

Spectacles

What the fuck am I doing in school again? I’ve filled the form. Finished with all the formalities of Hi and Byes. Why the fuck am I still here? Still trying my luck with logging in (which succeeded) onto the school’s system and frigging blogging. Ah blogging.. The many lunch breaks I spent in this tiny production office blogging. What a loser.

Glasses over eyes and I’m still feeling insecure. What good are you, glasses, if you don’t make me blind enough? What good are you perfected, sighted eyes if you’re just gonna lead me into pit holes after pit holes?

Every logical reason says to never come back. To end this chapter. To stop rambling on this sentence, dragging on the full stop. I write in short sentences but live a long dreary existence. Always trying to prolong things. Prolong time. Prolong… long.. long.. longing for.. longing for… for? You?

Is it really you or are you just the new drug I’m addicted to. The new caffeine. The reason to get through the day. You’re the reason I get lost in thoughts. You make waiting for a tram more excitable. And you’ve lead me to write again.. strangely, possibly enough.

This school is filled with fantasies. We are all come here because we need a reason to fantasise without feeling and looking like a perv. This is an association for the sicked-minded people. We cleanse ourselves with a degree so the society deems us acceptable.

Triangles

Who was I last night? You led me through the room.
You were charming, you had this trick where you could walk through walls.
You took my hand. We walked through walls.
We were on a cruise. The boat bumped once in a while.
It smelt of stale cigarettes. It must be from the carpeted walls. They absorb.
You led me through rooms.
I felt like was in Casper, then I was in Titantic.
I was a boy, then I was a girl. Who was I? Who are you?

I dreamt in first person but the first person wasn’t myself.
Whose body was I in? Through whom am I in love with a somebody whose face I have not met?

These nights, my dreams have been funny.

Two things anchor my air ballooning monkey mind.
One, cutting triangles and pasting them on the little Ying & Summer sleeves I’m making.
It channels my thoughts onto that one person or that one festival it’s being made for.
Focus focus. Just one conversation in the brain. Good.
Two, cycling. Just keep pedaling. Left, right, left, right, left, right. It’s a chant.
It goes into this loop. Breathe and left, right, left, right.

If only my simple existence consisted of only cycling and cutting triangles. haha. Lame…
Then I won’t have to wake up feeling strangely, helplessly in love with a person I haven’t yet met.
And this I, I refer to is not myself either. This body whom I possessed in my sleep, has yet to be identified.
What the fuck is going on?

The idea of loving someone engulfs me, overwhelms me, excites me more than actually loving a single living entity.
Infatuated with nothing.

A Hobby

Found myself a hobby!

Perhaps it’s card making, or paper cutting. Whatever it is, it helps me zen from a hard day’s work!

Presenting my proudest achievement.

A pop up card! Inspired by own birthday pop up card from last year.
Took a while to figure out the science of it..

Inspired by Kikki K cards.

And my latest creation… Done just tonight.. Little houses!

What’s your hobby? What helps you let go of all the unhappy events of the day?

 

Pigeons are ugly

I took the stick of sugar out of my breast pocket and gave it to the homeless woman. Not sure what good it be to her but I felt a sense of heaviness lifted from my chest.

Today at work I teared as I was making desserts. Perhaps it was my incompetence in dealing with peak hour rush or knowing that it’s high possibility that I will return to Singapore and feel smaller than I ever will. Or perhaps I was sorry for myself for bring drunk, intoxicated and foolishly so.

I went outside and fought the pigeon. How does chocolate taste like to them? Is it sweet like the way we enjoy it? Or maybe pigeons have got different tasting sensations. Dry, hard, left over chocolate might be bitter to them. They come back for more because they too are foolishly in love with what hurts more than what pleasures.

Oh Pigeons! You fools! You fool…

Creature

With sunshine through my half drawn curtains and to the racket of the Melbourne cup goers, I woke from a 15-hour sleep.
It’s been long since I’d the heart to take in the mornings with such tranquil clarity.

Post film school crisis and stormy turbulences.
Caught in the middle of interpersonal relationships and habouring a painful infatuation.
Ideals and politics and the lost for words.
Immortality of the human race and broken marriages under the guises of social conformity.

I am a watchful eye, a tree, a wallflower. I am distant but awake.

In my dreams last night , I thought of you. Of the little sacrifices you’ve made after my foolish demands.
I dreamt about being a puppy. Of how I am so ever readily at your beck and call.

I woke today with power to take ownership of the little of the world I can control. I keep my emotions in check.
Drones of the far away passing tram. The slight drizzling rain outside. Fanta, the lost cat on an adventure.
The world is still alive and breathing with or without…
A disastrous beauty can wither under my commands and that is with you,
my unrequited desire for you.
You say goodbye and I say hello.

Hello life after film school. I’m ready to face you!

muddled and fuddled and have complexes

Man overboard,
I’ve capsized.
The wind took a change in course
and I just couldn’t fight it.
I hiked out. I tried, I fought the wind with all my might.

Gybe.
Turn around.
The boom swings exceptionally hard.
Knocked me on the head.
Knocked some sense into me.
The sea is perilous.
My heart is weak.

Pack up. I’m locking the doors.

I said to myself that if you don’t reply, I’ll give it up.
But I check my phone every other second to find reasons not to.
Love makes us all do stupid things. If only it came with a manual then I wouldn’t have broken so many boy’s hearts.
Then I would know what to do with you.

You’re like the face of karma, coming back to haunt me.
Reminding me of all the great things boys have done for me, to which in return I stab a knife right through their hearts.
I get what I gave. Karma karma..

Pack up, I’m locking the doors. I’m wrapping my feelings in a dumpling.
I hold a bouquet of roses in my hand, wishing I’d given it to you.
Instead I gave it to the world. To the many others who would take it, devour it and forget about it.
I’m returning into the kitchen, hiding from the crowd.
There I’m safe. There, I indulge in my own tears.
Why is the dumpling crying?
Not because it has too much feelings.
It wishes it had courage. Courage to face the truth,
that it will never be.
You never replied.

where is home?

For most of my childhood, I spent it hiding underneath my sister’s wooden table.
It was my home within my home.
I promised my teddy bears that one day I’d build a proper home for them,
with pretty furnitures and nice chairs.
Every us would have a nice chair to sit on and we’ll have dinner parties in summertime.
We’ll have our personalised cup with pictures of things we like.