Pluto

staring at the green dot beside your name
and watching it disappear

Pablo

I’m 16. You’re 24.

It stormed all day today.
I’m worried. Please be safe.

life is not beautiful

the sound of a classical guitar
the candy coloured hdb flats
the cacophony of practicing recorders at evening time
the fishes at bishan park
the same two stars in the sky every morning before dawn
tungsten streetlamps against the deep blue sky
shadows of dancing leaves on the wall
shadow of the window grills on the wall
the fat cat that lies on the last step of the staircase

these i love. some days i cry because life is so beautiful.
but the lovely sound of a guitar, it flees. it leaves. it ends.
a song ends, it dies, like all life,
and when it’s gone all is left is a vacuum.
how long can you thrive on these momentary, short-lived bliss?

help

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…