Today I saw a Thai lady on the bus.
I know she was Thai because she was reading a Thai comic book and she wasn't just looking at the pictures.
She was on bus number 2.
It comes from Changi Village.
So I looked at her crotch.
Today I saw a Thai lady on the bus.
I know she was Thai because she was reading a Thai comic book and she wasn't just looking at the pictures.
She was on bus number 2.
It comes from Changi Village.
So I looked at her crotch.
I'm blogging this from my phone. From camp. And I'm only doing this because I know very well what kind of person I am. I know I'm definitely not going to blog when I get home at least.
I'm doing this because I need to tell someone how much my dad means to me. I've never told him, and I think I might never have the courage to tell him even if I was given a chance to. So I'm doing the cowardly thing and blogging about it.
He just told me that he might be going somewhere else. I can't say much about it because of our employer. But it's going to be on the other side of the island and trust me when I say that I don't want him to go not because I'm remaining at his current workplace.
I don't want him to go because he drives a weekend car and he'll have to leave the house early and come back later. Which means I get to see less of him. I want to be able to spend more time with my dad, even if we don't do much besides staring at the television.
I owe him too much to possibly list it out in a single post. But maybe it isn't about the number of things he's done for me, but what it all adds up to. My dad is dead set on making me a better person.
I know that he is a good person and an excellent father. Too many relatives have told my mum what a great husband he is. And now that I am at his workplace, I hear of even more people telling me the same thing. I would like to think that the position I am in now was granted to me because he has proven himself time and time again to be a true and loyal friend and that his friends are simply doing him a favour.
Despite all the protocols of the army and the rigidity of rank, my dad still remains my dad. While I might avoid calling him Sir, he still watches over me as any father would. Not in the workplace context, but the way every father watches over his child when he or she is stumbling into unknown territory.
I hope someday I can fill his shoes. They will be very large shoes to fill. I have the feeling that I will have to start soon because he certainly isn't getting any younger. And he isn't as fit as before, which means his worth to the service is diminishing. I want to do a good job where I am to show all his friends that he brought me up the right way. And I sincerely hope that I can be that capable.
I love you, Dad.
Been busy for some time. Well, not really. Just in the middle of some changes and I feel too bored to update. I'll write some stuff that I've been working on when my life is more stable. Boo change!
And yes, boredom begets boredom.
What are dreams? Are they visions of the future? Or are they your innermost desires trying to surface? Are they simply memories of the days that have passed? Or the days that have yet to come? Are we all engines driven by these dreams, by what we see and interpret, hopefully in the correct fashion?
I rarely have dreams. And even when I do, they are but fleeting synapses that vanish upon waking. Yet, I turn away the dreams that I do recall.
Why?
Is it because they are too wanton? Or that they involve other women? Or that everyone but me dies in my dreams?
Maybe if I relate my dream to you, you can tell me what it was about.
I was walking down an alley, alone, for my friends had left me there, too eager to rush to the venue we had decided on. Where this venue might be and its significance to this dream, I do not know, but I do not go there in the end.
I walk until I see a girl. A malay girl with a cigarette in her hand. Her hair is left to fall on her shoulders and she is dressed in a simple white tank top and black jeans. Her eyes captivate me. She looks at me as though I am nothing, in a lazy manner that suggests I am insignificant, worthless.
But I walk over to her. And ask, "What do I have to do to get with you?"
She lifts her hand with the cigarette. "This." It is almost as though she knows that I have never smoked before, and I wonder if it is because of the way I look. I take the cigarette in my mouth, trying not to embarrass myself the way people on the telly do when they have their first stick.
I breathe it all in, exhaling slowly through my nose. Then I remove the cigarette and release the poisonous smog in my mouth. She smiles, and then we make out. It is a liberating moment, but it does not last.
Suddenly, her insides explode out, as do mine. And the dream begins to take a turn into fantasy land. In her last minutes, she is no longer beautiful, only desperate. Her nails clawing my arms as though I am her last hope. But I have the same wounds. She falls to the ground, and I stand up. I ask myself why I am not yet dead and the answer dawns on me.
A magical blade that I had, sheathed and strung to my right side. The mere sight of which would grant the viewer a horrific death...
And then I am jolted from my dream, hoping to not recall anything.
There are nights I want to dream a dream that never ends.
And those nights are visiting me more frequently these days.
a leaf floats in a pond
slowly pushed about by ripples
it warns of a tornado.
but it cannot stop it.
a tree is uprooted
in a tornado that destroys the land
and like the leaf that fell from it.
it cannot stop the wind.
a house is blown down
crushed by the tree that could not stop
because it had no say in where to go.
the wind was not sensitive,
because the wind cannot stop either,
but the tree does not know.
a home is destroyed
by the roof that they had built
in the house that was crushed by the tree.
the leaf
the tree
the house
the home.
how a little leaf could bring
the same devastation
a thought could sing
if it thought that it could not stop
the wind.
but a thought is not a leaf.
and a friend is not a wind
that wants to blow you down.
Written for a leaf that I know. Who isn't feeling too sure about itself. =]
I wrote a new song. The first one in a very long time.
I only wrote this because I just had an emotional time trying to rationalise the storyline of Missing. Now that it's all out, I'm wondering why do I even bother?
Haha, I guess it's just the angst talking.
Today, I patched things up with Zoe.
Today, I told her how much I love her and how beautiful she is to me.
Today, my whole family and Zoe sat down and talked about me going to NIE after NS.
Today, Zoe and I took pictures together.
Today, I changed my relationship status to one with her.
Today, I thanked my parents for the very first time, and meant it too.
Today, I felt that my life was finally on the right track.
I am not happy with the way my life is at the moment.
Most of my problems are mom-centric. Okay, maybe all of my problems are mom-centric. Sometimes I wonder when she'll figure out that asking me to do anything will only result in me not doing anything at all.
Wait-
She just said that I could hate her for all I cared as long as I produced results. I almost thought she got the idea, but she just had to ruin it by saying she should have been stricter.
The problem doesn't lie in whether or not I hate my mum or not. I think I blame her for the terrible childhood that I've had and my grudgingly low self-esteem. I really don't think any child who grew up getting caned for not writing properly, and getting splashed water on for not hitting the right notes on the keyboard, can grow up well-adjusted.
You know, even though that happened when I was 5, I still remember it. It was a yellow water bottle, the kind where the cap can be used as a cup. I got locked inside the toilet after that without the lights on. It was close to midnight. I had gotten quite the thorough beating too.
My dad came in to rescue me.
I also remember my mum sitting on the bottom bed of my old double-decker. With a cane in her hand. I think I was doing my Chinese penmanship homework. And she would look at me do it. I hated Chinese homework. I hid it all over my grandma's house. I think the days when my mum came over were the worst.
My grandma was there to protect me.
When I was with Sheryl, I remember texting her late into the night. Or early in the morning. I would hide my phone anywhere. I think I put it in my underwear on a few occasions. I would use my phone in the dark and my mum would know. She always did. She had caught me so many times. My line was suspended, numbers were blocked... It was all so stupid.
My brother lent me his phone sometimes.
And now. I'm paying her 80 bucks out of my NS salary a month for a guitar that I hardly play and my protein shakes, which don't seem to be doing enough for me. I don't dare to tell her that I have no more money in my bank account because I could never tell my mum the truth. I never have enough money these days. I don't have money to buy new clothes, to bring Zoe out on proper dates, to do all the things that I've been planning to do since last year.
Zoe buys me food sometimes.
I wish I could rebel. But I can't. I owe to much to these people to just let it all go. I stage my own silent rebellion every night in front of my computer. By not practising Maths. She keeps telling me that she's paid 256 dollars for me to re-sit the paper. I should have just told her that I wasn't bloody interested in the first place.
I should have. But I couldn't. I comply with most things my mum asks me to do. And I have no idea why I do that. I guess it's because I'm afraid that she'll say something. She never has anything nice to say. Never. I really don't think that there's anything I can do to make her say something nice.
Or make her buy me clothes. I haven't gotten any clothes from her in a long, long time. I know my friend's mothers buy them clothes and other things. But I don't get any clothes. I always had the impression that parents would buy you clothes when you went for interviews or prize presentations because they wanted you to look your best. Or like on the first days of school when everyone would look prim and proper in their new stuff.
I never did get that kind of treatment.
Would you be happy with my life? I'm sure there are other things I enjoy that make people envious of me. But if you would like my life, I'd like to give you my childhood as well. So that you'll know what it's like to be sitting in my chair and typing these words.
It's not true. It's much better to never have something, than to cling on to the memory of it.
Seize the day,
Or die regretting the time you've lost,
It's empty and cold,
Without you here
Too many people to ache over.
Maybe I was asking for it right from the start, I don't know. Did I want it? Sometimes I ask myself that. Is that why I stopped caring after a while?
Maybe I was just unhappy with everything. The stagnation of it all. How I would never lead a life like those you see in every TV show airing on every channel. Parties, one night stands, flings, friends with benefits. Those wonderfully perfect lives led by wonderfully perfect people. Beautiful people.
I could never be beautiful. Not without you.
It's ironic. The only thing that ever gave me the confidence to be around people was you. You made me feel special and wanted and that allowed me to speak up. I could talk to girls, I could make fun of anything I wanted to when I was with you. Somehow, I don't think any of that can happen without you in my life.
Remember our song? It seemed so poignant that day. I set it on repeat and when to sleep with M. Shadows' voice in my ears. Every word I heard made more sense to me than it had before, even when I sang it to you. It was one of those moments.
You make me wonder why you gave me so many concessions, so many chances. And every answer I find makes me feel inadequate and small. Everything points back to my own failings.
What do I feel? What have I ever felt? What have I ever felt strongly enough about to incite more than just a few tears on nights when I just feel so damn emotionally unstable?
I've never really felt anything. Every emotion only goes beneath the skin, but doesn't get any further.
You cut me a bit deeper that day, and maybe that's why I don't want to lose you.
I have, yet again, created another blog.
Surprise surprise.
I'm not sure if it's the reading that's been getting to me, or the fact that I've had too much time to think (hence, the reading) or the life-threateningly boring pace that my course is going at that makes my brain generate an overwhelming quantity of insecurities about life.
I'm putting most of my bets on the books, but a little on everything else just to play it safe.
Thanks to my diligent instructors, who never fail to release us from the constraints of our time-table before the day actually ends, I've had sufficient time to finish 4 books, 3 magazines, and a little bit of "The Time Traveler's Wife". Those 4 books being, "Small Gods" by Terry Pratchett, "American Gods" by Neil Gaiman, "Anasi Boys" also by Neil Gaiman, and "Good Omens" by Terry Pratchett AND Neil Gaiman.
Is it me, or is there some kind of trend in the books I've been reading?
Not the least surprising is that all four books deal with belief, gods, and humanity in general. I guess it's in the midst of reading that I formulate too many thoughts about how my life should be led and what's going to happen to me when I die. I also guess that it must be the same way for many other people since I don't wish to be alone in my thoughts.
I sometimes wish I didn't think so much, and I sometimes wish I could think what other people think. I'll think that beneath the innocent and plastic smile that everyone in my world wears, is a series of thought processes that generate enough electricity to power a small town on the coast of Africa. And then I'll think, nah.
Then again, maybe it's because I think of people in this manner that makes them not want to start a conversation with me. That by some link from my thoughts to the cosmos that unites us all do other people around me sense that punity that I view them with.
Or maybe it's because I always leave MSN on while I sleep so people can never get me even though it says "I'm Online" when what it should say is "I'm Asleep".
I have much to apologise for in that case.