My girlfriend.

Am I really still calling her that?
Am I trying to salvage that weak link I wish still tie me to her?
That link is already way too fragile to keep.
Am I just denying a life of detachment from what I used to know?
But why?

I know I can do this.
I am good enough to do this.
And I am strong.
"Strong like an Amazon, remember?" "Strong like an Amazon, right."

It's just...sometimes, everything hurts.
Most of everything anyway, when you thought they wouldn't anymore
Words, sounds, and colors.
People and things, living and non.
Lights.

I used to wonder just who was holding back who and now I realized.
It's always been me, the I-want-it-all me, the please-do-fucking-not-let-her-die me.
The I-let-her-be-dead-me.

How long can a person grieve anyway?
Long enough, I'd say
Just enough to ruin a life,
Mine.

Despite efforts, and the millionth time, I am still here, never left

why does everyone says 'i'm sorry' when she died
why does everyone suddenly put on the sympathetic mask on their faces
you didn't put a knife through my heart and pull it out,
he did
whoever he might be, the kind of life he leads
but at least i knew the car he drove and that he drinks

i don't need apologies, i don't need sympathy, i just need an listening ear sometimes
so i could speak
so i could forget
so i could move on and forward
into whatever that is good for me
into whatever that is worthy
would you do that for me?

answer me anyway
no, or yes
don't make me wait
i've spent too much time waiting for something that would never come
i've spent too much time thinking about what could have been and what must
it's perfectly fine if you said no
i would work with that.
but don't, please, don't leave me alone again.

all my life, i've remained the exciting and passionate supportive spectator, the quiet and patient audience
i've remained witness to what soars and what sometimes plunges into a bloody mess along the pavement
and everytime, i wish i could have soften that blow, do something helpful and differently
but i am not that person you want near
or hold dear
i am just a stranger
you might remember from a long time ago
a name you may have uttered in your dream
the one you forget when you wake

am i asking for a lot, for too much?
i don't know
but i can't help if i want that attention
i wanna be in love
with you
whoever you are
i wanna hold your hand and think about you in between the hours of a day
i want you to be the first and last thought in my head
i would love if you would dedicate a blog in my name for there was no other way you could have otherwise vented
would you do that for me?

friend, i am but a friend

Letters, Strings and All VII

now, how am i supposed to find out what lies
beneath the quiet fixture if i can't feel your hand on my breast, your finger tracing the angle of my face and your lips on me?

now, how am i supposed to see anything if i can't
look into your eyes, and watch it shine
brown like wood, bright, like stars at night?

now, how am i supposed to feel anything if i can't
feel your heart beat in my palm, a steady rhythm?

now, how am i supposed to hear anything if i can't
hear you whisper I love you into my ears when we go to
bed?

now, how am i supposed to taste anything if weren't for your tongue and when you come?

now, how am i supposed to smell anything if weren't that apple-vanilla scent you carry?

every night i emptied my heart
but by morning it's full again
soft droplets of you seeped through the night through soft caresses
i know i'll wake up to a day bruised with yearning
of thoughts, of fond memories of us, of that night.

liebe Ich Sie immer und mein Herz gehört nur Ihnen und sonst niemandem

Liebe,
Liesl
1 April 2002

Letters, Strings and All VI

Dear Love,

"If this is what it took for you to touch me, I would have stood here with Starbucks a long time ago."

liebe Ich Sie immer und mein Herz gehört nur Ihnen und sonst niemandem

Liebe,
Liesl
29 März 2002

Day passes mercilessly whenever you think you had it in your hand, just when you're accepting the pace, the card dealt, and before the initial basking could even begin, it ended. So cherish whatever time you've got. Never let a day go to waste because it really is shorter than you think and it's never coming back.

A typewriter, and life

A typewriter, and life.

The steady, kinda brain-numbing symphony the little metal alphabets made when your fingertips make the fastest but lingering, intimate contact. The old typewriter comes heavy, sometimes expensive and without delete key. It accomodates no room for errors and with just one single mistake, would literally lay waste to whatever you might have painstakedly accomplished and the resources. And yet you can't stop typing. For when you do, you stop living. You stop making anything happen.

The silence and rust would set in, becoming overbearing. You could only sit in that chair watching as your life slowly falls apart, a gradual obliteration masked by time and a shoulder shrug. So type. Live life, with a discipline, with whatever you chose to do, steered by whatever philosophy and motives.

Live Like You're Dying

So much talking in my poor head, the words coming out in a solve-in-yourself jumble of new relevations, in-betweens and old knowledge. I can figure it out. After all, it's my head.

Food is a gift, to be able to cook is a blessing and culinary its process of giving and is often hard, hard work. All I ever wanna do was to make people happy and as a rule, food does that. Even if I ended up so exhausted to my bones, and with infinite cuts and burns and now bruises. That I ended most days in serious doubts. Cooking comes from the heart, where little perfect universes spewed. I do not bear that heart and spirit, even though I try and every time I fail. The point lies in never giving up, throwing in the towel and quite literally. The harder it gets, the longer one persists, the sweeter and more lingering it'd be. Kinda like cooking sometimes.

Tonight, my present came brown-bagged. Nothing of the usual variety, I'd give you that but it sure pleased me immensely. And beer. I finally picked up the offer at 7-11. It's 2 bottles for 1 Orchard. They have been beckoning, wailing children waiting to be fed, only not. It's hard to turn a back on that. Not that I'm a drinker, not even leisurely. Ok, so I might have lied on that note. Never forget beer. It does the most amazing things when you least expect anything to.

If I were ever a fraction of a psychic, then I must have only endings in my head. I would picture travelling from one place to another and still accomodating images of a real home, warm amber lights emitting from dangled and loosely hang fairy lights, a well-equipped but hardly ridiculous kitchen, romantically furnished rooms with beds, wardrobes, and a table with stationary. And if I can ever be selfish, I would love to get home and under the sheets to a goddess who feeds my soul and heart perfectly. I could feel the hot sun beaming down on my face, and probably burning my shoulders and chest. I could watch the black sky with only a handful of stars tossed carelessly across the expanse. And the moon that follows anywhere whoever goes. It seems to wanna speak, to tell the world of her story but every time, she chose only to shut up. Why, I never understood. Heck, I can't even pass Math, let alone Universe 101 or Moon-speak 101.

But here's the point, ok, the real point, somewhat somehow, is that I don't know what my life is about at this stage, at this ripe old age, what I wanna and can do. I try to talk to mom about it but it ended ugly so...Anyway, in that film, the Ramen Girl, which, let's go back to why I am even typing this entry not unlike others, my fingers, injuried and un-, type furiously and on a mild alcohol-induced high, that I just caught is too beautiful. I am, too looking for hope and a reason to continue this life, and what I do. She found it, Abby, Brittany's character did. And it was the first time I've watched any of her work. Always wanted to though and now I did and it was on a rare occasion, a wise decision. She's a great actress and that voice. I wanna find hope but before it all can happen, it's all about sacrifices and sleepless nights and pain. Hmm...pain. That, I can do. First, I have to harness it. Let it all out before anything else could take its place and precedence. I have to clear my mind of distractions and fairy tales before I could even begin to take the first step. And I have the ability to heal, albeit it takes a million years but still cause if I try and put my heart to it, I will succeed.

I just typed several wee mornings ago, freaking furiously a letter of appeal to whoever wishes to hear and answer me. I am looking to crash the writing scene, and for good. I just need to be employed, a gig or even an internship. And I need some serious connection, big time! So please, if you read my letter, please help me.

"One of these days you’ll be
under the covers
you’ll be under the table
and you’ll realize
all of your days are numbered
all of them one to one hundred
All of them millions
All of them trillions

So what are you gonna do with them all?
You can not trade them in for mall
No no

Take every moment
you know that you own them
It’s all you can do, use what’s been given to you

Give me a reason
to fight the feeling
that there’s nothing here for me
Cause none of its easy
I know it wasn’t meant to be
I know it’s all up to me
It’s all up to me
So what am I gonna do with my time?
Oh

I'll take every moment
I know that I own them
It’s all up to you to do whatever you choose
Live like you’re dying
And never stop trying
It’s all you can do, use what’s been given to you

All of the moments you didn’t notice
Gone in the blink of an eye
All of the feelings you couldn't help feeling, no matter how you try

Oh oh
Take every moment
you know that you own them
It’s all up to you to do whatever you choose
Live like you’re dying
And never stop trying
It’s all you can do, use what’s been given to you

Live like you’re dying
And never stop trying
It’s all you can do, use what’s been given to you

©Lenka, Lenka ~ Track 9, Live Like You're Dying ~
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A6fX9mjMZkE

To Whom It May Concern:

My name is Ashleige Tara. I am 23 years old, a Singaporean Chinese woman. I write with sincere interest streaked with hints of desperation this letter in the hopes to securing some kind of a position in your organization or just really, in the industry of print media/literary/journalism in general. Time spent finishing this letter and an afterthought reply will not only be greatly appreciated but will also be remembered for life.

All my life, I have been romantically devoted to writing, and over the years have cultivated an almost illicit affair with the written word. It was the bottom line of it all. It is how I survived anything at all. I have to believe that writing was what I am born to do and a direction in which my life should depend on to steer and how I would go out at the end. I was never the kid to pass science or math but always the one so caught up with a composition piece, school assignments or leisure. I would be frantically scribbling lines and lines of emotions, and relationships and life on the blank paper. Time was never enough. It was never quick enough to match up the way my brain would spew and weave stories, fiction and otherwise. Fictitious characters in my head especially would not rest with their sometimes heated conversations and emotional confrontations until I set them on paper. I would be so obsessed with them I could do nothing else. It is the special place that everyone disappears to whenever they are creating or just indulging themselves in their favorite pastimes.

Writing naturally became an effortless routine, an outlet I would lock myself in regularly and I want to make it my career, a profession, a craft in which feeds my enthusiasm in learning and completing me as a whole person and a contribution to the society, this world. I could curb that fire no more; a second personality who has laid dormant for years and years and would jump on any opportunities for a breath of fresh air and freedom and eventual dominance. It would be more than just a career for me; it would be what my life constitutes of and would accumulate to be. That said, I am however not schizophrenic, in the clinical sense of the word anyway. I have on pretty sturdy authority that most people, artistic and the in betweens becomes a different, more together and stronger person whenever they are creating or working on something.

I was an Express student, who passed the O Levels with 2 credits, namely my Mother Tongue, Mandarin and English and who eventually graduated as an Arts student. I later pursued and attained a Higher NITEC certificate in Business Administration with a typing speed of 75wpm and an aggregate point of 3.3 over 4. After that I was admitted to Temasek Polytechnic (evidently wanting to be enrolled in Mass Communication but) and I had unofficially graduated in February with a Diploma in Culinary and Catering Management under the Business School. It was an extremely grueling 3 years of my life, to say the least, for my interest was never for the hospitality/food & beverage industry. It remained very much on writing and creating. I just happened to be on that ride towards the sudden and phenomenal outburst of energy and activities in that industry, the Integrated Resorts and many more.

I was not entitled the autonomy of choices that an O Levels student would have had because I was an ITE student. And when I was offered only 4 choices out of the plenty, being the free spirit that I was and still am, I took the course that somehow provided substantial novelty. Who would have imagined that I would end up in a kitchen as a chef, and possibly in that soon-to-open Resort World Sentosa? During that duration I have contemplated switching courses more times than I could have remembered and 3 years later, I continue hitting myself over the head for making such a poor choice but it was one derived of desperate need for a poly education.

Today I sit in front of my computer, typing in the dark with a strangely empowering motivation driving my fingers and brain. I figured it is high time I live my life the way I wanted it led. No more wasting of time and with a plastered patronizing fake smile on my face behind some counter or in the kitchen. No more lying about my true feelings and motives. No more thinking about the could-have-beens but instead act on it. I have to show the world who I really am. I understand that I am hardly equipped or even properly educated with paper qualifications, finesse and mechanisms needed in the print media industry but I believe that I had it in me, that I had to harness it, however way I can, to do it justice. I am not a learned writer but I want to learn everything about writing and in the industry and people so, so badly. I am simply naturally made this way, to write, like it was my destiny, my only meaning. It may sound like exaggerated BS but this is truly what I feel. For the many years I locked that second personality away for realistic and conventional reasons, I had every intention to release it. And today, via this letter, I am unlocking my true self.

Through this letter, I am also looking for hope, a meaning, and a means in this industry that are diminishing at an astonishing speed. I am hoping to find the bundle of true significance and hope in writing and humanity before it completely vanished. I am interested in any positions, even as an underpaid intern who starts from scratch and buys coffee for everyone, as long as it fits and support my interest in joining the industry which is to write and edit and write some more and get it printed or published. I could only express this much how I really want to be part of this profession. I started my first fiction at 17 and creating has been an ongoing process. In fact, I have been straying so much from that first fiction that I have come to explore other interests such as psychology and lesbianism. Least to say, I have also hopped on with enthusiasm the wagon of blogging. It was possibly one of the greatest inventions after written languages and the spoken word. It is such an amazing platform and when utilized the smart way, lucrative. However it had simply remained for me as a platform to play out the innate ability to constructing thoughtful and thought-provoking entries.

Academically, I have only taken a brief module on Creative Writing, a cross-disciplinary module tutored by Felix C, a local established and published poet. I learnt largely about construction and character-building and relating life to my assignments, tips to building climaxes and cliffhangers and ending the story with realistic conviction. I have also written argumentative articles supporting and debating various topics such as globalization, the pros and cons of expatriates and the effects of Internet and more for the University of Southern Australia. It was actually favor for a friend who was doing a part time course in Business with the institution but I was more than willing to help. She has received rather commendable reviews and grades for those papers.

I thank you for your time and I really hope to hear from you, even if you start the letter ‘with much regrets’. I know it is about working fast and quick and creatively in a very fast-paced and stressful environment. The job is demanding, by any standards, with infinite deadlines to meet, readers to please, and so on and so forth. It is all about dynamic and teamwork. It is really not that different from the various restaurants and kitchens I have worked in. I am prepared to go the extra mile to pick up the slack and I am highly disciplined and so easy to work with. I am a pro-active and motivated individual looking to expand my horizons and as an organization that is innovative and dynamic should cherish talents and capabilities when you see it. And I do mean it when I said consider me for whatever positions. I will even do Marketing since I have at least 6 years experiences, in theories on paper anyway.

It would be my greatest pleasure to show you some of my work, stories and poetry and whatever. I am currently collating work that I have done, putting together a portfolio that would spark an interest in you. Alternatively, you can check out my blog at http://www.iamyouknowwhatyours.blogspot.com/. For the most part of it, it is constituted of senseless babbling but still, everything came from the heart. And please, do leave a comment. Please contact me via email at tarashley@gmail.com or call me at my mobile at 9680 7112.

Once again, I thank you for your interest and time.

Yours sincerely,
Ashleige Tara

Ok, I am going to pay for this dearly tomorrow morning, at work. I am officially only left with a rough 5 hours of sleep, that is if I even sleep. The above is an appeal to the literary/journalism industry to take me in. I am like a mangy stray who needed a home and this letter that I am going to send yelled just that. As soon as I could find email addresses of related organizations, I would mass send it. Hopefully it will get me legitimate attention and employed. Fingers crossed.

In Loving Memory Liesl Tara Oppenheim-Unterweger 16 Oct 1984 - 7 May 2002

I long to be like you, Lis
Lie cold in the ground like you
There is room inside for 2
And I'm not grieving for you
I'm calling for you.

2 wrongs make it all alright tonight. It was a very restless day. Time wouldn't pass any faster and my head wouldn't stop throbbing as if it's alive. I accumulated more cuts and such today and there's probably the only normal thing. I was so exhausted and I don't know why. I even overslept during my 45 minutes lunch break today, though it was fitful at best. I don't wanna blame it on the day and say that it suck but I'm just glad that I'm home right this minute, watching as time passes, and morning to come again. Things will change. For the better and it wouldn't leave no crimson stain on no white fabric and it would stop tainting her face.

I am only human, of flesh and bones I am made. I can't do this again. This intimate affair with pain. I'd give anything just to feed it, just so I would be inspired to do anything. I was looking for any excuses to cry, any excuses for my heart to break into a zillion pieces and leaving it in the cold wind so I could cry some more. It's nothing short of being unhealthy and highly negative but that was me, my life, what I'm mostly composited of and I'm not ashamed of it.

All my life, I've always just been jumping from one obligation to the next because it's the most conventional thing to do. And being conventional sometimes leaves no room for grief or hatred or loss and such. That accident took 2 lives with it and gave rise to guilt and remorse that would last a world forever. I wonder if that guy is even functioning, going on on his usual routine that probably involved more speed driving and alcohol. One thing I learn, is that you gonna give yourself time, ample amounts of it, and if you happen to receive some understanding and empathy, those things are great too but if you don't, it's fine. You gonna learn to let things slide and for other more important things to come into perspective and really, to just forgive yourself. There is nothing more you could have done. Nothing more I could have done to save her. All I could do was to let her know that she was loved and that everything is going to work out.

I kissed her for the last time and after that I could not taste nothing. My eyes hurt from all the crying and hiding. I put up the fakest composure possible and kept smiling, with nothing at all, radiating from my eyes but nobody could tell of course. I didn't wanna make a sound, or talk to anyone. I just wanted everything to be finished with, whatever that meant. I searched high and low for some kind of distraction and would fail at it miserably. And soon, it got dark, really dark, and the not having her around part sunk it significantly and it took over my life. I lost my identity, for it was the only thing I could identity with. At all. It was nothing but her. Everywhere. The sky, the people, the music I listen to, books, lights, the colors red and blue, the entire freaking world was yelling out her name and repeatedly playing her face and the accident in my head, our once perfectly fairytale-like life. I really thought I could die from feeling so much pain, and anger, emotionally or physically alike. But I have a life, I am still alive.

Over the years, I probably developed something akin to an obsession or at least verging it. I would actively bring her up in casual conversations, even with strangers. I would actively wanna see her name written out somewhere and not just in my head. I have dedicated an entire blog, or most of it anyway in her name and it was nothing but manifestations of what I felt inside and those are not pretty. A friend even suggested I should check myself in into some professional therapy program thing and of course, very quickly as that suggestion sprung in her sometimes self-centered brain, it vanished with my dismissive shrug. I actually laughed at that suggestion but I knew she meant well. She despised negativity and if you would check that word out in the dictionary, I am very well a fine illustration, right beside it. Anyway, it got better when I tried harder, to kinda sever a connection with her and things and life. I no longer relate the color blue with her eyes, or the color of honey and blond and strawberries to her hair and so on and so forth. I forgot how her lips taste like and the feeling of completeness when I would lay in bed with her at night, tangled up in sheets. I forgot what it was to be alive. That's how I got through it. I know that my loss is probably nothing as compared to the grand scheme of things but it doesn't undermine its impact and significance. It might had even magnified it a little, and blinding me for a bit there.

What would I say if I could just see her again...I would probably just say that I love you and that for as long my heart still beats, I would never forget you, what you have given and taught me, and what could have been. I would cease dishonoring and tainting your memory by living in the past. I would leave it, with only the good parts because that was what you were about. I would live life as fully as I can. I give thanks to the heavens that I met you. I will see you again.

A Year Ago Today x 7

Another year older
A little bit stronger
A little bit wiser than
A year ago today

Looking over my shoulder
I was so much younger then
I can't believe what happened
A year ago today

And I just can't forget about it
It wouldn't mean a thing
You went away
A year ago today

Another year gone by
Oh the tears have run dry
Life seemed so unkind
A year ago today

And I just can't understand it
And I don't think I ever will

You went away
A year ago today

And how many times have I questioned myself
What more could I do?
And how many times did I fool myself
Over you

You've gotta pick yourself up
Take another look
And dust yourself off cause life's not too good
I'll say it to myself and I'll say it again
Love will never end

And though we're so far apart
You're forever in my heart

Another year older
A little bit stronger
On this anniversary
You're watching over me

You went away
A year ago today

©Delta Goodrem, Innocent Eyes ~ Track 12, A Year Ago Today ~
http://www.haoting.com/musiclist/ht_91552716a3a08fe7.htm

Rest in peace, my love, for now the air is filled with your scent, my ear drums with your voice, my heart with your love.