Letters, Strings and All 15

I can only give you love that lasts forever

And a promise to be near each time you call

And the only heart I own

It's for you and you alone

That's all, that's all.

I can only give you country walks in springtime

And a hand to hold when leaves begin to fall

And a love whose burning light

Will warm the winter night

That's all, that's all

There are those, I am sure, who have told you

They would give you the world for a toy

All I have are these arms to enfold you

And a love time can never destroy

If you're wondering what I'm asking in return, dear

You'll be glad to know that my demands are small

Say it's me that you'll adore

For now, til' ever more

That's all, that's all

I've been playing this song over and over again in my head for the longest time. I spotted it one time on the shelves and I felt it spoke the words my heart could not. I can't tell you that I can give you the world but I can give you everything that I own. I'll give you my world. I love you.

Tara

Hey guys,

So much so for wanting to retire to bed early. I suppose like many other things in life and in this world, people do have different and sometimes, polar opposite definitions for the same thing, such as going to bed early. All right, my laptop clock says 3.01 AM as I begin this entry and still I don't think I'm tired.

I have always had trouble sleeping because I think I like the night better. I like that it's quiet, I like that that's when your entire day winds down, good and bad day alike. I like that everyone is just coming down from a high of sorts and getting ready for bed and kissing their loved ones good night. Don't get me wrong, I love to sleep, no doubt about that. I love being dead to the rest of the world. On an awful day, I could sleep for more than 10 hours. I said awful only because I know it's not healthy and usually it collides into the rest of my schedule and it takes at least two days to get my act back together. Trust me when I say I know it's taking a toil on my health. Sleep is my nicotine, my drug. I worship SLEEP! I'm not ashamed to say that but I would actually like to change that routine for something better. And I know that it'd be better because not only I get to keep sleeping for 8, 9 hours, I'll also have a healthier life. Maybe.

I once thought having a room to myself and a bed would change things but it only fueled the bad habit of not sleeping because now I can do whatever I want and stay up as late as I can. Such as writing this blog. OK, so the clock shows 3.35 AM.

I am turning 24 in less than ten days and I want to see change. So, change.

Good night guys. Or good morning.

Aubrey

And Aubrey was her name,
A not so very ordinary girl or name.
But who's to blame?
For a love that wouldn't bloom
For the hearts that never played in tune.
Like a lovely melody that everyone can sing,
Take away the words that rhyme it doesn't mean a thing.

And Aubrey was her name.
We triped the light and dance together to the moon,
But where was June?
No it never came around.
If it did, it never made a sound
Maybe I was absent or was listening too fast,
Catching all the words but then the meaning going past

But God I miss the girl,
And I'd go a thousand times around the world just to be
Closer to her than to me.

And Aubrey was her name,
I never knew her but I loved her just the same.
I loved her name.
Wish that I had found the way
And the reasons that would make her stay.
I have learned to lead a life apart from all the rest.
If I can't have the one I want, I'll do without the best.

But how I miss the girl
And I'd go a million times around the world just to say
She had been mine for a day

Taking a leap of faith

Hey guys,

I thought I write you a post about what I've been doing for the past couple weeks.

As of 29 October 2010, I have left my previous job at a copywriting firm. The once bizarre and surreal dream has finally come to an end. And it's quite ironic because just a week before my last, I have bared my soul about what I thought about my life and my job to my ex-boss and colleagues during a sharing session. And she, my ex-boss, had promised me that however long I am going to take to figure out if I want to be a copywriter, she is going to support me. Guess sometimes promises are indeed meant to be broken and naivety isn't always a virtue. Anyway, it's been a good chapter, an almost good year. I have learnt a lot about writing and I have made great friends. Though I still can't be 100% sure what I want to do (given my current sticky circumstances), at least now I have an inkling what I don't want to do. Boss, I know you aren't going to read this but I wanna say thank you. You have given me a chance and because of that, I am deeply grateful. I wish you the best with the firm and everything else you have got going in life.

OK, off to something silghtly more cheery now. Let's talk about my blog, my other blog. It's probably a semi-open secret by now. As you all know, I am an aspiring writer and wish to make my mark as a reputable fiction writer. I've adopted the pseudonym, Liesl T, and have put up most of every essential component a blog requires to run. What's lacking now are the characters' profiles and this Please Donate Generously If You Like What You Read thingy. My blog partner thinks it's a great idea. And also, the prologue and chapter 1 are up. There may be slight changes for the end of chapter 1. I'm still playing with clarity and flow so it complements the beginning of chapter 2 which I am totally racking my brains over now. You guys just check back here for the blog address or simply, if you already know me, do check out facebook and twitter. Constructive comments will be much appreciated. I haven't been real inspired to write about anything but I pray to God that that would soon change. Like now would be nice. I am aiming to officially release the blog in two weeks' time.

What else is up and coming is that I recently got back from Batam, one of the many many commercialized islands of Indonesia and a recent headline in the local newspapers. I really don't like it there which makes it quite impossible for me to ever wanna return but for those who are looking to visit, don't let me stop you. I am sure there are many good places and parts in Batam I have yet discover. Continuing on the topic of traveling, I am going to the Chinese embassy tomorrow to apply for a visa to go to China for at least 3 months. I have never been to China and I don't know if I want to but I wouldn't know until I've actually experience it so I'm keeping my fingers crossed and hoping that there is Starhub cable TV there.

I'm treating it like a sort of sabbatical, a span of time where I'll discover and reacquaint with myself and my love for writing and people and if I really do enjoy traveling like I have imagined I would be. If it works out, I know that I've made another good step towards something great and that I have accomplished or even overcome something. I am really looking forward to it. After China, that is if my visa application comes through and that I return early next February, I'll be making plans for a second trip. I'll be meeting my soulmate for the first time. She's potentially flying to Singapore next June and we'll both embark on a trip around South East Asia. We'll be leaving our marks in countries like Malaysia, Thailand, Cambodia and whatnots. We'll see. I better not turn up to be a dork and totally embarass myself.

Well, I'll talk to you guys next time!

OK, I’m going back to the roots.

I came into the office today and instantly pumped up the volume of Avril Lavigne’s songs on my laptop. I found a collection of remix versions of her old albums. Oh yes, I am a closeted (and now open) Avril fan. I remembered listening to her very first single, Complicated, when I was 17. I was introduced to that song by my then online girlfriend. Fell in love (with Avril, not the online girlfriend) and immediately went out to get the album. After the CD was done playing Complicated which happened to be the first song of the album and moved on to the next track and the next, a sense of doubt was looming over me. I was thinking, ‘hey, maybe her music isn’t my cup of tea.’ The background music was so loud and without the lyric booklet then, I couldn’t make out the words but I refused to give up on it and gave it several more listening. Boy, was I glad I didn’t just put it away and miss out on a large chunk of what could have been good music and writing. It became a staple of my high school life and as of today, I have reacquainted my love for Avril’s music.

Talking about roots, I was thinking of about digging up all my writing projects that I have pretty much put on hold for 8 years now. I have enlisted the help of an old friend (a wonderful man) to work with me on this writer’s blog (notice the play on word on writer’s block) that allows aspiring writers to come together to share and publish their work. I was watching The Amazing Race Asia last night and realised (quite awkwardly and painfully) what the acronyms happen to stand for. Wow, it took my breath away and instantly I felt a sharp pain in my heart and abdominal areas. I was not kidding. It was not good at all. I suppose the blog is my next (poor) attempt at getting myself back on track. I know if I could try to recreate or rekindle some sort of a passion and control over my life, I can heal. And I would like to heal very much.

Watch out for that new blog.

Thought I share this:

Written by Adrian Tan, author of The Teenage Textbook (1988), he was the guest-of-honour at a recent NTU convocation ceremony. This was his speech to the graduating class of 2008. --

"I must say thank you to the faculty and staff of the Wee Kim Wee School of Communication and Information for inviting me to give your convocation address. It’s a wonderful honour and a privilege for me to speak here for ten minutes without fear of contradiction, defamation or retaliation. I say this as a Singaporean and more so as a husband.

My wife is a wonderful person and perfect in every way except one. She is the editor of a magazine. She corrects people for a living. She has honed her expert skills over a quarter of a century, mostly by practising at home during conversations between her and me.On the other hand, I am a litigator. Essentially, I spend my day telling people how wrong they are. I make my living being disagreeable. Nevertheless, there is perfect harmony in our matrimonial home. That is because when an editor and a litigator have an argument, the one who triumphs is always the wife. And so I want to start by giving one piece of advice to the men: when you’ve already won her heart, you don’t need to win every argument.

Marriage is considered one milestone of life. Some of you may already be married. Some of you may never be married. Some of you will be married. Some of you will enjoy the experience so much, you will be married many, many times. Good for you.The next big milestone in your life is today: your graduation. The end of education. You’re done learning.

You’ve probably been told the big lie that “Learning is a lifelong process” and that therefore you will continue studying and taking masters’ degrees and doctorates and professorships and so on. You know the sort of people who tell you that? Teachers. Don’t you think there is some measure of conflict of interest? They are in the business of learning, after all. Where would they be without you? They need you to be repeat customers. The good news is that they’re wrong.

The bad news is that you don’t need further education because your entire life is over. It is gone. That may come as a shock to some of you. You’re in your teens or early twenties. People may tell you that you will live to be 70, 80, 90 years old. That is your life expectancy. I love that term: life expectancy. We all understand the term to mean the average life span of a group of people. But I’m here to talk about a bigger idea, which is what you expect from your life.You may be very happy to know that Singapore is currently ranked as the country with the third highest life expectancy. We are behind Andorra and Japan, and tied with San Marino. It seems quite clear why people in those countries, and ours, live so long. We share one thing in common: our football teams are all hopeless. There’s very little danger of any of our citizens having their pulses raised by watching us play in the World Cup. Spectators are more likely to be lulled into a gentle and restful nap.

Singaporeans have a life expectancy of 81.8 years. Singapore men live to an average of 79.21 years, while Singapore women live more than five years longer, probably to take into account the additional time they need to spend in the bathroom. So here you are, in your twenties, thinking that you’ll have another 40 years to go. Four decades in which to live long and prosper. Bad news. Read the papers. There are people dropping dead when they’re 50, 40, 30 years old. Or quite possibly just after finishing their convocation. They would be very disappointed that they didn’t meet their life expectancy.

I’m here to tell you this. Forget about your life expectancy. After all, it’s calculated based on an average. And you never, ever want to expect being average. Revisit those expectations. You might be looking forward to working, falling in love, marrying, raising a family. You are told that, as graduates, you should expect to find a job paying so much, where your hours are so much, where your responsibilities are so much. That is what is expected of you. And if you live up to it, it will be an awful waste. If you expect that, you will be limiting yourself. You will be living your life according to boundaries set by average people. I have nothing against average people. But no one should aspire to be them. And you don’t need years of education by the best minds in Singapore to prepare you to be average. What you should prepare for is mess.

Life’s a mess. You are not entitled to expect anything from it. Life is not fair. Everything does not balance out in the end. Life happens, and you have no control over it. Good and bad things happen to you day by day, hour by hour, moment by moment. Your degree is a poor armour against fate.

Don’t expect anything. Erase all life expectancies. Just live. Your life is over as of today. At this point in time, you have grown as tall as you will ever be, you are physically the fittest you will ever be in your entire life and you are probably looking the best that you will ever look. This is as good as it gets. It is all downhill from here. Or up. No one knows. What does this mean for you?

It is good that your life is over. Since your life is over, you are free. Let me tell you the many wonderful things that you can do when you are free. The most important is this: do not work.

Work is anything that you are compelled to do. By its very nature, it is undesirable. Work kills. The Japanese have a term “Karoshi”, which means death from overwork. That’s the most dramatic form of how work can kill. But it can also kill you in more subtle ways. If you work, then day by day, bit by bit, your soul is chipped away, disintegrating until there’s nothing left. A rock has been ground into sand and dust.

There’s a common misconception that work is necessary. You will meet people working at miserable jobs. They tell you they are “making a living”. No, they’re not. They’re dying, frittering away their fast-extinguishing lives doing things which are, at best, meaningless and, at worst, harmful.

People will tell you that work ennobles you, that work lends you a certain dignity. Work makes you free. The slogan “Arbeit macht frei” was placed at the entrances to a number of Nazi concentration camps. Utter nonsense.

Do not waste the vast majority of your life doing something you hate so that you can spend the small remainder sliver of your life in modest comfort. You may never reach that end anyway.

Resist the temptation to get a job. Instead, play. Find something you enjoy doing. Do it. Over and over again. You will become good at it for two reasons: you like it, and you do it often. Soon, that will have value in itself.

I like arguing, and I love language. So, I became a litigator. I enjoy it and I would do it for free. If I didn’t do that, I would’ve been in some other type of work that still involved writing fiction – probably a sports journalist.

So what should you do? You will find your own niche. I don’t imagine you will need to look very hard. By this time in your life, you will have a very good idea of what you will want to do. In fact, I’ll go further and say the ideal situation would be that you will not be able to stop yourself pursuing your passions. By this time you should know what your obsessions are. If you enjoy showing off your knowledge and feeling superior, you might become a teacher.

Find that pursuit that will energise you, consume you, become an obsession. Each day, you must rise with a restless enthusiasm. If you don’t, you are working.

Most of you will end up in activities which involve communication. To those of you I have a second message: be wary of the truth. I’m not asking you to speak it, or write it, for there are times when it is dangerous or impossible to do those things. The truth has a great capacity to offend and injure, and you will find that the closer you are to someone, the more care you must take to disguise or even conceal the truth. Often, there is great virtue in being evasive, or equivocating. There is also great skill. Any child can blurt out the truth, without thought to the consequences. It takes great maturity to appreciate the value of silence.

In order to be wary of the truth, you must first know it. That requires great frankness to yourself. Never fool the person in the mirror.

I have told you that your life is over, that you should not work, and that you should avoid telling the truth. I now say this to you: be hated.

It’s not as easy as it sounds. Do you know anyone who hates you? Yet every great figure who has contributed to the human race has been hated, not just by one person, but often by a great many. That hatred is so strong it has caused those great figures to be shunned, abused, murdered and in one famous instance, nailed to a cross.

One does not have to be evil to be hated. In fact, it’s often the case that one is hated precisely because one is trying to do right by one’s own convictions. It is far too easy to be liked, one merely has to be accommodating and hold no strong convictions. Then one will gravitate towards the centre and settle into the average. That cannot be your role. There are a great many bad people in the world, and if you are not offending them, you must be bad yourself. Popularity is a sure sign that you are doing something wrong.

The other side of the coin is this: fall in love.I didn’t say “be loved”. That requires too much compromise. If one changes one’s looks, personality and values, one can be loved by anyone. Rather, I exhort you to love another human being. It may seem odd for me to tell you this. You may expect it to happen naturally, without deliberation. That is false. Modern society is anti-love. We’ve taken a microscope to everyone to bring out their flaws and shortcomings. It's far easier to find a reason not to love someone than otherwise. Rejection requires only one reason. Love requires complete acceptance. It is hard work – the only kind of work that I find palatable.

Loving someone has great benefits. There is admiration, learning, attraction and something which, for the want of a better word, we call happiness. In loving someone, we become inspired to better ourselves in every way. We learn the truth worthlessness of material things. We celebrate being human. Loving is good for the soul.Loving someone is therefore very important, and it is also important to choose the right person. Despite popular culture, love doesn’t happen by chance, at first sight, across a crowded dance floor. It grows slowly, sinking roots first before branching and blossoming. It is not a silly weed, but a mighty tree that weathers every storm.

You will find, that when you have someone to love, that the face is less important than the brain, and the body is less important than the heart. You will also find that it is no great tragedy if your love is not reciprocated. You are not doing it to be loved back. Its value is to inspire you.

Finally, you will find that there is no half-measure when it comes to loving someone. You either don’t, or you do with every cell in your body, completely and utterly, without reservation or apology. It consumes you, and you are reborn, all the better for it."

So there you go. Life's pretty much it.Don’t work. Avoid telling the truth. Be hated. Love someone.

i am living my life in snippets of fantasy and dreams
leave me be and
soon enough i'll crawl out from that hole
and learn a world i never knew
speak a language that is cold and distant
i have to stop using my heart now

Ok. I'm just gonna start off by saying that my brain is a jumbled mess and hopefully I can do this mess justice by reflecting it truthfully on here. Ok, here goes.

I'm so many things and disasters right now I can't even begin to sort it out. I want too many things too fast. And it's taking a toil on me.

I want a full leg tattoo.

I want to go to Greece for my upcoming birthday just so I can kiss my soulmate so hard she wouldn't remember her name.

I want to get a motorcyclist's license and not think about dying on the streets which for some reasons, I know I would.

I want a girlfriend, a partner or whatever you call it. Someone who sees me and saves me from who I am. Someone to talk to. Someone who wouldn't judge me. Someone to cuddle up to at night and early mornings. I don't care if I'm ready or not. I don't deserve to be alone and I'm done being alone. Speaking of which, kudos to Jared or otherwise better known as KT, a wonderful friend of mine, who came out to me last morning. I love you for being brave, I love you for being who you want to be because you know you can be and you can. You really made my day! (PS: I always knew you were gay.)

I wanna write a book and publish it. But first thing first, coming up with a damn title. It's vital for me that this first book is a heartbreaker because that's really what I felt for a long time and it's something I really connected to.

Lastly, I want you to shut the.fuck.up!

Oh right, before I forget, roller blades and new clothes.

I need something or someone to distract me. I don't know who I am or what I am doing here and that's what I believe to be a deadly flaw. It could literally kill me. Just couple days ago, I had wanted to hurt myself, like a car accident or something. The only glitch in that master plan was not knowing if I'll die so that plan is shelved. For now.

I never knew the answers and I never bothered to ask questions. I just wanted to be left alone in my space, doing what I want to do in that moment in time. Everything should come naturally as the next thought to create this flow that sustain me. But life is anything but. Aren't I supposed to have the last say? Apparently not.

There are many things in life that I feel I've been and still am missing out on. The virtue of living life to the fullest is completely lost on me. Tara's death was akin to having someone saw my chest open and basically shred or pour acid over it and then putting it back again. And repeating the same procedure 2 seconds later. That pain is so palpable it later just sort of became me. I swear to God that I can still feel that sickly, viscousy, wet texture on my skin. It's like fresh blood is still on me -- Tara's blood. The love of my life, my G force, my thoughts and every word spoken, the catalyst of my passion, the woman I knew I could spend the rest of my life with...her blood was just soaking into my shirt, my skin. Blood and whatever it was was forcing its way out of her, I watched helplessly as she fought for her last breath but life just wouldn't stop gushing out of her. And yet all of that has become nothing short of a weakness and a joke in everyone else's eyes. No one cares. None of it matters now and I am supposed to live with that.

I don't know how I am going to do that but I sort of feel like it's one of those I always knew the answers kinda situations. And that answer also lies in the next person that I'm gonna restart my life for or even fall in love with. I wish I knew who that person is. But whoever you are and whatever you are going to do to me, thanks.

I have no idea what writing about my feelings here can do to help but I' m obviously doing it. I don't care if anyone reads it. They say the writer is the only one who gets the most out of the actual writing while everyone else who reads it is just the work of a strange coincidence. Perhaps that is true. I don't even know what I'm getting out of this, let alone you but I needed to feel better so here it is.

She is Gone. David Harkins.

"You can shed tears that she is gone,
or you can smile because she has lived.

You can close your eyes and pray that she’ll come back,
or you can open your eyes and see all she’s left.

Your heart can be empty because you can’t see her,
or you can be full of the love you shared.

You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday,
or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.

You can remember her only that she is gone,
or you can cherish her memory and let it live on.

You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back.
Or you can do what she’d want:smile, open your eyes, love and go on."

Letters, Strings and All 14

Dear Love,

Letter 14 and I feel like I should be heading somewhere. I've been writing for almost half a month now but it feels like I haven't moved an inch. On most days, I imagine myself nearing towards a miracle or at least a destination where I can finally stop all this yearning to bask in the glory of our sweet love. Today, I just feel like a train wreck, minutes away from falling off the edge of a cliff, seconds away from a sort of searing pain, one I am not sure if I'll ever recover from. I don't think my heart can take any more of this.

I need you more than I want you. And I want you more than I know is possible. I am not sorry. I am not guilty, for this is what my heart sings to me and I know you feel the exact same way. You love me. I hear you whisper it to me every night before we go to bed. I felt the words carve tiny craters on the surface of my bones and make impressions on my flesh. I am yours and only yours and I'll give myself to you in a heartbeat if you would only ask.

At times, I thought I could cry myself to death. Those endless nights made me believe that I am far from being rational and all right. I know for sure I wouldn't survive this heartache. In the wee hours of the night, I wanted to rush for you. I wanted to tell your mother about us. I want to fuck you so hard you would not remember anything else. I want to hold you in my heart just so I could breathe again. But I can't. I just can't.

You told me over breakfast one time how a person's life is made up of the choices he/she makes. I now hold the tool to shaping the outcome of our lives. I need a guiding hand, a hug. I need you to tell me that what I am doing is right. I can't imagine keeping you away from me and breaking a future we could possibly have into pieces.

Tara

I no longer remember

At 24, I'm back at the crossroad I was at just two years ago. I am just as troubled, just as unhappy, if not more about life. It leaves me with a bitter aftertaste in my mouth. Deprived of any true inspiration, I realise I haven't eaten in almost a year.

I have been thinking or rather, not been thinking at all. I've either lost everything and who I am or I have not experienced and cultivated anything in the last years of my life. I am empty. Stubborn and empty.

I am still locked up, still drowning. And what kills me the most is the fact that I am the one responsible for putting myself in that place. I am keeping myself from all my potential. I don't know what I can do with that power but I wanna do something and I don't know how. I want things I know I can have. What I want is easy. What I want is achievable. But as of right now, I am helpless. Utterly, totally helpless. And there is nothing I hate more than being helpless.

Everyone wants answers. Do I like my job? What do I think about copywriting? No, I hate copywriting. I hate doing anything I have no interest for. Period. How do I feel about being put fourth or fifth or sixth or even the hundredth place on everyone else's plate? Do people really care about me and my so-called, yet to be explored potential? And why does people lose their tempers on me if they care? Is this how people care? If so, what do they want from me?

I am scared. I am lost. I am whatever the hell I am now. I like writing. I vaguely remember I do but you have taken away everything. Now even that I can't do.

I've recently met someone whom I may potentially develop feelings for. She asked if I were ready for love and all I wanted to say in that instant was that I like you. I can be ready for you. Just give me a chance. But of course I didn't. She is in love with someone else.

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Sun. You. Blue. You.

Hey, remember the first bask of sunlight that hits your skin and slowly but completely envelops you in a semi-warm embrace when you just walk out in the open, a huge infinite span of green? Or the first deep breath you take in first thing in the morning? Feel every fibre in your soul opening up, taking in the little molecules of oxygen as you stretch and the sense of peace and blue coolness that settles on everything? That sunlight is you. And so is that peaceful coolness.

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And indeed Sunday, a day of rest.

I have always had rather contradicting thoughts about Sundays. Honest to say, I am one who detest the idea of work and the end of Sunday beckons the beginning of a week long of possibly mindless toiling at the computer desk. Natural to say, I ain't looking forward to it.

Whenever Sunday comes, it sort of leaves me with a dread and a feeling of helplessness and finality in the pit of my stomach. Am I ready for the new week? Have I rest justly or have I simply squander away what little energy that barely feeds me? I happen to also be the one with many questions. Questions I have no doubt will answer themselves when the next Sunday arrives.

I often take the opportunity to keep myself stuck in the loop or laspes of being conscious and not. Taking little naps, staying in my room all day, not speaking a single syallbi if I don't have to and running my thoughts wild about the things I could have achieved if I only had the spirit to act upon them. Again, I found a need to defend my worthlessness.

Sunday, like the dark before light, should fill one with hope but not mine. Although, it does let me take refuge in make-believe dreams, a world I have subconsciously created with the whims of my mind to ease my soul. But it does not constitute a legitimate reason to spend what could be a glorious day not doing anything. I should indulge myself in creativity, drink in the company of my Muse, if only she so exists or simply take off in a heartful stride towards nothing and everything. But instead, I chose to stay in the confines of a room and a jail made of human flesh. I ought to be ashamed of myself but this is me. And one I would accept at this point in time.

I yearn to be in company sometimes, to be in the arms of a loved one. To embark on a journey of discovery as I look into her eyes, deciphering one shade from another. To hold her hand and put it gently across my still beating heart. To meet lip and lip in a sensual kiss of utter romance or to simply sit in silence.

I am in too much of a hurry to please myself, twisting truths to fit my own moulds and bending conversations so they will fill my head with false melodies. I can't possibly defend myself any longer. I've let my demons consume me. I wish all is not lost for I imagine that any shreds of hope I have will sustain me.

So take heed; whether you will spend your Sundays caught up in the senselessness yet familial comfort of your wretched mind or spend them however you do, spend your Sundays truthfully, for it is a beckoning of new beginnings.

She's a yellow pair of running shoes
My only pair of demin jeans
She looks great in my oversized tee-shirt
She looks great in anything and even better underneath
She's my silly who can't find a thing to wear in the morning and whom I have to coax into eating
She's "I want a piece of chocolate, take me to the movie even if I can't hear it,"
She's the one in Alex's Yankee baseball cap, her blond hair blowing against her face in the wind
She's a soft place to land, and a hard fighter
Warm conversations in bed, she's the giver I wish I could be
And the stealer of the covers
She's the hand I want getting the lay of my land
For the rest of my life, forever until it ends

You'd think her weird for a German who doesn't drink
You'd think her unrealistic cause' she's my hopeless dreamer and romantic
You'd know her as my nature-loving girlfriend who kisses trees and name them me
You'd know her as my Saturdays and Sundays and all the days in between

She's a bubble bath and candles
She's a "baby, come and kiss me,"
She's a picture in my wallet
Of my unborn children's mother
She's the ring on my finger
the only commitment I wanna be committee on
She's the hand that I'm holding when I'm crossing the traffic at 90
Or the squeaky rocking chair I want rocking beside me

She's the answer to my prayers, the song that I'm playing
She's the simple truth and life's biggest mystery
She's the voice I love to hear when she so infrequently speaks

Yeah, I see that now.
She was everything I need.

Just what if?

What would you do if you had a chance to go back in the past?
Would you try to redeem yourself, to do right for once?

How would things be different if you have said goodbye one last time?
Turn your head around, give her a tight hug and look into her eyes

What would you say to a last meal, a last kiss or a last dance?
Would you still have declined?

What if you were given a choice to save her, to get there in the nick of time, even if it meant losing your life?
I know what I'll do
And I'll do it for the rest of my life.

Fate watches you and your fruitless taunts that go nowhere over your shoulders
It's laughing at you, you insignificant homosapien, making snide comments about how silly you are
"The truth is staring you in the eye, idiot! What are you waiting for?"

Right, so why am I still sitting here?

So what am I truly waiting for?

When art is simply the expression of an inspiration, not perfection.

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Hey,
Yeah?
Here, scoot over.
I need a favour.
Anything.
It's sort of a long-term commitment.
Sounds like my kind of project.
*Smiles* Really?
Well, as long as it involves making out with a certain German, blond-hair girl for the rest of my life in that package, sure.
Gutterbrain
YOUR gutterbrain. So what's up?
I want you to grow old with me.

Note to self: Stay the fuck away from foods resembling pancakes/hotcakes!

As above. Clear as day.

I let her be dead then.
I should have kept it that way.
But I can't seem to keep my word.

I can't stay away or pry my fingers away from the wretched wood.

I can't stop looking at my tattoos
You're the reason why I couldn't stop staring at you
I'm literally wearing you on my sleeve now
All those years of being without

I wish I could still feel you under my skin
Feel your breath and essence suffused in every cell of my body
My roses and skull
My gun
The old school film camera
The tiny script behind my ear
They all remind me of you and why you're not here

Why do you think I got them in the first place?
Why do you think I subjected myself to all that pain without batting an eyelid, without turning green in the face?

Today, I'm putting that gun away
I'm wiping the wheels clean
I'm gonna stop running,
stop defiling your lovely memory

I know I haven't been the most convincing lately
I kept running back to you
The late-night tears kept coming
No, it isn't fair, you tell me
Heck, it isn't even half-right
But do believe me now

But that's all I'm asking

For a last chance
For a last wish
I love you, Tara
Now that, you can believe

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P is for Physics and P is for Poetry

Every atom in your body came from a star that exploded. And, the atoms in your left hand probably came from a different star than your right hand. It really is the most poetic thing I know about physics: You are all stardust. You couldn’t be here if stars hadn’t exploded, because the elements - the carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, iron, all the things that matter for evolution and for life - weren’t created at the beginning of time. They were created in the nuclear furnaces of stars, and the only way for them to get into your body is if those stars were kind enough to explode. So, forget Jesus. The stars died so that you could be here today.

Lawrence M. Krauss

Sweet isn't it? I don't think Physics has been this charming until I came across this.

Letters, Strings and All 13

Dear Love,

There are few mornings when I'm up early enough to see the sun rise and stream into the room. I love how the sun rays pentrated through the purple window pane, making tiny rainbows on your exposed skin.

It generally proves impossible to be up before the alarm - you usually tire me out too much. But last night you stayed over and all we did was snuggle. I didn't mind. What can be more intimate than this? Every possible inch of our skins melding into a single entity, my breasts to your back, no clothes to hamper the sensation. If I lie quiet and still enough, I would hear the blood pulsing through your veins, your little heart pumping away in a soothing rhythm. You breathe softly, evenly, just as you do when you're in a deep slumber. I lean forward the tiniest bit to place a soft kiss on the back of your neck. As I pull away, you turn in my arms and smile at me, your eyes closed, still asleep. The thin sheet slipping off your shoulders, revealing your breasts. I raised myself on one elbow to watch you sleep.

The rays of the morning sun diffuse through the window, wrapping your body in a quiet, beautiful light. Your normally pale neck is pink with sun-lit blood, flawless like marble and sweet like a peppermint lollypop. The shadows created by the sun, the curves of your body and the placement of the sheets dance a magical dance on your skin as you breathe, your chest rises and falls. The red of your lips is illuminated so that its moist softness shines as if covered in dew. You part your lips ever so slightly and lets out a sigh. As you roll towards me, I hear my name whispered in slumber. I smile, and lean in to kiss you on your lips, eliciting another sigh of contentment.

The sun rises higher in the sky and while it shines on you from a lower angle before, it now streams over you with a passion, igniting every part of you with a radiance that takes my breath away. Your hair, ardent in any situation, now seems to be made of flame itself as the sun dances between the strands. You shift slightly and your hair falls softly around your face, framing your cheeks with fire. A tear slips out of my eye in wonder that I am the only one you will ever let witness this staggering sight, of your entire body aflame with benevolent fire. You told me one time that you would never leave me, that you would love me forever, and while a part of my mind refused to believe it, my heart and soul accepted your truth and returned it full force.

I am so close to you now that my tear falls on your nose. You sniff and reach up to wipe it away, smilingly grumpily. I grin and you open your eyes, and the sunlight hits the brown and sparks resembling burning woods ignite in them to offset the red that envelops the rest of you. I gasp at the splendour of it, and you wrinkle your brow in bafflement. Knowing you're about to speak, I capture your lips with mine in a soft kiss to keep this morning perfect.

When we pull apart, you smile at me in love, understanding my quirks and oddities, which you really wouldn't mind as long as they result in kissing. I grin back, my eyes meeting yours, sapphire gaze mixing with brown hues, and lean in for another kiss, my tongue gaining easy access. Our hair mingles, my gold strands interweaving with your brown hair until we pull apart again. I trace your jawline with my fingers and you cover my hand with yours and we sit together, for what seems like an eternity, in the glow.

Tara

Now learn how to fly.

Sometimes I imagined if I’m just hearing voices in my head and they were never real.
I heard you calling my name and I remembered turning around and staring into a stranger I hoped worn your face.
It was one of the stranger things that kept happening to me lately.
In the morning, when I wake up, I thought I smell you. I thought you were lying right next to me the previous night but you disappeared without a sign, a note.
And I had to stop myself. It was insane.
Here I thought I was back on track, I got derailed again.
Didn’t anyone tell you it’s not good for my mental state?

Geez, don’t you start yelling at me again!
I am not at fault here!
I am the one you left behind!
I am the one who has to keep on living right!
Now, don’t you dare walk away from me!
Stay!
Please...
I beg of you, T

Let me be a coward, just tonight
Tomorrow, I promise I’ll take flight
I’ll do all the things you never had a chance
I’ll walk away but I’ll do you proud and right

I picture you sitting and half-dozing off with a book in your hand in my closed eyes
I wanna re-invite you back into my life
Would you say yes, will you come?
I’ll reintroduce you to the goodness of life
I’ll rein you back in into reality
The cobalt blue in your eyes will sparkle and your teeth will shine
There are times
When it’s high and sometimes low
Or so I’m told
I’ve never quite live it long
I just wanted to be on the ride to somewhere that isn’t cold

I’m gonna let you in on a secret now
A secret meant only for your ears and mine
I love you, Tara and there you go
It doesn’t matter now I know
And everyone tells me so.

The love of my life
You were so bright
You made me believe I had been half-living in the blind
You read my thoughts and cleared my mind
You knew me without me having to speak my mind
“No, darling, not a word, not a sound, for I hear you just right.”
It’s amazing, isn’t it?
The little bubble we live in
We never had to answer to nobody
Is that right?
It’s way too high, where we are now
I’m letting go
I’ll land on the pavement, falling nicely into neat pieces
Will you still recognise my face?
Please still say hi
Don’t leave me in my blood, hanging dry

Sometimes I may still hear myself cry at night
It isn’t a sign
It’s just a manner of life
Just me learning to say goodbye
A behaviour so natural to me it felt like it’s time I get it right
No, I don’t wanna slow you down
I want you to take your time and do it right
So when you’re gone
You’d really be gone

I’m letting you go now
Don’t be afraid
You will be safe
In a place I’ve created in my heart with the will of my mind, the power of our once glorified life
I’ll never forget you, the love of my past life

Now fly.

denn ich werde immer finden Sie

Do you remember why and how you started writing? That of course, I'm being presumptuous thinking that just because you read, it automatically makes you a writer. Feel free to correct me.

I remembered the very first time I started writing fictions, I was 17 and I imagined myself then to be absolutely angry and hysterical and off-kilter for the most parts. I guess I was looking for a reason to carry on. I was stubborn then but I also remembered how terrified I was. I wanted to change the world, well, my world anyway, the little sometimes insignificant bubble I live in. I'm not sure if I did that but I don't think I've ever really given up on writing completely. I may have my share of what I call 'a blank period' where spelling my name is as far as I wanna go in writing. I still have those periods. A hiatus or perhaps an opportunity for me to fill up the empty spaces in my brain so I could start writing again.

Writing to me, was a manner of self-reflecting and rediscovery and reliving certain parts of my life. I wanted to relive the past. So much so that I'm suffering from some kind of amnesia. My memories are shattered, segmented in illogical snippets. I could no longer make sense of my life. I imagine 20-odd years of my life have been so repressed that looking at it now, it just looks to me like scattered petals on a body of ocean. Just floating and going whichever direction the tide ushers them in.

Through writing, whether they are real or fiction, I am revisiting the things I've done and talked about, the foods I've ate, the room, the bed, the person I've slept in and with, the road I've taken to go to school and return from...everything that I have lived and forgotten. I am reinventing these memories.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm making things up. Maybe it's not real. Maybe I wanted it to be real. Maybe it was just an ordinary day but I painted it red. Maybe she wasn't dead.

Acute sensual experiences that form memories are some of the strongest triggers for the greatest literary works. Turns out, creativity and imagination really do not have limitations, except for the lack of a writing instrument just when something hits you. I believe in that. I believe that most writers, if not all, started their first word or sentence with circumstances they have personally lived through or wanted to live through. Fictions are sort of a mirror that apart from reflecting uncomfortable truths, it throws in a pinch of imagination and spin that made you wonder if the things you have written from experiences and life can be further manipulated.

Perhaps all fictions began as an autobiography and muddled with resistance and hopes and expectations. The people you have met in your life, ever so opinionated whether they are conscious of it or not, are like road signs. They tell you where to go and it's up to you to rationalise it. I've met a handful and while sometimes I wish they would just simply shut their mouths, they actually become the reason why I rebel against myself. Although, how that turns out is up to you.

When I write, I prolong a certain part of my life, one that is usually acutely missing. It helps me deal with everyday stuff without feeling that I would fail. Right now, all I remembered are the times I've spent with Tara. It may sound absurd but it's true. Unconsciously, I may have blocked out the rest of everything and as far as I am concerned, I had no problem with that. I shall continue to live life as it is. I may of course also be wrong for perpetuating what seems to be an unhealthy obsession. But I can't care now. I am fine.

In my fictions, Tara never had to die and even if she had, I'll bring her back. I am God, I am Fate, I am that turn around the corner where the switch of your life flicks and changes forever. Most importantly, I am Faith. Who knows, maybe one of these rain-drenched days, I'll see her turn a corner on the streets and find myself drawn to her once again.

I am who I want to be because I can be. I have never quite live life on anyone's terms. Don't think I'm gonna start anytime soon. However, I am rethinking about this project I've been toying with for the longest time. I will reintroduce the characters, based them on believable human natures that will resonate with people who read about them. I will reinvent circumstances and decorations, the turns around the corners, so to speak. I will completely abandon myself and find myself again in the lives of my characters and story.

I will die and be reborn.

denn ich werde immer finden Sie.

I think I've said this before.

I think I'm walking on a familiar route back home.
I said it once then, and I'll say it again.

When you need to fall completely apart, I am where you break, I am where you land
like raindrops on pavements, like an intoxicated outburst
I wanna see you crumble and break down
I wanna see you tore apart
I wanna hear you cry for real
Stop putting up a front, a struggle
It's useless in this light, this time of day.

If I may again, repeat what I've said before, I wouldn't mind
I would love to be drenched in your contradictions
But I can't anymore.
I needed an answer, an answer for your foolishness, selfishness and arrogance.

I will keep my piece, as you would yours.
I will not say a word because I know I wouldn't have to.

Looking at you, I am convulsed with disgust
Looking past you, I realised that I'm still me, and you, you.
And I have no rights.

I can't just be your friend.
I am more than that. Hell, I deserve more than that.
But I'm past that.

Yes, over the years, I may have said this before.

I woke up one Sunday morning with an intense but not unwarranted craving for hotcakes. Half the time, I wake up wanting hotcakes and most of the time, I wouldn't have a clue why. But I guess if I have to ask myself, I always had the answer.

The particular hotcake you're staring at right now at your left corner is one of the rare moments that I actually made it to breakfast and it wasn't because someone pointed a gun to my face. I sat at the edge of my bed for a while, and brushed my teeth and changed and put on my favorite sneakers and head out.

Walking on the streets, I kept forgetting not everyone is as susceptible to blue hair and half-finished tattoos like someone with blue hair and half-finished tattoos would be. So, with much scrutinizing aside, I made my way to McDonalds and ordered myself a Breakfast Deluxe. The good people missed out on my hotcakes on the first try but they got it. I found a seat by the window because I love a seat by the window where the beams of sunshine pour in and if it was pouring heavily outside, I get first class seating to a rain-splattering orchestra. As I eat, I realized how much I have taken having company for granted. I miss how it's all very mundane and romantic yet so difficult to achieve. In a different format, it was on a glass table, in a warm kitchen.

I would wake up to the sweet scent of butter melting on a hot skillet and then cooked batter and honey. I would walk in to see a bottle of whipped cream and fresh strawberries and blueberries and "unbruised OJ" as she liked to call it. Personally, I have never heard of bruised juice but if she insist, then make me a true believer. I stared at the bottle of whipped cream and I burst into laughter. "What?" "Nothing." I said, trying to stifle another laughter. "Ok, I know what that head of yours is thinking about." "Oh, I'm sure you do." I whispered under my breath as I placed a kiss on the back of her head, taking in a generous whiff of her vanilla shampoo. "Hmm, I love how you smell after a shower..." I pulled the chair out and sat down. "Funny shapes are fine, sweetie,"

"What are you reading?" "Just a book about writing. It talks about how one shapes and enriches one's life with the choices he or she makes. The choices are essentially endless and with every direction one makes, each corner he/she should turn, it's a different outcome. This is true for life too, like how I turn a corner at the bookstore and I met you." "Interesting read and coffee, never forget coffee, oh and honey, reading at the breakfast table...not so good." "All right, I'm putting it away." "That's my girl." "So what else do I get for being a good girl?" "You mean, breakfast's not enough?" "Well, I just think it would be a huge pity to let that can of whipped cream go to waste. I bet there are a few shots left in there. And you of all people would agree we shouldn't waste food." She let out a soft sigh. "What do you have in mind?"

Turns out, it has nothing to do with hotcakes.

八年了，想念的人事物真的很多。最想念的一些事情却是很平常，很微妙的细节或习惯。例如能和你躺在同一张床入眠、起床。每天张开或合上眼看到的人是你。喜欢在早上试图把爱耍赖，赖床的我吻醒的你。和你一起用餐，分享一整天下来的心情。在大街上一起大方牵手甚至接吻。在上最沉闷的数字课时傻笑，反复写着你的名字 (幸好没有被老师捉到!) 偶尔被大雨淋湿而乘机把你也拉进冲凉房，等等等… 我想我怀念的是能把自己心爱的人紧紧拥在怀里的那份完整吧。

上个月，好朋友恋爱了。我就像个电灯炮一样和她们一块儿“约会”。我知道她们是不想我成天一个人躲在家里胡思乱想。我很感激她们这么做但就是和她们相处久了才会更想你。 最近身边的朋友们恋爱的恋爱，结婚的结婚，生子的生子。在生活上都起了不少的变化。虽然谈恋爱有谈恋爱的苦，结婚也不代表一辈子的幸福但是我还是不禁地感动，羡慕起来。我真心希望你们都能幸福快乐，不要把一些琐碎的事情当成是理所当然的。这世上虽没有所谓的永远但只要好好珍惜过的感情，人或事就不会消失。

现在的我偶尔还是喜欢停下脚步，天真地以为这样你就能够在人群中找到我，抱紧我，从此以后再也不松手。这种失望算不算一种安慰？以前谈恋爱的我似乎就像个打不死的勇敢超人。只要有你在，什么我都能应付，什么都能看得开。现在没有你，我更必须学会坚强快乐。但我真的不知道该怎么做才好。

现在的我似乎认定了这辈子就是这样过。一个人也应该有一个人快乐的方式吧？

So yeah.

Please don't tell me I'm strong, cause then I'll have to be strong. And I'm nothing like that. I am irresponsible, irrational, very selfish and stupid and doing nothing to better my god damn life. I have however just caught a movie and went out with a cool dude. I've known him what, 5 years now? I love him to bits. He would make a wonderful husband. Maybe not a boyfriend, but a wonderful, wonderful man he is. Maybe even a father. So, here's to you, Drew. It was a great movie and you were great! And yes, I'm not eating Magmum ice cream again.

Yesterday was well, on many levels, unbelievable but sort of predictable. I knew me for my stupidity and my irrationality and romance, none of which works in reality. I know me very well. And while I have no intention to hurt or freak anyone out which I seem to do so fucking well, I have and I'm terribly sorry. I was an idiot who didn't even possess half a teaspoon of brain in my fucking head. All I had was my heart.

All my life, I have been living on everyone else's double standards. What to say or do, who to emulate and please, who to patronise with a smile, and even who to hate and throw daggers at. How I should lead my life, how I should just forget about the nightmares that have plagued me for the last decade, how I should take up god damn driving because, man, it will benefit me greatly. How I should let go of the past and not hold on, especially when my palms and knuckles bleed. It's nothing like they painted me. When Tara died, I died. I cease to exist. It may sound awfully pathetic and it probably is but this is the sad truth. I will not love anything or anyone more than I love Tara. And she is or was the only thing in this god damn life that can ever hurt me. And it's the only thing I see now, the only thing I feel that reminded me at all of her. And I don't wanna feel like that. I don't wanna only feel the bleeding of her death. God damn it! My shirt is still stained. I want a new shirt. I want a new perspective. I want to not cry anymore. I want to not have my heart break every time I offer it up with both hands. I want a lot of things, a lot of things that only I have the power to achieve.

And I'm keeping it shut now. No more stupid crushes or feelings for strangers, no more hopes and expectations. No more waiting because it's the same fucking ending anyway. No more treating anyone with any respect because sometimes, they really do not deserve it. No more broadcasting what I feel or wearing my heart on my sleeve for the world to see. No more wallowing in self-pity. No more holding on to broken promises that no one cares to keep. No, my life won't be put on halt like this.

So...I've been thinking. I have to mirco-manage my life's schedule. I'll chase dreams I've put on hold for the last 10 years. I'll pick up sign language and German because it was a promise I made to Tara. I'll get a motorcycle license. I can fucking die on the fucking road for all I fucking care. I'll make a trip to Greece because, really, it's about fucking time I quit this procrastination and get on with it. I'll then maybe finish my writing projects and see where that take me. First, I have to discuss with my boss the possibility of switching to a part-time position. I really hope she agrees. God knows, I can't fucking function before 11 am in the morning. Besides, copywriting is really nothing I wanna make a career out of. I'll pick up roller-blading again because if you think about it, way more convenient and portable than a bicycle and the instances of theft is greatly minimised. I'm considering taking up boxing and/or kick-boxing if I ever wanna shed 10 kg off my hugh ass body. I'll save up so I can travel at least once every or half a year. I'll finish my 3/4 sleeve tattoo and more while I'm doing all of the above mentioned. It's gonna be a fucking rock concert!

So yeah.

"?driew s'tahw wonk ouY"
".driew era slaicremmoc esenapaJ"
"seY. dnA osla, emos fo eht srats er'ew gnikool ta t'nod neve tsixe eromyna. dnA eht emit ti sekat rof rieht thgil ot hcaer su, ev'yhet deid. .fooP"

Stars. A clutter of beautiful mess.

The air we breathe in each day is suffused with everyone's emotions, unspoken words and thoughts. If I could share a kiss with you, I may just be able to know what you feel, and the words you never said. We'll be soulmates. And I'll fall in love with you everyday. I'll read your mind and love you when you least deserve it. I'll bite down softly on your lips to finish your sentences. I'll trace your name on my skin so my fingers wouldn't forget exactly how you feel. A long drawn out sigh conveys a lot more than you can bear to understand and while I am not here to be compared. Silly dear, I'm not staring into space. I am reading your broken dreams, your joy and unspoken ideas hanging in the air.

What am I thinking right this minute, you ask, I am thinking about you, of you. I am deciphering you one molecule at a time. Tearing you apart and meshing you up so I could match you with my still beating heart. You can look away.

You deserve so much more. You deserve to be free and to find love and pursue passions that would put his dreams to shame. And one of these days, you will put two to two and realize why you left in the first place. The invisible words that are floating around, lingering like old souls, I will capture them and put it on paper. I am staring at you now.

I can't help it if you're blinding like the light that warm my wounded heart. I am at a loss for words and reflexes. Imagine the irony of being set aflame but yet still dead.

A beautiful mess, a disaster waiting to happen, that's how I would sum it up. I fell in love with parts unknown. I fell in love with someone I have to let go of. I will close my eyes tonight and imagine you close to me. At least we have met and I'm no stranger when you spell out my name under the most unexpected circumstances. I pray you would delight me with your voice and laughter everyday, like you have absentmindedly promised.

Listen, when you're gone, just take a deep breath and I'm right there with you, filling your heart with calm.

Hmm, whoever said the air is silent.

"A Beautiful Mess"

You've got the best of both worlds
You're the kind of girl who can take down a man,
And lift him back up again

You are strong but you're needy,
Humble but you're greedy
And based on your body language,
And shoddy cursive I've been reading

Your style is quite selective,
though your mind is rather reckless
Well I guess it just suggests
that this is just what happiness is

Hey, what a beautiful mess this is
It's like we're picking up trash in dresses

Well, it kind of hurts when the kind of words you write
Kind of turn themselves into knives
And don't mind my nerve, you could call it fiction
But I like being submerged in your contradictions, dear
'Cause here we are, here we are

Although you are biased I love your advice
Your comebacks they're quick
And probably have to do with your insecurities
There's no shame in being crazy,
Depending on how you take these
Words I'm paraphrasing this relationship we're staging

And what a beautiful mess, this is
It's like we're picking up trash in dresses

Well, it kind of hurts when the kind of words you say
Kind of turn themselves into blades
And the kind and courteous is a life I've heard
But it's so nice to say that we played in the dirt
Cause here, here we are, Here we are
Here we are [x7]

We're still here
What a beautiful mess, this is
It's like taking a guess when the only answer is "Yes"

Through timeless words and priceless pictures
We'll fly like birds not of this earth

And tides they turn and hearts disfigured
But that's no concern when we're wounded together

And we, tore our dresses and stained our shirts
But it's nice today. Oh the way, it was so worth it.


©Jason Mraz, We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things ~ Track 12, A Beautiful Mess ~

http://www.haoting.com/musiclist/ht_cb2e349b5dabfa4f.htm

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VD9iDZHrQjw

Letters, Strings and All 12

Dear Love,

I always knew you were different. You were different from everything I was taught to believe, anyone I've ever known because only you and you, my dearest love can cause me such excruciating pain and still, everything you did and didn't do just makes me wanna love you more.

If I strip myself naked and look into the mirror now, I know I'll see your face. I'll see the marks you have left on me with your gentle hands. The soft warmth still emits from me, like an aura. And I feel every inch of my skin wilting away, drying up with every hint of moisture sucked away. I have been away from your touch for too long. I need you to quench a thirst only you can.

I'm sorry. If only you could hear me say it. Will you grant me a second chance, a legitimate reason to be who I really am, to love you for who you truly are? Can you just come back? Can you just be kissing me now? Can we skip the whole process of having to reacquaint with each other and pretend we're only friends when you and I both know we are designed for much, much more than that? It hurts so darn bad to be away from you. It hurts now, and last night and the night before and the many nights to come if I don't have you back here in my arms.

How are you doing today? Do you also miss me with an intense pain? I'm sorry if you did but I'm not sorry that you felt this way. We are meant to be together. We are connected on a basis no one understands. We're better than identical twins. I read your mind and you'll finish my sentence. Now, baby, I need you to read my mind, and know my needs. When you do, which I know you would, you'd come back.

I always thought we had more time. After all, you have been a part of my life since the day we met. You were always within reach, an arm's length away. Now, I can't help but feel like time is running out. With every minute apart, I am missing out on precious moments with you, of you and in you. I miss our conversations, the myriad things we talked about. I am sleeping on the floor because I cannot bear sleeping in a bed we no longer share. I love you. I hope you still believe me when I say it.

Tara

I do not care what car you drive, where you live
Or if you know someone who knows someone who knows someone
Or if your fashion sense is this year's cutting edge
Or if your trust fund is unlimited and the zeros that followed.
I only care about the words that flutter from your mind.
They are the only thing you truly own, the thoughts in your pretty head, the words you roll off on your sweet tongue, the actual sounds that come out of your kissable mouth.

Your thoughts and the sounds you made will be the only thing I'll remember you by.
I fell in love with not just your blood, bones and flesh.
I fell in love with not just where you have left your shadow and fresh footprints.
I fell in love with not just how you look when you come.
and I fell in love with not just the touch of your finger tracing the profile of my face by the candlelight.
I fell in love with how you say my name.

I will not fall in love with anything but the words that flutter from your extraordinary mind.

I'm sorry, Mel and everyone else

Dear bloody spittoons,

And while I have disgusted my friends beyond reasons. I am pushing them away with my confessions and weaknesses and they will come back with a vengeance to fix me. I am not to be fixed. Not yet. I am not a freaking retard. You think I don't know what I feel is wrong and senseless? You see me in your eyes as I lie in my pool of blood and regard me with utter disdain. You can’t see my struggle simply because you aren’t me. And I’m glad as hell you weren’t. I could never wish upon you the same demons that are plaguing my every waking moment. You think me weak as you turned your head to walk away. You think I’m a willing slave to my misery, humble and ever receiving. Yes, I would gladly hurt myself if it would change a thing but it doesn’t. I am where I am, wounds gushing or not. Stop guessing; you know for sure the answer is yes.

Everyone dies, yes, especially lovers
Somewhere out there, someone is ought to be in a more terrible plight that I can ever be in
I am the root of my problems and therefore the solution
I fabricate lies; distort reality to my will so I may blend into its odd shapes at night to steal a breathing moment or two
I am infused with clarity that I am downright rejecting it with arrogance and stupidity
I am bending everyone’s well-wishes into curses, shunning sincerity and mocking kind advices

I have forced them out in the sick excuse and name of love. What irony! Tara, so very sweet, must be so ashamed and disappointed. “I came back to be your conscience, dear.” I heard her say one day and I remembered curling my hands by my sides in defiance into fiery fists of anger. I could not understand her then.

I am who I attract and therefore repel. I am to be emptied, my wounds and blood pour out in a vessel, a vessel my friends are not. She will, in less than a blink of eye, hurt me if it changes anything. I can’t blame her for I love her too. Each day, I live as if I have put a knife through Tara’s heart, twisted it and watch her die. What’s acutely missing and to follow is my own death, for me to do the same to myself like I have done her. It’s consuming; it’s an indulgent and the hole in my wall. But I am tired, absolutely depleted. I crave sleep; I crave light and a reason. I crave a life I have put on hold for 10 years. I wish for friends and genuine company. I wish for laughter to fill my ears again and a kiss at night and in the wee mornings when I wake up in cold sweat and suffused with fear. I wish for life before it’s too late, before I die. I would love to travel, I would love to open my eyes and see the world not on a page or from someone else’s experience but of my own.

Yes, do walk away if you must but be sure to return.

The infant is trying to live here and I shall teach a corpse like me to walk and breathe and one day, be granted a chance at life. I hope it isn’t too late to remove the blade. I hope I can heal. I hope I can finally listen.

I had some free time today after lunch and I thought I swing by the National Library. "A writer ought to read." I told myself as I took the escalator down. It didn't take long for another revelation to slip in like a piece of paper into my back pocket. As I go from one shelf to the next, I was walking in a sphere, one made from the remnants of an engagement ring. All this time, I have been so gravely misguided and closeted up by my beliefs and experiences that none of books on the shelves or life called out to me. I was literally blinded by my selfishness to relive the past, to hold on to whatever patheticness that I am giving up on new experiences in life. One too many instances I would catch myself resisting change. I am convinced I can just be the way I am because there is nothing wrong with me.

There is nothing wrong with me, right?

A while ago, I found a ring in one of the letters Tara wrote. Again, I don't wanna say it's for me. They were something that was simply written. Sometimes I wish the letters never reach my hands. It did take Alex nearly a decade. Yet most of the time, I'm just so very relieved and grateful I got them at all. After all, it's a fraction of Tara, a fraction of something that I've lost forever. While it doesn't accomodate or fuel my sometime obsession and refusal to move on in life, some people argue that I should simply leave the content alone. What would you do?

Anyway, the ring was something Tara brought with her from home. Apparently, the little thing was calling out to her when she was passing by a fair. She was, at that time, contemplating in her mind whether or not to leave Germany. And that little ring told her the answer and sealed her fate. She booked the earliest flight out. You know, it was as if the ring had unknowingly imbued her with courage and strength from an unseen place. Now she had a name where that courage comes from; she called it the love of her life - me.

Me.

There was a little bump when I was retrieving the letter. I felt for it and a series of gold rings fell out and dropped into my hand. It looked slightly weathered, with a black rim and simply carved with a weaving pattern. I reckon the ring has stayed the condition Tara last saw it. It was gleaming in the light. Almost perfect, almost new and never worn. The keeper told her that she probably never find an identical set anywhere in the world. It was made for its wearer and only its wearer. She further wrote in the letter, expressing her thoughts and plans about the rings. It was something of grave significance, or at least it was supposed to be. Turned out, that ring too, was to seal my fate.

Yes, I will marry you. You have asked me many times in your dreams and yes, I will marry you a thousand time, a million if it's not enough...

Tara had been planning an engagement dinner behind my back. There was even an itinerary attached to a namecard of a restaurant. She was gonna propose to me over food and coffee, especially of the fact that we finally reconciled. "I do not believe myself capable of keeping myself away from you anymore. The past month has proved it." Granted, she was barely 18 and I was a little older than 15 then and this whole affair would have sounded absolutely ludicrous in someone else's ears but it sounded to me the symphony of life, our lives waiting to happen, our lives to be. After folding the letter back into the envelope, I tried the rings for size. Coincidently, it fit almost perfectly on my right ring finger. I wore it, decidedly for the rest of my life but apparently, I can't.

Just about a week wearing it, the rings started to discolour, leaving a dirty rust on my finger. I figured it must be telling me that Tara and I weren't meant to be. Now, I just strung the rings into my keyhole so I may carry them around whenever I go.

Letters, Strings and All 11

Dawn found us in bed, naked to our bare skin, our legs and arms twisted together like weaving veins under brunched up sheets. This is how I wanna wake up everyday. I wanna wake up with you, in you. You smell sweet like raw honey yet salty like perspiration and I wanna lick every inch of you dry. “Hmm…morning.” Your brown eyes fluttered open, as if you knew I have been watching you. Your voice laced heavily with sleep was almost inaudible. “Morning, baby.” I inched closer for a kiss, biting softly down on your lower lip. “Hmm…” Your moan, ever so softly in my ears and your long hair tickling my nose. Your tongue seek access into the cavities of my mouth and your hand reached to hold my face in place.

The urgency and aggressiveness of your lips mirrored my desire for release. I took your hand and placed it on my right breast and reveled in the movements of your palm and fingers on my nipple. Your fingers danced a routine ritual, kneading and squeezing my nipple until the pink nub hardened like pebbles in your touch. I gasped for air as electric shocks shot from my hardened nipples down between my thighs. I begun breathing harder, synchronising the movement of my hip with yours. God, I’m already leaving a trail of wetness when your thigh brushed against my pussy. I guided your free hand in mine downwards. “I love you when you’re wet.” I could barely register your whispered words which sounded more like a low growl. You shifted your weight to the left, directing my body to slowly lie on my back, your eyes never leaving me. I sink deeper into the softness of our bed. Your exploratory tongue has ventured out from the inside of my mouth down to my collarbone and breasts and stomach, marking your way down south. I pulled my head and twisted my neck as far back as I possibly can, my body arching in anticipation. Your hands move, stopping just below my breasts, avoiding deliberately my mounds. As you tongue swept past my belly button and verging closer to my centre, my thighs spread apart involuntarily, a desperate invitation. Stopping suddenly in your movements, you got on your knees and threw me your dirtiest and most sultry look. Biting down on my lips, I smile, my thighs spread even wider.

Revealing my inner sex, I could only imagine your expression, one contorted with lust mixed with love. “Dear God!” I took in a sharp breath of air when your tongue found my hidden spot. Playfully massaging my clit with the tip of your tongue and teasing me to no end, I am driven dangerously close to the edge. Just when I thought I couldn’t be in a more frustrated state, you inserted two fingers, thrusting in and out quickly then slowly then picking up speed again. My hip and ass fell into the perfect rhythm that is your fingers and mouth. As your thrusting grew more rapid, and less intermediate, I could feel my muscles cramp and expand reflexively. It felt almost like a spasm as my stomach tightened. You’re drinking me dry now, seemingly with a thirst that only I can quench as I rode the waves of my orgasm. Finally, the contraction subsided and my skin flushed pink, my breasts heaving up and down as I pant, gasping for oxygen, exhausted but satiated. You crawled upwards and inched your sweaty face close to mine. I grabbed your lips for a deep, throaty kiss, biting down a little harder now, tasting myself in you. The smell and taste were simply intoxicating as we lose ourselves in bed.

My face flushed a deep crimson as I read through what I have just written from memory. Sitting alone in my room, I am having troubles breathing. I hurriedly crawled back into bed and got under the blanket, imagining my hand to be yours as I directed my hand underneath the cotton panty. Overwhelmed by strong desires, I shut my eyes and leave my body to fall into a rhythm. I started massaging my clit, slowly at first, your face coming to mind. I have never experimented with myself like that, feeling and touching my body quite as intimate as I am now. As pent-up frustrations and anticipation built up, my fingers picked up speed. Guided by the image of your face, I thrusted a finger deep into my centre. I increased speed, knowing I am near climax. I have never come this intense before as I silently screamed your name. Riding the waves of a self-induced orgasm and settling down in a sweaty mess, I now know that when I come, I come only for you.

Tara

I woke up on an empty bed today, wide-eyed and lying on my back, my head seemingly dislocated at weird angles
Your face in the recesses
I've been up all night, the taste of defeat lingering softly inside my charred lips
Life seems to be at a distant, humming, bubbling and crackling quietly just beneath the surface

I know I am alive when I see fresh blood gushing through the thin, blue opening on my pale wrist
If I could only feel the car crash again, I could fly.

I am bent over and broken, believing simple should be hard
I haven't gone anywhere else while I watch you travel miles
I trace your name on me, imagining it to be your skin
I am now delirious and drunk, high on memories
It's so shiny; the spaces between us, eluding and leading me astray.
So what happen to the bulletproof spaces in your arms?

Yes, I will marry you. You have asked me before in your dreams. I will marry you over and over again, just say yes. We'll pick a dress.
I love you. And I always do.

I met you over spilled coffee in the bookstore when I was 14
and I wish it isn't too late to marry you at 24
You glowed, you know that, under that fluorescent light and even more when it's dark
It almost looked as if you don't belong here and I had just stolen you and hide you in my heart

I'll leave the windows shut and the door close so I could listen to you talk
I'll keep you and the sheets warm, I'll do a splendid job

When I sat alone, the world in the backdrop, I saw hope, streaks of light in everyone else's lives
I know I can't be a part of that
I stand watching for a while, and decide I'll just go on with mine

Letters, Strings and All 10

Dear Love,

The tenth letter of the month and I am doubting my intentions. Nothing is going to alleviate this separation, for I imagine very little, if at all, consolation could be drawn from this. I wrote this letter some hours before dawn broke. Truth be told, I have just been staring at a blank piece of paper and the pen in my hand for the last 2 days but nothing comes. I almost gave up, trying to verbalise what I really feel inside. I was mentally exhausted.

There is something I miss with an aching pain and I've let it take over me. I miss the comfort of your warmth when I cuddle into you. I miss the touch of your naked skin against mine. I miss how I'll trace your ribs with my finger and how that tickles you to no end. I miss the way you would just grab me into a hug.

I know deep down our love is different from anything I had and will ever experience in my life. This love will stay in my heart and it will go on forever and on the contrary to what Lex likes to believe, it's not just about sex. It is a lot about the kind of conversations, understanding and respect we had for each other. It's not about taking things or people for granted. Our union is pure celebration of life. I love you. That is all I could muster to say. That is all I need to say.

The littlest things are reminding me of you and I don't know where the line is anymore, what separates us from reality. I could feel pain with palpable tangibility and it's taking my breath away. The nights are harder to get by when everything is quiet. I'm eating less, mourning for lost time. Work has become this routine that I have to perform simply because it pays. I find myself spacing out, disappearing into this other place and sighing and sometimes, even breaking down in anguish and tears. It's really not how life is supposed to be!!!

I go to sleep in your jacket but the warmth is diminishing and cold is starting to envelop me. I bit my fears down and I don't make a sound as loneliness takes residence in my heart. I don't know if I have relied on anything or anyone more than you but clearly, being without you has rendered me incapable and unmotivated to go on in life. I love you. I really do. I don't have anything else to say.

Tara

Recently I have found myself filling these odd pages called a blog with little, if any at all, enthusiasm. A portion of me was convinced that I should not bother with writing anymore for it is an entirely futile endeavour to reflect on that which has happened and passed. No matter what I write, words cannot change the past or the truth. It has simply been an instrument in which I wielded wilfully an imaginative power over which I cannot control yet must accept and forget. And an instrument I’m afraid no longer works into fooling myself that I had any ounce of control to begin with. Granted, it isn’t a written law that I must record my true emotions and spurs-of-the-moments in my life ever so daily on a platform where writing has become a phase, instead of a passion. But by writing an additional sentence, I get to live a second longer albeit in a reality my dysfunctional brain cooked up. This has been all that I know of, without so much as a single push. I remember I would write because I want to, and while I had no clue what brought forth that spur of creativity or need, I single-mindedly believed in it. When I examine past entries now, I see nothing but a pathetic shadow of a person who laments about her fate but does nothing to alleviate that destiny. I am more repulsed and ashamed at the fact that that person was me. As valid as these posts might have been when I was writing them, they are merely words, words that did little but accentuated my weaknesses for those who read me. The words written on these pages add only to my melancholy, a pesky state-of-mind I am fighting to shed and dismissed ownership of. I have given its due acknowledgement and it’s time I start afresh with a clean slate. When I gather enough courage, I shall erase that part of my life.

For even I am bored and irritated of my own self.

Writing was to me a form of subtle relief. I don’t know why but it rearranges certain thought processes that would otherwise reign and wreck much chaos in my brain. I do not consciously think about much of anything or people getting through the day but when the night falls and all is quiet, my brain works like an enemy to churn out as much suppressed memories as it could as if I was absolutely adamant about setting myself up against myself. Pain is indeed self-inflicting and self-fulfilling. I have tried desperate means and ways to stop myself whenever the name ‘Tara’ comes up but how does one stop her heart from answering its one true call? I do not do this voluntarily but each time I hear her name, I felt as if the last of my breath has been knocked out of me by an unseen force and I feel faint. It was either that or a new surge of anger overwhelms, its origin no longer an issue to me. I know damn well where that anger comes from but I have chosen to let it go because I also know that it will be a useless fight and I cannot be hurt anymore.

I am consciously aware of the fact that nothing and nobody in this lifetime would mean anything more outside its existence simply because it had nothing to do with Tara. The sky is blue because it’s simply what Mother Nature wants us to see. Nature took all that vibrant colours and hid them in a shade of nothing and by subtracting all known colours, she created the colour black. It has no further meaning than that of an irony. And as so in similar fashion, I do not feel the need to continue writing. My handwriting is no longer etched in love but fuelled by loss. And my life, a title to be marked on a ready grave or a loose accumulation of a dying personality.

“Hey, so what about forever?” A philosophical topic Tara casually brought up 2 am in the morning. “What about it?” I said, as I stroked her face and tucking her hair back behind her ears. “Have you thought about it?” “Well, it’s the age of technology. I’m sure if it hasn’t already been invented, it is down someone’s pipeline.” The sound of Tara’s laugh so crisp in my ears. “I say we invent it.” I furrowed my brows as if I didn’t hear her correctly. She noticed my disbelief. “It happened today.” “What happened today?” My mind was retracing the day frantically and decided it had simply been an ordinary day blissfully spent. “Honey, we ate and watched TV. And right now, I am about to kiss you goodnight because you look like you could use a good rest.” The last offer seemed to entice and delight Tara as her blue eyes sparkled. “So what are you waiting for?” She smiled me her trademark loped-sided grin and pressed her face close into my palm. I gladly obliged, cupping her face in my hands as I inched close to capture her waiting lips. “Hmm…” She moaned ever so sweetly into my ears. “Ready for sleep?” We broke for air and she let me tucked her into bed. “I’m sorry I can’t stay over tonight but I promise I’ll be the first thing you see when you open your eyes in the morning.” I kissed her on her forehead and I heard her whispered into my ears. “I found forever today, with you.” “What did I do?” I quizzed, obviously baffled. “You held my hand today while we were coming home from dinner and then we took a walk in the park and we came home, took a hot shower together,” a mischievous glint reflect in her eyes as she emphasised the word ‘hot’. “And we watched TV and now I’m tucking you to bed. Baby, I love you and I sure feel the same way but I’m not quite following you.” “I just thought, this is what I want. I could do this everyday. I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you, just like that.” While what we do has clearly become a routine I am verging taking granted for, it’s worth a ton more in Tara’s head. I was so ashamed I was speechless. She put her hand on my face, her soft gaze penetrating my soul. “If I could be this content with every moment I spend with you, I’ll say this is forever.”

Yes, so I have spent forever. I read it somewhere that the Greeks do not mark their graves. They merely asked the living the deceased left behind if he/she had a passion. And so it is, perhaps writing is my passion and I will die fuelling it.

I may start writing again and if I do, it's high time I start a new page.

Let Lethe’s Bramble do its chore. Purge her mind of memories grim, of pains from recent slights and sins. When the fire goes out, when the crystal turns black, the spell will be cast. Tabula Rasa, Tabula Rasa, Tabula Rasa

Sort me out, please

When I am finally completed, I will be hollow.

Hollow, when I am finally filled.

I am in a state of denial, a state of hurt and a state of disorientation. Where is that rapture of light that would give me clarity? I don't know what I am doing, I am irrational and unpredictable like a bomb just waiting to explode. I seemed to be doing all that I can to push people away. I am doing all that I can to isolate and cut myself off and I don't know why. I am typing aimlessly. I am walking aimlessly, waiting for something to pick me up and throw me against a wall so I'd finally feel what it's like to be living. To actually be living and breathing and laughing and to cry. I am waiting to live so I could die.

I have sat the letters down and put them aside along with my past so I could lie to myself. "I am not thinking about her. I am not thinking about her. I am not thinking about her.." I am heading for a breakdown.

Why am I still here? Why haven't I found the silver lining of it all and grab it with my two hands so I could draw blood? "NO ONE GIVES A FUCKING SHIT WHAT YOU FEEL, ASSHOLE! DON'T YOU GET IT?"

What do I feel now, I can't even put in words. People ask, how are you doing today? And I say, splendid, never better, without breaking into a sweat when deep inside, I can't stop trembling with fear of the knowing and not knowing. I wanna wrap myself into a ball and stay curled up all day and not think about anything and everything. I wanna go to bed and not find it a challenge, a fight because I know I will surrender myself without question.

It is just a detour. I will get myself back on track. I will love myself and embrace my negativity as tight as my virtues. I will not think. I will not overthink. I will breath. And I shall love. And LIVE.

Take a deep breath and smile.

Block 12, Marsiling Lane #11-35 S730012

As above.