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.

My folks have the perfect timing. It's Christmas today and though I make no attempt to celebrate, it doesn't necessarily mean I wanna be caught in a yelling fest, starring my mom and dad.

It happens whenever someone puts mom and dad in the same room. It happens whether or not there is validity. And they sure do not take anyone's feelings into consideration. And so this may be the very type of family I grow up in.

It started in my early teens, my first few years in high school and now that I've grown to become more or less, a semi-functioning young adult, the arguements only seem to intensify. I don't wanna grow up to be my parents. I need to grow up capable of love and express what I feel without having to yell anyone's head off. I need to be able to remain composed and clear-headed and become more self-aware.

For the larger part of my life, I grew up with an impression etched into my brain that I am not a good daughter. I am always breaking my parents' hearts. And I've done so much of that I can't even begin to look into their eyes and speak to them without feeling like I'm guilty of a heinous crime. I tried to convince them that I am their daughter, that I did not grow up wrong or have made mistakes that I will come to regret. But we just kept pushing each other apart. We can't see eye to eye on anything. She resents the fact that I am the way I am now. And I resent the fact that she's the way she is now. I resent I am a part of her. And my dad. I wish I was never born.

I think he's having an affair and it's the last thing I would wanna think about or feel hurt or really generally react to. I do not care enough to care and I have just detached myself from this particular fucked up family sitcom, sitting at the edge, swinging my feet and watching my very existence crumble. Have I become unfeeling and cold? I am reluctant. And I am ready to run away.

I know I still had it good. At least they weren't violent or abusive but I can't live with them anymore. I wish it would just stop. I wish they would put a little more faith in me, trust me a little, knowing I could brave the storms and still come out of it slightly weathered, more learnt but still sensible and quirky.

I might have the rebellious streak of a werewolf off the lease but I think I'm more of a vampire-type person. I feel like for the longest time, I am walking through life on a path shrouded with mist. I'm always trying to figure out the next step and avoid a certain predicament. I tiptoed percariously at the corner of my life because I am just so scared to be a part of it all. I am thoroughly afraid of losing, of bonding and believing. I just do not see the light of it all. I am pissed. I am just pissed.

I want the world to stop asking for favors. I want my mother to shut the fuck up. And I need to die for a little bit so I could be put aside. I have to lose it all before I gain it back. I can never satisfy my mother, my maker.

The Last Christmas

My 7th Christmas without you, I sat alone eating Samiges Rinder Gulasch mit hausgemachten Spatzle at a popular German pub affectionately known as Paulaner Brauhaus by the drunken masses. I know and I'm not even supposed to take any more beef or drink but then again I was never mama's girl.

The food was pretty good. I went for starved to stuffed. And then like I do each time, eating German food, I think about you. You are so beautiful, sitting right across me with a smile and an intense gaze. Walk me through, I'd love to find out what just went through your pretty head. Was it about me? Or food or beer that you don't drink much of? I miss you the most on the most mundane occasions, when I'm crossing the road or eating alone. I am pining. I shouldn't be anymore. And goosebumps would run down length of my back and sometimes, my heartbeat races with a single thought.

I could paint a picture of you with my eyes closed. Your old European features of an temptress knitting together when you growl your pleasurable approval in bed and yell my name, sticking your fingertips deeper into my skin and scalp...the intensity in which you come for me...and how much I could drink from you...sweetness akin to raw honey sting and coat my tongue and hidden cavities in my mouth with such viscocity I cannot be quenched any other way. You're smiling now, with a loud, childish giggle of a girl. I look at you so I could remember every last movement or word spoken. You scribble playfully on the post-it. You suddenly wish for flowers of various orange hues. I smile, and drew my chair outwards. "Flowers," I thought as my brain churned up several possibilities and I got it.

I came back with a bouquet in my hand. "Flowers of various hues, I present to you, love." I sat gently the bouquet in your eager arms. You laughed at my silliness and the wetness of my shirt and my ponytail that has come undone. "Come sit by my side and I shall reward you with a kiss." You said, affection mirrored in your blue eyes. I tried to lean in more as I taste bubblegum and strawberries on my lips and tongue.

The song I catch at a distance caught and tugged me back into reality. I am now sitting alone with a beer at room temperature and a burning light bulb. My heart writhes with tremendous pain as I stayed curled up in a corner. Admist the crowd and noises, I am invisible and protected fiercely by solitude. That is how I should be. Hmm, I smell sauerkraut, and pork knuckles.

A new proposal was presented to me by a kind friend who, by now I've realized does not appreciate much the art of wallowing in self-pity and loss. She thinks I should pick up drawing, starting with pencil sketches, preferrably realism because that's what I like too. If I could focus, she uses that word a lot, on learning how to draw, I could eventually pick up tattooing which by the way, is another thing that I fascinated by.

There are a million things I'd love to run with, say picking up the guitar, and learning a different language so I'd curse in it and photography and writing. I'd take up these courses right now if I hadn't suck so bad with managing my measely pay check. She will be proud and I could be a useful person, one who can say for sure that she has had enough of dwelling and lamenting that it's high time she lead a different life, and one that doesn't include unrealistic Greek crushes. I shall sleep on it when I wake in the morning.

And Merry Christmas, all.

Do me a favor, drop your work and your chores and your burden and Listen very quietly with your heart

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j0peHeJvBq4

and leave me a comment right after. Tell me what you think and what you walk away with.

As white as paper, I am devoid of emotions. I've broken the link with my past, with my past self like I should have many years ago and here I am, sitting at the edge of the world alone, paint in my hand, baffled. Should I stop the bleeding? I have stopped talking.

I am afraid. I am really afraid that I'll begin to love again. And lose it.

There is no one to hold my hand, no all-knowing guide book. No one to stop fear from penetrating. I am empty.

Who am I now, with this supposedly new found life? Where do I go when I needed a laugh or a good cry? What is my favorite color, the color in your eyes? What do I feel in my grasp, in my heart? Where do I sought out the answers? I'm trapped.

How do you spell my name? Or know how I take my coffee, or if I, at all? What about when I'm quiet? Can you read me like an open book or am I just a trail of steps written in the sand to be washed away by the waves? What do I really mean when I don't mean at all?

I don't wanna be walking in circles and I don't wanna be hurting from the same wound. All of that has to stop. I am looking at the new me in the mirror and I don't recognize her. "A crumbling, fucking mess, I'd say."

Time, they say, give time, some time.

I am drained, discolored. I am unable to speak. I am unwilling to go out into the world and mingle with strangers so we could be people who hurt each other. And so I kept to myself, my version of life and pain. And they blame me for it.

Happiness, as elusive as my past, should be right under my nose all this while and yet I am blind. Sing me the words to guide me home to you. I promise I'll listen more carefully this time. I promise I wouldn't get lost again, and no short-cuts. Wait for me at the door.

When I sit at the highest point in my life, in the dark, I see stars. I wish I was like them, so far away yet still so bright. And don't you just love the idea how some of those stars we are looking at now don't even exist anymore? Poof. Obliterated.




So what is your name, love?