Saturday, January 30, 2010
Decor
LIGHTS always looked prettier in the dark, blackly reflected and mangled to the point of ugly beauty.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Child
YOU may be the professional. You may be the ever poker-faced lawyer or doctor or teacher or stranger but I know that you are a mother, you are a father, you are a sister, a brother, an aunt or uncle and most importantly you are someone'a child.
And children are so, so important.
And children are so, so important.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Peeling
Peel back the layers of my skin
My restraints
And I hope you'll find something
Beneath my mask of pain
My restraints
And I hope you'll find something
Beneath my mask of pain
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Naive
BEEN naive forever. But have learned how to sing, how to dance and cry and pretend. Have learned to fight and steal and trick and lie and have learned to love so much it will break my heart someday.
Onion
ONIONS.
I can't believe she called me an onion.
I have many layers of borders to peel back from my mystery.
I have an interesting, strong fragrance that adds spice to life.
And I make people crycryCRY when they try and hurt me.
I can't believe she called me an onion.
I have many layers of borders to peel back from my mystery.
I have an interesting, strong fragrance that adds spice to life.
And I make people crycryCRY when they try and hurt me.
Monday, January 25, 2010
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
and looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden back.
Oh I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads divereged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Robert Frost.
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
and looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden back.
Oh I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads divereged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Robert Frost.
Junction
AUTUMN'S sun is always bright, illuminating each path so it looks like each and every road will bring us to a beautiful, beautiful place. But what about on the junction of life?
Love and War
At the end of the day
One small little girl
At the end of the day
It seems it's all over
What is the difference anyway, in the end?
Daniel Merryweather's lyrics, Red:
And I'm alright
Standing in the streetlights here
Is this meant for me
My time on the outside is over
We don't know how you're spending all of your days
Knowing that love isn't here
You see the pictures
But you don't know their names
Cause love isn't here
And I can't do this by myself
All of these problems, they're all in your head
And I can't be somebody else
You took something perfect
And painted it red
No sympathy
When shouting out is all you know
Behind your lies
I can see the secrets you don't show
We don't know how you're spending
All of your days
Knowing that love isn't here
You see the pictures
But you don't know their names
Cause love isn't here
And I can't do this by myself
All of these problems, they're all in your head
And I can't be somebody else
You took something perfect
And painted it red
When you took something perfect
And painted it red
You take the best things from
Then everything gets empty
That's not a world that I need
Ooh, you take the best things from me
Then everything gets empty
That's not a world that I need
And I can't do this by myself
All of these problems, they're all in your head
And I can't be somebody else
You took something perfect
And painted it red
When you took something perfect
And painted it red
You took something perfect
And painted it red
One small little girl
At the end of the day
It seems it's all over
What is the difference anyway, in the end?
Daniel Merryweather's lyrics, Red:
And I'm alright
Standing in the streetlights here
Is this meant for me
My time on the outside is over
We don't know how you're spending all of your days
Knowing that love isn't here
You see the pictures
But you don't know their names
Cause love isn't here
And I can't do this by myself
All of these problems, they're all in your head
And I can't be somebody else
You took something perfect
And painted it red
No sympathy
When shouting out is all you know
Behind your lies
I can see the secrets you don't show
We don't know how you're spending
All of your days
Knowing that love isn't here
You see the pictures
But you don't know their names
Cause love isn't here
And I can't do this by myself
All of these problems, they're all in your head
And I can't be somebody else
You took something perfect
And painted it red
When you took something perfect
And painted it red
You take the best things from
Then everything gets empty
That's not a world that I need
Ooh, you take the best things from me
Then everything gets empty
That's not a world that I need
And I can't do this by myself
All of these problems, they're all in your head
And I can't be somebody else
You took something perfect
And painted it red
When you took something perfect
And painted it red
You took something perfect
And painted it red
In Case of Definition
IF I do ever manage to define something one day, be seemingly satisfie with what I've written, give me a virtual smack on the head and call me a big ugly liar.
Songs and Love
SONGS are always written about love.
Is that because humans can't stop loving?
Then why do we have terrorists who bomb innocent people? Why do we have cruel eyes and mouth-slashes that leave others in the lurch?
And why do we always, always have to part?
What is love?
Teenagers would see it as that bubbly feeling you get when you cuddle up with someone special in a corner of the train, comfortably squished together, inseparable, it would seem. To a married couple it's what lies between you, your spouse, and the child you have between you. For an elderly couple, for whom time has already made off with so many years, it's being together.
That doesn't make it anything yet.
Is that because humans can't stop loving?
Then why do we have terrorists who bomb innocent people? Why do we have cruel eyes and mouth-slashes that leave others in the lurch?
And why do we always, always have to part?
What is love?
Teenagers would see it as that bubbly feeling you get when you cuddle up with someone special in a corner of the train, comfortably squished together, inseparable, it would seem. To a married couple it's what lies between you, your spouse, and the child you have between you. For an elderly couple, for whom time has already made off with so many years, it's being together.
That doesn't make it anything yet.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Sudden Gradualism
LIKE creamy waves of whipped foam the words wash over me, a tide of feelingsthoughtsideas passed down and relit.
Suddeny I feel like a naked child again, so fragile and so naive. Suddenly I want to run back to my mother, away and yet somehow closer to this huge world that scares me so. Suddenly I feel blessed with the knowledge that wisdom is difficult to achieve.
Suddeny I feel like a naked child again, so fragile and so naive. Suddenly I want to run back to my mother, away and yet somehow closer to this huge world that scares me so. Suddenly I feel blessed with the knowledge that wisdom is difficult to achieve.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Theory 3: What
THE first man on Earth has a lot on him.
Suppose you really screwed up. Maybe it was a bad day. So bad that you wishes you didn't have to be born who you were, and you want someone to blame for a mistake that could only be yours. Trace it back to your mother, for giving birth to you, to her mother and her mother and her mother. Keep going back and eventually you will trace it back to the very first person on earth. Note the second person came about somehow later and is partly at fault too but it's the first one who started all this.
Suppose you had a freaking good day. You made new friends and you impressed your peers and boss or whoever it is who pays you nuts for a few hours of your life a day. Suddenly it's all about you. Of course you could still trace it back to the very first man on earth through your mother and her mother and her mother and her mother. But you won't. Because YOU, yes YOU did something good.
Anyway.
We can blame the beginning for every single fallback and achievement we've faced.
What do we want to do next?
Suppose you really screwed up. Maybe it was a bad day. So bad that you wishes you didn't have to be born who you were, and you want someone to blame for a mistake that could only be yours. Trace it back to your mother, for giving birth to you, to her mother and her mother and her mother. Keep going back and eventually you will trace it back to the very first person on earth. Note the second person came about somehow later and is partly at fault too but it's the first one who started all this.
Suppose you had a freaking good day. You made new friends and you impressed your peers and boss or whoever it is who pays you nuts for a few hours of your life a day. Suddenly it's all about you. Of course you could still trace it back to the very first man on earth through your mother and her mother and her mother and her mother. But you won't. Because YOU, yes YOU did something good.
Anyway.
We can blame the beginning for every single fallback and achievement we've faced.
What do we want to do next?
Theory 2: Baby Language
BABIES know a language none of us know. At least, we don't now.
A mother will soothingly stroke a baby, hug and cuddle him when he cries, but does she know apart from guesses what he's saying? No.
We forget this sacred language as we grow older, stuffing our brains with those memories and nuggets of what is traditionally called common sense. (Where did the dollars go, I ask?)
We are foolish wits and wise fools and oh so tragically, wryly human.
A mother will soothingly stroke a baby, hug and cuddle him when he cries, but does she know apart from guesses what he's saying? No.
We forget this sacred language as we grow older, stuffing our brains with those memories and nuggets of what is traditionally called common sense. (Where did the dollars go, I ask?)
We are foolish wits and wise fools and oh so tragically, wryly human.
Theory 1: I'm FINE
"I'M fine" are words more often used to mean the opposite of what they're defined as than to mean what people think they mean when spoken.
Perhaps we all hide too far beheath our surface meanings.
So the next time you hear a minor collection of words, think about the fact that ou shouldn't be just glancing at them. Look through them, try not to be squeamish and through their murky depths eye the sunlight that comes shining through.
If you don't and won't I won't mind though.
I'm fine with that.
Perhaps we all hide too far beheath our surface meanings.
So the next time you hear a minor collection of words, think about the fact that ou shouldn't be just glancing at them. Look through them, try not to be squeamish and through their murky depths eye the sunlight that comes shining through.
If you don't and won't I won't mind though.
I'm fine with that.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Bright Lights
SHE sees the bright lights and catches a fever. Her eyes are wide and they watch the people.
Does wishing to be something other make you not who you are?
Does wishing to be something other make you not who you are?
The Second
THEY speak like old friends now, maybe not always joking but always hearing.
Somehow the awkwardness has disappeared; but now suddenly, it seems that everyone is starting to give one another surreptitious observations. They are eyeing the prize. Only what was the prize?
The prize was dying. No, the prize, the real prize, was no longer living. There is a fine line between the two although no asleep English teacher will accept that they aren't synonyms. They'll smack your palms with sticks or strike your soul with words and they will do what they have to because that's what they have to do.
The words are coming easier. That was surprising.
Somehow the awkwardness has disappeared; but now suddenly, it seems that everyone is starting to give one another surreptitious observations. They are eyeing the prize. Only what was the prize?
The prize was dying. No, the prize, the real prize, was no longer living. There is a fine line between the two although no asleep English teacher will accept that they aren't synonyms. They'll smack your palms with sticks or strike your soul with words and they will do what they have to because that's what they have to do.
The words are coming easier. That was surprising.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Time
TIME seems to be our greatest enemy.
Parents cuddling their newly-born baby in a hospital maternity ward soon have worry lines and permanent anger decorating their features from that baby's demands for new gadgets, expensive branded items and other things they can't truly afford.
The teenager himself wonders where all the hours went, how come he didn't get to sleep that night - the first time round at least - and whether he can remain unseen if he returns only now, when his curfew has long given up waiting for him and the faces at the gate are already snuggled into a nice soft pillow inside.
She wonders where all the time she's been living goes to. Maybe to the stars, maybe to the moon. She wants to see a hot air balloon, she wants to drive a Titanic Two, she wants to do the world in all the time she has.
Parents cuddling their newly-born baby in a hospital maternity ward soon have worry lines and permanent anger decorating their features from that baby's demands for new gadgets, expensive branded items and other things they can't truly afford.
The teenager himself wonders where all the hours went, how come he didn't get to sleep that night - the first time round at least - and whether he can remain unseen if he returns only now, when his curfew has long given up waiting for him and the faces at the gate are already snuggled into a nice soft pillow inside.
She wonders where all the time she's been living goes to. Maybe to the stars, maybe to the moon. She wants to see a hot air balloon, she wants to drive a Titanic Two, she wants to do the world in all the time she has.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Win Lose
WHEN we say that we don't want to be hurt anymore, that we don't want to hope anymore, it's got to be the ultimate display of losing yourself. When you have dreams and aspirations and real possible goals set out for yourself, just waiting for your young little feet to begin taking all the right moves, in all the right places, then you have some semblance at the very least of your identity because you are defined less by what you are now than by who you want to be.
The thing that hurts the most about not hitting that one chance to get your dreams, is that you hoped and you were almost confident subconsciously because you judges yourself good enough and so many other people, peers and those older and even more experiences than you to a certain extent, have told you that you can do it. They have stood by you all this way, taking in your hurtling emotions and turbulent moods and just radiating energy and love and passion to make you stronger. And now you have to face them and tell them it was all for nothing.
What is nothing anyway?
Even losing is something.
You win some, you lose some anyway.
The thing that hurts the most about not hitting that one chance to get your dreams, is that you hoped and you were almost confident subconsciously because you judges yourself good enough and so many other people, peers and those older and even more experiences than you to a certain extent, have told you that you can do it. They have stood by you all this way, taking in your hurtling emotions and turbulent moods and just radiating energy and love and passion to make you stronger. And now you have to face them and tell them it was all for nothing.
What is nothing anyway?
Even losing is something.
You win some, you lose some anyway.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Non-
YESTERDAY was a day of non-feeling. Mostly that is, but yet wholly not. Maybe some would classify numbness as a non-feeling; some would insist that since it can be perceived, or felt, as it were, then it must be a feeling.
The name of yesterday's numbness was despair. Despair at that no matter what our actions may or may not turn out to be, we will live as long as we live. We can't have everything, and it seems we suddenly can't have anything, instead. And don't take chances or you might get hurt. But then you'd be safe and oh so tearly unhappy.
The name of yesterday's numbness was despair. Despair at that no matter what our actions may or may not turn out to be, we will live as long as we live. We can't have everything, and it seems we suddenly can't have anything, instead. And don't take chances or you might get hurt. But then you'd be safe and oh so tearly unhappy.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Tell Me
Tell me I'm clever,
Tell me I'm kind,
Tell me I'm talented,
Tell me I'm cute,
Tell me I'm sensitive,
Graceful and wise,
Tell me I'm perfect -
But tell me the truth.
Shel Silverstein.
Tell me I'm kind,
Tell me I'm talented,
Tell me I'm cute,
Tell me I'm sensitive,
Graceful and wise,
Tell me I'm perfect -
But tell me the truth.
Shel Silverstein.
ReCreation
I'VE been silent and quiet this whole way. Tomorrow is a new start. Tomorrow is when I will do it. Truly.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Love That Cat, Hate That Dog
SHARON Creech has two books, similarly titled Love That Dog, Hate That Cat. Poetry and prose intermingle and have their solo feature moments, debuting amongst all the words I'm that particular stranger-friend grew like flowers with thorns and sweet fragrance in the garden in her mind that was bursting into spring.
I never liked dogs. But my dad does and so does my mum and so does my sister so what choice so I have? What can I do?
I can suffer in silence. I've been doing that my whole life because every time I speak up I seem to hurt someone else.
I come back early from school and am not allowed to go out again after that, maybe for a normal life with friends, just some time to talk and chat even, because I have to feed those mongrels whom I personally think stink and drool like rabid monsters. I sacrifice any social life I might and would have had a little more every day.
I stay up late waiting for my parents to come back home when one of these creatures is sick and they need to bring him or her to some emergency vet place, paying extra money for the 24 hour service.
I mix their food up with my bare hands and end up with stinking hands and dirty nails, and I scrub their germy saliva off the bowls afterwards even on nights when I have to study for the next day's test.
Some of the dogs are from an animal charity. We're supposed to foster them until someone comes by who for some strange reason wants to adopt them. I'll devote another post maybe to ranting about their criteria for choosing them. Anyway, in the end we end up keeping them. The ugly ones, the ones who are old and hard to look after and require endless attention. And who annoy me and frustrate me and anger me every day of my life.
The worst part is that anyone I meet whom I tell I have dogs seem to be under the impression that I like them. I am okay with dogs, I tell them. I'm not afraid, that's for sure. I just have never found it easy to say I love them. Promising my parents that I would look after the dogs we had if they died didn't exactly help either.
Why am I such a blabbermouth?
I never liked dogs. But my dad does and so does my mum and so does my sister so what choice so I have? What can I do?
I can suffer in silence. I've been doing that my whole life because every time I speak up I seem to hurt someone else.
I come back early from school and am not allowed to go out again after that, maybe for a normal life with friends, just some time to talk and chat even, because I have to feed those mongrels whom I personally think stink and drool like rabid monsters. I sacrifice any social life I might and would have had a little more every day.
I stay up late waiting for my parents to come back home when one of these creatures is sick and they need to bring him or her to some emergency vet place, paying extra money for the 24 hour service.
I mix their food up with my bare hands and end up with stinking hands and dirty nails, and I scrub their germy saliva off the bowls afterwards even on nights when I have to study for the next day's test.
Some of the dogs are from an animal charity. We're supposed to foster them until someone comes by who for some strange reason wants to adopt them. I'll devote another post maybe to ranting about their criteria for choosing them. Anyway, in the end we end up keeping them. The ugly ones, the ones who are old and hard to look after and require endless attention. And who annoy me and frustrate me and anger me every day of my life.
The worst part is that anyone I meet whom I tell I have dogs seem to be under the impression that I like them. I am okay with dogs, I tell them. I'm not afraid, that's for sure. I just have never found it easy to say I love them. Promising my parents that I would look after the dogs we had if they died didn't exactly help either.
Why am I such a blabbermouth?
Friday, January 15, 2010
I
I avoid using the word I. It stands alone, sort of like an order, sort of like a haughty, corrupt general, and sort of like a head-up-in-the-clouds arrow, maybe a middle finger raised in a fit of fury-frustration, that scorns everything not as straight and proper as itself.
And it is also the most selfish word because it insists that it wants to be a word all by itself. "A" would be different. It comes as something before a noun perhaps, sharing the spotlight and in fact shyly hiding away behind the focus point.
We don't even know that we exist so while in this state of unconscious limbo, why do we still make up a word for ourselves?
And it is also the most selfish word because it insists that it wants to be a word all by itself. "A" would be different. It comes as something before a noun perhaps, sharing the spotlight and in fact shyly hiding away behind the focus point.
We don't even know that we exist so while in this state of unconscious limbo, why do we still make up a word for ourselves?
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Goals
AIMING too high makes you feel up there
Makes you want to go places though you know not where
it makes you want to fall
and it makes you want to leap
The saddest thing is most of all
It makes you want to keep.
Makes you want to go places though you know not where
it makes you want to fall
and it makes you want to leap
The saddest thing is most of all
It makes you want to keep.
Trust and Tiredness
FOR once it seems like everyone is holding their breaths and waiting for her because they are all relying on her. It is a strange feeling, she now thinks to herself, to have so much trust and faith put in you, till you don't even know whether or not you can live up to all of those people there just falling back on you.
It is also a rather abused feeling. Like she is being used. They got to go to sleep nice and early and wake up and stretch and eat slowly. She had to rush through dinner, through homework, through revising, then off to do some more, yet more because everybody else thought she could and trusted her to. And tomorrow morning when she awakens her eyes will be almost glued together with sleepiness leftover, left unquenched for the forever-moment. She will, however, fight. She will push herself out of bed and wish that there was something bigger and well, better than just another day is being busy to the point of being frantic, to pull her up out of bed in the early morning when the dawn has not yet broken and the world is at its darkest.
Lastly she wonders if this is what she really sought.
It is also a rather abused feeling. Like she is being used. They got to go to sleep nice and early and wake up and stretch and eat slowly. She had to rush through dinner, through homework, through revising, then off to do some more, yet more because everybody else thought she could and trusted her to. And tomorrow morning when she awakens her eyes will be almost glued together with sleepiness leftover, left unquenched for the forever-moment. She will, however, fight. She will push herself out of bed and wish that there was something bigger and well, better than just another day is being busy to the point of being frantic, to pull her up out of bed in the early morning when the dawn has not yet broken and the world is at its darkest.
Lastly she wonders if this is what she really sought.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Threat
SHUT up.
Shut up.
If you don't I might very well tape your mouth together with my words and I will not call them off till they have nibbled at it enough to make you eat your words again. I might very well do something horrible to you. It's not as if people don't know and trust me. As for you... I don't know why I didn't get it and you did. Maybe the whole thing is screwed up anyway; maybe I am just fooling myself into thinking that your ranks are the glorious ones, and not mine. I am, in fact. Yeah, that's right. I am.
So don't show off in my face. Don't. I don't advise it because I will make you regret it. I don't forget.
Remember that.
Shut up.
If you don't I might very well tape your mouth together with my words and I will not call them off till they have nibbled at it enough to make you eat your words again. I might very well do something horrible to you. It's not as if people don't know and trust me. As for you... I don't know why I didn't get it and you did. Maybe the whole thing is screwed up anyway; maybe I am just fooling myself into thinking that your ranks are the glorious ones, and not mine. I am, in fact. Yeah, that's right. I am.
So don't show off in my face. Don't. I don't advise it because I will make you regret it. I don't forget.
Remember that.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
I Am... (Dreams)
WHEN do you stop dreaming? When is it when you truly take in and register that your dream is just too far away to ever be realized?
When?
I need to know because this will all just be a waste of time unless something actually comes out of this. I can never be like the others, carefree and teenagers. I can never be like that because that's not my nature. So I want to be me. But am I made of dreams? No.
I'm just an idea that happened upon love
I am that I am and that I am is enough
When?
I need to know because this will all just be a waste of time unless something actually comes out of this. I can never be like the others, carefree and teenagers. I can never be like that because that's not my nature. So I want to be me. But am I made of dreams? No.
I'm just an idea that happened upon love
I am that I am and that I am is enough
Monday, January 11, 2010
What They Thought (Typical Stereotype)
KNOWING was the name of the tone that graced every note that passes those lips. They didn't need an answer; they just wanted to hear it confirmed, said, admitted.
But of course, she remained silent. She laughed and she smiled but she didn't breathe a word of the something, the something that had made her proud once, long ago it seemed, but now just embarrassed her.
Why did they all think they knew everything? She hadn't always been like this. She had once been different. Bad, if you like. Different.
She does not tell them the truth. What would they think? Would she lose this awe, this respect, this fear imbedded in their thoughts and their words? This fear that made her smile?
But of course, she remained silent. She laughed and she smiled but she didn't breathe a word of the something, the something that had made her proud once, long ago it seemed, but now just embarrassed her.
Why did they all think they knew everything? She hadn't always been like this. She had once been different. Bad, if you like. Different.
She does not tell them the truth. What would they think? Would she lose this awe, this respect, this fear imbedded in their thoughts and their words? This fear that made her smile?
Sunday, January 10, 2010
People
WE gather and we part. In any one place strangers are yapping away or keeping silent in lonely solitude, all just inches apart but somehow worlds as well. Sometimes we pass so close to these 'other people' it amazes me we can still keep to ourselves, maybe passing a rude but whispered criticism, maybe theorizing tragic life stories of the lone ones, maybe averting eyes from the occasional person who comes around with extended and cupped hands and a mouthful of foreign but unmistakeably pleading words - or using an old walking stick to skilfully yank open a drain cover upon the tantalising sight of an abandoned rusty coin lazing contentedly within its dirty belly - but no matter what, never reaching out.
A Childhood Decision-Maker
IF you've got to give up something and you've got to give it up soon, then give whatever it is less worth you and your time up before the other gives up on you.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Stage
OVER and over again she does it. After a while she is tired of squishing herself up into a corner of the room to fit everyone else into that prized and almost squalid dusty section.
She now has a thought that life is a stage, and she is there to deliver her lines. But why?
Who was watching?
She now has a thought that life is a stage, and she is there to deliver her lines. But why?
Who was watching?
Friday, January 8, 2010
Show And Tell
WHEN it's our turn to speak we seem to shrink up sometimes. We want them to ask, we want them to want to know more, but we do not want to say too much.
Is that really showing?
Is that really telling?
Is that really showing?
Is that really telling?
Want (Selfishness)
I have gotten some things that I wanted. I have not gotten some others.
I wanted to act. I wanted to spend later afternoons and a large part of my evenings in a hot classroom repeating lines and actions over and over, periodically begging the cleaner to please just wait a while longer and lock up some other classrooms first, to give ourselves more time. I wanted to spend what little free time I had and have crying in frustration but laughing with my friends as well, ad smiling shyly at the ground so they wouldn't be able to tell that while they were getting worked up, I was still in Zen mode. Because that was what I wanted. I wanted to get up in front of an audience of strangers and friends and anybody and anything who would listen and watch what I wanted to tell them. And then as a little bonus I wanted to hear the roaring clapping at the end of it all, grin maniacally while bowing amidst all that awe.
I didn't get it.
I wanted to be the good girl. The one who could do no wrong, the one who always did her homework and brushed her teeth and studied hard and slept early and... All of that.
I didn't get it.
I wanted to be famous. I wanted to seem sexy and appealing, I wanted people to know that I, yes I, was the foreground and everybody else was background. I wanted to sing and dance and write and be beloved by all because surely the fleeting love of strangers was worth something?
Now I am wondering what I have gotten. Really. At the end of the day, nothing much in partiular.
But that's just from my view.
I wanted to act. I wanted to spend later afternoons and a large part of my evenings in a hot classroom repeating lines and actions over and over, periodically begging the cleaner to please just wait a while longer and lock up some other classrooms first, to give ourselves more time. I wanted to spend what little free time I had and have crying in frustration but laughing with my friends as well, ad smiling shyly at the ground so they wouldn't be able to tell that while they were getting worked up, I was still in Zen mode. Because that was what I wanted. I wanted to get up in front of an audience of strangers and friends and anybody and anything who would listen and watch what I wanted to tell them. And then as a little bonus I wanted to hear the roaring clapping at the end of it all, grin maniacally while bowing amidst all that awe.
I didn't get it.
I wanted to be the good girl. The one who could do no wrong, the one who always did her homework and brushed her teeth and studied hard and slept early and... All of that.
I didn't get it.
I wanted to be famous. I wanted to seem sexy and appealing, I wanted people to know that I, yes I, was the foreground and everybody else was background. I wanted to sing and dance and write and be beloved by all because surely the fleeting love of strangers was worth something?
Now I am wondering what I have gotten. Really. At the end of the day, nothing much in partiular.
But that's just from my view.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Exactly
In Maths it seems that most of the time, there can only be one way to doing things. You have to show your working in this format, and write your final statement using this sign or whatnot. My Math teacher is really that type. Even though she claims that she is only trying to help us get higher marks in exams, I don't buy that. If there's an easier and faster way, why not take it? But for her, it's sort of an 'always been doing this' thing and she just won't budge from that.
Life is a highway
Sometimes there are bends and detours
But just keep walking
It also depends on which way you want to go. There may be road signs and all but everyone has to interpret them differently. So that would be how many permutations?
This world is so not mathematical.
Life is a highway
Sometimes there are bends and detours
But just keep walking
It also depends on which way you want to go. There may be road signs and all but everyone has to interpret them differently. So that would be how many permutations?
This world is so not mathematical.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
29
This is my 29th post on this blog. I would say that things have been moving pretty swiftly, but that's probably just because I put in a lot of things you don't really need to know. In actual fact you don't really need to know anything about me but since that concept defies the whole purpose of a blog, I'll leave it at that you don't need to know random thoughts or wonderings that I am having to know what kind of person I am, if you're even interested. I would go into detail about what I think I really exist as, but then I think I've already written enough about that and besides this post is supposed to be about 29.
So. I am currently register number 29 in my class. I have been that number for 8 years running and I don't know why. I told a friend and she replied with a laugh-smile that perhaps it was my Lucky Number.
Do I believe in lucky numbers? No.
Do I want to? Yes.
It's nice to put your faith in fate.
So. I am currently register number 29 in my class. I have been that number for 8 years running and I don't know why. I told a friend and she replied with a laugh-smile that perhaps it was my Lucky Number.
Do I believe in lucky numbers? No.
Do I want to? Yes.
It's nice to put your faith in fate.
Why Did We Care?
Yesterday was the bane of the existence of all normal girls - skinny ones, you are excluded from this broad category of females graciously but with an unhappy, joking half-smile borne of jealousy.
It was height and weight check.
Of course everybody had put on some holiday weight, but some put on more than others. In this new class where everybody was still strangers basically, people seemed to go into the room with a dread and while on that damned machine, would use their - surely chubby - bodies to block the view of the scale. An unwritten request to not announce the relevant weight as he wrote it down on his register passed between student and teacher, perhaps in the way that each girl came in, sneaked in, and tried to be light.
Why did we care?
I know not now,
But surely it was fair
that we should all know how.
It was height and weight check.
Of course everybody had put on some holiday weight, but some put on more than others. In this new class where everybody was still strangers basically, people seemed to go into the room with a dread and while on that damned machine, would use their - surely chubby - bodies to block the view of the scale. An unwritten request to not announce the relevant weight as he wrote it down on his register passed between student and teacher, perhaps in the way that each girl came in, sneaked in, and tried to be light.
Why did we care?
I know not now,
But surely it was fair
that we should all know how.
Tired
Right now, tired. It's been a long day. Rehearsing performances after school till 7, ushering the class to and from special venues for their lessons, paying attention to classes she can tell are far below what she can really do...
Not tired of this yet though. People were starting to call her by her name, chat with her... It was great. There were a few little ripples but of course there had to be. Or would the stillness or the river flowing gently, bubbling and gurgling along, ever seem so perfect?
I am too dead beat from all that. I need to go do my homework and all now then shower and do my chores - washing underwear, sweeping and mopping the floor... I really am tired.
Let's hope I don't burn out before it.
Not tired of this yet though. People were starting to call her by her name, chat with her... It was great. There were a few little ripples but of course there had to be. Or would the stillness or the river flowing gently, bubbling and gurgling along, ever seem so perfect?
I am too dead beat from all that. I need to go do my homework and all now then shower and do my chores - washing underwear, sweeping and mopping the floor... I really am tired.
Let's hope I don't burn out before it.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Geeks, Goody-two-shoes and Grossing Getaways
YOUR future. They always bring up your future in the argument or in the "housekeeping" as they call it. It's an immediate conversation/response stopper. Maybe because secretly we all are worried about what we don't yet know, although of course out wumbled-ness - a combination of jumbled and worried - can do nothing to improve.
In my school the teachers are currently lecturing us all the time about concentrating and working hard and doing all those good things no self-respecting teenager would even think of committing.
I am not a self-respecting teenager. I will admit that I am a nerd and I am proud to be one. Let's take a look at what Jason Mraz has to say about this:
Well I could be the one to take you home
Baby we could rock the night alone
And if we never get down
It wouldn't be a letdown
But sugar don't forget what you already know
Well I could be the one to turn you out
We could be the talk across the town
Dont judge it by the cover
Confuse it for another
You might regret what you let slip away
Like the geek in the pink.
In my school the teachers are currently lecturing us all the time about concentrating and working hard and doing all those good things no self-respecting teenager would even think of committing.
I am not a self-respecting teenager. I will admit that I am a nerd and I am proud to be one. Let's take a look at what Jason Mraz has to say about this:
Well I could be the one to take you home
Baby we could rock the night alone
And if we never get down
It wouldn't be a letdown
But sugar don't forget what you already know
Well I could be the one to turn you out
We could be the talk across the town
Dont judge it by the cover
Confuse it for another
You might regret what you let slip away
Like the geek in the pink.
Strangers
ONE stops at a red man. There is not a car in sight but he shouts to everyone to stop. And the people already half onto the roads freeze in their movements and abashedly return to the much-chased pavement where they seem to watch him, all of them, surreptitiously, as if waiting for a sign. The lights change and he plunges into the road. The others follow like chicks after a hen, or perhaps like soldiers following a disciplined general who knew so much.
ONE sees that she is pressing the bell to stop the bus. She reaches for the one nearest to her and does it quickly. The girl gives her a half-smile, a classic one without any teeth showing, which under inexperienced eyes might seem to simply be relaxing her face muscles from hours of nothing. I know better. She knows better.
ONE stares at her. She is beautiful. She has dark, dark brown hair, like the night, oddly enough - she seemed to make you know for sure, yes, know, that the night was brown after all. And those eyes... They sparkled beneath her eyebrows and were like droplets in an ugly sea. And the freckles that had been carelessly splattered on the canvas of her nose, and the way slight dimples appeared carved in her face from time to time. And oh her smile.
Now that was odd.
It was herself.
ONE sees that she is pressing the bell to stop the bus. She reaches for the one nearest to her and does it quickly. The girl gives her a half-smile, a classic one without any teeth showing, which under inexperienced eyes might seem to simply be relaxing her face muscles from hours of nothing. I know better. She knows better.
ONE stares at her. She is beautiful. She has dark, dark brown hair, like the night, oddly enough - she seemed to make you know for sure, yes, know, that the night was brown after all. And those eyes... They sparkled beneath her eyebrows and were like droplets in an ugly sea. And the freckles that had been carelessly splattered on the canvas of her nose, and the way slight dimples appeared carved in her face from time to time. And oh her smile.
Now that was odd.
It was herself.
Early Morning Fear
WAKES up drowy from Chronic Sleep Deprivation, as she likes to think of it as. Thinks and wonders why the hours flew by so fast. All she can do now is get up out of bed and join the rush in her house causing havoc and noise in the last-minute morning scramble for various, just-in-time things remembered only then.
Her mum scolds her simply for forgetting one form when really she'd been busy the whole day doing the housework and surely that kind of weariness had to be relieved with a good night's sleep before she could concentrate on anything else. But of course the mother would blame her. They always did.
She wonders how she is going to make it this year, how much she'll have to give.
Her mum scolds her simply for forgetting one form when really she'd been busy the whole day doing the housework and surely that kind of weariness had to be relieved with a good night's sleep before she could concentrate on anything else. But of course the mother would blame her. They always did.
She wonders how she is going to make it this year, how much she'll have to give.
Monday, January 4, 2010
IT
LIPS part at that angle, in that odd twisting function that never fails to amaze or dazzle, depending on the case. Smiling. It - yes, it - is happy now, contented that it has gotten its way. As usual.
She watches and doesn't feel hungry anymore. She's too busy being disgusted.
She watches and doesn't feel hungry anymore. She's too busy being disgusted.
Colors
WHAT is black?
Simply a color? A pigment of a fragment of entanglement?
Simply a sadness? A fragile fleeting feeling flying on falling phantoms?
Simply a nothing?
What is black
What is white
What is redyellowpinkgreenpurpleorangeblue?
What is all this we see?
Simply a color? A pigment of a fragment of entanglement?
Simply a sadness? A fragile fleeting feeling flying on falling phantoms?
Simply a nothing?
What is black
What is white
What is redyellowpinkgreenpurpleorangeblue?
What is all this we see?
The Rules
SHE sits; she lies; she thinks. She wonders how she is going to live this life without the rules sometimes, the rules like the ones laid down by all those ladies today who had walked into her classroom and demanded her attention without really earning it.
It feels as though she can do anything she wants.
Imagine a book, compiled by someone who has lived an infinity and been through heaven and hell and everything in between. And that book would be as long and thick as forever-fog that you can't see through. And it would state on every page a rule, then list the millions of links that follow close afterward, stating various situations the reader may or may not be in. And the man would die before he managed to contain everything he knew and everything there was to know into this one huge volume. Because such a book cannot exist, and no words would fit it if it did.
It feels as though she can do anything she wants.
Imagine a book, compiled by someone who has lived an infinity and been through heaven and hell and everything in between. And that book would be as long and thick as forever-fog that you can't see through. And it would state on every page a rule, then list the millions of links that follow close afterward, stating various situations the reader may or may not be in. And the man would die before he managed to contain everything he knew and everything there was to know into this one huge volume. Because such a book cannot exist, and no words would fit it if it did.
The Words. Her Words.
SHE makes the promises easily. She doesn't have to consider. What will become of them, after all? Nothing. That's what. One big fat nothing. What did promises mean anyway.
She makes the promises easily, now. She wonders if that's a bad thing; if she should be sticking to what her Mama always told her was right. But surely if that meant agonizing over decisions and pain and loss of trust and all of those bad things, surely, surely it would be better to take the easy way out?
She makes the promises easily, now. She wonders if that's a bad thing; if she should be sticking to what her Mama always told her was right. But surely if that meant agonizing over decisions and pain and loss of trust and all of those bad things, surely, surely it would be better to take the easy way out?
The First
THE first day of school for the year is always a special event. Then again, maybe the first of anything is special. You don't know what it's going to be like or about the people you are going to meet, even if you've asked some people before.
It's free seating, at least at first, until the teacher comes in and puts the loud ones with the quiet ones and the best friends at opposite ends. All part of getting to know one another, she will say with a smile and in a tone that fools none. Of course. It is all just a way for them to torture you. Of course.
Following this, she begins a self-intro, I am your form teacher for this year, this is my co-form...
And the classroom, through the various icebreaker the students were forced into, metamorphoses from a quiet space of awkward, self-conscious movements, to a lively atmosphere of budding friendship.
It's free seating, at least at first, until the teacher comes in and puts the loud ones with the quiet ones and the best friends at opposite ends. All part of getting to know one another, she will say with a smile and in a tone that fools none. Of course. It is all just a way for them to torture you. Of course.
Following this, she begins a self-intro, I am your form teacher for this year, this is my co-form...
And the classroom, through the various icebreaker the students were forced into, metamorphoses from a quiet space of awkward, self-conscious movements, to a lively atmosphere of budding friendship.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Walls
A pause. Too long.
Silence.
Stares, almost glares
Boring holes in her back.
Scarring. Burning. Holes.
Stinging eyes.
Blinkig eyes.
A face like ice.
Raindrops falling
Outside
Outside, tears drying unseen
On cheeks, hard as luck.
Door, slamming shut.
Quivering walls,
Threaten to fall.
Walls - barriers
Self-erected.
And for what?
For someone who
Saw
Noticed
And
Understood.
Just building walls around herself
To see if anyone can get through them.
Silence.
Stares, almost glares
Boring holes in her back.
Scarring. Burning. Holes.
Stinging eyes.
Blinkig eyes.
A face like ice.
Raindrops falling
Outside
Outside, tears drying unseen
On cheeks, hard as luck.
Door, slamming shut.
Quivering walls,
Threaten to fall.
Walls - barriers
Self-erected.
And for what?
For someone who
Saw
Noticed
And
Understood.
Just building walls around herself
To see if anyone can get through them.
Public Transport
SEEMS to be something I love. Honestly. I love how when you're on a bus you can observe people and try to tell things about the
by looking at their clothes, or the way they talk on the phone, husbands and wives who interact with each other with a casualness that somehow betrays their love. And angsty teenagers with earphones blasting headbanging rock rubbish intoyheir craniums and their fringes cut way long, dangling over their faces and obscuring their eyes - which I've heard my Mama say were the windows to our souls - such that you can't read them and yet you can to a certain extent. You know that they don't want to be read and that that's probably because, well, they're teenagers.
Such people normally get off at shopping centres. Husbands and wives with their children are often enough heading out for a family outing together, and husbands and wives without children, at least with them at the moment, are most often headed to lunch or grocery shopping at shopping centres as well.
It's interesting to take a long bus journey too because then you see people getting on and off and it seems
to you like the whole country must have passed in and out of the sliding doors by the time you reach your restless destination.
It makes you wonder where you'd go if you missed your stop.
by looking at their clothes, or the way they talk on the phone, husbands and wives who interact with each other with a casualness that somehow betrays their love. And angsty teenagers with earphones blasting headbanging rock rubbish intoyheir craniums and their fringes cut way long, dangling over their faces and obscuring their eyes - which I've heard my Mama say were the windows to our souls - such that you can't read them and yet you can to a certain extent. You know that they don't want to be read and that that's probably because, well, they're teenagers.
Such people normally get off at shopping centres. Husbands and wives with their children are often enough heading out for a family outing together, and husbands and wives without children, at least with them at the moment, are most often headed to lunch or grocery shopping at shopping centres as well.
It's interesting to take a long bus journey too because then you see people getting on and off and it seems
to you like the whole country must have passed in and out of the sliding doors by the time you reach your restless destination.
It makes you wonder where you'd go if you missed your stop.
Illumination
IF each of us is a candle, then it's not about how long you lasted.
It's about how much light and fight you gave.
It's about how much light and fight you gave.
Mathematics
PLACING a long vertical line on each side of a negative number will mean that you are referring to its absolute value -that is, the number of integers away from zero it is on a number line, whichever direction it is in.
That's an absolute rule in itself.
Now if only we could apply mathematics to real life.
What if you put two such lines on either side of anything and everything you see?
"...at a time when tv was only black and white but color was all people could think about."
Put blindness on one side, and compassion on the other.
Let's see what we can then do.
That's an absolute rule in itself.
Now if only we could apply mathematics to real life.
What if you put two such lines on either side of anything and everything you see?
"...at a time when tv was only black and white but color was all people could think about."
Put blindness on one side, and compassion on the other.
Let's see what we can then do.
Burning
THE sad thing is that no matter what, all candles have to burn down someday. Even if the wax isn't completely spent yet, the wick can have burned down already.
The Christmas Tree
EVERY year, my family heads over to Uncle Renny's house for a party that's not quite Christmas, but not quite the New Year eiter. Honestly speaking it's a boring visit, with all the grown-ups talking and talking and talking for hours on end - and recently I've also become a more worthy teenaged girl and put some mental limits on myself as to my food consumption. The only thing interesting - apart perhaps from the fact that it's a condominium apartment and we can never find a door in that doesn't require us to have a residents' card to tap - is seeing what the tree looks like this year. You see, they really doll their trees up and each year it's a different color and theme and style... It's beautiful, to use a word I normally would not use lightly, in this case in something that perhaps resembles awe.
So there I was, sitting cross-legged on his furry off-white carpet, at the very foot of this famed tree. This year it's themed Royalty, and uses the colors red and gold - immediately summoning up foggy memories of Harry Potter in Gryffindor house. It's done up with lights that flash with varying speeds and Christmas balls that are covered in glitter of different shapes, or pieces of shiny metal that shine almost iridescent in the stylish living room. And ribbons and golden tinsel I love to pick at and rearrange restly adorn it's leaves like draped curtains in some huge and majestic castle in faraway lands. At the top, instead of a star, he's got lots of rather Chinese-looking fake branches of flowering trees with little red buds on them dusted in gold.
I remember that last year it was a silvery tree with square blue lights and decorations of blue in all the gamut of shades it comes in. And those lights had winked like eyes and like stars in a sky.
I feel like a kid whenever I curl myself up, hugging my knees to my frame and just gazing up at it, till the very top where it almost scrapes the ceiling. It feels like a monument, perhaps not one as majestic as say the Taj Mahal, in India, but still beautiful. It seems for a moment to be a monument standing for happiness.
And that is why I go every year, and I sit my butt down on the carpet right in front of it and I ignore my mum's calls to come eat and I just sit back and stare and attempt to make a picture of this in my mind and in my heart. Because no material, physical picture could ever achieve the same thing.
This year I heard something Uncle Renny mentioned.
He said a few hours earlier, yesterday, that he would be taking the tree down tomorrow. Today.
Woah.
I sat and I stared and then I shut my eyes tight, like buttons in buttonholes, tight and disciplined, and tried to recall as much of it as I could.
So there I was, sitting cross-legged on his furry off-white carpet, at the very foot of this famed tree. This year it's themed Royalty, and uses the colors red and gold - immediately summoning up foggy memories of Harry Potter in Gryffindor house. It's done up with lights that flash with varying speeds and Christmas balls that are covered in glitter of different shapes, or pieces of shiny metal that shine almost iridescent in the stylish living room. And ribbons and golden tinsel I love to pick at and rearrange restly adorn it's leaves like draped curtains in some huge and majestic castle in faraway lands. At the top, instead of a star, he's got lots of rather Chinese-looking fake branches of flowering trees with little red buds on them dusted in gold.
I remember that last year it was a silvery tree with square blue lights and decorations of blue in all the gamut of shades it comes in. And those lights had winked like eyes and like stars in a sky.
I feel like a kid whenever I curl myself up, hugging my knees to my frame and just gazing up at it, till the very top where it almost scrapes the ceiling. It feels like a monument, perhaps not one as majestic as say the Taj Mahal, in India, but still beautiful. It seems for a moment to be a monument standing for happiness.
And that is why I go every year, and I sit my butt down on the carpet right in front of it and I ignore my mum's calls to come eat and I just sit back and stare and attempt to make a picture of this in my mind and in my heart. Because no material, physical picture could ever achieve the same thing.
This year I heard something Uncle Renny mentioned.
He said a few hours earlier, yesterday, that he would be taking the tree down tomorrow. Today.
Woah.
I sat and I stared and then I shut my eyes tight, like buttons in buttonholes, tight and disciplined, and tried to recall as much of it as I could.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Procrastination
A friend of mine - a fellow blogger in fact - gave me a diary for this year. 2010. She went to Hong Kong and she says she just decided to buy one for me, as a casual gift, also to prevent me from further commiting the heinous act of procrastinating, as she put it. I can remember her stuffing it in my bag. I felt guilty, honestly. I mean neither of us are the type to give gifts, even got birthdays; although she did give
me a card. I, on the other hand, didn't get her anything. And I don't even know why. I can't blame it entirely on the fact that I don't exactly come from a rich family. Maybe they've instilled in me a bit of scrooge-ness, I don't know - but the point is, I never got her anything.
I know a lot of people in my school. And I don't think a whole lot of them know about what I was before getting here. It can be a pain to have to hide something so huge - an immense and all-encompassing heart of darkness - from everyone I know, but I do it pretty well. She, however... She uncovered something. She's just so frank and honest and she makes you trust her so easily...
I am saying this now because I think I have been procrastinating. It's like with having to do a huge poject at school that you don't know anything about. You put it off till the very deadline then you rush it out and you barely pass it. Except that the deadline in life is pretty final. It literally is in fact a DEADline.
I want to say thank you to everybody who has shaped me, whether they did it gently or took a knife and ripped a slash into me, scarring me forever but still, making an impact and having an influence on me.
I don't want to procrastinate anymore.
me a card. I, on the other hand, didn't get her anything. And I don't even know why. I can't blame it entirely on the fact that I don't exactly come from a rich family. Maybe they've instilled in me a bit of scrooge-ness, I don't know - but the point is, I never got her anything.
I know a lot of people in my school. And I don't think a whole lot of them know about what I was before getting here. It can be a pain to have to hide something so huge - an immense and all-encompassing heart of darkness - from everyone I know, but I do it pretty well. She, however... She uncovered something. She's just so frank and honest and she makes you trust her so easily...
I am saying this now because I think I have been procrastinating. It's like with having to do a huge poject at school that you don't know anything about. You put it off till the very deadline then you rush it out and you barely pass it. Except that the deadline in life is pretty final. It literally is in fact a DEADline.
I want to say thank you to everybody who has shaped me, whether they did it gently or took a knife and ripped a slash into me, scarring me forever but still, making an impact and having an influence on me.
I don't want to procrastinate anymore.
Change/Constant
OOH. I just got over the whole excitement of our new beds arriving. I've been sleeping on a thin mattress on the floor that's older than I am for all my life - mind you, it was passed down to me. That give you an idea of how old it is? Yeah.
Well, yesterday we went shopping for some bedsheets because now instead of the super single size, it's just single. So none of the old ones will really fit well. And apparently since we're going so far as to get new beds, we might as well splurge on new bedsheets too. Apparently we'll build up a formidable collection over time.
I lay down on the bed. It's from King Koil but it's one of their cheaper ones and besides, it was on sale at Tangs.
I didn't like being so close to the ceiling. In fact it gave me sort of a sense of vertigo, like I was flying. That made my head spin round - and so did the reek of the chemicals the bed had been treated with.
But you know something?
Right before Mama and Papa went and put the old pillows and stuff out, I ran up and I dug out my old pillow and bolster. The pillow is all flat and dead and almost nothing really, and the bolster is a flopping fat invertebrate that used to belong to our domestic helper*. But I cuddled them to my body and brought them back inside and placed them proudly and gently on the new clean bed. They looked especially shabby on it, since they had been stripped of their pillowcases and the brownish concentric circles of past tears and maybe some drool stood out like so many sore thumbs. But I lay down and I didn't use the nice new pillow. I curled up into a fetal position and took a nap, feeling like a child again.
*She's been with us since I was born, and just left on a family emergency for the Philippines again. She won't be coming back because she said her Mama was dying. I think she told me right before she left that she just couldn't stand our pets anymore. That hurt but when I cried my Mama just told me not to; other maids are good too.
In fact lots of stuff in this household stay the same for long times at once before finally they change. I used to have long hair down to my waist, and I kept it like that for six years till finally I realized - or maybe remembered - that I never liked it long anyway.
I don't know what this post is about - or do I?
Well, yesterday we went shopping for some bedsheets because now instead of the super single size, it's just single. So none of the old ones will really fit well. And apparently since we're going so far as to get new beds, we might as well splurge on new bedsheets too. Apparently we'll build up a formidable collection over time.
I lay down on the bed. It's from King Koil but it's one of their cheaper ones and besides, it was on sale at Tangs.
I didn't like being so close to the ceiling. In fact it gave me sort of a sense of vertigo, like I was flying. That made my head spin round - and so did the reek of the chemicals the bed had been treated with.
But you know something?
Right before Mama and Papa went and put the old pillows and stuff out, I ran up and I dug out my old pillow and bolster. The pillow is all flat and dead and almost nothing really, and the bolster is a flopping fat invertebrate that used to belong to our domestic helper*. But I cuddled them to my body and brought them back inside and placed them proudly and gently on the new clean bed. They looked especially shabby on it, since they had been stripped of their pillowcases and the brownish concentric circles of past tears and maybe some drool stood out like so many sore thumbs. But I lay down and I didn't use the nice new pillow. I curled up into a fetal position and took a nap, feeling like a child again.
*She's been with us since I was born, and just left on a family emergency for the Philippines again. She won't be coming back because she said her Mama was dying. I think she told me right before she left that she just couldn't stand our pets anymore. That hurt but when I cried my Mama just told me not to; other maids are good too.
In fact lots of stuff in this household stay the same for long times at once before finally they change. I used to have long hair down to my waist, and I kept it like that for six years till finally I realized - or maybe remembered - that I never liked it long anyway.
I don't know what this post is about - or do I?
A Big-Small Question
IT just popped into my mind while I was doing laundry one day. How the two are related I will never know. But then again, maybe everything is inter-linked, spun together into a flax-golden web of life.
I may use these words but what do they mean really? Because language, yes the language I am speaking, the language you are reading, is just a way of referring to something using certain sounds everyone is taught to represent it. Like with an apple. A nice, big red apple. You obviously get what I'm talking about. Although it gets troublesome when you apply this bite-sized philosophy into this; "I" then becomes an unfathomable concept.
One question that then occurs to me is: does language blind us to the true nature of things? If we hear "apple" and think of an apple, does that stop us from seeing it beyond being what we see it as?
Does language blind or does it illuminate?
Back to my main point.
I opened my mouth and I asked a question steadily and slowly.
"Do we exist?"
Three little words. Lots of "three little words" have changed the world. They don't necessarily have to come in threes obviously but they are really just words. At the end of the day everything can be spoken of in a language that we know. It can just never be truly heard.
Think of all the words you've ever heard crowding in a storm over your head and in it, in one big fat mess that starts encompassing you so it blocks out all else and all you can think is about this strange phenomenon of white head-noise. And then reach in a little finger, a little pinky maybe, and pluck out the words you've heard. Any ones.
I love you.
I have a dream.
I am.
Then here I ask, what is I? For that is really what I meant by, "Do we exist?" Do we float around somewhere in non-existence or do we really affect this world? What if all the buildings and bridges and people and homes were all just nothing? Or maybe what we think is our universe is really just an atom on something else, something huge, of which we can just barely perceive, maybe in moments of meditation or times of trouble. Sometimes.
And maybe we can feel something in the very words we speak, if we begin to listen to them as they pass our young lips.
And that is why we speak.
I may use these words but what do they mean really? Because language, yes the language I am speaking, the language you are reading, is just a way of referring to something using certain sounds everyone is taught to represent it. Like with an apple. A nice, big red apple. You obviously get what I'm talking about. Although it gets troublesome when you apply this bite-sized philosophy into this; "I" then becomes an unfathomable concept.
One question that then occurs to me is: does language blind us to the true nature of things? If we hear "apple" and think of an apple, does that stop us from seeing it beyond being what we see it as?
Does language blind or does it illuminate?
Back to my main point.
I opened my mouth and I asked a question steadily and slowly.
"Do we exist?"
Three little words. Lots of "three little words" have changed the world. They don't necessarily have to come in threes obviously but they are really just words. At the end of the day everything can be spoken of in a language that we know. It can just never be truly heard.
Think of all the words you've ever heard crowding in a storm over your head and in it, in one big fat mess that starts encompassing you so it blocks out all else and all you can think is about this strange phenomenon of white head-noise. And then reach in a little finger, a little pinky maybe, and pluck out the words you've heard. Any ones.
I love you.
I have a dream.
I am.
Then here I ask, what is I? For that is really what I meant by, "Do we exist?" Do we float around somewhere in non-existence or do we really affect this world? What if all the buildings and bridges and people and homes were all just nothing? Or maybe what we think is our universe is really just an atom on something else, something huge, of which we can just barely perceive, maybe in moments of meditation or times of trouble. Sometimes.
And maybe we can feel something in the very words we speak, if we begin to listen to them as they pass our young lips.
And that is why we speak.
Nictophobia
NICTOPHOBIC means that you're afraid of the dark. I'm not sure exactly and I am not the type to do any research, but "nicht" was probably a way of spelling "night", which as you know is obviously dark.
I am nictophobic. In fact I also have slight problems with insomnia, so it doesn't help that I share a room with my sister and she likes to sleep completely in the dark.
Here I am now, eyes wide open even though I can't see a thing in this absence of light* - except for my phone so that if anything moves at least I will be able to vaguely detect the movement. I don't know if closing them and burying my head into my pillow will help - it might help me sleep, because I will admit I find comfort in such sensory blocks**, but it sure wouldn't help me feel completely safe.
If I were to ask you to put this into a bigger context - like with Mankind and all the knowledge he has garnered over time... Mankind is really just on a tiny dust mote of a planet in a huge room he can't see the end of. And the room is dark but after long enough there, his eyes have gotten used to the darkness, his mind has gotten used to the idea that he can't possibly know everything about this huge universe of a room, not when the few cubic centimetres of air he floats in make up our galaxy and he can't even see past that, really.
Is it then a comfort to have your eyes dilated, to have them already adjusted to the darkness? It doesn't seem to be to me because I still fear what I can't see past the dark abyss that lies in ambush at the end of my mattress.
Mankind, fear too much what you don't know and can never know, and you'll never get rest, never get to close your eyes and drift off and wake up with your family the next morning to begin searching for answers in the light again.
Mankind, fear too little what you don't know and the next morning there will never have been a point to the darkness.
*I use this phrase, absence of light, first to sound less repititive, second to drum in, perhaps, most of all to myself, that darkness is simply = the absence of light. But of course if you want to put it into the comparison that I added later with thoughts screwed up from lack of sleep, go on. I did too.
**Sensory blocks are something that really do help me when I want to shield out the world. If you want to stop listening in times when it's just too much or you're hurting too deeply, then you try to shield yourself and hide behind that shield. Personally I grab a radio, turn the knob so that I'm halfway between stations and then I crank up the volume and all I hear is white noise.
When even white can hide so much, fashion divas will tell you that white is the new black. Funny about humans. We seem to like to conceal ourselves. Despite their being skimpy outfits worn everywhere, topped off with an overdose of electric confidence in ignorance, we like to conceal.
Another point to note is that a philosopher would probably say the same thing as a fashion designer. If you can find one these days.
Alright. I need to hit my mental snooze button now.
Goodnight. My last thought for tonight - or rather, this early morning, shall be that I am sleeping in darkness.
I am nictophobic. In fact I also have slight problems with insomnia, so it doesn't help that I share a room with my sister and she likes to sleep completely in the dark.
Here I am now, eyes wide open even though I can't see a thing in this absence of light* - except for my phone so that if anything moves at least I will be able to vaguely detect the movement. I don't know if closing them and burying my head into my pillow will help - it might help me sleep, because I will admit I find comfort in such sensory blocks**, but it sure wouldn't help me feel completely safe.
If I were to ask you to put this into a bigger context - like with Mankind and all the knowledge he has garnered over time... Mankind is really just on a tiny dust mote of a planet in a huge room he can't see the end of. And the room is dark but after long enough there, his eyes have gotten used to the darkness, his mind has gotten used to the idea that he can't possibly know everything about this huge universe of a room, not when the few cubic centimetres of air he floats in make up our galaxy and he can't even see past that, really.
Is it then a comfort to have your eyes dilated, to have them already adjusted to the darkness? It doesn't seem to be to me because I still fear what I can't see past the dark abyss that lies in ambush at the end of my mattress.
Mankind, fear too much what you don't know and can never know, and you'll never get rest, never get to close your eyes and drift off and wake up with your family the next morning to begin searching for answers in the light again.
Mankind, fear too little what you don't know and the next morning there will never have been a point to the darkness.
*I use this phrase, absence of light, first to sound less repititive, second to drum in, perhaps, most of all to myself, that darkness is simply = the absence of light. But of course if you want to put it into the comparison that I added later with thoughts screwed up from lack of sleep, go on. I did too.
**Sensory blocks are something that really do help me when I want to shield out the world. If you want to stop listening in times when it's just too much or you're hurting too deeply, then you try to shield yourself and hide behind that shield. Personally I grab a radio, turn the knob so that I'm halfway between stations and then I crank up the volume and all I hear is white noise.
When even white can hide so much, fashion divas will tell you that white is the new black. Funny about humans. We seem to like to conceal ourselves. Despite their being skimpy outfits worn everywhere, topped off with an overdose of electric confidence in ignorance, we like to conceal.
Another point to note is that a philosopher would probably say the same thing as a fashion designer. If you can find one these days.
Alright. I need to hit my mental snooze button now.
Goodnight. My last thought for tonight - or rather, this early morning, shall be that I am sleeping in darkness.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Anew?
NOW why didn't I begin writing today, eh? Then my blog's birthday would have been nice and round, pretty commercially remember-able.
Oh, and happy new year everyone. Drinks all around now! Congratulations for coming full circle since last year, all the way back to the famed 'new beginning' everyone seems to refer to at some point in the previous year - I hope I do better next year; I hope Man U wins Chelsea next year; I hope my son will lay off the video games and concentrate on his O levels next year, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. It is easy, I think, to pin hopes and wishes and dreams on something so far away it seems such aspirations, such goals would be achievable by that time. Human optimism is after all something fragile and breakable but oh so strong when we put our faith into the mysterious fooleries of our language.
What's your New Year's Resolution? I don't know about mine. But it's definitely something along these lines:
I will stop procrastinating, both in my daily life and in my life itself, in the long term. Or at least I'll do it less. And I will start loving people, really loving them because I will know that within them is something good and something precious. I will fight but I will fight only when I have to, and should. I will begin smiling more often and letting go when I can. Most importantly I will give and accept, love and cherish, and be grateful for what I have for the moment.
At least, that's what I hope. And dream.
Oh, and happy new year everyone. Drinks all around now! Congratulations for coming full circle since last year, all the way back to the famed 'new beginning' everyone seems to refer to at some point in the previous year - I hope I do better next year; I hope Man U wins Chelsea next year; I hope my son will lay off the video games and concentrate on his O levels next year, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. It is easy, I think, to pin hopes and wishes and dreams on something so far away it seems such aspirations, such goals would be achievable by that time. Human optimism is after all something fragile and breakable but oh so strong when we put our faith into the mysterious fooleries of our language.
What's your New Year's Resolution? I don't know about mine. But it's definitely something along these lines:
I will stop procrastinating, both in my daily life and in my life itself, in the long term. Or at least I'll do it less. And I will start loving people, really loving them because I will know that within them is something good and something precious. I will fight but I will fight only when I have to, and should. I will begin smiling more often and letting go when I can. Most importantly I will give and accept, love and cherish, and be grateful for what I have for the moment.
At least, that's what I hope. And dream.
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