because he told me he loved. Not in his own words though. But it wasn’t me he loved in specific, it definitely wasn’t his family, but he loved nonetheless. That’s why his heart broke to pieces smaller than mine did. That’s the reason he bled more furiously than I did. That’s the simple fact why he left Us like he did.
He wasn’t always a shadow when I first knew him. He was flesh and blood, when they allowed him to be. He used to be a kaleidoscope of which I ran through the sun to refract the many harlequin patterns upon my face. He was my friend, both real and imaginary. Real, because we shared the same interests in colors and sounds. Imaginary, because I didn’t get to see him much and because they won’t let him be that way. It’s funny how They fed him cheese and did not expect him to grow into a rat.
And he was a man-rat alright. He stole, he plundered, and he hid in dark corners. Timid, sly and crafty, but he was nevertheless a dignified rat with blood red eyes. He used to sniff around me for favors that I couldn’t give out at that time. I was too young.
Didn’t I tell you that he played the guitar magnificently? He lured all the wannabe little band boys like the flute player enticed the little rats of Hamlin, into the glittery dreams of rock stars and giggling groupies. He told every story that could possibly start with the G chord. I hung around because I wanted to be baited along, but I was a girl. Girls do not have dreams; they live the dreams of others. I guess his parents must have wished for a daughter.
His parents were not military, and do not believe in ruling with birch wood canes (unlike my own parents). His family lived a quiet, country life. Simple and serene. Then his mother died (this may or may not affect him, I didn’t get a chance to ask). He was then sent abroad to study, and he came back with a sense of change. No one could pinpoint the exact time this transformation occurred, not even my Mother, who claimed to care for her little brother so much.
But the only boy in the middle of five sisters, he had always been different. Where they were rambunctious, he was quiet. Where they drowned themselves in mathematical and scientific figures, he was busy dipping his fingertips in paint. Where they were busy getting themselves married off, he stayed silent in his solitude. I guess he already found it pointless trying to fit in.
The cookie cutter world has sharp edges, and he must have been cut badly at times. An unfinished degree in a family of academics does not go too well with society. Especially within the intricate tapestry of strict middle-class Asian families. His eyes were always half-open, or half-closed I guess. I prefer the thought of him squinting through the bright shiny people he meets all day. It’s not that I don’t think highly of him, but I prefer imagining him as a low-life. Lovable, but a low-life nonetheless. That way, we would at least be on equal footing. You see, I myself am a low-life.
I crawled through the ditches too. I stole, but from the wallets of men whom I gave opportunity to rummage through my own bearded purse. I plundered the hearts of many. And I’m still hiding in a dark corner. At least he’s with the light now, maybe not basking in it, but close.
They told me he was crazy, but I envy the crazy. The crazy always seem to have more fun. To run around freely in that empty place you call your mind. He was my mentor in terms of rebellion. Although I believe his acts were not entirely intentional. I know mine aren’t.
I guess his hurt was very much intolerable. But even if he showed it, I wasn’t there to witness it. I was too busy surviving boarding school. He was busy being passed around from one sibling’s care to another. It wasn’t surprising that he would choose to flee such a life. I assume he had the same amount of self-love that I had. Not enough to prevent ourselves from being destroyed, but enough ego to allow only our own hands to do the destruction. But They always brought him back, to pass him around again. And again. And again. And again.
He led a colorful life, he was a Dali canvas full of mishaps and misshapes that terrifies but leaves one addicted. Yet I only remember him later on as a gray blob. A sad mass with no color, as he sits with a blank stare on the front porch, all sense of direction lost. This was after I learned about the color red that spurts periodically through me. This was after I caught my young cousin referring to him as ‘that ungrateful motherfu-r’; I had to stop myself from listening to such infamy and from swinging the six-year old from his limbs and throwing him into the ocean. How dare the little monster! How dare his parents teach such a thing! I kept silent though.
But now I stop and think, and curse myself for my lack of empathy. We black sheep should have flocked together. I should have defended him. But I was young and thought I knew everything. And I wasn’t as black back then, maybe off-white or light gray. So I probably thought highly of myself.
But still he stared out. This man whom they say has no respect, no love, and no life. It was the period where he started turning into a shadow. I was a self-righteous teenager and… he had a tattoo on his left arm! It showed one day, accidentally through his white shirt wet with rain, and I remember glancing with wonder, too shy (or afraid?) to ask about it. It was rude then to ask your elders such imposing questions… and I guess I must have had a crush on him back then.
He was frequently seen dressed in white attires afterwards, and They all applaud this as a positive transformation, albeit with much skepticism. But the brightness of white only made his grayness more apparent. I was saddened. My prism has broken into pieces, and I didn’t have the guts or the glue to fix it up.
I don’t blame the drugs for his demise. I blame Them, who are ignorant in their kindness, who took away the drugs, his only source of blunting away hurt. And I know he hurt a lot. They all think addiction is as easy to cure as a headache, but I know that they’re wrong. I didn’t drop out of medical school after four years for nothing, and I know things that my classmates who graduated cum laude don’t. I know pain.
They make pain sound like an abstract thing, these medical school lecturers. They talk of anesthetic procedures and morphine. They mention excisions and excavations. But they don’t talk about the pain that I am familiar with. They only discuss the different nerve endings and degrees of paralysis.
But I understood pain. He embodied pain. I am pain. He and I, we walked hand in hand with pain. Pain was our friend, but a cruel friend whose jokes sometime go out of hand. And unless you’re strong and brave enough to face up to it, the pain’ll cripple you. Hence, the drugs.
I was lucky that my drug was sex. It doesn’t leave a bad effect if you leave behind matters of the heart. The advantage of being a girl is that my drug comes free and sometimes with rebates. I was unlucky though to have bad-mouthing ‘friends’ who ran an expose behind my back, and who gave my religious father a heart attack.
Maybe he gave his own father a heart attack too. His father was strictly religious, even more than my own father was. Not that I’m aware of it though. They always manage to keep me in the dark regarding such matters. I don’t believe he died a virgin, but I’m sure he wasn’t as promiscuous as I was. He didn’t show much interest in the opposite sex, and no, neither was he keen about men. He was just… he just is.
I don’t even know where They buried him, but I see him more often now. The gray of his footsteps guide my trot. His wan smile is in my reflections, his paint marks stain deep beneath my skin. Like kaleidoscope glass, he is fragile and he beats as part of my heart. I shall guard this heart, not because I care for myself, but…
…because he told me he loved.
Dearest Uncle
May you finally find the peace you deserve.
Oct 25, 2008
C is for Celebration
Confetti.
Paper strips in a plastic packet, meaningless until scattered over beaming faces. To shower down like little colorful candies. To mark the existence of happiness here.
I catch a handful and deliberately sprinkle some on my head. They tumble down to my shoulders and some stay stuck between strands of hair. Hullo irony, I’m not happy.
An old lady looks at me funnily, and my face freezes by default into a smile as I bow towards her stiffly. She laughs and gives me a thumbs-up sign. She mouths something that I don’t catch, pointing excitedly towards the two people being celebrated. I nod politely and turn to look away towards the distance, waving to an invisible person, mouthing ‘excuse me’ to the dame and making my way through the cheerful crowd of well-wishers.
Cellphone.
A wireless communication device that breaks the boundaries of privacy. But for just this once, I wish it would ring and bring me out of my being lonely. For a month there have been no calls, no text messages, yet there she is now.
I miss her deeply.
Clown.
He is squatting underneath a stout palm tree by the refreshments section, dabbing away perspiration from his brows, carefully so as not to wipe off the thick white make up. It must be like hell for his skin, trapped beneath the thick layer of gunk day after hot, sweltering tropical day.
I hand him a cup of punch, he looked like he needed it badly. He refuses.
“Not supposed to drink that,” he says and points towards a red mouth slightly agape.
“Can’t you just re-apply the lipstick afterwards?”
He shakes his head. “Got to save, everything’s expensive now.” He frowns, “That was not my point though...”
A woman in a white suit and pinstriped trousers approach us, her sharp heels leaving little dents on the grassy soil. She gives me a fleeting look over and I stare back. She looks familiar and I do not doubt that she feels the same about me. I guess she must be a friend of the bride. She makes full attempt in ignoring me however, choosing to solely address my companion.
“You’ll be performing in the Hall. Remember, no balloons. The groom is… He wishes for no balloons, that’s all.”
Ha! The groom is scared of balloons! How manly.
I snort and at the sound of sarcasm, the woman all in white tilts her head towards me. This time, recognition dances in her eyes and her mouth forms a letter O. Unnerved, she signals the man to come inside, leaving me with two drinking cups full of liquid mango mixed with squash.
Poor Harlequin! No longer limber now with a family to feed. No longer thrilled at the prospect of chasing Columbine, not even while shuffling tiredly behind one, the golden band circling his finger peeks under the ridiculous ancient frills of long sleeves.
I down the sickeningly sweet juice one cup at a time. Watching their retreating backs, I realize that I still don’t know their names.
Clock.
It ticks its slowest when one anxiously waits. I saw her leave and she has not returned. I am glad that she kept her hair at the length I remember last, the curly locks still hang by the nape of her neck. She is not wearing a dress though, that would be pushing luck too much.
The hour hand points towards three and its longer counterpart is at 7 in a lopsided grimace. Being bored, I make a face too, screwing mine up tightly.
Aghast, it retorts, “At least you’re the one celebrated here. I’m ignored until there is need for haste, and still they look at me with anguish.”
“How long do you think she’ll keep avoiding me?”
“It depends. How long have you been ignoring her?”
“These shoes are killing me.”
“Ah, I see…” And it falls into its old habit of muttering to itself again.
Tick. Tock. Tick.. Tock.. Tick... Tock…
Cakes.
Angel cake. Because the bride is (supposed to be) fair and virginal. Pah!
Brownies. Low in calorie, for the weight watching ladies and gents.
Cheesecake. Because it’s expensive and reflects the event’s status. For select guests only.
Dumplings. Traditional and finely hand made, also a sign of status.
Egg custards. It’s a Chinese thing.
Fairy cakes. For the young ‘uns.
.
.
.
(Let’s save time here.)
Wedding cake. All three strata covered in white and with sugary rosebud borders. Pink of course, because that is the bride’s favorite color. The miniature bride and groom sneer majestically from a height of 3 meters. I place fingers on my lips and wet them discreetly, and with an innocent flick of the wrist, secure a portion of cream at the tip of my nails.
Lick.
Ugh. So much for being costly, when all you get is cardboard.
Chariot.
The engine hums impatiently and the bouquet of carnations and chrysanthemums quiver silently on the hood that they were placed upon. Personally, I myself would have chosen sweet smelling jasmines. They’re her favorite flowers.
The crowd erupts in a cheer, and I see my daydream scattered in pieces by my feet. I imagine crunching sounds as I tread gingerly across them, every step on the weathered red carpet hurting my heart as the splinters travel through my veins.
I smile and wave a gloved hand automatically around while asking myself: Where is she?
I stop breathing the moment I lay eyes on her. She stands opposite me, in a straight line. She is, as always, beautiful, even in a checkered shirt and black jeans. My hand sticks awkwardly upwards in an unfinished gesture, like a marionette whose puppeteer has gone for a lunch break.
She raises a yellow plastic cup in my direction: a toast. She smiles, but there are no other signs to betray her emotion.
I slide as quickly as I could through the wide open door, tripping over the slippery satin that is my dress. The smell of luxurious leather does nothing to soothe my nerves. The driver, startled by such a rush of movements, peeks nervously through the rearview mirror.
“Is everything all right, Ma’am?”
I nod shakily. So it has come to this, although she has on countless times denied possible, our relationship reduced to ‘friend’ status, maybe less. I peer through the dark tinted window, braving myself for a last look, but she is already gone.
I sigh, fine mist forms on the glass where my nose rests. My groom joins me on the plush seats, taking my hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze. I beam at him appreciatively, and suddenly his lush overgrown beard tinged with straggly strays of gray matters no more. I bring the back of his hand near my lips and kiss the fingers softly. He seems startled at the sudden sign of obedience, but merely smiled. It must be the effect of the car freshener. Lavender calms even the most angered elephant.
Under my breath, I mutter, “I’m sorry.”
“Eh, what for?”
I shake my head, and say nothing. The power windows roll down, and my thoughts are drowned in the farewell din. The silver limousine rattles on slowly, breaking the group of people in many directions. Life goes on.
At least I’ll be okay.
Cigarettes.
The finely cut tobacco burns beautifully in its blend of cloves. The rolled paper edges curl from white, to ember to black to gray to scatter smoothly downwards as particles of ash.
I am back under the stout palm tree, choosing to stay as close as possible to the drinks. One does get very thirsty in such dry weather. The guests have not begun to disperse, and I’m not yet inclined to leave. The rough bark tickles my back through the thin cotton of my shirt, and I fight a terrible urge to scratch myself in public.
I flick away the spent stub, in an upward motion which lands by the feet of a young girl with her face ghastly made up. She throws me a dirty look, which I reply with a sheepish grin.
I reach into the pocket of my trousers for the filter-tip pack and giving it a slight shake, flick the top open and peer inside. Damien Rice’s pained voice echoes in my head; you gave me three cigarettes to smoke my tears away.
I light another fag, inhaling deeply and blowing out rings of smoke. The smoke must have gotten into my eyes, for the water that runs down my cheek are not tears that I cry.
And slowly I fade, like the spiraling smoke I exhale.
Cheers, darlin’.
Paper strips in a plastic packet, meaningless until scattered over beaming faces. To shower down like little colorful candies. To mark the existence of happiness here.
I catch a handful and deliberately sprinkle some on my head. They tumble down to my shoulders and some stay stuck between strands of hair. Hullo irony, I’m not happy.
An old lady looks at me funnily, and my face freezes by default into a smile as I bow towards her stiffly. She laughs and gives me a thumbs-up sign. She mouths something that I don’t catch, pointing excitedly towards the two people being celebrated. I nod politely and turn to look away towards the distance, waving to an invisible person, mouthing ‘excuse me’ to the dame and making my way through the cheerful crowd of well-wishers.
Cellphone.
A wireless communication device that breaks the boundaries of privacy. But for just this once, I wish it would ring and bring me out of my being lonely. For a month there have been no calls, no text messages, yet there she is now.
I miss her deeply.
Clown.
He is squatting underneath a stout palm tree by the refreshments section, dabbing away perspiration from his brows, carefully so as not to wipe off the thick white make up. It must be like hell for his skin, trapped beneath the thick layer of gunk day after hot, sweltering tropical day.
I hand him a cup of punch, he looked like he needed it badly. He refuses.
“Not supposed to drink that,” he says and points towards a red mouth slightly agape.
“Can’t you just re-apply the lipstick afterwards?”
He shakes his head. “Got to save, everything’s expensive now.” He frowns, “That was not my point though...”
A woman in a white suit and pinstriped trousers approach us, her sharp heels leaving little dents on the grassy soil. She gives me a fleeting look over and I stare back. She looks familiar and I do not doubt that she feels the same about me. I guess she must be a friend of the bride. She makes full attempt in ignoring me however, choosing to solely address my companion.
“You’ll be performing in the Hall. Remember, no balloons. The groom is… He wishes for no balloons, that’s all.”
Ha! The groom is scared of balloons! How manly.
I snort and at the sound of sarcasm, the woman all in white tilts her head towards me. This time, recognition dances in her eyes and her mouth forms a letter O. Unnerved, she signals the man to come inside, leaving me with two drinking cups full of liquid mango mixed with squash.
Poor Harlequin! No longer limber now with a family to feed. No longer thrilled at the prospect of chasing Columbine, not even while shuffling tiredly behind one, the golden band circling his finger peeks under the ridiculous ancient frills of long sleeves.
I down the sickeningly sweet juice one cup at a time. Watching their retreating backs, I realize that I still don’t know their names.
Clock.
It ticks its slowest when one anxiously waits. I saw her leave and she has not returned. I am glad that she kept her hair at the length I remember last, the curly locks still hang by the nape of her neck. She is not wearing a dress though, that would be pushing luck too much.
The hour hand points towards three and its longer counterpart is at 7 in a lopsided grimace. Being bored, I make a face too, screwing mine up tightly.
Aghast, it retorts, “At least you’re the one celebrated here. I’m ignored until there is need for haste, and still they look at me with anguish.”
“How long do you think she’ll keep avoiding me?”
“It depends. How long have you been ignoring her?”
“These shoes are killing me.”
“Ah, I see…” And it falls into its old habit of muttering to itself again.
Tick. Tock. Tick.. Tock.. Tick... Tock…
Cakes.
Angel cake. Because the bride is (supposed to be) fair and virginal. Pah!
Brownies. Low in calorie, for the weight watching ladies and gents.
Cheesecake. Because it’s expensive and reflects the event’s status. For select guests only.
Dumplings. Traditional and finely hand made, also a sign of status.
Egg custards. It’s a Chinese thing.
Fairy cakes. For the young ‘uns.
.
.
.
(Let’s save time here.)
Wedding cake. All three strata covered in white and with sugary rosebud borders. Pink of course, because that is the bride’s favorite color. The miniature bride and groom sneer majestically from a height of 3 meters. I place fingers on my lips and wet them discreetly, and with an innocent flick of the wrist, secure a portion of cream at the tip of my nails.
Lick.
Ugh. So much for being costly, when all you get is cardboard.
Chariot.
The engine hums impatiently and the bouquet of carnations and chrysanthemums quiver silently on the hood that they were placed upon. Personally, I myself would have chosen sweet smelling jasmines. They’re her favorite flowers.
The crowd erupts in a cheer, and I see my daydream scattered in pieces by my feet. I imagine crunching sounds as I tread gingerly across them, every step on the weathered red carpet hurting my heart as the splinters travel through my veins.
I smile and wave a gloved hand automatically around while asking myself: Where is she?
I stop breathing the moment I lay eyes on her. She stands opposite me, in a straight line. She is, as always, beautiful, even in a checkered shirt and black jeans. My hand sticks awkwardly upwards in an unfinished gesture, like a marionette whose puppeteer has gone for a lunch break.
She raises a yellow plastic cup in my direction: a toast. She smiles, but there are no other signs to betray her emotion.
I slide as quickly as I could through the wide open door, tripping over the slippery satin that is my dress. The smell of luxurious leather does nothing to soothe my nerves. The driver, startled by such a rush of movements, peeks nervously through the rearview mirror.
“Is everything all right, Ma’am?”
I nod shakily. So it has come to this, although she has on countless times denied possible, our relationship reduced to ‘friend’ status, maybe less. I peer through the dark tinted window, braving myself for a last look, but she is already gone.
I sigh, fine mist forms on the glass where my nose rests. My groom joins me on the plush seats, taking my hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze. I beam at him appreciatively, and suddenly his lush overgrown beard tinged with straggly strays of gray matters no more. I bring the back of his hand near my lips and kiss the fingers softly. He seems startled at the sudden sign of obedience, but merely smiled. It must be the effect of the car freshener. Lavender calms even the most angered elephant.
Under my breath, I mutter, “I’m sorry.”
“Eh, what for?”
I shake my head, and say nothing. The power windows roll down, and my thoughts are drowned in the farewell din. The silver limousine rattles on slowly, breaking the group of people in many directions. Life goes on.
At least I’ll be okay.
Cigarettes.
The finely cut tobacco burns beautifully in its blend of cloves. The rolled paper edges curl from white, to ember to black to gray to scatter smoothly downwards as particles of ash.
I am back under the stout palm tree, choosing to stay as close as possible to the drinks. One does get very thirsty in such dry weather. The guests have not begun to disperse, and I’m not yet inclined to leave. The rough bark tickles my back through the thin cotton of my shirt, and I fight a terrible urge to scratch myself in public.
I flick away the spent stub, in an upward motion which lands by the feet of a young girl with her face ghastly made up. She throws me a dirty look, which I reply with a sheepish grin.
I reach into the pocket of my trousers for the filter-tip pack and giving it a slight shake, flick the top open and peer inside. Damien Rice’s pained voice echoes in my head; you gave me three cigarettes to smoke my tears away.
I light another fag, inhaling deeply and blowing out rings of smoke. The smoke must have gotten into my eyes, for the water that runs down my cheek are not tears that I cry.
And slowly I fade, like the spiraling smoke I exhale.
Cheers, darlin’.
Oct 23, 2008
November by Azure Ray
This so captures my desolation essence
NOVEMBER
so i'm waiting for this test to end
so these lighter days can soon begin
i'll be alone but maybe more carefree
like a kite that floats so effortlessly
i was afraid to be alone
but now i'm scared that's how i like to be
all these faces, none the same
how can there be so many personalities
so many lifeless, empty hands
so many hearts in great demand
and now my sorrow seems so far away
until i'm taken by these bolts of pain
but i turn them off and tuck them away
till these rainy days that make them stay
and then i'll cry so hard to these sad songs
and the words still ring, once here, now gone
and they echo through my head every day
and i don't think they'll ever go away
just like thinking of your childhood home
but we can't go back, we're on our own, oh
but i'm about to give this one more shot
and find it in myself
i'll find it in myself
so we're speeding towards that time of year
to the day that marks that you're not here
and i think i'll want to be alone
so please understand if i don't answer the phone
i'll just sit and stare at my deep blue walls
until i can see nothing at all
only particles, some fast, some slow
all my eyes can see is all i know, oh
but i'm about to give this one more shot
and find it in myself
i'll find it in myself
do do do...
NOVEMBER
so i'm waiting for this test to end
so these lighter days can soon begin
i'll be alone but maybe more carefree
like a kite that floats so effortlessly
i was afraid to be alone
but now i'm scared that's how i like to be
all these faces, none the same
how can there be so many personalities
so many lifeless, empty hands
so many hearts in great demand
and now my sorrow seems so far away
until i'm taken by these bolts of pain
but i turn them off and tuck them away
till these rainy days that make them stay
and then i'll cry so hard to these sad songs
and the words still ring, once here, now gone
and they echo through my head every day
and i don't think they'll ever go away
just like thinking of your childhood home
but we can't go back, we're on our own, oh
but i'm about to give this one more shot
and find it in myself
i'll find it in myself
so we're speeding towards that time of year
to the day that marks that you're not here
and i think i'll want to be alone
so please understand if i don't answer the phone
i'll just sit and stare at my deep blue walls
until i can see nothing at all
only particles, some fast, some slow
all my eyes can see is all i know, oh
but i'm about to give this one more shot
and find it in myself
i'll find it in myself
do do do...
Why I Hate My Birthday
I chose the picture above as the little girl blowing the candle on her birthday cake (or muffin?) looked just like me when I was younger. Waaaaaayyy younger. Make that waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay younger.
The difference being that, since my birthday is at the end of the year, and coincides with the school holidays, I never had the privilage of having friends celebrate my birthday party. My parents made sure that I never was deprived of a birthday cake though, but this is not the point. This desperateness for my birthday to be acknowledged continued until high school.
So I got admitted into a boarding school. Big deal, since my birthday still fell on a holiday anyway. So where some kids got chased around, pelted with eggs and shrieking with laughter, I'd usually spend my birthday, again, with my family. Not that I'm not thankful, I love you mom, dad, sis, bro, but we're talking about a teenager here, and peer acknowledgment ranked high in our list that time.
Even when my birthday was not on a holiday week, I was still made to feel like crap. I managed to get myself included in a posse of friends during the last years of school (half hearted yippee here). I mean, I wasn't really popular for the right kind of reasons, you know? People knew me very well back then, but for things I won't even mention here. Sure, I was in the debate club representing the school and winning things, sure I got pretty decent scores in Mathematics and excelled in English, but well known is not always synonymous with popular, you know?
So back to my high school day when I turned sixteen. It was an accepted fact that the birthday girls would always be called to one of the floors and be pelted with really gross things, but the night would end in laughter and the day after we'd all go out to eat.
Not on my birthday. I should've expected it. No one even wished me a happy birthday. Considering this was a boarding school with 300 and more girls, it was pretty disheartening to wander around school on your birthday with high expectations of at least someone remembering your birthday. And may I remind you, these were the last years of school. And I was quite... well known.
But noooo... I shrugged it off, telling myself that this is one of their "surprise party tactics". They won't forget my birthday, no, not MY posse. We were supposed to be thick as thieves.
Turns out they did remember. I was invited to the topmost floor of the dormitory building. My heart fluttered with renewed hope. I knew my posse won't let me down. I climbed the stairs with a little bit of a skip. I forgot to mention that yes, I did cry before that, alone on one of the more secluded stairs, having lost all hope on humanity.
I was so naive.
What awaited me was not a concoction of eggs, floor and curry powder. Instead, I faced an execution. My dignity ripped to pieces. Accusations flew. I was blamed for being morose and solitary. I was called a snob, a man hater. I waited it out, thinking this was another one of their games. After half an hour of torture, I fled the scene, tears flooding the dam barrier of my sanity. I forgot where I went to that night, but I hid in some corner where no one could find me and cried my eyes out, accompanied by a stray cat that had taken a liking to me. She wasn't really a friendly type of cat, but that night she let me hug her as I sobbed deeply into her fur.
I overcame my birthday phobia as I transcended into Uni world. I had adopted a tough girl persona then, and had vowed to not get close to anyone, ever. I was not going to have my heart broken, ever again. I don't need friends, I kept telling to myself.
I wasn't very good at being true to my word. I ended up being close to a few people, adhering to their moral codes, wanting to be like them. I idolized these people. I celebrated and planned their birthday parties with gusto. Then it happened again. My birthday fell on a holiday month. I was studying overseas then, and had my birthday at home. My parents must've thought that I was old enough, so they didn't arrange for any cakes that year.
We live in a world of technology. There are handphones that could be used to send text messages across the continents, what more within the same country. But no birthday wishes.
I returned to my boarding place overseas. Still no birthday wish. I felt like I'd be asking too much for a birthday party. So I planned my own belated party, I asked these people who I called friends to a dinner. Nothing grand, but I did reserve tables and things. The manager of the diner was a friend of mine and I managed to secure discounts for the people who'd attend my bash.
Excuses were made and only a handful came that night. My birthday presents for that night consisted of: nail polish, jigsaw puzzle, and a key chain if I'm not mistaken. I cried the whole month of November. It was in mid December when I finally received a "minute" teddy bear from these so called friends. That was it. I wasn't too keen on dolls and girly things back then. So you could imagine how insulted I was to receive nail polish and a teddy bear at that time.
Then a few months (or was it weeks?) later, that the MAJOR BETRAYAL happened. I seriously lost faith in humanity. Until now.
So forgive me if November gives me the blues, it's not just year end depression. I'm sorry that I'm a bit of a bitch when it is this time of year, and my birthday creeps near. I apologize for not being overly ecstatic over your new dress, new hairdo, new boyfriend nearing the month of November.
Because I hate it.
Oct 21, 2008
Hamsters Gone Wild
Hamsters are supposed to be cute, lovable animals that gnaw on lettuce, carrot, or sunflower seed in a way that makes you go "awwww...". At least, those that are up for sale should be quite aww inducing, I think, especially in malls.
Especially in HUGE malls like Carrefour.
Especially when they are tiny dwarves.
I didn't have my camera at that time, or you would be seeing a different picture up there and I could actually say "Lo and behold!". Alas, I witnessed the grossest thing in my life (allow jeng jeng jeng music here): CANNIBAL HAMSTERS!
Tata and I went to Carrefour two days ago, early morning as we didn't have anything better to do, and I needed to buy some arts and crafts supplies. The reason this is only being written now is because I couldn't believe my eyes and had to do research first on the subject. Here, here, and some sicko here. You won't find this subject in Wikipedia!
What I saw were cute hamsters running around and rubbing their faces. Then I realized that only TWO hamsters were running around while the other one is slumped in a corner. Automatically, I thought it was asleep. Then I saw one of the hamsters nudging at the butt of the immobile hamster. I simply thought they were merely playing around.
Upon closer inspection, I was horrified to see that the hamster was actually chewing off the butt of its dead friend. Everybody together now: YUCK! The corpse just lied there, with one eye missing and the white parts of its brain exposed. Then another hamster followed suit, but went straight to the ears of its deceased friend (giving new meaning to brain picking). Worse, they started a game of tug-o-war and sometimes switched positions, as if they were enjoying it.
It seemed that none of the Carrefour staff had noticed it. But the really sick part was the fact that Tata and I both stood there, enthralled at the sadistic side of nature.
We're freaks, really.
Especially in HUGE malls like Carrefour.
Especially when they are tiny dwarves.
I didn't have my camera at that time, or you would be seeing a different picture up there and I could actually say "Lo and behold!". Alas, I witnessed the grossest thing in my life (allow jeng jeng jeng music here): CANNIBAL HAMSTERS!
Tata and I went to Carrefour two days ago, early morning as we didn't have anything better to do, and I needed to buy some arts and crafts supplies. The reason this is only being written now is because I couldn't believe my eyes and had to do research first on the subject. Here, here, and some sicko here. You won't find this subject in Wikipedia!
What I saw were cute hamsters running around and rubbing their faces. Then I realized that only TWO hamsters were running around while the other one is slumped in a corner. Automatically, I thought it was asleep. Then I saw one of the hamsters nudging at the butt of the immobile hamster. I simply thought they were merely playing around.
Upon closer inspection, I was horrified to see that the hamster was actually chewing off the butt of its dead friend. Everybody together now: YUCK! The corpse just lied there, with one eye missing and the white parts of its brain exposed. Then another hamster followed suit, but went straight to the ears of its deceased friend (giving new meaning to brain picking). Worse, they started a game of tug-o-war and sometimes switched positions, as if they were enjoying it.
It seemed that none of the Carrefour staff had noticed it. But the really sick part was the fact that Tata and I both stood there, enthralled at the sadistic side of nature.
We're freaks, really.
Oct 20, 2008
The Dream
I always have dreams of being chased by a group of people. And they are all the same thing, I run, they try to catch me, I run again, I hide, I see them chasing after me, I run again, and then I wake up with a headache. The people who chase me are always *those* people.
Let me explain.
When I say *those* people, I meant the mean people I left back in Uni. The ones who I thought were my friends, but grew this big vineyard and collectively pelted at me the seeds of their grapevines. I confess to not being an angel, but I wasn't left to defend myself, which wasn't fair. It felt like a gang rape, the difference being that I used to enjoy a decent, planned gang rape. And they told my parents, and my dad got rushed to the hospital from a heart stroke. Smooth move, you guys.
Now I don't have face to face Uni, nor do I have face to go back to my parents, whom previously before said event was my sanctuary from all the Uni people's evilness. So I escaped from all of this. Not a clever part on my behalf, but how could I be thinking rationally? Thus leaves me here in this predicament.
Last night I dreamt of being chased again. The twist here being that *those* people are now full-fledged doctors now and I was wandering the corridors of a hospital. I am paranoid in real-life, and this sensation gripped me, even in my dreams, when I noticed that all too familiar face, noticing me, and as she started the chase.
Of course I ran. I ran so hard, that if this was in real life, I'd have collapsed of a beat up lung. But in this dream, I screamed out, "I am not crazy! You are not going to catch me and put me in a mental house!"
Real crazy talk, eh? It makes me wonder whether I have reached my limits of sanity. Or maybe it's just that silly ol' November, playing an early trick on me. Happens quite easily this time of year.
Let me explain.
When I say *those* people, I meant the mean people I left back in Uni. The ones who I thought were my friends, but grew this big vineyard and collectively pelted at me the seeds of their grapevines. I confess to not being an angel, but I wasn't left to defend myself, which wasn't fair. It felt like a gang rape, the difference being that I used to enjoy a decent, planned gang rape. And they told my parents, and my dad got rushed to the hospital from a heart stroke. Smooth move, you guys.
Now I don't have face to face Uni, nor do I have face to go back to my parents, whom previously before said event was my sanctuary from all the Uni people's evilness. So I escaped from all of this. Not a clever part on my behalf, but how could I be thinking rationally? Thus leaves me here in this predicament.
Last night I dreamt of being chased again. The twist here being that *those* people are now full-fledged doctors now and I was wandering the corridors of a hospital. I am paranoid in real-life, and this sensation gripped me, even in my dreams, when I noticed that all too familiar face, noticing me, and as she started the chase.
Of course I ran. I ran so hard, that if this was in real life, I'd have collapsed of a beat up lung. But in this dream, I screamed out, "I am not crazy! You are not going to catch me and put me in a mental house!"
Real crazy talk, eh? It makes me wonder whether I have reached my limits of sanity. Or maybe it's just that silly ol' November, playing an early trick on me. Happens quite easily this time of year.
Oct 15, 2008
Oct 12, 2008
My Desert Queen
She has eyes like the desert
with a thirst for human touch
She has eyes like the desert
And it's why I love her so much
She needs a Nile that runs a mile
And I could give her even more
She has eyes like the desert
And it's her want that I adore
with a thirst for human touch
She has eyes like the desert
And it's why I love her so much
She needs a Nile that runs a mile
And I could give her even more
She has eyes like the desert
And it's her want that I adore
* while browsing for the picture on the right, I found out that 'eyes like the desert was an excerpt from Madonna's La Isla Bonita. Dang, and I thought that I was original enough!
What A Blast!
I thought it was FHM's 100 Sexiest Women Night but apparently I got the wrong date. All in all it was fun night, and although Hugo's music sucked that night (new band and all) I enjoyed myself immensely at Embassy. Here are some pics.
Me and Dion
Me and Ian
Dion trying to sell me beer... NOT!
Tata looking up the singer's skirt
Rexona anyone?
Yeah, something fun there
So, anyone who comes over to Yogya and missed Hugo's and Embassy are missing a great deal, I tell ya, especially Embassy. Have to love their ambience.
Oct 11, 2008
Bluest Blue
Buest Blue
You are one of a kind
you are, you are
Will you ever be mine?
Bluest Blue
Deep you seep under my skin
you do, you do
Why can't I keep you safe within?
Can I let go?
No
Can I cry?
I might
Can I escape here?
Nothing else can be my saviour
but
Bluest Blue
You speak louder than a stain,
you say, you say
"I'm LOVE in the form of pain".
You are one of a kind
you are, you are
Will you ever be mine?
Bluest Blue
Deep you seep under my skin
you do, you do
Why can't I keep you safe within?
Can I let go?
No
Can I cry?
I might
Can I escape here?
Nothing else can be my saviour
but
Bluest Blue
You speak louder than a stain,
you say, you say
"I'm LOVE in the form of pain".
Mother Knows Best
Do do do do
do do do dodo do do do
do do do do
do as I say
andcomewhatmay
we will be safe
we will stay sane
do do do do
do do do do
do do do do
do do do do
Suicide Song
Let me tell you
a little trick for surviving
listen
just close your eyes
and you'll be fine
'coz I'll be singing a lullaby
Keep your eyes closed
and keep them shut tight
listen
it's not pain, so you need not cry
and I'll be singing a lullaby
hmm... hmm... hmm...
listen to my lullaby
hmm... hmm... hmm...
this is not goodbye
hmm...
hmm...
hmm...
a little trick for surviving
listen
just close your eyes
and you'll be fine
'coz I'll be singing a lullaby
Keep your eyes closed
and keep them shut tight
listen
it's not pain, so you need not cry
and I'll be singing a lullaby
hmm... hmm... hmm...
listen to my lullaby
hmm... hmm... hmm...
this is not goodbye
hmm...
hmm...
hmm...
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