How Seamless seems Love, then came Trouble...
Monday, January 09, 2006
How Seamless seems Love, then came Trouble...
A quote i read in a book ive been reading for the past few days.It's from a guy named "Hafez" (Havent got a clue on his last name,but maybe Hafez is his last name).
The book's called "The Kite Runner" by Khaled Hosseini,a book so utterly amazing you wonder how Mr. Hosseini managed to put such a tragic tale down into words in such a powerful.I couldnt help but curse his wonderful narrative skills and most of all,the characters he created,the ones that stayed in my mind.The vivid scene when Hassan sprawled on the floor one cold afternoon in the winter of 1975,with Assef on top of him doing the unspeakable.The look in Hassan's eyes;the goat,and Amir's cowardly act that followed swift after,might have been the reason why i started blogging again.Once again.
So here i am,on a gloomy Monday morning in front of my computer once more.Twenty pages left to the book and i cannot take it anymore.Its been raining since Saturday night,and truthfully speaking i dont wish it to stop.Not anytime soon,anyway.
Contrary to most people i love it when it rains,especially those when God takes a vacation and leaves the tap on.The wonderful sound of rain splattering on my window ledge drowns me in a drowsy and yet,melancholic mood altogether.
As i laid in bed with the table light turned on,i looked around my room,now with a grey hue painted all over.My eyes fell on a drawing,or rather a sketch up on my shelf right beside the Coca-Cola cans collection that i have.A drawing of a baby staring deep into his set of toy train,as it went round and round the tracks.I remember it well,as the train went round and my eyes followed.The winter night when my parents bought me that toy,and the seemingly endless fascination that i had over it("Wow,you mean i dont have to move it myself?",i remember me exclaiming)nearly fifteen years ago.What a happy kid i was,when i sprawled on the floor staring at the train for hours after hours,without a hint of excitement on my face,hidden only need in my childish mind.
"The Dancing Baby",it was captioned,and signed off by a name im not going to forget anytime soon.Despite the deformed left hand she drew me,or the bent nose the likes of Owen Wilson,i adored the picture the first time i laid my eyes on it.It was a token of appreciation,for the song i wrote for her,entitled her,about her and most of all,what i really wanted to tell her.
It is said,that when you go after a girl you fancy,you transform into this General planning his troops on paper.You strategizes her weakness,her likings,and when the time is right you swoop down for the kill like a vulture,starved to the bones.The song was merely one of my strategies,one that i had almost complete confidence in.Funny how fate plays tricks on you,when you think so highly of yourself,or rather what you are about to do.It whacks you off your feet and soon enough,you find yourself in your own piss,staring into the reflection of yourself standing above you,mocking at your utter stupidity.That was me,a month ago in McDonalds when i realised the cold hard truth.
The truth:That nothing mattered,or meant anything to anyone but me.You would think that it was a dead-on,that this trump card is so going to make you go somewhere.You got that "somewhere" part correct yes,but you never mentioned the destination.It's all right,i give you that one.To me,the destination of this runaway train goes on a wrong way on a one way track.Seems like i should be getting somewhere,but somehow i am neither here nor there.Im just stuck on this one way trip down to the pits of emotional hell.
Disbelief,depression,anger and then followed by whole-hearted acceptance.That was the emotional rollercoaster i went through for the past month.So many questions i asked,myself and her.Never really gotten a definite answer."I dont know",were mostly her answers."How did it come to this?",was the question i asked myself most frequent.
Thankfully,it's true how Sheryl Crow sang about the first cut being the deepest.Because in truth,it truly is.I bet a man gone this long without a girl wouldnt mind being rejected just one more time over.He's numbed,and he is sick.He doesnt feel the pain,as much as he did when the experience was raw and fresh,when the blade was sharp and his skin soft.Only the second time,and i am already this heartless,emotionless and left in the corner without any form of tear left to shed.I am in fact,a Tin Man in Alice in Wonderland,searching for a heart down the yellow bricked road leading to nowhere...
Dance,baby.Dance...
A quote i read in a book ive been reading for the past few days.It's from a guy named "Hafez" (Havent got a clue on his last name,but maybe Hafez is his last name).
The book's called "The Kite Runner" by Khaled Hosseini,a book so utterly amazing you wonder how Mr. Hosseini managed to put such a tragic tale down into words in such a powerful.I couldnt help but curse his wonderful narrative skills and most of all,the characters he created,the ones that stayed in my mind.The vivid scene when Hassan sprawled on the floor one cold afternoon in the winter of 1975,with Assef on top of him doing the unspeakable.The look in Hassan's eyes;the goat,and Amir's cowardly act that followed swift after,might have been the reason why i started blogging again.Once again.
So here i am,on a gloomy Monday morning in front of my computer once more.Twenty pages left to the book and i cannot take it anymore.Its been raining since Saturday night,and truthfully speaking i dont wish it to stop.Not anytime soon,anyway.
Contrary to most people i love it when it rains,especially those when God takes a vacation and leaves the tap on.The wonderful sound of rain splattering on my window ledge drowns me in a drowsy and yet,melancholic mood altogether.
As i laid in bed with the table light turned on,i looked around my room,now with a grey hue painted all over.My eyes fell on a drawing,or rather a sketch up on my shelf right beside the Coca-Cola cans collection that i have.A drawing of a baby staring deep into his set of toy train,as it went round and round the tracks.I remember it well,as the train went round and my eyes followed.The winter night when my parents bought me that toy,and the seemingly endless fascination that i had over it("Wow,you mean i dont have to move it myself?",i remember me exclaiming)nearly fifteen years ago.What a happy kid i was,when i sprawled on the floor staring at the train for hours after hours,without a hint of excitement on my face,hidden only need in my childish mind.
"The Dancing Baby",it was captioned,and signed off by a name im not going to forget anytime soon.Despite the deformed left hand she drew me,or the bent nose the likes of Owen Wilson,i adored the picture the first time i laid my eyes on it.It was a token of appreciation,for the song i wrote for her,entitled her,about her and most of all,what i really wanted to tell her.
It is said,that when you go after a girl you fancy,you transform into this General planning his troops on paper.You strategizes her weakness,her likings,and when the time is right you swoop down for the kill like a vulture,starved to the bones.The song was merely one of my strategies,one that i had almost complete confidence in.Funny how fate plays tricks on you,when you think so highly of yourself,or rather what you are about to do.It whacks you off your feet and soon enough,you find yourself in your own piss,staring into the reflection of yourself standing above you,mocking at your utter stupidity.That was me,a month ago in McDonalds when i realised the cold hard truth.
The truth:That nothing mattered,or meant anything to anyone but me.You would think that it was a dead-on,that this trump card is so going to make you go somewhere.You got that "somewhere" part correct yes,but you never mentioned the destination.It's all right,i give you that one.To me,the destination of this runaway train goes on a wrong way on a one way track.Seems like i should be getting somewhere,but somehow i am neither here nor there.Im just stuck on this one way trip down to the pits of emotional hell.
Disbelief,depression,anger and then followed by whole-hearted acceptance.That was the emotional rollercoaster i went through for the past month.So many questions i asked,myself and her.Never really gotten a definite answer."I dont know",were mostly her answers."How did it come to this?",was the question i asked myself most frequent.
Thankfully,it's true how Sheryl Crow sang about the first cut being the deepest.Because in truth,it truly is.I bet a man gone this long without a girl wouldnt mind being rejected just one more time over.He's numbed,and he is sick.He doesnt feel the pain,as much as he did when the experience was raw and fresh,when the blade was sharp and his skin soft.Only the second time,and i am already this heartless,emotionless and left in the corner without any form of tear left to shed.I am in fact,a Tin Man in Alice in Wonderland,searching for a heart down the yellow bricked road leading to nowhere...
Dance,baby.Dance...
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on Monday, January 09, 2006 at 4:49 PM.
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