Lion In The Storeroom
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Lion In The Storeroom
There is a lion in my storeroom.There really is.He lurks in the dark,amongst other animals like gorillas and bears,but it never makes a sound.It's eyes staring into emptiness,emotionless and so rid of any form of menace.It sits quietly only in the back of the room,and once in a while,pays a visit into my mind or two.I remember the touch of its mane,the rough sensation at the tip of my fingers,and as i ruffled my face through them,smelling the fur and the hair.I remember shaking hands with it,and commanding it to run down the blue-coloured fields towards the ranks of other animals in battle.It was my favourite lion,i loved that lion.
It mustve been the damn function of Friendster that provoked me to do it.I must say,and state here,that it was never my original intention to visit your profile once again.But i did it anyway,and it only confirmed what i already guessed and know a couple of entries before.Because there you are,there the both of you are,all smiles in the sun,with arms around one another and your right arm disappearing into the edge of the photograph.It was not envy that ticked me off,nor was it the fact that the guy looked like a dork.But really,it was the caption that made me close the window afterwards,pick a loud song from my playlist,and blast it till the rest of the neighbourhood heard it.
Three words,just those three words,and they made me think about how unfair people can be to one another,how unfair you can be to a person like me.No,i'm not great,i'm not perfect.I wasnt the perfect man for you,and i know i have to deal with that.But you didnt have to say that,tease with those cheeky words of yours,the ones you chose as terms of endearment.Did you really mean those,or do you just pluck that caption under every guy that comes along in your life who means something,one way or another?
The last boyfriend you had,the man that got me out of business by shoving me off the stage.I guess my magic trick wasnt good enough for you,to inspire and to put you in awe.You've probably seen those a dozen times before,and applauded at the end for the sake of it,because you were too nice to show your dissatisfaction.That's the problem with being nice,isnt it?That's the problem when you want to protect somebody from the brutal truth,when all you are doing is to stab him with your lousy lies.It's sick,what you did to me.It's sick,and all you said were three words.Those three words,changed everything.
My mother bought the lion from Hong Kong.I remember the day when i first saw it and hugged it.It felt soft,and furry,and it was my favourite toy back then.It protected me in the night,next to my pillow as i prayed for my protection from the strange,eerie noises coming from the kitchen.I prayed,because i knew that the lion,being the king of the jungle,would protect me from any creature that decides to storm in through the bedroom door.I believed,truly,that despite the fact that i had my gorilla and bears with me,the lion was the one who is going to protect me in times of need - under the blanket and trembling with fear.
SK was your favourite boy,and so was i.Your favourite dancing baby,that's what you used to call me.Because you said that i stare blankly into nothingness for too much,and the picture of me you drew as a baby,staring at a plastic toy train set translated exactly that.I called it a 'dance',saying that it was an abstract dance,something she wouldnt understand.Which was where the name came from,'My Favourite Dancing Baby'.Wasnt i?Am i...still?
Perhaps not.Because every boy is a 'Favourite Something',and you just pluck a name to the front of it,alongside a comma.You draw a picture for your favourite dancing baby back then,and you let your hair down for your favourite boy now.I've always wanted to see your hair down,i asked you to.But you didnt,did you?
Did you?
But i grew up,and other animals and men populated the dusty area under my bed.I had boxes of them back then,and i remember the lion still sitting at the edge of my bed,as i commanded other armies of men down the carpet towards one another.I prayed to different animals at night,and sometimes even God.I turned my source of courage and salvation to somebody,or something else then as i grew,because i knew that no matter how much i tried to convince,or decieve myself,i am never going to get rid of the demons inside of me,even if the lion is the king of the jungle.The fact was,that i outgrew myself,outgrew the lion,and as the years went by,he gradually retreated into the shadows of the storeroom.
It was my favourite toy,no more.
I remember a day when i was clearing the storeroom with my mother,i found the box with "Soft Toys" scribbled at the side,with thick green marker and in bold.I opened the dusty covers of the box,and there it was,the old lion all the way from Hong Kong.I showed it to my mother,and she smiled.She told me how much i adored the toy lion,how i carried it everywhere i went.She told me how much i loved it over the other toys,under toy cars and Lego came into my life.I left the lion,along with my gorillas and bears in the box,sealed it with tape and left it in the storeroom long ago.Once upon a time,it was my favourite.Sure it was.But there is nothing i can say or do now,to justify how i dropped off that list of "Favourites",how new attractions took over old loves,and pushed them into the darkness of a sealed box.
It's plastic eyes stared back at me,dust balls formed in its mane.The thread that made up its mouth curled downwards,its supposed eyebrows growing down towards its cheeks.It looked depressed,sad,and most of all,abandoned.'Wasnt i your favourite toy?',it seemed to be asking me.'Wasnt i?'
Wasn't I?
There is a lion in my storeroom.There really is.He lurks in the dark,amongst other animals like gorillas and bears,but it never makes a sound.It's eyes staring into emptiness,emotionless and so rid of any form of menace.It sits quietly only in the back of the room,and once in a while,pays a visit into my mind or two.I remember the touch of its mane,the rough sensation at the tip of my fingers,and as i ruffled my face through them,smelling the fur and the hair.I remember shaking hands with it,and commanding it to run down the blue-coloured fields towards the ranks of other animals in battle.It was my favourite lion,i loved that lion.
It mustve been the damn function of Friendster that provoked me to do it.I must say,and state here,that it was never my original intention to visit your profile once again.But i did it anyway,and it only confirmed what i already guessed and know a couple of entries before.Because there you are,there the both of you are,all smiles in the sun,with arms around one another and your right arm disappearing into the edge of the photograph.It was not envy that ticked me off,nor was it the fact that the guy looked like a dork.But really,it was the caption that made me close the window afterwards,pick a loud song from my playlist,and blast it till the rest of the neighbourhood heard it.
Three words,just those three words,and they made me think about how unfair people can be to one another,how unfair you can be to a person like me.No,i'm not great,i'm not perfect.I wasnt the perfect man for you,and i know i have to deal with that.But you didnt have to say that,tease with those cheeky words of yours,the ones you chose as terms of endearment.Did you really mean those,or do you just pluck that caption under every guy that comes along in your life who means something,one way or another?
The last boyfriend you had,the man that got me out of business by shoving me off the stage.I guess my magic trick wasnt good enough for you,to inspire and to put you in awe.You've probably seen those a dozen times before,and applauded at the end for the sake of it,because you were too nice to show your dissatisfaction.That's the problem with being nice,isnt it?That's the problem when you want to protect somebody from the brutal truth,when all you are doing is to stab him with your lousy lies.It's sick,what you did to me.It's sick,and all you said were three words.Those three words,changed everything.
My mother bought the lion from Hong Kong.I remember the day when i first saw it and hugged it.It felt soft,and furry,and it was my favourite toy back then.It protected me in the night,next to my pillow as i prayed for my protection from the strange,eerie noises coming from the kitchen.I prayed,because i knew that the lion,being the king of the jungle,would protect me from any creature that decides to storm in through the bedroom door.I believed,truly,that despite the fact that i had my gorilla and bears with me,the lion was the one who is going to protect me in times of need - under the blanket and trembling with fear.
SK was your favourite boy,and so was i.Your favourite dancing baby,that's what you used to call me.Because you said that i stare blankly into nothingness for too much,and the picture of me you drew as a baby,staring at a plastic toy train set translated exactly that.I called it a 'dance',saying that it was an abstract dance,something she wouldnt understand.Which was where the name came from,'My Favourite Dancing Baby'.Wasnt i?Am i...still?
Perhaps not.Because every boy is a 'Favourite Something',and you just pluck a name to the front of it,alongside a comma.You draw a picture for your favourite dancing baby back then,and you let your hair down for your favourite boy now.I've always wanted to see your hair down,i asked you to.But you didnt,did you?
Did you?
But i grew up,and other animals and men populated the dusty area under my bed.I had boxes of them back then,and i remember the lion still sitting at the edge of my bed,as i commanded other armies of men down the carpet towards one another.I prayed to different animals at night,and sometimes even God.I turned my source of courage and salvation to somebody,or something else then as i grew,because i knew that no matter how much i tried to convince,or decieve myself,i am never going to get rid of the demons inside of me,even if the lion is the king of the jungle.The fact was,that i outgrew myself,outgrew the lion,and as the years went by,he gradually retreated into the shadows of the storeroom.
It was my favourite toy,no more.
I remember a day when i was clearing the storeroom with my mother,i found the box with "Soft Toys" scribbled at the side,with thick green marker and in bold.I opened the dusty covers of the box,and there it was,the old lion all the way from Hong Kong.I showed it to my mother,and she smiled.She told me how much i adored the toy lion,how i carried it everywhere i went.She told me how much i loved it over the other toys,under toy cars and Lego came into my life.I left the lion,along with my gorillas and bears in the box,sealed it with tape and left it in the storeroom long ago.Once upon a time,it was my favourite.Sure it was.But there is nothing i can say or do now,to justify how i dropped off that list of "Favourites",how new attractions took over old loves,and pushed them into the darkness of a sealed box.
It's plastic eyes stared back at me,dust balls formed in its mane.The thread that made up its mouth curled downwards,its supposed eyebrows growing down towards its cheeks.It looked depressed,sad,and most of all,abandoned.'Wasnt i your favourite toy?',it seemed to be asking me.'Wasnt i?'
Wasn't I?
This entry was posted
on Sunday, October 29, 2006 at 12:29 AM.
You can skip to the end and leave a response.
