In Continuum.

Little Green Man

You know in all of the times that we've shared
I've never been so scared
Doll me up in my bad luck
I'll meet you there

The heavy wooden door swung opened on its hinges,and the scent of old mattresses,dirty clothes;the smell of abandoned room attacked our nostrils.Because the CO was coming down to our company line to check things out,we were asked to clean up the bunks of the old sergeants,the ones who left in March this year.Anyway,they left behind mountains of trash,which i decline to elaborate further in this entry,since this is not what it is about.From old shower foams to broken radio,from dirty coffee mugs to half eaten headache pills,FHM caldendars to dirty socks,from slippers to little notes left for the next occupant of the bunk.You name it,they had it in there.Locked up and forgotten,only dreadfully remembered by us,the poor toilet papers,rolling into the bunks and cleaning up the mess.

I opened a cupboard,and it mustve belonged to Khian Hong,because the note pasted on the inside of one of the metal doors clearly stated so.Through the hole in the door,a little doll was hung,the kind of doll you would find dangling from someone's handphone.It was made from green thread,a big head and a body too small to support it,if it was real life.Two plastic beads took the place of the doll's eyes,and a black string emerged from the top of its head,tied in a loose note through the hole,and there it was hanging by the string before me,staring blankly into the darkness of the cupboard,seeing light for the first time in months.

I untied the little doll,and slipped it into my pocket before anybody saw it.I thought i saw something in this little doll,but didnt have time to think too much about it.I grabbed the brand new rolls of tissue papers and dashed downstairs with the bags of rubbish,collected from the rooms,with the little green man knocking around the fabric of my pocket.

It now sits on top of my table,still staring into nothingness.I tried hanging it on my handphone,but next to the classy design of the phone,it looked awfully out of place.And i never liked dolls on strings,they always look as if they were executed somehow,hanging from a rope,with their eyes glassy and dead.But this doll looked sad,though not in any way,life-like.It's head is tilted to one side,though without a mouth,seems to be always asking the question of "Why?" Its arms extended out,asking for a hug of some kind,and its eyes,staring back so blankly,is always so wistful and hopeful.

I dropped by her blog a while ago.It's not a routine,or a tradition anymore.It's not a place i pay constant visits like i used to,perhaps it's because i no longer see the need to.I like her blog in a very simple and clean way,the way her template's always so refreshing and tidy.But the content's really just...as good as it gets.A recent trip to a country,studies,church activities,and most of all,how happy she is about simply everything under the sky and beyond,especially the latter.Almost every single entry starts,ends,or is interrupted by thanks to the Lord himself,or some simple prayers or lyrics to some christian songs.It's not like it is a bad thing,or that i am complaining,but i guess at times it gets tiring for the readers.But then again,it's not like blogs are for people to read,right?Not exclusively for that purpose,anyway.

This growing suspicion has been growing in me for a long time,and i think i can safely say that it has been confirmed.Thankfully,truthfully,and surprisingly,i am not in any way,affected by it.In fact,i was laughing at how the boy who,supposedly 'won' the race to the very end,is now at the end of the line,with me in the corner,gathering dust.Even his latest blog entry is Nick Lachey's "I Cant Hate You Anymore",and stating how much he related to his lyrics.I'm not drawing conclusions,but i guess things are clear.

Now that you guys are probably not together anymore,i have a confession to make.I think the both of you,yourself and Mr. SK,looks great together.I'm not even saying it to please you or anything,but that is true.There is something in the photographs of you guys together that makes sense,and perhaps in so many ways,makes more sense than the both of us together.This new dude,Jonathan from camp would probably put him amongst the ranks of a certain sergeant in my camp,whom he addresses to as "Dorkhead".Because really,yeah he plays the guitar and he sure seems to be on Cloud #9 with you at the Botanics,but he just looks so much like a dork.He doesnt seem to know what the hell to do with himself.SK on the other hand,though boring,seems to be a nice guy.Which is why when asked why i dont hate him by my friends,i replied,"I dont have a reason to hate him.It's rather childish isnt it?Besides,he seems like a nice person,though however boring".Because really,you guys matched.In a way.

So i was reading his blog,and felt myself smiling.Not because i was thinking,"HA!TAKE THAT!NOW YOU KNOW HOW I FUCKING FELT!",but rather knowing what he is going through right now.Allow me to make a guess at what is happening in your mind right now.You are at home,and her name probably flashes at the bottom right hand corner of your monitor.You want to talk to her,and because you guys have had a friendly relationship before,you do.However,things dont seem to be the same before,and you are running your fingers through your hear because you want to go back to where you were,where the both of you were when things were pretty,and things were nice."but too bad," said her,with her immeasurable silence."It's over".Yeah,it's over.And you are screaming inside and staring into blank space,asking yourself just how the hell it came down to...this.If 'this' pertains to the existence of an object or a feeling,then 'this' doesnt even exist,because right now,you have none at all,nothing you can put under 'this'.'This',doesnt even exist anymore.

I remember feeling a string upon my limbs,and on top of my head,a string of some kind attached somehow.Of course,not literally,but i certainly felt that way in those days.I wonder if you are in that stage yet,feeling the pull of the strings,and her as the puppeteer hiding above,toying with us like Barbie Dolls.Like the little green man bouncing around in my side pocket,we all felt so helpless to our emotions,so wistful of her words,didnt we?We were,like dolls,moved and controlled by the fingers of her,via strings and the moments of her wrists,that we are,unwillingly and helpless,dangling from her grasp and in turn,becoming the victims of our own feelings and emotions.I know how you feel my man,i know because i was there.I was there.

But you must learn,like me,to find the scissors and snip those strings from your limbs and head.Because there is more more to life than being a doll,a little green man.There she is out there,with another little green man,spending nice little afternoons in the Botanic,so careless about you.We are in a box now,forgotten because we are old,because we no longer interest that person,because we were discarded and thus,not liked anymore.But i am telling you,that it is okay.Once you are away from the stage,away from the puppeteer,though your legs are too weak to walk and your head is too heavy to lift,once you get used to the weight of it all,you are going to feel so much lighter than before.And most importantly,you are free.

I never hated you,despite the urging feeling inside,to want to do so.But it didnt feel right to do so,because i knew that in a way,we were both different and the same all at once.Not fooled,but rather victimised.Just dolls from strings,puppets in a stage play.There is no one to blame,but to accept the situation and move on.There is a difference between being a puppet with strings,and one without.A puppet with strings can never sing the strings,only the slight gentle pull of it.While puppets without,see not the strings,but the freedom and liberty that comes with the disappearance of it all.

I hope dearly,that you remove yourself from the strings that entangles your life.We were all,at some points,little green men dangling from holes on a metal cupboard door.But the most important thing,really,is to have this person find you in an old forgotten room,untie your knots and set you free from the darkness and the dust,the old socks and the showering foam.Even if you are in the pocket of a stranger,you will feel yourself to be so much more.

I wish i never had taken this dare
I wasn't quite prepared
Doll me up in my bad luck
I'll meet you there