In Continuum.

Jealousy Rides With Me

Jealousy rides with me
Such a faithful companion no one could be
And he sits on my shoulder and whispers the things
That make me so bitter its sick

Jealousy rides with me
In wake or in slumber I can't get relief
From the pictures he paints of the passion in heat
And though I try I can't stop listening

And I've tried bribery, but to no effect
'Cause there's no amount of money that would get him to split
As long as I'm living and we're not together
I'll be chained to this beast with no chance of severance 'cause

Jealousy rides with me
Such a faithful companion no one could be
For a journey that leads to the outskirts of time
But don't worry about me, I'll be fine

It beats being lonely,
I'll be fine...

Tease Of The Inevitable

Bones, sinking like stones,
All that we fought for,
Homes, places we've grown,
All of us are done for.

Receiving the news that Stanley opened his eyes today, proved that my dream is coming true a step at a time. The last time we visited him, his eyes were half closed and looked like he was in a daze of sorts. From the accounts today, he seemed to have opened them up whenever people visited him, and was also more responsive to the opening and closing of doors. I guess the big guy is going to make it after all, and I am sure everybody is going to be overjoyed just knowing this piece of news. Now, all we have to worry are the aftermaths of the coma, if he is going to suffer from traumas such as amnesia or whatever. Knock on wood, but that's a very possible outcome, no?

But that piece of good news, however good it is, cannot deny a thought that I've been harboring in my head ever since the episode last night. RuiYi caught me in a strange mood last night, and because she was feeling mopey as well, she joined me in our club of self-depreciation. In the end, we started talking about Stanley and the nurses at hospitals. Studying a nursing course in a polytechnic(Sorry RuiYi, I forgot which!), she has seen deaths at hand and the way people change from being a perfectly healthy person to one at the brink of death, all within the blink of an eye. So the threat was very real, this vulnerability all humans experience. And the fact that Stanley was in a coma back then, had me thinking about it throughout the night despite RuiYi's constant efforts of comfort.

And we live in a beautiful world,
Yeah we do, yeah we do,
We live in a beautiful world.

The process of inevitability began the moment we came out from our mothers' wombs. Death is inevitable, as we all know it. And as we progress on in our everyday lives, it silent creeps closer to you like a pouncing leopard in the African plains. It hides in the bushes at first, slowly finding its way around the herd of buffaloes, silently and skillfully. The bushes then acts as a camouflage of sorts, and the buffaloes do not see the flowery patterns on the leopard's skin. So the leopard is safe for now, safe from its prays' detection. You are one of those hungry buffaloes, grazing upon the great African plains in the spring, unaware of the looming death in the bushes. All of a sudden, the leopard jumps out of its cover and pounces onto one of your friends from the herd. It struggles and tries to break free from under the sharp claws of the leopard. But the leopard's grip was tight, and its fangs sunk into the thick skin of your friend in the neck area. Blood spurted from the punctured holes, and your friend succumbs to the grip of the leopard, and dies.

Subsequently, this leopard follows your herd around, and one by one it takes out your friends. You watch every time as your friend collapses under the grip of the leopard, and its hunger never seems to be satisfied. Always, it craves for the next prey, and then the next, and then the next. You start to wonder how many more of such teases can you tolerate, how many more slaughters of your friends can you witness before you collapse yourself in horror, in fear. You start to wonder, when is your turn going to be? When is it going to be me?

Bones, sinking like stones,
All that we fought for,
And homes, places we've grown,
All of us are done for.

My grandfather from my mother's side was the first to leave me. He was the first person I know to succumb to Death, and subsequently in my life, Death teased me with his invisible fingers and sickle. It was followed by my grandmother, then my grandfather from my father's side, the people of that generation. At that time, I thought Death was still far away, that he is not going to reach me any time soon because I am still one generation away from everything. Then my uncle succumbed to liver failure, and that marked the beginning of Death in my father's generation. So one by one, it just seems to be closing in on me all the time, like a torpedo closing in on its target in the waters, silently and deadly. What makes things worse: It never misses, when it tries to kill you.

I've seen funerals, and I have seen deaths. The difference between life and death is just a breath's width, and at the end of it all everybody will breathe their last breath, and die. My mother told me about her mother's last breath, and it was over-rated, for the lack of a better word. To her, she thought to herself," That's it?" Because that really is what happens at death, the way you struggle for that last breath, hoping that it would last for a long time, but it doesn't. I've seen my grandparents' generation of people dying, and then slowly it became my relatives' turn. And seeing Stanley - my close friend - struggling with life, Death is all of a sudden closer than ever.

And we live in a beautiful world,
Yeah we do, yeah we do,
We live in a beautiful world.

We can't escape it, and the brush against death by Stanley is only the tease of Death. It is going to come sooner or later, and last night I started talking to RuiYi about attending my relatives' funerals, then my parents' funerals, followed by my friends' funerals and then my own. It was a saddening though, one which she denied and tried to make sense to. But my mind was settled with that inevitability, that I am going to have more and more of such 'teases' in the future, whether I like it or not. And it's just sad, that we cannot do anything about it at the beginning. It's not like as a baby, we could say "No thanks to life, if we are going to view the deaths of our loved ones". We never had a choice, and now that the process has begun, it is scaring the hell out of me.

Outliving all the people that you love is a scary thought, and as much as I hate to admit it, I am terrified of death. But I guess, there are more issues at hand right now than to worry about something so far away. Stanley's condition for example, and of course the school admission in a weeks' time. Also, there is that heart of mine to heal, still left in pieces for me to fix. I guess death is too vast a problem, and too far away, for a person like me to worry about. After all, one should not be afraid of death, but a life not lived, right?

And we live in a beautiful world,
Yeah we do, yeah we do,
We live in a beautiful world.

Oh, all that I know,
There's nothing here to run from,
Cause, yeah, everybody here's got somebody to lean on.

Dreams Of A Miracle

Watched her as she flew,
Deep within the blue
A day out from the county I.C.U.
There is nothing you can do
Someone gently says to you
The doctors say that now it won't be long

Dreams, they take you to a million different places don't they. Sometimes I wonder if this life that I am living now, is really just the dream that has been going on for years. A patient newly out of a comatose state usually forgets what happened during their ordeal. Some of them tells you about the dark tunnel and the light at the end of it, but that's just a generic answer in my opinion. It's probably just the moment when you open your eyes, to see the lights above your head piercing through the darkness in your eyes. The experience is probably not nearly as fantastical as that, and I have always believed that a person in a comatose state goes into an endless dream of some kind. So that got me thinking, if it is possible that I am already in a comatose state myself right now, lying in a ward with a glass window just to my right and family members peeping in from the other side, concerned and petrified. This, might just be part of my dreaming process, before I finally wake up myself. It's interesting, now isn't it?

In bed last night, I drifted off into an uncomfortable sleep. Not really because the bed was harder than usual, or because my neck wasn't properly positioned on the pillow, but because of the dreams that I had were just rather disturbing really. I've slept on a million different surfaces, and like Ah Chang I do consider myself somewhat of a sleeping king. I can sleep anywhere, at anytime, provided the opportunity. I've slept on soil, sand, mud, grass, gravel, stones, rocks, metal benches, wooden benches, wooden floors, on top of a M113 vehicle, ant nest - everywhere. It's not something I can add into my job resume in the future I'm sure, but then it makes a good story to tell, no?

I try and live up til the moment
And I hope that I don't blow it
What is it in me that she hears?
It's just a song she likes
Little arms around my neck
And a dying girl whispers in my ear

I dreamed about Stanley, for some reason. I was back at the ICU again, with Hanwei and the hospital was darker than usual. Soft murmurs traveled down the corridors from the nurse station just at the end of it, and we were there in the dark, trying to visit Stanley in the middle of the night. We crept along the walls and in the shadows, thinking that we'd get caught and be thrown out of the hospital once discovered. But we risked that, and found our way to the ward and walked in. And like the corridors, the ward itself was in a suffocating silence too, with the lights dimmed and the nurses gone. The computers and other machineries continued functioning, and that familiar pulsating of the machines echoes in the empty ward.

So there he was, still lying there on his bed in his troubled sleep. We immersed our hands into the basin to have them washed, then proceeded through the big glass doors into the room itself. It smelled like medicine, as if somebody made a perfume out of them and sprayed it all around the room. I covered my face with the back of my hand as I approached the bed, and as we did so as quietly as possible, Stanley sat up in bed and looked at us in surprise. He looked totally fine, and started plucking off the tubes and the needles that were embedded into his skin. He was confused as to where he was at that moment, disorientated and a little scared altogether, until Hanwei and I tried to explain things to him. It was then that he stood up for the first time in a very long time.

Tell me now can you feel it?
I've been keeping company with a ghost
She comes to me like a piece of summer
She comes to me on the days when I need it most

We talked and we laughed, something about the accident amused him somehow. He walked around the room, and for the first time, Hanwei and I were glad to see somebody walking, like the sight of a toddler taking his first steps. But there he was before our eyes, all perfect and well with no traces of the accident on his body whatsoever, save for the ridiculous scrub he was wearing. The flowery pattern did not suit him at all, and we made fun of him because of that. But it was all in good fun, and we started to call our friends to tell them the good news - that Stanley woke up and he is OK now.

Just then, a bunch of security guards came into the ward and shone their torches into our faces. They were all dressed in black, and because of the incredible shine, we could not see their faces. All I heard were words about my arrest, and something about writing bad checks. The burst through the door and grabbed me roughly by the arms and dragged me out into the corridors. They took Stanley away too, and threw a black bag over my head to keep me from talking. But I kept yelling and screaming, all the while trying to break free from their grasps. I wonder what crimes I committed, why was I dragged off to prison because I was happy for a friend, happy that he woke up from his deathly slumber.

Well summer dies and nothing lasts forever
And you're so fine girl, the way you stand up to your fears
Summer dies and its just moments we have together
I'd give my bones for you to get a few more years
For you and I, oh Annie
More than life than trying to survive, oh Annie

I remember the dream very well, the part with the trip to the prison. We were all chained to the side of a truck, as it sped down a dirt road towards the prison. Some of my friends were there, and others were strange faces. There were even celebrities from cinema and the music scene, chained like myself to the iron railings at the side. We talked little on the trip there, and my friend Jonathan was right in front of me in the dream. Neither of us knew where we were going or what is going to happen, but he too seemed to have been involved in some bad checks. What is it with checks, anyway?

We were ushered off the truck and in a row, marched into a classroom of sorts. It was a dark one, with the lights above our heads flickering nonstop. It looked like my camp's canteen somehow, just a lot darker. And before us there was a whiteboard, and a woman standing before that lecturing us about the rules of the prison. But none of us were interested in the rules, most of us just asking each other of their so-called crimes and sins. Looking around, the people all looked dead or depressed, and the fact that we didn't know what was going to happened, scared the hell lot of us. The unknown, trapped in a prison for crimes we did not commit, it was a scary feeling and I wished that I've watched Prison Break on the television.

My boyfriend took pictures of me as I held you
I travel alone and the loneliness brings me to tears
Summer dies and it's just moments we have together
I'd give my bones for you to get a few more years
For you and I, oh Annie
More to life than trying to survive, oh Annie

The lecture was done, the lights dimmed some more as if it wasn't dark enough. The woman left the room, leaving us to pack our things and move along in line to our cells. I did so quickly, stuffing my personal things into a small bag and joined the queue out of the lecture hall. But something bad was about to happen, and I knew it in my heart. The line disappeared into the darkness beyond, and from that darkness I could hear the desperate wailing of men like myself, screaming out in pain and sufferings. But the people in line were like drones, zombies of sorts, just marching on with their heads bowed and eyes dead. I wanted to leave the line, to run away even if I get shot. But the man from behind pushed on, and the corridor was a narrow one. I was forced ever forward, and right before I reached the edge of where light ended and darkness began, I told myself," This is a dream."

Stronger than the hands that hold you
You sing along to the song on the radio
If I drank too much and I am wreckless
Just this once would you forgive this
I hold on to the days gone by

My eyes opened, almost too wide. My mouth felt terribly dry, and the wind from the fan next to the bed was uncomfortable all of a sudden. The light of a Sunday morning poured in through the windows, and there I was in bed moments after my awakening, wondering if what I just saw really happened. I did the routine checks on my body, the limbs and the head, the organs and the body. Everything was intact, and I was alive and breathing still, on the morning of yet another day in life. I was just glad that I was alive, and that the whole episode in the prison did not happen at all.

But as I congratulated myself in bed about my survival through the ordeal, a sudden truth settled into my head. If the prison episode wasn't real, that means that the Stanley episode wasn't either. And that made me truly depressed for a moment, thinking about just how happy I was to see him walking again in the ward, perfectly fine and totally recovered. There I was in bed on a Sunday morning, while he is probably in that same old bed, still in a coma and still battling Death in the face. Everything remained the same, and I started to wonder if it is true that dreams reflect only the opposite of life, that if it happens it a dream then it will not happen in reality. I dearly wish that that is not the case, for I am still waiting for Stanley's awakening himself, to stand up and walk out of the hospital.

There he was, still smiling in the image of my head, standing by the side of his bed. But as I woke up from my own dreams about his awakening, he fell back into his sleep in reality. So with my fingers crossed, I am once again hoping for his full recovery sooner or later. Because at this point in time, nothing else matters more than him waking up, anymore.

Tell me now can you feel it?
I can't keep this all to myself
She's elegant and she means it, oh

Years for you and I, oh Annie
More to life than trying to survive, oh Annie
Watch her as she flew deep within the blue
Watch her as she slips away from you
I'll keep fingers crossed always for you

In Late Summer

Guess who's back.

Sleep, Don't Weep

Sleep, don't weep
My sweet love
Your face is all wet
And your day was rough

So do what you must do to find yourself
Wear another shoe, paint my shelves
Those times that I was broke, and you stood strong
I think I found a place where I...

Watching the clouds in the night, reminded me of the childish idea that I had when I was a kid. I used to think that at night, the clouds were disappear for some reason, because the darkness in the skies would swallow them all up like a monster feasting on cotton candies. But of course, as I grew older, I found out that clouds are the result of evaporation and condensation, and since those two processes happen at any time of the day, one shouldn't find it odd to see clouds in the skies at night either.

There I was at my bedroom window just watching as the clouds went by in the soaring wind, lightnings from far off in the distance, followed lazily by the crack of thunder across the sky. It was about to rain, and I smelled it in my nostrils the coming of yet another storm. And it is weather like that that makes you think about things, things unwanted and better left forgotten. I wished dearly that there was somebody there to hold me, or the way I used to message the old love and tell her about my woes. She was always there in the morning, always asking if I was doing all right, if I was doing OK. But of course, in nights like this when you are pondering over unanswerable questions, there are only so many sides of you body you can turn to for comfort. But neither sides provide any emotional comfort, because no matter which side you face, you are just shuffling the broken pieces inside around. They don't heal, but regroup into a configuration to hurt some more.

Sleep, don't weep,
My sweet love
Your face it's all wet
'Cause our days were rough

So do what you must do to fill that hole
Wear another shoe to comfort the soul
Those times that I was broke, and you stood strong
I think I found a place where I feel I will...

I think a found a place where I feel I will be OK, momentarily anyway. Like I said before, this little written journal of mine has been keeping me companied in the early hours of the day, and the late hours of the night. Writing them down felt so infinitely better than typing sometimes, because once you finish writing, you close the pages and you put the book away. It's not like it is going to pop up on your computer screen just because you accidentally click on the 'Back' button or whatever. Which is great, because the last thing I need now is a bloody reminder of things. Give me time, I'm still battling with it.

I pictured the emotions flowing into my right arm, crossing the veins and into the tips of my fingers. They seep through the skin, through minute pores and then into the tube of black ink in my pen. Down the tube they flowed, and blending with the black liquid, they call came alive in a miniature explosion. They fought their way to the tip of the ball-point pen, and onto the pages they eventually flowed, where they eventually end up. So, like exorcising a ghost or a spirit from the body, I have eradicated those emotions on the pages, and theoretically speaking I am supposed to feel better about it, right?

Sleep, don't weep,
My sweet love
My face it's all wet
'Cause my day was rough

So do what you must do to find yourself
Wear another shoe, paint my shelves
Those times that I was broke, and you stood strong
I hope I find a place where I feel I belong

But the twisted irony is, even though I have given my all, it doesn't start to feel any better. With or without these emotions, it still feels the same. The greatest comfort, would be a message or two from you somehow. But why should I bother? Why should I seek comfort in you? I have no idea. You, of all people. Whatever was I thinking.

It started raining, and I could hear the sound of rain on the metal roof of the air-conditioning unit outside. My mother woke up, and wrapped in her blanket she looked like a ghost wandering through the corridors. I woke up startled, and with my limited vision I took half a second to realize that it was my mother, going around the house and inspecting the windows. My sister on the other hand, was in the bedroom yelling just how scary the howling was, I couldn't help but laugh.

She came into my room then, and it was a little over four in the morning. She asked why wasn't I asleep yet, and I told her that I was thinking about things. She sat by the bed, and was just waiting for me to say something. But the howling of the wind grew stronger, and the splattering of the rain became harder. The emotions and the thoughts were pushed back down my throat, just before they reached my lips. She went back to bed swiftly after being convinced that I'd be fine, but the moment her silhouette disappeared from my doorway, I started cursing under my breath and into the hollows of the blanket.

Thoughts were all over the place, and I'm still trying my best to piece them together. It is a little past noon now, and still I am a little messed up about yesterday night. When you have been so dependent on a single source of comfort, it is not easy then to let it go and get used to the life without it. It's like the addiction to cigarettes or drugs, you don't just take it away and expect the addict to live a normal life swiftly after. Or the death of a loved one, and as over-rated as people say about death, it is just a breath's difference between life and death. So just like that, a person can be out of your life, and you are left alone to deal with the harsh reality all by yourself.

I guess I just wanted some form of comfort, a comfort that perhaps resembled the ones you so kindly gave me. But they don't mean too much anymore, those words that you said to me on the phone on your way to work. I remember the sound of your card beeping on the sensing machine, and the sound of the bus rumbling down the road one early Monday morning. It felt good already, just to hear your voice over the phone with my eyes half closed and heart fully opened - feeling loved. I wonder where those feelings escaped to, probably just sucked up by you - every last drop of it - till there is nothing left.

Sleep, don't weep,
My sweet love
My face is all wet
'Cause my day was rough...

Down Memory Lane

'Welcome to the real world' she said to me,
Condescendingly
Take a seat, take your life
Plot it out in black and white

In view of yesterday's incident, I placed the idea of visiting my old school today aside, thinking perhaps a trip down memory lane wasn't the best idea in the world, with Stanley still in the hospital and his family still sitting out in the corridors, waiting for him to wake up. But then again, life goes on with or without Stanley I guess, and it's not like I am stuck at the hospital to take care of him, whatever. I'm sure there are people out there who were hit harder than myself, but still going on with life as per normal. So what makes me any different?

So when Ahmad messaged me in the morning about visiting the school, I hesitated for a while on the phone and wondered if it was a good idea in bed. In the end, I succumbed to the wave of nostalgia that swept over me like a warm blanket and agreed to meet him later in the afternoon. But at the back of my mind, there was a constant voice, telling me that it isn't a good idea to visit the school, that you are going to be disappointed and perhaps bored out by it. The truth is, I never truly liked my time there, and when I told RuiQi that I was going back to school, she was surprised that I was being so 'loyal'. I told her I wasn't, and that I was merely bored. Besides, the school is less than five minutes away from my house, it'd be like going downstairs to the hawker centre to buy fish ball noodles, so why not?

I never lived the dreams of the prom kings
And the drama queens,
I'd like to think the best of me
Is still hiding up my sleeves

As I did a million times before, I never truly enjoyed my stay at the school. The dislike didn't have anything to do with the school culture itself, but rather the fact that A levels just wasn't my cup of tea. In fact, I think every single JC that I go to would produce the same results, and at the end of the day I would end up disliking the system anyway. But that is not to say that the school did not have its flaws. The uniform sucked, and the students never truly liked it. The material was too hot for us, thick and heavy like sang bags. And that is of course, besides the fact that it was the same color as our droppings in the toilet. I remember WeiYi was talking to Mr. Yee in class, and she told him about an incident on the cab when the driver asked if she was from HCJC, because we have very similar uniform. Ashamed of her own school, she admitted to that mistake instead.

Saying that you are from "NanYang" literally makes you sound like a fish from the Southern Ocean. You don't sound nearly as prestigious as if you tell people that you are from "National" or "Raffles", or even "Anderson". "NanYang" just doesn't have a ring to it, and instead of thinking about you as a student with files and books in your hands, people relate you to a sardine in the middle of the South China Sea. It's not a good thing to begin with, but it's not like the idea of changing the school name to Chung Cheng was very welcomed a few years ago. We were used to that bad name, and we were hesitant to change it.

They love to tell you
Stay inside the line
But something's better
On the other side

Dressed and prepared, I was ready to brave the onslaught of youth back in school. I've always enjoyed meeting people of the past, showing them just how much I've changed as a person. Thinking about how I was in the past, I can't tolerate the fact that people's impressions have been stuck that way about me. I wasn't in the best shape, and like Hanwei so kindly put it to me once," You are way more desirable right now". He didn't mean it in a homosexual way, but then in a way I agree with him. I was in a train wreck, and the fact that I wasn't good at anything made things worse. At least now I have something to sell, as I crossed the running track with Ahmad and a bunch of people on either side of us, kicking soccer and playing basketball in a tournament. It was a familiar smell of grass from the field, and the sight of boys and girls younger than myself, running about in the campus in that uniform. They changed the color actually, into this disgusting looking brown, as if the last one wasn't bad enough. It looked just like the old one, but washed too many times in a bucket of milk. It just looked weird, really.

Climbing those familiar steps of the grand stand, I had a weird sense of deja vu. The girls all looked like the ones we had in our days, and Ahmad kept going on and on about how much cuter they are compared to our year. To be honest, the aura that these youths were emitted made me feel so old. It's not about feeling older, because I crave to be older that's for sure. But feeling old, that's a different thing altogether. I'm not sure if I am making any sense here, but being old and feeling old are two totally different things altogether. So there I was in the middle of the youthful crowd, with the sound of a girl screaming over the speakers and other students selling canned drinks and stuff, feeling a little lost amongst the crowd and within myself all at the same time.

I wanna run through the halls of my high school
I wanna scream at the top of my lungs
I just found out there's no such thing as a real world
Just a lie you got to rise above

Ahmad and I just wandered the school mostly, and friends we knew came rarely. I saw JunTing, whom I talked to briefly about Stanley's condition and his life nowadays. But it was hard to hear him over the girls at the announcement counter, with one of them being pretty cute too. I was too distracted today, standing in a crowd of absolute strangers, I suddenly felt lost and disorientated. It wasn't different to get around the school, because everything was pretty much the same everywhere. I knew the corners at the back of my hand, and made my way through the crowd like a gliding snake. But still, the place felt very foreign to me all of a sudden, and not even the teachers there with their familiar faces made any differences.

The place was stifling, and I don't remember it being ever so hot. It might have been the number of people, shoulders against shoulders, chests against chests. The both of us took refuge in the library, and it still smelled the same as ever before. The way the air-refresher smelled so subtle in the air, and the smell of books and the wooden shelves at the front just reminded me of the old days when I used to mug my ass off before the As, in the library with Corinna till the school closed. Those were the good days, as dreadful as they were actually. Because those were the days, the beginning of a beautiful friendship that lasted until now. I sent a little 'card' of sorts to her online that I made, with a picture of the library I took today, and I dearly hope that she liked it. Because those times spent there in the cold library with you, were truly the physical manifestations of happiness.

So the good boys and girls take the so-called right track
Faded white hats, grabbing credits and
Making tranfers
They hit all the books but they can't find answers

Met up with a couple of old teachers, and most of them didn't recognize me when they saw me. Mr. Teo at least stopped for a minute or two to talk to me, and he mentioned how 'funky' and 'modern' I look now as compared to the past, as if I looked like a living dead or something. But then again, he wasn't nearly as bad as Mr. Yee when I greeted him in the hall. He took a full minute to recognize me, and I told him about how he ignored me when I saw him at the Bugis Kinokuniya just the other time. He smacked his head so hard that I swear, I thought his head was going to pop off from his sockets. He laughed, and said that his memories were failing due to old age, and that he cannot remember all his students. But of course, I was just joking about it with him, and he still looks like a nice old chap, which kinda made me feel guilty for all the things I did to him, or never did.

But the atmosphere was just too suffocating. I took some time away from the people I was with and went around the school on my own for a while. In the remote corner of the school I leaned against the railing and watched as these new students ran around the field, kicked balls and sold home-made jewelries at counters and booths. It reminded me of the good old days, but at the same time I hated the memories altogether. It was a strange contradicting and conflicting emotion, one which I am still battling with myself. But one thing is for sure, and that is the fact that seeing those old faces felt good, truly.

All of our parents they're getting older
I wonder if they wished for anything better
While in their memories
Tiny tragedies

Flipping through the anniversary year book, I saw the well-wishers from graduated students, and the achievements of past students in the working life. Some became famous lawyers, doctors, researchers, actors, and even politicians. While I leaned against the railing with my hair caught in the wind, I thought about my own face appearing in a book like that someday, if the school is ever going to invite me back to their anniversary celebration because I made it somewhere with my passion for writing. I'd like to - in fact love to - to have that kind of honor. But for now, at the brink of my own dreams and aspirations, I wonder when such a dream is going to be fulfilled, if I am ever going to be good enough.

Standing in the school which ended for me two years ago, I am on the edge of beginning yet another journey in the education world two years later after the military life. I can say that I have changed, and I have changed so drastically over the years. I have grown so much, and changed into a person that the guy in the past would probably not recognize. I like this person, despite all the hardships and the heartbreaks that he went through. They just molded me into a different person, a bigger better person, simply because I refused to give in to the pain of heartbreak and the obstacles ahead.

They love to tell you
Stay inside the line
But something's better
On the other side

I wanna run through the halls of my high school
I wanna scream at the top of my lungs
I just found out there's no such thing as a real world
Just a lie you got to rise above

I have changed, and I promised myself then that in ten years' time when they celebrate their fortieth anniversary, I am going to be somehow in that book, and under my picture in big bold words "Chin Wei Lien, Class of 04. Published Author". Just you wait world, here I come.

I am invincible
I am invincible
I are invincible,
As long as I'm alive

I wanna run through the halls of my high school
I wanna scream at the top of my lungs
I just found out there's no such thing as a real world
Just a lie you got to rise above

I just can't wait till my ten-year reunion
I'm gonna burst out of the double doors
And when I stand on these tables before you
You will know what all those times were for

The Warrior of Ward 21 Bed 4

I dig my toes into the sand
The ocean looks like a thousand diamonds
Strewn across a blue blanket
I lean against the wind
Pretend that I am weightless
And in this moment I am happy, happy...

In the hours before the hospital visit, I was genuinely afraid and petrified. There were pictures of my dear friend Stanley, wrapped up in white blanket and with dried blood all over. Of course, after being admitted to the hospital nearly two weeks ago, I'm sure the nurses already cleaned that up. But still, it's just the image of him lying at the side of the road in a drain that has been haunting me in the hours before the actual visitation. Like I said before, I had no idea what to feel or react when we see Stanley at the hospital. Because as new an experience as it was for have a friend in comatose state, I was new to the hospital as well. I might sound like a mountain mushroom here, but it was my first time at a hospital, and it wasn't a lovable experience I can tell you that.

In the cab as it sped down the expressway, I was messaging and contacting my friends, all the time looking out of the window at the passing cars and the westing sun. It was so strange just looking at those cars, with their occupants busying themselves with the journey home, or a date somewhere after work to meet with their boyfriends and girlfriends, their husbands and wives, children and grandchildren. Despite the afternoon rain, the sun still hung low under the gray clouds, exposing the bottom half of the golden sphere as it slowly progressed behind the jagged horizon like the crooked teeth of a giant. Everything went on as usual, nothing stopped for Stanley's critical condition. Nobody bothered, because nobody knew. Does it make it any less an emergency, because his accident was never published in the papers? Time does not stop for anybody, and as brutal as it is life goes on. We take the next breath, until we cannot take them any longer.

I wish you were here
I wish you were here
I wish you were here
I wish you were here

I hate to admit it, but like I said, it was my first trip to the hospital. But then again, it's not like it is a bad thing, because my friends have been very healthy people, and intact. None of them ever suffered from any illnesses or ailments, which is great. As for my relatives, they are all in Taiwan, with a dozen cities and seas in between. When some of them passed away in the last decade or two, I've always been here in Singapore, and never had the time to visit them at the hospitals whatsoever. Whenever I do, it'd always be too late. We met at the funerals most of the time, or in the cemetery mostly. Goodbyes were seldom said between myself and the dying family members, but it's not like anybody could help it. That is just the way it was, so many people vanishing in our lives, so many tragedies and so little words of farewell.

After paying the cab driver, there was a momentary hesitation to open the door. At the arrival bay in front of the main lobby, there were people coming in and out of those glass sliding doors, with beds at one end of the walkway and tired looking visitors on the other, all arranged in a messy but orderly fashion, if that made any sense to you. It certainly was a contrasting sight, as I braved myself against the smell of the hospital air and got out of the vehicle. There it was, the entrance of the hospital like the mouth of a giant concrete and glass monster, inviting in the living souls and spitting out ghosts of the distant past. There it was, opening and closing to us humans, and I was swallowed into the wave of fellow ghosts soon after.

I lay my head onto the sand
The sky resembles a back-lit canopy
With holes punched in it
I'm counting UFOs
I signal them with my lighter
And in this moment I am happy, happy...

I met up with Hanwei and See Hwee, and the former had a circular band-aid stuck to his wrist. He was at the blood bank donating blood, and when asked if I could help out with it, he told me that the blood bank was closed, and that underweight people cannot be a donor of blood in the first place. Just outside of the 7-11, we waited for others to arrival, all the while trying to talk about our lives and Stanley's optimistic condition to cover up our awkward and nervousness to the visit. Personally at least, there was an overhanging shadow on top of my head, as I pictured the wards just one floor above ours, and the patients lining up on their beds in a neat row in clean bedsheets and nurses busying themselves around them. I pictured Stanley in the ranks, and for some reason his face was blurred in my image. It was hard to concentrate on the image at that moment, but it's not like I wanted to anyway. Now that I was there, I had this urge to dash out of the entrance and away, never to return. Like Jonathan, I probably wasn't ready to witness a friend in such a beaten state. But as the plan of escape slowly conjured itself, WeiJie, Martin and Zen arrived swiftly after, and we proceeded upstairs via the biggest elevator I have ever seen to the wards.

They say that the colors of the walls in hospitals are painted in a certain color code because they are supposed to be soothing. The same case goes for fast food restaurants, with most of the walls painted in the shades of orange, red and yellow to supposedly increase the appetite of the customers. Well, 'supposedly' is the keyword here, because to me, the color of choice in the corridors of the ICU was just plain morbid. Taupe wasn't the best color of choice I'd say, and along the corridor were other anxious visitors standing in groups, surrounded in an atmosphere of their own. The nurses found their way through the crowd in their green and blue scrubs, and all the time looking anxious to go somewhere. These beautiful warriors that battle against death, those beautiful white hands of theirs probably saved so many lives and lost so many others too. I tried to imagine the white fabric covered in blood, but being just outside the door to the ward, it was too pessimistic a thought.

I wish you were here
I wish you were here
I wish you were here
Wish you were here

We took our turns to go into the ward itself, and I did it with my arms around Simon's shoulders. The door opened, and the smell of medication attacked our nostrils. The smell was strong inside the room, and on both sides of the room there were rows of rooms with giant glass windows and doors. Like Kenneth said earlier, I did sort of look like a zoo somehow, with animals being caged and us being the spectators. But of course, none of us were there because we paid for the tickets, or because we wanted to see a friend in a comatose state. We just wanted to pay our visit, and as strange as it was to view a friend through the glasses, I think it was the least that we could do.

We approached the room where Stanley was slowly, and all the time we could hear the steady beeping of the machinery all around. A heartbeat of a patient somewhere, or perhaps it might have been Stanley's, pulsating through the heavy air around our heads and hearts. There he was, the brave Stanley, the warrior, laying on the bed with his eyes half closed and in a coma. His eyes were watery, as if he was tearing to the fact that so many people were visiting him. But at the same time, it was unclear if he noticed us or not, it was hard to tell. His chest heaved to the steady pumping of the breathing machine to his side, pumping air into his lungs at an almost too rapid rate. He was dressed in one of those flowery gowns that hospitals issue, and the blanket was pulled just to just below his belly. The bruising on his left eye was still there, but was obviously in the healing process when we reached there. Tubes stuck out from his arms and throat, and the hole that was dug in the latter was covered in layers of white tape and bandages. His aunt came, and asked if we'd like to go into the room itself. We thought about it, and both Simon and I agreed that it was better if we stayed outside. I'm not sure about him, but personally I thought the smell of Stanley's struggle might be too much to handle.

The world's a roller coaster
And I am not strapped in
Maybe I should hold with care
But my hands are busy in the air saying:

We came out, and it was somebody else's turn to enter. So with that system going on throughout the night, we took our turns to visit him because only two or three visitors were allowed each time into the ward, in the fear of bringing unwanted germs and diseases to the patients inside. According to Hanwei who was there throughout the day, Stanley's situation has improved. With his liver and kidneys back in function, all we have to worry about now are the lungs and the coma. Apparently the McDonald's delivery bag that he was carrying saved his life, because of the fact that it cushioned much of his fall.

After meeting with the family members, we found out exactly what happened during the accident. At 4am that night, Stanley was coming to an end for his 15 hours working shift everyday, and was supposed to have a delivery at that time. But when the delivery never arrived, the customers weren't too happy about it and there was a sort of investigation. At 5am, a cab driver who passed by the area saw a wrecked motorcycle by the side of the road, and no rider to be seen anyway. He got out of his car and inspected the area only to find Stanley's body by the side of the road, in a drain and left for dead. It was an hour before anybody found his body, and by that time his innards were already badly infected by germs and in a deep sleep. For the past twelve days or so, everybody has been hoping for the best and expecting the worst, and as much as we wanted to do something for Stanley, all we could do was to stare at him through a thick glass window and pray for his future.

As we sat at the hawker centre downstairs, we had a quick dinner and snacks, following by some catching up between old friends. We avoided the topic upstairs, fearing that we might bring back haunting images or unwanted tears. The scene downstairs was drastically different, with people having their late dinners and everybody minding their own businesses. People lined up at ATMs, wheelchairs were being pushed around, and it just looked so much like the insides of a giant monster, with the cells running around ceaselessly in the organs and the life never stopping for anything or anybody. I looked around in awe, at how ignorant the people were at the tragedies that occurred upstairs every single day. But of course, we couldn't blame them because they didn't know. They couldn't possibly mourn for the loss of a great friend because they never known the guy.

We met in the army, Stanley and I. And through the course of our meeting, our superiors have been telling us how to be aggressive against our formidable enemies, and how to fight a battle against them with our rifles and tanks. But of course, the real battle was always inside our hearts, to conquer our fears to kill the enemies and to fight on, no matter how steep the slopes might be. However, we never had real enemies in the army, no opposing forces with real bullets firing at us through bushes and trees. Just wooden boards tied to a stick and stuck out in the mud, or fellow battalion mates with a yellow band tied to their arm acting as an enemy, and firing blanks at us from a safe distance away. The truth is, we never fought a real enemy no matter how much the superiors tried to instill in us. Outfields sucked, and most of the time we couldn't be bothered with 'killing' the enemies and overcoming the 'objectives'. We were just there, hoping that time would go by faster, and it only went by slower and slower every single time.

Now that we are both out of the army, Stanley is fighting a war of his own in his head. No rifles this time, or tanks, or bayonets, or anything that could deal critical damage to the opponent. Because the opponent is invisible, the opponent is THE Death we are talking about. Even with his organs slowly coming back to life, it is still hard to tell if he is ever going to make a full recovery from his coma. Or even if he recovers from the coma, it is hard to say if he is going to remain as Stanley Yeo, as we all know him by. This battle in the ward is being fought twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and has been going on ever since the moment his body flew out of the bike and landed in the roadside drain.

We all tried to do our best, we all tried to be the best soldier out in the fields. Some for recognition while others for pride. But this true warrior - Stanley - is fighting for neither of those, but the most basic of a human: Life. The most intense war is going on in that small room of his, with tubes hanging out from his body and his stomach still left opened for the blood to be drained. And outside the body, he just looked like he was having a troubled sleep. To be honest, Stanley wasn't nearly as bad as I thought he would be, but it was still a hard sight to look at. I could - or we all could - feel the silent war waging deep within, the truly warrior putting his chest up against Death.

Knowing how to fire a SAR 21, knowing how to kill an enemy with a bayonet, learning close combat training, knowing how to drive a tank doesn't make you a warrior. The war with the heart, the war with death, the war for life, is what truly makes you a warrior. Even if your effort doesn't amount to anything Stanley, fighting for the past two weeks already made you the bravest and most courageous fighter our company has ever seen. But hang in there still, because we don't want to see you fight a losing battle. Just keep breathing, we will be there when you decide to come back to life again.

I wish you were here
I wish you were

I wish you were here
I wish you were here
I wish you were here
Wish you were here

Wish You Were Here

So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell,
Blue skys from pain.
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?

And did they get you to trade
Your heros for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange
A walk on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears...
Wish you were here...

Man Of The Stoney Meadow

Hello there the angel from my nightmare
The shadow in background of the morgue
The unsuspecting victim of darkness in the valley
We can live like Jack and Sally if we want

His seat was empty in the morning when we came to school, and nobody asked too much about his absence because that's how it is, people get sick all the time. But when he failed to appear for the next couple of days, we were all asking the teachers about his whereabouts, if we need to visit him at the hospital because he was too sick to come to school. Some teachers avoided the questions, while others told us to ask the ones who avoided them. In the end, our form teacher gathered everybody to the front of the classroom and broke the news to us: Kim Joo's mother just died from breast cancer, and was unable to attend classes until the funeral arrangements were done.

Everybody was there, from his classmates to ex-classmates, from the janitor of the school to the principal. Everybody was there to bid farewell to a woman we never knew. But I think most of all, they just wanted to give comfort to Kim Joo because the death of your mother at that age wasn't something any Primary School kid should go through. But there he was at the void deck, with white veils drawn all around the venue, and he was welcoming us with his brother and sister. We took our turns at the altar, and I remember catching a glimpse of the wooden coffin in the back, and the way lights reflected off the glossy surface of the wood. Inside the coffin laid a woman whom I've met only once before. It was the time when we all hung out at his house, and I remember the silhouette of her in the back of the house, busying herself over the stove and greeting the boys as we came through the door. Her photograph in black and white, hung just above the lid of the closed coffin, and I remember staring upon this woman whose face I had no recollection of, thinking just how ordinary everybody look after their deaths. We all look the same don't we? We all look asleep at death, and the fact that death came so close in my life, scared the hell out of me as a kid.

Where you can always find me
And we'll have Halloween on Christmas
And in the night we'll wish this never ends
We'll wish this never ends

I only just received news yesterday night, and to know that my friend has been in that condition for the past eleven days, I'm wondering why nobody bothered to tell me about it. A friend of mine from camp, Stanley, was involved in a bad motorbike accident during his delivery job almost two weeks ago. His motorcycle was found by the side of the road, with the rider tossed into the nearby drain and was found only hours later by a passerby. How ridiculous to think that nobody stopped to check when they saw a wrecked motorcycle at the side of the road to see if anybody was injured. That is how cold our society is, nobody care about one another anymore.

Stanley lost part of his liver, and his kidneys are not functioning now. To make things worse, he has been in a coma for the past eleven days or so, and everybody he knew are worried dead about him. He was wearing a helmet then, so he suffered no head injury. But because of the amount of blood loss that night, his brain sank into a state of idle and is now in a coma as we speak. Despite donating buckets of blood, Stanley is still not waking up, still battling death in his unconsciousness, waging a silent war with unseen demons of death. To think that somebody so close to heart is battling death, somebody whom I lived with as a family for the past two years suffering like that, pains me just to think about it.

Where are you and I'm so sorry
I cannot sleep I cannot dream tonight
I need somebody and always
This sick strange darkness comes creeping on so haunting every time

I have to admit, that I wasn't too close to Stanley in the army days. He was from Platoon 7 and I from 5. But then again, in the social circle of the army, nobody has a distinction of platoons, education level, race or whatever. Everybody was part of a family, and we all mingled and socialized like we've known each other for ever. It was particular easy for Stanley's case at the beginning, because he was the kind of person who never had barriers. Just sit down with him and it was possible to strike up a conversation about anything under the sky and beyond. In the mass room or out in the fields, our paths cross sometimes and we will find ourselves talking about life and also about the harshness of the military. I remember his humor, and I remember his enthusiasm at work that infected the lot of us while we all felt lazy and lethargic. The truth is, he was a true friend that worked hard to gain his acceptance in the big family of sweaty army boys, and accepted he was.

Now that he is in such a state, nobody really knows how to react. Personally, myself and a couple of friends will be visiting him at the hospital later in the evening. But as to how we are going to react there, nobody knows. Such news affect some people more than the others, the hammer stroke falls harder on some hearts than the rest. Jonathan took a great hit, because they were really close friends back then, and to see the big guy crumble under such sorrows is in itself a painful sight. To me, because I was never too close to Stanley, all I am feeling now is a sense of loss and perhaps that overwhelming sense of tragedy. Because having such a tragedy strike so close to home is never a comforting thought, and the fact that his life is uncertain now isn't making things any better.

And as I stared I counted the webs from all the spiders
Catching things and eating their insides
Like indecision to call you and hear your voice of treason
Will you come home and stop this pain tonight

Stop this pain tonight...

Almost the whole company was 'mobilized' in the past week, most of us visiting him today or in the weekend. That's a hell lot of people visiting, and I wonder what all those people did when they visited. They donated blood, but then again the doctors are saying they have more than enough. I myself have no idea how I am going to feel when I am in the hospital, because to tell you the truth I have never been to a hospital to visit anybody before.

When I told my mother about it last night, her first reaction was a ridiculous one. Being a superstitious person as she is, a lot of her life and ours depend on the stupid book that they publish in Taiwan annually, about your luck and fortunes for the whole of that particular year, what you should do and what you shouldn't do according to your birthday and everything. And according to the book, the fact that I was born on the 29th of June 1986 makes it unsuitable to visit anybody at the hospital in the year of 2007. I find that really ridiculous, and amusing how people can restrict their movements according to a bloody calendar someone printed. To tell you the truth, I cannot care less about what that calendar is saying about me, because I am going to visit Stanley no matter what it says.

When my grandparents died, I was in Singapore and schooling at the same time. And because of the distance I wasn't able to go back to visit them in the hospitals. They left without me saying goodbye to them in any way. This is the first time somebody close to heart needs this little concern of ours, a little blessing and a little prayer, and I am not going to stop myself from going. True enough, I know so little about Stanley, and the fact that I call him a 'friend' is only because we know each other by name and talked a couple of times. Still, I feel that no matter how little you know about somebody in your family, you are still a family nonetheless, and you got to be there when you are most needed. Even if he might not be able to hear us, or see us, just be there and make your presence known somehow. I guess right now, Stanley needs all the blessings that he can get, because the battle with death is an uphill battle, and only the concerned words of people like us can push him on into the deep dark and eventually win.

It's touching, to see these people coming together to visit him, even if most of us don't know him that well. Then I started to think if people are going to have the same reaction when I go away. I started thinking about the possibilities of so many people turning up beside my ward bed, and then speaking words of concern into my ears. I can't imagine people doing that in my life at all, and I started thinking to myself last night who would turn up and who won't. I asked Kenzie to say something random online once, and she said that she was wondering if anybody would notice if she just disappeared. I wonder if anybody is going to feel the same for me, if I am involved in a horrific motorcycle accident and in a coma for eleven days straight, if anybody is going to stop their lives for a few hours and visit me. Because in this cold hard world, it's so hard to say anymore. Knock on wood of course, but I really think of that sometimes, if I will be cared for when I am gone...

So, here's to Stanley and the hope that he will make it through this ordeal. All we can do now as friends is to hope and believe, to pray that he is going to get better soon. And all we are asking is for him to wake up, to gain consciousness and that's it. Start the healing process by waking up, because to hear your voice is going to be the greatest comfort for anybody now. So wake up dear friend, wake up from your deathly slumber and reach for the light at the end of the tunnel. We shall meet you there like we once did in the courtyard of our company line, and fool around once more with our idiotic jokes and talks about life. Just hang in there, and we will be there when you do come through. Get well soon Stanley, and see you soon.

Don't waste your time on me
Your already the voice inside my head...

I miss you miss you...

The Sister Act

Living with my sister for the past twenty one years, I have come to the conclusion that my sister has only two distinct emotions. Happiness, and extreme irritation. My mother thinks that the fiercest people are the most timid at heart, and to her my sister is the perfect example for that statement. Underneath those tantrums and tempers is a girl too afraid to do a lot of things. To me, though her constant bickering about the world can get on my nerves, I am not complaining because when my father is away and the house is empty, she fills up the silence by her constant whining and bitching. But then again, there is a certain height to this threshold that you shouldn't cross, and once you do it gets very annoying to the others.

My sister and I never truly got along with each other. Of course, that greatly depends on if she is in a good mood or not. If she is, you might just have a nice chat with her the moment you step into her room. Sometimes, she might visit yours and you guys might end up laughing like wild hyenas too. But when she is in a foul mood, the members of the family will sense the invisible siren on top of her head as she wanders the house, warning us to stay five meters from wherever she is. Because we don't want trouble, and trouble would be to get in her way in any way. Talking to her is strictly forbidden, and if what you have to say is absolutely urgent and necessary, try to summarize your sentence into under five words. Anything more than that is just asking for trouble.

The mood of the house greatly depends on her, and my mother gave up about ten years ago to try to change her temper. Don't get me wrong, I love my sister. But I love her only when she is not going around pissing on everything in the world. She can be a nice girl, even if she decides to take a bite at my ear or burst out of the toilet just to scare me. But other than those times, I hate her little gestures of irritation once in a while. The way she rolls her eyes, or the way she makes that sound with her tongue, it really gets on my nerves.

Lately, because of the construction downstairs for the MRT station, she's been complaining nonstop about the noise, and the fact that she's been waking up to the constant pounding of metal against concrete every morning. Once in a while, she would scream "Shut up!" towards the site, as if the workers can hear anything more than a meter away from wherever they are. She vents her anger in the most ridiculous ways, and the problem with the noise is a constant topic at the dinner table, which my mother and I would received with the nodding of our heads and the generic "Oh yes, I agree" or "Yeah, that's right" answers. The truth is, we have heard this complain too many times, and maybe it is time to understand that it is inevitable to have noise?

It is not about whose room is bloody closer to the side of the house with the construction sister. I just think that if you are going to benefit from the new public transport system in a couple of years' time, you should jolly well stop complaining about the noise because it is a bloody construction site, not a library or an old folks' home. But then again, I bet she is going to be riding on the train in a few years' time and then telling us just how fast it took for her to get to Bishan, so happy about her new found ease in travel. To me, the pounding of the construction site has become somewhat of a background sound, and the only sound that disturbs me is the ones that my sister makes.

Other than that, she complains about the sound of our neighbors upstairs, running around in heels and moving furnitures in the middle of the night. Just now at the dinner table, with a chopstick between her lips and eyes rolling at inhuman rates, she spilled her complaints on the noise upstairs at night. Kids running around with heels, furnitures dragged here and there, and the sound of drilling in the walls too. To tell you the truth sister, our neighbors downstairs are probably wondering what the hell WE are doing in the middle of the night too. You probably don't notice because YOU are making those noise yourself, and this is what happens when you are sandwiched between two households, one upstairs and downstairs. If you are not happy about this, save up enough money and go buy a landed property, that will provide you with the perfect privacy and serenity. Or find a rich boyfriend and marry him in the next month or so, and make sure he owns a mansion in the Bahamas. Oh yeah, sorry I forgot. You are already married to those stupid boybands and their band members.

And stop complaining also about how irritating aunt is because she kept asking if you want to eat some more when you were back in Taiwan. We all know how old she is, and we all know that she had some kind of anger management issues. Besides, she was just asking if you want to eat anything else, she was just afraid that you might get hungry. You know how older women can get, they become a little naggy with age, so perhaps it is about time you realize that and stop whining about it. Because in a few decades you are going to end up like her, and let's see how you take it when somebody comes and says the same things about you.

Don't get me wrong, I love you my dear sister. But sometimes you can get on my nerves with your poker face and those little gestures of irritation. The truth is, as irritating as the world can be, that is how life is. It is all about compromises, and if you cannot compromise with the people and things around you, you are always going to end up pissed off with everything. Life doesn't go the way you want it to go all the time, so stop complaining and just bite your lips through the oredeal. It is not going to help if you are shouting at the Bangladeshi workers to shut up, when I am sure they themselves don't want to be working even on a Sunday afternoon because of a delayed schedule, nor do I think our aunt really wants to be naggy all the time. Because that is what life is, and that is how they are. Just because you are younger doesn't give you the right to be pissed off with the world.

Maybe it is about time you shut up about these little trivial matters in life. Or, maybe you just need a boyfriend like what my mother and I were talking about just the other day. You need somebody to love you, because nothing polishes you up like that kind of love. Whether it is a love that works out or one that fails, at least through those lessons you will only grow up and not remaining stagnant like you are now. Love, more than a lot of other things, is about compromises. Once you learn that my dear sister, perhaps the noise downstairs and the ones upstairs will become just the sound in the back of your head.

Beauty Of A Woman

For attractive lips,
Speak words of kindness.

For lovely eyes,
Seek out the good in people.

For a slim figure,
Share your food with the hungry.

For beautiful hair,
Let a child run his or her fingers through it once a day.

For poise,
Walk with the knowledge you'll never walk alone.

People, even more than things, have to be
restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed;
Never throw out anybody.

Remember, If you ever need a helping hand,
you'll find one at the end of your arm.
As you grow older, you will discover that you have
two hands, one for helping yourself, the other for helping others.

The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears,
The figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair.
The beauty of a woman must be seen from in her eyes,
Because that is the doorway to her heart, the
place where love resides.

The beauty of a woman is not in a facial mole,
But true beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul.
It is the caring that she lovingly gives, the passion that she shows,
And the beauty of a woman with passing years-only grows!

Feared As Asians



I saw this picture over at PostSecret.com, and it saddened me. What made it worse was how people sent emails to the host of the blog, expressing their fears for Asians as well, especially after the Virginia Tech incident. Looking down at my pair of hands and my legs, examining the yellow skin and my very Asian features in the mirror, I wonder which part of me can cause such fear amongst the Americans. Why should Asians in general be condemned by fear just because of the acts of one lunatic?

PostSecret is a website that posts anonymous secrets sent in by readers, written on postcards. Some are hilarious, while others are more disturbing in nature. It is updated every Sunday with new entries, and last Sunday's entries had the above picture in it, with the words written in black ink "Asians scare me!". Below the picture, a couple of other readers expressing their fears for Asians as well. Which disturbs me, because it is sad how people are united only at the deaths and tragedy of others, and it is not even for the right reasons!

So one fine morning, one crazy south Korean decided to buy a 9mm and a .22 caliber gun to kill all the people who treated him badly in the past, because the supposedly rich people couldn't feel his sufferings, couldn't experience his pain. I saw the videos on the news, of him mumbling gibberish to the camera, talking about how he was forced to do whatever he did, say whatever he said, which almost made him seem like the victim in this whole bloodshed. In other medias, there are voices from all around backing the killer's acts, saying that it was the students' fault to have forced him into the corner, and other absurd arguments along the lines of the murderer's innocence.

Personally, I did not grow up in a social circle that accepted me as who I am initially. All through Primary and Secondary school, I was met with really nasty people who treated you like pure dirt. Especially in Secondary school, being a lot thinner and weaker, there were issues in class about me being a Taiwanese, and also the fact that I was better than them in Chinese. They didn't like everything that I said, or did, or even the look of me in the class sometimes. I did not have an easy life initially, and I literally broke my way out of the circle of fists and feet just to be where I am now. But the truth is, I never bought guns, or brought any sharp objects to school just to stab those people in the guts just because they treated me the way they did. Because I knew, by standing up to them and coming out from the ashes, I am already stronger than those cowards who would only gang up against you, and never on a one on one fight with fists. After all, as cliche as it sounds, what doesn't kill you makes you a stronger person.

So seriously, being ostracized and disliked is definitely not the bloody excuse you should use to kill 32 innocent students in school. You probably wasn't very likable in the first place, and probably never made an effort to do so either. Do you think that you are standing up for all the outcasts in the world, that you are some kind of hero by gunning down those innocent lives? The truth is, there are worse off people than you in the world, and they are not killing these so-called bullies are they? Nobility and pride do not apply to you, and look what you have done to the Asian population in America and the world. People FEAR us now, all thanks to you.

I wonder why, when the Columbine incident happened, nobody ever said "Wow, I am ashamed to be an American" or "I am afraid of Americans now". The truth is, there are angry people everywhere, no matter if you are black, white, yellow or brown. The fact is, given a gun and a bit of insanity, anything could happen to any race of people. So why should Asians suddenly be condemned and feared just because ONE of us killed a whole bunch of other Americans? Do you see Asians carrying guns on the streets nowadays, or do they pose threat of any kind to you? Oh, of course not. They just LOOK Asian, and thus they have more potential of killing you after the Virginia Tech incident than anybody else.

It saddens me to see that, only after the deaths of 32 people is the nation reconsidering their law on guns and other weaponry. Also, the way people came together at the mourning of the dead, and at the same time united by this common fear for the same group of people. I am not saying this is the mentality of all Americans, but still it saddens me that there are people in this world FEARING Asians for that. It doesn't make me feel great about my race, because someone of my race is out there in the States being given the cold shoulder or the evil stare, as if they did something wrong by being themselves.

I also wonder, when the people are going to realize that perhaps it is about time to put aside racial differences, and just look upon the fact that 32 people were shot and killed out of rage and frustration. We all like to point fingers, because it is so easy to blame others rather than ourselves. But then again, sometimes it is not about who to blame, or who should take responsibility. It doesn't matter anymore, if the school should have done more or if the government should have had a more stringent law on guns. The fact is that these people died, and no amount of accusations or hate is going to bring these people back to life.

Because like the great Yoda said in Star Wars, fear leads to anger eventually. You cannot deny that some people are going to start hating Asians, despising us and condemning us. Some people will do that for sure, and this might only be the beginning of the end. Who knows? All the world is going to hell anyone, and we are the spectators of our own slow suicide. Like Samantha said, that is how the world is going to end: By our own hands, drowned in our own blood. And hate and anger shall boil in the sea of red.

Browning Leaves In Autumn

"Music was invented to confirm human loneliness."

--- Lawrence Durrell

Music can bring about a complete reversal to human emotions. At least on a personal level, that theory applies when I am sitting in the corner of a restaurant or cafe, staring at the bunch of strangers all around me. A friend of mine and I were just talking about this effect of music on a scene, when we inevitably started talking about my people-watching fascination. I told her about my thoughts on music and its effects, how a conventional image might become unconventional with the change of music in one's ears.

Try doing this next time if you can: While on a crowded bus, with the stench of the passengers piercing your nostrils, play the last piece of music you would expect to hear in your ears, over the sound of the Mobile TV and the sound of the bus engine. Try classical music, play Chopin's music. While doing so, take a look around the scene on the bus, and you will feel radically different all of a sudden. I tried that on the bus last night on the way to the cafe. I played The Rach 3 while watching the people returning homes from their dinners and jobs, nudging against one another to the swaying of the bus as it sped down the road. Interestingly, I was a little amused by the irony of it all, the sudden contrast of the peace in my ears and the chaos on the bus. Not to say that the second half of The Rach 3 is in any way 'peaceful', but it very accurately reflected the calm that the people on the bus tried to maintain, then following the rise to the crescendo, the faces of irritation explodes.

"Music expresses that which cannot be said on which it is impossible to be silent."

--- Victor Hugo

Like I said before about Sigur Ros' music, they really take you to places. Pick any song from their ( ) album and prepare to be dumped into a hip of depression. Because that is what happens all the time for me, and it feels good. People say that I enjoy being depressed, or sentimental, or sad. But that's just putting it crudely I say. Because as the saying goes: What recreation is is to be in love! It sets the heart aching so delicately, there's no taking a wink of sleep for the pleasure of the pain. How sadistic that might have sounded, but it is true. I do that all the time, not on myself but most of the time on others.

Watch a happy group of people and listen to a sad piece of music, they become a group of lonely people putting up a front, trying desperately to cheer up in the company of others. Watch a lonely girl sitting at a table with a cup of coffee and listen to a happy piece of music, it does not reflect the emotion of the object of observation, but the people all around, which creates a stark contrast between the two. I'm not sure what I am talking about here, but it is really an emotion I feel when I do that alone. It's complexed, and it is complicated to explain. To tell you the truth, I am still trying to get a hang of it. But at least it helps me to write, this confused state of mine, as I spill my words over the blank pages of the notebook. It helps to have a crack in the heart and a bit of insanity in the mind when you write.

"A painter paints pictures on canvas. But musicians paint their pictures on silence."

--- Leopold Stokowski

The ladies backed their way out of the cafe with a tray of coffee while I was there, and both of them had a look on their faces, almost too proud and too ignorant. They looked rich, and probably lived somewhere close, but had to dress up just to be in a cafe anyway. The shorter and thinner of the two had a straight re-bonded hair that reached the end of her neck where it meets her shoulders, and hanging from them a sleeveless top of silver that glistered under the yellow lights of the street lamp. She was the one with the dog, which she hugged in one hand while the other a plastic cup of ice-blended Mocha. Her friend was plumper than she is, and dressed in a tight spaghetti top, her excess flesh literally flowed out from the edges of her wardrobe like stuffed sausages. It was a dreadful sight to behold indeed, as I tried my very best to hide my disgust and concentrate on the notes I was writing.

They found a place just a couple of steps below, and lighted their cigarettes in the smoking area, with the dog chained to the lady's chair, helpless. But the dog clearly was agitated and uncomfortable, and it barked mercilessly at every passerby. One of them tried to tease the dog, and that act triggered an endless row of barking that displeased most of the customers at the cafe. The dog barked, even after the man got into his car with his girlfriend and drove off. Perhaps his scent lingered in the air and the dog was uncomfortable with that. Its barks traveled down the streets and the lady was annoyed. But the dog wouldn't stop barking as the other fellow customers looked on, and as she tried to grasp a hand over the dog's mouth, it only struggled harder and barked louder.

They say that dogs bark when they are afraid. A common misconception is that dogs bark to show off their ferociousness, or their strength perhaps. But the truth is, animals - not just dogs - bark when they feel threatened, when they feel scared. I bet that dog must have been petrified in view of all those strangers walking by and by. Just like me, perhaps the dog was using its barks to conceal a certain fear, who knows?

To be honest, I feel like I am using hurtful words to cover up my heartbreak or fears as well. I wrote a song last night on the computer, and deleted it at completion. I figured, nothing mattered now more than the future, and the future most certainly does not involve nostalgia of the past. But who are we to say that for sure? The uncertainty drove me to the brink of my own destruction, fear dominated my thoughts and I spurted out hurtful words to the person I used to love. Perhaps I am just hoping that in the process of doing so, perhaps I might find some truth in these words and start to despise you. I wouldn't want to do that of course, but how else will the healing start? How else can I start to fix myself if not to feel utter resentment?

A breakup can be so beautiful in a tragic way, like the browning of leaves in the autumn. But when the healing refuses to begin, or when it stops all of a sudden for depression, Hell stems from the broken heart and the nostalgic mind. The breakup itself is nothing, compared to the loneliness that ensues. Especially the kind of loneliness that you do not share. Nothing hurts like nothing at all, and hurt hurts indeed. It really does.

Which is why I admire Corinna's courage, as she browsed through my archives and teared. At least you had the courage to do so, at least you have the bravery to face the past and say that they happened, and you lost those emotions for ever. To ask me to read through those old entries would be a herculean task.

I remember standing at the balcony one day so many months ago, breathing the air of love and having a sense of opportunity and freedom, a sense that happiness was about to happen. But my mistake was, that THAT was happiness, and that was it. Whatever ensued was a journey downhill from there. I haven't the courage to go back to the old words that I typed, and view them with the innocent mind that I had while typing those. Unlike you my dearest friend, I do not have the courage to face upon the harsh realities that the love that I once owned, left with a love that she newly found. I cannot accept that, and as much as I'd like to tell myself that I can survive this, I in turn ask myself: But for how long more?

Because with this depression, healing just seems to be a long way from where I am.



Clarissa Vaughan," I remember one morning getting up at dawn, there was such a sense of possibility. You know, that feeling? And I remember thinking to myself: So, this is the beginning of happiness. This is where it starts. And of course there will always be more. It never occurred to me it wasn't the beginning. It was happiness. It was the moment. Right then."



Louise Waters," That's kind. I went back to Wellfleet."
Clarissa Vaughan," You did?"
Louise Waters," One day. I didn't tell you?"
Clarissa Vaughan," No! But then, I never see you."
Louise Waters," You remember the house? It's still there."
Clarissa Vaughan," I think you're courageous."
Louise Waters," Courageous? Why?"
Clarissa Vaughan," To dare to go visit. What I mean is to face the fact, that we have lost those feelings forever."
Louise Waters," Clarissa?"
Clarissa Vaughan," I don't know what's happening, I'm sorry. I seem to be in a strange sort of mood. It's very rude of me. I seem to be unraveling."
Louise Waters," I shouldn't have come."
Clarissa Vaughan," No! It's not you, it's not you. It's more like having a presentiment, do you know what I'm saying? Oh God, it's probably just nerves about the party...bad hostess."
[Clarissa breaks down]
Louise Waters," Clarissa, what's happening?"
Clarissa Vaughan," Jesus..."
Louise Waters," What is it?"
Clarissa Vaughan," Oh, God..."
Louise Waters," You want me to go?"
Clarissa Vaughan," No! Don't go! Don't go, explain to me why this is happening."
[Louise Waters approaches Clarissa to comfort her.]
Clarissa Vaughan," Don't...don't touch me, Jesus. It's better if you don't. It's just too much! You, flying in from San Francisco, and I've been nursing Richard for years. And all the time, I have held myself together, no problem!"
Louise Waters," I know."
Clarissa Vaughan," One morning, in Wellfleet. You were there, we were all there. I've been sleeping with him, and I was out on the back porch. He came out behind me, put his hand on my shoulder,' Good morning Mrs. Dalloway'. From then on I've been stuck."
Louise Waters," Stuck?"
Clarissa Vaughan," Yes. With the name, I mean. And now you walk in. To see you walk in, because I never see you. I mean look at you! Anyway, it doesn't matter. It was you he stayed with, it was you he lived with. I had, one summer..."

--- The Hours (2002)

To Begin, To Begin

"Writing biography is a paradoxical enterprise, at once solitary and communal."

--- Penelope Niven

So, with the first sentence I wrote in my spanking new notebook, I tore that very same page out. My horrid handwriting single-handed ruined it. There goes one blank page into the dustbin, but at least I am keeping the rest - I hope. That must have been the perfectionist in me, but I learned to keep him at bay while writing my very first entry at the same old cafe three bus stops away from my place. Trips like that to the cafe have become somewhat of a regular activity for me, and people-watching has become an interest of sorts. No, don't call me a stalker. I do not follow them home or do not have a target in particular, or both. I know denial is the first rule in the stalker books, but this is what I like to call 'People-watching', 'People-observing', whatever! This is essential field work as a writer and I am determined to carry on as long as I am not detected.

Anyway, as I sat at the table I wonder just how many more of such days would I get at the cafe, relaxed and agitated all at once. Agitated, because of the way people look at me and how uncomfortable I feel under the scrutiny of the public. Relaxed, because writing about my agitation makes me feel that way. I understand how the last sentence might have felt contradictory but I am a man of both symmetry and balance, and there can never be happy without sadness, love without hate and in this case - Relaxation without agitation. I am sorry if this paragraph and the one before might have sounded a little eccentric, but I just watched Kevin Kline as Otto in A Fish Called Wanda. Funniest movie may I add. Again.

I've been against the idea of a journal for the longest time ever. But I woke up one fine morning with an idea, or a craving to be more accurate. I wanted to be able to touch my writings, to feel it under my fingers and in my own handwriting, even if it is horrendous and indecipherable. To be honest, I am sick of seeing my words in Times New Roman or Arial. It's not like I am going to quit blogging anytime soon because I still stand by the fact that it is way faster to type than to write. In fact, I took almost forty-five minutes just to write three pages in my new notebook. But anyway, as I start writing and allowed my thoughts to flow like the tap left on by the careless man, I found out that there isn't anybody out there who is going to read what I have to write. What freedom! What liberty! What a sense of release!

So release I did, upon the paper in black ink. In the best possible handwriting, I started with the words "To begin...", and was stuck. It's like a man out of prison, or a man fired from the job that he dedicated his life to for thirty years. You don't expect him to step out of his usual restrictions and say "I know what to do with my life". With this new found freedom, there was a lingering sense of responsibility and obligation when I am pouring my thoughts. A self-censorship you might want to call it. But to hell with doubts and fears on the pages of my new notebook, because other than Dear Diary and Your's Truly, nobody is ever going to read the contents unless given the consent. And if anybody shall ponder over the indecipherable words that I have written, may his private part turn blue and drop off.

And so, after the comma at the back of the words 'To begin', everything was rather smooth sailing. It felt like driving down a straight road for a hundred miles with your eyes closed and dreaming about Las Vegas. It's not like I have done that before but, with a little bit of imagination and innocence, it is possible to conjure such thoughts I'm sure. I wrote whatever I wanted to write, some a little sensitive for the public eyes while others a little more friendly I am sure. For the latter category, I am going to elaborate and reproduce them here on the blog. As for the former, they shall stay on the pages in black ink. Because we all have secrets, and secrets make us all powerful and mysterious.

I like the look of the words. The way they look so messy and yet so orderly at the same time. It's good that Ahmad and I chose a book with lines, because I cannot imagine one with blank pages. You might have turn it ninety degrees just to write some of the crooked sentences, you never know. But whatever it is, it always feels good to find a new avenue to vent your anger, to release your frustrations and to unhinge your sadness. Because whatever goes on in the notebook stays in the notebook, and that's as good as it gets.

To be honest, I am not certain how long this habit of mine is going to last, or the neatness of the words I write. I hope I'm not going to jot some random phone number in the blank spaces of this book or something as preposterous as that. In the meantime, I am going to thoroughly enjoy my time with my very real, very tangible, and very exclusive diary of mine. I still love you my dear blog, it's just that the diary is the new pet.

So raise the champagne glasses high above your shoulders, and say Cheers!, to more private entries to come. Like I said before, blog entries aren't worth anything if you get famous. But words on pages, that is where the money is. But that's just wistful thinking. Ignore me. Now, to the next entry!

"The man who writes about himself and his own time, is the only man who writes about all people and about all time."

--- George Bernard Shaw