In Continuum.

The Blower's Daughter

And so it is
Just like you said it would be
Life goes easy on me
Most of the time

With soft brown hair that teased the curvature of her shoulders, she concealed her beautiful face behind those natural veils. In the fitting striped top and her denim skirt that reached just above her knees, there was an air of demure around her. But amidst that, a sense of vitality too, an explosion of emotions out of those placid expressions. The curves at the ends of your mouth, the only hint of your amusement. The gentle brown hair in the tributaries of black, interrupted by the white glow that the lights above made. I've seen you only through the corner of my eyes but never stared, felt the presence in the classrooms but never dared. Dared to converse, dared to interact. Dared to do anything that might make myself fall deeper inside. Into myself, the calamity of the heart.

Your sipped carefully at the cup of tea in your hands, cupping them with your small hands as if the air-conditioning made frost around your finger tips. It was cold, but not nearly as bad as you made it look like really. I wonder how long you took to drink that tea, because at the rate you were doing so, it could have taken a life time to do so. But that was the beauty of it all, the slow patient ways in you, that nonchalant innocence perhaps that stood out from all the rest. In the crowd, amongst your newfound friends, you were the only person that caught my attention, the way other flaunting classmates failed to do. But you aren't like them, the way they would as they walk down corridors or classroom aisles. You kept your distance, you marked your area. But still, with the way you attempted to keep out of sight, the beauty in your eyes shines through almost every single time. And you sit there, unknowingly betrayed.

And so it is
The shorter story
No love, no glory
No hero in her sky

Over the voice of Mr. Basnat, the voice of the class drifted in layers, over one another and then crashed into each other. The back of the class was involved in a series of bimbotic conversations that revolved around anything from cellulite cream to Powerpuff Girls, while the front of the class - where I was - leaned as far as their body could take them, over the front edge of the tables just to catch the next slide of words, or the next graph on the white board. We didn't want to miss anything, didn't want to have our money flushed down the drain because of our laziness, our inattentiveness. But at the back, the sound of girls laughing and making pathetic attempts to cover their laughter could be heard from where I was, and my constant and frequent stares into the back of the lecture hall curbed not their utter inconsideration and stupidity. But at least - I told myself - I was at the front, and I was making every minute worth it. Every minute. And just as I was about to return my attention to the board, the people behind waged a battle with bubble tea pearls. Great, a new low.

There is something good about studying Economics all over again in University, despite the tragic and horrendous results that I obtained in the past. At least now, I understand every word that Mr. Basnat is saying, even if his accent might have prevented me from doing so. His pronunciation of 'Singapore' becomes 'Singapu' most of the time, and it becomes - at times - hard to figure out some economical terms amidst his thick Middle-Eastern accents and sudden uproars of emotions when it comes to economical principles. After all, this is the same man that obtained a Ph.D in Economics, you cannot expect lesser passion from such a person to be honest.

I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes...

Despite my efforts to focus on the boards, the constant reminder that I wrote on every page of my notes, my mind strays once in a while to the rows and rows of students sitting about me. The multi-colored tiers going up from the bottom of the lecture hall, guys dressed in smart long-sleeved shirts while girls flaunted their bosoms, wearing nothing more than a tight singlet and strapless brassiere. They were distractions, and it's not like the noise they were making were of any help at all. Their voices came into my head, like heavy hammer strokes bearing down on a stubborn nail. But the nail remains unmoved, standing tall upon the piece of wood. With every stroke of the hammer, the sound only grew louder and heavier, pounding the side of my head with skull crushing force.

For the last time, I stared back into the crowd behind. The Battle of Bubble Tea Pearls was at its peak, and somewhere down the row was a row of students with their laptops opened. Ignorant, nonchalant and rude, they cared little of what the lecturer had to say, or if it was evident that they were wasting their own well-paid money on the lecture they were having. Though I couldn't see what they were doing, they were probably surfing the net through the school's network, or chatting up with a friend through MSN from another part of the island. Anything but the lesson most probably, anything but the crucial, the necessary.

And so it is
Just like you said it should be
We'll both forget the breeze
Most of the time

In the spur of the moment, I wanted to raise my hand and tell Mr. Basnat to chase those vile pigs out of the lecture hall. They were too distracting - at least for me - for us to concentrate. Their actions, their ignorant behaviors, were as good as not being there at all. But the urge within me was subsided, for such an act would only bring along a bad case of social suicide. I curbed myself, refocused my attention on the graph he just grew on the board and started jotting down notes with my black pen. Then of course, the subject of this post - the blower's daughter - took my attention away, all over again.

It was a split moment, a second that lasted no more than a heart beat. With my chin supported by my upright arm, I looked over to where she was. And she too, with a pen tucked underneath her index finger and supported by her middle and thumb, she looked over thoughtfully at my direction - as if to tell me that she too, was irritated and distracted by the noise behind. But amongst your peers, amongst the friends that you usually hang out with, you stand out but don't fit in. For some reason, they all looked a generation older than you, and your petite figured always looked to be swallowed whole by the others. But still, you stood strong and by yourself, even in the distraction of the pigs behind, you stood strong. The noise around us was suddenly lowered, as if somebody tuned down with an universal remote control. And with the volume turned down, the speed too was slowed down to a crawl. Words were seemingly dragged, motions become blurred. Laughter went out of sync with the movements of the mouth, and the piece of black pearl got stuck in mid air, paralyzed. Time stopped - I smiled - and everything started moving all over again, once more.

And so it is
The colder water
The blower's daughter
The pupil in denial

There is a time for everything. There is a time for love, as there is a time for the breaking down of love. There is a time also, for you to be in a gray area, to be lost, to be unsure of where to go to next, and also a time for new interests, new targets, a new life. But this isn't the right time, the right time for somebody new. It is the wrong time for such mindless infatuations, it is the wrong time for someone like you. This is the result of jealousy, of vengefulness, of hate perhaps. These little sparkle of feelings, these tiny explosions of emotions, they are merely the chemical reaction resulted from the hate and anger that I bore only weeks ago, that person who was bent on revenge, as childish as I sounded then.

It would be unfair, to treat her like a replacement. Like the coach of a basketball team, shouting at his reserved players to replace the injured rookie on the court. It would be unfair to lead a person on, to tell him or her your feelings, and then eventually let the person off the hook because you realized your mistake, you realized the truth: That people aren't as beautiful as your imaginations, that nobody can ever live up to those vivid images you conjure in the deep nights. In truth, perhaps a part of me, I do want her to be as elegant, as astounding, as everything that I mentioned in the first two paragraphs, in real life. Just so that when I do get to know her, I will not be disappointed, that I will not be dismayed. But the truth is always so ugly, isn't it? Who would have thought, a harmless looking girlfriend back then could have done such atrocities?

I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes...

So life goes on, with opportunities lost. And you, or you, or you, maybe even you, shall remain as part of my imaginations. Because there you shall remain evergreen, untouched by reality and the ugliness of it all. The moment I turned back, the moment I continued writing on my piece of note given out at by the lecturer at the beginning of the class, I already gave up hope, or faith, or anything that resembled those foolish emotions. It is all a part of self-defense, to protect myself from further damage. Because living a life in the shadow of the past has been hard, and to see a light at the end of the tunnel makes your eyes squint, and you no longer am able to see properly.

Which is why, just in case your heart shatters all over again, you keep your eyes closed even when the train emerges through the other end of the tunnel. Your eyelids remain shut to the sweet voices in your eyes, the smell of cheap shampoo in her hair, or the brief touch of her arm when your paths intersect at the stairwell. Your eyes remain closed, because you never know when the light might blind you permanently - like before - and you find yourself tumbling off the side of a cliff into the cold hard faces of jagged rocks.

It's not that I don't want to.

It's just that I haven't the courage to.

You had my heart, at least return my courage.

Did I say I that I loathe you?
Did I say I want to leave it all behind?

I can't take my mind off you
I can't take my mind off you
I can't take my mind off you
I can't take my mind off you
I can't take my mind off you
I can't take my mind...

My mind.
My mind.

Till I find somebody new...