| Demolition Lover |
[December 22, 2011] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 tired |
] |
Hand in mine, into your icy blue
And then i say to you
We can could take to the highway
With this trunk of ammunition too
I'd end my days with you - in a hail of bullets
I'm trying,
To let you know just how much you mean to me
And after all the things
We put each other through
And i would drive onto the end with you
A liquor store or two keeps the gas tank full
And i feel like there's nothing left to do
But prove myself to you
And we'll keep it running on
But this time i mean it
I'll let you know just how much you mean to me
AS SNOW FALLS ON DESERT SKIES
UNTIL THE END OF EVERYTHING
I'm trying to let you know how much you mean
AS DAYS FADE AND NIGHTS GROW
AND WE GO COLD
But this time we'll show them
We'll show them all how much we mean
All we are, all we are
Is bullets, i mean this
As lead rains,
Will pass on through,
Our phantoms forever, and ever
Like scarecrows that fuel this flame
We're burning, forever and ever
Know how much i want to show you you're the only one
Like a bed of roses
There's a dozen reasons in this gun
And as we're falling down
in this pool of blood,
And as we're touching hands
I'll see your eyes -
And in this pool of blood
I'll meet your eyes
I mean this
Forever
|
|
| Alpha |
[December 07, 2011] |
|
and the beginning
|
|
| A Black And White World |
[September 28, 2011] |
|
Imagine having to live in a world without colors. Your fashion sense would not differ much from that of the goths - actually, the term “Goth” might not exist, or it might hold an entirely different meaning altogether. Your coffee will always be black, regardless of the variations. Both twilight and sunset shares the same monotonous flare. Life would be boring. But what if I were to tell you that life, is in fact, only a shade of black and white? Where the spectrum of colors that comes in between our daily life, right or wrong, do or do not - they are all frowned upon by humanity. Trying to say that we don’t live in a Black and White society is like a bad case of Murphy’s Law set in motion - it’s evidently there, we just choose not to see it. A rainbow of emotions and opportunities just waiting to be discarded again and again.
The color red has always been associated with Anger. We know that spite, hatred and pretty much everything that has to do with the destructive force of our human nature is born from anger. In fact, the word “anger” is usually used interchangeably with “money”, when the “root of all evil” is being discussed. What most of us fail to realize is that we tend to focus on the wrong word. The correct term to throw light upon is “root”. Anger isn’t destruction, and in a really gray world, I’d say it doesn’t even cause it. It merely brings on a metaphoric waterfall. You can choose to be overwhelmed by it’s crushing waves, or rise above it. Where Anger ends, Action takes over. You see, ultimately, it is us that bring on the wrath, not Anger.
But don’t get too proud of yourself just yet.
Yellow represents pride. Pride in our work, of course. Pride is ourselves, always. Pride in our achievements, maybe. Pride in a new, shiny car - a step too far. There is always a fine line between an intangible proudness versus one that is tangible. For instance, we can take pride in our promotion at work, your colleagues are happy for you, your friends can’t congratulate you enough - with that new raise, you get a new car and talk about it - you’re deemed nothing more than a showoff. We are asked to take pride in our work, but can never be too full of ourselves. We are told to fight off any temptations to boast, and so it always will be a struggle. A never ending battle between grace and pride. You don’t want to find the windscreen of your car smashed into bits and pieces because of a slight trumpet blowing, your co-workers will only celebrate the intangible.
That which they cannot see, cannot harm their ego - or is it?
Lets go on to jealousy. It’s common to be jealous. I, for one, was brought up to be competitive. To work hard, to fight for my rights, to find my own place in life. We were told, since young, to study hard and be the cream of the crop. How many of us can reach the top? It’s funny that one of the virtue we should be pursuing is that of grace and amicability, but what we are in constant pursuit is to win. And when we don’t, we turn Green - with Envy. It’s confusing, to say the least. We can’t have both, just one of two.
That is just sad.
Sorrow, sadness, despair, desperation, feeling Blue - they all fall under the same umbrella, they bring about depression, which rains down on them once they find comfort with each other under the shelter of misery. Misery loves company, after all. We view sadness and tears as a sign of weakness, but why should we? Crying isn’t a sign of weakness, since birth, it’s always been a sign that we are alive. Without enveloping our emotions whole, we cannot move on with our lives. But swallowing them, and dealing with them brings out the well of shame in us which we have become so efficient at avoiding. “Everybody struggles against despair, but it always wins in the end. It has to. It is the thing that lets us say goodbye.” - Jeffery Eugenides, author of Middlesex. Without letting it wash over us, we can never safely or confidently say that we’ve let anything go.
Love, or love lost,
Intimacy is a four syllable word for “Here is my heart and soul, please grind them into hamburgers, and enjoy”. It is both desired and feared. Difficult to live with, but impossible to live without. Coined by the writers of Grey’s Anatomy, this quote represents fully the amazing contradictions found in our every day’s wants. And we know it well too, we just forget that we do. It’s coming to a point where I think we all need a Pink bottom cupid to prick us at our clueless moments, and deliver messages about the fine line between love and hate, give and take - and how we should appreciate the colors in life.
To take the good with the bad, the bitter with the sweet. To do away with “or” and reinvent our perspective with “with”. Because only then will we appreciate what is in between.
Amandine Guisez, author of Colorful World, says this, "those who deal with Color speak the same language, a language concerned with the intensity, brilliance or depth of a particular tone, value and shade." Like Amandine, I believe that we should all speak with color, and experience the brilliance which will be invited through it. I don’t think the world will change into a better place, or change a lot even, just by us accepting shades of other moralities. But at the very least, it should become a more interesting one, where Black and White are merely bookends on the shelf, with multiple perusing opportunities in between.
|
|
| Anatomy |
[April 23, 2011] |
|
Doctors know the human body better than anyone else. Where one opening ends, another one begins. How to fight diseases. How to prevent the need to fight diseases. The anatomy of a human body is significantly complex, which is why i think it takes doctors so long to get to where they are. Even till date, not everything about the human body is known. But they do their best.
Doctors know the anatomy of a human body well. But nobody knows how put in place the anatomy of a human life.
The biggest questions in life are the hardest to comprehend, to grasp, to think about. Who we are, where we come from, where do we go from here, what is our purpose. I'd sooner cease breathing than to fight these questions, head on. But if every road leads us to a metaphoric Rome, i think we find the answers a little by little along the way effort free, without knowing and without trying. That when one door closes, another one opens. How to tackle heartache, how to love, how to stop loving. How to move on.
"In medical school, we have a hundred lessons that teach us how to fight off death, and not one lesson on how to go on living"
Greys Anatomy
In many ways, living is easy, but to live on takes a lot more courage than you think you need. If i were to ask you to sum up "LIFE" in 3 words, what would they be? "It Goes On"
|
|
| GA |
[February 09, 2011] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 good |
] |
Dr. Arizona Robbins
Greys Anatomy
Most people think that I was named for the state, but it's not true, I was named for a battle ship. The U.S.S. Arizona. My grandfather was serving on the Arizona when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, and he saved nineteen men before he drowned. Pretty much everything my father did his whole life was about honoring that sacrifice. I was raised to be a good man in a storm. Raised to love my country. Love my family. Protect the things I love. When my father, Colonel Daniel Robbins of the United States Marine Corps, heard that I was a lesbian he said he only had one question. I was prepared for "How fast can you get the hell out of my house?" But instead, it was "Are you still who I raised you to be?" My father believes in country the way that you believe in God. And my father is not a man who bends, but he bent for me because I am his daughter. I'm a good man in a storm. I love your daughter. And I protect the things I love. Not that I need too, she doesn't need it. She's strong, and caring, and honorable.
And she's who you raised her to be.
|
|
| the secret |
[December 14, 2010] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
cheerful |
] |
until the last resilient hope
is frozen deep inside my bones
and this broken fate has claimed me and my memories
for its own
your name is pounding through my veins
can't you hear how it is sung?
and i can taste you in my mouth
before the words escape my lungs
there is a secret that we keep
i won't sleep if you won't sleep
because tonight may be the last chance we'll be given
we are compelled to do what we have to
we are compelled to do what we have been forbidden
|
|
| amber night |
[October 18, 2010] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
calm |
] |
if you walk out on me
i'm walking after you
...
i'm listening to foo fighters, with a giant pile of unread (but woefully subscribed) times magazines, a few loose pieces of National Geographic, study light switched, notebook and pen ready for the pickings - but here i am typing away on my macbook.
this is what i mean when i say, technology robs us of all the simple things we used to do.
so with a certain (not-yet-cultivated) self discipline, i am going to attempt to finish up this entry, after which, peel my monitor-hungry eyeballs away from the screen and find comfort in works and words inked or penned, and not fingered (?) in through a keyboard.
it's been more than a year since my enlistment into the army, and it's less than a year away when i'm going to be out of it. it's strange that i'm excited about ceasing this national slav, i mean, service - but to a certain extent, i'm beginning to realize what everyone's been telling me about army.
it's brainless, and worry-free.
i don't think i'd get that a lot back in school, or at work.
but that's tomorrow's problem. i'll worry about it then. for now, back to my notes, magazines, cut outs and tangible words.
(P.S. I can't log into http://singaporemarathon.com/ can someone tell me if it's my connection, or is this happening because everyone's trying to get on the site too?)
|
|
| mother |
[August 29, 2010] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
amused |
] |
the sun shines, and leaves blow
and my hope like autumn is turning brown
i know it seems like
i'm always falling down
but it does not matter to me - although it seems like it should
it's because i know i'm understood
when i hear you say
"rest in me, little derek
and dry all your tears
you can lay down your armor and have no fear
cause i'm always here when you're tired of running
i'm all the strength that you need"
it's uphill both ways
tomorrow i swear i won't act this way
i know that seems like that is what i always say
it seems so very far away
when will i learn to obey?
...
last night, while i was in the midst of sleeping, i was jolted awake by a resounding crash. i woke up, and got out of my room, and checked on my mom - then my house, my front door, nothing. nothing happened, except that i woke up for nothing.
i know this seems like a pointless story with no ending.
"Yesterday I went to the market with my mom, and i saw a lot of fishes, and there was a cat, that was brown in color. I had breakfast and went home"
"and then?"
"and then what? that's it lah"
but no.
this crack-sound-wake-check-on-mom experience happened since before i could remember. and i know it sounds odd, or paranoid, but i always check on my mom first. not out of fear (of the sound), but that she might be hurt in some way.
i guess kids cling to their mom in more ways than one. we try like hell to escape their consistent and persistent nagging, we turn their advices on deaf ears, we ignore them when we're angry, but my mom has always been here. as all moms do.
i don't think i can ever understand this kind of unconditional love. but someday, i hope, i will - because i'd like to appreciate my mom a little more than i do now. why is it that i wouldn't hesitate to take a bullet for my mom, but whenever she nags (for 2 hours straight) i wish i was out of the house?
i cannot remember a time when she didn't stand up for me, even through hard talks and showers of squabbles, i'd end up with money on my desk, food on my table, countless things i take for granted.
but when the day ends, when night comes, when i go to sleep, and a crack of thunder interrupts my rest, it is my mother i would check on first, do anything to protect,
if only we could learn to obey, instead of just protecting.
|
|
| wipeout |
[August 26, 2010] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
calm |
] |
tonight,
tonight we search for lost time
tonight we bid for the past
the lights,
the dreams we have
the streets with the rushing crowd
where does lost time disappear to?
when we make too much haste of things
we don't stop
to notice people, or things, or ourselves
we walk without looking
forgetting that hurrying doesn't always make up for time
it sometimes kills it
slow down
look around
and find out what you've been missing all around
the old woman by the roadside with a lost look
the kid who lost his ball
the squabbling lovers
your heartbeat
come back to the present, and the future will take care of itself
...
in my field of vision at the very moment, i see the city lights. they look a bit like a thousand lit candles, some burning brighter than others. like miles of fire. in a distance i can still see the scurrying of people, oblivious to the sights around them. hurrying home, hurrying out, and here i am lost in the season. the breathtaking view i take for granted all the nights and all the mornings (when i'm home).
i promise i am going to be best friends with my window because it never fails to awe me.
a little closer to home, my room looks excruciatingly messy.
[Note to self: Do something]
and here comes the fireworks, showering the skies with colored ember. i wonder what happens to it when it all settles down.
|
|
| transpire to inspire, before it expires |
[August 24, 2010] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
amused |
] |
...
hobbes
"write
with a pencil
tied to your heart"
that's beautiful, and here's a trivia, i prefer writing in pencil - homework, school work, doodles, i prefer pencils. probably because they're not permanent, something about lead shaving off itself and finding a place on a clean sheet makes me calm.
inspiration.
i think that's what we all need a little more, a steady beat, a melody, the crashing waves, anything that cues this divine influence directly into our hearts. i realize in the end, a good piece of music, an excellent article or the best of a film matters not if the brain's empty, it's the heart that saves us, saves our muse. like hobbes said, write with a pencil, tied to your heart.
music.
old playlist.
that is my inspiration. have you ever heard an old song in your playlist, one you kept on repeat over and over again, until it's finally replaced - and after listening to it a few years later, it's suddenly new, and suddenly fresh - and it seems different.
or a book, you've read ages ago - left to remain on a dusty shelf, and one day, perhaps out of boredom you decide to peruse it again - and it tells a different story.
because at very different junctions in our journey towards futurehood, we need to make choices, and no one can make them for us. we learn and discern for ourselves, through experiences, and because we're at different points in our life, everything looks different, everyone looks different - and a song changes its meaning. a story begins at different chapters, some more significant than others.
that's my source of inspiration.
history.
because for me, my playlist contains my years, my songs, my diary crying out to me. this personal history doesn't just teach me about the past, it helps me grow, and maps my future. it's like a waffle, soaking up the conversations i had, the sudden stroke of ideas, the aspirations, the people i've met, or have decided to un-meet - and then fed back to me after awhile.
haven't you ever heard a song, and it sends shocks of nostalgia throughout your body. you close your eyes and a window opens in your mind. you're back in school, where radio was cool, that one song that bonded you and your classmates together, the one you sang together on stage on teacher's day - the one you shared with your first love.
and then as suddenly as the window opens, it closes, snapping you back to reality. but it's okay, because now you're done retrospecting, you bring forward the smile or tears. you close that book again, and again it lies in wait - for the next time it opens, telling another story. something to learn from, something to share with new friends.
it's how we are all connected.
stories we share.
we look back, to move on - and not stay stagnant. like winter that comes with the rushing wind, summer's just round the corner.
...
the first day of fall, is the last day i'll kiss the sky
the cold air surprises
my bones have been spoiled by the summers heat
the sun hides its face, and i'll hide mine too
sooner or later this winter will rain down and leave me to wait for one year
i'll be there
next year this time, i'll be there, i'll dream of the past and wish that i was there
i am burning the letters of days gone by
i'm sorry but i'm scared that my heart will regret all the things that i've done
breathe in
all of the ashes of my mistakes
gently collapse
and no one will notice you're falling too short of your breath
I'VE WASTED MORE TIME DREAMING THAN LIVING
I'VE WASTED MORE TIME DREAMING
cherish these days and enjoy every breath like it will be the last of your life
never look back
because you won't forget why you cry
|
|
| help |
[August 23, 2010] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 annoyed |
] |
"the trouble with love is, if you don't risk anything, you risk losing everything"
...
a long hiatus since my last decent post, but honestly, it's been something like that of a dry well for me these days. i have nothing to write about, and it's scary because i think if this continues, it might forever remain dry.
so please. give suggestions on what i should talk about, if you can. HELP ME!
but someone told me to write, even if you have nothing to write, just write. so i'm writing.
...
now what?
|
|
| as the canyon comes between |
[May 10, 2010] |
|
i never knew that everything was falling through
that everyone I knew was waiting on a cue,
to turn and run,
when all i needed was the truth, but that's how it's got to be
it's coming down to nothing,
nothing more than apathy.
i'd rather run the other way, than stay and see the smoke
and who's still standing when it clears
let's rearrange,
i wish you were a stranger, i could disengage
just say that we agree, & then never change
Soften a bit,
until we all just get along, but that's disregard
you find another friend,
& you discard,
As you lose the argument,
in a cable car,
hanging above,
as the canyon comes between.
& suddenly, i become a part of your past
i'm becoming the part,
that don't last
i'm losing you, & its effortless.
without a sound, we lose sight of the ground, in the throw around
never thought that you wanted,
to bring it down
i won't let it go down,
'till we torch it ourselves.
and everyone knows i'm in,
over my head
with eight seconds left in overtime
|
|
| take all of me |
[May 01, 2010] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
calm |
] |
you broke the night like the sun
healed my heart with your great love
& any trouble i couldn't bear
you lifted me upon your shoulders
you stand on mountain top for me
with you i'll walk through the valley
you gave your only son for me
your grace
it's all i rely on
i love you
all of my hope is in you
Jesus Christ, take my life
take all of me
i love you so,
thought i'd give up my life to say
"i need you so,
you're my everything"
a love that is stronger,
a love that covers sins - and takes the weight of the world
|
|
| by the by |
[April 27, 2010] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
cheerful |
] |
it's been a page out of somebody's book for me, some days i feel like a bystander, watching. waiting. the canopy above my senseless head seems to thin out more these days, mindless banters thrown out of balance. motion set in motion, and the hour glass (still glued to the table) runs slow - yet fast.
half a year has gone, and half still remains, unforseeable, but i remain hopeful that it will be better. that it will get better.
but i grimace at the thought of boredom, at pointless jobs meant for time wasting. but, like a pebble thrown out into the river, i stay suspended in murky waters waiting (anxiously) for the settling, and continuation of what is to come.
in the moment, though caught in limbo, i can shake my fist toward heaven with a resounding roar - but what good is that?
so i make my life interesting.
and if i say it is, it is.
because without consent, meaningless life remains nothing but a term.
say yes to Existentialism.
say yes to jab. (what?)
|
|
| push |
[April 03, 2010] |
|
your words they come out easy
and i am speechless at best
your star it seems to shine above the rest
you're the face before the camera the smile i'd like to earn
the closest thing to heaven
in a Hollywood to burn
you're the beauty that is deeper than eyes can merely see
the closest thing to perfect
but the furthest thing from me
you're the dream that hasn't ended and i'm still anxious for rest
your words they seem to hang above
my head
you're the bud before the flower
unfurls into full bloom
captivating beauty but it may be all too soon
you're the song that writes a story
that leaves a lot to read
i'd love to be the shoulder that you cry on,
i'd love to be
the friend you call when things are great
|
|
| oh dear |
[April 03, 2010] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 apathetic |
] |
& i was positive that unless
i get myself together,
i would watch me fall apart again
...
these days, i find myself fantasizing more about ORD-ing than i do about sex - but i suppose that is normal for all NSFs.
meet my boyfriend, leopold "butters" stotch
i find,
in my time,
moments plenty,
things a dozen,
one time too many,
so many maybes.
we flip a coin, in search of fate
when destiny arrives
we swear it's too late
we whine,
we cry, we pause to think
we waste
our time, we pause to think
release, leave it,
we carry on
our journey down the sun shone
path,
forks or not,
cross the crossroads
nodes
points
directions untold
that, adventure
means a lot more
than time spent wasted
thinking about
what if,
maybes,
it could be,
so many,
too many maybes
(p.s. laughs at mood, if you're reading this, check out my mood Jolene, and Jabberwocky)
|
|
| you have to Believe it to See it |
[March 30, 2010] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
chipper |
] |
you don't know what you're becoming
who knows what you're going to be
we don't know where we're going
we don't know 'coz we can't see
if i could tell your future
i'd say,
"Love the world you find!"
in the dark times and the hard questions,
let some sunshine in your mind
the sun is rising
and i think that's good
You're just now realizing
somethings you never thought you would
|
|
| bandersnatch and the jubjub bird |
[March 25, 2010] |
|
there's a love that transcends
all that we've known ourselves
& i'll wait for it to come
it's got to be strong to touch my heart
if it's not too late for coffee, i'll be at your place in 10, we'll hit that all night diner and then we'll see
...
being in Vietnam is like getting on an airship, and then it carries you through a certain wormhole, and catapults you back through time. i got off the plane with a certain expectations not unlike the ones i had between before, and my first trip to Bangkok, Thailand.
somehow, they seem to me. at the very least, i thought the people would be as friendly, and warm.
warm. i didn't get that from the people, but i sure got a hell lot of that from the sun.
it's dusty.
soot envelopes the air around you, trapping you in a somewhat brownish bubble of smog, distant light doesn't capture much of your attention, it actually doesn't capture much because, through all the dense air, somewhere in between, the beauty of the country ricochets off each other, and ends up lost in the midst of - yes, i emphasize, dirt.
& that's the least of your problem.
the traffic in Vietnam is made up both cars and motorcycles, and if i were to assign percentages to both, it'd be 10% and 90% respectively. it almost seems like getting a bike (motorized, more often than not) is a rite of passage. not unlike the boys in Singapore enlisting into the army. only in Vietnam, both the boys and the girls get a bike when they come of age.
Daddy! I'm 21 tomorrow!
Okay let's go to the motor show room!
Cool!
And it seems like there was an agreement made years and years ago, that when they want to ride, they would ride together, all together, all 21938120983120893 of them.
HOWEVER, however
after taking some time to settle my heart, and find peace with the unnaturally high level of constant car and motorcycle honkings, the layer of dust and dirt on my face after a whole day of walking about, and the grease covered slippers and shoes at the end of every day - i found joy in the little things.
the simple times.
my initial idea of Vietnam-Thailand co-relation wasn't that far-fetched after all. sure, the Vietnamese were a lot colder and harsher than the friendly faces in Bangkok, but life - on a whole - actually seems the same. less the amount of tourist-shoppers and mega malls, the streets would look similar. and the people live their life a day at a time.
the food on the streets contributes to the back-to-the-past element. make shift stalls, road side hawkers, all of them stirs up a wonderfully complimented meal when you try to look into the life of the country on a whole.
the rudeness of the people, the sandy air, the constant honks, the countless motorcycles riding lawlessly across crossroads (often ignoring the traffic lights), the relentless sun - the flavor of Vietnam. the flavor of the people, the dusty atmosphere, the vibrant sounds makes the city (or town) alive.
the food, the pho, the bottled-down MSG.
it was neither a good, nor bad trip.
it was an experience.
and that is always nice to recount in later years.
some more pictures can be found on facebook. if you should feel compelled.
if not, go visit Vietnam yourself.
|
|
| in wonderland |
[March 21, 2010] |
|
have i gone mad?
i'm afraid so. crazy. bonkers. out of your mind. but i'll tell you something
(pregnant pause)
all the best ones are
...
my mood is swinging with the tunes from the Alice in Wonderland's soundtrack playing in the background. mood setter, it is, my fingers started itching the moment i popped the CD in.
...
Tuesdays with Morrie might just be set down as one of the world's best book about death. backwards, although i am and i admit it, i've just read the remaining two out of the three books by Mitch Albom.
The first. For one more day.
Tuesdays conjures up the primal fear of death, and how one man not only accepts it, he rose above it. it speaks of courage in presence of fear, giving light to the general disarray.
albeit a good book and an amazing read, after having done away with the three books from dear Mitch, the pattern of writing is telling, and predictable.
but then again, whatever is wrong with that?
i think he's written another book again, something about having a little faith.
shocking.
however, i think i shall take a whack at it.
but for now, i shall slumber to the Jabberwocky tune. all pun intended.
|
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