Sometimes it’s not the actual content, it’s just the gesture that matters.

It probably meant nothing to you, but I am grateful you picked up my call. To hear the beeping, and to feel my heart thumping at my throat, not sure whether or not you'd pick up.. I can tell you I was almost on my knees when I heard your voice on the other end.

I didn't need you to rush over to my aid (which I know is far too much to expect), or to conjure some miracle spell to fix my woes. What I really needed was to just have you pick up that call, and speak to me for a few minutes. And you did that.

 

Thank you.

To have and to hold

A place where you belong, where you look forward to going at the end of the day.

It doesn't matter if there isn't any hot cocoa

Or the décor is less than optimal.

It matters not that there isn't soft music in the background

Because all that matters is that you belong there.

The shower may be icy cold

The bread might be a little stale.

But you have that spot you long for

That spot that curves around your body just right.

If you're lucky, the fridge is always stocked with ice cream

Chocolate milk, Sandwich meats, cheese of various kinds.

But if you're luckier there's someone there

Who you could share it all with

Curled up in that corner you oh so love.

You know where everything is

You know the best spots to lie in

You know each creak of the floor

Each tick tock of all the rooms' clocks.

You belong there.

You move and breathe with ease

Even if the air is a little dank

The pests are always present, but you already know them best.

You belong there.

 

 

 

I wish I had somewhere I belong.

A Part of Me Just Died

It should be none of my business; and I really shouldn't care. I wish I could look the other way, or be the better person and say that I am happy for you.

 

But I'm not.

 

I thought I had let go. I thought I had moved on. I thought that time had healed my wounds, and that I would be able to be happy for you.

 

But I'm not.

 

I still feel the cold shot run to my feet, rendering them numb. I still feel my heart thumping faster. I still feel the need to search out "Who is she?" "Is she better than me?" "Is she smarter than me?" "Is she prettier than me?" "Does she make you laugh?" "Does she make you smile?" "Does she make your toes tingle when you think of her for a while?"

 

I am insecure. I am out of line. I have forgotten my place.

 

But I know that even if the answer to all those questions are "No"…I will always be the one you made excuses against. The one unworthy of you. The one you placed on permanent hold. Perhaps now you've found the one who makes you feel like everything is in place right away. I can't fault you for that.

 

It just still hurts, that's all.

You who opened the box.

Ring Ring

*picks up*

"May I speak to Mr. Jeffrey?"

"You have the wrong number"

"Ok, sorry."

 

A few minutes pass

Ring Ring

*picks up*

"May I speak to Mr. Jeffrey?"

"Nope, still the wrong number"

"Ok, sorry."

 

The next day

Ring Ring

*picks up*

"May I speak to Mr. Jeffrey?"

"No, Can't you hear I'm a woman here?"

"Ok, sorry."

 

A few minutes pass

Ring Ring

*picks up*

"May I speak to Mr. Jeffrey?"

"No, this is not Mr. Jeffrey!" *irritated*

"Is this the number xxx-xxxx?"

"Yes, but it's still not Mr. Jeffrey, no matter how many times you call!"

"Ok, sorry."

 

This goes on for several days and I've finally had enough. Today, on my day off, this woman wakes me up with yet another call. On my off day!! So I decide to have a bit of fun.

Ring Ring

*picks up*

"May I speak to Mr. Jeffrey?"

(with a perfectly unmasked female nasally voice) "Yes, this is Mr. Jeffrey."

"Err…you're Mr. Jeffrey?"

"Well, you dialed my number, and I picked up. So I must be Mr. Jeffrey."

"Are you sure?"

"Ahhhh yes….it comes to me now. I am Mr. Jeffrey"

(clears her throat and begins her mantra "Ok, Mr. Jeffrey, I'm calling from ***** (government agency). Will you please clarify why I am calling you?"

"Oh? But you called me…you should tell me why you're calling."

"Well, if you were Mr. Jeffrey, you would know"

"Well, you called me. I think you are the one who should tell me."

"Well I was just told to call Mr. Jeffrey. If you aren't Mr. Jeffrey, why would you ask me to call you?"

"Ahhhh….now it comes to me. Yes, I, Mr. Jeffrey, called to ask you out!! On a date. Ahhh, now I remember."

 

*hangs up*

 

 

Why is she the one who's pissed off?

 

At any rate, I'm almost hoping she'll call again.

 

 

 

What makes you feel beautiful....

 

 

 

 

He said he didn't draw a fierce lion, for he did not want to scare me. But the lion will protect me nonetheless, because it is, after all, a lion.

 

 

 

 

 

He was a wild one; couldn't follow a set of instructions if his life depended on it.

 He rolled, tussled, and even chest bumped with the greater beasts. He’s fearless. He ran headfirst into any chance of facing danger. As powerful as a titan.

 

One day, we were looking through a book, and I asked him to read which part of the story told him about the picture. He looked up and asked if he could draw the lion in the book. I told him that no one was forcing him to; but if he wanted, he could draw me a nice lion and I should like that. I told him to write at the back that it was meant for me; I even gave him the spelling of my name in case he didn’t know.

9 year old boys usually scream and gag at the thought of doing that for the opposite gender. This one, just nodded his head and took down my name. The next time I saw him, he carefully unfolded his masterpiece and presented it to me.

*the heart, is melt*

It’s these small things that make a terrible day suddenly seem 10,000 times brighter. I was up to my eyes in mucous and coughing out all the disgusting things in the world short of a cat’s hairball, and was in no condition to be with the young beasts. But I felt a sense of duty towards them, and today, this lion made my day.

 

 



Don’t I have a nice smile?

    I have a dream. I dream of a world where my smiles are welcomed, accepted, and people just smile back. I dream that someday, I will live in a world where people will no longer ask me "What do you want?" or "What have you done?" or quickly search behind their backs and rummage through their bags when I smile at them. I dream of a world where no one runs away from me the moment the ends of my mouth curl up and my eyes light up.

Can’t stop thinking of it.

So you were decked out in this tuxedo….yes, TUXEDO. You're speaking into a microphone up on the trapeze; declaring your great love for me. You dive from the platform, spread out your arms as you gracefully bounce onto a large inflated pillow about 50 feet down. Then, I ate small tangerines behind a shopping cart while you comforted me and told me to be nice to your mother.

 

 

Man…dreams are weird.

Occupational hazzard

The manager insists we smile and say welcome greetings each time a customer walks in and to say "Thank you, come again" when anyone leaves. Even when we're not the ones serving that particular customer, we just have to say it. Needless to say it became a habit. One time, I was at this fancy restaurant with a previous employer (non-retail) and as I was leaving, I looked the maitre 'd straight in the eyes, that glossy see-through type, the plastic grin I was so programmed into giving, and clear resounding tone "Thank you, come again!"

Needless to say, the maitre 'd was puzzled, I was mortified.

Two years later, I still find myself suddenly forgetting myself, thanking people in the elevator (who did nothing but accompany me in the harrowing journey in the elevator itself, not even help me push the button) as I exited. One fella was so embarrassed he blushed and muttered "err... hi"

Now that I'm in a totally different profession, I find that there are still so many occupational habits I just can't shake off easily after-hours.

Oh well, luckily it's not very harmful. I think.

Phantom animals

One

I asked her why there were so many receipts for cat food, when it was a hostel business. Did they provide shelter for cats? Who paid for the cats' lodging then?

She said no, the owner of the hostel was running an ordinary hostel; it just so happens she has a soft spot for cats..and there were a lot in the area. There was a porch and cemented area (at which point she starts to hold out something in her hands. Nothing that I could see, but it was there; in her head, in her hands) that the cats could freely "hang out" at. Her hand seemed to be cuddling some imaginary cat as she spoke. She stroked it. She continued: the owner would feed the cats at this "open lounge" and that is why she is buying so much cat food; hence the receipts for 10kgs of cat food almost every week.

She was not only fondling an imaginary cat by now, she had also "lifted" and adjusted the poor critter and continued stroking it. She looked out far into the distance as she spoke, and continued to pet whatever feline she had in mind as she told me this very important bit of information.

I couldn't decide which is more amusing; the hostel owner spending almost 500 bucks a month on stray cats (she sometimes hired groomers and cleaners to tend to the loungers' needs), or my esteemed colleague cuddling an imaginary cat.

 

 

Two

Found in a book: At this time our goats had two kids, our sheep had five lambs and one of our dogs had puppies.

 

I wanted them to identify that goats' offspring are called kids, sheep's lambs, and dogs' puppies.

"What are the babies of dogs called?" (points to book)

"puppies"

"What are babies of goats called?"

"Baby goats"

"No no…." (points to book)

"Chicks!"

"No! What did the goats have?" (points to book)

"Kids"

"So what are baby goats called?"

"Chicks!"

"No…" (a toitle feeling emerges)

"What did the goats have?"

"Kids!"

"And what did the dogs have?"

"Puppies!"

"So what are the babies of goats called?"

"Kittens!!"

 

Oh God………save me. This goes on for about 20 minutes and I finally give up. One boy stands up and tells me about his dog that had puppies. His language is less than sufficient, but he tries..

"Last time, my dog have puppy. But two die."

I notice he seems to be 'cradling' something as he speaks. I think it is a puppy. A phantom one, but a puppy nonetheless.

"When two die, I sad. But I boy, so I don't cry."

His voice is rough, his actions even more so. But he is gently cupping his hands where (I assume) a puppy could fit. He caresses each one, then turns away from the rest, murmuring to his departed puppies.

*heart melts*

Another unloading

 

"Age does not guarantee wisdom.

Education does not guarantee intelligence."

 

 

It's that time of year again. The monsters move into hibernation for a month. A whole month being parted from my beloved monsters. They no longer hate me as vehemently as they did a year ago; in fact, they are very much undeniably sweet. Mama loves all of you equally. Some more equally than others, but equally nonetheless.

We don't get to choose who we imprint on. Part of why we just suddenly find ourselves falling for people we know aren't the ones we technically seek is because of this unrecognizable human nature of imprinting. I saw how this kid imprinted onto his driver. I'd known the kid for months and he was just "there". Talkative, sure, but he was just "there". Until the new driver came in. One day, when I was walking him up to the van, his face just suddenly lit up and I saw that he was looking at the driver. He looked up at me and told me that later in the van he was going to tell the driver about his bread. On another day he practiced roaring like a lion with me because he was going to roar with his uncle in the van. The driver understood that the kid had taken favor onto him, and he entertained the excited boy each time. They connected. They didn't choose to, and didn't have to think much of it, they just connected.

It's not the first instance I've seen of kids suddenly transforming once they get to know a certain other person; but this particular one amazed me on a different level. First of all, the driver was new, hardly spoke any English, and has not much prior experience with children. The kid speaks only English (kiddish words and sentence structure, but still, English) and has met several other adults who are more likely to have gained his liking. However, it was this particular person who the kid chose. It was his "favorite driver", and according to the kid, the fella is awesome.

I'm lucky enough to have had a few of my own. And thinking about it, I could never choose who I wanted. The connection was either there, or it wasn't. The trick is, to recognize when it's there, and to build up on it. I always tell my monsters that I love them not in spite of them being monsters, but rather I love them because of it. I love that they show me how they hate the world, because it means they aren't afraid of being their true selves with me. I love that they are grumpy, because it means they trust me enough to know what they need of me, and that I'm here for them in their ugly grumpiness. I love that they criticize me mercilessly, because it means that they know I am willing to admit I am mistaken whenever I am; and that they welcome me to be mistaken. I do not look for perfection in them, and they return to me this great favor. I do not have to be any vision of perfection, I do not have to match some elusive expectation, and I do not have to put up a strong front. All I have to be is what I am. What I truly am. And they grace me with the privilege of knowing who they truly are.

A little bit crazy.

    So I like to drink tea. Why do you grudge my tea-drinking prowess? Why do you question my innocent cup seeping in the sun? It's a cup of tea, that's all it is. I drink it. It is my tea. What poor childhood did you go through that you grudge me a cup of tea? My own cup of tea. You didn't buy it for me. I made it. Myself. I made myself a cup of tea. Stop questioning it. Just leave it alone. Don't you know tea gets petrified when questioned? Stay away from my tea!!

A week’s worth of unloading.

I don't want to read

I don't want to eat

I don't want to sleep

I don't want to lie down.

 

I've spent the whole week crawling painfully into bed. Sick, sore throat, even completely losing my voice at some point. Just as I thought I'd gotten better, my body decides it's time to have a major case of the cramps. I haven't had cramps in months. And of all times for it to arrive, was at the spa. Thanks, anatomy. Thanks a lot.

 

On another note, I had fun this week. Not with the usual things I have fun with, but this time with a colleague. I drove her insane with my antics. Eventually, just seeing me smile would irritate her. But she couldn't help but smile too. She'd burst into a small laugh and that would irritate herself even more. I'd smile again. She'd start cursing at me. I'd smile again. Eventually our boss caught wind of our game and demanded to know what was going on. I insisted I was just smiling at her, and that she was getting pissed at me for it. My boss replied with "Well that's because you only smile when you've done something. Something that someone should be wary of." Thanks boss, glad to know you have such faith in me.

 

On yet another note, I spent four hours with animals. I like animals, but these were most undeniably animalistic. They did not recognize affection, did not respond to loving purrs, did not want any treats, all they wanted to do was get in the fighting cage and maul each other. I had no voice to prevent this, my body too tired to fight back, my mind not awake enough to think of an exit strategy. So I just stood there. In all my helplessness, I just stood there. She kept telling me all this is just temporary, that I needn't worry about it. What does that mean? That I don't have to care? Fine, then.

 

And then, of all things, my rice cooker had to break down. I hardly use it, but it was handy to have. Then they came and told me that one day "it just stopped working". Great. They asked for the warranty card (which I have no idea where I put). And now God knows no one's going to get that fixed. Perhaps one of them will buy a new one. Perhaps. They are the ones who use it regularly.

I can speak.

Listen to me.

There are thoughts in my head.

They make sense.

I am intelligent.

I am wise.

I have great things to say.

Just listen to me.

Listen not just to what I have to say,

But also to how I think.

Listen to my outlook on life.

It is worth something.

It is worth you listening

It is worth you taking the time.

Don't listen to me because I look nice

Because I look like a rainbow after a rainy day

Not because I look like I just walked off a TV set

Not because of your secret wishes to undress me.

Listen because of the warmth of what I say

Listen because in my frustration there is always humor

Listen because in my anger there is always amusement

Listen to me for my thoughts.

They make up who I am.

But if my voice is taken away, remember that my thoughts are not.

I am still that same person.

I still have that same warmth

I still have my sense of humor

I still feel amused.

Do not jeer at me because I am confined to gestures.

Do not look down on me because I do not have the gift of speech.

Am I nothing if I do not have my voice?

Do I only matter because of my voice?

Is that all I have that is of value?

You, you who point and jeer,

You who prod me with filthy fingers.

You know nothing of my wrath.

Am I only a body,

Not capable of feeling,

Not capable of hurt,

Simple because I cannot speak?

Simply because I cannot yell and scream

Because I cannot give retorts to foolish teasings?

Why am I suddenly of lesser value?

You who do not dare to even look at me when I am capable of speech,

What gives you the sudden courage

Knowing that I cannot return your unworthy tauntings?

Why am I degraded,

Why do you dismiss me as uneducated,

Why do you judge me to be weak,

Simply by my inability to speak?

I have a voice.

You may not hear it right now.

But it is there.

I have thoughts, and I can speak.

Perhaps not right now,

But I can speak.

I can say powerful things,

I can be even more hurtful than you are now

I can make you cry without even laying a finger on you

If only I had my voice.

But today,

It eludes me.

And you found me on my weakest of days.

And you broke me down.

I still hoped there would be lollipops.

    Haven't been to any for years. Literally, years. I don' even remember my last time. And now I had to go. It's one of those things that you wouldn't go to unless you absolutely had to. And I had to. And I had to go to a place I had never been, a place I don't want to be, and I was alone. I sat timidly waiting. Just waiting. The waiting wasn't so bad. It was the moment the taste of what was happening that I started to close my eyes. I caught myself reciting chants t calm my shivering body. My fingers were numb. She asked if I was ok, I told her I was terrified. There were tears forming in corners of my eyes, and I felt soon they would start trickling out. Thank God they didn't.

    When she told me all wasn't well, and showed me photos to prove it, my heart sank. I'd have to go there again, and again. It would be my new "hangout". Except I hated it. I hated the sights, the smells, and even though the people were extra gentle (given my condition), I still wasn't comforted by it. I felt frail, and weak. But I held on, and I survived Round 1. And I'll survive Round 2, and no matter how many more, I'll face it. With tears in my eyes, with scrunched forehead, with numb fingers, I'll face it. And I'll regain myself each time.

A new word has been created.

 

Toitle – Describes the moment when a harmless, foolish mistake has been made that you want to repair, but cannot (for whatever reason) so the only thing you can do is to look at another person and laugh. A helpless laugh. You know the mistake isn't that great, but it is irritating that you cannot fix things so all you can do is laugh.

 

I have been having many toitle moments lately. The only reason I can laugh about it is because in a way, I know it will end soon, but another terribleness will come right after. So all there is, is toitle. I wouldn't go so far as to say "out of the frying pan and into the boiling pot" because I know it won't harm me physically, and that I will survive this moment. Horrible as it may be, I will survive it.

Disbelief.

Take moment.

Think about it.

Think of someone random in your life. Someone you know, but not enough to call a friend, but not estranged enough to be a complete stranger.

Just think of someone.

Anyone.

What if, that person suddenly disappeared from your life? As in, one day they were in it, and the next they weren't. They still exist, still live their lives pretty much the same way. Still go about their routines, still interact with them same people. Except you.

You text, no reply. You call, they don't pick up. They haven't blocked you (as far as you know) from any social media or apps, and in a sense they are right there in your phone's memory. But they aren't in your life anymore. They no longer speak to you, and you no longer see them. In a way, they are still your "friend", or so says the social sites. And the way "smart" inventions are, everybody and their kitchen sink is synced to your phone's memory. Like it or not, they are there, but they are not.

It's bizarre how all the interactive apparatus should technically bring us closer, but as the same time, when everything is so accessible, nothing is. You see them, you see where they go, how they feel, what they are wearing, but at the same time, they are no longer part of your life. They remain in your life, but at the same time they are out of it.

Even if you knew where they lived, what car they drive, where they eat, where they send their dry cleaning, it is so easy for them to cut you out of their lives. It's like "today I decide I want nothing more to do with you" and then you're just thrown out.

Sometimes you know exactly the reason for this, but sometimes you don't. Even if you knew why, part of denial is that you try to rationalize what they've done, and partially you start blaming yourself. Perhaps you are partly to be blamed. Perhaps it is their loss at losing you. Perhaps you are lucky to be cut out early on so you aren't sucked into some sort of terrible whirlpool. Perhaps it was all for the best.

All the possibilities run through your head, and you keep going over them one by one. Trying to understand. Trying to comprehend. Trying to make sense of what has happened. You thought you mattered. You thought it was different this time. You thought you made a difference.

 

In the end, it just hurts, that's all.

 

 

 

No more lollipops or jelly beans.

It's not the first time. There was once before. I don't remember the details of the first, because that's just the way things are designed. But there is one distinct detail I do remember. That feeling of tooth fragments filling up my mouth. I'd spit them out, but then there would be more. I tried holding on to them, not wanting to lose my teeth, but I knew the inevitable was already there. It was just me trying to hold on.

The first time, I don't think it was so severe. It was one tooth, chipping away and I would "taste" the fragments and try not to spit it out. I could taste the rotten bloody teeth tingling on my tongue, and it was disgusting. I finally spat it out to discover I had lost a tooth.

But yesterday, it was more than that. Again and again, no matter how many times I spat onto the pavement, wherever I walked, more tooth fragments would appear to fill up my mouth. I guess I must've been some sort of shark, otherwise no way should I have any teeth at all. I proceeded to accept that I had lost those teeth that I spat out, and the pain eventually went away. I ran my tongue over the bare gums and went to a dentist. He had me fitted with brand new gnashers. They fit the purpose, for when I smiled no one knew they were fake. But I did. And I smiled anyways, knowing all the while I was no longer complete. But I didn't feel resentful that at such a young age I no longer had my biters. Somehow, I just felt acceptance. It hurt, but I accepted it.

 

Maybe I'm just nervous about the upcoming dentist appointment I have, or maybe they are signs of greater things to come. No matter what, I will find a way to reach that state of acceptance.

Apple chips and mango crumbles.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed. When you look forward to something, then it doesn't happen, you can't help but feel disappointed. Sometimes you are lucky that you are bestowed the immediate realization of it not coming through. But sometimes, time drags on; and you keep hoping that you misread things, that there was still hope that whatever it is that caused you to smile and skip about was going to come true. But that time of hope is still the same. You smile at yourself, imagine yourself smiling, even when you're not. You smile on the inside, you replay all the wonderful possibilities you are about to encounter. You beam at yourself, you sing a little song to keep the mood going. You move faster, somehow, so time feels like it's moving slower. You keep waiting, and waiting, and you look forward to that special thing ahead of you. Then you come to realize it's just not coming true after all.

 

Dreams last for so long

Even after you're gone

 

Snakes in a plane

 
    So after my much needed vacay, I came back to the office to see my admin staff usher in a wildlife guy and bring him to the back. Wait….wildlife guy? What's he doing here? Apparently, on Monday when one of the male workers opened the back door, he found a nest of baby cobras. He put them into a box and threw it away, and afterwards the admin girl called the wildlife people and asked what they should do, and they said they'd come for a consult.

 
Wait, let's rewind for a bit.

he found a nest of baby cobras

a nest of baby cobras

a nest of baby cobras

baby cobras

cobras.

Now, a bit of informative reflection:

 
Pay close attention to what it says about the mother. She stays with the eggs. Guards the mounds tenaciously. Venom is as potent as that of the adults.

 
Ok, now let the panic set in.

 

 

 
Helllllll…….we park our cars right by that door. There was a cobra's nest there all along???

 
When I was younger, a king cobra made its way into my house, and I was alone at the time (save for my fat uncle-cat and a recent mommy cat and her litter of three). I couldn't figure out why the mother cat was hissing at this corner and (thankfully) I didn't rummage through the mess she was hissing at. I feel faint just thinking of how that might've transpired.
Anyhow, when I had safely moved to my bedroom, after hours of sitting about a meter away from where the creature was dozing under a pile of fallen junk mail, the mother cat decided to attack. I heard a commotion and opened my bedroom door and saw the mother cat fighting a snake. I didn't think it would be a cobra. A king cobra. But I knew from its size it was probably dangerous. So I closed the door. I breathed in, opened the door again, hunted throughout the house for the three baby cats and scooped them up. Scooped up the hefty uncle-cat, hunted for the mother who was all bristles and claws; but no, my arms were full. Uncle-cat likes his fish a bit much. Deposited kittens and hefty uncle-cat into my bedroom, opened the door AGAIN, and exited my room, careful not to let out any of the felines in my room, hunted for the mother cat, scooped up mother cat, put her into my room, exited the bedroom AGAIN to go to the room next to mine where the home phone was (at the time I was not even in my pre-teens yet and the 2^nd millennia had not started. Cellphones were a luxury selected people had. My father had one.) and frantically dialed my father's number. The phone rang in his bedroom. He had left the phone at home.

 
So there's a snake loose in my house, a room full of various aged felines safely tucked away, and I had to wait at least another hour for my parents to return from work. Where do I choose to wait for them? Perched on the sofa a meter and a half from where I saw mother cat tussling with the snake. Genius. I'll spare you the details of how the creature was finally caught. But the snake guy said pretty much the same thing the wildlife guy said. We were lucky we didn't encounter the mother king cobra. They are daaaaayyyyyuuuuuuummmmmmmm fierce. The one found in my house was an adolescent male, and was more prone to hiding away rather than confrontation. How it managed to slither into the house, we still do not know to this day.

 
Back to our current day excitement, the wildlife guy that came said that behind our office is apparently their natural habitat. And chances are there are scores of families living in the small wilderness behind us. I probably sound like I live in a remote village where chickens roam free and children don't wear shoes when they play outside. May I assure you, the only chickens you will find here, are ceramic decorative ones, or the unfeathered carcasses you keep in your freezer.

 
My colleagues started panicking, refusing to go to the pantry (nearest to the back door where the babies were found), asking for a state of emergency to be declared, regretting all those times they parked their car in the alley near the "wilderness".

 
Me? I'm sitting here eating a vanilla cream bun.

When the little dimes matter.

 
Have you ever come across this sign before?

 

 
    So I was on the bus the other day, and these two men (foreigners in my country) boarded. I took very little notice of them (shame on me) as there were plenty of other people getting on the bus as well. I only took note that one of them sat next to me and I felt slightly (read: very) uncomfortable at the odor he was emitting and the fact that there was plenty of vacant seats on the bus, and I felt of all the choices of seats, he should have the courtesy to choose one next to his same gender. He was dressed as a man of faith, therefore shouldn't he uphold the boundaries of proximity between man and woman? Not that I'm such a glorified pious creature, but if you had a choice to sit elsewhere, why would you squeeze up to me? I could hear the shallow parts of my human nature creeping up. You stink, you are reaping off the benefits of being in our comfortable country, and you refuse to admit your place in this society. You claim the equal rights of the native citizens, and yet you do not adhere to our common courtesies. I catch myself in between. They are people too. If I condemn them to stereotypes, then how am I better than those pigeons I preach to be of greater intellect and wisdom.
    Irritated as I was, I tuned my ears to what was happening. Apparently the man had gotten into a tussle with the bus driver. You see, the busses display the sign above prominently. I rarely ride the bus, but I am familiar enough with the policy. If the fare is 2.50, but you only have 3, then you'll just have to part with the extra 50 cents, unless the driver so happens to have change on hand, which is entirely at his liberty to dispense (or not). However, perhaps this man and his friend had not encountered this phenomenon and had always either:

1. Had the exact amount of bus fare (therefore not needing change)
2. Been given change (again, it is at the discrepancy of the bus driver)

In this case, the man had paid for both himself and his friend, coming up to a whopping fare of 2 bucks. However, he only had a fiver on him and he put this into the fare box, which looks something like this:

(ignore the photo caption..that has nothing to do with me)

 
As you can see, there is no way for the driver to claw out the change, and it was pre-stated that no change will be given. So technically, the driver is right in ignoring this man's pitiful pleas and whines to be given his change. And man, did this fella know how to whine. In his defense, he probably doesn't know much of our local language, and he was reduced to repeating the amount of his supposed change again and again to the unwelcoming ears of the bus driver.
    From where I stand (or sat, rather), I was irritated at this man's bodily odor, at his incessant whining and repetition, at his feeble attempt to gather support from the other commuters, at his sitting next to me when there were other vacant seats available, at the bus driver's absolute refusal to listen to his pleas. But I imagine what it must be like for the bus driver. This is probably not the first time he is encountering this. He works long shifts with people who refuse to pay, try to sneak in for a free ride, people who get on then after 10 meters discover that the bus is not passing where they are headed, people who insist on getting down at the most impossible spots. Now here's just another nameless, faceless person who is trying to get change when change cannot be given. Yes, he could wait for other passengers who pay in small change, and give it to the whining man. But between his long shifts, the rain, oncoming traffic, the various other passengers' antics, why would he care at this point?
    I think then at what must be going on in the foreigner's head. He's away from relatives and his homeland, come to this (comparatively) prosperous country to earn a living. He probably lives in a cramped up abode with 14 others of his nationality. If he's "lucky", he's only trying to make a living for himself here. Otherwise, he might be trying to scrape together money to send home to a family who depends on him for their livelihood. Every dollar, every cent, counts. These people are abundant in this country because they are willing to work for very minimal pay; something that the locals are not. I remember a time when losing 10 cents sent me scavenging on the bus floor and being so very worried when I couldn't find it. And yet, I have never had to worry whether or not I would have food to eat, or if I would have a roof over my head. Not even worry if somebody else would take up my sleeping space if I happened to be home late. I make (at least) triple what this man makes, and I know the value of a lost dollar. I still think of what I could have spent on with that lost 3 bucks. What more this man, who can't even afford to have his clothes appropriately washed and dried (hence the odor).

 
    The man makes this feeble attempt to garner the support of an adjacent passenger. But the person is of a different nationality (still a foreigner), speaks much better local language, and quickly understand the situation. But he is impatient. He tells of the whining man "It is your own fault. Who asked you to drop in the money when the driver told you not to?" The whining man returns his gaze to his friend, and injured, helpless look in his face. His friend gets up, walks up to the driver, and tries to plead by calling on the name of the Almighty. The driver says that if he insists on getting his change, that he follow the driver back to the depot and settle the issue there. He radios in the problem to the HQ, and I hear HQ telling him the same thing. The two men look at each other. Their stop gets nearer and nearer.
    When a rather larger group of passengers board the bus, the whining man next to me gets an idea. He pleads the newer passengers to give him his precious change. The dazed, confused people react differently. Most of them ignore him. But one man, confused, looks up and hands him the cash. The bus driver puts out his hand, stops the man and insists all the new passengers drop the fare into the box. The man repeats his plea "3 dollars….3 dollars…" he says to them, showing them his tickets. Most of them understand what has happened, but it is not of their concern. They know the ways of the bus, and it is probably not their first time seeing this scenario. They drop their fare into the box, get on the bus, and the man next to me continues his chant. I almost feel sorry for him. I'm short on cash this month (aren't we all, on all months?), but I'm sure I would survive if I gave the man the money he so wanted. I contemplated this option. Yes, he needed the money more than me. Yes, I could afford it. But what message was I going to send? That the driver was wrong in not giving him his change? That I was on his side? How would others perceive my act? How would it impact the driver?

 
I was far too deep in my thoughts, and the two men reached their destination before I could make up my mind. They were clearly unhappy. Before getting off, the silent friend stood next to the driver, lifted his hands in prayer and recited some chants. This irked the driver even more. The bus stopped. The men got off.

 
The scene ends, the credits roll up. But there is so much unsaid, so much unthought-of.

How does one describe feelings?

    Everything is so loud, and somehow the noise feels heavy. They weigh down on my eyelids, they force all my muscles down. Movement feels painful. The noise is deafening. I guess it could be like when Superman got his super-hearing abilities, and it overwhelmed him and he had to find a way to tune it so that all the noise didn't drive him crazy. I can hear everything, yet nothing. I can feel the rushing of my own blood, but not the way a vacuum sounds, more like crackling of static. When I sit, I can feel the blood bend and swerve to fit my shape. It hurts. The most I can do to drown out all the noise is to blast the mp3 so that at least it only one sound I have to hear. But it doesn't take away the noise. I can still feel it there, but I just can't hear it. The weight is still there. I can feel it, it's just a slight relief that the noise isn't there. It's like knowing someone is in the room, watching you, but you don't turn around to look at them; you just feel them watching you. Except, the staring is heavy. The weight is so great. When people try to speak to you, you have to push through the noise and hear out what they say. You try to make sense of it, but it often doesn't make sense. You can answer all the functions easily enough, because it's in your programming. They could ask you what 2+2 is and you'd be able to answer, though speaking in itself is extremely painful. But if they asked you abstract questions "Are you ok?" "Do you need anything?" all you can do is try to conjure up the strength to look at them; but even that takes up a lot of energy. Energy you don't have because you have to move about with this immense weight about you. You can feel yourself being buried alive, in your own thoughts. But they're not only your own thoughts, you can almost hear everyone else's thoughts, except they're not theirs, it's yours but in their voices. You think of the various possibilities, and it becomes noisier and noisier and you're pushed to this corner of silence because all the other noise is so overwhelming.

It’s important to have that in between.

 

    I'd wait at the sidelines, while you whizzed around and around. It would be hot and I'd get sticky and icky. I'd buy a cool soda and sip it quietly under the cool shade. You'd walk up to me and I'd look up at you. I'd smile and tell you how much you stink. You'd tell me I'm the one whose mouth needs a washing. I'd punch you in the arm and take a sip of my soda.

 

 

    I slept lightly, waiting for you to call. It was you who wanted to go there. It was your affair. Doesn't it make sense that you are the one who should initiate contact? Not enough that I'm giving up my time for you, doesn't it occur to you to make sure that I too have a good time? Why am I dumped with all these expectations of what you want? Make up your mind. Tell me what you want, or what you need. Ask me what is most convenient for me. Is that so hard to figure out?

    I waited the whole of yesterday and this morning for you to make arrangements; out of which you didn't. Then you ask where I am and I'm like, wth??? You didn't tell me I had to go there. You didn't tell me you wanted me to bring you there. What do you expect me to do? I'm already giving up my precious sleep time for you, for something you want, and then you expect me to read your mind and know what you expected of me?

 

 

    You'd be tapping on your computer, frowning at the screen. I'd come up from behind and ask you what you're doing. You'd mumble some distant answer, and tilt your head slightly back so it's closer to me. I'd bury my face in the curve of your neck and mumble back. We spend several minutes just mumbling at each other. I'd ask if you wanted a drink, your face would light up and nod to me, yes. I'd look at you and say you should go get it then. You'd reach back and pinch me at the waist.

 

 

    Seriously, enough with the emotional blackmail. What sort of idiot do you take me for, after all these years of you employing the same tactics to string me along and make me go with your schemes, do you honestly expect me to still fall for it? You think I don't know how you plant those seeds so he'll say those things? You want me there, then you give me incentive to be there. And I'm not talking about all the material crap. I can provide those for myself. If you have nothing but material comforts to offer, then you have nothing to offer me. Therefore, unless you specify exactly what you expect of me, then I'm just going to pretend I don't know what you want and ignore your existence.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I'll just curl up and die here, thank you very much.

That tale unheard

    They were bickering again. She crept into her usual spot and curled up into the fetal position as always. She pulled the curtains close, so it felt like she was in a different room. Not the one she was in. Not the one that was in that house. Not in that house where they were shouting profanities and regret. How could they regret? What did they regret? She existed. She was real. She was there. Did that count for nothing? Did it count for nothing that she could hear every single word, understood or not, she could hear every single word? She could hear the sobs and the futile pleadings. She could hear the defenseless household items flung across the adjacent room. She was there. Didn't they know? Didn't they care? Didn't it matter? Was her existence a mere mistake that they could choose to ignore whenever they decided? She fought back her tears, cupped her little hands around her ears and snuggled closer to the wall. The wall was cold. She shuffled about trying to get into a comfortable position. She shut her eyes. She hummed to herself, trying to drown out the noise. But she could feel it. She could feel their tense fighting going on. She wished, in that one moment, to disappear. She wished she never came to be. Perhaps then, they would have nothing to bicker about. Perhaps then, they could be happy. Perhaps then, the pain would stop.

Of salted fish bolsters and folded love letters.

I'd like to think that I'm not held down by material possessions. I'd like to see myself as a person who can rise above that need for that brand-new-something. I'd like to be the person who could part with items simply because someone else needs it more than I do. If I only owned something for the sake of owning it, and someone else truly needed it, or it would be a luxury for them to have, then I would like to be that person that could just part with it without regret.

But then there are the sentimental items. Those that you keep not because of their function, but rather because of what they mean to you. Would it be easier to decide to keep or give away or chuck it away if it were not functional? Like old love letters. Do you chuck them away just because the relationship has ended? They can do no good to anyone else, and perhaps you yourself have not set eyes on them in years. Do you throw them away? How do you decide that "this is trash" and to put it into a bag together with banana peels and food wrappers? How do you decide that you will no longer want to see reminders of when life's joy meant seeing that note tucked secretly into your text book; heart thumping and pulling away so no one could see you carefully read the written words of your loved one? Your fingers cold, trembling, your eyes darting across the room and across the page. Careful Teacher doesn't catch sight of you, and careful your friends don't try to take a peek, your brain commands your eyes to read one word at a time, but you can't. Your eyes excitedly dart across the page he lovingly wrote for you. Your face lights up, your cheeks glow, your pupils dilate. You finish reading, heart thumping like a rabbit across a carrot field, fold it carefully the exact same way he folded it for you. You sneak a glance at him, and he meets your gaze. Bliss.

There are also the safety items. Like blankets. Or pillows. We find comfort in their texture, their smell (unwrinkle your nose. You know you love that smell), their feel as you run your fingers through them. On bad days we cry our tears right into them, holding them close. On happy days we hug them tight till their shape's all wrong. On angry days we squeeze them, or perhaps just cuddle with them while whispering curse words to those who made us angry.

 

Then the greatest disaster hits. They get washed. If you're lucky, they come out looking brand new and you discover it was a totally different color than you imagined all along. You smell the fabric softener instead of that smell you loved and knew so well all these years. But if you're UN-lucky, it gets mangled and doesn't survive the wash. Or it looks fine physically, but for some unknown inexplicable reason it comes out smelling like salted fish. So you try to sun dry it. Doesn't work. You dry it for three days straight. Doesn't work. You douse it with odor remover. Doesn't work. You douse it again with odor remover. Still doesn't work. You put on its coat anyway hoping that after you hug it a few nights, your smell will return to it and cover up the salted fish smell. You give up after forty minutes of agonizing hugging because the smell of salted fish just doesn't promote sleep. You soak it in odor remover and leave it to dry in the sun. It still smells like salted fish. Now it's been lying on the bed unhugged for the past four days because even though the stench has lessened due to the multiple dousing of odor remover, it just doesn't feel right.

 

 

I miss you. I really really miss you. Seeing you at a distance, in full view but out of reach, I realize that I really do love you. They told me to just get a new one. But how do you even begin to search for one that feels just right when you run your fingers through it? How do you search for the one that cuddles you at just the right angles of your face and body? How do you decide that this is the one that will replace the one I've had all these years. Having it chucked away at the corner of my bed may be "throwing it away" already, in a sense. I don't touch it anymore, I don't cuddle up to it anymore, I've even shed tears without it in my arms. But to pick it up, and put in in the rubbish pile downstairs, with the soiled diapers and broken dishes….how do I do that?

 

So you keep in in the corner. Perhaps, just perhaps, someday it will lose the salted fish scent it suddenly developed, and though the scent may not be the exact same that you fell in love with, maybe the smell will be an ok smell that you'll learn to love. It will be a new love, and you'll have to search again for those cuddle spots you had together those past years, but it should still be there. You can't assume to just pick up where you left off. It will be a struggle. Perhaps you will give up. Perhaps you'll have the greatest cuddles ever that will last you a whole lifetime.

 

But maybe, just maybe, you're just meant to get a new one.

 

I pick it up for a moment. I don't cuddle it, for fear that if I were repulsed by its scent that I forever be disgusted by its existence. I take a gentle whiff. I still smell traces of the salted fish. God knows how it got that salted fish smell. Right after going through the wash, too! The blanket, pillow cases, another small pillow, all went in the same cycle, yet they all came out smelling just fine! Why do you have that horrid stench inside of you? Perhaps it was there all along, but I failed to notice it. I was too engrossed in my tears and need for cuddles to realize that you always had that salted fish scent inside of you. You kept it hidden, because you knew I needed the cuddles back then. You sneaky piece of fluff.

 

I held it closer this time, took a deep sniff. I think I'll give some more time in the corner. Perhaps, in the near future, we'll find ourselves in cuddles again in between the comforter sheets. I don't know whether I'll be the one to take you out of the corner, or you'll find your way back to me. But I'm keeping you. I'm not throwing you away. And I'm not "getting another" either.

The joy of a mother whose children misses her.

Looking at yourself through a mirror is not the same as looking at yourself through someone else's eyes. You may never get that opportunity; to see how you are in the eyes of someone else. Even the closest, watching yourself through a camera, can prove to be a surreal experience for those who have never experienced it. You suddenly realize how you hunch, or how ungracefully you move about a room. You realize your eyes are not as round as you see them, you realize that your voice is decidedly different than how you hear it. You look more/less confident than you always thought, you realize all the body issues you had were ridiculous/worse.

 

But sometimes, you get lucky. You find those that don't care if your tummy has an extra pinch of yum to it. You find those that don't snicker at your lack of grace, those who are with you because of who you are, and to them, you are great. Not perfect, but perfectly imperfect. And they miss you not for your few perfections, but for your various imperfections. And they hang on to you not because you are strong, but because together with them, all of you become stronger. They poke and prod you because they like to see you shine bright. And in return they shine their bright colors.

 

In that moment, I was happy.

After a day of agony.

Hey dad,

Remember that time when you walked in on me holding the razor blade, and I told you it was because I was trying to shave old school style? I've always wondered whether you ever figured out it wasn't. I remember that you usually left the food hanging on my bedroom doorknob, but for some reason this time you barged right in waving a bag of chips. I faked a smile and pretended there weren't tears down my face.

I don't think I ever thanked you for that. I wouldn't be the person I am if it weren't for you. I never told anyone this either, but that wasn't the only time I tried another "experiment". Being at home alone with big expectations to fill can do that to you. But each time I held the bottle, each time I picked up the razor blade, I thought of you. And each time, I put it all away, because as flawed, faulted, damaged as you were, you made me smile. You knew how to make me smile. And you made it a point to. You made me feel that I was awesome even when I wasn't the fastest kid in the race, and I hid away my record books because they were atrocious.

Maybe now it's my turn to check up on you. But I don't know how. I'm scared I can't do for you what you did all these years for me. I'm scared I can't be strong for you like you were for me. But I'll try.

 

 

I love you, dad.

 

 

An epiphany in candlelight.

 

Technology has hastened time. It makes time seem to go by faster. The modern man constantly complains of not having enough time. Even children moan and groan that they just don't have enough time. In order to run these faulted technology, we need the magical power of electricity. Cut off the electricity, and we are forced back to our archaic ways. But wait! Most modern technology comes with ample stored power (a.k.a the "battery") so just cutting off the electricity for a few hours wouldn't totally spiral us back to the caveman days. But it is enough for us to feel that slightly slowed down movement of time. If you're fortunate enough to be in the vicinity of others, you may enjoy the first few moments of

"Is the electricity out?"

"Yup"

"Is it just our house?"

*looks out the dusty previously untouched window*

"Nope. Whole block's out"

"Dammit"

*resumes staring at gadget*

 

    You wait for a few awkward moments, thinking that the power will come back on shortly (hopefully before your battery runs out). When it becomes apparent that it won't be coming on for a while, you have the continuation of the previous rare conversation

"so…what do we do for light"

"I think I have some candles somewhere"

"Why do you have candles?"

"They're aromatherapy candles, ok? They smell nice and stuff"

"Ok"

*Scrambles towards the room the said candles are most likely to be in using the lights of afore mentioned gadgets*

"Ok, got them."

    Now here's where you'd kick yourself if you didn't have one of the below:

1. Matches (well you did have candles…?)
   
2. Somebody who smokes (so he'd probably have a lighter)
   
3. A gas stove (I mean, fat lot of good an electric stove would have in this situation)
   

 

"Ok, candles are lit. Be careful with these."

"Alright"

*Awkwardly sits in the dim lighting staring at each other. Resumes staring at gadgets*

 

    Just out of curiosity, put down those gadgets. Turn off that tv you're not watching. Plug out the earphones from your waxy ears, put away all the gadgets. Look around you. What else do you have to do? What else do you have? If you manage to summon the willpower to tear away from all the modern technology, then good for you.

    Don't get me wrong; I'm as fond of gadgets and gizmos as the next person, but I'm glad that most of the time, I can just set it all away and look at life, look at people, look at those little things that nobody bothers with anymore. Not too long ago I made a vow to do the following:

1. When eating a meal with another person, I will not take out my phone (or any other device for the matter).
   
2. Cut down social media to the bare essentials (hereby defined as interaction with those of great physical distance from me)
   
3. Enjoy the scenery and food fist hand; not through the lens of a camera.
   
4. Pay attention to people when they talk to me (which also means, NO taking out phones)
   

 

Occasionally I feel that pang of regret that I have not much proof of the greatest years of my life; but if that other person is more inclined at learning about it via touch screen, then perhaps they don't deserve to learn about it at all. It's sad; how there are so few meaningful conversations that pass between people. They are convinced that seeing it on a screen is "better".

 

Well, tapping away at my very own screen, I'm not entirely pure of this time-sucking evil. All I'm saying is, perhaps if we set aside the technology, just for a while, we would gain some of that time we so strongly cry out for.

I will always want you

I know...I know...but it sounds nice, and it fits the bill.



Yes, I will always want you.

Perhaps out of boredom.

Out of nowhere I found a small reminder of you. When I say small, I mean teeny tiny. It was miniscule! But it was enough to remind me of you. Perhaps not because it was a reminder, but mostly because I was thinking of you. You probably think this is typical of me, to say these things at times like these; and perhaps it very much is. But that's ok. I am me. An older, more mature version, but still me. I still like to eat flavorful foods, and love to enjoy the night air and cuddle under the streetlights.

An epiphany (or another?)

There are goldfish who live happily enough in tiny bowls, and all you have to do is to clean out the bowl every few days or so. But how many fish can you keep in that one small bowl?

So you set off to get a large aquarium, full specs. Power filtration system, crystal clear shatter resistant glass, and a great mixture of the greatest most exotic aquatic creatures one could gather. It even has a timed food dispenser so you don't have to bother with the feedings. You're good to go. But what was the purpose of having the aquarium if you had no wish to bother with it? Like it or not, after some time, perhaps a month, perhaps even a year, the tank will need some form of care. Perhaps it could be a small thing, like refilling the food dispenser, or changing some of the plants that have died.

But what if the waters start to get murky and cloudy, and you can almost hear the fish coughing. Who do you blame then? Is it the fault of the fish for making excretions? Or the food for being consumed by the fish and thus creating those excretions? Or do you blame the filter for not doing its job well. If it did well a year ago, then why is it expelling filthy water now? What went wrong along the way? Perhaps it was the faulty cheap spare parts that the maintenance guy recommended the other day.

Now it becomes you job to clean it up. Never mind how it came to be so murky and filthy in the first place, all you can do now is to clean it, right? In itself, this presents a whole greater conundrum. The filter is state of the art, no other aquarium has this great filter you bought especially designed for you tanking needs. But even then, does it make sense to only scrub the sides so the aquarium will sparkle for the next few days? Or do you pick out and scrub all the pebbles as well? Will that do the job?

You know you have to clean out the whole tank, as much as it is a pain in the a** to do, you know it's necessary. It's a hefty chunk of work, but someone's gotta do it. It is your tank; and as much as the wife is gonna complain of the mess you'll create in the process, and the kids will try to get at the fish whilst they are exposed out of the safety of the tank, you know you gotta do it. So you roll up your sleeves and get to it.

First, you turn off the filter. Why? It can do no good whilst you're cleaning. In fact, it would just get in the way. Besides, the filter itself needs cleaning right? And is that the fault of the filter? Filters need cleaning too, right? And once you turn off the filter, doesn't it make sense that you clean that first? How far has the filter failed at its duties just because it needs to be shut down and cleaned? But, cleaning the filter alone won't do the job, someone still has to clean out the whole tank. After all, it is congested with fish crap and gunk.

 

Wow, all that, and it was just about a fish tank.

Under the covers, between the bedsheets.

Itchy scratchy itch itch itch

Oh how I wish I could get rid of this itch.

Curses you six legged pests

You make me itch itch itch

Creeping crawling up to my innocent skin

Slurping blood fraps flavored with gum.

Curses you six legged fiends

You make me itchy scratchy itch itch itch.

You make me paranoid of the covers

Of the pillows

Of the duvet

Of the bolsters.

Into the machine all of you then

And off to the hardware store for me

To find your poison

You six legged parasite.

Die scratchies….

Die! Die! Die!

…and she handed me a handful.

Dreams are weird. They have to be. Otherwise, you wouldn't know that it was a dream. Sometimes, you are relieved to realize that you are in a dream. Other times, you are grateful that the horrors you are facing will come to an end when you wake up. Sometimes, you just enjoy the ride having full faith that you will indeed open your eyes and it will all have just been a dream.

 

I was glad I had that dream. It was bizarre, slightly repulsive, decidedly disgusting and definitely awkward. But I went with it. Why? Because it was with you. Not that I have any wish for that particular dream to come true, but for the most part, I liked where we were headed. And I liked the extension of reality that came forward. But seriously, it was damn awkward. I'd complain, but I also must say it felt good. It felt good to see you, to know that it was part of some bizarre dream, to know that at least there we were together. And that your mother approved. Ok, that was the awkward part. Also the part where my mum had her own grocery store.

 

I keep replaying various scenes in my head. I like that. I like that I remembered what the dream was, I liked how it ended, and I liked that I was a part of it. Today was a good day.

Motivations

There was a time when life wasn't so complicated. Things were hard, and everything had to be calculated. Every action had immediate consequences, and you had to deal with them almost immediately as well.

I asked them what motivates them in life, what makes them get up on those bad days where life doesn't seem worth living. They said handsome actors on tv shows, friends greeting them along the way, or the smell of dinner being cooked downstairs. I said: it's easier to tell people what motivates you when life is hard rather than to tell people what motivates you when life is easy. When things are going great, you assume that you just keep moving forward. But are you?

I guess for quite a while I was deceiving myself. I thought all the great things were going for me, and therefore I was moving forward. Now I'm not so sure. Perhaps many aspects needs to be re-evaluated.

Teardrops that cannot fall

Disaster struck today.

The first of its kind

Not the worse that could happen

But it nearly made me cry.

And I don't cry.

I could never cry.

But for once in a few moments of my life,

I really wanted to.

I was shaking, trembling, nearly crumbling to the floor

But I had to keep going.

I needed the tears to fall

I needed to be held and be made to feel ok

I needed that person to tell me I'll be ok

To give me warm embraces and tell me what to do.

I needed you.

It took all the strength I had not to call you.

I couldn't cry without you.

I couldn't let go.

It wasn't safe.

The world isn't safe.

I stood for a while to try and regain my strength.

All I could muster was a faint stance.

I clambered out all shaken and terrified.

But I couldn't be.

I needed myself to be brave.

I know I've lost you.

I know I don't deserve you.

But I couldn't help but wish it was you I could hear at the end of the line.

Instead of the random strangers

The eager blood-sucking beings.

I wish it was you.

Not some nameless faceless being.

You.

But I no longer have you.

So all I'm left with is this bit of writing.

Hoping that it reaches you.

Not for a want of anything,

But sometimes it just feels nice to be wanted, right?

Hugs and kisses.

When silence becomes the default.

"Would you like to watch a movie with me?" – Too pushy.

"Hye." – Too simple. It'll just be dismissed.

"Would you still like to go out to dinner with me?" – Hmm..no distractions. What if we run out of things to talk about?

"I was wondering if you'd like to go out on a date with me." – Uggh..too formal.

"I've been thinking a lot about you lately" – About what?? Not as if you know each other anymore.

"I miss you" – Too needy.

"Heyyy babe….whaddup?" – WHAT THE HELLLLLLLLL……

"Helo" – Then what?

"So how's life?" – Too judgmental.

"How have you been lately?" – Then what?

"Are you dating anyone at the moment?" – Too personal.

"Are you happy?" – Answer comes: Yup. Then what??

"Watcha doin'?" – Then what??

 

 

 

 

In the end, nothing comes out but utter silence. Perhaps it really was for the best, then.

When the mind wanders

    I was reading Alice in Wonderland, and the first chapter was about how she was falling down the rabbit hole. Pages were dedicated to her fall and all the items she saw as she was falling. A cupboard, maps, pictures, and yet her fall still didn't seem to end. She would reach out to some of those items, and try to recite her lessons as she did. Absurd? Yes. But it got me thinking.

    The rabbit hole I've been falling in has lasted more months than I care to admit. In fact, it's been more than a year. It was exciting at first, seeing all the new sights and getting the thrill of the fall pumping through your veins. But after a while, you just want to land. I found myself looking through old photos, reminiscing about a time when I looked forward to the nights. Nights were the best. Now they're just time to curl up in a corner of my lumpy flat bed and wait for the hours to go by in time for shut eye.

    I can't help but wonder if I made the right choice, in following the rabbit down the rabbit hole, but at the time, not much thinking was done. It was all just feelings. I let the feelings take over and the next thing I knew, I was falling. Occasionally I'd see a cupboard and open up the contents, but since none of it happens on solid ground, none of it feels real. And after the many months passing by full of dreams and sub-realities, I think I'm ready for the reality to kick back in. Unfortunately, I think it's too far off by now.

Take a step back

    Somehow it seems to be working. The harder she tries, the more of her true self seeps out into open eyes. I just hope that the people who are in power of taking action choose to do so. My respect for them would dwindle if not.

    I cannot lie. It gave me joy to see the scarlet faces that immerged out of the ice cube just now. Faces rendered grotesque because of you. You. I'm glad I took a step back. Soon, you will self-destruct. Perhaps it might take longer than I care to please, but if I keep my head held high, soon enough you won't be able to keep up your façade. It irritates you, doesn't it, to see me happy despite your feeble attempts at putting me down? Well, that is self-control for you. I bear no interest in you. Therefore you may take whatever course you wish. But I know you will self-destruct. How long can you pretend to be something you are not?

    I'll bide my time. I'll keep my distance. But know that from afar, I am taking pleasure in your slow crumble and tumble. And above all, trust me, I will be there when you fall.

On making mistakes

    We all screw up. We all have (several) occasions where we should've acted differently. Sometimes we realize it ourselves, and sometimes we go through our whole lives convinced that we did the best that we could. There are times, though, when we need others to point out our faults to us; and in a way it is a blessing that they did so. However, in pointing out those faults, a certain care should be taken so that it effectively affects the reaction of the faulted person.

My dear,

If people tell you nicely to do things, feel free to ask why you should do so (though at your age perhaps you should use your intellect to judge why you should instead of assuming people are all out to get you). Perhaps you would like to get a second opinion on whether you should really complete the task? Or perhaps ask yourself why is it you are so reluctant to do so.

 

I refuse to stoop down to your level. That is all.

Turning.

 

Sometimes the goal is not to win; it is to fight.

 

 

 

 

Show me how to fight.

 

 

 

Of footwear princes.

 

    Not many people have the great uphill battles of the princes. That is, the unchanged ones that come in the frog shapes. They sort of always appear and make their homes and are almost impossible to get rid of. When I was younger, the toilets were plagued with these happy princes. They loved that it never overflowed and yet it was almost always moist enough for their liking. I have no idea what they ate, probably ants or other household pests.

    The first time I encountered a prince that moved in to our toilet, I screamed my head off; and since I was still quite young, my mother came rushing to my aid. Upon seeing the poor amphibian, she got a broom…yes, a broom, and swept the fella into the toilet. We had one of those squat toilets so that was easily done. She flushed the toilet and we never saw the fella ever again.

    The second time, I was still just as disgusted and ran to my dad for assistance. You didn't expect me to just bathe with the prince, did you? My dad had a different approach; which was to scoop up the intruder into a plastic bag, and throw him out to the nearby forestry. Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure it's the same one that reappeared in the toilet again a week later.

    It's not an uncommon thing, to have frogs take up residence in toilets; but it freaks me out anyways. What if it decides to jump up at me as I was bathing? I know it had no business doing that; it's not like their predatory or anything, but something about these amphibians that just freaks me out.

    I've learnt that in the villages where amphibians were most common, especially during rainy season, one should be particularly wary of toilet intruders. I would carefully inspect the corners of the toilet before going in. Making sure none were lurking in the room. Being half blind without my glasses, this was quite tricky since it meant that I would have to put on my glasses, inspect the corners, then take off my glasses, undress, find a nice dry spot for my glasses, and commence my bathing activities. Ahhh, a nice peaceful frogless bathing experience. Now time to brush my teeth. Toothbrush, meet toothpaste. Cream. Hands reach out to turn on the tap…

 

Holy crap on a cracker…..IT WAS ON THE SINK!!!!!

 

Awww Helllllll nooooooooooooo…..

 

How'd the hell did the fat thing get up that high? Can he climb?? Heeeeeyuckksssss…..

 

    An uncle of mine told me of a battle he once fought. It wasn't the toilet loving types that irked him. It was the shoe-inhibiters. I guess 'cause it was warm and snuggly for them, they just loved to crawl in at night and good luck to whoever slips their feet in the next morning. You wiggle your toes forward the way you do when you put on shoes and suddenly you feel the jelly-ish textures against your socks and your like I hope it's not…..Oh hell…it is…and you have to throw out your dazed tenant and put on the shoe anyways and it sucks 'cause you know just a few minutes ago a frog was in it and now you're putting your foot in.

    So my uncle was having this problem. Two days in a row a frog had taken a liking for his shoe. There were half a dozen other shoes outside the house, but it chooses his shoes. And always the left shoe. So after two days of finding the fella curled up in his shoe, my uncle decides to be the wiser and prop up his shoes against the wall so that the shoes were upright and it just wasn't possible for the fella to get up in it.

    Happy that he had displayed his superior intellect to the frog, he happily got ready for work the next day and put on his shoe.

 

 

 

 

It was inside.

 

 

    How the dude clung on to keep up with the snuggly part of the shoe, no one will ever know. Needless to say, my uncle brought his shoes inside from that day on.

 

    It was always like a third party story for me, this frog-in-shoe thing. My mother had it, my father had it, my other family had some version of it. But it never happened to me. Until one day. I was going to school, and it was a particularly cold morning and I wished I could just snuggle back up in bed. I was still sleepy and even my morning shower had not woken me up. I put on my school shoes, and suddenly my toes met a slightly rough squishy fatness. Oh no, could it be…..? I gave it little thought and my leg spasmed forward. My shoe flew across the patio, across the driveway, and out the front gate, and fell right next to my father who was tidying the car. He seemed to know what the problem could be. He shook out the culprit and walked over to me and wordlessly handed me my shoe.

 

 

Thanks dad. I looked down at the shoe.

Hypothetical Question

 

Situation: A team of three is tasked (reason irrelevant) to move a table from one designated location to another every day. It's a mundane task, but necessary either way.

 

Problem: Out of the three, one goes to great lengths to moan, groan and heave (in front of the team leader who occasionally pops in to check that the table is moved and all three are indeed moving it.) when moving the table, but the other two know that it is barely for show. This Moaner is always there, at times even the earliest to be there, at the table, ready for the day's mundane task ahead. Yet the other two know that it might as well be a legless goat there for it would be just as useless in terms of helping to move the table. Technically, the Moaner is there, but the other two know for sure that he is hardly doing any more than placing his fingers at the table's edge.

 

Further clarification: Yes, the task is mundane, but not entirely pointless. The team leader has valid reasons for assigning this task to the team and it is not the only task they have to complete. It is merely one of many.

 

The conundrum: What do the other two do? What is the "respectable" and "effective" way of dealing with this situation?

 

1. How could the other two notify the leader without sounding like jealous tattletales?
   
2. How could they prove that the Moaner was indeed not pulling his fair weight? He is careful enough to make a show of his great "effort" whenever anybody of any higher title is present.
   
3. Is "turning the other cheek" really an effective method or is it the only thing that can be done?
   

 

 

 

 

I like one person's suggestions the best so far: Punch the fella in the face and beat him senseless.

I mean, how can you win against these people? They are wise enough not to press major buttons and take advantage of people within their same level and especially people of "lower" levels. What action could you take that wouldn't put yourselves in trouble?

A rant out of anger

    Oh how I wish I could say that you insolent, butt-kissing, uncultured piece of ass wasn't worthy of a rant, but I wasn't satiated by my outward attack just now. The likes of you probably would say a dagger through the heart was just a "prick" with nothing to think about since you are not capable of coming to rational justifications.

    However, here I shall lay out your infractions for the purpose of preparing the swords of which I will brandish at the slightest chance.

1. You do not have the age-appropriate understanding of respect. You only respect people if they have a certain power or position.
   
2. Those who you deem not to have the appropriate power or position, you treat condescendingly disrespectfully. You do this both by means of actions as well as in your speech.
   
3. You do not carry your own weight. You expect to do as little as you can and moan and whine that you are the most hardworking person in the vicinity and that people should make special exceptions to your shortcomings.
   
4. You have an inflated view of yourself. You do not listen to advice even when you clearly need it. You blatantly dismiss it as you "are superior" to the lowly peoples' wise words.
   
5. You do not take responsibility for your own actions. You blame others and make even the people who have befriended you your scapegoat.
   

   
    

   I would continue, but unlike you, I have duties that I take pride in completing myself.

Chapter 3: Enemies come in many forms.

     It was the first week into the journey, and our heroes were starting to get tired of being on the road. Their clothes were badly deteriorated; their supplies, having long finished, now consisted of berries and road kill they gathered along the way. They smelt of wet grass and burnt oil. Their feet were either blistered or numb. Their hair was the greatest sight for any warlock to behold; for it was far worse than any wizard could conjure up. There were times when goats gathered to mock their hair.
    It is said that to truly test a relationship, one should go on a long journey together. That will either make or break your bond. And here, as our young gallants (and gallant-esses) come to learn, that age does not equal wisdom, gracefulness does not equal kindness, and time is anything than absolute.
    One particular repugnant character, took it upon herself to onset a position of power for herself. She had the necessary skills and qualifications, or so she said to herself. She laid out her tactics well. First, she started by being gracious to all members of the journey. She was careful to greet each of them with cheer and warmth, courteous to them when she found herself in the wrong, and she was always available for chatter or in case anyone needed aid. Oh, she played her cards well.
    Soon though, she managed to sniff out the alphas of the group, as well as the ones who had most power and position. She had a good inclination to be part of this group, and out-do the others. They were inferior, unworthy, and they were blessed to have her come on this filthy journey with them. It's only a matter of time and patience, she tells herself.
    Meanwhile, on camp grounds, another particular person was huffing and puffing his way in the woods trying to gather firewood for the night. This one went by the name Armidas, and he had bright green feelers on the very top of his head. With him, was a pink-and-orange feelered friend who shall henceforth be named Orinx (remember I told you some of them just don't have names). It had been raining, so finding dried wood was not an easy task, but they needed the firewood otherwise they would have to eat raw raccoon tonight. Raw raccoon meat was a bit iffy. One could never tell whether or not it was safe to eat just by the look of it.
    Orinx was looking inside tree holes for hope of a dry spot that might hold some dried wood. Armidas was poking around cautiously for he feared the creatures these woods might conceal. Once, when he was at home, a snake found its way into his house and he had to solely save the entire household of baby ducks because his parents were away at the Tea Festival. When they finally got home and found him crouched in a corner crying out snakes and demons, his mother told him he probably just mistook a mouse for a snake. Luckily for Armidas, the snake decided to greet hello to the hostess and so his mother learned to listen to him after that.
    "I found some!" shouted Orinx.
Happily, the two bounded up a bunch of dried twigs and leaves and made their way huffing and puffing back to camp.

Not Everything

 

A woman bustling her three children onto the bus. She was large, dressed like a potato sack, and her children were none the better dressed. Her little girl sported a filthy white frock, smeared with bits of the chocolate bar she was munching. Her eldest son had a hideously patched up pair of khakis on, and the middle one was carrying a knapsack that was far too large for him. She had no regard for how her children sat, and suddenly took out her phone in the middle of the bus ride.

 

"My love, how are you? What are you doing?"

I saw her children look at each other. The eldest one turned up his nose just a little bit.

"Have you gone in to work yet? What time are you supposed to come in?"

He little one sneaked a glance at her brother. He shook his head just a bit.

 

The woman loudly continued her conversation on the bus and even if I could write here all the details, it really doesn't matter. What matters is that right after the phone conversation, she smacked the eldest one on the head while saying "You lot don't know how lucky you are. Stop giving me those looks!"

 

I was appalled. I'm guessing the "love" wasn't the children's father. Do they have an existent father figure? Or has it been random nameless faceless "loves" over the past years?

 

 

*************************************************************************************

 

I was having lunch where I once thought I would be building my career. My local version of New York, so to speak. Busy, loud, full of career-people. But then, today I was dressed down for my very own adventure. I didn't quite fit in, and I was dying for a good cup-a-joe. But instead of my longed for spot, I headed next to it for a famous local beverage.

 

I sat down with my meal, and this guy sits at the vacant table next to mine. He makes a call.

 

"Hye sweetheart, I've just arrived in town and bla bla bla the architecture is amazing bla bla bla I'm heading home soon bla bla bla I can send you 10-15k USD if you want bla bla bla.."

 

After the phone call he proceeds to explain to me about his "situation"…na-ah brother… I ain't fallin' fo dat..

 

*************************************************************************************

 

I decided to seek some culture and look at what the local art was like these days. Turns out, it wasn't much different than when I was younger. I guess when you talk about local/traditional art, there isn't much change to be done. I sauntered in the market looking at trinkets and keychains, and I stumbled upon a little fish spa! Cheap too! So I dug out my wallet, forked out the cash, and slipped my feet into the tub. Ooooohhhh it felt like the antsy feeling you get after you try to awake a sleeping leg. For the first 5 minutes I just silently screamed threats to the fish.

 

"I ate fish just two days ago. You are eating your cousins!!!" I cursed at them.

They paid no heed to my curses and continued munching away.

 

************************************************************************************

 

There are a lot of things that I need, but I can't quite differentiate between need and want these days. Everything just feels so necessary.