The stretch of pain

The palladium became silent. The mighty Achilles draws his breath one last time. His head bent down, he draws in another. The silence is deafening. The thumping of his heart is getting louder and louder. He hears it. He feels it. He knows that these are the few sounds that shall pave the way to his doom. Hi eyes looking up, head bent down. The smallest drop of perspiration drips from a strand of hair onto his forehead. He allows a millisecond to close his eyes. In that sudden darkness he remembers his glory days. When bruises were ignored and wounds revered. He remembers the steam baths where they gathered to exchange faculties of battles and honor. The scent of the Grecian women as they passed in the square, how captivatingly soothing it is to him. He remembered her. Her warmth, her laughter, how her head would tilt towards him as he spoke. How she hung on to his every word, yet brought wisdom with every reply she made. He drew in another breath. Shakier, this time. He could almost catch a whiff of her fresh talc. How she found that crevice in his shoulder each and every time he sought out her comfort. How no words need be said between them to make the moment nothing short of pure magic.

He opens his eyes. Reality strikes, just as the feeble arrow has struck him. He knows his time is near and he can feel Death hovering over him. Gone are the scents and comforting visions of calm. Gone are the war cries that powered him forward through the swords and the blows. Silence. Absolute silence. Fear starts to grip him. As Fear and Death race up his spine he looks down at his ankle, where the deadly arrow has struck. Beautiful loving Mother Thetis, I am reminded of your generous love for me; your unworthy, dying son. From the sea all creatures cringe at the sirens of grieved Thetis, hearing Death rip his soul from his body. More silence. The mighty Achilles drops to the ground, his arm steadfast into the earth. He looks up one last time. Silence.

The mist has arrived

There is only so much a person can take. They keep telling you that overcoming those breaking points will only make you stronger; they forget to tell you the toll it takes on your soul. They forget to tell you that after a while; even your body starts to give up. They forget to tell you that at some point, you begin to change. Sometimes that change is good. But sometimes, that change makes you the demon you were always fighting; and you realize all you’re left to fight, is yourself.

It begins simple enough, with those cold feet and thumping hearts. Then you start to lose focus and life becomes tunnel vision. Even worse, when the lights go off at the end of the tunnel and all that’s left is darkness. Then the walls start caving in and you know you are helpless and alone in it. There will be no hand to pull you out for no one knows you’re there. You feel the air getting dusty and thin. You gasp to breathe and your body starts to shut down. You doze off. You fall into that peaceful slumber. Your only salvation is to leave in that state of peace.

They will say that “she experienced no pain” and that “it was a peaceful departing”.

And so shall it be.

Safety blankets

They stink, they reek of sleep and slumber, they bunch up at the wrong places, and they have traces of chocolate milk and Cheezels on them. But, we hold on to them nonetheless. We clutch them through the night and breathe in their scent because it reminds us of the good days of our childhood. For that moment, the world is right. For that moment, we are protected. For that moment, there is no evil in the world. We relish their warmth against our cheek despite how hot the night may be. No matter how bad the day may be, no matter how unbearable the pain you are forced to endure, no matter how you feel like giving up, that stinky bunchy piece of quilt is there for you; and somehow the world doesn’t seem to be such a bad place. You might not be able to walk through walls, you might not be able to stand up and fight, but at the very least you lived through another day.

Until the day it disappears.

For some, it is the exasperated parent who thinks we should “grow up”.

For many, they just outgrow it themselves and forget about it.

For a few, they are shamed so bad that they convince themselves that this prior source of comfort is what caused their pain all this while.

You try to tell yourself that the road ahead is just the same whether it is there with you or not. You try to trick yourself into believing that life is better without it. You try to comfort yourself by saying that there are others who experience this same lost and yet they do not lose their stride. Your try to hold back the tears though you can feel the lump in your throat getting bigger and bigger. You take that deep breath knowing that the tears are just at the brim of your eyes. You try talking yourself up again. You try finding some surrogate and holding it close, hoping that you could recreate that same feel, that same scent, for just one more moment of serenity.

Then reality hits. It’s never going to be there for you anymore.

And there’s nothing you can do.

Oh how it itches....

I need to get rid of it. Shake it off, tear it off, throw it, chuck it, and fling it far from me. But every time I do, it comes right back at me. If only it had the decency to at least come back “appropriately”; if there ever was an appropriate way for it to come back. No, it has to creep its way back discreetly, and pop up where I least expect it. Then a whirlwind, a hurricane, a wildfire breaks free and its not as if I don’t recognize it, but for some reason it always comes in different faces and forms. And for that same unknown reason I always welcome it with open arms, even when I know I’ll want to get rid of it, shake it off, tear it off, throw it, chuck it, and fling it far from me afterwards. Now I’m caught up in it and can’t find the small crevice of escape. I seek refuge this time as it is with an unknown face this time; but how long can I hold back? I gave in in less than a day for this it. Goes to show how bad this it is. God, give me a sign of how I’m supposed to get rid of it, shake it off, tear it off, throw it, chuck it, and fling it far from me or if there’s a way for me to stand my ground and face it.

I’m writing about YOU tonight. Yes, you. You know who you are. I’m aiming right at you.

What makes up a person who is worth respect? Those actions that are just done for the sake of doing, do I commend you for that? Do I respect you for these actions that seemingly have no greater purpose? Or do you believe that those thoughtless actions elude the collective judgements over how respectable you are. No, not to me. What does it matter if I don’t respect you? I’m talking about the people you are obliged to lead, the people who matter to you, or the people who look up to you. Do you tell them that they should refrain their judgments when you choose obvious acts that show blatant thoughtlessness? There is unfortunately no pause button for respect. There is no pause button for life. Whatever you say and do, affects others whether you accept it or choose to place a blind eye over it. Justify your foolishness however you will, but at the end of the day it says much about who you are, and what goes on in your mind. That is, given the presumption that you possess a mind, that is.

Definitions: A journey.

I am represented by what clothes I put on.

I am represented by the color of my skin.

I am represented by where I choose to eat.

I am represented by what I can afford to have.

I am represented by who I speak to

And the words I choose to speak

And the tone of voice I use

And the language I am capable of.

I am represented by my titles.

I am represented by who I “belong” to

If I belong to anybody.

Or if I belong to nobody.

I am represented by how I spend my weekends.

I am represented by what I post online.

I am represented by what I say in public

What conversations I am capable of holding

What matters of the world I am knowledgeable of.

I am represented by where I live.

What car I drive.

I am represented by how I walk.

But if somebody knew all of the above about me, does that mean that they truly understand me?

Mirrors.

Show me how to fight for now. Shine the light for me for all I can see is darkness. I can hold up my fists clenched tight, but for not it shall be unless I can see the demons I am fighting. Push me through to the face of that evil I have not yet come to recognize. It matters nothing now whether my eyes are closed or wide open. I can see nothing. No one can see me.

Deep breath. Heart pounding.

I don’t want to lose you now. Not when I cannot guide my own safe journey. Not when I cannot bear to send you off, be it to your doom or to a greater bliss. Not now, when my fists are clenched high and tight facing a demon I know nothing of. His scent may be pungent, putrid, and yet still draw me forward. I brace my feet to the ground. I feel him close.

Heart pounding, eyes tight.

I’m looking right at the other half of me. You are my demon. You are what I am fighting for; you are what I am fighting against. You are everything I stand for, and you are everything that brings me to the ground. I am the only one to bring you to your knees, but now you are the one to bring me to mine.

Eyes tight, forehead creased.

You’re staring back at me, and I’m staring at you. Our fingertips meet. I hold up my fists ready for you. Legs planted into a stance. I gaze deep into your eyes, looking for a sign of fear. I look for you. I look for that separation that tells me when I end and where you start. I can’t find it. I drop my head once again.

Defeated.

Creepy crawlies up my spine. I hate you.

Today this woman strolls in with the smallest of lemons. I look at her. She’s a regular. Last time she came in was some time last year. Oh God, is she going to park her lemon like that? In the middle of the world as though it’s the greatest possession anyone could ever have. Well, I guess it is the greatest possession she has, in the least.

She tumbles out of the silver lemon. Yes, she tumbled out like a sack of potatoes onto a tray. She looks left and right sniffing the air like there were a gazillion people around her. No miss, just me here. Here! Ok, she finally looks at me and asks how long it would take to service her lemon. Well, at the very least I know her lemon isn’t a temperamental one; so I tell her it won’t take long. She gives me a list of things she wants done, then carefully repeats the list in case I don’t remember. Lady, do I look stupid here?

o   Change oils

o   Check brakes

o   Check battery

o   Check spare tyre

o   Check all tyres

Happy that she gave a proper list of stuff that needs doing, she trots off to the opposite side of the road to have her breakfast. I start getting to work..I carefully take off her seat cover before I drive the lemon into the workshop. I see she’s changed them into blue ones this time round…they used to be yellow. Still homemade, I see.

40 minutes later she comes back asking if her lemon’s done. I nod and tell her about the other things I had to do for the lemon as well. She doesn’t seem to understand, but she nods anyway. Then she asks whether I found out if she owns a spare tyre. Pfft!! These women; going about as though they own the world, yet can’t even tell if they own a spare tyre. Fine then, I forgot to check it anyways, so I go to get it done. She trots along behind me.

I open the boot of the lemon and hurrah! An array of recycle bags, a motorcycle helmet (??), pencil cases, bottle of water greet me. She doesn’t seem to notice anything wrong with this and proceeds to gather the bags. I reach for the carpet, and sure enough, there is the spare tyre. I grasp it in my palms, it’s still usable. She impatiently looks over my shoulder. She asks if it needs changing, I say no. She asks again, hasn’t it hardened? I say no. She asks that I take it out to check.

Now, here’s the part where I have to say I’m already annoyed with this lady. But, she insists so I take out the d***ed tyre. I fill up the air (she didn’t know it existed, how would she possibly think of checking the air of something she didn’t know existed, right?), but she still doesn’t seem satisfied. Now, I have to remind you here that I did NOT want to take out the tyre in the first place; but what else could I do? So I bounce the tyre on the floor to show her that I’m “checking” the tyre’s bouncy-ness and voooooooooooosssshhhh a swarm of God-knows-what crawls up my arms! They went into my shirt, around my back, yaaarrrrrrrrrrrghhhhh!!!!!

And this, this, this woman, she starts laughing. Laughing! There are unidentifiable creatures that look like half spider-half cockroach running all over my body, and she’s laughing! I had to run out of the workshop, throw off my clothes and try best as I could to get them all off of me, and she’s there laughing!

My friend goes to her and starts telling her to get bug poison for her car and she just looks up at him with her face red with laughter. What, has she been breeding those things on purpose? Yuck! Yuck yuck yuck yuck!

I hope I never see her again.

Origins. It matters.

I’m very sorry to say but I have very little tolerance for flimsy characters. Those who sway for the wrong reasons and stand fast on pathetic ground. I believe that a credible person should have their own opinion; be it same or different from others; it should still be based on their own beliefs. It’s very apparent when certain people lack the capability to process, understand and formulate their own opinions then rely on what others have fed onto them. It makes a great difference (to me) whether you don’t take alcohol because you choose not to or because mummy says it isn’t good for you. I can respect the first, but you lost my respect at “mummy says”. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for love and respect towards your parents and all that, but to see a full grown adult unable to give a better explanation so as to why they make certain choices other than “so-so says I shouldn’t” is just unforgivably ignorant. Either you are to lazy to think of a better explanation or all your years growing up you did it for the mere sake of growing up. It stops human evolution when you resort to giving these ignorant excuses. “I won’t stay out late (even though I live 3,000km away from her) because mummy says I must be home by 10.” So, if I had to convince you to stay out for a final year project, am I expected to argue against your sacred “mummy”? It’s damn straight irritating when these people lay it out as if it’s the ultimate reason for anything. Are you not intelligent enough to think of your own reasons for not staying out late? Or did “mummy” convince you that she’ll do all the thinking for you so that all you have to do is parrot back all these instructions she’s embedded in you.

Oh no, it doesn’t stop there. There’re the ones that level up from that. The ones whose parents have convinced them that their (the parents’) thoughts are those of their own. Then these people go about giving flimsy reasons for making certain choices and throw themselves about as if that is the only way to live simply because that is the only way the were taught to comprehend and accept. Greater than that, these are the exact people who carry themselves in a holier-than-thou attitude as if they and they alone hold the correct keys to life. Again, these people are impossible to argue against or learn from because whatever it is they “believe” in is merely a regurgitation of what they were trained to believe. These people lack something called common sense. I mean, I understand a 5-year-old that needs to be told not to stay out late, a 16-year-old that needs to be told not to drink, a 10-year-old that needs to be told not to eat candy bars before dinner time. But at 20 if you can’t figure out for yourself whether staying out past 3am is advisable, or if spending 80% of your income on sprucing up your ride is appropriate, or if posting your inner laments on social networking reflects well on your character, then go flush your head down a toilet please.

It makes a difference whether you apply for sick leave because you are sick or because your mother says you are too sick to go.

It makes a difference whether you choose to live with your parents because you are the only child who can take care of them well, or because you just plain never thought or had the opportunity to leave.

It makes a difference whether you quit your job because you couldn’t cope with the stress or because your boyfriend isn’t happy that you aren’t spending weekends with him.

The end result may be the same, but the reason why you made that choice says a lot about your character.

Our children. They are OUR children.

“How’s my brown baby doing?”

“He was a bit quiet”

“You have to remember to give him milk…”

“What do you mean?”

“He needs attention..you have to go to him and give him his milk. It has to be precisely at the same time, just the right amount, and the right temperature…..”

“I want them to be independent. Not incapable infants.” Papa grunts.

I saw my baby Cyclops rolling with his brother, they seemed happy without me.

I saw my baby alien with his smell-brother playing peek-a-boo.

I saw my ladies-in-waiting flanked together.

….and I saw Papa and his babies huddled in a corner playing with his magic mirror…

Independent you say? My babies are independent! It’s yours that utterly can’t function without you. 

Hmmmph silly Papa.

A shoulder to cry on

Just because they don’t cry, does that mean that they don’t hurt? People tell you to be a “big boy” and stop crying; so you do. Does it change the fact that you feel hurt deep down inside? Does the fact that you never shed a tear invalidate how you feel inside? Does it mean that you never need to be comforted, never need to be coddled, never need a shoulder to lean on?

What you define as “normal” doesn’t change the fact that it might still hurt. Death is a normal occurrence. It’ll happen to everyone without fail. Why is it insensitive to say “Oh, it’s just a normal thing (death). Don’t think too much about it” yet completely fine to dismiss that glimmer of possibility that any other normal occurrence might hurt someone?