The beauty of irony in a song.

You're so vain,

you probably think this song is about  you

You're so vain,

 I'll bet you think this song is about you

Don't you? don't you?

You had me several years ago

when I was still quite naïve

Well you said that we made such a pretty pair

And that you would never leave

But you gave away the things you loved

and one of them was me

I had some dreams,

they were clouds in my coffee

Clouds in my coffee, and...

Well I hear you went up to Saratoga

and your horse naturally won

Then you flew your Lear Jet up to Nova Scotia

To see the total eclipse of the sun

Well you're where you should be all the time

And when you're not you're with

Some underworld spy or the wife of a close friend

Wife of a close friend, and...

You're so vain,

you probably think this song is about  you

You're so vain,

 I'll bet you think this song is about you

Don't you? don't you?

Over the skyline, in a shining blue chariot.

One of the signs that a person loves you is that they tolerate your crazy antics. You might be the dullest, most boring person on the outside, but at home you have training sessions with your pet crabs to teach them how to walk straight. Or it could be the opposite, too. You might be the quirkiest, zestiest person outside, but when you come home you’re just glad to be Plain Jane and curl up with a warm cup of tea, reading a good book. The point is, a person who loves you should know you well enough to either put up with your antics, find a way to nurture that side of you so you become a better person; or best of all, find some humour in you being, well, you.

Musings of a crab.

So there was this crab, it was walking sideways the way that crabs do. It’s not like it’s anything new, but somehow the sight of it was just mesmerizing. It was a crab. A real, live, crustacean. It was a crab, and it was walking sideways. I wonder what it was thinking about. Do crabs think? They must have some thoughts right? Or do they just walk sideways thoughtlessly throughout their lives? If people were given the gift of hearing animal’s thoughts, would it drive them crazy? Why? Like this crab, imagine if crabs were all actually plotting the apocalypse, it’s just that they’ve never lived long enough to see their diabolical plans through? Whoa…we should fear those really large crabs, then, shouldn’t we? I mean, they must’ve lived longer than the average crab; at least longer than this little buddy side-walking in front of me here.

Lunacy of the moment.

I saw a stick, lying on the ground. One end was sunken under the damp sand, the other jutting out. I couldn’t help but stoop down, just to see how long it is, I told myself. It was almost sunset, and the waves were almost gone. The waters just rolled in with the bubbles skirting its edges. I pulled the stick out and drew a line in the sand. I watched, my eyes transfixed, at the waves that slowly erased my line. Before long I found myself squatting down and drawing circles, squiggles, triangles, and houses. My knees started to get shaky. I should be getting back, I told myself. Instead, I folded my legs on the damp sands and let the calm waves seep through my shorts. Oh well, there are worst things than having a wet bottom, I told myself. I kept drawing in the sands, careful to make sure that the waves erased my artwork before I started another. It felt like seconds, but before my insanity had been satiated, it was dark. The lamp posts flickered on, and I was there, alone, making squiggles in the sand. It was dinner time, and I was starving. I had no ideas where to head to, but somehow I couldn’t move. I stayed on with my squiggles for a while longer. I wonder if there are jellyfish here. Would they sting me? Would I have to pee on myself if I got stung? What if I got stung where I can’t reach? Would anybody hear if I shouted for help? The place is almost deserted. What if ruffians saw me doodling here, alone and defenceless; would they try to hurt me? Would they kill me or risk leaving me here injured? Where would they hide my body? Would anybody hear if I shouted for help? How long would it take before anybody notices I’m missing? Who would notice? Would they notice and assume that I just decided to disappear or would they bad mouth me for shirking my responsibilities? Or would they just notice?

18

Spicy spaghetti bolognese

Sausage and cheese baked potato

Traditional cakes

Chinese fried noodles

I knew I was in trouble. Luckily, I solved it and it was all just nice. Gluttony is not a sin I would like to have as part of me.

The bolognese and baked potato was awesome, though. Especially the baked potato.

A rant of annoyance.

Lately (ok not so lately, it’s just that I have recently grown exceedingly irked by this.) There’s been a particular increase in the marketing of a health powder. Ok, I don’t know what to call it because it’s not just one of those supplements that you take once a day to help bowel movement or stuff like that…noooooo. This particular “health” powder is like a food replacement, at least that’s the way they advertise it. Maybe to those short sighted idiots it’s a great deal. Buy this magical powder and never depend on normal food ever again. Just mix according to your taste. Make variety. Add bananas, add pineapples, add fish, or go crazy and add a couple of rocks. The point is, the way that this one particular person is promoting this powder, it’s as though she entirely depending on it. In fact, she condemns those who still consume “conventional” food.

Seriously! Day in day out I see her posts about all the shakes she’s consuming and how much it makes her “tummy feel happy”, at times I can count more than three shakes. Does she even take any natural, God-given, fresh food? Don’t get me wrong, I’m no health Goddess who eats all the veggies I’m supposed to, nor am I one of those homey-dads who eats only a good hearty home-cooked meal. I have my fair share of store-bought and processed food, but the was she’s presenting herself, it’s as though less than 10% of her food intake is of “normal” food. The rest is her and her shakes.

I know you’re a salesperson, and you want to convince your customers that you’re endorsing the best product ever. Hell lady, I’ve been a salesperson myself. I know all your tricks and tactics. Perhaps that’s why I see through them so easily and it is also perhaps why I am so disgusted by how you are presenting yourself, how you are presenting your life.

Look here lady, anything you choose to take, should be taken in moderation. When you place your greatest faith in some chemical blend of unknown origin and consume that and only that, don’t you think there’s something wrong with your judgement? Maybe you don’t think very far, but every time you post your latest status about your fourth shake of the day, all I can think of is the human race stuck on the ship in outer space. You know? The chair-ridden fat people in Wall-E slurping hamburger-flavoured shakes because they “are so advanced, that they are beyond ole time normal food”

Is our society so jaded to believe that we are a lesser species if we consume fresh natural foods? Instead we should consume (I use here the word ‘consume’, not ‘eat’ because obviously you wouldn’t ‘eat’ the powder. Even the crazed shakers would admit that’s just disgusting.) these tried and tested health drinks that will conjure up limitless health and energy.

You annoying person, now you make me want to go and grill a chicken or something.

Joys no money can buy.

I crushed a small boy’s chance at happiness today. I was in a position of power to allow him a bit of joy, and I denied it to him. He was reaching right in that direction and I just put my finger there instead. Then I pressed the button. I made the silver button glow. Then all the little boy could do was stare helplessly knowing that if he pressed it again it would make the light go away, so he couldn’t.

I remember the time when there was such great joy in pressing the elevator buttons. Or any buttons, for that matter. There was just a certain joy in placing your finger(s) on a surface, applying some pressure, then voila! Something magical would take place. Food would become warm, colours would come on to the grey screen and static would crackle over the surface, blades of coolness would move causing that oh-so-calming whirr in the air, water would come trickling out. It’s a magical feeling. When was the last time I felt that sense of excitement at pressing a button? Oh yes, just now, right before I realized that my joy was taken from a small child.

I feel like a monster now. A terrible, child-joy-stealing monster. And now I also feel hungry. Perhaps some warm milk would do the trick.

Unfinished III.

If only she hadn’t been going too fast. It’s a small car, for Kermit’s sake. What was she thinking? Pressing on the gas pedal like it was one of those stationary bikes you find at the gym. She deserves it. The moment she knew she lost control, her hands gripped tight to the wheel, her life flashing in front of her eyes, she deserves it. No cries of pity for her. Instead they are the ones who cry; saying how selfish she was. How she was only thinking of herself at the time. Had she no thought of her future?



It was only a few seconds that the car skidded, rolled, screeched uncontrollably across the pavement; but to her it felt like an eternity. To her, it felt long enough to think of those she would’ve left behind. It was enough for her to worry that she left too many strings untied, too big a mess for them to clean up. It was more than enough for her to wonder: is it worth it to go make this people go through all this trouble for her? For her.





In that moment, she remembers all the kindness she has received, and says a silent thank you to all of them. Thank you for making me strong, thank you for making me able. Thank you for giving me experience and wisdom. Thank you for being a crutch when I was almost crippled. Thank you for listening even when I was rambling on and on about potatoes and sponges. Thank you.



It had been an ordinary day, nothing special. She wouldn’t have thought it would come to this. To suddenly realize she no longer had control, to hear the sound telling her that she was no longer on the open road, to hear cars honking as they passed by, to hear people yelling. She wasn’t sure if they were cursing her, or if they were telling her they’d get help. It didn’t matter to her then. What mattered was regaining her control.

Blank.



She checked her legs. She could feel them. She could see them. They were attached to her. She checked her head, her back, and her arms. In the distance was a shout for her to get out. Get out. Her brain was voicing it, her mouth tried to repeat it. Get out. She said it out loud to herself. Get out. But somehow she was still inside. Seat belt still on, legs still on the seat, feet still on the pedals. Get out. She tried again. But she was still there. She was still inside the car.

Gibberish.

You wonder which is better: to have ones who care of you and have to bear the burden of caring for them back; or to be entirely on your own, knowing that no one’s got you back? You convince yourself that one and only one is better than the other; but in truth everybody wants a little bit of both worlds.

If I talk real slowly, if I try real hard....

I'm bullet-proof,

nothing to lose

fire away, fire away

ricochet, you take your aim

fire away, fire away

You know how the superheroes have the awesome ability to knock down the enemy with just a single shot, while the enemy needs like a gazillion bullets just to make the hero scared? Sometimes I wish I were bullet proof. I wish that no matter how you shoot I could just turn away and walk with victory music playing behind me. I wish that you’d always miss your shot and that no matter what you wouldn’t hit me.

I’ve always wondered about those who made those life changing choices. How do you decide that specific moment when you give up all that you have in search of something new? There are those who do it at 20, 40, even 70. I can’t get the courage to do so no matter how hard I try. If only I had nothing to lose. But if there were that guarantee, it wouldn’t really be the same now would it? We all take risks, no matter what we do.

So all I’m resorted to do is to let you fire away as much as you please. Hold down my fort hoping that the storm will pass, or that light will bring me to where I should be. Sometimes I wonder if the rainbow will ever come, I wonder if there is salvation for me and my extremities. I watch as some of those bullets ricochet across the linoleum and I watch as they make their mark on the wall I’ve worked so hard to build. Now here I am writing, as you fire away.

I am a person.

She told me she’d been telling her aunt how I’ve been dressing. Her aunt had recently decided to dress more modestly and saw me once at a meeting. She wanted to stay fashionable and young-looking. She saw me once. Once. She doesn’t see me anymore, so she was constantly asking for updates from her niece on how I was dressing so she could get some ideas. Me. Scruffy, slimy, sticky me. It feels like a balloon decided to take up residence in my head and float me upwards to the sky. Not because someone thinks I have good fashion sense; but because someone actually noticed me. I exist. Sometimes I feel like I don’t matter to anyone. I guess that wasn’t true.

In humor we find humility.....and just a bit of humiliation.

Sometimes you need gentle reminders to be thankful for what you already have; no matter how small, no matter how inconsequential it may seem, it doesn’t hurt to be thankful. Like I always say to the young ‘uns, the first step is to notice; for if you don’t notice it in the first place, there can be no second step. The first step is to notice; even if it’s as small as a belly button.

It’s been a hard couple of days. Stomach’s been acting up. After multiple visits to the lavatory throughout days and sleepless nights; fluids spewing out of my body from up and down, I was ready to plop down and give up on life. The acid had moved beyond just in my stomach, and I could feel it burning the exits they were passing through like ants through a sugar bowl. My face looked like it could scare the life out of an un-dead zombie, I smelt like ginger cream, and I was wearing the loosest pair of pants I could easily slip out of in the event of a desperate emergency. Definitely not a sight anyone would love to see.

I spent the morning at work curled on the seats of the meeting room trying to get a bit of comfort for my stomach, and maybe some shut eye so that hopefully I wouldn’t turn into teacher-zilla later that evening. I woke up, spent the next two hours staring at my books and papers helplessly feeling acids churning and bubbling inside my poor tummy. I tried rubbing some more ginger cream to make the bubbles go away. I hugged my tummy to make it just a little warmer. At the risk of looking like a pregnant lady, I rubbed and held my tummy close, praying for the nasty bubbles to go away. But they just sang to me a hymn and sent some fire ants down my intestines. Oh no! It was time for another trip to the loo.

I was tired. I didn’t have enough fluids in my body. I was tired of being tired, I was tired of walking to the toilet, I was tired of pulling down my pants, and I was most certainly tired of squatting. I was just tired. And in these moments of miserable “tiredness”, we tend to forget to be thankful. Well, it’s kinda hard to be thankful when fire ants are plopping out of you like the ceramic bowl was full of sugar and they were racing after it. I was tired. I was too tired to squat and I was too tired to stand back up. But I had to. I had no intention of staying inside the tiled walls, so I stood up.

I faltered for a moment; that’s the lack of fluids getting the best of me. I touched the wall for balance, and then reached down to pull up my pants. Eased the waistband around my acidic tummy, over my belly------------WHERE’S MY BELLY BUTTON???????

It was gone! It was supposed to be there but it wasn’t! Did I never have one? Noooooo. I definitely had a belly button this morning, and my mind raced back to my childhood of fond memories where I specifically remember having a belly button. I always liked mine. It was a particularly nice belly button shape. Not too deep that it looked into the abyss, and not too shallow to make a pathetic excuse for having a belly button, and most certainly not one of those that protrude like a doorknob to your belly. Point is, it was a very nice looking belly button, and now it was gone. How could this happen? Did I drop it? Could the ginger cream have caused it to disappear? Damn you, ginger cream! How was I going to live my life without having a belly button? My life would have been a lie! How could I walk this earth knowing that inside, underneath all my layers, I had no belly button. Oh God, forgive me for I have sinned, please return to me my belly button in its original shape and form and I promise to take better care of it.

My heart raced, I searched my entire abdomen, my palm and fingers racing through to my back and back to my front. Could it have moved to my back? Do people lose their belly buttons as they grow older? I’m very sure that my grandmother still has hers. I lifted up my shirt, fearful of what I might see, or rather, what I might not find. I forced my eyes to look down. Take a small peek. Eyes slowly open. Bated breath. It was there. Same shape, it even seemed to be smiling at me. Hello, belly button. Nice to see you. Hello, person. Nice to know you missed me. It was there. My heart slowed down, eventually to a normal rate. It was there. I touched it again just to be sure. It was there. One more time, just to be sure. It was there. I love you, belly button. I love all of you, body parts. I am thankful that I have all of you as part of me.

Ok, you guys can stop touching your own belly buttons there. People are going to start asking questions if you keep doing that.

Oh, and sorry, ginger cream. It wasn't your fault after all.

And they went dancing, and they went dancing...

There they walked off

Looking in the distance

Moving forward

Slowly, but surely.

It was a three year deal

When he met her and she met him

They liked how t’other smiled 

And they liked how t’other laughed.

She was pretty and he cleaned up pretty nice

They met once in the park 

Again in the library

Again at the fountain near the classrooms.

They texted endlessly

Losing sleep

But it didn’t matter then

There they walked off

Looking in the distance

Moving forward

Slowly, but surely.

She always loved attention

She was petite and pretty

Nothing he didn’t know

But somehow it still hurt when he saw the signs for himself

A text

A picture

A gift that he did not give

A foreign piece of jewellery

But she was pretty

And she treated him like a king

She showered him with all the love

A man could ever want to bring

She was his

And he was hers

There they walked off

Looking in the distance

Moving forward

Slowly, but surely.

We’ll never know what set them off

At least not us who were only watching from the distance

But soon they trampled on the previously blooming paths

Uphill downhill

Spiralling downhill

She hurt him bad

And he wanted to hurt her back

So he hacked her accounts

Blasted her happy outing with friends

She kept silent.

He aired out their previous loving endeavours

He plagued her with sarcasm and outright hatred.

She kept silent.

He beat and thrashed her left and right

With stories that gives all parents a sleepless night.

But she held her silence.

There they walked off

Looking in the distance

Moving forward

Slowly, but surely.

Months gone by, and she held her silence.

He was there on occasion,

Nothing much to say but he was there

She was silent.

Years go by.

There they walked off

Looking in the distance

Moving forward

Slowly, but surely.

A notification comes in

She’s invited me to a wedding

Her name matches with his

Is it his?

After all the wrath, dirt and grit he threw at her,

Is it really him?

Or did she manage to bag another, just like him?

This time, he was silent.

No cheers of joy that his maiden was his

No thankful hurrahs that they were to be wed.

No pictures of the days that led to this blessed day.

He held his silence.

There they walked off

Looking in the distance

Moving forward

Slowly, but surely.

She put up honeymoon photos, mostly of herself

They were hardly in any photos together,

Not even wedding photos.

The few there were of his,

Had him looking away

No smile on his face.

Only on hers.

There they walked off

Looking in the distance

Moving forward

Slowly, but surely.

Their happiness, their lives, are truly their right to determine; but I can’t help but ask myself: would I go through their same path?

The song unsung.

Please forgive me, I know not what I do
Please forgive me, I can't stop loving you
Don't deny me, this pain I'm going through
Please forgive me, if I need you like I do
Please believe me, every word I say is true
Please forgive me, I can't stop loving you

No frills or fancy.

There was that mug. It was a floral blue extremely large mug. We spotted it in an isle of the supermarket. We stooped down because the mugs were lined up in the bottom shelf. You held it in your hands as if it were the key to all your future happiness. Your whole face lit up, as if all the wonderful possibilities of the world opened up as soon as you had that mug in your hands. But you put it back. You put it back on the shelf. It didn’t matter that for a moment there was that glimmer of happiness. You put it back. Then you picked up another. And another. With each you looked into the mug, perhaps hoping that you’ll find the one that would seal the deal. You picked up one after another. Until suddenly, you peered into one that had rat crap in it. All the happiness vanished, needless to say. All the happiness was replaced with disgust.

You bought one of those mugs. Only one. I don’t remember whether it was the one you first held in your hands, the one that made your face light up, or is it another one that you chose afterwards. Does it matter? I can’t answer that. All I know is that you bought one of those mugs.

There are times when you lose a little.

"You Were Meant For Me"

I hear the clock, it's six a.m.

And anybody who knows me knows just how the bed loves me early in the morning. I don’t want to part with it. Sometimes, I let it get the best of me and then my day starts just that much later.

I feel so far from where I've been

I’m constantly reminded that distance is not just what the metric system tells us it is. Distance used to feel so great, now even being near brings no more meaning. They say that distance makes the heart grow fonder, but if that is true then explain why there is no fondness here.

I got my eggs I got my pancakes too
I got my maple syrup, everything but you.
I break the yolks, make a smiley face

We never really had maple syrup, being poor as church mice and all, but somehow it didn’t matter back then. The pancakes were the best. Burnt, sometimes, but they were still good. Now the special pan lays unused in my luggage bag above the cupboard. It’s useless now. Just useless.

I kinda like it in my brand new place
I wipe the spots off the mirror
Don't leave the keys in the door
Never put wet towels on the floor anymore

I don’t bother with all the papers and placings anymore; that feels good. I think back to that horrible monster that controlled everything, and I’m glad I’m away from that. I’m glad I don’t have to care so much now. But sometimes, just sometimes, it does feel good to have something to care about, especially when there is care given in return.

'cause

Dreams last so long
even after you're gone
I know you love me
And soon you will see
You were meant for me
And I was meant for you.

This part was with me since the days of yore when dinosaurs roamed the earth; at the beginning of time. It gives a nice soothing feel to life; especially on those medium-bad days when I need just a bit of encouragement.

I called my momma, she was out for a walk

Nope, never happened.
Consoled a cup of coffee but it didn't wanna talk

It makes me talk; and for as long as I’m talking, everything is going to be alright. It’s the silence that is most hurtful.
So I picked up a paper, it was more bad news
More hearts being broken or people being used

I can see the signs. They’re usually ugly, but they try hard to look pretty. And you always go back to those same people. Each time, you go back to those same people. It’s vile, that’s what it is.

Put on my coat in the pouring rain
I saw a movie it just wasn't the same
'Cause it was happy or I was sad
It made me miss you oh so bad 'cause

It was one of those cartoons that we always loved to watch. Except now I laugh; I remember I never laughed back in those days. Now I laugh, but there’s no one to hear. Ironic, isn’t it?

I go about my business, I'm doing fine
Besides what would I say if I had you on the line
Same old story, not much to say

It’s odd how having so much time pass should mean there’d be so much to say, but somehow that isn’t true. I’d just fall to silence now. There’s no more fight left in me. I think about you every day, but there’s just no more fight left in me. All that’s left is an empty shell that has nothing to say; not even and echo.

Hearts are broken, everyday.

Here’s where people need to understand, that just because it happens all the time; and by default implies that it is a “normal” part of life, doesn’t mean that the feelings that come together with it shouldn’t be felt. Those feelings are just as real and just as valid as those “normal” occurrings.

I brush my teeth and put the cap back on
I know you hate it when I leave the light on
I pick a book up. Turn the sheets down.
And then I take a deep breath and a good look around
Put on my pjs and hop into bed
I'm half alive but I feel mostly dead
I try and tell myself it'll be all right
I just shouldn't think anymore tonight 'cause

Yeah... You were meant for me and I was meant for you.

It's like walking on a rainbow, except with more colors.

“Your classes are so meaningful”

His bright eyes were staring up at me from the floor where he was seated. His cheeks flushed pink, and I knew he wanted to say more. But I was already choking back tears as it was, and I couldn’t allow that. I thanked him. I wanted to say how much it meant to me to hear him say that, I wanted him to understand that all my bad days were somehow erased just by hearing him utter those words, but I choked. This is why I do what I do. I told myself. It’s for these precious moments when you realize that you made a difference, it’s for that brief flutter of hope that maybe you made the world a better place for at least that one person.

I told them how irritating it could be when you have so much to say, and you know you make sense, but for some reason the others just don’t understand. And for some reason, you don’t give up. You keep trying and they dismiss you and it hurts. Then the only thing you’re left with is to stoop down to their level and battle in their pathetic playing fields. You who are a great warrior capable of slaying great beasts, playing in the wading pool with the young ‘uns. It’s irritating, but you try anyway because if you don’t it means you lost. You gave up. Not on them, but on yourself. You know you make sense, but they don’t understand. But you try anyway just in case. You keep trying.

Keep trying.