Fates Collide

Fates collide, emotions defined. In the midst of time and space, I thought I had long forgotten how it felt like... To be remembered at various interval, to connect however densely on a daily basis.

I thought I will be able to leave here, without any hopes or reason. I thought I am just a hunter on a tag and release basis in this thing called love. Where I could only catch and not possess love. Where everything was just as fast as I had caught and let go. And just as I thought I had ran out of ammo to be in this game of love. She appeared and made me realize; love is not a hunt, it’s a chase. A chase against time, in relativity... A chase to cherish whatever moments we are left with. No matter how short, how fleeting...

As each date passes by, I find her closer to be who I want to be with. As we connect across the radio waves of text and voice, each wave reverberates us closer. Closing the gap of anonymity, bridging our expectations, weaving an understanding ever so personal, only we knew...

First Tryst...

It’s amazing how our thoughts can change with the people we meet. No matter how brief, how random. As each day flips through like pages of a storybook. Lines and paragraphs counting down to the end of each page. Unveiling new characters and plots; revelations which we have no control over.

Among the lists of characters we meet, are what defines us. Friends, lovers, allies and adversaries. With each, comes a different theme to our story. A vicissitude to an unchartered tale. And among the many we’ve met and lost, are the special connection that binds us along this high density living.

Each line of fate, weaving upon another to reach out to each other. And as this great tapestry of fate wound through time, our lives intersect with other lines. Creating the fabric of providence, meeting the people that could change our lives...

With just this one determining moment in time...

Our first tryst...

The Last Word

The end is a word, and that’s the way it had ended...

A poignant perversion, the travesty of love. Once part of a great legion of works, in eventual catharsis. Enchanting as it sounds, as eluding as its spelt, it is just an amalgamation of pre conceived ideas along the lies of emotional congruity. Love...

The acquiesce of a fissured bond, split literally between the physical expanse of various others... Laconic argot phased and paraphrased into obeisance of a different kind. Our locution meant nothing more than just consonant waves fitting astride the convivial ambience. The farthest anything has ever gone is the barrier of an eternal stillness. A wave indecision at near infinite attenuation. Broken...

A blithe indifference, in modicum sensibility. The last glimmer of the human matrix as all things are rendered useless and broken. Nightmares became just reminders of the dearth in hope and will. Time is just poisoned along the evenness of death. Life as an entity has lost all intendment, varying into the stratosphere of emptiness. Gone...

Love... Broken... Gone... There is nothing left, and that’s how it should end...

My last word...

Alone

These few days I find myself staring more at still waters than starry skies. Asking more of the what not than what if’s. In an attempt to adjure angels, I spawned demons instead. And these demons are past abominations, drowned along into the still of time, now only to be back into the abyss of my mind.

I find truth in deceit, life upon death and among the various antonymic conjectures; I solemnly swear. I am not infallible. I have down times and up times like a rollercoaster, I have times when I write simple and times I go in riddles. Then there are times when I thought my predicament would be worst of than others, and that it had imploded into a global endemic. Even I admit that’s not how it should be...

As my mind screamed through the inner core shedding the skins of my emotional sore. I closed the gaps between the void of my soul in writing. I find this close amidst the openness of everything, and realise this is perhaps my only chance at salvation... For there are too much things on my mind...

Things that have no meaning, no impact upon who or what I am. I don't even know why I have these broken things within me, inside my head. But I have to record them anyhow - because I have to tell them to someone, someway, somehow. Because I need someone else to know. To maybe, possibly, understand.

Because I don't want to be completely...

Alone.

Cerebral Seepage

These few days I find my mind wandering more and more from the places it should be to the places it wants to be. I find myself waxing, with greater frequency, as my thoughts ebbed and flow down the ripples of eventuality. And I looked back and wonder... Why do I still think of such broken things...

Sometimes I'll catch myself mid-sentence, about to explain how I believe the global population explosion has rendered the communal consciousness not only incoherent, but totally dangerous and dementia inducing to anyone who hears it. How the uber-thought now makes no sense, leaving us without a prevailing zeitgeist and thus no soul. How recurrent exposure has sewn corporate symbols into the fabric of comparative religious sense, raising golden arched effigies and bespectacled antichrists asking: 'where would you like to go today?'. How the eventual demise of businesses became the genesis of an economic triage.

More and more I wonder if I'm doing everything I could to stem the tide of global erosion. If I am fighting the system from the inside - or if I have really gone native in the land of the enemy. If a stint of social sabotage or paradigm terrorism isn't in order to reaffirm my position as an avid seeker of the long lost human spirit. If playing the everyday zombie hasn't sucked away my lust for karmic redress and sophoclasm...

...and then I'll come back here to you and realise revolution can start with a few simple keystrokes.

Time I Have Wasted

Tree trunks grow bigger each year by adding a new ring of growth. It takes place in the cambium, and the amount of rings is the measurement of a tree’s age. It is only after death that we could count those rings. Humans grow old each year by adding a year to their age. At the end of our lives, our bones will be the only remains as the only indication of our age... And it is only after death that we could really determine our exact age; down to the very millisecond.

And inbetween, we try to remember ourselves as the second hand unwinds. The notion of numerical remembrance blurred to the stage where calculations has to be done to remind a self of time. Diffusing the right with the wrong, happiness from sorrows; in an attempt to qualify the chapters at each vicissitude, we use such flawed words to remind ourselves how we felt. Until we ran out of it, until we could no longer find a different word to depict these assortment of emotions... Until eventually we are obtuse by our own scales of measurement... And we just stopped one day; trying to understand how we felt...

Presents, celebrations, party and cakes. They are just economic arbitrage upon the disparate soul - A provisional gratification upon the faculty of thought. At the end of the day, the fad dies out, and you just find yourself older by the year...

Today is a reminder of how much time I have wasted, of how long I have existed... I don’t want to be reminded of such intricacies but the numerical reverberation somehow reminds me otherwise...

A Bad Hair Day

A belief is not merely an idea the mind possesses; it is an idea that possesses the mind. In this myth there lies neither truth nor fiction. Conjured within the mythology of this loveless void is itself, an idea... An idea wherein lies my profound comprehension of the human condition...

I assert human dignity and our capacity for fulfilment through reason and mythical methods. Yet every single individual is an antithesis of each other; one way or another. This is not really about others after all... After a year of writing, I find this ideology more than just a fleeting emotion.

In every one of us lies another us; a person that feels dejected, rejected and abjected. You may not admit it, but in your sub conscious, you acquiesce halfheartedly to this other self. For we are so accustomed to disguise ourselves to others that in the end, we become disguised to ourselves. And over time, even the face forgets what to do facing a certain emotion.

At the end of the day, there is nothing you can really do. Maybe comb your hair a few more times? Add some make up to cover the impalpable lines of flaw? Smile when you are happy, sad and every other sense? Sometimes we just do needless things to reassure ourselves and the people around us...

Mood...

One of the deepest and strangest of the human condition is the mood which will suddenly strike us perhaps beside a pool at night, or deep among the sloping meadows, the feeling that every flower and leaf has just uttered something stupendously direct and important, and that we have by a prodigy of imbecility not heard or understood it.

There is a certain poetic value, in this sense of having missed the full meaning of things. Quagmire into the materials of life and failing the big picture. I see myself as part of a system so caught up in the covetousness of everyday living, that I had failed to realize the allusion of it all... In this factious decorum, I have long veered past the sedated state of melancholy...

Such pulchritude, such coruscation, such intoxicating allure just interests me in so many levels... There is beauty, not only in wisdom, but in this dazed and dramatic ignorance.

Finishing...

No one wants to finish what they start. Like love. Like life. Like spending time being with the person you like. I think I wrote these somewhere before, but I just can’t help repeating... It's the malaise of the human condition: Everybody wants forever... But nobody wants to wait that long.

This is all finishing. But I’m finding it exceptionally complex to finish the finishing of it. What if it never stops ending? What if there is no final, full stop? What if after years, I would still be back to this place, with this similarly faint emotional remembrance? What if love will come back to me after a year of detachment?

What if it just keeps collecting exponentially around me? This colony of brain cells I call a mind, accruing cluttered thoughts eternally. Filling each space with gigs of memories in some hard drive in a rundown consciousness at the wrong side of my mind.

There is no sense in it. There never was. Writing it down didn’t make it easier to deal with. It made other things. Conjured different demons. Created a cosmos of thoughts akin to nothing real. Things said for the sake of saying, and I try to make it as approximately close to my thoughts as possible...

I don't reflect here. Here is not an image even remotely indicative of me. I don't know what "me" really is - but it can't be like this. Or can it? Surely there is more form to it? More pattern? More reason and acuity? I mean how do you even portrait me after reading all these entries...

Who am I kidding? My head IS like this. I write as I think and that's why this should end. Because having a record of it, however imperfectly distorted, still hurts sometimes.

I am coming apart and I am tired of describing it to you. It’s best to let your mind finish - What you think you knew and thought of me.

Words...

I'll try to fail spectacularly in an attempt to succeed...

I find metaphors in the now and then from the eventuality of those here and there - but all words are bad metaphors. All words are vague descriptions of the amorphous thoughts that flow through our minds. And we are imperfectly describing what we actually mean when we decide to commit those thoughts to anything as fickle as language.

Even though I have to. Even though that's the very basis of communication. Of society itself. Language has and always will be the weakest link. I say "this" when I really mean something that "this" roughly resembles. You'll respond with "that" when you really mean whatever approximates a response to what you misconstrued as my intent, when I used "this" term.

And the degrees by which we are moving away from what we really meant, continues with each imprecisely proximated response. Until we are no longer dealing with the original ideas - but instead wrestling with the intricacies and nuances of language itself.

It all fails the macroscopic concepts. We use archetypical words like "love" because they are the closest approximation we have to a broad range of concepts and emotion. That is a major flaw in the human condition. One which causes more heartache and false-hope and even more emotional destruction than anyone cares to fathom.

I've stopped writing here because the hypocrisy of it cuts me like razors. Because explaining the problem is obscured by the problem itself, and that I should probably leave it as it is... I strive for semblance and failure is my success.

Like how love should be... No matter who, when or where... I try to the best of my ability to prevent myself from loving... Ever again...

Somehow, I think I’ve failed once more...

Love...

When alcohol becomes a remedy to a broken conviction, all that is left is to expunge the sobriety out of a person. To numb the pain with trickles of inebriation, like worries flushed down the faucets of reality. Heartstrings soaked in wine and sinful eye candies, with smiley facades the only asylum to keep the forlornness within.

Once I was the person in front of me. Now I am, the person facing the past me. I never thought such a day would come back full circle to me - To shine light upon the lovelessness of another. Hypocritical admonishments the only solace to a broken heart, presence and company became a tranquilizer on drip to a loveless soul, rendering it still and keeping it sane a drip at a time.

Brokened hearts, shattered dreams, splinters of the mirror shying back at me... When a connection detached between a man and a woman, this became the eventuality... It is times like these, I pray that I do not fall in love again... For love is a condition falser than the vows made in wine.

Because when I drink in love, I sink faster than you can say gravity...

Love and Lust

Love is the mental condition in which a being finally feels affection for another. Lust is the physical condition in which a being finally feels attraction for another. And to feel both at the same time is the molecular ordinance of the human condition.

Between the relationships we share with the opposite sexes, we draw invisible lines in which we prevent ourselves from crossing. Lines guided by the ruler of principles and morality. Lines in which different people draws differently... Yet some exceeds the boundaries of others, crossed by the lust and their selfish desires. Like how one could become a third party, wedging themselves between two others. Fissuring the trust between them and leading to the eventuality of brokened hearts.

I strongly believe in karma and that Lerner’s Symmetry Theorem also applies in the deeds we’ve done. Thus, I draw lines too, in an ocular bid to keep me in check. These lines conspicuously separate love and lust, friends and flings. However when circumstances changes; I alter them to suit the course of fate. Erasing and realigning these lines of segregation in accordance to changes and societal norms, evolution and the ever widening openness of humanism.

Love is just a thin line between fornication and communication. I am human, and being the quintessential man... I do stray from the lines.

Old Songs

Why do old songs make us reminisce... Is it because of the cultural gap between the genres of the past and the present. Or the impossibility of a time warp to a previous generation, that we have missed yet yearn to participate in a way or another.

I like old songs, oldies that could date back to years before I was even in liquid form. The work of past artists, glories of ashen flames, I live them back one song at a time. To place myself back in time where people who are old are young again, to an era of black and whites, to a time where the music players we now epithet are called gramophones.

I transcended time through the verberating portal of music, and lived the present with the hymns of the past. Pop maybe the genre I grew from, with each songs charting a different place in my life. But these old songs, they came before even I exist. They reminded me not of the phases in life, but how each song portrays an emotion so close and nostalgia. That even after a few decades, I could even relate to what it meant...

Science

Science tells us that ice floats in a body of liquid because tiny air bubbles make it bouyant.That density is measured on a numeric scales and that the higher digits will offset the lower numbers, and that the molecules structure of frozen H2O is lighter than that of a liquid H20.

I think ice floats because that is the optimum method by which my Vodka and Redbull stays chilled on a hot day. That it is the ultimate pleasure of going into an inebriated staid. That this mixture of bitter sweet concoction resembles the closest to life I've ever tasted. Probably, literally, and drunkenly...

Science describes the principles which order the universe - but it is only through practical observation that those principles acquire any implicit structure and meaning. That's why I've never studied science, it never made any sense to me...

I Am Melancholy

I believe that everything has a soul, even an item so superfluous such as a receipt. They live in everything tangible, obscured and quiescent. Lying there, absorbing every moment of our lives as if it’s their only sense of subsistence. They are the essence of life, a living legacy ready to evanesce and disperse into our thoughts to invoke the lost memories...

These things; they are the spiritual embodiment of emotions through the passing of the space time continuum, a living thought amidst the passage of past and present. And when we pick this “thing” up and reminisce, it threads into our sub conscious, pulling every bytes of memories it can find associating it with this “thing”. When our mind finally process the thought, reliving the snippets of our pasts... We find ourselves crying or laughing, at this end in time.

The nostalgia of dejected heartbreaks, the end of a love lost not to death but a social divide. Bleeding from the broken mirror that I tried to piece, I can’t feel nor find pain anymore, for melancholy has overtaken my state of mind...

I am melancholy... Which is like happy for deep people...

Photos

Primitive people believed that the camera will capture the soul of a person through the window that connects it... But I believe that it is time that captures the soul and greed that corrodes it. And that the camera is a time piece, a matchless instrument in the stoppage of time...

Flashy lights, frozen moments, time broken into bits and pieces, literally. If humanity were to define eternity, photography would be the closest we can ever achieve. For it is what we had lived and lost that time acquires its definition. And the commonest we could ever come to stopping time would be to frame them behind a glass and hang on a wall or archived into the albums of past illustrations.

As I try to stop time like catching the raindrops of a heavy rain, all I could ever hold on to are the remnants of the past. Evaporated particles counting down to the end of the day, cascading memories rushed in torrents through the disparity between each finger. What’s left are these images; the only prelude to all that I have and could ever visualize.

As days and months passed by, I looked back at all the past portraits, and I wonder...

How is it possible that one could miss a person to the point of tears...

Armageddon

In this dark world of Necropolis, clouds overcame the sun’s radiant light, the bull that once rallied has been devoured by the bear and darkness engulfs the spectrum of every mind and thought. Rumbles of tremor can be felt at the outskirts of the cities as the news sets the mood on the moment of despair. Leaders of greater force braced for an impending Armageddon, no matter how futile it might be.

Men dressed in dark clothing, coats and flashy tags mourned in the front of the plasmas and LCDs drenched in the seas of red, in this part of the world we call Asia... Sharing the same sentiments along many others chained to the ripple effect of globalisation. We bled not through our gelatinous cage, but through the numericalness of our lives. We mourned not for the deaths or tragedy that is isochronous in this world, but for the demise of conglomerates and banks.

The end of the humanity is at hand, not by god’s will nor Mother Nature, neither is it by a plague that ends all breathing. But the devastation of a system we humans advertently crescent.

At the end of day, we have only ourselves to blame...

Tomorrow the bloodletting continues...

Ambitions

Exchanging our time for the pecuniary satisfaction of this materialistic world, we adhere to the doctrine of “Money can buy happiness”. Or at least somewhere along that line. Some of us work for the subsistence of our loved ones; for the better future of our next generation. In the process to become a slave to the economy, we try to find a balance in doing what we like with what we have no choice in... We try to find something closest to our ambitions and we work around it. Eventually to realize what we started out to, or get stuck in the middle of a gratifying paycheck.

At times, I would debate within my sub conscious. About the endless probabilities in future, about the limited knowledge I have, about finding a way to do what I want and living the life I want. Though careers and decisions do change along with the hands of times, my dreams and ambitions never change. Some of those in my sphere of influence love the arts of culinary, so they chose the path of being a chef. Some others shares interests parallel to mine, thus the decision to be associated with a bank. While some prefers the logical explanations science can endow them, hence the resolution of being the next Einstein. Then there are also some of those who want to be the next Rambo, and joined the army and pledged a few years of their youth to the government. I guess the saying of “Everything will fall into place when the time comes” does exist.

Articulating ambitions into words is simply too hard, for I could write a million and one words, yet I still could not fully convey it. Thus there are such things as “Jobs”, with less than 10 words, it recapitulate our aspiration into a universal motif.

I Drink...

I drink and I drank and I keep on drinking. Until I cannot place myself exactly. Physically. Psychologically. Socially. Emotionally. Morally. And this I confess.

I think I am drunk. But I prefer the term to alcoholic. I drink until I am nothing and no thing. And less. And lesser than that. To the eventuality of nothingness. In entirety, I planned to drink this world away. To drink another world in. Through a rush of sensation, one gives to the other, until I can insinuate myself inebriatiously through the osmotic portal. Into a world of giddy delights and softer consequences. Into the world of fuzzy visualizations and indistinct avowals.

I’m good at it. At being drunk. The semi-liquidise existence of a professional verdant. I can be more drunk than anyone has ever been, ever in the history of everness - and still I can drink more. For I have plumbed to the highest depths and aspired to the lowest pinnacles of inebriation - and am none the worse or wiser for it. It is who I am.

And I drink to confessions that beg no forgiveness.

Coffee Bean Girl

Swept away by you, my mind has turned my senses to you. I looked at you, and yet ironically diffident of your reciprocation. You looked into me, and that metaphysical monologue within fades into oblivion. I slipped into the mode of transition, between the thought of you and the quandaries with me. But by the time I’ve realized, you have already stolen my heart, my mind, and everything that embodies me.

The void between us is just three tables away, yet the mental block feels so insuperable. I am no longer the player I used to be, and the skills of the trade have long ebbed through the brokenness in me. I wanted to speak, yet my mind could find no words to illustrate my infatuation to you. All I could do was stealing second glances at you - though you caught me red handed a few times...

As relativity sets in, you left. Leaving your possessions behind as you walked towards me. And as towards transfigure into passing, the molecules of air you infused around has reached into my ambit of smell, basking me in that tantalizing scent of yours. On your passing you gave me that grin, that playful, seductive beam... Is that an approval of sanction or what? I contemplated for the whole day in circles thinking about what I should have done and not did. Even as I write this now, I couldn’t recollect my self, my thoughts and anything else that you have stolen from me...

We never knew each other; Damn, I don’t even know your initials. The only thing I knew is that you are the Coffee Bean Girl at the corner seat... I remembered how you look like, and I hope you remembered me too...

The Coffee Bean Guy at the entrance seat...

Random Walk

Often we predict what the future may be, like a gamble upon pure luck with the chips of time. We bet them on relationships, on education, on work and the eventual self realisation. The perpetual wins and losses tallies in intangible forms, for each chip used are a lesson gained. But most of the time what we betted on greatly deflects from cards of reality, for life’s a Random Walk.

I muse and ponder, reflect and deliberate; upon the wide array of endless possibilities. And I came to a conclusion that the doctrine of, “Everything will fall in place when the time comes” is more than just a theory. It is a force working its way through time and actuation. Falling in unknown places are the people and circumstances orchestrated by the many other individuals... With each of anything changing the course of everything and the eventual place we will be when the so called time comes. Through the inconsistencies of many, it ultimately comes down to a stasis of equilibrium, and we name it reality.

We ask question on our future and take assurance from others on how bright and correct it may or might be. In the end, only to come to this realisation of self. That our future is shaped by our present actions, and not the macro dialogues of corollary disposition.

Life is written by actions not alphabets, that’s why most books are penned by people who have acted...

Lovelessness

I came down with lovelessness – read the symptoms – discovered that I had loveless syndrome, must have had it for months now...

I wondered what else have I got; searched up on the net – found, as I had expected, I am heartbroken too – curiosity calls. As my interest of the human condition sank in I became determined to sift it to the bottom, and thus started alphabetically...

Read up on atrabiliousness, learnt that I was ailing from it, and that the acute stage was far from over. Balefulness, I was relieved to find, I had only in a modified form, and as far as that was concerned, I probably will get used to it... Cheerlessness I’m in, with several complications and depression, probably the only medical term, I chronically seemed to have contracted since nativity.

I drudged conscientiously through the remaining twenty two letters, and the only malady I could conclude I had not got, was love.

Money Does Make The World Go Round

I usually don’t write on a consecutive basis, but the revelations of this day have brought me to this understanding and thus, back to the screen of this window of thoughts. The understanding that money does make the world go round...

From the day I started to understand things and learnt how the world works, money always had the power to assuage the troubled minds... From family members to close friends, it never fails to work its magic... Perhaps that’s why I’ve chosen the path to understand the complexities of this sinful spell, and hopefully the power to wield it.

With a middling pecuniary strength, there’s only so much I could do, so much I could help. Everyone has their own story to tell. Yet I always pondered on the poignancy of my own story, as if my story superseded all of theirs. But once I realised I am part of this whole plan in life, I started to feel obliged to help in any way I can, unconditionally...

I thought with will and determination, everything would fall out well. Then I try to find expiation to redeem myself after I am unable to deny my instincts... That there is a limit to will, the limit to this world in which everything is closed.

Price Of Life

We pay and get paid in this life, in a cycle so tenacious no one can break. A cycle that involves time and currency, moments and numbers – The price of life.

Every day we measure people and things in prejudices and biases we don’t even understand, from the social affectations to a person to the very basics of human consumerism. Even the policies the government adopts and advocate, every single dollar transmitted through the plastic cards we unknowingly expend, lies the fact that a valuation has been made. An indication of a price we are willing to pay for this life.

The valuation of choosing time over money, people over time... We trade the seconds of each day in an attempt to build stronger bonds with people we want to be with or continue pursuing our materialistic dreams. And in this process, we have placed a price tag on almost anything or everything... The valuation of people epitomized by the gauge of time, the monetary measurement of the things we eventually buy. We have pasted a price tag on everything around us in incoherent numbers we could never comprehend, even if nobody has been honest enough to own up or admit to themselves...

Individually, we make decisions to place a price to our surroundings, our lives, our time... Like a quiet getaway to a remote village at nowhere, where we implicitly place a value on peace and quiet. Like how being fat is never an inheritance or a genetic disorder, it’s a life style choice. And we pay for vanity by the pain and the discipline of opportunity costs.

However when we make any of these decisions to measure anything, we probably don’t come clean to others, or even ourselves about the price we have put on our environs, our lives, our time...

This Moment Between Strangers

Somewhere between the strangers who turn into us, and the strangers we inevitably become - are the lives we occupy briefly and imagine to be the whole of ourselves. We step into the realm of others only to leave in a moment - hardly appraised by time, yet decreed by the things we have done.

These transient identities, these masks of masquerades that others mistakenly remember are what we actually are. These dust motes on anarchic tumble-tide trajectories. These momentary illusions coalesced from the quantum cause and ripple effect of all history, ready to evanesce at the slightest shift in neurochemistry or universal whimsy.

It seems I can no longer find time to define time... and meaning... and underlying form... and all those other things that occupied my mind so completely. Is life distracting me from the thoughts or were the thoughts distracting me from life? Am I better off where I am or where I was?

Was I a better stranger once? Will I become a better stranger next? Am I at least half as far from who I was, than from whom I want to become? Can these minutiae be measured with any accuracy or meaning?

Alas I can’t find any other words to fill this void - A vector agent of cerebral seepage.

Everything Happens For A Reason

Along the path of uncertainties, lie endless possibilities. This is especially true in every endeavor in life… Sometimes, it is not the effort or time we put in that constitutes the end, but rather the element of luck.

But everything has a cycle and that includes luck, as everything had to be restituted at the end. For I suppose that apocatastasis is the very basic principle in this world - Within the cycle of Earth lies the cycle of life and within each cycle lays millions of other cycles in between and beyond…

Along the vicissitudes in life are the various junctures many had deliberated upon. But along the decisions made and opportunities missed, are the ways we look at things… Everything happens for a reason; her leaving is one of such reason, and I am believing it day by day…

Some Of The People

Along the sea of people we meet and know, we remember some, forget some, hate some and got close with the others. Those that we got close to left a deeper impression on us than the rest, and for that few, we will always remember them for as long as we live... Even after many chapters of our lives.

Some of the people became our lovers, soul mates, some other became close friends and the rest just fades into the appendixes of our memory. Archived into the back of our brain, into pages where the names rings a bell but not the person themselves. Along the selective memories we keep, some of those we forgotten remembered us... And when they call upon us, we conjure the events in our minds to bring us back to the time where we first met. Sometimes we finally recall who they are, sometimes we just act as if we remembered so as to swathe the discomfiture surfacing from within...

Yet along the lists of people we encounter, are the emotions and sense of belonging; the nous of the very human essence. For that we only choose to remember those we like, those who are beautiful and handsome; those that fits in to the characters of this book of life. For this book is not written by ourselves, but by the people that and circumstances around us...

And I admit, I do forget people along the way...

I Don't Want To Finish

Sometimes I read books and end up never finishing it... Sometimes I played Role Playing Games, and ended up at the last save point without ever completing it. Be it a book, a serial, a game or anything as paroxysmal as the end of life. The opprobrious invectives of an ending, is but a respite from all the chains of impossibilities we’ve seen in life...

Thus, I find it better to stay real... With each story I embark upon each new book, new DVDs or whatever medium along the visuals and audio peripherals, I tend to wax along the impossibilities of everything within me... The evocation of cataclysmic thoughts is what I’m trying to circumvent. The idea of hoping for the best and preparing for bliss is not what I want to become... So, I don’t want to finish...

The thought of finishing something equates to the zilch of anticipation. An ending is a full stop, an answer to all that is left. An answer which we could never change or work out... An answer that has been decided way before the story materialised in illustrations and thoughts. I prefer to make them out in my own ways and time...

Nothing ends up the way we want... Yet still, without the happy endings, are the lives we unexpectedly indulge.

I want to die happily ever after...

Now, how do I start...

The Erasers Of Reality

Tired of the mundane lives we rinse and repeat, we often seek for an adventure, or maybe just an hour or two of digression from reality. For those well financed, we go travelling to see people in their own routines. To muse at how altered the meaning of “mundane” could be. But when we could not afford such luxuries, we just immerse ourselves into the stories of imaginations in front of a silver screen.

For the hour and more, we inhabit another world. A world brought to visuals ever since the advent of technology. The anecdotes of characters summarised into hours of action and drama. In stories that we find amusing with just a few minutes of trailer or synopsis, we decided to let our mind escape and drift into them for that moment.

I love watching movies, even if it’s all by myself. It’s not because of the escapism for that moment nor the companies with the show. It’s because some shows seemed like a past reminiscent or a déjà vu from a dream... The stories and characters may be different, the themes diverge, yet the consciousness of my mind reminds me otherwise.

In these movies and shows, animations and cinematic graphics, I see the illustrations of life. A depiction of snippets of my itinerary for the past years, and those I’ve seen and passed. The realism of actualities, cut and paste to form a totally different but profitable story. I abrade upon them on a weekly basis in an attempt to erase off what’s left of me...

Movies are the erasers of reality, and for that, I pay to erase myself... But still, there are still things we could never erase. Like how I have written too hard on some of the pages in history, that even such erasers could never remove...

Even if they did... The imprint is still there...

The Smell

A week of hectic schedules to keep up, with the occasional ail in a year. I thought I had moved on… Mundane as it may be, work has made every moment in time engaging. Though thoughts of her flashes by momentarily, work has seemed to prevent me from dwelling much into the past…

Traversing through the crowd on a daily basis, scents and smells lingers around from random sources. Some remind me of my friends, some of my colleagues, and some led to her…

This sensation one gets when smelling his favourite food – Something rich, familiar, and wonderful that makes a person want to have it right there and then. I get that whenever I pass by a girl wearing her perfume.

And it’s killing me…

Partiality Perception

Like how we visualize clock as a round object with disproportionate hands moving in a circular motion. Like how we drew a fish as an oval attached to a trigonometry figure. Like how we say a person is good and bad by just mere looks. Like how the past is always better than the present. Our partiality perception… A driving of the mind set on an automatic gear, it turns away at times and makes us believe the other… It makes us perceive in a way so ordinary yet with such predisposition…

Clocks can be rectangular, squarish or even in any other shape and sizes along the list of geometry. Fish can take the shape of many other figures, and the saying in the orient of “Do not judge a book by its cover” seems to be true after all. Yet time and again our logical drive makes us believe things of certain vestige to be somewhat conniving. A twisted mind in a twisted world, we turn visuals into fictional interpretations which we always find easy and coherent to believe in - And most of which, are inaccurate…

What are we to judge in the first place, what are we to find reason to construe and debate the existence of others? We are nothing better than just mere living proteins gyrating round this cycle of life, and the difference between us and other organisms is our ability of thought. A gift so unique yet so jaundiced…

Thinking Too Much

As my thoughts congeal into a seemingly whole, they burst and shattered into the stratosphere. Like the death of a star, these stardust, these fragments trailed along the winds of path. They scatter about in every possible place I could think of... Settling upon the people and things I’ve once came upon, and they change.

In thoughts, in emotions, in ways I could impossibly describe. For words can never frame the changes I’m blinded to. Yet along the words and things I’ve probably spoken, the things I’ve done, the pain inflicted and received, is the present me that stands now. A person that still doesn’t change much...

In this world where thoughts drips from the faucets of society, into a concept so huge and meaningless to men, these thoughts just got flush down along the plugless sink of actuality.

I think.

I am thinking.

And I thought.

I really do have a proclivity for thinking too much...

Dream Girl

In a sub reality where everything could fade away at any time, where my inner most desires materialised, I just wanted to stay there... Sometimes, I just hate to wake up. To be inundated by the troubles and loneliness in this high density livid world.

Every day I try to get myself exhausted to a point where I could dream again. And at times I do dream, but most of the times I just fade into oblivion. In these dreams I saw a girl. She stole the stars in my sleep; yet through the grips and correlation of reality I could only figure her name... Though she’s not exactly the type I imagined I would like, still I fell in love with her... In love with an imaginary girl who probably only appears once a week. In love with someone whom I could touch but not feel. In love with someone whom I could not hear myself when I speak... Is this how love truly is or should be?

At least in dreams, couples don’t quarrel; they don’t break up or say things that hurt... At least I could seek solace in the fact that she’s never going to leave me, or my mind...

A Walk Around Graves

There's always this proverbial saying, "The cycle of life"... But walking and reading the old epitaphs all around, life seemed more like a terminal illness than a cycle. In time to come, there is no cycle in our life, but only a small stone slab that summarizes our entire itinerary. That is death...

"Rest In Peace", "Taken Too Soon", "Misunderstood"... These are some of the many summaries... All these words made me ponder about that person's life and the way they passed on to another world, especially the last one. Ruminating over such words has made me wonder about a whole lot. - About the increasing fatalities on the road. About unrequited love; a lover waiting for an eternity in vain and all alone. About the imperfection of memories, for after a hundred years of wear even the tombstone forgets your name...

I'm not as morbid as this entry sounds to be, it's just that cemeteries reminds me as much about life as they do about death. They're as much about keeping our memories alive and dealing with grief, as they are about holding the physical remains of a love one lost.

They are a reminder of how transience life is, how one day we will also be under these stones. The blessings of life itself and the need for action so as to not let others summarize our entire motif in such few words.

Death

I've been thinking about death a lot recently. From the movies to the friends whom once were, death seemed to be the theme at this point in time... Withered flowers lay upon the threshold of death, burnt incense delivering the thoughts of our prayers to another realm. We abide by the traditional rites of communicating to the departed; in ways science can never explain...

One day you'll be dead... so will I... and so will everyone you and I both know. It's just a matter of time. By then what will be left of us?

Our memories may linger on in the people who once knew us - the good and the bad. People we never met may someday gaze upon our works and accomplishments and wonder who we were and how it feels like to be us at that time. Our children’s, children’s, children might still carry a diluted set of our genes and perhaps know our names and the few statistics of our lives. A record will be kept somewhere of our death and the circumstances involved.

But eventually down the great tunnel of time - we will disappear. Our genes dispersed in the generational winds, all memory and records expunged under the weight of swollen history.

We will be nothing then - It is then will we be finally, truly, utterly dead. Nameless and forgotten?

By then will we finally be free?

Climbing

It’s been sometime since I last did this, so long that the calluses built up over the last training have long worn off… I don’t know what inspired me to just do it again, nor do I know where this strength and resolve came from… I just wanted to climb…

Away from ground level, away from the earth that we humans have encroached… I scaled the rocky limestone, clipping each bolt as I ascend up the horizon. My arms grew weary with each passing move. My legs struggling to keep up against the laws of gravity. With each leap and grab, my mind has transcended beyond the threshold of pain. Searing through my palms are the cause and effect of friction… As I painted the rocks with the colours of my resolve, all my earthly emotions flows through my hand back to this land that spawned me, and I realized… Pain is my only salvation…

Pain is a reminder to the soul of the bonds it shares with the flesh. Failure is just another reminder that not everything is within my grasp… Perhaps I’ve never done enough, or maybe I’ve never done anything… Retreat and I will age, hesitate and I will die, my only notion is not to stand still. What is there to fear, when I have nothing more to lose.

Climbing is all about failure. Ask anyone who has worked on a project for days, weeks, months, years… There are no conquerors of mountains and king of this land; only the rabid desire to surpass what the climber was only a moment ago. 1 more moment, 1 more breath, 1 more move closer to fruition. When, if ever, is he satisfied?

Me…

Never…

Money Friends

How long has it been since we made mistakes, volunteered for something even when we don’t know what we are expecting. How long has it been since we last believe what someone says to be everything; that words are pure truth with no hidden agendas... Just how long...

We seemed to have lost this innocence in life as we grow, surrogated by the realities of people and the expectations within. As we grow, we make friends in a more cynical manner. Afraid of what hidden intentions people harbour, afraid of being used and be used. At the same time we also lost friends we used to know, friends that we used to hang out over with just a few cents of coffee. Just what changed us, or rather, the people around us... Is it the realization of monetary needs and the need to be more selfish than giving?

As I see my friends change, I can’t help but ponder the human revolution, the doctrine of “Survival of the fittest” and the incorporation of the sins into our once pure fortitude. I’m amazed by what money can do as well as the evil it’s capable... Somehow, I have yet to drift to the dark side, and I just want it to remain this way...

Hope

How long has it been since I last hope for something... Fragmented memories, crossed between the space of remembrance and the appetence of convalescing mentally. Piecing me together is the daily work and schedules... But now, I’m free from the mundane life again...

As I see people come together and fall apart, much hits me... Like how fragile love can be, like how ever after is never a fact but an illusionary facade. I begin to see stories unfold... In a friend’s point of view, in a third party point of view, and I am starting to admire the will of humanity. Like how people moved on even after a close one passed on, like how failure only makes another more successful, I’m beginning to see it in a more frequent interval. We stumble and fall, we fell and halt... Life just hits us like an avalanche, burying all that we’ve ever cherished and lived for. But in this barrenness of solitude, is a chance to start all over again...

I guess what’s left of this loveless world is hope... Though I’ve lost much of it, though I only adhere to the “Hope for the best and expect the worst” doctrine. I still hope... Hoping that one day, I will meet someone who will love me as much as I love her, someone who could understand me in every way possible... I just hope...

A balmy breeze from the west is said to bring prosperity. The other name of wind is "Hope"... People forgot long ago that they hold the power to renew the dried up earth. People's heart can change the world, but if we would to change the world, we must first let hope change our heart…

Darkness

Distant days spent in that beautiful paradise are an illusion to me now. My dream now is not in the future, but the distant past... How long have I been here, banished into the realm of nothingness? It is only by relying on my anger and sorrow that I have been able to retain my sense of self here – In this darkness where all existence is nullified, in this realm, where all love has been disintegrated. I have just barely managed to preserve my sense of self by continuing to think and to write.

This is a place where even time has lost all meaning. Eternity is but a moment here.

My heart is finally being overcome with repulsion towards her, possessed by the darkness, and with the anger I felt for stupidly allowing myself to fell in love with her.

When the soul leaves the body, its vessel, life gives way to death, but what about when the heart leaves? A being does not perish when the heart leaves its gelatinous cage. My heart is already a captive of the darkness eroding at every dreams and thought of her... When will I ever truly become heartless? Loveless?

A Wedding Night

The unification of two becomes one... The vows of an eternal love, crossed between the junction of hope and faith, tolerance and acceptance. They are revered to as the pinnacle of happiness, a state of contentment filled to the brim by bliss. Many experienced this for a while, some for some while, some never in their brief moments ever...

I capture these times of joy and celebration. The congregation brought about by the marriage of two individuals. They brought laughter, joy and many other emotions that are beyond words, - Emotions that could only be captured by light and light alone. I try to freeze them in pixels and resolutions, to capture what is left of a night abrogated by the laws of age and time.

Whenever I see such pure happiness, such confessions of love, such brief beautiful moments, I can’t help myself but continue shooting these portraits of perfection. I went on all night, until the lights are out, until the guests have left... I went on...

In my own futile attempt to keep happiness, I seek solace in the pictures of others. Even if it does not belong to me, I keep shooting... For it reminds me of how human I am, of how love should be and how it should not end. In the end only to realize how much I miss her, how long I have last saw her...

When two people meet, there are six present... There is a man as he sees himself, each man as the other woman sees him, and the man he really is. If only three of her had fallen in love with all the three man I really am...

Empty Days

Time passed with each tick; seconds flow through my fingers in great lengths of discursiveness, and what’s left of it became the emptiness of hours and days... The clock stares blankly with its tentacle hands, sounding out to me in regular intervals. Reminding me of the times I have lost and am going to lose. I lay on my bed, figuring obtusely for things to keep me occupied, to keep my mind from wondering to thoughts it shouldn’t be...

I don’t understand why I took a day off anymore when all I need is something to prevent the melancholic cerebral discourse between me and myself. That invisible battle that relinquishes all reason and logic vice versa. I don’t want to do this anymore, I don’t want to be tormented by the ghosts of past histories...

Asynchronous strands of memories, fragmented dialogues and blurred past narratives... The re-enactment of previous tragedies... I just want to put them all behind... I want to move on...

But how?

I Write

I write to stay alive. In a futile attempt to remove the broken bits in me, I write and I write again… On paper, in my mind, on the web, in this blog, drafts of me scattered all around in physical and ethereal forms… I wrote stories of her, of us… Stories of what I wanted my life to be, to what it has been. I wrote many things, things that now I no longer even remember… I have hundreds if not thousands of unpublished thoughts, thoughts that deliquesce along space and time only to be isolated and coagulated by emptiness, thoughts that for no rhyme nor reason just came crashing into my mind.

Even as I ran out of inspiration, I turned to aspiration… Like breathing, I have to continue writing… Even if it’s just for the canvas to see and feel, even if it is on a tissue that will end up being smudged and rendered illiterate. I write… I don’t know who I’m writing to or who I’m writing for… Heck, I don’t even know who reads these crap…

I wanted to write a book and I even got a title for it, but I figured along the lines of cost and profits - It will not work out. For I harbour way too many thoughts that would interest no one, no things, no beings… Thoughts stored along the bytes and folders of archive, written and stashed under the forgotten pages of yellowed history. As long as I live, I have to keep writing… To leave a piece of me, to leave a piece of memory, no matter how short and insignificant it may be…

Here, I’ve written again…

Dreams time and again...

As I lost myself between the crossroads of life, directions no longer make any sense. They all seemed to be pointing backwards, and I thought I had moved on... I told myself that the end is the dissevering of my soul from the heart, so that I will no longer feel nor love again... I thought that way I would totally forget her... I thought that way, I would totally forget love. But somehow she just appears in my dreams time and again...

Is it because of the human faculty? That equivocal gift of thought that give rise to dreams and imagination... But I don’t want to dream anymore, especially not her. It just drives me crazy whenever I fall into a world with her, just to wake up alone again. That disappointment, that anger, that antagonism, all spawned from the drugs of sub reality...

No one can comprehend the rage that drives me, that impossible anger strangling the grief until the memory of your loved ones just poison in your veins... At the end of the day, you catch yourself wishing that the person you loved never existed so you'd be spared the agony…

Growing Up

Life is never easy, but I did not know it could be so hard. Once we figure out we are on our own, that we are adults with life decisions that could change our future forever, that is when we finally find out what kind of a person we are… Be it choosing which university to go to, what girls to fall in love with. Ultimately, the decision is up to us, for good or for bad. It is how we live with the consequences of our actions and decisions that matters…

Poring through the vestiges of past deliberations, my predilection to play on the safe side has seemed to have gotten the best of me… Be it in relationships, investing, or buying something I desire. I always seemed to dwell too much into its repercussions rather than enjoying that brief moment of pleasure and exhilaration… So much so, it made me stay stagnant in a spot for too long… So much longer, that everyone has moved on except me.

Somedays, being an adult is vexing and tiresome… Imagine being a kid again, when homework is the only least favourite thing. Just at what point do we lose this innocence, that we finally realize the way of the world. Every individual will eventually discover how the world acts and reacts; it's just a matter of when…

For me, I think it was due to all the past perfidies of people whom I have prepensely lost contact with – The realization of my morality, not just family or friends, but my own… That betrayal and heartbreaks are real. That I too someday will die, that one day this blog and all I have lived for will no longer exist or matter.

At which point do we realize we are no longer a child? To each his own, the answer varies. But to me, I think it is the day I see that I will die and understand, it's not sleeping, and it’s not a dream… It is a matter of fact…

Back to Work

Back to work, back to the banality of daily subsistence. I took the passage back to my robotic schedules. I ride back on the trains of familiar strangers, at the same cabin waiting for that same exit... That portal back to the 4 walled partitioned cubes with only a window connected to the world via electronic fibre optic cables.

As I consigned myself upon the seat of a civil servant I tap the plastic medium with the familiarity of breathing, creating works of reports and searches to information for some to see and some into the shredding machine. Wasting my life to this national servitude and waiting for the impending paper race. I sat here, hoping for any defining moment that would make me feel something different. Something besides emptiness... Waiting for change... Waiting for love... A love that will never come to be.

Love has died, that is if it ever was a living thing. Along with it is my anticipation of freedom... Solitaire became my favourite game, and like every unitary leitmotiv, I’m just sitting here, rehashing every moments of before... Saturdays and Sundays became days of escapism. Staying at home becomes a repeat infliction of dolour. I wanted salvation, so I indulged in everything... Now I want to seek forgiveness, but what can a mortal ask, after all the 7 sins...

Tears became a momentary deliverance, yet along the discourse of voice boxes and elucidation are these writing I left behind...

Rebirth

Back in a foreign land that seemed all too familiar, I see life emerging from the bowels of death. Rebirth after the barrenness of winter. Beauty phasing through the cycle of life. Regardless of how short their ephemeral stay may be, they bloomed for the world to see. Painting their existence through the pink of what we epitomised as life.

Nature is a great teacher, and I took down her lessons of death, life and rebirth in stilled images. This is especially so along the transition of winter to spring - The allegory of rebirth. Where the trees take on the barrenness of apparent death, only to be revived through time. Yet their beauty is so transient and fragile that mere wind and rain could them take away.

However short-lived life may be, she has taught me to embrace even the slightest moment of beauty and happiness.

However in this loveless dessert, beauty and happiness is a taboo that only those with it can solace.

Total Eclipse of the Heart

Brokened. Shattered against radio-shadows. Dead planets and specks of stardust loomed titanic through lensed distance and incalculable perspective. Washed out by sun flares and nipped at by gravity wells. Many stars alike hovers around the invisible ring of oscillation, yet this one star struggles to stay alive...

Darkness is the word, the very abstract of my heart. It looms across the universe of emptiness. Vacuumed into an eternity of solitude... A lone planet, or so it is... A star hanging between the balance of life and death. Waiting for a day that living things would start flourishing upon its embrace... Yet all there is, are loveless...

All hope and faith expunged across the shades of black and white. This sole planet survived... After the eclipse of the heart, ice age dawned upon the millennia of civilization. Freezing every organism on this fading star, absorbing every degree of warmth it has harnessed over the years of exposure. As love left, this planet sunk into darkness, all ray of life filtered by another star... A star so close and dear to it... Yet even propinquity could not daunt the change of the heart... In this eclipse, all shades of light are bent and distorted, all lines of thoughts ebbed into an inebriated state, all hope and faith evanescence along the disintegration of life.

What’s left is a desert, barren of thoughts and emotions... Even after a hundred years it remained. Stilled and frozen by the ice that numbs all pain. What’s left behind the Moon is just a heart in cold storage. Awaiting for the fenrir to devour the very Moon that meant so much...

A failing fragmented signal. Some final plea unanswered. Some last warning unheeded. Now lost forever into the abyss of emptiness...

Broken Hearts, Brokened Me

I see me in him, a mirrored self a couple of months ago. Brokened and despaired, casted away by the love we held so close. Eschewed by the very people we once considered dearest. The only thoughts that circumvents within has became nothing but an intoxicating venom. A poison that chokes the very life out of us, rendering us emotionless and loveless. This poison feeds our very subsistence, surrogating necessities into the very air we breath... We became nothing but zombies... Zombies that crave not blood, but the acceleration of relativity...

Nothing became an interest anymore, and time seemed like a merciless reminder that keeps her in my head. Words like “There are other trees in the forest”, “You will find someone better” and metaphors alike became the tagline of many others. Yet now I could not bring myself to say such hypocrisies. For I am not god... I can’t say if the other tree would be there, I can’t say if there would be anybody else far better than who he ever had.

All I could do, was only to drown myself upon the pain we shared. Along the same boat adrift, I just hope I am the rain... A rain that will bring respite along the battles we fought within. But I wondered...

If I were the rain that binds together the earth and the sky, whom in all eternity would never mingle. Would I really be able to bind 2 hearts together...

The Battle Within

With every step and muscle flexed, shrouds of pain and fatigue engulf me. Fighting between the basic mental responses of giving up and pressing on, my mind fought the battle within. And as my will finally overcame my mortal shell, pain became nothing but an anesthetized sting. The legs continue on their own, obeying only to the biological signals programmed from the mind… When was the last time I was sliced by a pain so intense and perpetual yet numb and deaden?

When my flesh surpassed its threshold of pain, a familiar sensation overcame me… In the disparate distance between pain and sorrow, is that void of emptiness. The hollowed numbness equated by the zilch of mathematical equations. Amidst this vacuumed space she has left behind, I look for all sorts of things to fill it up again… But like a bottomless black hole, nothing seemed to suffice the kind of feeling she made me felt. Not even pain, perhaps not even death… But I just keep on trying, keep on finding. The alternate ways, the alternate people, my alternate providence… Superfluous and meaningless, but that is what keeps me going…

It’s funny how we humans work… There are things we do even though we know it is pointless. No matter how senseless it is we must do it in order to collect ourselves. Even if it is a useless waste of energy the action will be repeated, until the mind could finally find a reason to stop. A reason which explains that everything is ok… That the end is something you can’t change - and that particular something you can’t change, has became a matter of fact…

I Have To Keep Breathing

I'm spending more and more time not writing what comes into my head. All the bizarre, sinister yet melancholic psychosis that I’m afraid to share with anyone. Not to anybody, and to a certain extent - not even with myself. Like all the nightmares you don't want to believe you had or were ever capable of having.

I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm not... And i don't have to keep telling myself that right? A poignant rendition of a loveless life. Is it better when you stop asking or is it better that you still ask? Is it worse to be worried about these things all the time than it is to rush through feral thoughts without consideration?

I keep feeling the need to retract. To not go as far as I do. To be critical of the random excentricities of thought. To remember that normal people, whoever or whatever they are, don't do that. They don't go into places that scare themselves, they don't dwell around broken thoughts and try to piece them one by one... They don’t stop by graveyards in the midst of the night to find quietude.

Normal people don't feel themselves pressed against the countenance of now. The rush of personal history crushing them against the present moment. The overwhelming force of it all spreading them impossibly thin.

Normal people don't chill at the thought of opening up like a door and having something else step through and out into their lives. Into the space they occupied. However briefly. However badly. Something clear of purpose and place, perfect and righteous and free of all the tethers and chains that hold me down here in the dark.

Something I don't think I will like very much.

I guess normal people don't have to worry about becoming normal.

Angels and Demons

The loss of self is often the real tragedy of a traumatic brain injury, yet I experience it on a daily basis without the physical impairment. The loss of direction, the loss of hope and piteous supplications. This loss is so profound that only some understood… Some took days, some took weeks, some others – Months and years – In a bide to retain and cling on to something called sanity.

This loss is a soul shattering experience, passionate and intimate. It is so intimate that society as a whole averts its eyes and closes its ears to the pain and despair of such a naked soul. It is a soul bedeviled by infantile demons, the very stuff from which neurosis and psychosis is made. We apply strange and frightening remedies, trying to mend what’s broken into something not. In the vain attempts to effect a cure for a pain that doesn’t exists in the medical books, we perform modern rites of exorcism to rid us of such demons…

These demons are the very angels that made us love in the first place. Without wings, and only a broken heart, they transmogrify into the very darkness that made us do and feel what we did and felt. Perhaps the only thing that’s left of this flightless self would be our instincts. The instinct of survival, the instinct to find love, and to love again…

I wonder if mine are still intact… Or perhaps, they are buried somewhere, under the denial that I desire no love, incapacitated by the fear of falling from such heights again…

A Momentary Get Together

Along the predicaments of schedules and work, we gathered at a much smaller and protracted scale. Though if fate permits, there might be times of congregation… Yet the matter of fact remains, that everyone has an ever expanding sphere of influence. That over time, we slowly drift apart into the waves of destiny, scattered amongst the eternal sea of humanity…

We interact with beings of other kinds, in places we least expect or imagine. Like a molecule of water amid fellow molecules and other particles, eventually to be brought to another state or form. We spread across boundaries, into various states, through different catalyst and dispersed to locations guided by the winds of fate. There we convene with a different group of people, only to be washed away by the ravages of time… We are in a constantly changing milieu, and as circumstances change, so does the place and people… In this ever changing world, along the contour of evolution, are the people we leave behind… Lost friends, broken hearts, acquaintances that drop by along the way…

At times, a momentary get together is all it takes, to let people you cherish know – You still remember them…

Photography

Time frozen, stilled between the speed of light and the electric modulation of digital visual. I found a way to stop time, to freeze what I saw into files and bytes, to take perspectives in angles anonymous to most. I manipulate the luminosity of the 7 colours to capture beauty no matter how fleeting it may be, and I found it all through my latest obsession – Photography.

After beauty has left, I started seeking a way to turn back time, but the closest I ever gotten, is only stopping it… Freezing time along the spectrums of light, I could only find a way to capture the present but not the past. I wanted to take a picture of her again… I wanted to capture beauty in it’s purest esscence. Even though it may be just a memory, even though it may fade to black and yellow in times to come. All I ever wanted was something tangible for a memory, not an ethereal depiction of thoughts, just so that I can remember it somewhere along the future. – That I had loved before…

It’s amazing how this art, like writing, has far eluded me for so long. The ability to stop, freeze and capture splendor with the click of a button. The momentous seizure of time, with the transposition of a millisecond to an eternal form; If anything that could describe visuals as a silhouette of perfection. This is it…

The human eye is so shallow, like how men are drawn to pretty women, like how I am drawn to women, that always breaks my heart…

Line Of Thought

Ever thought if there is this line running through your mind, out of your door, through the roads and onto the streets. To places where you have traversed, countries you’ve seen, to the café where you first sat heartbroken and all alone… Shedding the very human emotions through tears that accord to your condition. This line rewinds the hands of time and brings you back full circle to the person you once held dearly. These mangled lines got entangled with the people that we used to call in present tense. Now, only to be converted past the thin line of life and death. And along with those are some others who had passed away in our hearts…

I’ve always thread on these tapestry of thoughts, trying to recall and reminisce the failed relationships I’ve been in. The sensation of being in love; the care and concern from an opposite sex that deliquesce any negative emotions of the human condition. Love is something so spuriously real, yet we still yearn for such prevaricated social adulation. We indulge in this astigmatism; like melted visions, like melted hearts, only to awake with nothing at the end of each revelation except the chastened pain of our credulity. Perhaps everything just melted, evanesced into oblivion, or perhaps the other just robbed us of everything when we are blinded by their affections…

This line that brings me back to her, the very line that rives and shattered my heart. Tugging the very heartstrings that I wanted to cut off someway, somehow… To break off from the thoughts of her and the feelings attached, to sever myself from the very human emotions that made me weak. This line of thought still lingers round the circumference of her… For even after so long, the picture of us is still facing the wall…

I’ve always wondered how it felt to be a player, to be someone who could give and take emotions frivolously... To be someone who could fall in and out of love within the span of a day or a week. But the social stigma seemed to have gotten the best of me… For I am just a mortal, strung together by something so tenuous such as memories…

Identity Diffusion

Our names and job titles are not our definite identity, it never has been and never will be. For something so basal such as words and language could never truly deflect the veracity of our existence. Our names are just alphabets, chronicled under the Registrar of birth and death, tabularized into the perpetual list of historical records. Passport sized photos, signatures, thumb prints and all our genetic data; they are just registering our presence in this transitory stay of Life.

My identities vacillate round the spectrum of circumstances, each alter ego, siphoned and surrogated by another as contiguous events unfold. Most of the time, I am just a slave to this country, bonded by the legal servitude along the civil sector… My freedom, coerced by the pecuniary motivation of financial freedom yet enslaved by the cardinal significance of working hours… At night, in front of this window to this sea of knowledge, I became the author of this place, a philosopher of thoughts and an investor when I login to trade.

I take on different identities and titles along this ephemeral timeline. With the switch of each persona, I dwell into a different realm of thought, only to grow stronger by failing spectacularly. Transcending through the banality of everyday living, I feel myself alive even after love have left. I am an environmentalist 30 meters underwater, a climber 50 feet above the sea line, an athlete along the course of sports and achievements… Even places dictate what I will and were to become, like how I’m a kid in a toy store, a geek in a computer shop, a gamer in an arcade and a writer in this blog.

Identity diffusion, a chronic malady that I live with to feel alive… After all I am just one of those mixed up person in this screwed up world…

MateRealistic

Power, status, cars and the plastic cards… The current needs of the society. A shift in the human necessities, the evolution of the pragmatic race in accordance to Darwinian’s theory. Have we evolved for the best or for the worst? I guess only one will know…

The realistic mates want us to have something in our name, a car, a house or anything that’s worth something. Yet we yearn for the social affections of what the opposite can provide, to assuage the furtive loneliness in our hearts. To complete this other half of our realistic needs. Be it sexually, physically, emotionally. We needed them like how they needed us… That’s what we are, sentient beings enraptured by our own expectations, tempted by or our inner desires… In this world of hikes and inflation, we just have to be realistic to our materialistic needs…

The pursuit of perfection; an epitome of impossibility… A futile struggle against the inevitable… Yet in between we strive for the fullest of what this transient life can offer, the materials that made us happy. How have I fared in this race to perfection? Having succeeded monetarily yet failed miserably in the affairs of the heart. Am I perfectly flawed? Or am I just passing through time like how it should be… Step by step, piece by piece, disintegrating along with the ticking of time…

The World I See

I see, destruction along the fiscal motivation of captilisation. I see, death beckoning on the sides of freedom and revenge. I see, information packed in packages called zips and traded for gratification. All in all, I see manularity facing extinction.

A future where plastic keyboards becomes the canvas of artists and scholars, speakers and soundcards replacing the once harmonious melody of instruments. Metallic hands and artificial intelligence subrogating the nimble fingers and the rationalality of a surgeon. Wars will soon be fought by machines and numbers, not men. Fingers, signatures and emails will be the tools of war, not guns... Sacrifices will become mere statistics, tabulated to lay the pages of histories. We are entering into a world of automation... Soon, even we will be automated...

Soon it will not be us inventing things, but the system that we have built upon the eons of human knowledge and evolution. Soon, even our thoughts will be a hardware, even ourselves will become slaves to the abominations we have created...

When the time comes, we can kiss this derelict vapid world goodbye.

Friends In My Heart

Another year has passed since death has taken him from us, and it’s been another year since we last saw him… Along our busy lives and schedules, we carry on with our existence, by being the slaves we are to this master of time and reality. We seldom get the chance to think about those that have left, about those whom chronicles of life has a part of us… That is until I saw his picture again today…

Being back to his humble abode, I could still see him, shadows of him and the past memories. Times shared and spent together with. Though it has become but a distant reminiscence, but somehow I guess all of us still lives with him in one way or another.

Some friendships can never contest the ravages of time, some friendships stays on in life and some other transcends life and death. But nonetheless, they are still friends in my heart… Its amazing how time had passed and how he has left us and yet I could still feel him, here in my heart…

Valenight

Opposites collide, glances entwined. As our sights locked upon each other, we did not look away like what every stranger does. That is until a smile from her broke the trance I have drowned into, I responded with a toast to loneliness and to her. She responded to my cue, and we drank till it’s half full. We just looked at each other on Valenight, divided by the bartender and his arsenals, sundered between words and actions. The occasional disturbance and cuts in between proves futile to disrupt this mysterious yet magical connection we shared… There were no dialogues, no pick up lines, only mere minor gesticulations; overtures through little actions that meant so much more than words.

Intentions opened, deliberations denied, for I only intend to chill here just for a night. A night to get away from the couples that encroached this civilization, away from the apparitions of held hands and oral copulation; away from the lovers that I used to be and never would be. The previous player in me would have seized the opportunity and give her a night to remember, but the contemporary me wanted nothing more than just a simple night of emotional respite at a pub. Women and sex are no longer on my agenda, like how love and hate has never been my prerogative.

I thought my existence will never be noticed in this dim lit place, I thought I had coalesce into the dark like how I had lost belief in hope and faith, and I never thought I would ever share any special connection with a woman again…

She gave me her number, I got no phone, but a piece of paper… But I think it ended up in the washing machine… There goes the magic, erased and dissolved right down the pipes and chemicals of launder… I’m back again… Back to reality, back into this loveless mythology.

My 22nd Valentine’s Day… Who wants to my date next year?

February the 14th

The clock strikes 12, and the second hand unwinds... A second past the 13th of February, a second into the 14th of February... It's that time and day again... The time when I am casted out of this society where I once belonged...

I think the world will be out, people in twos... Coupling the apologue of this thing called love. In the tribute to this one man that made fruition to cross cultural and status love. A sacrosanct bond that transcends all condemnation, disapprobation and religious barriers... Yet I live in this ironic loneliness of high density living in a culture of strangers and social affectation.

We buy the plastic hearts because they symbolise the replica polyacrylic nature of our poignant lives. We smile on cue, swoon at the appropriate moment, simper and furrow with whatever sincerity we can muster. We go through the motions of humanity, the gears that made us love... Replicating romantic ideals, like those right out of a korean or japanese drama.... Like every good android should, we obey the principal matrix that media has programmed onto us...

Because that's what we are. Casted in the image of women and men - We are robots winding down at the end of all history. Yearning for a time when everything meant anything. When we could finally ignore the logical drives that has made us, us... When ignorance let us believe in love as a transcendent quality instead of an evolutionary device or an all too temporary psychosomatic affliction.

Plastic hearts and dead flowers. Fatty carbs and casual sex. Sacrifices to a dead saint on the altar of consumerism. If ever we needed a punchline to this joke we call the human condition - This is it:

Happy Valentine's Day.

Casinoist

Away from the traditional quintissential home visiting, I travelled away, through the roads that stretched over 300 kilometres... Up to the hilltop, in a place where dollar and cents change hands faster than the speed of light; in this place where fortunes are won and lost in just a matter of seconds. I took my chances here on an annual basis...

It’s amusing how casinoists are scientists one way or another. They analyse a certain field and come up with thesis for the winning strategy; Some of which became a theory that probably lasted for only a few minutes... But more often than not, the probability of winning in a chanced game is often on the bankers end. Even though they realized the odds are stacked against them, they still took their chances, including me...

Ill gotten gains, acquired through the smile of Miss Lady Luck. Gratification upon the losses of many others. Realizing my materialistic needs through the anguish of ill lucked people... Will I be pardoned of this sin, that I only commit as a yearly affair...

Chinese New Year

It’s that time of the year again… New clothes, new hairstyles, new cars, a new year… But some things remain, like people, like me, like broken hearts… This annual déjà vu is but a fleeting moment, but somehow every year I face this same scenario with a different sentiment.

House visits, cash for presence exchange, carbohydrate loading and friendly façades. We see the same people, played the same sets of cards, asked the same questions and replied with stencil answers. Every year, we rinse and repeat, at times with new additions to the revelry, at times with an empty seat at the corner where one used to be… No matter what, no matter how, this ancient Chinese tradition carries on…

I don’t understand why I still look forward to such things again. All this celebration, these congregations, it’s just like a video tape replaying round the circumference of days… And I am just following through the motion…

If only I could just play back last year…

The End of Nothing...

Today we drew a clear line between the lovers we once were and acquaintance we eventually are - A final full stop to the end of this love hate relation.

She wants the return of her physical belongings; I want nothing more than a faint physical memory. She wants to clear all her debts to me; I want nothing more than the monetary emotions I once purchased to be. I guess it doesn’t matter anymore, for she has already taken everything from me.

Alone at her doorstep, I could hear her from behind. Behind that wooden divider that seperates us from vision, that block that stopped me from feeling what I should and would feel, that barrier that forestalled my tears… She’s so close yet so far, so near yet she can’t hear… In this deafening silence, echos of her voice rings through my head. Flash backs, reminiscence, recollections of past happiness all rushed back to me… But I did not make a sound, in this lull of stillness, I’m just telling her “I love you” in silent consonance. She can’t hear it… But it’s there…

I’m shipwrecked, drowning in this sea of emptiness… Marooned on this loveless ship that she has rabidly escaped… Now she’s just tying up all the loose ends, so that she could start anew with this new vessel she now anchored her heart upon. And I am left to survive on my own…

We are strangers but not that alien enough, we are friends, but not so close again. In this cleft between the mixed connections we now shared, perhaps we are just familiar strangers… Strangers that will probably never meet again…

Emptiness

Scorned by the repetition of fate, I thought severing the bonds of affection for her would meant the end of seeing her. But circumstances deny, refuting the psych barrier I have built up on them... I thought I would break down, I thought I would be engulfed by mixed emotions. That is until I saw her again... After these 3 months, has time finally expunged the humanity in me together with the memories I have for her? For all I can feel is this hole in my heart, this hole that have discerped me from all cognitive and volitional states of consciousness...

We just sat in silence, drowned by the background of several others. Stuck and muted by the quandaries of speech. Random topics just spawned out of my mouth, trying the break the stillness of the night between me and her. After such a long time, I finally saw her again, but I feel no pain, no anger, no more emotions... Just this void between me and myself, between me and her, between the space that seperates us.

This emptiness, is it a form of acquiescence at the final stage of breaking up? Is it the final phase of this great project called love?

After some recent revelations, I guess broken hearts are just meant to be forever broken. My lifelong affinity to bachelorhood and the prerogative it offers just got shaken somehow. Replaced by an unexpected emptiness that seemed to have grown day by day, hour by hour... The vacantness of solitude and uncertainty... All I could think of now, is how she is shattering the tenuous silence I have in between my guilty conscience and my inner monologue...

What am I looking for? The long elapsed past, ticking away with every second of the clock? Or the distant future that is seemingly filled with endless possibilities... What I am searching for, is not the past that has forsaken me nor the future of what I dreamt it would be, but the opportunities I have relinquish my grip on...

The Market Today

The nucleic effect of the sub prime mortgage, the melt down of financial markets, the advent of a world wide recession… How many could see it coming, how many have prepared for it? I wouldn’t know… Some say it’s just “slowing down”, while some adhere to the doctrine of “What goes up must come down”. I belong to the latter…

Governments are dumping in tax payers’ money giving tax cuts and stimulus packages, only to delay the inevitable… But it is during times like these a visible line could be seen between the optimists and the pessimists. Taking opinions from 2, I could only decide to shift my standings along the balance of both.

Unemployment rates are forecasted to rise to as high as 6%... But when you are all out of job, unemployment rate is 100% to you. I’ve seen how a recession starts and its happening all over again. More crime, more unemployment, more suicides, and more poverty… A vicious cycle, tumbling down the bell curved sequence. A reset button to this economy which once flourished - everything needs to be restarted at some point somehow or another… Like life, like love, like computers…

These economics and all, they are not rocket science… They are change, an indefinite change that we could only roughly envisage yet inexplicable even after 2 millennia of studies. What we need to do is not to avoid change, what we need to do is not cutting rates and injecting money into this system… What we need to do, is to embrace it with every dollar we have… Reality is a tough pill to swallow, but that’s life…

The Great In Between

There is never a place I belong, never an emotion I could hold on for long, for I exist in this state of the great in between. I am neither in the past, present nor future, but somewhere in between. I don’t feel hate or love, but somewhere in between…

I exist in this continuum between yesterday and tomorrow. There is never today and today has never been here in the first place. As each second unwinds, the future transmute into the past at a pace we call present… But how do we even define present? Along the seconds and milliseconds of the delineated present we exist, there is never a real or true present. Present tense is just a fratulent composition along the symbology of the human error. What we truly exist, is in this cosmic chasm, in the midst of the past and the future… Present is just a dogma, created to fill in the gaps of this great in between…

In the rifted juxtaposition of hate and love, I hang in the balance of both sides, pivoting me on the fence are the tenuous memories of past times. I can’t feel either of them anymore, not even anger, rage or forgiveness. Between the lovers and the strangers we inevitably became, are the perfidies of her… Shattering the credence between me and love, severing the ties of all that made me love, in between, I am just trying to lie to myself to the best of my convictions… To make believe in this thing called hope, which will only vaporize at the wake of every morning Sun.

I am stuck in this great in between, torn in the rift of two realms and/or entities… I do not dare to take sides, for I am neither a saint nor a sinner. I am just your average mortal…

Love is...

...the brief moment between breathing in and breathing out.

When you've drawn them in and taken them deep within yourself. When you're full of them and you just pause for that one beat. Totally sustained and happy and fulfilled.

And then you let them go. They rush out of you and into memory. And you spend a while releasing them completely. And sometimes you spend too long.

And then you breathe them in once more. Or you breathe in someone new.



Or you never breathe again.

Gallimaufry Thoughts

My words come from dictionaries I've checked. Phrases, carboned into my thoughts along the texts I've read. Ideas, contorted along the lines of rationality that I have come to understand... I add them all up, and shake them all around... Here it lies, my gallimaufrey thoughts...

I am just bending words and twisting thoughts. I'm a magician, but not of the illusionary sort, I create thoughts against my oxymoronic state, against the societal norms my ancestors has brought down. I used old ideas, mixed them with new ideas, to form my ideas. I delete obsolete knowledge but kept an archive of it somewhere in my brain to relate to the new things I see every day... Then I came to this place, get them all sorted out and put it into words so people could possibly understand. These words I type, these entries I published... They are just abstracts of me in other people's words...

As I stare into the void of darkness, I could feel the darkness enshrouding me, swallowing me slowly... Then, all my thoughts just sink into the silence, my struggle tarrying to the still of night. All has left me, except this tranquil peace of mind... No more emptiness, no more pain, no more heartaches... Just this serenity that soothes my soul in its endless skirmish against her and love.

I'm tired... Exhausted... Enervated... I just want to fade away...