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…