days of days over you

So soon, and its tomorrow again.

I couldn't sleep last night, and the images of days past returned to haunt me; recurring nightmares of regret and anger, bile and melancholy, til i had to sit up in bed, get up and do something else to wash off the sins of yesterdays. What does it take to reclaim the lost years of my life from these memories? These lost years laid waste to by my error of judgment... and, most of all, the cholera of your petty ignorance. The thing I hate most in life, but yet come in droves - stupid people. Yet in my blindness I was another stupid person. Deep down inside, I hate myself sometimes. Resentment has a funny way of gurgling to the top when you least expect it...

So soon, and its time to sleep, so that tomorrow will come faster.

I guess I won't be going for ultimate tomorrow morning after all. Sorry josh!

And, I'm grateful for the friends I have, the people I love, and what my parents have given me. That's really all we have to get through this life, and I'm grateful for what I've been given.

dream on days over you

in december

wow i actually ran today.

its been such a long time since i really used this pair of old legs. tired feet and cold air, the burn of lungs and legs, the sound of breath and gravel. i remember what it was like to love this feeling.

we're getting old, aren't we.


a memory of:
a quiet september morning, reaching the bus stop with no one there. the sluggish push of my own slowing motion; the heat of sunshine; the shiver of a leaf and i'm motionless under tree-shade. breezeless, everything stands in tableau, the trees still as if expectant, the air like glass around me. feeling like if i move, i might just fall through this world. noiseless and still, soundless and waiting: nothing moving but coiled like a spring.

dreaming in the slight shimmer of haze.
the weight of God's gaze in the dusted light.

moments where realness dissipates into syrup, and the world feels like a spiritual place.

Carrots

doin much better, feeling much healthier.

i think life is looking up:)


8DAYS in an interview with Andrea Fonseka and Tay Ping Hui, on diamonds and relationships:
"Ping Hui, would you take jewellery back from an ex?
Andrea: (mock whispers) Depends on how much he bought it for.
Ping Hui: If the break-up is amicable, I'll ask her to keep it. If she's a bitch who treated me like shit, then I'll take it back.
What will you do with it?
Andrea: Give it to the next one, and pretend nothing happened. (laughs)
Ping Hui: No, I'll put it on eBay."


I just find it really amusing:p
I'd probably just wear them myself lolS!

but first I'd have to take them back from the bitch. :|

walk in the ballpark

Sunday night.

No mood to type anything meaningful. And feeling so tired. It was super nice meeting liz and howard and the rest of the peeps today. Joseph Gerri Amelia Kenny yingxian + liz howard, and we played captain’s ball and Frisbee till the day wound down and darkened into drizzly evening.. we dint win anything but man it was fun, especially Frisbee. We lost our first two captain’s ball matches, then played Frisbee in the considerable time between our second and final match in the league..

inspired by our Frisbee tactics (or antics!) we won our final match 8-0!

HAHAHA the irony!

the mechanics of Rita Repulsar

if you wanna make a dance performance-worthy FAST, you have to scold people...its like one of those unspoken laws of the universe, where the degree of excellence is directly proportional to the crass meanness of the choreographer. No offence, but some serious dole-out of mean bitchitude should have happened two weeks ago, whether or not those on the receiving end choose to stay or leave.

Becuase to put it simply, you only have to scold the good ones once for them to self-motivate and improve - its those who fail to improve time and again who get scolded twice or more, and if they leave then all the better for the dance.

Cruel, but i'm getting sick of watching the dance wallow in its shittiness, two days away from our Oweek showcase.

On a brighter note, I'm so happy to be single again!

les enfants terribles

Terrible.
It makes me lie awake at night, paused halfway through the message. How do I continue, and how do I end? Could I even press the "Send"?
Its tearing me apart, and I cant take it anymore...

Tears for us forgotten

What is going on.
What is going on.
What is going on.
I needed you, but you weren't there -
when that little reassurance was all I needed.
I no longer know what I mean to you, and you no longer fill that space within me like you used to.
Sometimes... it feels like you're not there at all, but an emptiness of frustration and unanswered questions.

Emptiness that pulls like a vacuum on the heartstrings.
Half full is exactly half empty.

like..duh (but grayscaled, and magnified)

for all the shades of gray in my life, i have to go and add more to it.. oh just tip the cauldron of wrought emotional iron into my brain.

like you said, your life can only have black and white..but mine is full of the things in between. Conflict? Complement? But with my overactive mind's eye I need to imagine things before they can happen..imagine all the yes nos and maybes so that I feel secure in my insecurities..think about all the possibles and perhapses between black and white.

When you said what you said, it was something unexpected, but something I expected.. an ocean of gray for me, and the black-and-white for you..

While my anchor of reality drifts a month away, out of sight, out of touch..
My heart is battered in the surf, and covered in the waves. I hurt but no one will see it.

sous les cieux sans nuages

Happy.

Its been such a long time as usual..whenever does blogging actually take the place of real life? I'd rather spend the ten minutes typing doing something else..but when you're bored and there's nothing let to entertain you, sometimes reflection on your life is a good thing.

A mirror to the soul.
I take it that Im not feeling up to beat as usual..otherwise i wouldnt be posting anything..this blog is like my sink of depressivity.. the times i need to empty my mind and rant. sous les cieux sans nuages - under cloudless skies.

oweek filming is finally done, but part of me feels like it should have gone on longer..so many more angles to see things, so many ideas to put through, intensify the plot, develop the characters, elements of humours, delirious outtakes..i like the people..i like filming..i like making things..and it feels good to be doing something constructive.
and the gravity of attraction.. temptation looks you in the eye, and you're bound to say aye?

gf come back soon please, i need to renew my infatuation with you..

now bash is lost. i am lost. i cannot cope with just myself giving direction, because i've already lost direction..the club that fueled my passion in sem 1 has already withered into my personal prison..the things that the club could have achieved! I tremble in the thought of what a cohesive committee with initiative and drive could have done..

but faith is blind sometimes. faith that people could put aside their personal ambitions, their private selfishness, their unrevealed idiocy..what of this club is left but the name? call it the non-committee, perhaps.. the non-existent MC. Derisive. Spit.

I thought we did this a long time ago?
and the fat guy still dared to want to shake my hand and say "yes, but this time is the real one"
so i've been lied to for the past two months?
"but we still dont talk to each other!"
So?
"but its for the MC!"
I dont care.
and i remember the moist-sticky feeling from your palm, cos you were sweating..
For the record. what has the MC been but a convenient power-hold for you. and its now in shambles, and you dare to say its for the MC, as if you ever took the time to build it up, hold it together, or try to mend the rifts that have now spread beyond repair. just cos i shook your hand doesnt mean i will ever accept having a bastard like you as a friend.

everytime i step into the clubroom is a reminder of what this MC could have done, how this MC could have been better, what this MC could have been..but i forget, as always. People will be people. Selfish, arrogant, foolish.

But maybe when my disappointment runs deeps, my expectations are too high..

but today feels ok. Mailrun will look good, im sure of it..i did the covers and backpage, and the bash design..proud of myself and my getting-better editing

i still find it hard to find oneself..everyday i still look for the me i feel i've lost..the part that slips away (or awake?) when i dream, the part that fades as pass day-old into the morning..maybe i chase shadows, but I know, i just know..everyday i lose a bit more of myself, as i gain a bit more of my otherness..

the reason i hate blogging is because i always lose track of what i want to say next.

On clarity and infatuations

And well, even as we create new things to obsess about, we mustn’t forget the important things in life. What this time is given to us for, what the club is meant to be. Sometimes when i lose myself in work i forget the greater things at stake, the grades that are the goal of my study in the university, the girl that i’ve pledged my heart to (and hers to mine?). Sometimes its easy to lose yourself when the urgency throws loops around you like a winding lifeline, saving you from drowning in the insanity of overworking, but suffocating the greater life that exist around yourself.

Writing class, at least, brings me closer to a greater realization of myself. The origins of meaning seem so inherent in all things, but purging the assumptions of convention broadens the horizons of the mind. Meaning changes and dwells, morphs and thrives through the times.

Within, throughout, without and encompassing.

My designs aren’t great but they’re getting better. Sometimes you need to spark that lightbulb above your head, and inspiration flows like water from behind a gate. But whether the room behind that gate is a one-man cell or a reservoir...

The beat of two legs

Measure out rhythms of breaths

A ride through the night

Dry run was good, hg should be proud.

Which reminds me, so many things to be done by tomorrow.

Often, when close to a deadline, I feel anxious. Yet, often, close to a deadline, my heart grows cold and my sense turns numb. Opacity of the glass on the moral compass. To do or not to do is like, whatever.

She was cute, but didn’t seem terribly smart.

Someone said cloverfield sucks big time.

Motive and thesis. Some people say, yet it isn’t the way you think it is. Tiffany...she draws me to her with the gravity of intellect, makes me wonder if i could entice her and draw her in, make her over and change her. Her intellect draws me in with the florid twisting joy of a challenged mind. If only she dresses better and not be such a nerd. Clothing identities, hello?!

But what am i talking about. This testosterone infatuation!

So many things to do and so little time. (Time for me to get moving then.) Then things will begin to look like the beginning of an end, rather than the distant start line of a marathon. I’m an ant at a crossroads, tyre-width dash by dash to safety. Stop and i’ll never get across, stop and i’ll be tread marked, just keep going and maybe i’ll get there soon enough.

tripping

A new year should begin with new resolutions.

My girlfriend asked if i had any wishes on my birthday and i said no, i had none. Maybe i had some, secretly deep down inside, i couldn’t say. If we wish for something, we still have to work towards it in order to make it happen. It’s not as if wishes will come true through the act of wishing.

Maybe it gives you that 1%, then the rest of the 99% you have to work for it.

But then if you have to work for it anyway? And when you wish, you know that some things are obtainable and some things are not, so you end up wishing for things that are possible to obtain because you know that other things will just remain wishes? So people will end up wishing for practical things that they have to work for to obtain, nothing is really free in this world, so why do we bother wishing. If you know what you want, just work for it instead of wishing.

But maybe it’s the extra 1% that gets you started.

Maybe i should have some wishes.

Gets me thinking about memories. Back in the Malaysia home I’m thinking about my stash of memories. I wonder if I’ll be able to go back and pull out those folders of RFNA in black and grey. My stash of memories. My disappointments and my hopes, and memories of things past and things gone. The hours and minutes of our lives, writ in black and grey. Some things you write down, and they’re never forgotten, living somewhere in a pile of unread script.

Leads me to think of my father. Have i lost him? Remembering the way i shouted at him once, six hours of travelling just to earn a fucking 6 dollars an hour. Maybe that pushed him to buy this jurong house. Maybe. I wish i treated him better. When was the l time i saw him? The tired look on his face. The longing for warmth maybe. My father, lost out of touch with even his own children. i love him, but in a way that i don’t know how to approach. I wonder how he is now, living back in the Malaysia house. Is he lonely? Is he angry? Is he sad? But to keep him company ..

Perhaps there are some things you can never change. My mother may hate him, but how can i? As a son, i am torn between parents. But i think i know how my father feels. The look in his eyes when he comes to visit, his family, his house in Singapore, yet he has the eyes of a man in the house of a stranger. How i wish one day he would stay here, stay under this roof, less complaints, no quarrels. My parents.

Some things you can never change. The days and hours of our lives, and most of all the family you can never replace, no matter what wrongs they do you, no matter what happens. I need to go back to Malaysia soon, to fulfil my duties, to be the son that my father wants to see.

Perhaps growing older has made me reflect, a new year with no resolutions, but that things go on smoothly, and that i will work to make things happen. Perhaps that’s my wish and resolution. I get caught up in work, oh how much work i have waiting i can’t believe.. But i find, i cannot forget my family, and my memories are left in a different land.

Memories are as good as how you keep them. Parents are as good as the children see them.

Disappointments. Im feeling pensive, and the wave of memory washes over me like old suds. Where are my roots.