Filed under: Conversations
October 26, 2009 • 22:14 Enter your password to view comments
Protected: Have got the blaws…
Filed under: Muse
October 19, 2009 • 11:12 0
Nondescript
I wonder why no one sells insurance for break ups.
Shouldn’t there be some form of premium or credit for surviving them?
Since I’m going on 27, alone and penniless but with many life experiences behind me, I’ve decided it’s pointless to document the drama this time round.
And since I have neither good nor bad thoughts lingering over it.
May all lucid details of my falling in and checking out… be summed by Jason Mraz.
Ah… the war wounds.
It takes a crane to build a crane
It takes two floors to make a story
It takes an egg to make a hen
It takes a hen to make an egg
There is no end to what I’m saying
It takes a thought to make a word
And it takes some words to make an action
It takes some work to make it work
It takes some good to make it hurt
It takes some bad for satisfaction
La la la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la la life goes full circle
Ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
Al la la la la
It takes a night to make it dawn
And it takes a day to make you yawn brother
And it takes some old to make you young
It takes some cold to know the sun
It takes the one to have the other
And it takes no time to fall in love
But it takes you years to know what love is
It takes some fears to make you trust
It takes those tears to make it rust
It takes the dust to have it polished
It takes some silence to make sound
It takes a loss before you found it
And it takes a road to go nowhere
It takes a toll to make you care
It takes a hole to make a mountain
Ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la la life goes full circle
Ha la la la la la life is wonderful
Ha la la la la la life is meaningful
Ha la la la la la life is wonderful
Ha la la la la la life it is…so… wonderful
It is so meaningful
It is so wonderful
It is meaningful
It is wonderful
It is meaningful
It goes full circle
Wonderful
Meaningful
Full circle
Wonderful
Filed under: Muse
September 20, 2009 • 00:33 0
The color grey
Since I was 17, I try to register the last view of those in my life, who matter to me in a personal way, at some point in my life. Never knew when every meeting would be our last. The clothes they were wearing, the way they walked away, the expression on their faces and perhaps the last time they smiled or shared a laugh.
Opened a bottle of corona and stood by the window sill.
Lit a cigarette, gazing at the path he always took when he walked away.
That was the last time I saw him, with his back turned against my view.
The last time I saw his face, he stood next to the elevator and didn’t respond, when I waved goodbye.
Wondered where to place the strange sense of sadness welling inside. Swilling. Refusing to go away. I’ve been put in this situation before. I’ve had relationships end. I’ve had people go. I’ve experienced that pang of hurt when the finality of it all strikes me. I’ve known the futility of waiting by the phone. And I’ll come around after some time and meet somebody new or maybe I won’t. But right now, I don’t really know where to place the pain. And right now, I don’t really want to do anything except believing there’s nothing left for me to salvage. I don’t really want to do anything except indulge in my emotions. In knowing I have no means to change his mind. I don’t want to keep myself from thinking about the inevitibality of it all. From when we first met, to the endless fights we eventually had. The inevitability of this coming to end.
Why couldn’t two people be together. Why couldn’t they be happy inspite of their differences. Why couldn’t it simply be. Why couldn’t I be the girl who’s happy with him and makes him happy. For time immemorial I had the questions and no ready answers.
Fought the notion of making another phone call. I would if I knew somehow we should be together and work everything out. So we could be happy again like the time we took a vacation by the beach or lay flat on the ground staring at the sky in the park. If somehow I saw the confidence in making things right again, that somehow we could trust each other and smile again, I would. But I didn’t. Love was more than what we had.
He wanted out and I too, must learn to forget.
The stories, the promises and the secrets that transpired between the two of us, when times were happier.
If somehow I could possess the confidence in knowing I could be the girl for him, I would, do everything I could, to salvage things. But I wasn’t.
Stood by the window sill and took another drag.
I’m too old, too tired and too vacant.
So he has the right leave, to a better place and to find a better person who could be the life he saw for himself.
Fly kites at the marina on a sunny day, fall in love, curl her toes at his very first kiss, sit on a rollercoaster in Disneyland, share his innermost thoughts and fears, wake up next to him in the mornings, on a soft white bed, with the smell of fresh coffee in the kitchen and maybe a few children of their own watching cartoon in the living room on a Sunday morning.
He can’t find that girl as long as he doesn’t leave me. While we’re coming and going, returning and leaving every other day. She won’t be able to find him.
The probabilities of it all.
Alone again. Naturally.
Filed under: The Color Grey
September 5, 2009 • 06:51 0
Larry David on “Eternity”
[Cheryl is reading a draft of her renewed wedding vows to Larry]
“We’ll love each other throughout this lifetime, but after death through all eternity.”
You mean this is… this is continuing into the afterlife?
Yeah, that’s the idea. Do you have a problem with that?
Well, I… I thought this was over at death. I didn’t know we went into eternity together. Isn’t that what it said in… ”’til death do us part, ” I thought it was…
Do you have a problem with eternity?
Well…
We finally found each other, Larry, and we’re celebrating this for all eternity.
I guess I had a different plan for eternity. I thought… I thought I’d be single again.
Filed under: Muse , Photography
August 22, 2009 • 01:21 Enter your password to view comments
Protected: Confused
Filed under: The Color Grey
July 24, 2009 • 00:53 0
Reluctance
“Out through the fields and the woods
and over the hills I have wended
I have climbed the hills of view
and looked at the world and descended
I have come by the highway home
and lo, it is ended.
The leaves are all dead on the ground
save those that the oak is keeping
to ravel them one by one
and let them go scraping and creeping
out over the crusted snow
when others are sleeping.
And the dead leaves lie huddled and still
no longer blown hither and thither
the last one aster is gone
the flowers of the witch-hazel winter
the heart is still aching to seek
but the feet question ‘Whither?’
When to the heart of man
was it ever less than a treason
to go with the drift of things
to yield with a grace to reason
and bow and accept the end
of a love or a season?”
- Robert Frost
Filed under: The Color Grey , poems
July 19, 2009 • 22:19 Enter your password to view comments
Protected: The owner
Filed under: The Color Grey
July 18, 2009 • 14:31 0
18th July
I watched as the kayak carried the boy further away from me.
He paddled with no special hurry, preferring to move with the waves. He was beautiful and tanned to a faint seasoned brown and his hair was dark black against the emerald sea. His life vest was clear and red and when he waved at me, I was afraid he would fall and disappear into the water.
I didn’t know what else to think of at the time.
It was only when he lay on his back, looking out at the sky that I realised the boy was at one with the water, thinking his own thoughts.
Dreaming. Wishing.
Filed under: The Color Grey
May 29, 2009 • 18:41 0
It was only later that I realised this - while love does not come out of a mould, it’s usually the same when it ends. It stops being about each other. It’s starts being about yourself. What you want. What matters to you. What you can salvage.
And the promises - painted together in happier times or held quietly, like a treasure locked in the heart – are quickly forgotten. That, or they are caressed and turned over a million times by a pair of callused hands. Gems turned into stone.
I can only hope, that the worst is indeed over for her.
And that tomorrow, brings the promise of a brand new life. – Sandstone
Filed under: Uncategorized
May 3, 2009 • 03:31 0
Sudden death
But it was a very old city and we were young and nothing was simple there, not even poverty, nor sudden money, nor the moonlight, nor right and wrong nor the breathing of someone who lay beside you in the moonlight.
Filed under: Life & Memories
March 1, 2009 • 04:58 0
Untitled
I’m tired, but questions get in the way.
The answers, they come in streaks and disappear.
Moments graze the tip of memory, and sink beneath the plane.
This heart, worn, but still beating.
—
Woke up at 6 this morning and arrived in Tampines at 7. Worked 8 hours and came home to crash.
Met some friends for supper and was told I look drained – as if the color of life has been sapped out of me. Forgot to ask whether literally or figuratively.
Drove through rain slicked roads and the phone beeped – same words from the same person. Thrice so far – 3 days in a row – 3 country codes – 1 for each day.
3 years on and it’s funny how I still didn’t know what to say when we spoke, or whether we meant it when we promised to keep in touch. So I dialed the next number.
We sang in cordial notes, doing our best to express our thoughts, fingers tapping any proof we could find. We listened in kindness, nodding our heads from time to time, between fleeting silence that filled the air.
We searched the words, for semblance of the fire that once burned.
We mustered, with each passing minute, what was left of the spirit that once soared.
—
Five more hours to burn.
Realized it’s easier to answer to myself when I give my best shot – it may not be all consuming and heart wrenching but it has been and will be, all of what I believe I can give.
Because in that way there is no room for regret. Because in that way we have no chance at remorse.
As I pulled away from the parking lot once again, some dates I know aren’t meant to be kept, some promises I know I want to follow through.
Filed under: The Color Grey , alone
February 27, 2009 • 13:46 0
Just a little person by Jon Brion
Everything is more complicated than you think. You only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make; you can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won’t know for twenty years. And you’ll never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out. Just try and figure out your own divorce. And they say there is no fate, but there is: it’s what you create. Even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born. But while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years, for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right. And it never comes or it seems to but doesn’t really. And so you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope for something good to come along. Something to make you feel connected, to make you feel whole, to make you feel loved.
- Charlie Kaufman
Music from the original sound track of Synecdoche New York, Just a Little Person by Jon Brion and Deanna Storey. Lyrics penned by Charlie Kaufman.
“I’m just a little person
One person in a sea
Of many little people
Who are not aware of me…
I do my little job
And live my little life
Eat my little meals
Miss my little kid and wife…
And somewhere, maybe someday
Maybe somewhere far away
I’ll find a second little person
Who will look at me and say…”
Filed under: Music
February 20, 2009 • 22:16 Enter your password to view comments
Protected: Advice rendered at $50 per hour
Filed under: Conversations , the pirate
February 18, 2009 • 18:19 Enter your password to view comments
Protected: So I was told I don’t run
Filed under: Conversations
• 04:16 0
Human affairs
And perhaps, one day, I will love without judgment, question or reproach. All I know is, that I know nothing. – Socrates
Filed under: Muse
redalder
