I have descended… into
dictionary.com
Low. and low. the gnawing feeling in my chest, hunger, yet, full. the milky taste of dark chocolates, melting, into my tongue, imagining the kiss of lovers, when i look at lovers, imagining, I am in the heels of the girl, receiving his touch. imagining, my happiness, imagining my loss. feeling my sadness, that, that girl is not me. appalled, yet, contradicted with contentment, knowing you are happy.
Moving towards you like gravity, yet pulling apart before the waves hit the beach. Screaming in pain, beyond all redemption, beyond all hope. The disappointment, the disappointment of a dreamer, a dreamer who believes in transcendent love. A believer who has lost hope. The critique that glorifies suffering. A passion that is burning dry, without air, there will be no fuel for the flames of desire. There is nothing left, except a sinkhole, that one can ever crawl out, the more you struggle, the deeper you are sucked in, like a trap, that has no escape. deeper and deeper, into the rabbit hole….
at breaking point. at the lowest point ever, and the extreme pain that eats from inside, intensified with the most severe of disappointments. Its only forward now, we can only try to change our circumstance can’t we? Why cry, when the trees can’t hear you crying. Why weep, when there are worse crap out there. Why have hope, when there is only hopelessness left?
why bother, when no one else bothers. why fly, when no one can fly with you, or even, watch you fly while they are below? why even try, when it does not make a difference, big or small, it is still the same, we are just … human. our achievements are not forever, its only temporal. why laugh, when no one sees you laughing, why be sad, when you can be happy. maybe, our emotions are lying to us, that it is all an illusion, a temporary illusion, that will go away, with time. all that we had fought for, will be erased, with time, our lineage, and heritage, to be replaced with the new and modern, our world is no longer ours, but someone else, we all play our parts, as actors and dancers, but the real puppet master, is the one behind the veil.
why try when trying is futile.
Ayumi Hamasaki – BALLAD
(translated lyrics)
I woke up in the middle of a dream
My eyelashes were wet
The words I remembered are
“I beg you, please don’t go”
This growing feeling for you
Never changes
My respect and adoration
Are always unshakable
* The red sky at sunset today
was tender like you
I shouted that it wasn’t a dream this time
“Please don’t go”
The memories don’t disappear
But neither increase
The words I’m allowed to say are
“I beg you, please stay with me”
Maybe, I can no longer hold on
Just by pretending to be strong
My love can’t be removed
Just by being held down
** The moonlight tonight
Is the guide you gave to me
Your back is too far and I can no more see it
“Please stay with me”
* (repeat)
** (repeat)
“I beg you, please, just for now”
Once, a student asked “How do we paint an orange, as orange?”. Our art teacher replied, “When light filters through our eyes, we will perceive the colour, orange, differently. It is impossible to paint orange, as orange, some will paint it darker, some lighter, or more red, or more yellowish. It is the reflection of the world we live in” ~ Chan Kerk
Picture of my painting and I taken at Arteastiq, Mandarin Gallery
anger. hate. happiness. contentment. life. take. receive. ask. gone. wind. fly. soar.
love. pain. loss. suffering. hope. faith. destiny. stars. crossed. redemption.
butterfly. wings. birds. freedom. liberty. hope. fall. grace. walkways. glory.
taste. blood. dripping. pleasure. tantalise. care. nurture. weird. sick. unique. taken.
far. away. land. honey. sweet. bitter. sour. angels. sing. harmony. pen. knife. pink. black. ink.
blades. daggers. swords. weapons. war. fight. conflict. win. lose. battle. evolve. change. better. worse.
flowers. fields. sunflowers. futuristic. silver. steel. metal. paper. books. paperback. hardcovers. meet.
friendship. family. touch. feel. real. hung. balance. unconditional. thick. thin. hot. cold. blow.
erotic. obsessive. vulnerable. naked. hunter. instincts. prey. predator. cry. screams. fear.
blessed. cursed. conjoined. oneness. togetherness. closeness. siblings. kinship. companionship
scarlet. crimson. roses. wither. decay. aliveness. bipolar. intelligence. wits. genetics. biological.
Writing a novel is like stripping naked for the world to see, and it is a extremely vulnerable feeling. It takes courage to do, but of course, we try to layer it with fiction.
Yakuza Moon is one of the novels that made me cry, because it is so revealing, the author’s bare tattooed flesh in the cold, on every bookshelf. It is chilling.
I do fear judgement, just like every writer out there. I fear that people will not accept my ideas or who I am. I do hold all these fears close to my heart, and I am facing them daily. While grinding away.. the dreaded word count of 80 000.
There is nothing glorifying about pain. There is no redemption, when decisions are made. There is no turning back, once it is executed. Once published, it is a permanent mark forever, like a tattoo, like a food package labeling, this time, on the author of the finished writing product.
I am just an Asian Girl
A demure Hello Kitty
without a mouth.
I have been at my most moody, most depressed state over the course of two weeks. Facing fears and pain head on, is not advisable for the faint hearted. Not that I am that strong emotionally or whatever, but it is testing my limits, like repeatedly pulling a rubber band till it extends and extends, hoping, it won’t break. If it tears, the process have to restart. Maybe then, I won’t be who I am anymore, but rubber band version 2.
I got to admit, that writing is an act of testing limits. It is a push pull effect, to be better, but yet, normal, excellent, yet stupid. I don’t know how much F words I had used on the people around me, and they are ones who are most deeply hurt, yet the ones who love me the most. I am a messed up monstrous demonic being at home, like one with an anti social personality disorder, especially when I am greatly obsessed during working hours.
Now, I have extended my working hours to cover every single minute of my day, because I refuse to let my life wither in self pity or decay, as time is running short. Life to me, is like a candle flame, someone can snub it out, someone else can add oxygen, or whatever. But like all candles, once it melts into nothingness, it becomes no more, no matter how many times the fire is relighted, the wick is gone. That is our timeline on this planet. The very limited, pathetic, and sad existence.
As I struggle in the murky muddy mess of self pity, I refuse to not put up a fight before I stink into the stink hole of regrets. Once, I saw a facebook update from an old classmate, she posted, “It is hard not to be depressed at the current state the world is.” Spot on, I liked the post immediately. This effect is enhanced is especially so for people who travel widely, we see more beauty and luxury in the richest, wealthiest cities in the world, but on the other end of the spectrum, there are people dying of starvation, when there are obese people all around. It is hard not to feel, unless one is numb, which, i increasingly find, that most people are numb to their surroundings anyway, especially in the city we live in.
In the city, all you need is power and money, and the whole world falls at your feet, trying to chip away parts of you, for themselves, like parasites growing on a tree. You run the economy at your disposal, whims and fancies, like a monarch. This time, people have to depend on you for survival, their daily existence an extension of the fruits you bear, and the gifts you shower on them. In the quest to grow bigger and bigger, you consume more resources, you conquer the whole forest, and grow into an all almighty tree, topping all the other little trees that you don’t give a fck about in the process. At last, you are the last tree standing, and all the other trees around you are dead.
In my most morbid perception of the world, accounting that I spent five years in business school, I learnt more ugliness than anything else. I witnessed my classmates backstabbing each other, making use of each other, trying to climb on top of each other, for the best grades, in this ultra competitive landscape they are raised and “nurtured” in. Their self esteem way beyond saving, the bad habits of smoking inbetween lessons and clubbing on alternate days. Stealing notes and leeching onto geeks for projects so they don’t have to do anything constructive. Just wasting their youth and their parents blood money on obscene levels of tuition fees (which could probably be used for a investment property down payment). Thank god, most of them did not made it through the diploma level. I finally found salvation studying with mature students after progressing to the degree level. I regained a tiny bit of hope, after witnessing their hard felt efforts in holding a part time job and juggling their studies at the same time, not particular excelling (they looked stoned in class from tiredness), but still, they are trying, although not as fortunate as the diploma batch of spoiled children.
Behind every facade, especially the gleaming bright ones, there is an ugliness, a decay, the losers, you can call it, or rats, running in the sewers, trying to… survive. They crawl and prowl, hiss and intimidate. They want to be the winners too, the underdogs. They will always be lurking there, in this dark corners in the hidden recesses of our minds, trying to conquer, to overtake, and soar.. like the rest, towering above them, stepping on them, telling them, they are just… a rat.
….
“But I’m a creep
I’m a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don’t belong here
I don’t care if it hurts
I want to have control
I want a perfect body
I want a perfect soul
I want you to notice when I’m not around
You’re so fucking special
I wish I was special”
Radiohead – Creep Lyrics
But I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo.
What the hell am I doing here?
I don’t belong here.
~ Radiohead – Creep
In another place, I am a super anti hero, that kills the good guys and saves the bad guys.
I don’t wear a stupid suit with a logo or wear a mask to hide my identity
I don’t save the day or whatever, I just save who ever I feel like
If I think someone deserves to live, I let him live
If I think someone deserves to die, I let him die.
There will be days, that I will wake up a heartless bitch.
The bloodshed, that will wash the city in a scarlet red.
Only the strongest, most intelligent, most street savy will survive.
In another place, I am a super hero
I will wear that stupid suit, and save the dumb good guys
The world will be filled with complete idiots, who are fools
Who are generous and kind, but yet, weak to the knees like tofu.
That will irk me so much, that I will just kill them at the end anyway.
That is why I ain’t no saint or sinner, just a lowly human, crawling on fours on the surface of the earth, trying to fly like a eagle, but falling into the mud like an beast, trying to be evil, but to end up sleeping with a stranger, and waking up to be HIV Positive.
Trying to be great and almighty, but realising 6 decades is all I have, so wtf. Why bother, I am just a piece of dirt, a piece of dirt in the ground. I am like dust, a speck of dust, in the universe. Why bother when we are all going to hit 6 feet under, in 6,7,8 decades, or earlier? In this meaningless of meaningless, of ego driven securities and insecurities, it is hard to fathom the meaning of life – if there is one, at all.
Yes, yes, I know. There is love, and there is art. There are still redeeming traits of humans in this disgusting world of capitalism and unlimited wants. You can earn everything in this world, have all the fame, money and power… but there is one thing you might not have – love. Only through relationships with other humans, there is some tiny-bit-of-redemption left, in the human race. The unspoken, silent power of love, of passion, of the raw force of emotions, that drives men to lose their lives in battle of fighting for their ideals. With love.. there is art. Art is probably the only non destructive thing that humans could possibly create other than love. (our other indulgent hobbies are consuming the world resources, at the expense of creating the extinction of millions of other species and pollution, in the name of progress). Granted that with Love and Art, comes with music, dance and poetry. Hey, isn’t it getting beautiful? Yes, that is why I decided to a super hero (although it is lame), and have given up on my anti hero ways.
My faith remains in the name of love.
It was sunset, the skies grew darker and the sun disappeared behind the clouds. The island of Manhattan transformed into an artificial landscape of neon lights from billboards and street lamps. She stepped out of her apartment in her leather trench coat and boots.
She was never afraid of the dark, no matter how dead the night could be.
She hated the sun.
It burns into her skin, and causes her intense pain.
The sun, sunflower fields. Her father, beside her, yelling at her mother. Her memories, filtered sepia, the brightness of sunflower fields and the violence of her father.
