[ Trepidation ] posted @ 04:56 PM trep·i·da·tion [trep-i-dey-shuhn] Life has been good to me in the past few months. I made a bigger effort to change, go out, do things. And me being me, this wouldn't be me if I didn't plug someone behind the scenes. Sigh. I'm unsure if I promised him I wouldn't write about him. Where my uncertainties lie, so does he. I wish nothing more nor less of the way we are now, for reasons unbeknownst to us both our paths will cross again. Perhaps never. It matters naught anymore. If you love something set it free, if you forget it then you can let go completely. He found me at the end of April and I lost him in early August. I chose to remember all the pretty, shiny things, while he picked at the shadows beneath my feet. Rolling stones gather no moss. Miguel taught me, "Sometimes alcohol is the answer." Life was better when he was under the impression he made me happy. I think we came too close as two Aquarians, so close that we ignored the blindspots in our mental affinity. And what blindness that turned out to be. Well, after all that has been said and done, it might very well have been a dream. Blissful and surreal. Wake up and smell the coffee, baby. He doesn't want or need me. Now let's see, what is new. I have job hopped again, for another 20% increment on my salary. It's pretty funny to look back and see myself earning half the amount I am earning today. In that, life has dealt me a great hand. I'm back in the banking industry, joint venture with insurance. Can't deny that I miss the oil and gas days, nine months merely warmed me up to the place and the job. I got a load of cool freebies from there too, including two Ipod shuffles. The office is strategically walking distance from two bars with separate ladies' nights. God I miss the days of being whiskeyed away - even if it costs me on other days of the week. Work-wise everything is fine and dandy. A lot of shit going on in the background which will eventually hit the fan. Doesn't effect me but it does effect my colleagues. That's the lousy part of it. I've been getting calls from headhunters offering me (awesome) jobs too, so I'm quite convinced I won't be here for very long. To put it simply, this place sucks. It's far from home. I'm bored half the time with the people and the environment. My responsibilities have been reduced to administrative and clerical work. Tsk tsk tsk. If I'd had known better, I would've stayed with oil and gas. What the heck. I better stop myself before this goes into full-throttle-ingrate-whinging mode. I've gone down a size from eating only one meal per day and initially puking when I've had too much to drink. Alcohol is the new dinner yo! I did try out pilates for a couple of workouts and can only wish on my will to practice it more regularly. I highly recommend it. I tried blending as well, but the pulpy mush is too troublesome to prepare and not pleasant to swallow. I need more exercise dagnamit! Anyway, I got my long hair reduced into a short bob, after over 3 years of letting it grow wild. It's something new and I like it, much to the disdain of my exasperated long hair fans. Like whatever bitch, I don't judge or dictate what you look like. Venus is in my seventh house and that supposedly signifies either; a pretty boy who will make me very happy, some kind of lesbian affair, or a man who isn't thrifty with money. I've met them all before, and in my current infatuation, all three traits are present. Just my luck. It's probably someone I have yet to meet, oh wait.. oh bother! It's a whole melting pot of madness that becomes me, the day I am able to write comprehensive sentences and sleep with a clear conscience, I would think I've died and gone to heaven. This is my hell. Speaking of which, I've been looking into insurance and investment (apparently nowadays they can be tailormade to have both at one go). Coincidentally my neckless-brad-pitt friend's girlfriend has just started hustling Great Eastern insurance. Well if other parts of my life are falling apart, the rest uv'em sure know how to compensate by falling into place. Or could this be the serpent tempting me with apples? This had better not come back and bite me anywhere! I have taken into consideration a few what-ifs. Like what if I decide to uproot myself and take that working holiday visa for 2-3 years in the UK or even Australia has it now. Chances are the policy won't cover me overseas or worse, I can't afford the upkeep of the premiums. Decisions, decisions.. I don't want to stay put and work my youth away. I want to do crazy, reckless things in moments of stupor and bask in a place nobody knows who I am. I want to get lost and not have a fucking care in the world whether I find my way or not. To quote Mr.Az's album title, "we sing. we dance. we steal things."
: Felt sore. |
[ I'm an autumn ] posted @ 10:12 AM
Suffering the anxiety of the unknown has always been a burden of mine. An impending full physical spells doom, although all this worry may be for naught, it is worrisome nonetheless. I've been fortunate enough, despite luck running out on several occasions.. there is no doubt my ails are exceedingly inhuman and no amount of prescription drugs or science could cure me of them. It is written in my blue-green veins that I live with such. Many of those frail strings of sanity, hope and what have you not, have snapped on me. They float and dance freely now, pulled to attention only by chance entanglements with those who carry any weight. These symbolise my lifeline, dangling by a thread.. delusional in any emotional sentiments, imaginary in a world of individual agendas. I feel increasingly volatile. It feels like I am going crazy sometimes, when a tantrum is thrown - less gracefully in comparison to items of mass production, when blood pressure rises like in an air tight cooker on a lit stove, when I pay homage to the merchants of death and when I question the sense of belonging in a cashmere mafia. I feel like I am losing my mind.
For sadistic reasons, I love. Unconditionally, I derive pleasure from pain. I hold out for as long as I possibly can, divinely forgiving, silently understanding, secretly keeping my fingers crossed that it will turn out for the better. It never does. I don't know why I lead myself on every time. I don't know why I see any good in the worst characters. I don't know how to wake up from this living nightmare of orchestrated screams. I don't know anyone who will save me from myself. I don't know when this too shall pass, but I'll be damned if it does. There is such a fine line between love and hate. I'd never have to heart to mix the two. After all that is said and done, I still believe in the ethereal and the beautiful. My existence is as ephemeral as the people who come and go. I'll forever be a foolish cygnet and never the envied swan. Love belongs in fairy tales.
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[ With or without ] posted @ 10:04 AM Another long day. Yesterday, I made a dog-ear on the page after a chapter in my book and was hesitant about reading the next. It was decided that I want to revisit that chapter, simply because I had not concentrated enough on it. I find myself too emotional attached to people and things, yet can't help myself to behave otherwise. Why does kindness rear its fluff haloed head where you least expect to see it? Why does it make you want to scratch behind its ears when you're already leaving for good? I shall miss those kwai lans dearly. The herbal pork ribs and bittergourd soup. Not forgetting the tofu. Things have changed; the clock, the streets, the architecture, lunch hour, almost everything that is not mine. People have changed; too many names and faces to remember in a day, introductions and handshakes I cannot put to a specific face - for now. Hours go by. Painstakingly. I am missing my drinks at the bar because of my loyalty to her. And I wait for her. I am moving. If I do not move, I will let the train take me next time.
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[ Season of heartache ] posted @ 09:56 AM Too many instances make you want to move backward. An act of careless, blissful ignorance usually sparks it.. resentment, regret and grasping at thin air. I hate this feeling of helplessness when tragedy strikes. Especially when it is Death's scimitar that is doing the striking. We have a lot to leverage on our mortality and the way we choose to count down those numbered days. Working backwards from a deadline. Moving forward with a proposed solution.
In a recollection of the past, and I may sound like a broken record when I say this again, I once wrote you out of hopelessness when your mother committed suicide. She took so many hearts with her, I secretly hope I do too when it is my turn. It was such a testimonial of life and death, so trying, so much weight treading on transparent ice. Destruction consumed her selflessness, you loved her more than anyone else in the world and surrendered to Despair. I never knew her, but my heart was with you.
 It's so hard not being able to be there, and wanting to at the same time. Worse when they run away and hide. How do I console a golden child who lost a goddess to a deliberate head on collision? It is all too clear that the condolences were frustrating. The anguished tend to become cynical of sincerity. Destiny guided me to say what I could only imagine you wanted to hear if only I had the chance to say those words to you. That was close to a decade ago. I haven't changed all that much. Search and rescue mission, heart aching every step of the way.
I picked up your pieces and put them into pages of words. Things you wouldn't think in your state of mind, but someone had to let you know. Delirium doesn't occur without emotional triggers, trauma doesn't set unless prolonged. I stopped you from scarring without being there, when all you really needed was someone to hold your hand. I wanted to do something for you and I did. When you Desire something truly, you make it happen even if you have to go out of your way to do so. You take a step back and breathe a little slower, close your eyes and remember how it used to be.
Remember Delight. You came back to me for a little while, things were unchanged but you were not the same. Slowly, surely.. you slipped away from me. I wish you well cucciolo. We've come a long way since then, although never together, I wish all is well with you my love.
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[ Hellos are goodbyes ] posted @ 09:52 AM Any combination of the right three words could put me in a tizzy for hours, but why these three? Because up until recently, they were a rarity that marked an occasional oblivion of emotional overdose. Now, it makes me think of half-drunk lulhoofds brimming with testosterone and me injecting them with cancer to cure their disruptive half-witted speech. Yes, herd mentality is an everlasting plague. I've been trying to get this off for three whole days now, procrastination, writer's block, drunken stupors and many more an excuse I could offer in exchange of depriving you what I think you deserve. The title in itself makes past a present; I can't recall where or whom I learnt it from but there it is, a memory of someone I cannot remember. Oxymoronic or paradoxical? I'd be lying if I told you I knew.
Oh hell. You don't even need to recite Robert Frost if you can make it sound as quaint as it looks. Like that kiss caught on camera. I loved but didn't keep, because I was sick of beating myself up over you every time something went wrong. I've had my ego bruised more than I'd care to keep count.. Not shiny, nor pretty, but damn if anyone ever calls me a beautiful angel. Ich bin nur ein Spatz ohne Flügel. I'd happily curl up and die in your arms. My head is weak, my heart always speaks.. before I know what she will say. Whatever she says she means at the time she said it. Please don't liken her to a siren singing you to shipwreck. She wets her lips when she doesn't know what to say, then when you least expect it, she parts them and that voice resonates. I know you won't forget, unlike me.
: Seen Deathproof |
[ Amidst silent killers ] posted @ 09:40 AM Life offers us a finite amount of time. Some of us accept that; we do our best to make it worth our while and wiles. Others take a short cut through the Forest of Death and get clamped by a rusty bear trap or fall into some bottomless pit. And then you have the oblivious blank piece of paper folded into an aeroplane, teetering through the air, unsure of where it will land. All in a finite amount of time. I can't keep my balance on this tightrope I am walking. I don't know how much longer I can tolerate the differences and indifferences of people and the hell they put other people through. The abstinence a religion sets upon you, the jugdemental accusations you throw at a substance I enjoy consuming, the wild assumptions you make of what you don't know, the change you want but do not ask for, nor from me. The fact I know you are dying, but so am I. That plain white aeroplane shaped paper may land on a bed of grass, or caught in a wilting tree branch, or have the nose stubbed out by anything sufficiently dense. The rain may give it watermarks, then smudges and smears from dirt or nature's refuse, and the elements surely have no mercy on a fragile piece of flattened pulp. I need to know how to steer this leaf in the mad wind, while inflicting minimal damage to it. What I don't need, is people curbing my enthusiasm to fly. Excessive enthusiasm never hurt anybody. It's better than whatever it is I do in utter disregard now. Sometimes, I imagine it to be more fun being smothered by a pillow than being pressured into asphyxiation by wet blankets. I know there are others besides me which you have to tend to. Your taste has become my distaste. I will be okay. It will all be okay. All in a finite amount of time.
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[ Gone baby gone ] posted @ 09:38 AM
Gone baby gone has an intriguing crescendo quality to it, starts off reclined towards dull. There is no mood altering soundtrack, just point blank dialogue and in-your-face twisting turns. Characters trickle in as the minutes pass; the boyish private investigator with a razor tongue and attitude to go with, his partner and mate who shadows him in their line of work, the ditzy drug muling mother whose daughter has been kidnapped, the cops who've been through so much shit they think they deserve to play God. "Mesmerising" is the jury's verdict. Not many films make you sit through an hour rising, then drops you off the pinnacle of it all. Distracts you for another half an hour with a child molester hiding out in a dysfunctional druggie couple's home, ending up with a dead boy, dead policeman and headshot sexual offender. My own observations led me to conclude some racial pairing with the type of behavioural assignment of each role, although the underlying drama may differ, it was inevitable to associate this movie with the characterisation in Street Kings. But that was more gory, corrupt and had no emotional nail gun aimed at the heart. This one did. It was striking to indulge in one idealistic virtue after another, by the end of the flick all I saw was selfishness. Almost philosophical in argument. A child can only be a child if you let it be one, and for a child to be neglected, throwned about, pulled around like a rag doll.. it's just wrong. Pro-choice please. Then the foundations hold up the adolescence which can still be moulded like putty, after time and sun it hardens. Can people really change when they've 'achieved' their adulthood? If you're incapable of change, what kind of achievement is that, seriously? The closing scene was an affirmation of the mistakes we make when we think we know better, when we in actuality do not. Not by a long shot. I felt sorry, regret and pain for Amanda. A lot of children are collateral damage, and I am devastated to know you are one of them.
: Seen Gone Baby Gone |
[ In exigent circumstance ] posted @ 09:35 AM A thick pile of photostated, unsigned, half-read documents have been occupying part of my sacred space for a week now. It represents the winds of change. In my microscopic world, I think hurricane would be more befitting a term. I would rather be a tsunami over your island, baby. Some realities link to surrealities, where suffering merely takes getting used to and you suffer no more. Like a bad cramp you'd wish to have gin and tonic cure, then it crawls away and a sore relief takes its place. And you suffer no more. I really need to understand what the universe is telling me. That white collar rung-by-rung climbing race which confines one to a swivel chair parked in a cubicle; you dread so, it scares me to know that years will go by in such an unnatural form. Fairy godmothers who pass judgement do not weigh in their past travels, protests, and ultimately, freedom.. I acknowledge the delicate situation of income people tend to tip-toe around, it appears almost shallow for one to admit to abandonment and treachery, simply for 'the money'. That's not my reason, and I shan't bore you with philosophical rantings. Something for the cookie jar is nonetheless warmly welcomed; I know not of another human being who'd take on the chore of growing old with me. This rat hoards for rainy days.
Yet, or rather, not yet, is the case with long term objectives. I want to do with my four limbs what an arachnid can do with her eight. It is an absurd obscurity, to be grounded in all this nitty gritty hive honey making stuff, and dream of flitting from flower to flower like a hummingbird. It overwhelms to imagine the unthinkable and to ponder the unseen. Time and tide waits for noone. I wish to be swept away like markings made in sand, to start over on a clean slate, to turn over a new leaf as sensibly as a caterpillar knows how. When will the dark prince claim his corpse bride?
: Seen Street Kings |
[ Two to tango ] posted @ 09:31 AM They worked together for a short few months. She was fulfilling an internship criteria and he was strangely charming in a yuppie kinda way. They bonded easily, despite triangles and squares. There were few colleagues of the same wavelength and meals were always eaten in groups. Work was literally a joke, as the company eventually closed shop for money laundering or something of the sort. She had two clear choices and went with the taller of the two. He was a real gentleman to the core; polite, clean, well turned out, you name it very likely he had it, but still had a great sense of humour. She went as far as thinking he could potentially meet her parents. He could not possibly have overlooked the obvious fact she was interested. There was a lot of sexual harassment in that office. A ratio of 10 males to 1 female. They shared literature, food, jokes, toys, numbers. It became a perk to waltz into work and have him lean over to say good morning in her ear, and she would loop an arm around his for half a cuddle. Everything was cool, until they went away for a weekend together. The boss said, "No hanky panky." Honestly, the warning couldn't have gone unheeded from a worse source. It was a completely off the bat trip, hopped on a bus, no hotels, no reservations. A couple of to do's. They got to their destination past midnight, and walked down the dodgiest damn street there was in the city to get a room. It was real old school architecture, wooden building with planks for floorboards, every step creaked in that place. For that he got harassed by trannies along the corridor after his shower. He tucked her in and kissed her on the cheek. She bit his ear - customary habit. They shared a bed but slept far apart for a third person to lie in between. Nothing happened. She decided to call up some friends she had in town. That made the trip a lot more worthwhile, had a tour guide with a car, he got the benefit of tagging along rather than doing that backpacker stuff. Not that they didn't continue on their own with public transport. Long story short, he went sight seeing on his own, she went out with her friends plus a then cyber sexing potential hook up, it rained heavily, people got drenched, there were shotguns, she was sent back to the chalet where she was staying the night. Single room, queen sized bed. She cleaned up and climbed into bed on the side against the wall, thinking he was asleep by then. Earlier the same day, she had established he only wanted a friend. Curled up and eyes closed, she felt his weight shift on the bed. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, whispering the usual. She did not respond. He resumes his initial position. She feigns sleep on her right side. He lies awake restless and indecisive. The room was dark and cold. Eventually, he reaches out and pulls her close around the waist. In the same motion, his lips found hers and he kissed her like he hoped to wake her from a thousand years of slumber. Her mouth welcomed his and her tongue almost came as a surprise. He was lustful. She didn't think he had it in him. His hands wandered endlessly, tangling fingers in her hair, running over her collarbone, caressing every curve her clothes betrayed. He slipped a hand under her top to feel more skin and ended up stripping her down until nothing but smooth, supple bodies casted heat off one another. She breathed into his ear as he manouveured himself on top of her, her inner thighs wetly embracing his hips. Her nipples were hard from his arousal and he took full advantage with his mouth. Her back arched in desire and a moan of pleasure escapes her lips. Their bodies mesh. She goes back to school a blonde. Ex-colleagues mistook her for a Japanese. It takes two to tango, but only one to kill the rhythm.
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