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| One of the most beautiful sights must be peering down at the clouds from above. Makes me want to be a pilot. And for a long time you have this notion that derived from childhood, of clouds having fluffy standard shapes created by drawing ovals overlapping one another, and easing the pencil marks within. Twenty years later, they are still fluffy, but you realise that looking from above differ from looking from bottom very vastly indeed.
From the top, the clouds form one continuous sea, and the surface a landscape of wispy cotton vapours.
From the bottom, the illumination of the sun gives the cloud a bloated feel, and it's only pretty because of how the colours reflect off their surface.
Top exceeds bottom infinitely.
A cold Christmas and a cold New Year. Only this time, it's physical.
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Poem.
Birthday Wish
Our blogs talk behind our backs
when our mouths are full with heavy words that can't
escape
which instead
take the plunge down the throat to a heart that affixes
weights
each time it skips a beat, shoving it down to the abdomen
to share
breathing space with tiny dinners and chilly morning air.
They watch the night sky on
nights where the cold advises against it
where lampposts murder the stars
and contrite moonbeams spill their life on our
windscreen;
or when we float along separate constellations and
never meet,
never share a congruence of moods,
never share a language we speak.
Our blogs know that I saved my birthday wish
and tell me I created a shooting star.
I hope it knocks your trajectory to mine,
But I'm still
like this,
and my blog tells me so because
my stars fall onto the ground and get trampled;
(Stop, I don't want to hear it, please)
While yours tells me wishes lose their validity,
and that is why I should never tell my blog everything.
Like how your breathing changes at 3am,
it gets slower and deeper, your body sinks to a lower
depth,
faint whimpers as sleep takes over -
While tiny explosions coursed through my legs,
my head burns with cuts and indulgent retakes
to keep me up so I could lock this in a permanent frame.
Or how the heart braces for a week's ache,
how I'm obsessed with the boundaries of being friends,
tantalizingly more but hardly as family,
and whether it is alright if we do not fabricate
or agree on a story when morning breaks
loose, as loose as we could but
of course nothing happened, and we lose nothing but
trust.
Things like how I saved that night as well-
It might meet my wish and maybe become friends
only to realize later they could be long lost twins
of a clueless mother and a timid dad.
I wish to take the wrong way back.
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| All it takes, is one picture to totally capture the essence of your youth. One picture, to remind you at any part of your life, that you were once beautiful, or are beautiful. And when your beauty fades and dies, at least it was captured. I realised that my handphone wallpaper has not changed for a few months. For someone who switches attention that quickly, this is surprising. But it's because the picture is one of those pictures. One of those which has captured. The title of the picture is "I'll never grow old". The other day Nic was playing 'Closer' on his computer, and Julia was telling Natalie: "You have a good face."
-- "Doesn't everybody?"
When people sign off
----"Love,
______"
what does the love mean? What love is it? What kind is it? If only Love shows more of her faces, it would perhaps be less of a whore like she is with everybody.
The weekend crossword puzzle from the Boston Herald has the following clue:
Bottom
10. Love
I looked up at the crossword feeling incredulous. I can't remember how many letters was the solution.
Look out for this space.....poem incoming...
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| So. I'm at the big 25. All grown up now.
It's 4am in the morning. I should be sleeping but i'm not.
Many things are running through my head.
Ruoyan ask me what am i not sleeping yet. I told her that my birthday, as are all my past birthdays, are days of reflection...
to look at the past, and at my present state, and wonder how am i...
People here ask 'how are you?' whenever they walk past. I'm asking the same question to myself now, but imagine that question with a hundred times more weight, more severity.
I'm confused. Actually i'm not, but it's just that i do not know the next step forward.
To perhaps clarify my stance a little more clearly, i just got up to try and find a certain passage of text in the book i've just finished reading: "The wind-up bird chronicle" by Haruki Murakami.
I thought i would spend at least 15 mins searching for that text in this darkness, illuminated only by a pale laptop light, but i was wrong. A few flips and i actually found it. They really treat me well on my birthdays eh?
Anyway, to quote the text (second time in the past week):
"I would reach out now and then to feel her warmth and make sure she was really there.
It was wonderful to be able to do that: to reach out and touch something, to feel something warm.
I had been missing that kind of experience."
Against a backdrop of stars, your warmth thaws.
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| Just had dinner just now and SC claimed that he can't eat too much cause if he does, then he would fall asleep. And noooo, that can't happen, cause he has to call his girl at night, and it's unthinkable that he be that tired. So Melis claimed that it's really torturous to have your life revolve around a phone. SC retaliates by saying that she revolves around MSN. And she retorts that she MSN, but in actual fact she's talking to alot of people, not to just one.
I was puzzled by this conversation. Everyone's life revolves around something, and it's unreasonable to impose one's standards and life habits on another's. At least it seems they have some things to look forward to. Still trying to find mine. No matter how trite it is, it must still count for something right?
Sometimes when people question motives and actions, like Melis towards SC, it might be more than just vindication. It might hint at jealousy. So what if he calls her everyday at this certain time? I think eventually, when you look back, no matter to what contrary you proclaim, you would cherish such dedicated routine in your life. I knew i fought back the urge to criticize his strict timetable, and i knew it's because i have lost that pleasure which i used to have.
Once again, i'm struck by how irritable i could be. Today, and for the past few nights, i have been thinking to myself, why do i hate perfect people so much. Perfect people as in people who watch what they say, do the right things, say the right stuff, care so much about people's feelings, give advice like a caring mother, make friends with everybody. In the end, again, i discovered it's because i knew i could never be those things. I am all those things, but not to that extent.
And i've been thinking again, how come people can't be stronger?
Why do people speak of problems , and don't realise that it's never about the problems. It's the people. People are bigger than problems. The problems derive from the person itself.
Why can't people be less critical over the little things?
Why do i pretend to be bigger, think i am bigger, convince myself i am bigger, and still am small enough to think less of others?
My car got towed outside Fenway Park a few days ago. Spent like 230bucks in all settling it. The girl i was with obviously never heard of the word 'hindsight'. She was talking about how we should have been more streetsmart, that she knew that we shouldn't have parked there, that her cashflow might have some trouble now etc. I told her...' problems which could be solved by money are not problems at all'. (that is of course untrue. But in this case, it was) I'm sick and tired of being condescending. But what can i do when i feel so vehemently against something?
I thought that by leaving my home, i would discard my own life and started something new. The life we have here shall be all we know. But it seems that everyone else is still clinging to the old one. And i'm all alone. Again.
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