Thoughts

Sometimes,
little events,
little little things that people say,
jokingly or not,
mostly jokingly,
but you know I feel about jokingly,
that it often always mean seriously subconsciously,
blurted out unknowingly,
but obviously,
to me.

Most time,
I'm wrong. But who cares?
No one does, coz if they do,
wouldn't they have watched what they say,
or do?

Yeah,
these little things,
make me retreat into my dark little cave and hide for days, weeks;
Sighs,
7 days of not writing usually means,
no thoughts, lots of thoughts,
kept all to myself.

Things are all fine,
and happy,
and dandy,
but for how long,
can one hide behind a facade,
behind one mask,
after another mask,
after another mask,
you get the idea.

Be calm,
prayers,
give good advice,
a pure mind,
a pure heart,
but then we fall,
and hide in our caves,
ashamed,
because we find it so hard to be good,
because we question ourselves,
by asking questions like why try so hard to avoid music,
when many others are not,
coz afterall, there's nothing wrong,
right?

Frankly,
I don't know,
for music, I,
just hate it when it gets stuck in the head,
hate how it distracts me,
how not listening to music for a fair while suddenly,
made me click on one link after another,
and another,
like as though,
I'm in total control,
I'm free,
to do as I please,
but really I'm not,
coz I consistently think about the can, cannot, better not to,
and so on.

And how I miss conversations,
and talking,
and how I fear talking,
all because of the little things,
the little little things that people always say,
or do,
without,
thinking about how,
the other person might feel,
or do,
as a result of what they say,
or do.

I really do.

Thoughts,
they get pretty circular sometimes,
most times in fact,
and when they do,
that's when I know,
I'm ending.

Run Boy, Run...

Life is like a roller coaster. He's afraid of roller coasters and all its vicious twists and turns.

After a long day of project discussion, his brain was fried. Fried like eggs that was left on the stove too long coz while cooking, a telemarketer called and went on and on about products he knew no one will buy and when he noticed that awful smokey smell, he knows it's too late. He knows that the eggs have been fried beyond recognition and that there's nothing he can do.

"Stress. I feel like driving a car into a wall."

He clicked "Send SMS" after having double checked the number of his receiver. He waits patiently for a reply as a thousand thoughts ran through his mind.


*******

He got home to an empty house. He hates empty houses.

He washed up. Prayed. Read the Quran.

Dear God, please give me the strength to carry on. I feel so weak. I'm losing the plot. Help me. Please.

If only there was a reply.

An hour later, the siblings came home with Mother right behind them.

"Ma, the meeting was long. I feel so tired. Why is it so hard? I thank God for the strength he's given me for if I wasn't strong, I would've done silly things. Why?"

She looked at him in disgust. He saw it coming. Mama hates it whenever he talks about giving up to the point where it sounds as though he's at world's end and will take that final leap off to nowhere. But Pablo just needed to see that look of disgust to know that Mama's paying attention. He felt her concern. She was all ears.

"This is getting tiring. 2 more years. I need to hold on for 2 more years Ma. It's hard."

"Then why is it that your other friends are doing well?"

"I don't know lah Ma. I've been thinking. When a Muslim is stressed, he prays. He reads the Quran. He asks for help and guidance. When a non-Muslim is stressed, they do not pray to God. They try harder. But why do they always end up doing so well? I just don't understand. Is this God's way of testing my patience and willpower to carry on? If it is, I don't think I can go on lah Ma. It's hard."

He knew better than to ask questions no one can answer. But he just needed to ask them out loud.

"Pray. And tell Him that the pressure's too much for you to handle. Ask him to lighten the pressure a little. Perform Tahajjud in the late hours of the night. Insyaallah, things will be better."

"Mama, the Tahajjud's the hardest to perform. I can hardly wake up for Fajr. And besides, if this is too much for me, what about the suffering of Nabi Ayub? He suffered more but he didn't complain. And Ma, I also do not know why I am complaining. It's hard lah Ma." Pablo sighed.

"Just try."

He smiled. Everything's out on the table. Mama knows her son's upset and loosing his composure. She has done her part to get him back up on his feet. Now it's all up to him.

Dear God, please give me the strength to carry on. I feel so weak. I'm losing the plot. Help me. Please.

This time round, he doesn't need a reply.

Life is like a roller coaster. You can be happy some weeks, and depressed on others. What's important is that you have people around you who are there when you need them the most. It's hard to find friends who listen. And even when you do find them, it's useful to remember that no one likes to listen to pathetic and miserable stories.

This is the reason why I keep on writing. If you do not want to keep things bottled up, you let it all out .... on a blog, through stories. And you don't just run, boy. You got to stay and keep on fighting.

Alice: Lost in Wonderland

If my little ruby red Nokia E63 has a name, she'll be known as Alice. But guys don't name their stuffs like girls do. A phone is just a phone. A diary is just a diary. A cat is just a cat. A girl.... well, a girl could be Little Red Riding Hood, Cinderella, Anne, Avril and such. But a phone, is just a phone.

If her name was Alice, then I hope she's lost in wonderland. Most probably though, she isn't coz after I realised I left Alice (the phone) at the public toilet, I called her using a friend's only to hear the dialling tone. No one answered. What an idiot!!! Im assuming the guy that found it isn't someone who has no sense of hearing or touch. I'm very sure that fella can definitely hear the ringtone and feel the vibration! Idiot!! Grr..

I know that I am the bigger idiot for leaving Alice in the male toilet all by herself but that's not the point of this story. Now, Alice is lost in not-so-Wonderland. And I miss her. The QWERTY keypad, the big screen, the little hours I've spent on Facebook Mobile.

I miss her. :(

Hoping beyond hope

We drew 2-2 this afternoon. We scored the first goal and celebrated like we had won. Shortly after though, they equalized. We then surprised ourselves again by scoring a second with only minutes left to play. This time, we celebrated like we had won the Champions League. And yeah... shortly after, they equalized - again.

grrrr. So close. We were so close. I was *this* close to writing an entry for floorball that has a "we had lost a game but won the next. We qualified for the quarters." But I guess it wasnt meant to be. "If only I had used my legs or body to block the shot instead of the stick." I told myself. "If only..."

I had signed up for floorball expecting nothing much besides making new friends and learning a new sport. I made new friends, and loved a new sport. But why am I feeling so bothered that we didn't win? Could it be love? Could my love for the game, and my teammates, have changed my initial expectations? Maybe. I guess I'm one who hates to be on the losing side when I'm involved in something that I love - for I love a fairy tale ending.

I later found myself asking if it's possible for one to love so many at the same time. I said I love soccer, frisbee and now floorball. I love to write and I loved Magical Realism. I love my family and my friends. And if there's a girl, then perhaps her too. So I guess the draw could be a sign that says, "This is what happens when one starts to love. In love, there will always be disappointment. So if you're gonna start loving one too many things, you just gotta learn how to live with the disappointments that might be waiting round the corner." But since I'm generous with the word "love", I guess I could try to love the disappointment that awaits me.

I know full well too that life isn't a story that I can simply write about. I know that things may or may not go my way. And when it does, thank god. And when it doesn't, I think I need to remind myself that things always happen for a reason. Perhaps I'm not meant to play 3 sports concurrently: my right palm's aching and I'm seeing blue veins; my right forearm feels so tight that I feel so tempted to try and punch through one of the blue walls of my room (I cant decide which one); my left feet and left hamstring are slightly strained. If I had to choose just one sport, I guess my choice is pretty obvious.


However, there IS a twist to my fairy tale (as always).

We lost a game, and drew another. All we need now is a miracle. The team we lost to 5-1 yesterday has to win the team we drew this afternoon by 5 goals in order for us to qualify. I know it's hard but the side of me that believes in the 0.00001% probability of it happening is definitely still in me somewhere. I'm just hoping beyond hope.

Blank Spaces

I've been staring at this space for quite some time now. I've ran out of stories - stories that I could write and share with whoever's reading. Hmmm... then again, I think I can somehow squeeze one in tonight.

He was reading The Zahir by Paulo Coelho last night and the following caught his eye: "The Zahir - someone or something which, once we have come into contact with them or it, gradually occupies our every thought, until we can think of nothing else." He smiled. No one else could probably describe it better than Coelho. It's no longer a secret that someone has been his Zahir for the longest of time. If writings had a scent, his would smell like a million sweet-smelling red roses.


.......

I'm stuck. Staring into space again. It's as though Santa had given me a "nothing box" this Christmas. I hope this W-block of mine is temporal. In the mean time, I shall continue with the story I started in my new notebook.

The Day

A philosopher once asked, "Are we human because we gaze at the stars,

or do we gaze at them because we are human?"

Pointless, really...

"Do the stars gaze back?" Now, that's a question.

Today's the day when I destroy the boundary between the real world and the unreal. I've always wanted to destroy this wall ever since I wrote Unreal Realism (27 Oct 09).

Could thoughts and stories come true in reality? Do wonderful stuffs only belong in books and films? Do opposites really attract? These are questions a thinker thinks about but never will he find the answers unless he embarks on a personal quest to find the answers - himself. The eventual answers may not be what he had hoped for them to be but at least now, he has answers instead of questions.... Answers that will come in useful in later parts of one's journey in life.

Today's the day when words translate into actions. It ain't going to be easy but he has gotta start from somewhere, right?

Conversations

I was flipping through one the many brochures sent to our home by the various polytechnics. My brothers are currently at one of the many crossroads in life. I was at that crossroad years ago and had chosen the junior college route. My brothers on the other hand however, have ruled out the route I took - having seen me gone through the things I did. As I flipped through the brochure, I wondered how things could be like had I chosen a different path.

"Have you thought about Law and Management offered at Temasek Polytechnic?" I asked my brother.

"Not interested," he replied.

"In that case, you could consider Psychology. Stuffs you see on The Mentalist and Criminal Minds."

"Do you know what's the cut off point for Psychology?"

"8 points," I replied with no hesitation. And I also told him I do believe he's capable of achieving 8 points. He smiled a smile of uncertainty - unsure of what he is capable of achieving in life. I remembered myself being unsure of what I'm capable of back in those days. I was unsure of where to go and the paths I could take. But unlike my brothers, I was alone. I wished I had someone to show me the way - someone like me.

"Are you thinking about studying Engineering? Coz if you do, you might want to think twice. I'm in Engineering but I wish I was somewhere else instead. I just want you to do something that you will enjoy doing. It has to be what you want; Not what I want, not what mama wants and definitely not what your friends want. It has to be your decision. One that you know you won't regret."

But deep down, I know that at their age, one usually doesn't know what one truly wants. Dreams change. And sometimes, they don't even exist.

"I'm not interested in school," he replied half-jokingly. "Can I just make do with an O-level cert?"

How I wish it was possible. Many of my friends had the same thought as my brother. What is the point of going to school? To university? I've seen friends go through depression to the point of quitting - and never wanting to come back to school. I've also seen friends who never completed compulsory education yet they are having the time of their life. If there's anything I could learn, it'll be that there's no fixed way for one in pursuit of happiness.

"You really should consider courses like Law or Psychology. You could be a lawyer or a psychologist. They sound like awesome jobs." I told him as I walked towards my room.

I was just about to sit at my desk thinking about of the story I'm planning to write, I hear my sister asking me, "What about you? What are you going to be when you graduate from University?"

I smiled a smile of uncertainty - just like my brother did - unsure of what I'm capable of achieving. I gave the question some thought.

I don't know, whispered a voice from within the innermost confines of my soul.

I don't know.

The One

I'm one of those who spends only on needs. I hardly spend on anything I want. Never on impulse. But yesterday was different. I was killing time at the bookstore - looking around, reading cards, reading faces. And somehow, I ended up at the notebook section.

She caught my eye. Unlike the others, she wasn't wrapped in clear plastic - probably removed by an inconsiderate customer. And I'm sure that she must've been caressed and flipped open and close countless times - seeing how pretty, beautiful and vulnerable she was. However, there's something about her that words just can't explain. I guess I could say was drawn in by her beauty - her inner beauty. Like others before me, I picked her up. She was soft, smooth and velvety - unlike any others I've seen and touched. The feeling's definitely lovely. And many others before me, I too flipped it open and close - thrice.

She was unlike any other notebooks I've seen where all I could see are a couple hundred blank pages with lines. With her, however, I could see myself in my room, lying on the couch that doubles up as my bed, staring at her empty pages thinking about all the lovely things that I could write - and then eventually writing it. I guess I should probably let you know I've been toying with the idea of writing a story of a boy meets girl - two complete opposites who were simply made for each other.

But then again, maybe I should write that story with no particular ending in mind. I shall write it as it happens. As of now, it's shall be about a boy who grew up believing that he’d never be truly happy until he met “the one”. He's finally met "the one" (or so he thinks), and he asks himself: What's next? And you should also probably know upfront that this may, or may not, be a love story.

I'm glad I picked her up - the notebook. I then looked at the price tag - $14.50. Hmmmm... I ran my fingers across the cover of the book again. I flipped it open and close again. This time, I saw a couple hundred pages filled with my messy scribbles. A couple hundred pages of my story - a story I hope I could read soon.

I walked over to the cashier. I asked if I could get my hand on a brand new copy of the notebook only to be told she's the only one left. I smiled.

"I guess you and I, we're just destined to be together." I knew I've found the one. I knew she's the one.

Few Options

I entered the police station. My youngest brother was in detention.

"What was he doing working at the petrol station at such young age?" Asked the investigation officer.

Time stood still. Everyone stopped whatever they were doing. All eyes and ears were on me. "He has to work. Both of them need to. They've got no choice. We've got few options."

She looked straight at me - as though looking for signs of lying. I looked straight at her - not because I was afraid I might give my true feelings away. But because her eyes were windows to what seemed like a beautiful world that I simply had to see what lies within that world. Her world.

Satisfied with my answer, she ordered for my brother's release. She was right. What was a one-year-old child doing working at the petrol station? I teared a little as I carried the little child in my arms. As he wrapped his arms around my neck, I whispered whispers in his ears.

As much as I wish for you not to work, you have to. Both you and your twin need to. You've got no choice. We've got few options.

A Moment of Brilliance

I've not been here coz I'm there this past couple of days so forgive me if my writing's a little weird - my head is tuned in to CreativeWriting FM right now.

I'd like to share with you one moment of "brilliance" that I had yesterday during a conversation with someone whom never fails to gift me a wonderful conversation - to illustrate how I'm tuned in to CreativeWriting FM. And if i may add, it was on msn. I don't think I'm one who can carry a real life conversation well. Anws, back to THE moment of "brilliance" of the year.

Someone was feeling stupid and down. And i told her she's being stupid for feeling stupid and I also told her something like:

"Hey, you better not crumble ey? It's ok to be disappointed, but do not crumble. Move on. I could move on from Cinderella to Little Red Riding Hood but you... you could move on from the cute guy to Prince Charming."

Deep down I knew my story isnt the same as hers - for neither Cinderella nor Little Red Riding Hood knew of my existence. But that story belongs in a different story - not this present one. I secretly wondered what could top Prince Charming, just in case a similar day came, when something or someone whispered in my right ear.

I then typed, "I've got a nice piece of poetry for you... Hold on."

(..I walked over to The Spiral Stairwell)

"When you come to something, stop to let it past. So that you can see what else is there.

One love may hide another love or the same love. As when 'I love you' suddenly rings false and one discovers, The better love lingering behind.

Those are lines from this super long piece called One Train May Hide Another by Kenneth Koch."

Wonderful eh?

And on a different note, I just wrote a piece of nothing that could be something one day (I shall keep on dreaming) over at The Spiral Stairwell. So check it out yea? There's a link above. I feel like writing a lovely Fiction soon.

So please do remember,
If I'm not here,
I'm there -
The Spiral Stairwell
- where the boring interesting Litty stuffs dwell

Hmmm.. Now all I need some music and I'll have my very first jingle! Haha! Happy Holidays!

If I'm not here....

If I'm not here,

I'm there -

The Spiral Stairwell

- where the boring interesting Litty stuffs dwell

Homer, Frost and friends

The first time I watched the movie In Her Shoes was the first time I heard the name E E Cummings ..... And I fell in love with it - or was it Cameron Diaz. Im not too sure.

And it was through The Reader that I was exposed to Homer and The Odyssey: "Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns driven time and again off course, once he had plundered the hallowed heights of Troy."

The only Robert Frost I knew was the one I read while reading Paulo Coelho's Like the Flowing River :

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Sappho, Dante, Milton, Seamus Heaney, D H Lawrence, Sylvia Plath, Rita Dove and the list goes one (at least 25 other names) - and this is only the poetry section of Introduction to Creative Writing. For the prose section of the elective, Franz Kafka and Gabriel Garcia Marquez are the only two familiar names. I have no idea who's Ernest Hemingway, Edgar Allan Poe, George Moore and friends. Oh, and I cannot differentiate a prose from a poem and last i heard, there's such a thing as a poetic prose.

Enrolling myself into an elective potentially filled with a sea of Lit students doing a Minor in Creative Writing is akin to a failed suicide attempt. But should one be afraid of committing suicide just because of the 0.00001% chance of it becoming failed suicide attempt?

haha! I don't think so.

And no, I'm not advocating suicide. And yes, if you're feeling suicidal, please talk to me.

Fast Forward

There's only several things on my mind this past couple of days - next Monday's Frisbee matches, Thurday's soccer matches, my daily runs, studying Ultimate frisbee videos, planning next semester's timetable and meeting up old friends and colleagues. Oh, and I'm also kinda looking forward to meet Cinderella at tomorrow's gathering despite the fact that she'd already met her Prince Charming. I'm secretly hoping that seeing her could give me some inspiration to start writing again.

I'm planning to take Introduction to Creative Writing next semester. So do note that any future entries with the label Creative Writing need not be based on a true story (: