Drunk on a weekday night and having tons of work to do isn’t funny at all.

I want to be carefree and I want to be someone I am happy to be. Oscar Wilde once said that one’s real life is often the life one does not lead. Well, I wanted to be someone to doesn’t give a fuck of what someone says about me, who wouldn’t let anyone get to me or affect me. But that isn’t the life I’m leading now, which is maybe why it feels like I could throw it away. This life I’m leading doesn’t let me be who I thought I was.

Everyone’s moving on, but why am I still stuck up in my tiny little hole struggling to dig my way out? It feels like everyone around me has got a shovel, a fucking tractor or even a small pail to dig their way out, but all I’ve got is my fingernails. It feels like all around me there are shovels and pails and tools I could make use of, but its too dark and narrow in my little hole to move or find them, my fingers are too ruined , too shredded up to dig anymore, and I’m just slowly suffocating in here.

Please don’t tell me to stop being upset over this, and please stop telling me not to bother about these things ever again. Because frankly, I’m just fucking sick and tired of people telling me things that I can’t do no matter how hard I try. Believe me, my dear friends, I have tried moving on and I have tried to be happy. But all of you haven’t ever crossed the line. And that line would be the fact that I actually considered taking my life. I’m not saying that I am superior to you because I cut myself or took pills. But feeling this way, and acting on it; it separates me and you. You would never know what it feels like until you cross the line too.

I’m sick and tired of trying, of always making the first move, of always being the one trying to force your hand to clap with mine. Now I realise its no fucking use even if I manage to get you to clap with me by force, because in the end you wouldn’t want to anyway, and since there’s no intention of you wanting to do it, then why should I even fucking bother?

all the time, sometimes.

I take my cigarettes and cellphone and carefully unhook my keys from the key hanger. I open my door, quietly, making sure the creaks don’t wake the whole house up. I lock the door and the gate, then wait in silence for the lift. When I enter, I look at my reflection in the glass on the lift door, and my eyes are hollow, devoid of feeling. Maybe they were eyes that were full of regrets and dreams that would never come true, but I would rather prefer that they were empty. It is said that the eyes are the windows to one’s soul, and most times this is said poetically, with a hint of romanticism. But I don’t see anything poetic about exposing your innermost thoughts and feelings to anyone and everyone. I don’t like to feel vulnerable, to be vulnerable, even though it might invoke sympathy, or more so because I don’t want sympathy from anyone.

 As I sit on the bench and take a drag on my cigarette, I stare into space and a song plays in my head: the same song you sang to me just because I wanted you to. Sorrow fills my heart, as it always does when I think of you. I don’t try to push it away. Instead I let it come; waves and waves of it, crashing into my body, coming and going, again and again. Shadows dart on the corners of my eyes, shadows of the unknown and unspoken. But I ignore them, because I know that even if I turn to look, everything would be serene and unchanged as it was before.

“We are divine, unchanged by time.”

I finish a couple more cigarettes, take my time to blow out smoke rings and imagine them as shackles, handcuffs that chain someone to a memory or a thought, and as time passes, fade off into the air and all that remains is the faint smell of lingering smoke. I close my eyes and take it all in; the scent of early morning, the dewy grass waiting patiently for the sunlight, the smell of peeling paint on the walls. And I let it all out, as I slowly stand and make my way back home.

Mission accomplished.

a drop of blood in a bowl of milk.

Three Seed by Silversun Pickups

Tonight or rather this early morning was spent idling around the hellhole which is orchard, and our plans of being entertained by a movie was indubitably unsuccessful when that movie was Men In White by Kelvin Tong. Indeed, what Jen said was so admittedly true: the movie was definitely not worth paying a full 9 buckeroos on. I feel so upset just thinking that I wasted the price of a whole pack of pall malls on a frakking film that consisted of incoherent Hokkien/Cantonese (no idea which one) rapping and horribly made up “ghosts”. Mr Tong should consider getting new make-up artists for his future horror cum humour films. Or maybe the actors were supposed to look perpetually thirsty and emo. Hmmm.

Friday was spent at Home for Beat! and I can’t deny it was good even though the company wasn’t our usual. I’m glad the jiggsters added to our numbers and made it much more upbeat with zach sum’s hilarious dance routines. After Home was house party at Daryl’s place for YL’s birthday, and I really hope that we made his 18th birthday worth the wait even with all the puking and bad hangovers. Thank god for tea and buckets when we need them.

So anyways, I am feeling better these days, and with a pack of cigarettes on hand and a trusty book in another, I doubt I could feel any happier. Oh, and not to forget, Derrypoo and Cherylsie and regular Prata House rendezvous too. Aren’t I the luckiest kid on the planet.

blasphemy?

“A man who retires from life does no harm to society: he only ceases to do good; which, if it is an injury, is of the lowest kind.

All our obligations to do good to society seem to imply something recriprocal. I receive the benefits of society, and therefore ought to promote its interests; but when I withdraw myself altogether from society, can I be bound any longer?

But allowing that our obligations to do good were perpetual, they have certainly some bounds; I am not obliged to do a small good to society at the expense of a great harm to myself: why then should I prolong a miserable existence, because of some frivolous advantage which the public may perhaps receive from me? If upon account of age and infirmities, I may lawfully resign any office, and employ my time altogether in fencing against these calamities, and alleviating as much as possible the miseries of my future life; why may I not cut short these miseries at once by an action which is no more prejudicial to society?

But suppose that it is no longer in my power to promote the interest of the public; suppose that I am a burden to it; suppose that my life hinders some person from being much more useful to the public: in such cases, my resignation of life must not only be innocent, but laudable. And most people who lie under any temptation to abandon existence, are in some such situation; those who have health, or power, or authority, have commonly better reason to be in humour with the world.“

-David Hume, On Suicide

a treatise on longing.

“Each moment I wait feels like a year, an eternity. Each moment is as slow and transparent as glass. Through each moment I can see infinite moments lined up, waiting. Why has he gone where I cannot follow?“

“I hate to be where she is not, when she is not. And yet, I am always going, and she cannot follow.“

prolonged.

Oh not because happiness exists,
that too-hasty profit snatched from approaching loss.

But because truly being here is so much; because everything here
apparently needs us, this fleeting world, which in some strange way
keeps calling to us. Us, the most fleeting of all.

…Ah, but what can we take along
into that other realm? Not the art of looking,
which is learned so slowly, and nothing that happened here. Nothing.
The sufferings, then. And, above all, the heaviness,
and the long experience of love, – just what is wholly
unsayable.

-Ninth Duino Elegy, Rainer Maria Rilke

Where all the saints adorn the walls.

I think starting from later today i’ll say grace before each meal. Then maybe God might start listening to me soon enough.

Zack said its just like cable tv, where God has already given you a phone and his number, and you’ve found out how to connect the phone. But even though I keep calling him, I can’t get through cos I haven’t gotten a subscription.

I wish God wouldn’t be so complicated and give me a friggin’ subscription already.

he said you better lie down cos the angels are watching
she closed her eyes and said quit the talking
you can hurt me do whatever you like.