“Love is not a vice versa thing”, he said.

Today I spent a full 20 mins staring into space, and as insane as it might sound, it was so darn therapeutic. I know I know, next I might just start hearing voices in my head telling me to lick my toes. Please tell me this is something you guys encounter on like, a weekly basis, this staring into space business. And no, you can’t be in class or having a lecture while doing this because that’s just so utterly common and predictable. When I said staring into space, I meant while sitting on the couch with the tv switched off, and the only sound coming from the curtains blowing or the fan making those annoying whrrrr noises. I hope I’m normal. Please please please please let me be normal.

 On a sidenote I had a good time at Toa Payoh yesterday morning after work (which sucked, btw) with lousy prawn noodles and chrysanthemum tea and magazine-throwing and peepholes and that special boy. I think its on his main agenda to make me giggle like a kid with braids and a pink pony in one hand. Oh you know how some people bring out that kid in you. I know I’m supposed to be the cold and unbreakable and unfriendly heart, but I can’t help it, this change in me. Its scary how someone can do that to you, but nevertheless its not like I’m not enjoying it.

I’m planning to have a picnic soon, with cupcakes and cookies and brownies and all sorts of fat-filled pastries. Including real Coke. This event will be christened as “Feed Germaine Day”. Who’s up for it? 

I don’t understand how love in silence becomes reprimand.

He could never get used to her, she was fresh every time, she was a casketful of secrets. Any moment now she would open herself up, reveal to him the essential thing, the hidden thing at the core of life, or her life, or his life-the thing he was longing to know. The thing he’d always wanted. What would it be?

I am the torrential rain. I am the wind that snuffs out the candle. I am the blanket that barely skims your toes. I am the deafening silence that blows over you. I am the comforting coffee stains on your favourite mug. I am the book beside your bed, dog-earred and yellowing. I am, I am, I am. I am all of these, but yet, I am not who you want me to be. Or perhaps, I already am, but you are scared and you are light-headed and shaking, balanced precariously on that cliff-edge, looking down at all the uncertainty stretched out before you like sharp rocks, threatening to cut and tear with the ferocity of a wild animal.

Let me tell you a secret. But be careful not to fall. I’m right beside you, why don’t you hold my hand? I’m shaking too.

“No answer, no response. She was never very forthcoming at the best of times.”

Christmas came and went, uneventfully. Its ironic how I’ve always spent the past few years lamenting the fact I have Christmas dinner with the family, but yet this year when I had to leave early for work, it ached me to say goodbye to the family, no matter how much they irk me sometimes. My brother left for China on Christmas night, and I have never missed him as much as since he went to Aussie. Maybe none of this is irony, and maybe its just that I really have grown up, matured and understanding of how ugly the world is and how much family means to me. People at work are so condescending and supercilious that I am disgusted and just utterly depressed by the thought of spending the first hours of the new year with them (yes kids, I’m working on new year’s eve), coupled with party people who should be old enough to think for themselves and spend time with family, rather than getting drunk, wasted and smashed. What a lousy start to the new year, don’t you think?

Tonight was a good one, with pasts being raked up and lousy but nevertheless interesting spin-the-bottle questions being thrown precariously across carpets and getting lost with shisha smoke. Good company will never go out of style. Its funny how we were never close but yet, never far away from each as well. It was just a neutrality that blossomed into this great friendship we have now, and I can’t say I’ve regretted it. Sure as hell, we won’t ever be bosom buddies, but at least we have a security and trust that might surpass the test of time, who knows. Little surprises are the ones that work best.

For now, I hope you kids had a good Christmas, I know I did. Keep safe for new year’s! Don’t drink and drive, we don’t need to start the year in mourning.

(and this is for you)

“What city?” asked Jimmy.
But Oryx only smiled. Talking about this made her sleepy, she said. Why didn’t sweet Jimmy phone out for some pizza? Mushrooms, artichoke hearts, anchovies, no pepperoni. “You want some too?” she said.

“No” said Jimmy. “Why won’t you tell me?”
“Why do you care?” said Oryx. “I don’t care. I never think about it. It’s long ago now.”

The past moulds us into our present. But I love you either ways.

“Oh, I remember you like yesterday.”

My body has been racked with unbelievable aches and vanishing bruises. They’re there one day, all purply and gross, and gone the next without a trace. I hope I’m suffering from an incurable illness, for which my insomnia can then be explained. Sleep is playing mischievious cat-and-mouse games with me, and I am thoroughly overwrought with the coaxing and the mollifying I have to go through just to get a few hours of shut eye.

I curse my memory for failing me at times like these, when I am tenuous, numb and sore, and all I need is to remember what it felt like when he was around. But at least I still remember what those eyes meant when they were caught in mine, and this gives me comfort when I need it most. Let’s hope this comfort lasts till Christmas night, however fleeting it might be. Boy, I cannot wait, I cannot wait.

“In this life, you’re the flower and the thorn.”

“When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I’m picking my nose?
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my shoes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.”

Maybe all I need is he who never fails to transpire endless amounts of happy in me, and who never fails to entertain with his stories and harmless triflings, all amounting and building until my propensity to let him carry me away reaches its peak.

Mister, you’ve caught me in your clutches and I’m torn between wanting to struggle against and submitting myself to you. With you my life has become an endless confusing world of what ifs and maybes. But I think I’m liking it. I am racked with worry over how far apart we are on the likeness scale, but yet it is this difference which thrills and excites me. You are so bad but its so good, I can just remember a quote from my past entry:

“Is it wrong to feel something so immense, so rapturous, and so satisfying from the darkness?”

Is this really too wrong to be right? Our similarities are too literal, and our differences much, much too complex to even comprehend. They’ve always said opposites attract, and I have never fully been able to understand how this could ever ring true until today. Its peculiar how things work, how my cynicism towards love is being pulled apart day by day when I fall deeper and deeper into…this. I don’t even know what to call it. And maybe I’m just restraining from saying love because I don’t want to jinx it. My God, I’ve turned into someone who’s afraid to jinx it.

You’re changing me, and you don’t even know it. If you do know and you’re reading this, then I hope I made you happy. You’d better be.

Oryx & Crake

“When did the body first start out on its own adventures? Snowman thinks; after having ditched its old travelling companions, the mind and the soul, for whom it had once considered a mere corrupt vessel or else a puppet acting out their dramas for them, or else bad company, leading the other two astray. It must have gotten tired of the soul’s constant nagging and whining and the anxiety-driven intellectual web-spinning of the mind, distracting it whenever it was getting its teeth into something juicy or its fingers into something good. It had dumped the other two back there somewhere, leaving them stranded in some damp sanctuary or stuffy lecture hall while it made a beeline for the topless bars, and it had dumped culture along with them: music and painting and poetry and plays. Sublimation, all of it; nothing but sublimation, according to the body. Why not cut to the chase?

But the body had its own cultural forms. It had its own art. Executions were its tragedies, pornography was its romance.”

-

I haven’t got the time to sit with this book for an extended period of time to really get into the gist of it, but when I do it just blows me with paragraphs as intense as above. I’ve been too caught up with people and thoughts and places to be that I’ve lost time for myself, but I’ve been having fun. Makes me think twice about my motto of, “I need my time alone.”

“Oh, tell me your thoughts, tell me your thoughts on liberty.”

But when I crane my neck to kiss your head, I know
That there is something that I can rely on
And when I strain my thoughts to push this thread I sew
It’s some kind of future that I can be sure of

Because I love you, because I love you
Because I love you, because I love you.

Social Satire

My brother shot a photo of me while I took my cough drops, and he captured my crinkled face in all its repugnant glory. I just hate taking cough syrup, especially the green ones with grenadine in them. To add insult to injury, he promptly showed it to his friends who came over for Call of Duty 4. So not only do I have to stomach green cough syrup that tastes like monster’s crap with lots of sugar, I had to endure five 21-year-olds who seem to think that my face is highly amusing when its in disgusted mode. 21 year olds, Jesus.

I just bought 2 books, Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood and Next by Michael Crichton. I am soo stoked. Now I’m actually excited that I’m sick with nothing to do. What a peculiar turn of events! Haha you can just imagine my face doing :D:D now.

sick.com

The weather has a life of its own. Its annoying how our moods are more often than not a reflection of the weather, and what makes it worse is the weather this past week has been anything but cheerful. The absence of even the slightest bit of happiness has been driving me insane, I don’t know how I can survive this utter boredom and gloom anymore.

I’ve tried everything; music, tv, books, games and even super mario which I haven’t touched since…sec 3, and nothing seems to work against this perpetual dark cloud hanging over my head. And accompanied by that is this constant need for me to throw up because of the meds. And this is then accompanied by the fact that I haven’t eaten anything other than porridge for the past 2 days for all my meals. So right now I gather that you can understand how my hell feels like, and this isn’t like the first level of hell, its like the fucking 18th level man, where people aren’t burning but they’re just trapped in ice and all they can do is cry, and when they cry the tears add up and form another layer of ice around them (I’ve read this before, somewhere in a book…).

I’m in such a bad mood, all I can look forward to is Friday and Long Island Tea and blowing my cash on male strippers (I just added in the last bit for pure entertainment, its a reward for reading through all this shit).

URAQT

I am feeling ill and breathing is such a chore. I am so tired but at the same time I’m sick of closing my eyes because the things I see under my eyelids scare me. I hope I get well soon to go to work because for some strange reason I miss the kaching of the cash register. I was supposed to go to Borders today before work and blow my salary on books, but its really just too bad that I can’t get out of bed even if I wanted to. Its ironic how reading would make me feel better, but I’m just not well enough to go buy the books.

So anyways,  Christmas is coming and all I wish for is snow so I can make make snow angels and throw snowballs at everyone and being stupid and ridiculous. I don’t want to grow up. I have a phobia of responsibility and all I want for Christmas is someone to take good care of me. Santa, that’s all I ask for.

Something to be Desired

I would like to watch you sleeping, which may not happen. I would like to watch you, sleeping. I would like to sleep with you, to enter your sleep as its smooth dark wave slides over my head. And walk with you through that lucent wavering forest of bluegreen leaves with its watery sun and three moons towards the cave where you must descend, towards your worst fear.

 

I would like to give you the silver branch, the small white flower, the one word that will protect you from the grief at the center of your dream. I would like to follow you up the long stairway again and become the boat that would row you back carefully, a flame in two cupped hands to where your body lies beside me, and you enter it as easily as breathing in.

 

I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only.
I would like to be that unnoticed, and that necessary.

Butterfactory

Work has been filling up my days and I’ve run out of time for myself and for everyone around me. But thankfully I’ve got amazing bartenders to keep me company while I count cash and get fucked by the manager. Once, they kept mixing me concoctions and by the 3rd glass I was high, WHILE DOING CASHIER. Luckily I get serious when I’m high, if not I’d be flipping the bird at my manager when he fucked me up.

For now I’m happy and contented just watching Dr. Seuss’ The Cat in the Hat. Everything’s so green and bubbly and fun. Like. Me? Haha jokes, see you guys in a bit.