Protected: Everybody is always so fucking “fine”

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

I hope that’s enough

“ I laughed and said, Life is easy. What I meant was, Life is easy with you here, and if you leave, it will be hard again.
— No One Belongs Here More Than You

I think I made you up inside my head

I want to send you a text message right now about nothing at all but I won’t because I don’t want you to think I think about you too much.

Among my prized possessions are words that were never spoken.

Your face was just an inch above mine, and as your warm breath danced past my lips, all I could see was those eyes. You were looking straight into mine, and at that point in time, those shades of hazel seemed to be spilling over with emotion. And I wished time would just stop right there, so I could forever remember the way you were looking at me. Such rawness, such love, it made my heart ache. How I wished that time was controlled by a shutter, and I could take a picture of the moment. The only word I could use to describe how I was feeling was Love. Yet, the word seemed so small and insignificant and it doesn’t fully encompass all that was going through my heart. Forward a month later, now, and I still can’t find the right word to say how I felt. Love, you say? Yes it was, and yet at the same time, it was much more than that.

Perhaps a mixture of love and fear? The more Love there is, the more Fear there is, don’t you think? There, I’ve said it: I’m scared of everything. I’m scared of who I am, scared of how I might not be good enough, scared of how you might one day realise that I’m not all that amazing you thought me out to be. And most of all, I’m scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I’m with you.

But at the same time, after tearing away at all these insecurities, I am happy – I have never been happier at any point in my life, and I am glad you made it all possible. I don’t think you really know how much of a difference you made in my life, and I can only hope that I can make the same difference in yours.

I once asked a friend what it meant to be in love. The friend of mine just proposed to his girlfriend, only to be rejected while he knelt on one knee with a ring outstretched. Taking a huge gulp of his pint of San Miguel, he mumbled: “You know it’s love when the tiny details about the other person, the ones that seem so insignificant to most people, seem incredible and magnificant to you.”

Just because someone doesn’t love you the way you want them to, doesn’t mean they don’t love you with all they have.

I will follow you into the dark

Every person I know has a shadow. A dark cloud of fear and doubt, that follows even the best of us almost every second of the day. We pretend the shadow isn’t there. Hoping that if we choose to ignore it or run faster and farther, it’ll get tired and give up the chase. But, like they say, you can’t outrun your shadow. And the only way to get rid of a shadow is to turn off the light. To stop running from the darkness, and face what you fear. Head on.

They say that fear is the heart of love, and I probably have to agree.

Maybe we should just sleep on it

If love comes your way
don’t be afraid
Unlock the box your heart’s encased in
Hope it wont change and
beware of the games that she’ll want to start playing
Oh, lately babe I stay awake thinking if your life is lonely

Well maybe I’m just scared
scared to ever have to let you go
I want you to know that right from hello
your love just kept me wondering
Well maybe I’m just tired
tired of never knowing

I know I’m not good enough for you

If I can be saved show me the way
Help me help myself
Don’t be confused
our love is true
Just tell by the way I’m looking at you

It is the lying in your arms

Soundbites: Ryan Adams (Wonderwall)

It is the minutes afterwards that is the most telling. He could be lying there with his hands folded across his chest, eyes resolutely burning a hole into the ceiling. Or he could be leaping to his feet and reaching for the remote control, saying: “Wonder if Alonsso won the cup?” Or, in some instances where the minutes after is marked by a sweet silence in the air and nothing but a cool breeze sweeping against your hair, he could be lying down beside you and gently holding you in his arms. And the only thing you can feel is his heartbeat  and his slow, laboured breathing. At the end of the day, that’s what it’s really all about, isn’t it? The security, the comfort, the peace in knowing that (even if it is just for that one moment), you were his and he was yours. And nothing can ever take that feeling away from you.

I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now. Because maybe, you’re gonna be the one who saves me?

Oh how it is bleeding

oh master of words, can’t you say what i want to hear?
twirl me around your fingers, no i don’t mind that at all
it’s just like what he said: “just use me as you will”
i don’t care one bit
no, it’s you who don’t give a damn
paper words falling from your mouth
tick tock tick tock
it’s 2.39 now.  

                  and the phone isn’t ringing.

In love with Christmas (and utterly proud of it)

What would you say if you had to explain the idea of Christmas to someone who knew nothing about it? Your story might begin with the three wise men following a star in the sky, or it might start off with Santa at the North Pole or even the solemn appeal of a winter festival that comes just when the sun seems most meager. Redemption and rejoicing, feasting and singing, humility and awe — these would all be parts of your answer, as would the perennial cast of characters (like a certain jolly red man and his pack of reindeers) who turn up faithfully this time of year. The personal anecdotes would come easiest: the rituals of Christmas Eve, the smell of fresh Christmas-blend tea, the stillness of a world cloaked in snow. And you would probably have something to say about the importance of family and how you want to spend the day with the very people you love the most.

My Christmas story would probably start with the grandparents, and how every year without fail the grand-dad would heave the huge-ass tree onto his 70-year-old shoulders and position it in the living room, just so his precocious grand-daughter (me) could put up the lights and baubles. The tree was like a canvas to me, and I would channel my arts and crafts skills and deck the tree with all the colours in my decorations kit. The tree probably looked like something the cat dragged in, but the grandparents would always say that the tree looked even better than the last. I never asked for gifts when I was a child – but I would always pester my grand-dad to put up the tree. The sheer act of spending the time with the grandparents to decorate it meant more to me than getting yet another Barbie doll or Mickey Mouse stationery set.

And that’s what Christmas is all about – spending the best day of the year with the people I love. And that’s also the reason why I dragged you out to do some grocery shopping with me on Christmas Eve – the idea of humming carols and having you beside me pushing a filled trolley exuded a sense of festivity and romanticism. And I had also wanted to make sure that I could spend at least a couple of hours with you on Christmas. That small act of picking up shortbread and muffins was more than enough to make me happy. Christmas means the world to me, and I wanted you to be part of it.

Merry Christmas my love, though it probably slipped your mind to wish me (:  Hope everything’s well over at your side.

Some days … the whole world seems upside down. And then somehow, and probably, and when you least expect it, the world rights itself again.

The sound of settling

Soundbites: Hot Chip (Ready for the Floor)

So here I am, stuck in this frenetic pigeon-hole that some might call a learning institution, trying to remember why I am here and what I am doing. While trying mindlessly to work on the paper that is due tomorrow, at the back of my mind I’m completely obsessed with the thoughts of how connected I am. Cross the road and I can be having Dublin Mudslide at Cathy, zip onto a bus and I’ll be in the heart of Ngee Ann City, hop onto the next train and I could be home sweet home. In between planning out my possible alternative iteneries and clicking blankly at Facebook pictures, I suddenly remembered the politics paper that I was supposed to be working on. I glanced at the Word document on my desktop – at this moment in time, my essay consists of one sentence. (It reads: This paper will attempt to argue that feminism is just an idealistic state of mind that can never be fully accomplished). Full stop. Amen.

I’m trying to make sense of why I’m here and what I am doing. I’m not doing a good job at all but you’d have to pardon me: the list of unchecked items on my to-do list is mind-numbing. If I’m not attempting (fruitlessly) to enter the lecture halls on time, I spend so much hours working on essays that never seem to end, trying to avoid working on the essays, bolting from one product launch to another, trying to reach my interview location on time (with lip gloss intact), or trying to find a taxi. Only thing that keeps me going is redbull and the thought of freeing up time to spend the weekends with you.

The favourite part of my day is always the hour before I turn in. The house will always be so quiet, and the tiny lights that dot the view outside my bedroom window suggests that there are many people in Potong Pasir that are also unable to fall into slumber at this godforsaken hour. I love looking at the small lights, and wondering what the occupant of the house is doing. Armed with a can of coke in my hand, I would perch on the bed, listen to the sound of silence and think about the day. Periodically, the phone would beep, and you’ll be sending me “Are you sleeping?” messages. That’s when I know you are battling to stay awake just to accompany me.

These days, it is the silence of the night and the moments before slumber that marks the highlight of my day.

And this is what needs to be said

I don’t want you to date other people. It may not be enough for you, but I’m trying here so I don’t want you to date anybody but me. That’s it. Except, I’m scared as hell to want you, but here I am, wanting you anyway. And fear means I have something to lose, right? And I don’t want to lose you.

Old scores are never settled

Forgive and forget. That’s what they say. It’s good advice, but it’s not very practical. When someone hurts us, we want to hurt them back. When someone wrongs us, we want to be right. Without forgiveness, old scores are never settled… old wounds never heal. And the most we can hope for, is that one day we’ll be lucky enough to forget.

Just a little calamity

Soundbites: Chairlift (Bruises)

We like to think that we’re fearless, eager to explore unknown lands and soak up new experiences. But the fact is, we’re always terrified. Maybe the terror is part of the attraction. Some people choose to go for horror movies. Some journalists gladly hop on a plane headed for Afghanistan. Some people dive into dark water. And at the end of the day, isn’t that what you’d rather to hear about? If you’ve got one drink and one friend and 45 minutes. Slow rides make for boring stories. A little calamity. Now that’s worth talking about.

God Save America

Almost anyone who knows me would know that A) I have never believed in the realisation of true democracy, and B) But I do agree with Churchill that democracy remains to be the best form of governance when compared to the other political ideologies. So it’s no surprise that when democrat Obama raised the sinews of change and revolution, I found myself sitting upright in my couch and staring whole-heartedly at his televised speech. Oh what I would give to fly myself across the Atlantic (or was it the Pacific?) to volunteer for his campaign activities, I remember thinking. And the following article on the New York Times published today eloquently conveyed all the love letters I have penned in my head for Obama:

“Hyperbole is the currency of presidential campaigns, but this year the nation’s future truly hangs in the balance. The United States is battered and drifting after eight years of President Bush’s failed leadership. He is saddling his successor with two wars, a scarred global image and a government systematically stripped of its ability to protect and help its citizens — whether they are fleeing a hurricane’s floodwaters, searching for affordable health care or struggling to hold on to their homes, jobs, savings and pensions in the midst of a financial crisis that was foretold and preventable.

As tough as the times are, the selection of a new president is easy. After nearly two years of a grueling and ugly campaign, Senator Barack Obama of Illinois has proved that he is the right choice to be the 44th president of the United States.

Mr. Obama has met challenge after challenge, growing as a leader and putting real flesh on his early promises of hope and change. He has shown a cool head and sound judgment. We believe he has the will and the ability to forge the broad political consensus that is essential to finding solutions to this nation’s problems.

In the same time, Senator John McCain of Arizona has retreated farther and farther to the fringe of American politics, running a campaign on partisan division, class warfare and even hints of racism. His policies and worldview are mired in the past. His choice of a running mate so evidently unfit for the office was a final act of opportunism and bad judgment that eclipsed the accomplishments of 26 years in Congress.

Given the particularly ugly nature of Mr. McCain’s campaign, the urge to choose on the basis of raw emotion is strong. But there is a greater value in looking closely at the facts of life in America today and at the prescriptions the candidates offer. The differences are profound.

Mr. McCain offers more of the Republican every-man-for-himself ideology, now lying in shards on Wall Street and in Americans’ bank accounts. Mr. Obama has another vision of government’s role and responsibilities.

In his convention speech in Denver, Mr. Obama said, “Government cannot solve all our problems,  but what it should do is that which we cannot do for ourselves: protect us from harm and provide every child a decent education; keep our water clean and our toys safe; invest in new  schools and new roads and new science and technology.”

Since the financial crisis, he has correctly identified the abject failure of government regulation that has brought the markets to the brink of collapse.”

It shouldn’t have to be so hard.

And so I sit here, on the carpeted floor in a hidden corner in the Literary section of Borders. I stare at a random page in some hardcover book I randomly picked from the shelf, words on the page dancing in front of my eyes, forming unrecognisable scribbles. It seems somewhat disrespectful to just stare mindlessly at the legendary words of Jane Austen, but right now, I really couldn’t care less. The only reason why I’m holding on to the book is just so I don’t look too weird sitting on the floor and staring into the blank spaces. I’m just waiting. Waiting for what, you ask? Honestly, I don’t know. Perhaps waiting for a promise to be fulfilled, waiting for the phone to ring, waiting for the minutes to just tick pass. I have never liked waiting for people, yet, it seems that I’m always the one waiting for things to be fulfilled when it comes to you. My mind wonders: “It shouldn’t have to be so hard, does it?” “If it isn’t so hard, then how should it be?” I reply to the blank void in my mind. “It just shouldn’t have to hurt so much,” it answers.

And so I close Jane Austen shut, place her smiling cover back onto the shelf, slung my bag across my shoulder and walked away.

My mind was right – it shouldn’t have to be so hard.