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When I look up at the clouds sometimes, I wonder. If I could part them, if I’m allowed to shape them into what I like. They’re so far out of reach. Perhaps that is why, I am drawn to their existence.
The silver lining on every cloud, it is but embroidery. They evaporate in a touch, much like reality itself. Your fingers can gently trace the curves, the cottony-soft fantasy, but how would one know that it weighs even less than candy floss?
If my clouds are pink, my sky would be too. The pink heavens of my life.
I discovered a blade of grass today. It was the colour of a green so fresh, you’d think of the ocean and mermaids and the wizard of Oz. The shade is pretty, but only to my green-tinted eyes. I see what you don’t. I think, what you never will.
This meadow is mine, only I sleep there. I don’t need a fence, I don’t need a gate. Only for heaven to look down upon me. With my arms behind my head, watch me and smile as I close my eyes for you. Even beneath the sunlight, I do not cringe.
These striped stockings, these mary janes. They do not make me uglier than I can already be. They do not make me more beautiful than I could ever be. They let me sit quietly by the side, sometimes leaning against the Sycamore.
Sometimes, sometimes I’d try not to think of the dull pain in my pocket. A cavern where my knife hides from the world. I cannot help but cut myself because I do not want it to cut you. I might breathe a scream, stifle a shout, but that’s just me.
Let me be.
Can you see that house I see? The one that’s silent on the hill. The world is silent, and so are my ears. I walk with caution, I walk with a skip. I can’t wait to see what’s ahead, but I already know. I’ve lived in it for a thousand years. I’ve walked up the steps a million times. But if you asked me, who goes there? I wouldn’t know.
The little children are playing on their own. I do not know their game. I try to catch their eye, or their interest, but they can only look away. Strange, strange little things.
A certain type of perfection comes through the limitless accumulation of the imperfect.
Well said, Murukami-san.
Makes me feel much better, now that there’s a reason to be one with flaws.
It’s not easy to get a real smile these days. It’s not easy to show the world your smile. Heck, I don’t even know if I have one to share. Simply because I am too afraid of the ephemerals that live with me.
I feel a cold latching on. I almost wish it to envelope me, simply because it slows me down. It makes me think twice before I wield my anger, it gives me time to smile before I lose my temper. It lets me see through twinkling eyes and sparkling imageries.
Sometimes I feel so angry at the people around me. For all the things they cannot do yet act like they can. Those that take on a king’s position but can only walk like a soldier. Common courtesy is lost especially so in 2009. It is all about the present, the now, the today. Everyone’s living their own reality, or much rather, battling their own reality. And when your paths cross, they can only move away without so much as an ‘excuse me’.
People who pass through life asleep. Sucking you in their dreams, their fantasies. They want you to be exactly like what they imagined and yet, dreams are never to be controlled.
I’ve been bullied all my life. I’ve met up with a million condescending statements. And almost always, it’s because I cannot be as loud or as rude as you. Almost everyday now I think to myself, “that is why you’ll never be king”, “that is why you’ll never be in love”, “that is why you’re still here when I’m ready to go”.
You’ve got nothing, if you’ve only got your voice.
You’ve got nothing, if you don’t know how to use your voice.
You’ve got nothing, if you use your voice for some pretty useless words.
You’ve got nothing, if you think someone else’s voice is yours.
Wake up world! Stand up for yourself. Show me why you deserve to be where you are at 39. Show me how you’re planning to care for your wife and kids at 28. Show me how you’re gonna stop being single at 31. Show me why you’ve lost all hope when you’re only 51.
Show me why you drive an Estima like a P-license Kancil driver.
Show me why you drive your super sporty modified car even worse than a P-license Kancil driver.
Show me why I can’t say sorry if you’re the one who calls the wrong number.
Bleh.
My dear, my love.
I never see you the same way you do.
Perfection belongs to everything you touch.
I realized how impossible I must have been when I heard those words you said the other day.
But I’m just a boring guy.
My highlight of the week? A trip to the movies.
But where’s the wrong in that when it is the same for me? Although, to be more specific, the brightness in my life comes whenever I get to steal a moment of your time. For a simple dinner, especially. Since breakfasts brings out the worst in you.
It is in your arms, that I find answers to my puzzles. It is in your world, only your world that wrong and right don’t matter.
And I don’t care if I have to turn off a million alarm clocks at 5am, because at least I know I’ll get to catch another glimpse of you when no one else does.
If I could, I’d take all the pain for myself. I’d keep the debts in my drawer. I’d take the phone calls at every hour. I’d drink cups of coffee to stay up all night. I’d do everything just so you can catch half a wink whenever you want to.
Yes, you gave me a car but shortened my fuse. Yet, you also taught me everything I never knew about patience and how unconditional love is actually possible in this world.
I wish you knew me a lot sooner, I really do.
I’d watch any dumb action movie twice if I knew you’d always sit beside me.
I’d listen to Miss Keys repeatedly if I could see you bop your head to her tunes everytime.
I’d drive you around 24/7 if I knew that you were proud for even once of my driving skills.
I’d wash every cup and every shirt just knowing that you would take the time to say thank you to me.
People would never leave if they are getting the most out of life.
And I am.
With you 
Without you, the ground thaws, the rain falls, the grass grows
Without you, the seeds root, the flowers bloom, the children play
The stars gleam, the poets dream, the eagles fly, without you
The earth turns, the sun burns, but I die, without you.
~ R.E.N.T
One year ago, my sister slept beside me
I knew my parents for a brief while.
We could look out of a clear glass window. There were others around; like us but quite different.
The weather felt different. There were no such things as newspapers.
People came and went. We met many; didn’t like a lot.
Until this family came. Somehow, I could see the pain in their eyes. They looked at me with love, but inside, I knew they were hurting.
I never thought I’d see them again. But a promise is a promise.
And they came back.
There was no time to say goodbye to sis. I can still remember her expression, eventhough I may never recognize her again.
They took me to a house. The first thing I heard was my name. A little boy, of about 8, had yelled out his favourite character from an old game, and he was pointing at me. The rest tried very hard. I heard Kofi, Raisin and some other food-like references. So I guess I can’t really complain.
The same little boy looked like fun, but I could feel his fear for me. I didn’t understand why he would pretend to accidentally drop me on the floor when others were watching. Odd little thing, he was.
But before I got acquainted with anyone, they left me to fend for myself. This girl, in her mid-20s took care of me and drove me to a new place. A place I thought was home.
There was also this other guy. Who never understood my difficulties in understanding a foreign language. I mean, I couldn’t even tell where the signs were for the bathroom. This usually gets me into trouble when I’m a little bit more excited than usual.
I hated the slaps. The shoving and the taunting. Something told me it was for my own good, but, can’t there be another way? The few times I yelped in pain, the girl came to my rescue. But soon, even she too couldn’t help.
Thankfully, I managed to learn some new tricks, albeit the hard way. They gave me the attention I needed. But when they didn’t, I found consolation in newspapers.
One day, they brought home an older, golden chick who wouldn’t even give me another glance. All I wanted was some company, some play time with one of me. Turned out, her only interest was rummaging through the garbage.
For the 2 whole months she was with her, I didn’t even get a chance to be anywhere near. And then suddenly, someone came to take her away. Maybe it was a good thing.
But of course, before she left, she had to see me go bald. I had contracted some strange disease, a rather flesh-eating one and having hair didn’t help. At least, that’s what the stylist told the girl. I needed a proper comb, not a brush, he said.
When the couple weren’t around, sometimes an older lady would spend some time with me. She didn’t ever scold me, or hit me, and so I thought she was the loveliest person I ever met. I thought she loved me. I really thought she loved me.
Now, a year has past. I got a bright red cushion for my birthday and then life threw me a sudden curve ball.
I had moved back to my old place a couple of months before. An even older lady loved me to bits and would say ‘biscuit’ a million times just to get a reaction from my face. Of course, I would never let her down, eventhough sometimes I get really tired of her high-pitched tone.
About a couple of weeks ago, I heard the girl tell me that I would be moving to a new place soon, at least for 2 months. I was rather excited. I saw her packing and often found her scrutinizing the rust and decay from my personal restroom.
Until now, I could only guess what changed her mind. Or whom. The only ones I talk to these days are my four walls. The dim light brings me no joy and I can’t tell whether the radio spews good songs or not.
All I could think about was the fragility of love. They always said, there never was a match to a man’s best friend’s unconditional love. Don’t get me wrong, I still have mine. I know I’ll always have it.
I only wished that I didn’t have to ask. I only wished they’d think of me sometimes.
Love is a strange and funny thing. How can love of any kind turn into burden? Is temporary a kind of love? Are all love meant to be fleeting, never lasting?
I wish I could go with the girl. She still visits me every night. And I know she tries to stay for as long as she could. But she’s tired too. And now suddenly, I’m too out of the way for everybody.
Perhaps if they had asked for my opinion, I would promise to be cleaner? To be gentler?
I’d give anything to sleep in a house with life, rather than one with just fish, rats and mice.
If only you would sing to me, instead of introducing me to lite.fm.
If only I could watch some TV with you, or just sleep quietly while you mumble in your sleep.
If only I could wait for you to come back to me again at the end of the day.
If only I could hear the sound of your car from a mile away and know that you were going to stay the night.
If only you didn’t have to leave. Me. Here. Alone.
