You are currently browsing the category archive for the 'Ponder' category.
You can only see my eyes.
Wisps of hair breezes softly by. It’s the only movement in the dark of night.
And there’s this one place that I could stand for just one night.
Alone in my white dress. Cut short above the knees, with sleeves that bring out the child in me.
I am looking down but it is in front of me.
Here in these deep city lights
A girl could get lost tonight
I’m finding every reason to be gone
And there’s nothing here to hold on to
Could I hold you?
I can breathe in the world, but sometimes I can only taste the scent of the sea.
The buildings turn into a lighthouse and once again, I’m blinded by the beauty before me.
The seagulls aren’t crows. The waves aren’t roads.
But the boat, it’s sailing away like my heart.
The sun is setting all the same.
And I’m still standing here, above everyone else.
Yesterday, I discovered that I am actually human after all.
That no, it wasn’t true that I did not have feelings.
No, I didn’t lose the ability to have feelings.
Beneath all those layers, I still have a beating heart. The tune may be a little different from some, but still, it is a heart all the same.
And with this heart, I am capable of love.
It’s just that sometimes, I wonder about this purpose that we’re all supposed to have.
I am a selfish person in nature, since my thoughts are only focused on thy self.
Although, most people surely do the same.
Indeed, I am in love with my own sins. Romanticizing the past, as they would say.
These days I have to ask: am I or am I not in love with myself? As in, am I only in love with myself?
Could that be the reason why I’m sometimes unhappy? Because I haven’t lived up to the expectations that I expect of myself?
Hmm. What a way to think of my life. Or my love life. Heh.
I once read this book that had a teenage girl character who would think of sex in the atoms and molecules and explosions of chemicals. She was always worried that her analytical skills would mean that she could never really enjoy something for what it was. But when she finally did it with someone she loved, she discovered that her mind didn’t once fly off to the physics or science.
So perhaps I am analyzing a lot of things, because I have not found my peace with life?
And so when I wonder why the clouds come in shapes, is it because I have not fully grasped the idea of rain and accumulation?
Bah. So many things to think about. And to think that I only have 24-hour memories to do it right.
Perhaps I should talk about the idea of time travelling now. I love time travelling stories! There is always a profound message to be found in every one, and not just because of its impossible nature but rather on what great lengths people would go through to just have one more chance in life.
The chance to finally do it right, as they would say.
But it is of course, the butterfly effect. Think you’re changing just your own? No way.
And sometimes, it’s not always about us. It’s about helping those around us cope better. If I could go back to that night and brought my dad back, it would be so that my mother could see things in a a different way. And for dad to have been able to know what it feels like, to hold his favourite daughter’s newborn in his arm. For my sister to remember that she still has a dad who loves her very much. For my brother to know that if he ever did decide to come back, a father would be waiting with open arms.
Life is simply life because it’s never perfect. If we had a chance to turn back time, the more things change, the more things stay the same.
I am still wondering if the heart or the mind is harder to read.
Alas, I can hear both of them shouting “me, me!”
Evil is always more apparent than the Saint.
Even in the dark, things are clearer than when it’s bright.
We all see the negative because there is nowhere else to look.
If only I could remember how I was before. When everything was happy, cheery and always looking up. Now I am only drowned in sorrow for the misery that has yet to come, if it ever does.
Now I cannot see another face without thinking of its heart. I cannot look into another pair of eyes without wondering of its depths.
I cannot look up at the clouds and not wonder if it will rain.
I am always anticipating the worst before it ever comes near. Perhaps, to better shield myself when the time calls for it.
And so when I get a chance to be by myself, I only know how to do what my heart tells me to.
I still can’t tell the difference between my heart and yours.
It seems that only words from a melody and tunes of a song can reach out to me.
This great big flatness makes me feel like an old boot being pulled along by an everlasting wave, dipping in and out of the ocean.
If you asked, sometimes it feels like I’m lying. When you don’t feel anything at all, what does it mean? When you’re on the fence. When you don’t know why but somehow, someday, somewhere you used to know.
Maybe that’s how you feel too. Drifting from one to the next without ever really knowing what you’re looking for.
Being undecided is almost like making a bad decision. To hog the road, or to make a wrong turn? Hopelessly hopeless.
I often wonder, where did this part of me go? When did I lose it? Why didn’t I notice when it left? Why didn’t I realize that it might never come back?
Perhaps, it can be syphoned down to a lack of trust. In life. In all that it has to offer.
I trust that the bad will do me more good than good.
Is it because I have no depth to my personality, that I have created this split person, just so I can feel more special?
Perhaps I am just 2 dimensional. Just another of the ordinary. Plain. Like that lily waving in the wind that I used to talk about all the time.
Perhaps, that is just a survival skill that I have yet to master.
I attract trouble like a breeze. Sometimes I just ask for it because my life is too damn monotonous.
Sometimes I don’t know where it is that I want to be. Sometimes I take on another’s dream just to show that I am not indecisive.
But is it so bad to not know where you’re headed? Is it so bad to crave for surprises, to wish that sometimes things just doesn’t have to be planned?
Is it so bad if I wanted to slow down and smell the soup? Why do I always have to be afraid that others will get to the food first?
I still wish I could make my own decisions. To be a child and not care that my decisions after another. To be selfish, to want what I want that no one else cares about.
I guess we all have our complaints. But life isn’t so bad after all, is it?
Nobody knows how things will turn out.
Is the term ‘true happiness’ really a fallacy? Maybe, just maybe, there’s no such thing.
We’re happy, but how do you define being truly happy? I mean, what the hell makes someone truly happy? Is it when you’re happier now than before? How would I know if I will be even happier later, when I can’t even remember how happiness used to be like?
Sometimes, we all need a fresh start. To not constantly face our mistakes and talk about it. To look away and hope for the best.
Who wouldn’t sing for me now
And who wouldn’t have done all of that
Looks like I’ve been a friend to nobody
And now I couldn’t lead you home
Believe – Mandalay.
The little things that I wish for, perhaps only I would know. Everything I touch turns into dirt eventually. Just an uncanny ability to bring out the worst in life.
For I am sad not of what’s out there, but what’s in here.
If everyone acknowledged their own imperfections, would there be no war?
I could take note of all those times I made a boo boo on the road. Perhaps I would honk less. Give way more often.
For all the times I preferred to talk and be in the centre of attention. Perhaps, I would be more willing to share my time with those who crave for the spotlight.
Not having gone further than I should have, I do remember the many times I led another woman’s man to believe that I was worth another look. Perhaps, I will say less of those who do the same.
If only I blamed others less and told myself to do more to make things right, things might actually turn out right.
Sometimes, we only have to look within ourselves to find the answer. When there is no truth in this world, the decision you make doesn’t have to answer to anybody but yourself.
If you want something, just do it.
Life is unsettling if even you can’t answer for yourself.
Where has all the joy gone?
In enjoying a good dinner.
In playing with a cute little puppy.
In watching your favourite ladies on screen.
In sleeping on the most comfortable bed you’ve ever had.
In reading the kookiest book that took you your whole life to find.
In watching a scary movie that kept your adrenaline fresh and young.
In zipping around in your own still brand new car and being a pro at that.
I don’t even take the time to reflect on how happy I am everyday. The only reason that I have for this, or rather, the only excuse for this, is that I absolutely have no time for it.
I wake up everyday fighting to stay awake.
I try to keep my cool every other hour, because I think I’m just too damn good for this world. Sheesh.
How can I expect change, when I am struggling with it?
My only consolation, is that I don’t have to do it alone.
*hugs handsome O*
Why am I so angry all the time?
Perhaps, you’re expecting a little more from what life has to offer.
I mean, I only have myself to take care of and I do the best that I can. But sometimes, I have to clear up the mess that others leave behind. Totally unfair!
As cliched as it is, life is unfair. Life is unpredictable when you expect it to be so. Many have talked about curve balls being thrown out of the blue, and it’s true. The world doesn’t revolve only around you, and that’s what you have to remember sometimes.
I guess I just don’t see why others can live comfortably even by being selfish, lazy and inconsiderate. That their children can be like them too, and still not suffer from any direct consequences.
I’m sure you must’ve heard about how the concerns of a rich man are quite similar to that of a poor one? Both will have money worries. One will worry about losing his money. The other will worry about how he’s gonna get more money to survive. Everyone suffers in their own way. Some problems may be external while others lie within.
So you are saying that, eventhough they live a simple life of wanting a 9 to 5 job or act like they are 10 years younger from their actual age, it doesn’t mean their lives are perfect in other aspects? That in their own eyes they too see and recognize their flaws, but only in private?
Yes. Some may not be very good at fixing flaws while others may be in denial. But it doesn’t mean that they do not spend at least one minute of everyday worrying about how they’re gonna make it through another day by being who they’ve always known themselves to be. They may get a sudden flash of inspiration to change, some may get many opportunities to truly change, but how many will take on the challenge, the hard work, the unknown road? They can put on a cheeky face and you can call them a Smart Alec, or they can be sarcastic and you call them condescending, but we do not have the right to say that they lead better lives than us although they are imperfect.
Right. So I am cynical because I choose to see only the dark of every side. It’s hard when all the beauty of the world seems to be buried somewhere far away and deserted.
Of course, nobody is asking you to wear your rose-tinted glasses all the time. Just know where and when to put them on. Perhaps you could try to look away in the face of evil instead of confronting it. We all need masks to protect ourselves. Give more at times but don’t forget to hold back too.
When others don’t change but I do, to solve my inner turmoil, does that help me adapt better to the world?
In a way it certainly does. Leave others to live with themselves. If they are annoying, imagine how their wives or husband would feel, having to see them everyday. If someone doesn’t take their job seriously, put in extra effort in yours. But remember, it’s not to show them how to do it right, but rather, to show the voice within you that you prefer yourself this way. If you meet parents who do not bother to ensure that their children stay out of mischief, say nothing to the kids but something to your own in the future. Yes, to each his own. For every mistake the world makes, do something extra right for yourself and those you care about.
For every mistake the world makes, do something extra right for yourself and for those you care about. Indeed.
The world we live in is predictable. Simply because everything is expected to be logical, practical, real.
Imagine, if we could never be sure if the next rain brought sardines or mackerel, fish or frogs instead of plain ol’ acid rain.
Perhaps the backyard, the one we sometimes call our garden, might lead into a forest where mysterious beings await your arrival. 10 years, a hundred years, a million years they’d wait. And when you do come, they will bring you into a small city not much different from the last one you familiarized yourself with, only that it is much quieter, with a lot less people and conversations.
In real life, we question all that we see or hear. There is a lack of imagination because we refuse to accept anything that we can’t yet grasp. We joke but we can’t take jokes u-turned back to us. We praise our people yet let slip crude remarks on foreign entertainers who are in essence, just doing their job.
Words are just loud noise when there is no love. My favourite line. Coz’ you can just take a look around you, listen to the superior who talks and thinks that everyone else is inferior, or the brat who wants to finish her job before you do because she has coincidentally decided to go on leave when there is work to be done.
Of course, we can’t expect love to be generous, or us to be generous with love. In fact, too much love has often been linked to the idea of being with a pushover. Say yes everytime and you’re bound to get in trouble. Say no, and you’ve got no love. Nobody wins sometimes.
We forget who we are simple because we are too absorbed in telling others who they should be. I am not the son you never had, or the daughter yours will never be. I am me, and if you have trust, I will then have faith.
Do not expect of me what you do not expect of yourself. Expect, with respect.
It’s been a long while, but I must say that these marshmallows now taste different. Perhaps, I am no longer the child I always thought I was. Through the pain and beneath the hardened sky, I have grown a little taller inch by inch. No magic mushrooms to help me reach those stars. Just me, and my conscience.
Prophecies are just that. Somehow, our mind tells us to turn everything we hear into the truth. Mind over matter, they say. Fear is contagious. And its most dangerous victim is the mind. Facings up to our fears is really just an oxymoron.
There is no longer time for us to think before we act. Although the world has made it appear as an advantage to act before it thinks.
Everyone wants a piece of action to get even more attention. From the guy who hurries the waiter because the cook is late to the married man who’s proud of his hangovers from late Sunday drinking nights. These are guys with gals on their side and still they turn to you for a response after they’ve made an impaired judgement on simple human language.
Ask if you do not understand, even in the face of the devil. Ask about hell even if you have no desire to go there. Having more knowledge is always an advantage, even though all you ever think of is heaven. Don’t say ‘okay’ when it’s not. Nothing’s difficult, if you would only try.
Do bad drivers have bad personalities then? If they drive slowly and hog the road, are they inconsiderate colleagues who aren’t afraid to share ideas or a finished project at their own pace? Are they people who think they’re always right, and frown at those who honk at their ridiculous antics?
Sometimes I look through my msn list and try to find someone to talk to. Not just anyone who wants to have real conversations. But someone who doesn’t mind talking about the other side of the world. All that it could be. To complain and not be afraid of being whiny. To just speak your mind and have others respond. Thankfully, I do have one friend who never fails to be in and then out of the scene in a snap. We don’t have to set up the mood or let our conversations trail off into a natural end. We just say what we want and press enter enter enter on a letter if the other side doesn’t respond. Life is simple, if you like it that way.
Funny enough, we get to know people by learning about their pasts. Some may not want to share, and therefore, never get any invitations to even the simplest of lunch outings. Everyone is different, unique, interesting because of who else they can be other than the person standing in front of you. The funniest stories are usually of those when we were young and naive.
Some can make up histories to gild their path into another’s heart, but adds no value to the relationship or to his own conscience. Saying you were a tough kid on the street might surprise many for the sweet looking boy they know, but in the end, we all know you only want pity or an excuse for the mistakes you are about to do.
There are some people whom I’d wish to erase from my past. Just point, rub and voila, far away in Mars. Not so much for who they were, but how you were unfortunately linked to them.
I wish taking a shower could literally cleanse us of our past and all the broken glasses we’ve left behind.
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.
Simplicity. If only we could nurture its existence. Too often, we complicate words, actions, smiles, signals, and thoughts.
In the future, I believe that there will be less words spoken. We’ll all be too tired to fight back. To say what needs to be said.
Is this it is it is this it is it.
It’s easier said than done. To be cruel to be kind. Many a times I falter as I squeeze those alphabets back down my throat. The world is not my playground. Even if they need to hear the truth, no one wants to.
I am to be observant, if I wish to be a writer of any kind. Writers watch. Writers wait. They rarely write, because they spend too much time thinking. If only thoughts could write for themselves. I’d have a million published souls by now.
Mmm dey mmm da mmm daaeeeoo.
Mmm dey mmm da mmm daaeeeoo.
Imogen: Don’t make a sound shh listen Keep your head down We’re not safe yet Don’t make a sound and be good for me Coz I know they’re waiting somewhere out here.
Lay low. Be good. Be quiet, till the time comes. Here’s a toy, if you need it. My arms are here, if you want them. Everyone has a child in them. And I’ve found yours.
Someone once said, the day we’re born is the day we start dying. The pessimist in all of us will know that this is true. We are not who we choose to be. We are what we choose to be.
I am the maker of my own stories. There’s too much tragedy in this world. So much, that everyone wants a piece of it. Autobiographies from Paris Hilton to Xandria Ooi. Everyone has a life story to tell.
But who really lives?
How different is one life from another? A boy from a girl?
Love. I’ve had my fair share of heartbreaks and broken dreams. But dreams, like stars, will turn to dust when they cross the walls to the other side. It would do you well, to keep you stars in a crate by the field. Store them behind the trees. Hide yours from view. One day, you may find the way to bring them back.
I wouldn’t trade anything for the classes that made me watch movies. I may wish that I’d studied something more practical, like say, medicine, but I’ll never forget what I learnt through those sessions. They made my impatient. They made me angry. Most important of all, they taught me sadness. Now, I can no longer look at another person without feeling their pain from within.
The movies. They’ve made me weird. They’ve made me a writer. They showed me the world, albeit only one side of it. But for a girl who’s never left home, isn’t that enough?
Am I more impatient than ever now, because writing has made me self-conscious of self-censoring myself, while I watch in vain when others never do? Can I blame the OCD when I feel like correcting ’strenght’ to ’strength’ and ‘congrates’ to ‘congrats’? Or when they say ‘headgearhog’ instead of ‘hedgehog’, or ‘ree-odd’ instead of ‘riot’?
Mmm dey mmm da mmm daaeeeoo.
Is this it is it is this it is it.
Religion. Am I open to what I learn, because I write? Because writing tells me to be impartial, to give every paragraph a voice? Religion, it is really a respect. And I cannot respect anyone to be objective, if they do not respect another religion and its views. People say, people do, just as long as I don’t. I will try to understand who you’re speaking to, and your intentions, but I will not try to make you me. Although I can’t help but feel annoyed that you can’t be more than what you are.
The stars are really not that far off in the sky. It is only because we choose to touch further than we really should, that we shoot past what is beautiful in all its glory.
Why do we say the things we do? Why do we choose to insult, when the very act of insulting is an oxymoronic concept in itself, because insults never really work when the insulted doesn’t care for a comeback?
Why do we find pleasure in causing pain? Is it our urge as humans to share, to make them angry because you’re angry too? Is this how we pass on the anger, is this how we expect it to disappear, by transferring the heat from one hand to another?
What has my world become, when I have to hide behind headphones? That’s what headphones are for. Like pop up ads that never seem to go away, annoying people need a reason not to bother you. It would be easy, if everyone had an ‘X’ button somewhere and that you could just click on those you wanted out of your life, and they could still go on living in some other people’s world.
Sometimes, I don’t feel like talking. Perhaps, I’ve already had a million conversations in my head before you have had your first real one. Even if it’s just 9am. Even if I’m the first person you see. You could be the 1 millionth and 1 conversation that I’ve had for the day. Even, if it’s just 9am.
I’m best left alone.
Because I write.
Some come. Some go. Some stay.
One day, they’ll leave anyway.
Sheltered from the light, they’ll burst forth and land on a leaf, perhaps a branch.
They say that the stars aren’t that shiny anymore. They can’t see them anymore, they say. They’re there, but they’re no longer ours.
We all chase after the same dreams. Of skies, of seas, of lands…and the heavens above.
We all choose the same trees. But there’s only space for so many.
Time, is also a state of mind.
Nothing is certain. Nothing carved in stone.
The nights may rain, the days may cry. You and I do. But there’s nothing left to say.
As wings touch the tip of feathered ice, my mind falls once again into the abyss that calls my name.
I am not drowning, not yet. I will not let myself.
I learnt to swim when I was 5 and now, 20 years later, I shall continue on this quest.
I’ll skim the surface and watch as dolphins sing their praises. Life that honours that of another. They, the ones who save.
If I carry on, things may change. If I stand still, the world doesn’t stop moving.
When you leave, I’ll be on my own. Perhaps I’ll miss you. Perhaps I’ll find someone new. It was uncertainty, before I met you. But I’m glad to have a place in your thoughts. Your standards speak of higher grounds. But still, I’m glad I matched that height.
There, I hear it again. The whistle in the cave. Like the snake upon the sand.
This time, there’ll be no pilot. No scattered plane. No little boy. No roses and a sheep.
All that is left – the fox in my hands. To have and to hold, to remember and to live with.
When the hour before the hour nears, I will start to be happy.
Time has brought me to my senses. It’s been so long, and yet not long enough. Things have not been the same since.
Shot down from heaven, my soul took in the same blow. Every hour pierced deeper and made me fought harder. I did everything I could not to cry. But the tears still fall sometimes.
We don’t really cry for the people who are no longer here. We only cry for ourselves. For the life they left behind. For the love they can no longer feel. For us, for everything we’re going to miss because we’re now left alone.
I’ve lost my voice for words. And I’ve lost my patience for listening. The world is unjust and I am in the midst of it. The rain can fall, the wind can change. But nothing will move my soul anymore. He is gone. And I will not cry. But I will remember. If anything, I will remember.
Not of those years when I smiled and laughed and played. Not of those dreams that disappeared all in one night. But for when he lived. Every moment, every memory, every year, this time, this day.
Happy Birthday Pa.
