Pent Up Angers

Anger is one of my traits, I suppose. 

I can find many reasons to be angry with people and even myself. But seldom can I find reasons to not be angry with others. 

I suppose it's just me. 

Or perhaps, the way I view those around me. 

Those who have judged me, criticized me, and make me feel as if I'm not worth a cent. 

But yet again, what is forgiveness if there is no anger?

Letter of Pain

Dear you,

I close my ears, for noise pierce through them, each surge of noise sends a surge of pain right through my head, and there is nothing I can do about them.

I close my eyes, hoping to see nothing, so that I will stop seeing the association of everything with you. I want to blot you out of my senses. I want to purge myself of you.

Filthy you.

No, filthy me.

It must be this pair of filthy hands that you refuse to hold which caused the building blocks of love and friendship scattering right before our very eyes. It must be this ugly smile that flashes whenever my eyes see you that caused you to run in horror. It must be this very horrendous face that make you scream in horror whenever I come near you.

I don't blame you. Filthy me.

It's time to give up. It's time to let go everything I've once believed in, because of you. If I were to believe in what you taught me to believe in, my mind would be filled with you, and I would have to slowly heal again from the torn scar on my chest, which has pretty much shriveled by now.

I don't blame you. I blame myself. Filthy me.

I have a request, however. Can you please hurt me once again, once and for all? Can you please take a knife and plunge it deep into my heart and make sure I die in front of you? That way, you not only rid the earth of a horrendous monster and also rid yourself of me, but also help me to not hurt anymore.

That way, I can stop hurting, and I will find myself in paradise, emotionless. That way, I am filthy no more. That way, I will be able to come clean.

Please rid me of me. Please rid my filthiness of this earth, from your life.

I hope to hear from you soon.

Your discarded one.

Used To

He used to be able to pn his thoughts into stories, shoving his insecurities under words so that they could blanket what he thinks beautifully. But such an ability is lost. No more can words do such wonder for him to soothe his insecurities and fears.

He lost his story.

He lost his words.

He lost his ability. 

To write. To storytell. To describe.

To cast all insecurities to something he could rely on. 

Questions

Where are you, my angel?

Where have you been all these while?

Why do you leave me without telling me?

Why do you just go and not care to whisper to me that you love me?

Why do you not come back and everything will be fine again?

Why do you choose to let me hurt on my own and not compassion, which you used to preach so much about?

Why? 

Do you know it hurts so much to be alone, longing for your presence?

Do you know it hurts to love you?

Betrayal, Revenge, Destiny

Betrayal | Revenge | Destiny 

The Trinity Trilogy

Fiona McIntosh

Ugh!

That would be my response to this trilogy. 

Having read more brilliant authors like Terry Goodkind (author of Wizard's First Rule, Stone of Fears, Blood of the Fold...) and Diane Settlefield (author of the most mesmerizing The Thirteenth Tale), I couldn't help but shake my head at the following while reading this trilogy:

- Language

- Recurring themes

- Plot

While I have nothing to say about the setting, it is obvious that the setting Terry Goodkind has forged for his books are more appealing and captivating that what Fiona McIntosh had tried; hers was dull, I must say. 

Her language wasn't captivating; it doesn't draw the reader into the story. Instead, the reader has to take the effort to be interested in the story. If you were wondering why, then, am I 

reading it when I have to force myself to love it, my answer for you would be: because I spent RM 10 on each book, and hell I will definitely finish it no matter what. 

And noticed I have for many times the usage of "beautiful" and "pretty" to describe both men and women in her story. I can't help but wonder if her vocabulary was that terrible. I am sure there are many more ways to describe beauty, and for somebody as established as she, shouldn't she at least have a better command of vocabulary? 

Either way, her language isn't captivating enough. I don't think I would be interested in reading her books in the future, let alone purchasing them, unless something miraculous happens, or I forget about her totally. Haha!

Next, the recurring themes in her novels are rather acceptable, just that she loved to use sex as a way to spice up the story, when there could be much more ways to spice up a story. I mean, read Terry Goodkind's books! They are brilliant, and not throughout he goes around saying this girl yearns that boy and that boy desiring another girl when he laid eyes on her. Come on, get something new! Although sex sells, doesn't it bring down the image of your book?

The plot of the story could be better. 

Another reason why I insisted on finishing the book because I wanted to see how the story would turn out to be. The result? Well, nothing surprising. 

I love books that keep me guessing, guessing and guessing. While tons of detective stories are available, I have found them boring. But Diane Settlefield's story did the miracle. I was dumbfounded, awestruck. 

Terry Goodkind has this effect too, just not as well as the way Diane Settlefield structured her story. 

But Fiona McIntosh... I think she needs more practice. Perhaps this is why people tell me, it is more difficult to wow than to "okay, not bad."

All in all, it was an o-kay experience reading this book. 

Rate: 3/10

Have You Said What You Need to Say?

I am sure all of us have heard of and would agree with the cliché yet truthful saying: Life is not a bed of roses.

Some of us have to strive to perform well so that we could survive in college, graduate – hopefully – with a distinction, and go into the working world and begin earning our humble salaries.

Some of us worry a lot. We worry if we are good enough to be accepted in this society which had undergone multiple, in fact, innumerable conditioning processes by both our cultures and the media. We worry if we are fine looking enough to be appreciated as an individual and not subject to any judgments. We worry if we are brilliant enough to be considered a friend, someone worth spending time with, someone whom others would sincerely look to in times of need.

Some of us have to strive to survive – just to survive. Even during our student years, we have to work for a little living. With the meager wage we get every end of the week or month, we gleefully enjoy our money, and return to working hard again the following month.

Summing all these, I assume that all of us would concur that life is difficult – real difficult. And perhaps – just perhaps – the easiest thing about life is spelling it.
Many a times we have heard about the overused term “Positive Mental Attitude”. We try real hard to find a reason for joy in each situation. We religiously memorize the several truisms we have come to seemingly worship in times of dire need, and one of them is: Behind every dark cloud is a silver lining. And when all these fail, when all our effort to find joy fails, we shrug and get disappointed at our failure in trying to orchestrate our joy.

But is joy achieved this way?

Is joy achievable by just telling ourselves, "Don’t worry; be happy?" Is joy attainable by just telling ourselves that we can, or we should be happy because before every dawn is the darkest nights?

Let us not kid ourselves anymore.

Don’t get me wrong; I am not saying that positive mental attitude does not work; it does work for some, but for those whom such attitude doesn’t apply, what do they do? Do they discard the chance of finding joy?

No. Life may be difficult, but joy is definitely attainable.
Joy is attainable when we put a pause to the busy lives we are living in. The very lives in which we strive for what we believe in. The very lives in which we work for what we wish to have in this life.

Joy is attainable when we slow down and open our eyes to see the little things, many of which we consider trivial, and accept them as the little rainbows that color our lives.

Joy is attainable when we realize that we have missed a lot in life. Things like the simple heartfelt smiles of friends and beloved ones… the rather out-of-tune melodies which we mindlessly hum whenever we feel like doing so… the little jokes we have amongst our close friends… the little secrets we share between or amongst those closest to us… the little things we laugh at until we tear…

All these may be little, but they are definitely worth being joyful for, because we know that we are not trying to be positive but being thankful for the little moments we have in life.

Last but not least, joy is attainable when we begin to make an effort to say simple words like "thank you". How many times have such simple yet powerful words left our lips only to dissipate into the air without being given the chance to touch another? How many times have we flinched from saying what we have to say because we took someone else for granted?

This, then, is why we can find joy when we put a pause to our busy lives and literally slow down to see and appreciate the little things which add meaning to our lives. This is why we have to say what we need to say.

Let us snatch each chance to appreciate, to cherish, to say simple heartfelt words. If ever in the past we have failed to do so, let us not regret or tear for our yesterdays. Instead, let us live today. Let us live the present. Let us say words that we need to say to those whom we care for, whom we love, whom we treasure.
Once there were two men who stood at heaven’s gates. An angel appeared before them and said, "I’m going to ask you two questions, to which you have to give an honest answer, for they will determine your success in entering heaven."

The first question was: Have you had joy in your life. The second: Had your life brought joy to others.

How do we have joy in our lives? We appreciate. We say what we need to say – not to please ourselves, not to satisfy our conscience, and definitely not to display our severely limited vocabulary in times of anger; but to show sincerity, to show gratitude, to show friendship.

How do we bring joy to others? We appreciate, by saying what we need to say, for it is a choice. A choice made to show sincerity, to show respect, to show we care.
My dear friends, time is but an enemy, for it fleets and never returns. The chance for us to express gratitude or care may never return; let us, then, say what we need to say.

Have a nice day.

The Bucket List

The Bucket List is a movie to watch, if you are looking for a movie that not only encourages you to look at life at a different perspective, but also one that does not preach positivism.

I am awestruck at the simplicity of this movie yet being able to deliver the essence of humanity so clearly.

Sometimes we deviate from experiencing the little joys in life. We limit ourselves, rationalizing that what we want isn't necessary what is acceptable within this society. So we end up conforming to what the society deems right for us to do at a certain age.

Sometimes we fail to see the beauty in the simplicity life presents itself in. We complicate life, and by doing so complicate everything associated to it, including our miserable selves. How far we have failed to notice the little things in life that color our lives, perhaps more beautifully than we ever could understand.

Respecting the scriptwriter of this simple movie, I think that it is time life is looked from a different perspective. While working hard to achieve what is achievable is commendable, but sometimes, we should slow down and just appreciate the times we spend with those we love, those moments when all we could is laugh and laugh and laugh until we tear, those times when we look into beloveds' eyes and understand the meaning of love...

Accompanying this movie is John Mayer's "Say" which has also sparked a fresh inspiration within me. What more can I say about this movie and the theme song? Simply remarkable.

This Be Truth

My Immortal
Evanescence

When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have
All of me

I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone
But though you're still with me
I've been alone all along

Wordiness vs Quietness

I have been reading through a number of blogs recently, ever since exams was over and I had more time to sit back and just be lazy. And I happened to stumble by one that has a really short post about how shock-striken he was about the fact that the girl he likes passed away due to a hit-and-run accident.

I read through the comments and saw the mountainous empty words like, "Be strong", "Don't worry", "Take care, okay?"; descriptive comforting words; and what's worse, Bible verses.

And funny how I can't seem to stop feeling pity for the author who has friends with empty words and friends who can't identify with him. Yet, as I placed myself in the similar situation, I realized that I wouldn't have been much of a non-empty friend or a guy with non-empty friends. After all, we are all insincere friends and people who attempt to console although we can't possibly understand how hellish things are. See the contradiction?

However, perhaps it's just me - for someone who prefers silence and company while in times of depression, especially from friends who are not close to me (and may I add, lameness when I am moody never helps but sparks more irritation). Perhaps it's just the irritation that drives me insane sometimes when I realize that people say what they say without meaning it because they hope in doing so, they can help make me feel better (which is always a failure). Perhaps it's just me being me; I only prefer a very selected few to know my current state, and they are the ones who have to be skillful with words (because although I am not that good with words, I tend to read in between the lines a lot too, and I can bend a word in quite many ways).

And perhaps because of the above, I realized that I seldom stick around, trying to say words of comfort because I know that I might end up trying to attempt to make that person feel better. I just sit and be quiet to lend a listening ear.

Note that I am not praising myself; I am just mere stating that there are times wordiness isn't needed, but company.

And that is treasured above the insincere empty words that offer no help but more grief.

They say
You should think positively no matter what happens in life. All things happen for a reason, and each reason will build you - it is only how you view it. You can either break or make yourself. Which would you prefer: break or make? Positive or negative?

Credibility, people, credibility. So what if you have walked a path of stormy seas and raging thunders? (see the switched adjectives and nouns?) So what if you have experience trials and tribulations, and ended up seeing the light? Have you the credibility to speak to one who has walked a different path? Have you understood the meaning of fending everything that comes your way alone? Have you understood the fear of dependence-and-losing? You speak freely, but have you the credibility in speaking to a wretched soul?

They say
Look up to God. He has always been there and will always be there for you.

Pain, people, pain. Fear. Tiredness. Loneliness.

You say positive mental attitude? I say insanity.

They say
Never turn from admitting you love someone.

But what if your loving someone will cause you to lose that someone? What if you mere saying of I-love-you will cause you everything you've been holding on? What if you have come a long way from pushing your bloody knees and arms from the rocky ground, and you've finally found a branch to hold on, only to realize that with that mere action of admittance will cause you to slip and fall - lower and faster?

What if everything you've believed in contradicts you, and the your inner voice screams so much, but you know you cannot utter a word? Do you still say it?

You suppress the words - each and every one of them to the last syllable. So that just in case you lose yourself, just in case you lose your control over your soon-to-overflow emotions, just in case you break down, just in case you lose your sanity, you can still hold on to what you are holding on to.

They say
View life happily. Enjoy life. All will come well.
View life dully, and all crumples.
It's just the matter of viewing life.

If one could be sober enough and persistent enough and honest enough, one would know that viewing life happily is not possible because you are stuck with yourself. Face it.

You try to run. You try to escape. Where can you go? Perhaps the furthest is the success of fooling yourself for a period of time? After that, what do you do?

You strive. You thrive. You pursue.
But you die. You lose your smile.
And all you can do is smile while it hurts inside.

They say
Open your eyes. There are always people who care for you.

But you know that if truth be told, if our inner secrets are voiced, if who we are is displayed before the masses, where will those supposedly caring people be? Won't they - like every typical nominal human - scatter away?

You want somebody to carry you and love you despite all your weaknesses and pasts and fears and desires and painful wishes and sin?

Be realistic.

Time

He looked into the mirrors where he first saw her reflection. In his memories, there she stood, in her beautiful gown, with her smile which he never fails to adore at every sight of it. But in reality, there she stood - disappearing each time he longed to hold her close to his heart.

Their story was one of norm. They had a simple relationship. He wasn't somebody great, nor was she. He was never rich, nor had she ever expected him to be. In other words, he was somebody forgettable, somebody unnoticeable; but she never cared.

They say that when love strikes, time stops. You would stare into your beloved's eyes and sink deep within, and just for that moment, forget about everything but the one staring back into your eyes. The euphoria that fills your heart increases. And all these happen just at the strike of Cupid's arrow.

He had once had that moment. But that moment never mattered that much.

For him, when love strikes, he wants time to slow down, so that every action would be done slowly. Every touch would sting with glee and blessedness; every gaze would burn with passion, yearn and thanksgiving and imprint into his skin and heart, fossilize and never go away; every embrace would be warmth trailing deep into his skin, reminding him that he would be able to cherish the time longer.

Time won't stop, because if time stops, all is superficial. Time should go on, but significantly slow.

But now, she is gone, and he is alone. The stinging touch, the passionate gaze, the warming embrace - all will never be remembered, for he, like all of us, forget things easily.

Beauty of Art

Writers, like painters, are very poor people if they don't succeed in the market; for those succeeding, earning the big bucks in the market are those who write what the masses want - and I deducing, not generalizing.

Writers constantly face the questions: to write for the masses or to write for themselves. To earn big bucks or to survive like a pauper.

But they must realize one thing: writing is an art and a gift, both integrated with a blessing attached. It helps one vividly bring to life the emotions and imaginations, giving them breaths and values, emotions and purpose.

And within those written lines, other plots may emerge - subliminally. And very often, people fail to see those hidden lines.

That is the beauty and advantage of the art of writing.

The pen is mightier than the sword.

They cut through people not once, but thrice.

This is Reality

When you're stubborn to let go something which you hang on to dearly, and somebody whom you think cares for you tries to persuade you to let go, and you choose not to - that somebody will leave you. It is just a matter of time.

When you look into the eyes of somebody whom you think cares for you and smile and tell the person what you honestly feel, at the same time revealing the true inner you, that somebody will leave you. It is just a matter of time.

When you make that person whom you think cares for you important in your life, cherishing that person's every bit, only to realize that you are the last one he or she cares (which also means he or she cares the least for you), you know deep down inside that that somebody will leave you. It is just a matter of time.

When you risk everything for somebody whom you think cares for you, and hope that that somebody will turn to you and say "thank you" and truly appreciate you from the inside, you know that that somebody will soon leave you. It is just a matter of time.

When you splurge your finance on that somebody whom you think cares for you, and hope that that somebody would reciprocate just in the simplest manner, and truly care for you for who you are and love you for you, you know that deep down inside that that somebody will leave you. It is just a matter of time.

When you want to tell somebody what hurts the most, what beats on your chest every minute, what drains you of your energy, and you see that person enjoying himself or herself with others, you lose energy to utter those words and you break down - alone - knowing that that somebody will never notice the tears you've cried. That's when you know, deep down inside, that that somebody will leave you. It is just a matter of time.

When everything inside is everything you hate, and you cry out for a chance to withdraw your mistake; and when you hope that the person whom you think cares for you could be there for you, by your side, to stand by you; you suddenly realize that this life, this journey, this walk is meant to be a walk of loneliness - not a walk to remember. Then, you will finally admit that life is meant for solitude, and the person whom you think cares for you will eventually leave you and bid you goodbye (perhaps even without your knowledge).

Everything is just a matter of time.

Life is for the living, not the dead.
Bernardo - Entangled, the Musical

But...

Life is for loneliness, not togetherness
Because you cannot expect to have somebody
You cherish, you care, you love
To stand by you
When you need that person
That is life, the synonym of solitude
And rejection.

Perhaps life is for the dead, not the living.
Perhaps we only find meaning in death and not life.

The Breakup

He: Where have you been?

She: Away from you.

He: Why must you always be like this? Can't you understand...

She: Can't you understand that I don't love you?

He: But...

She: Words. All you have hanging at your lips are just empty words. Words that can never be fulfilled with actions.

He: Honey...

She: You said you would be here for me. You said you would stand by side. You said you would blot away the darkness before me...

He: And I did. I was the one who gave you all my finance when you beloved career was dying. I was the one who gave up my business trips to be with you. I was the one who gave my kidney to you. I was the one who made sure you would have food when you get up after the surgery, despite it meant pain to me too. I was the one who held your hand, ensuring that everything would be okay. Can't you see?

She: No. I can't see them. Because I could never bring myself to love you anymore. Those actions were just the past. Those deeds were nothing but a manifestation of your claims in the past...

He: Aren't they enough to justify that I gave up my everything - my life - for you? Only for you? Only to see you smile and healthy and alive? Don't all these actions justify my love for you?

She: I hate you.

He: Honey...

She: Goodbye.

Irony

When you steel yourself so much, continually trying to fool yourself, knowing that you have others you need to take care of... You stopped loving yourself and only focused on loving others, giving everything you have first for others and not yourself.

You forgotten the meaning of caring for yourself. You forgotten the meaning of pampering yourself. You forgotten the meaning of living.

Until those you want to protect dearly remind you...

p.leong says:
kor...u kenot continue to go on like tat lar

p.leong says:
sometimes is js time for u to change

j.chu says:
i just need time... am not perfect... sorry

p.leong says:
kor..every1 is not perfect

p.leong says:
or not we're like Jesus...den wats the purpose for us to b in the earth now

p.leong says:
tats y we've to learn how to b perfect

Thanks, my precious baby brother.

Soberness in Solitude

Ahead of him was a rocky road. His soles were torn and bloody, worn out from the long walk behind him. He turned back and to remind him of the journey he journeyed. A long, long road.

A long road of experience. A long road of hurt. A long road of blissful innocence. A long road of regrets and aches.

He looked towards the front, knowing that history will indeed repeat itself, knowing that despite all his efforts, he will be crushed again and again.

No one was there to help him; no one capable, no one bearable, no one understandable.

He had to steel and still everything within him. He had to cast the storms aside. He had to toss everything that blew against his face and attempted to crush him away, far from reach. He had to - with his own hands - gather courage and walk to the front. He had to be sober.

"I am afraid to show you who I really am,
because if I show you who I really am,
you might not like it -- and that's all I really got."

There was always something about him that they didn't understand. How he moves about - alone - without any worries if he was good enough; since the society these days worries about image and image alone. He, however, never seems to be captivated by such pressure. He walks about town just as any peasant, but seldom does he stop to look at himself in the mirror.

But little did anybody know that he worried - a whole lot - about himself. Not just his image, but who he really is.

Simply said, he was just insecure and was searching - who he was.

Not who he is or who he will be.

Come, I Dare You

Come,
Lash out that anger you hold
Within your heart
That sears your chest
Whenever you remain silent.

Come,
Lash out that pride you pridefully behold
Above your head
Crowning you always
Whenever you holler.

Look at the way your eyes roll
Look at how you snicker
You think you are good
You think you are honorable
Watch it.

Steel thyself, oh, just steel thyself
None would raise a fist against your arrogance
Who would want to challenge you?
It's just a waste of time.

You speak - with thought, perhaps
But do you ever speak with honest and for-the-good intentions?
You trumpet your thoughts
Thinking that you are of 'aid'
But in actual fact, you gossip?
Is that aid, dear?

But oh-you-so-clever being
Snicker on, with that sly countenance
Who - just who - will understand you?

So, come,
Dance on that innocent yet deceitful thought of yours
Snicker along the way of mixture of eternal bliss and death
Come, I dare you
Holler thy thoughts
I am a fighter
Come, I dare you
Speak up your mind
Forget your insecurity
For when you speak so, you display them
Like an artifact in the museum
All within eye's reach

Come, love, come
Waltz about the prideful words
Sing out - loud - the words of your never-ending hymn
Try
To break me
Or bring my down
Come, I dare you
Nothing is going to break me
Not you, not your words, not your songs
Come, I dare you
Unpridefully, uncondescendingly, unchallengingly
Just come
Come, I dare you
Come

Paul Leong Prank Letter

Friendships come by rarely.

For us, it has always been a privilege to have you as our friend – a very important and special friend. Though times hasn’t been long for us to go through trials and tribulations together, we – all of us – believe in this simple friendship we have forged over time. Speak about exaggeration.

This is why we planned this out for you.

Initially, we wanted to have this celebration-cum-surprise on your glorious Monday (your birthday, if you are scratching your head wondering what glorious day you had). We made plans and laughed at our rather evil schemes. However, it turned out that you couldn’t make it; such a disappointment.

Nevertheless, we shall triumph. There was no need for sulking and complaining about that babifying mangatut Paul Leong who couldn’t make it; if we want this to happen, we would definitely make it happen.

And it did happen, since you are reading this oh-so-triumphant Letter of Explanation.

This entire plan all started with the thought of celebrating your birthday.
We had wild plans (many of which, we can hardly remember by now); and finally settled with the selected few.

So, first of all, we had a rough idea of what we were going to do. Dixon, in all his carefree character, smiled and said that we (especially Jonathan, the one with D-personality) need not worry about the plan as long as there was a rough idea about it.

But when we came to know of your rather insolent inconvenience/absence due to church Bible Blast, we decided that we had better come up with a better cooler plan. That was when we met up on Monday to discuss about our evil plan.

You have no freaking idea how evil our – Jonathan’s – evil plan was. He wanted you to finish up 18 bananas since you made Su Yen eat 19 scoops of watermelon; hence the saying ‘what goes around comes around’. Yet, Dixon, the kindhearted friend (this doesn’t mean Jonathan isn’t kindhearted, mind you), begged for mercy on behalf of you, and mercy was granted. You only need to eat what you were asked to eat.

Besides that, we had to think of a way to lure you to us – without any means of escaping (curse you escapee if you dare run away!). So, that was when Jonathan’s brilliant sparkling idea came to life: book you for curry noodle at O.U.G. (Okay-la, it wasn’t that brilliant and sparkling. He was craving for it too, but he in all his magnanimousness gave it up to celebrate your birthday. So you know what to do now, right, Paul?)

Jonathan’s insistence proved to be fruitful; you were booked, and the rest is history.

However, realizing that it would be rather stupid for us to suddenly have Jonathan the driver to change driving course, Dixon, Su Yen and Melissa came out with another brilliant sparkling idea: the horrifying hospital experience.

Melissa volunteered to be the 'victim', Yen volunteered to be the exasperated girl, Dixon volunteered to be the event communicator.

The details would be evident; we just wanted you here in Puchong to be fooled.

Yes, yes. You got punked!

By us.

Your friends.

What added to the twist of this event was your insolent act of canceling our call while we sang Happy Birthday song to you and blaming our melodious and heartfelt singing instead of checking the very blocked ears of yours.

Honestly, we weren’t that pissed. Exaggeration, if your near death brain could recall, since now as this letter is being typed, your personal message on MSN states, "am half dead, or rather dying".

We just acted to see how you would respond although the old Paul we know is rather… typical and predictable when it comes to responding to such situations. (See how well we know you in such a short span of time!)

We (except Jonathan, since he is the one booking you) pretended to be mad at you, stop talking to you whenever possible so that you could feel the flames of neglect burning on your chest. Yet, people like us who have soft and kind hearts couldn't bear seeing some poor soul as you being scared to tears and hurt. We switched plan; we shall be good, then.

That was why Su Yen's smile made you think you and her were on good terms, and Dixon’s initiative to call you for a drink at Shanghai Restaurant reinforced that idea. (Remember this well, boy, that we could make you think what we want you to think, and make you feel what we want you to feel. Call us evil or bad, we don’t care. HAHA!)

So now you know that this was also somehow integrated into our plan. See how well fate has made this plan work.

Before your slow-reading eyes scroll to the end of this letter, we would like to assure you that all these done were not to upset or cause any friction amongst us. Though we may be a crazy bunch of people, we in our purest intentions wanted you to rest assure that we care for you as a friend, and that our simple friendship is extended to you at all times.

However, we hope that you won’t turn into some freaky squeaky monster thinking of manipulating us. We certainly have the ability to churn and crush your heart into pieces and make you tongue-tied. Don’t play play, we got the power.

Nah, just joking.

So, on this very 18th birthday of yours, we wholeheartedly wish you:

Paul Leong,

Happy birthday and may all your dreams and wishes come true. We hope for the best for you, not only because you are our friend, but because we believe in you, who you are, and who you will be. We hope to see you continually grow and mature and be the man God wants you to be.

No eyes has seen, no ears have heard, no mind has conceived what God has in store for you; in Him, we pray that God’s will be done in your life, and whatever that is planned for you will work out smoothly for you.

Just press on and run the race that is beyond you. We wholly believe that you will succeed in whatever you put your hands into.

God bless.

And also, get married soon, and don’t forget to invite us to your wedding dinner – this we insist. Or else, rest assure that we will haunt your life until you fall to your knees, clasp your hands together and beg for mercy.

We expect you to do the below, since you are already 18:

• Get an official girlfriend ASAP
• Ask her hand for marriage
• Have sex (Crude eh? XD )
• Make many mini-Pauls
• Give us angpau money for every Chinese New Year in gratitude of our magnanimous care for you all these while
• Thank us profusely whenever you see us
  

No-la, just joking.

Happy birthday!

With sincerity and crappiness,
- All of us -
Dixon, Su Yen, Melissa and Jonathan

because there is nothing worth giving yourself to, wholeheartedly

It has dawned upon me that I am bordering depression.

And if that revelation wasn’t enlightening enough, there’s probably nothing I can do about it.

Except walking away.

What kills me more is, the repercussions of doing so may be even more inflicting than I would imagine.

did i just hear you say Home?

Adapted from: deciduous [http://joanneliyeng.wordpress.com/]

Solitary's Silence

Do you know where silence inhabit, seemingly breathing its venomous breath throughout its victim's empty heart?

Do you know how it screams although it is silent?

It yearns. It feels. It emotionizes.

It seeks to disintegrate anything - whenever possible.

It inhabits where noises inhabits.
With emptiness as its best friend.

It was a risk.

A risk - an act of desperation.

A risk to open himself to see that there is a chance to love and receive again. To take a chance that perhaps this time it would save him and blot away all the past hurts that have ached so bad.

It was a great risk.

Think about facing your phobia unarmed, unprepared.

The risk was greater than what you could ever anticipate.

He died.

S-personality

I adore those with the S-personality; they seem to stop themselves from saying anything that will discourage others.

There are times when people like me (who have the D-personality) tend to 'over-react' when it comes to expressing our views. We want our views to be heard; we want others to accept our views (whether we realize it or not).

But then, looking back at many conversations I had with friends, many times I should've kept quiet and smile (this doesn't mean I agree with what they say); silence, many a times, would have saved the situation.

I am still learning. :)

Given Up

Where have you been?
I have tried reaching you.
You were nowhere to be found.
It seems as though you were in a far away land -
nowhere near me, nowhere within reach.

Where have you been?
I have tried calling you.
You were nowhere to be found.
It seems as though you were unreachable

Where have you been?
I have tried loving you
I can't.

I haven't learn how to open myself
To love you
Again
Because of the hurts you have scarred on my hands

I yearn to look into your eyes
And smile and feel your breath tingle in my ears
As I hold you close to me
But I resent it now

What hurts the most?
Is to know you smile with another
What tears me the most?
Is to know that we can't be as we were

I have given up

Drifted

We can't always hope that friendships remain the same. Yet, we can hope those whom we treasure will continue to treasure us - despite our weaknesses.

Simple with word; difficult with deeds.

I was blog surfing while taking some rest from assignments, and I read friends whom I were close to. Recalling the memories and laughters we had together, I realized how far we've drifted apart.

Not that I do not care for them anymore, it's just things have changed - for the better, if I choose to be optimistic.

For some, we drifted apart because of major differences between us. We realized that the best for both parties was to stay distant, and let our differences silent to nothing. Yet, usually, such an action would lead to more differences.

For some, we drifted apart because I wasn't comfortable with their coming-too-close. Although it is great to know that people care for me, but when they begin asking questions that are none-of-their-business and cause me uncomfortableness, I would immediately - automatically - back off and raise a stop sign to hinder the relationship from continuing. Call me selfish, foolish, whatever; it's my defense mechanism.

For some, we drifted apart because of our dreams. We want to pursue what we dream for, and that caused us our friendship. But I supposed this is okay, because at the end of the day, when we meet, we could forge our relationship again.

For some, tolerance has been a great part for me. I tried very hard to tolerate the opposite party's behavior, thinking that this friend will be worth my time. Yet, I do admit that I have a tolerance limit. Once it's up, it's up. Bang, and the friendship ends.

For some, their weaknesses became my weaknesses. I was weakened terribly, and when I realized it, I had to pick myself up. In the process of doing so, I hurt more. I, then, realized that I have to be strong, and at the end of the day, nobody will stand by me to encourage me. And I need my strength to push me further. I cannot use my strength on others, else I myself be toppled.

I guess friendships have their own ways of saying goodbye and hello.

Long Week

It has been a long busy week, one that has sucked out the life out of me (in a positive way), pushed me in ways I've never seen possible, understood and learnt a lot from people I work with, thought through a lot about friendships and decided my action plan and perspective towards friendships, and so forth.

I've had a lot of questions, and some I find no answers to.

I worry, too, about the way people perceive me; but I guess this isn't the issue anymore. I realized that friendship starts when I start accepting myself, not the other way round. I do not need to think what people think of me.

Many a times I react to situations thinking that should I act that way, I help the opposite party. Little did I realize that I am actually sacrificing myself for that 'peace'; I should be a little more selfish, because in the end I am the one who will bear all the consequences of my altruistic self.

Not that I am very altruistic, or magnanimous; if you get what I mean.

And also, I realized another thing: the more I try being friendly to a person, the more I lose. I lose my self-respect, I lose my identity, I lose everything that is of me. It's time to stop giving so much to friendships; they are meant to be at arm's length. Because at the end of the day, people can move on, but I stay here, stuck, frustrated that despite my giving, I gain nothing.

It's better to be oneself while being a friend than to try to please the other and lose oneself.

Call it selfishness, if you may; but face it: friendships are meant to be at arm's length.

Know

Everything is crumpling.

What

What do you do when you find yourself alone, facing all the challenges in life? What do you do when you want somebody by your side so badly but nobody is available, and the one whom you look to most of the time does not want to be by your side? What do you do when you want to hear somebody's special so badly but can't, because you know you'll be rejected and you're not special enough?

What do you do?

I steel myself.

How

How we all love.
How we all give.
How we all reject.
How we all hurt.

The easiest thing about life is spelling it.
The hardest thing about life is living it.

Each day, life brings before us humor we can never fully understand. Yet, we are not aware of it. We live our days like ants that constantly seek food, go back, eat, sleep... and that's it. We are never aware about the ridiculous-ness life throws at us.

We live each single day with our pride, thinking that with our own strength we are capable enough to fight through everything tossed at us. We make believe that we have the ability to shun all evil and play god, ensuring all that falls before us are to our liking.

Is that true? Is that possible?

Yet, how we all hurt because of our constant failures.

Lately

Music

has been a great shift for me.

I have begun to use music as a medium to express myself. Every anger, every pain, every fear, every resentment... every emotion, I display them within my songs both explicitly and implicitly. Songs for Entangled, the Musical had pieces of me scattered every where. In some parts of some songs, those pieces surface so evidently; in some, they are like ghosts haunting every person who sings those songs, telling them a little piece of the life of the composer.

I have been reprimanded. I was expected to be moving on to other greater things. But odd as it is, I have moved on. And the ones who reprimanded me were people whom I look to with a certain degree of respect and awe, and they were the ones who so pridefully tell me to move on.

When something created has bits and pieces of you, it is very difficult for you to stop loving them, calling them into your arms every now and then, caressing them and whispering to their ears - ever so gently - how much you adore them from top to bottom.

When something create has bits and pieces of you, it would be a direct abomination - as if you were the one cursing your death and birth bed, and everything you are - to toss them aside.

You remember every bit and piece of them. You call for them. Nothing. No, nothing can ever separate you from them.

And funny how nobody understands this. Is it because they never love themselves? Or, is it because they never understand the concept of calling forth what one has made by oneself?

Discard, then, such thoughts and questions, for they are not worth pondering upon. I will - indeed, I will - keep on singing my song.

I have been accused.

No wonder there is this saying that composers and those of the arts are one of the most depressed peoples on earth, for they receive both constant superficial complements and direct non-concrete criticism.

They can do what they wanna
Say what they wanna
But I'm gonna keep on singing my song

But I am going to do what I want to. No, their words that first were daggers are not threats to me anymore. I know what I want, and through the course of achieving them, I will indeed forsake them, for they are the ones who say, "Oh, you're good, it's great to have you, thank you..." but they were also the ones who despised the bits and pieces of me.

I understand those who guard their creations zealously, for I guard mine too.

I might seem very unreasonable as I type out this never-intended-to-be-reader-friendly post. Ah, but I've never been reasonable, as much as I could recall.

So here it is.

My singing will not be stopped. My songs will live on, whether others like it or not, whether they think that singing the songs means living in the past and not moving on or otherwise, whether such actions are within their approval or not; I will indeed keep on singing my song.

Keep On Singing My Song
Christina Aguilera

I woke up this morning with a smile on my face
And nobody's gonna bring me down today
Been feeling like nothing's been going my way lately
I decided right here, right now, that my outlook's gonna change

That's why I'm gonna
Say goodbye to all the tears I've cried
Everytime somebody hurt my pride
Feeling like they won't let me live life
And take the time to look at what is mine
I see every blessing so clearly
I thank God for what I got from above

I believe they can take anything from me
But they can't succeed in taking my inner-peace from me
They can say all they wanna say about me

But I, I'm gonna carry on (carry on)
Keep on (keep on)
Singin' my song
(La, la, la, la, la)
Hey, yeah, yeah, yeah

I never wanna dwell on the pain again, ooh, no, no
There's no use in re-living how I hurt back then, oh, no, no
Remembering too well the hell I felt when I was running out of faith, oh
Every step I'm 'bout to take moves towards a better day

'Cause I'm about to
Say farewell to every single lie
And all the fears I've held too long inside
Everytime I felt I couldn't try
All the negativity inside

For too long I've been struggling, couldn't go on
But now I've found
I'm feeling strong and I'm moving on

I believe they can take anything from me
But they can't succeed in taking my inner peace
They can say all they wanna say about me
But I, I'm gonna carry on
I'ma keep on singing my song
Whoa, ooh, yeah

Oh, oh, ooh
Everytime I tried to be what they wanted from me
It never came naturally
So I ended up in misery, wasn't able to see
All the good around me
Wasted so much energy on what they thought of me
Than simply just remembering to breathe, ohh, oh, ooh

I'm humanly unable to please
Everyone at the same time, so now I find
My peace of mind living one day at a time

In the end I answer to one god
It comes down to one love
Untill I get to heaven above

I have made the decision
Never to give in
'Till the day I die no matter what

I'm gonna carry on, I'ma keep on
Singing my song
La, la, la, la, la
Whoa

(They can't take anything from me)
I believe, yeah, oh, oh, oh, oh
They can do what they wanna,
Say what they wanna say
Oh whoa
(They can say what they wanna)
But I'm gonna keep on
(Keep on)
Woo
I believe that they can take from me
But they can't take my inner-peace
Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Say what you wanna say (wanna say)
But I'm gonna sing my song
Whoa, whoa, whoa, yeah, yeah (yeah!)

I have tons to write, but I guess I should stop here, for one who writes furiously without control is one who doesn't understand restrain and isn't worth writing anything for expression. Harsh, and general, and unfair for me to pen such a saying. But it's true, only if you care to ponder upon it.

I have, yes, tons to write about, and I shall stop here, because a new song has surfaced. This time, it is nothing like the songs I have ever written. Face It will be the first song composed not according to audience liking.

I will keep on singing my song.

Come Let the Rain Fall

Everything is dark. The initial dimension where he used to live in is now nothing but a pile of rubble. Colors have faded. Smell have depleted. All vanished. Even tears have gone, and cries have disappeared.

He had given his all. To whom, to what - that is a secret. But, that does not matter anymore, because what matters now is his giving turning into rubble - rubbish. Utterly useless.

Though he tried to cry for help, none came.

The only means of reaching out, the only way to push away all the insecurity has disappeared.

There is no way to free yourself.

Come let the rain fall.
Come let the hurts disappear.

Even if it does fall, can it run past the skin and swipe away the pain?

Will it?

Entangled
There's no way out
No matter how loud you shout
There's still no way out
Entangled
There is no way to free yourself
No matter how much you struggle
There's no way to free yourself

Come let the rain fall.
Let it run past the surface of the skin
And attempt to wash away the pain
The yesterdays that so easily
Scrape the surface of the skin
Entangle and eventually
Kill

I loved you with everything I have. I gave all of my life to you. Everything I was, everything I am, everything I will be, everything I possess, everything I held securely, everything I believed in... everything. Everything. Everything.

Come let the rain fall. Come let the rain fall. Come let the rain fall.

This post is never intended to be reader-friendly.

When Things Dull

When things you enjoy doing hype up, and things you cherish begin mellowing down - not because you wanted it to be so, not because you expected it be, not because you did not try hard - it is inevitable that you feel like sitting back and start blaming yourself for not smart enough, good-looking enough, capable enough...

And that is what happens to many these days. It is a common dilemma, one that perhaps each of us go through consciously or subconsciously, somehow or rather.

Things do dull, after some time. People stop cherishing you the way they used to; words that used to affect you least affect you most, as if searing your thin skin and tearing your heart out of your chest; but it seems as if the more you do, the worse it gets, until one day, you stop, and start believing that when you hold something too tightly, it slips away.

You narrow things down, eventually finding the very last stand - your Adam and Eve moment - is your action. Somehow, miraculously, it was your actions. Those acted out of defense and selfishness. You think, you justify. It is not my fault, you defend.

But it is, when it sears others' skins, tears others' hearts out of their chests, wither their flowers of confidence.

If only people care. You always tell yourself. But when somebody does care, you step back, thinking to yourself that the one you want to see care is not that somebody but another somebody. Another act of selfishness, don't you think so?

When you say you want an embrace, so that you could sink into the arms of the other, you could not get. But when another pulls you in, you push the person away, thinking to yourself that that is not the one you want to embrace you. Isn't that another act of selfishness?

Things do get dull. Somehow or rather, believe it or not, dispute it or not. Relationships might one day take the last breath of you, sending you into hells of anguish. The emotion you once thought as love might be the chemical you lived on, feeding yourself, slowly bringing yourself closer to an unexpectedly slow death. And when it occurs, how euthanasia-like.

Things do get dull. You would one day understand it, and scribble these four words onto your wall with your blood running running across the surface of your skin.

Things do get dull. It will. It is just a matter of time. And when it occurs, how lovely, how painful; how gladsome, how tiresome; how memorable, how forgettable; how pleasurable, how irritable.

When things dull, will you stand by your own side and push yourself ahead, forgetting about the past?

The Note

She placed her pen down as a tear slid down her face. She sucked a deep breath, the air filling her lungs. Her chest ached, constricted with invisible ropes she never seemed to know their existence. Then, with a surge of energy and frustration, she gripped the pen from the table and tossed it with all her might beside. It smacked against the wall and hit the ground.

A significant gesture. A significant fall.

Her eyes narrowed to the words she had written on the brown paper before her. Her left hand, reaching to her chest, pulled her dress, as if tearing it apart, attempting to show her skin.

On the note, it was written:

I remember the time when you held my hand and told me I was yours.
I remember the moment when I leaned against your shoulders.
I remember your soothing voice whispering "I love you."
I remember the beautiful skies we sat under.
I remember the melody of your voice.
Where, then, are you now?
Just a mere memory?
Do you love me?
No.

You don't love me.

I love - yet hate - you.

Your Consistent Answer

Can you see the dried tears on my face?

No.

Can you see the invisible tears I shed for you?

No.

Can you understand the effort I put in day and night for you?

No.

Can you feel the pain I have, punching my chest, crushing my heart minute by minute?

No.

Can you comprehend the fear of losing you to someone else - when I never get to talk to you or see you anymore?

No.

Can you see the insecurity I have when I sit beside you, look at you busy talking with others, hope that I could be the one sharing with you?

No.

Can you understand the agony of loving you, giving all my energy, giving all my attention, giving my whole, giving my all, to you yet not having you reciprocating?

No.

Can you not understand that I need encouragement to love somebody when it seems impossible to love somebody who never understands what I am feeling deep down inside?

No.

Do you love me?

Though My Imagination, It Is My Heart

I have always imagined lying at the bed with you by my side. Your hands on mine, your eyes staring at me. Our lips pursed, not knowing what to tell each other. Such silence will go on forever... and ever... until I close my eyes, breathe my last breath, and release my grip on your hands.

Both you and I know we have words to tell each other. Both you and I know we have things we want to share with each other. Yet, somehow, we weren't daring enough to tell each other what was troubling our minds, what was circling around our thoughts.

I have so many stories to tell you. I have so many smiles I wanted to share with you. I have, too, many disheartening things to present before you before my very last breath. Though personal, after my death, it wouldn't be a burden anymore. It wouldn't be a curse anymore. Instead, I would be relieved, because the person I love the most, the person I cherish the most, the person I adore the most knows what is in my mind all these while.

I can literally hear my mouth telling you "I am sorry" and "I love you" at the same time. I can literally see your eyes swelling with tears, and feel mine wet too. I can literally feel your grip on my hand tighten.

However, this is somehow my imagination. Your grip might loosen. Your eyes might look away. Your tears might never be visible. Perhaps it is because how much we have hurt each other with our words and silence. Perhaps it is how much we have injured each other with our comments and stares.

I can see you walking away, without looking back at me lying on the bed. I can feel the remorse that scrapes on your face when you hear me say what I have to say, without any understanding that I am as hurt as you are. Perhaps more hurt than you, because I had to bear this secret burden all my life, but when I decide to let it out, you walk away.

Nevertheless, if you really choose to walk away, if you really choose to remain silent, if you really choose to not reciprocate the love you first assured me, I would be grateful. Grateful for the moment I was assured, grateful for the moment you believed in me - whether genuine or not - and grateful for being who you were to me. In my heart, you have somehow taken an indescribeable place - a place no one else could replace. Perhaps I am foolish enough to love you the way I love you, choosing to spill everything I have - monetary and effort, energy and tears, heartaches and attention that you never see - for you, to you, because of you.

If you really choose to let everything - our relationship, our friendship, our everything - away, I would still tell you "I love you" as you walk away. Because of who you were and are to me, I will love you always.

So this is my solemn promise to you. Be I dead or alive, broken inside or healed, a place will always be filled with you, your words, your touch, your voice, your melodies, your smiles. I will love you - more.

Yes, I will love you.

The Swell

I closed my eyes. My breathing slowed. Every second seemed like eternity.

Inside me, a swell that miraculously and cleverly covered itself during the day appeared - to my dispose. I looked at it and pulled it nearer. My eyes were still closed.

I whispered to it... words I've never been able to mouth, songs I've never been able to vocalize...

The swell diminished from sight; I was pulled into another realm.

Of anguish. Of deeper remorse. Of eternal fear.