first meh day in a long time...

First meh day in a long time... Most of the time I have something to write. Today, however, there seems to be nothing of great importance to say. Hmm. Maybe I'll just cover the genericness of the day.

Woke up with a long face. Really long. Don't know why. I seem to be getting it alot. Maybe just hormonal imbalance. Whatever. Got up really early too. Like 6. And spent the next halfhour naked staring at the ceiling. Doing nothing else. Really. Then dashed into the bathroom. And took a bath. That's all. Seriously.

Got to college at 7.45, as usual. Starving like crazy, but didn't stop for anything. Slowly paced up the 4 flights of stairs. Stood outside the room waiting, saying nothing much. Physics was not too bad, but was fighting the urge not to sleep through the whole thing. Data wasn't much better either. Still sleepy.

English wasn't too exciting. We did random stuff that took up time. Went for lunch with Pok. Seem to be spending lotsa time with him. Then went to the courtyard where Pok insited on sitting down to read Calculus notes for the 5% test later. Right. Ending up talking more about girls than Calculus. Although, that would have more practical applications later.

Calculus test was rather easy. I finished it in about 30 to 40 mins. Sat there looking at the liquid paper dry. Then I handed it in and scribbled a little poem in my notepad. Kinda cool poem. If you're into that kinda thing. Got up and went downstairs to Lecture Theatere 6. LAN is starting again. This one proves to be more interesting, considering it is Moral Education, and since we are in college, it is a fully debatable topic. Was given the assignment sheet. Picked the one on premarital sex, abnormal sexual behaviour and homosexuality. Woohoo. Expert on all! Theoretically, of course, not in practice.

After LAN, which ended early, went to talk to Ms K about the English poetry thing. She was very nice about it, and she only required that I show her my in-class poetry, for style referencing. She suggested I join a writer's society or something, I forget. Hmm. Not too bad.

Walked Pok back to his car, then sat down at McD's for a sit. Duh. What else do you sit down for? Mom came, went back, read the news, took a shower, sitting here blogging and waiting for the dance class to start. Not looking forward to it. Always seems to depress me somehow. Meh.

Oh, the poem.

Snowflake

Crystal petal
Falling from heaven
Beautiful as the night sky
Softly laughing in multitudes
A white blanket
On sleeping babes

Crystal petal
Falling from heaven
Silver seraph's tears
Frosted with hate
Driven with bitter vengeance
On weeping willows

sunday morning

First of all, I wanna say sorry to my good friend Kel Goh. Sorry I wasn't there at 8. Raining, plus a stomach complication further worsened matters. If it makes it any better, I did try to go there at 9, but I couldn't wait much longer cuz the stomach complications started to act up again. Man, we should so trade phone numbers. Wanted to call you but, d'oh! Don't have your number, lolz.

Walking in the rain on a cold Sunday morning is not the best thing to do with bowel complications. Hell, even in perfect health you shouldn't do that. But I did. On one part, to fulfill what part of a promise I could keep yet, even though it seems I couldn't. You have every right to be pissed, Kel, and I don't blame ya. My fault entirely. Hope I can make it up.

Back to walking in the rain, it got me thinking. How absolutely beautiful is it to have time to yourself. In the rain, alone, with traffic splashing water onto you. Hair drenched, leaving beautiful streaks of weak carbonic acid down your face. How refreshing to have your mind washed away by the chill rain. How purifying to the lips, when you don't say anything and your mind just flows out like the stormwater flows down the drain. How gratifying to blistered feet to feel the cool soothing of the rain soaking through your shoes. How delicious to have a wet shirt clinging onto you, sending chills down your spine as you feel rivulets of rain wash away all perspiration. And how delightful to know that you are all alone in your sensations.

Even more perfect when you get back to your room, take of your wet shirt and lay there on your bed half-naked with the air-conditioning on full blast. You pick up the Forbes magazine and read all about sucessful people smiling away, but you're having the last laugh, knowing you can be satisfied with walking in the rain on a Sunday morning, while they are secretly unhappy even with all their sucesses, eating away even their Sundays.

How equally jovial to forget your moods and problems even for one hour in the rain. How splendid to see your tattered reflections in puddles in the pot-holed roads. You smile, and broken lips smile back at you. You pass a car, and the image in the windscreen shows a drenched guy with dripping hair, and somehow that makes it all worth the while. Your feet don't ache, your hands don't shake, your body don't feel weak, and your soul is invigorated.

Only on a Sunday morning.

Morning Rain

Walking out into the rain
On a Sunday morning
With the shoes on my feet
And shades on my head
And music playing in my ears

Stepping out into the rain
On a Sunday morning
The water greets my oily face
And the puddles show my every wake
And the pitter patter times my step

Moving out into the rain
On a Sunday morning
People driving pass stare
What a crazy boy who is there
I laugh and everything is well again

advice column

Hey hey people! I just decided to create an advice column. Look under links. It's the first one.

Why, you might ask. Well, for one thing it's something I always wanted to do. And another, it takes my mind off my situation. Go there and post your queries on life, and I will answer it promptly. I'm a very very very bored person. Meh.

being sad

I've stopped being angry from yesterday. I decided to take that English poetry thing as a compliment and I will prove to her I can write soulful poetry, that is if I can keep myself alive till Monday...

I feel very very sad. Not depressed. Not angry. Just sad. And tired. Because that's what I am. The reasons abound as to my slightly melancholic state of emotions right now, not least of which are that a stack of homework sits on my right. Another reason would be that I finally and most finally got a particular friend of mine for many years to spill from his mouth words that everyone knew about but he never spoke. Congrats man, you finally have the balls to speak your soul.

Melancholy is eating away inside. Kinda like a worm in an apple. The outside you see as a nice fruit, pick it up and it still looks nice, albeit a bit light. Bite into it and you'll get the rudest and bitterest shock of your life. The inside will be rotten. Really really rotten. Man, where do I get all these analogies?

I think maybe it's seeing other people living their lives past me. I know, sometimes they do face troubles beyond these miniscule ones I face, but I think it's the fact that they go through it with such forcefullness, with such life, that I cannot compare. I know, many wish they could go through life like me, solving problems so easily, or moving on from all the emotional baggage. Trust me people. It's not as good as you think. You'll end up feeling very unfulfilled. It's like you do not need a soul to pull you through the day. And you end up not using it, and it rots away.

It's even worse when I realise that I am better at many things people say I am; school, art, words... If I'm so good, why do I not feel happier? It makes me feel so ungrateful and stupid all at the same time. If you disagree with this, voice it in writing here, where everyone can see it. Don't come and tell me in person. Write it, at the bottom of this post. Right here. Show me and the world how stupid I am. Prove to them and to myself.

It's getting to be a burden to live everyday. It's getting hard to smile the smile I always greet people with regardless of mood. It's getting hard to look at people in the eye without feeling a raging envy. It's getting hard to do anything at all. And I still continue to do it. What am I, a sadist? Sigh. The hardest thing, thankfully, is convincing myself that it's time to end it all. Hallelujah.

Falling out of Bed

I fall out of bed
In the morning
And I want to crawl back in
But I can't

I hobble into the bathroom
Picking up the toothbrush
And look into the mirror
I see death

I pull on my clothes
Onto a fading wreck
And I feel the dying heartbeat
I choke

I walk down to breakfast
Alone into the room
And pick up my coffee
The cup spills

I walk out the door
To face the careless world
And I halt
As I drop lifeless to the floor

sovereignly screwed and royally fucked

My bad week has just gotten worse. I already feel so fucked up and screwed, that I didn't know that it was possible to feel any worse. Even guilt of murder couldn't make me feel any more retarded than I feel now. There are exceptions, of course...

I don't know wether to be insulted or flattered. I just got back my English assignment. The one I spent 16 hours on and only got back 15 pages of original work. It was unmarked. A grade rubric was placed inside the pages. The comment read: "These poems are very good - so good in fact I have a hard time accepting that a young man wrote them. Before evaluating them, I'd like to see the poems you wrote in class, or have you sit with me and write a couple up more."

Damn. There is such a thing as being too good. I don't know what to think. Should I feel proud that she found it so unbelievable that she couldn't grade it until she saw one written before her unbelieving eyes? Or am I to be so fucking pissed that she should think I would plagiarise my work? Seriously. The only one I could ever steal it from is me. And that would make so much sense. I might as well ask myself permission to save myself the agony of having to prosecute myself. Meh. Anyways, if she did a web search and e-mailed the author, I would be the one to get it anyways.

The dilemma now is what to do. I don't feel very kindly right now towards her. Ask any of my previous English teachers (save Lakshmi, who was a royal bitch and retarded slut if you ask me) and they will tell you of my outstanding language skills. I hope. Anyways, is it so hard to believe that a young person would lack the maturity to write something so indepth? What's up with the age factor anyways? There's such things as an old soul in a young body. And in any case, mine is a fractured soul that's finding it hard to hold together.

To be fair, even my mom finds it hard to believe I can write poetry. In real life I always appear so cheerful, slightly sadistic, very arrogant and quite stupid at times that it's hard to think that I'm the sort of person to sit and write anything meaningful. But, when you know the real me more or less than you can see where it comes from. Plus, excellent language skills help alot.

To let you be the judge, I will post some of my poems that I wrote in the assignment here. You be the judge. Is it that improbable that a depressed, lovesick and suicidal young man would write words like these? The other poems I wrote but have already posted earlier (methinks around January) are My Mirror, For a Friend, A Grimace and Duplicity. I think. Too lazy to check, meh. I still want to buy that really large spear, if anyone's selling...

Teardrops

Teardrops
Falling down
In dripping thoughts
Silent cries spot your eyes
Sobbing quietly
Pain withheld within
Away from prying
With no one hearing
Alone
Breaking of heart
Within the face of stone

Teardrops
Running down
In falling spirits
Painful thoughts haunt your mind
Yearning wistfully
Pain withheld within
Clutching tightly
With no one knowing
Alone
Breaking of heart
Within the face of stone

Teardrops
Flowing down
In sundered emotions
Joyless laughter fill your lips
Whispering soundlessly
Pain withheld within
Caged from touch
With no one feeling
Alone
Breaking of heart
Within the face of stone

Waiting by the Side

day in day out
night in night out
work in work out
play in play out
nothing stops to watch the Waiter by the Side

hopes and dreams
fears and tears
plans and expectations
unknown and unexplained
nothing stops to watch the Waiter by the Side

gold and silver
rags and ruin
fame and popularity
obscurity and mediocrity
nothing stops to watch the Waiter by the Side

man and woman
girl and boy
infant and adult
parent and child
one of these is Waiting by the Side

Peace

Peace
Silence of the dark
With nothing stirring black
Silk smooth as thick as night

Tranquility
Stillness of stone
Lying without motion
Betraying no life

Deepness
Fathomless pools
Unending depths of glass
Held in eternal cold

Peace
Silence of the dark
With nothing stirring black
Silk smooth as thick as night

Calm
Unshaking solitude
Gentle breeze of quiet
Unwinding mosaic piece

Agelessness
Everlasting presence
Always beholding
Timeless passage

Peace
Silence of the dark
With nothing stirring black
Silk smooth as thick as night

like driftwood

I feel like a piece of driftwood. The flotsam and jetsam of life, except I'm not floating around aimlessly in the world. I'm trying to rot away too. And it's proving really hard.

Coffee does nothing for me. Seriously. I musta had like, alot this afternoon. When I got back, I just dropped dead asleep for a good 3 hours. Man. What a waste of coffee. But I must say, the sugar high it gave during Calculus sure helped. And tonight I'm gonna take two Panadols again just to see if they will give me that headache again. Am I getting chemical dependant here? Meh.

Blogging is getting to be a burden. Especially since no one updates this often. Maybe I just have a stronger urge to write than others. Maybe again, I don't, but I want to. Or again, I might have one and think I don't but I want to. This can just keep on going on and on and on. Meh. Feel so dead sometimes I wish I was. Or do I think I feel dead and wish I was? Aiks. Again we go on and on and on... Meh.

I'm sitting here counting a huge stack of notes I collected over the past 15 days. Doesn't seem to be a lot here, but I guess I should be thankful I have anything at all. Meh. Still not enough. Maybe I should use the money to get a huge spear or something and shove it up my ass and leave myself to bleed to death. That would be interesting. Where am I gonna find a huge spear for sale? Hmm...

Fragments

Why is it all so bleak
when my mind is in pieces
Why is it all so dark
when my eyes go out
Why is it all so hopeless
when my ego is out the window
Why is it all so done
when my soul is in fragments

feeling like crap

First of all, if you haven't noticed already, I took away the shout-box. It hasn't been serving it's purpose. Also, I think I prefer reading meaningfully typed responses in the response area, rather than the random bits I sometimes find in the box. I might put it back, but for now, we'll have to make do with the comments boxes.

I've been feeling like a big rotting pile of manure a.k.a. crap. The whole day. I don't know why. It's not that anything in college was particularly bothering me. Certainly not the classes. Classes were great. Learned lotsa new stuff, and had little or no struggle. In fact, they kinda flew along well.

But still, I feel like shit. I think it showed through the day, even though I did try to mask it, for sake of preserving the general mood. But I felt bad enough that I turned down the oppurtunity to play my last mahjong game of the lunar year. And I was particularly quiet and silent (same difference) to most people, and very subdued when speaking at all.

Today I realised how fucking fragmented and unled the ICPU yearbook comittees really are. The design and layout comittee met today, and I snuck in to help out (one needs things to drag them out of pits). It turns out that Mr Sito (I think that's how you spell it) has absolutely radical and opiniated ideas on how it should look like. Except that he has nothing in mind. And Ms Tan fancies herself the editor. Frankly, I think that's just wrong. The students are doing the yearbook, so let a student be the editor. That's the whole point isn't it? We are still going to ask the lecturers to vet our work, obviously. I think of the whole group, my calculus lecturer, Ms Foo, is the only sound one I can turn to to reorganize the team. If we can't, we're sunk, and my reputation as star photographer is down the drains. Sob. Anyways, I'm going to get all the other heads of comittees together to form our own editorial comittee, and we will send the final works to Ms Tan, to be 'edited'. Hope that works out.

I ran into Cheryl Toh today. She was repairing shoes with her mum. Hours before she was due to leave for Adelaide. Spicy lass, that one. She'll go far. Good luck, Cher. Don't let your problems weigh too heavily on you. You made the right move for all parties, and it couldn't be a moment too soon anyways. Remember that one lost oppurtunity creates a dozen more in waiting. Ypur family loves you and you have friends watching out for you. God bless you. And a Kyrie Eleison for us all.

Tonight, the red packets will open, and I will count out the multicolored papers to flow from them. Chap Goh Mei is today, and tonight was a big dinner. Very big. So I don't think I'll have lunch tomorrow. Yay! Another 5 bucks saved! Woohoo! But feeling very stuffed. And fat. Meh. And the cramp in my left leg don't help stave of the feeling of throwing up either. Meh. Wonder how much I'll have later...

I Died

I died
The moment I was born
I died
Alone and forlorn
I died
And no one knew I was gone