we cannot change the cards we are dealt,
just how we play the hand.
Saturday, January 29, 2005
1:13 AM
Blissful Ignorance
in my life, i've come about to meet strangers, who would have come round as acquaintances, slowly morphed into friends. and to such, i've told them naught little, nor much, but all or nothing.
i came to a tacit agreement upon myself yesterday, as i walked towards a metal-grated escalator, that sometimes we take things for granted. friends who would be there always, things that would occur in subsequence, lovers who would stand by you. but as i stepped upon that metal-grated escalator as you would have it, stalled and dead, seemed to had gone backwards when in fact was stationary.
the differences between the theory and its moment of praxis in change is astounding.
all or nothing, to such i've told. and to the former i've only told thee, my truest friend indeed but indubitably not my best, the guy within the mirror
the voices in my head-
Monday, January 24, 2005
1:42 AM
January
January has fallen on hard times. on most occasions, it would be marked by a fiesta of orientation activities and getting to know more hes and shes. perhaps it had been the sharp contrast of my previous January where 7 little young ones scuttled off to a certain neighbourhood of a certain country, and my heart yearned for such missed times.
but i look, and i see, and January hasn't been of much change. its still that season of many events all clambered into one, just that this time, its like living in a moment of history where change is so accelerated that i begin to see the present only when its gone, and as i scratch my head and try to pen this change, i look, and i see, nothing.
makes me feel a little lost, and oddly, a little insecure.
the voices in my head-
Saturday, January 15, 2005
9:14 AM
Sentry Duty
its 4am in the morning and i'm sitting atop my freshly dug fire trench, two metres deep with loose soil all about me. gun hung limp, eyes wide shut, this tall soldier stares at the bleak blank blackness in front, efforts succumbing not to time and nature.
the silence was punctuated by the occasional thwank of a pickaxe, but more often my ears could only grasp the trickling sound of brown perspiration off my neck. my eyes were fixated on the blue cylume stick hanging from an ancient fern off a rubber shoot, and left to right and right to left so my eyes harmonised as the cool morn wind swept through the plantation.
and then the witching hour struck, its not unlike that same precise moment identical to that of Roald Dahl's. the world fell dead, that occasional thwank had vanished, and what little perspiration had dissolved into a buried twine of germ beneath the fabric. but as little Sophie stayed behind her bedroom curtains wide-eyed at the BFG, this little soldier remained in his fire trench, dying but not dead. but that fatigue is eating into him, his dreary arms that seem to falter by the day, his limbs that bear all sheer weight of man and pack. and his gun hangs limp droops, low and lower, in concord with his eyes.
no way, prods that voice at the back of his head, and this little soldier sits up and burst into song. melodies of silly songs bringing upon waves of memories and tides of recollections; vernon patience imparting guang huai fang shi to the unforgettable choir of china kids and fulun in nian shao shi hou, shrieking down the Heathwood neighbourhood with dream a little dream of me to eshcroft's theme at the power of the dream. and then i started on special snippets of fen shou kuai le as reminiscence of contradiction struck me amidst the head of 03, before letting almighty apollo set in with the sacred lyrics of If.
and then i fell.
gun still hung limp, boots still soaked wet, limbs still dog taxed. but with a smile on my face.
the voices in my head-
Saturday, January 01, 2005
6:20 AM
tale of the 26 little things
to whose blog may print, to whose phone may scream..
oh the wonder of these 26 little things.
i sit beneath a screen, with such many 26 little things morphing into sleek sly creatures which blend into a beautiful melody, humming on the tender strings of your heart.
to this i laugh aloud. real loud.
and the good thing too, the fairer sex knows not.
perhaps you have that mind of an angel and the acts of thy holy, but in these nineteen years where the stump took root to a tree, i've known not such saints. so forgive thou saint, to ignorance and innocence, to angst and assumptions, to pride and prejudice.
and if thy word of tale of the 26 little things proves true, kid my friends no longer.
the voices in my head-
i love my girl. a love so beautiful, symmetrical, tangible
God loves me. a love so great, unconditional, real.
my life in a nutshell. working towards loves of sorts. beautiful, symmetrical, tangible, great, unconditional and real.
a page, deliberately left blank.
Love is patient, love is kind.
It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
It is not rude, it is not self-seeking.
It is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails.
I Corinthians 13:4-8
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