we cannot change the cards we are dealt,
just how we play the hand.
Saturday, March 26, 2005
9:42 PM
Forever
why, i would never had known. i never did attend a funeral in my conscious mind before. but fulfilling the duty of a nephew whose uncle's father has passed away, i was made to visit my uncle at a wake, and for the first time in 19 years of my tender age, i stared into a face of death.
he was 80, or a tad older. a face of wrinkle, clouded by an invisible layer of foundation and eyeliner. i wouldn't have been surprised if he had sudddenly awoken and shook my arms, it was as if he were asleep. so peaceful. happy almostlike.
i could almost smile, this guy had found peacefulness in this seeming world of peace.
but as i tore my eyes away, and peered around at figures of draping white flinging sheets of yellow into an urn of fire, tears ebbing, hair dishevelled. and the a-min-a-mo-orh-ni-yee-oo-ka-lei-koo consonance playing in the background, i realised the awful truth. he was gone.
and i jolted back. a sudden fright overcoming me, that i had to swipe a little tear off my face. and i wondered when i would have to look into a face of death again, this time, a face i would know.
a face i would had known. forever.
the voices in my head-
Friday, March 25, 2005
9:29 AM
On Candyfloss
i fear. i fear with a consternation that this ain't the fundamental order of nature.
ask any simple kid. you refuse to get him a pretty pink candyfloss, he frowns and pouts. you take his pretty pink candyfloss, he bawls and cries. but take his candy and give it to another, you get a shade of green true to the root of jealousy.
so now, pray tell. if i hadn't in the name of a disney classic turned green in this instance, had i loved her any less?
and that, i believe, is a fear so much more well justified than the loss of my candyfloss itself.
------
i rejoice. i rejoice with a hedonism, a selfish chuckle, arguably evil.
but now, pray tell. candyfloss can't be shared, or its sugary crumbs would morph into a sticky mess upon innocent fingers, so what do me now?
and i question my fear. and i know now why. the answer to this seemingly complex equation lies not whether it were a fundamental order of natural emotion or a loss of love, but a simple basic truth.
"in every relationship, there has to be trust. for without trust, there ain't got nothing." -- Samuel Nee, a wise sage, ancient and true
and i chuckle once more, this time a candid one. i trust you my girl, kill the guilt.
the voices in my head-
Thursday, March 24, 2005
8:37 AM
On Captains
i'm fucked this time. truly fucked.
i've gotten on the wrong side of my captain's goody two shoes, and i've got to endure another 17 weeks with that monkey pattayan pimp.
he's a drug of dregs, a dress of dross. unarguably arrogant with a nose stuck in the air since graduation from Imperial College. who in the blooming world gives a 2hr lecture when we are in a file, all dressed and ready to book out?
and of all cheek, that lingering sneer stuck to his face, he could still joke amongst 35 fuming cadets.
"you know platoon, i'm the reason why SAF looks so good.."
yes of course, i thought. and then i couldn't help but blurt
"people tend to compare you see."
the voices in my head-
Sunday, March 20, 2005
5:22 AM
Late Night Perspectives
me: guys are not as horny as you girls think laah. in fact, i think girls are hormonally raged as guys, just that they don't admit it
she: nooo.. the guys in my hall are always talking about such stuff, and i bet they do it all the time
me: yesss, and so do women. www.worldstats.com said that lots of women do it too, just that they don't admit it. in fact, out of a 100 women..
she (with a shrill that cuts the heart of the silent night): who says..
me: listen to me. in fact, out of a 100 women, 98 of them deny that they do it. thats like 98% man girl!
she (pinches my arms real hard): hey, i'm the 2% k
perhaps you may be inclined to pity she, for the indignity she has been subjected to,
or maybe, just maybe, you may feel i'm the happiest man in the world.
It's all a matter of perspective.
the voices in my head-
Sunday, March 13, 2005
5:08 AM
Disney On Ice
i've come to a conclusion. we all descend from mice.
no no, its got nothing to do with gerbil annihilation, but i went off to a forsaken expo last night only to realise that each and everyone of us descend from our childhood, and our childhood, little or great, descends from 6 beautiful princesses, in them of course runs the royal blood of two overgrown mice.
the voices in my head-
Friday, March 11, 2005
5:51 AM
A Ratty Issue
recently there's been an epidemic in my bunk. tears in my precious packs of oreo, gnaws in my even more precious sachets of yupi candy, and worst of the ratty lot, an inch wide gash in my favourite indomee.
rats. ratty rats. skanky skunks.
but behold technology. and my platoon mate, who suffered an equally catastrophic calamitous blight, brought in a rat cage. and its been serving out in assisting gerbil annihilation.
as i looked into its eyes, that little mouse crouched in a corner, jumping each time my hand hovers an inch closer; its little whiskers twitching suspiciously, the beady eyes staring into me, for mercy. for a streak of life. and my heart poured graciously, like an ancient emperor lashing out golden pardons of capital punishment, and i had half a mind to unleash the cage.
but by its luck similar to that of one pattayan prostitute contracting aids from an aedes mosquito, my friend shoved my torn-up packs of oreo, gnawed-up sachets of yupi candy, and my now gashy indomee packs into the dustbin right at that moment, and i felt that same old inferno rising in my heart.
now all of you will wonder whether it died or not.
well this is it, the verdict. my shitsick friend tossed the cage into the basin and blasted a tap of running boiling water over, and i swore i heard that little rodent scream for help. it scratched the cage in desparation, its same beady eyes looking at me, tail thrashing all over.
i swore off indomee for an hour.
the voices in my head-
Saturday, March 05, 2005
10:30 AM
Notes
on the previous note, its okay now. thank you guys, your interminable patience to the step and kit mobilisation foundation is copacetic.
on a lighter note, pat on the back to you waikit. never had i seen so many bras in a span of 2 days.
on a heavier little note, my heart grows heavy at the little things one says. at the things little one says. sorry may had meant little to one, but ain't to all. don't mock a killingbird.
on the right of a wrong note, having the right to put a wrong down doesn't mean putting a wrong down is right.
on another note, don't you worry oldpals seow & pak. there are worse things than fucking a pattayan prostitute in the sunny morning of a holy sunday and i ain't talking about results.
on a present note, its 2:39am and i'm sitting by the computer, watching a bug hobble across the screen. lame. limp. just like i.
on a love note, note: love.
on a last note, goodnight.
the voices in my head-
Friday, March 04, 2005
5:26 AM
Innocence of 6
Pride of 19
i had a little fleeting thought when i was six. staring down 16 levels from my grandma's grilled window, i wondered how it would be to descend from such a height, and i contemplated the end state, whether my six year old self would be smashed up so badly i wouldn't fit in a coffin, or if my St James playschool mates would attend my funeral. and being that more holy christian than i am of now, i whispered a little question to God whether i should have died then, lest i commit greater sins in the future.
of course, these are the bizzare questions that float around in my bored little six year old then. amongst which are rationale of impregnating my childhood play princess with a kiss on her lips, or my ambition which i shared with my class, about that utmost desire to take after the Mama Shop beneath my grandma's flat, so i could dispense coke from the dispenser any moment, and drink any amount without paying 25 cents for each cup. most riduculous of all was a period of incessant worry night after night, wondering whether Mr Moon would suffer from severe fatigue and stop moving one lonely night, thereby colliding with Mr Sun.
but bizzare as a bizzare little wai kit may be, perhaps the little fleeting thought about suicide was apt. never since mohamad gandalf crossed the sahara desert had anyone committed such a grave sin, and i seek solace only in the silence that engulfs.
i bowed my head and clasped my hands, and thanked God for letting me feel this way, for it was a new sensation. it was an overwhelming emotion, half depression half helplessness. total fear. and i feared the departure, for good.
but it was i. it were my eyes that pierced past hers, and it were my hands that brushed off hers, and it were my legs that walked away. it was i
"...i fell in love with a writer, =..) send me such beautiful things each morning will you? its so much nicer to tell me all this than your blog, your blog won't feel anything baby..."
you silly. i can't tell you this myself, curse my fucking pride.
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
Get awesome blog templates like this one from BlogSkins.com