Ah you are, at once, both the quiet and confusion of my heart.
I miss you.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
So I left for a foreign, older and stranger town. Here lies a blanket of black, in ombre, and the pace is dampening, much like the seeping chill that seems to follow me wherever my feet takes me. Today I finally feel settled, in the company of a stranger, in the arms of a new lover, and in the restless frenzy that lingers, for far too long. I wonder how many times I'll have to repeat this - getting seemingly close, separate and then let the ripples of emptiness consume me - from a safe distance, I will forget you, yes I will. I am well now, I am well now.
Saturday, January 25, 2014
I'm scared. I'm falling through a bottomless hole, slowly at five centimeters per second; and time stretches itself forcing myself to watch your eyes shut, your gentle breathing in full clarity - you are still a stranger, why do I feel so desperately drawn to your elusive grace? We weaved past the scent of old books, leafing through scenes and each pause ended with a silent nod, my lips curved and your sheepish half wink. I will wander under the Spanish sun and I will let you know how I feel when I walk under the same earth you were born on.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Ah he left. Remnants of our little past flit my way and lodge themselves as a lump in my throat. I was forced to turn mute as he left, with my footsteps taking me to arms of another. I have not been able to not think about him, and I wonder had I say yes, had I been brave enough, could he be my midas, and I, his? As we bid our half-hearted farewell it felt incomplete. Like that very night, we smoked under the dancing light, in the rhythm of thumps, hums and off-beat harmony. We shared memories, dreamed of future adventures, and wandered in and out of blissful delirium. In that instance I wanted to tell him that I wanted him, but that lump in my throat turned me mute. Do I turn this friendship into something more? Will it elevate, or will we sink? Ah well, he left for the east, and I, will be, to the west. My heart follows him, in little steps. Perhaps one day I shall see him, in a African summer, in a Peruvian village, in a Nepalese hike, and back to the land of tiger where it begins.
Wednesday, November 06, 2013
My lovers, they came and left. I let them ran amok and off-track, but never once I felt close, close enough to care. I wonder if Mr Ito would know that it's a crime to cause such damage to a person one claimed to love? I learnt to lie, I learnt to hide behind my nonchalance - but it did not once mask the seeping emptiness inside. I saw my writer today. He has changed, and he was with someone else. Has it been two years? We locked eyes and I saw a flicker of disbelief, and disdain. Perhaps we have practiced, numerous times, for such encounter to occur. Has it been that long? I felt genuinely happy, for I no longer felt for this man I once loved. Is this what it was supposed to be? You fall in love. You learnt to be with that person. You left. You forgot. Then we all reverted back to being strangers. I took solace in knowing that my lack of empathy has gave me comfort, and one that allowed me to stay unaffected. Just like them, I no longer want my almost-lover. My almost-lover, he has the ability to diminish me into a Kundera's creature. I'm insensible, intolerable and very often it brings me to the brink of breaking the fourth wall as if by such I would feel better. In between familiar touches I felt a foreign inadequacy - I once thought he was it for me. Alas, I don't love this man anymore. As I forcefully trying to recall how I felt back then, it was lost beyond salvage. Even his smell, it is different. Do I fully accept that the chemistry is gone, and he is merely a familiar stranger? I will never know, and he shall remain an almost-lover.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
India was a tumultuous temptress. There wasn't any moment that I didn't want to inhale the beauty of our mismatched universe into my tiny, untrained mind - this country has not grown wise with age, it toys with dirts, it is in despair and the city smells rotten. The air is full of sickness, spreading poverty and desperation. In my eyes, India was beautiful. Here lies the underbelly of ancient civillization, it housed many emperors, their golds, their women and their slaves, in a white palace, in an amber fort. Now they are enslaved by modern currencies, their distant past, once glorious, has dissipated into the musky air of Delhi. Money is powerful here. People beg, harass and hassle - I had to admit I found it irksome initially. A child begged me for food. I bought him an ice-cream and it brought him a moment of happiness for a mere fifty rupees. Then he asked for more money. I walked away, my heart sank heavier and my mind's a mess. Do I feel empowered to rescue him? Do I feel extremely priveleged? Do I feel thankful? It was by sheer luck that I was not born into the slum of Delhi, it was by fate that he begs and I give. I came to this country like a greedy outsider, I saw beauty in every corners, on the dirt road, between the chaotic lanes, in the streets that housed the lost, the unwanted, the strays and, and the abandoned. As I indulged in their beauty, the locals saw something else. Their eyes grey and liveless, they saw opportunities for a turnover, they saw joy in an extra hundred rupees from a foreigner, they saw nothing, nothing at all but to trade for the currency of life. They are not living. It took me a while to realize that it is easy for me to see beauty in this city, because I'm just a visitor, and they have to stay for good.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
I wandered far and about alone, as I went against the sea of human in many forms I couldn't help but feel exhilarated. It was the certainty of being at a place, being so finite and static, that made me genuinely happy. Was it the thick polluted air of this city that made me feel so oddly at home? People were oblivious of the weight of their existence as they carried on with their chosen routes, their eyes stagnant and dull. I was lost in the heart of this city. In the heart of this city I found myself momentarily fixated, the world turned still as I rocked to the lonesome blues this Puerto Rican man gently, gently played. Did he too, travel far and got wondrously lost? Has he too, lost his heart amidst this chaotic mess? He played the blues gently, gently like the sound of many heartaches, many unfulfilled love and many lost hopes. Like mine, lost in a rush of wind. Gone, gone in a gust of wind. I wandered far and about alone, and then I came back. Not any better, not any less. Do I blame it on my wild heart? Or do I blame it against the world? Here I am again, planning another quick escape. Like a coward, cowering under your shadows, packing my misery in a suitcase. Running far, far away from you.
Monday, September 02, 2013
I often think about my almost-lover - I can't fault the planarity of our encounter, it's the only way it could be. Almost tragically, I feel that he could be the essence of my being - fleeting, polar, and fluctuous. We will never feel settled in our ground state. Perhaps we are just pretentious fools trapped in a double-bind. Sometimes I wonder if in another time, in our best elements, will we be good together? Will I find solace in him? I can't seem to feel at rest. My almost-lover, he lacks decency. He is uninhibited, rude and cruel. I couldn't think of him without contempt, however in a reflective way. I wonder if he is truly happy? If so, how did he do it? Am I happy? Perhaps not. Lucien doesn't seem to mind me - he thought of me as "eccentric"and "aloof", and that he'd probably never find someone as "interesting" as I am. Ah Lucien does not know me. He sees beauty in our misalignments. I find it banausic and it often left me feeling unsettled. Feeling in love, and being in love is entirely different - that I'm well aware of but do I walk away from simple pleasure as such? I like feeling in love, I like the intimacy of it, and I like watching it progresses like an outsider. If only this would come guilt-free. Will I get punished for being so reckless? Sometimes I think of Mr Ito - that tumultuous time he made me I lived for, how bare I'd gotten, and how blindly brave I was - I want it back. I want to go back to where the monster lurks, and when I was actually happy. Willing. And truly happy. It could've been this close. I think of my almost-lover often, in a distant albeit affectionate way. I wonder if these thoughts are products of my destined exit, or if I truly do want him? The thing with written thoughts is, they dance, they mock and they are, in fact, insubstantial. Alas, my almost-lover, is just an almost-lover.
Ah....am I not clever? I make fools happy.
Ah....am I not clever? I make fools happy.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
I had a somewhat unpleasant afternoon today. I was busy. In a slow dance of contentment, mild excitation from an unexpected fruition, and a gentle anxiety, one that does not swarm but slither. I had an ugly afternoon. As I rocked back and forth in the crescendo of sighs, reliefs, and possibly a slight hint of anguish. I let my mind ran wild. As I forced myself to follow the tandem religiously, it is not without much hesitation that I'd finally came to term that perhaps I had, indeed, took pleasure in this little misadventure. Lucien is gone, his clothes scattered in my room. He has forgotten to fix the lights and the bulbs lie on the bed mocking my agony. His cologne lingers like a taunting ghost, and my mind is constantly enveloped by his absence. I wandered about in his brown leather Oxford shoes - they are a few sizes too big for me and I had to waddle through the hallway in an awkward manoeuvre. I walked in his shoes in an attempt to attain the last glimpse of warmth of our last touch, I dragged the heavy soles like an overweight whore and I sobbed. I sobbed and I sobbed. It is true, Lucien is gone. My Mr Gahin is gone, and I'm losing my religion.
The light has gone out of my life.
The light has gone out of my life.
Monday, April 01, 2013
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Today I had a little walk by myself. I didn't mind the muddy field, almost felt a little unravelled under the weakened sun as I took on a long stride, one after another. Somewhat at peace, somewhat unsettled. The peculiar atmosphere of mist, sweats and dampened earth, and I was trapped in an erratic race in my head, one I cannot win. At times, I long for the summer sunday afternoons. Basking under the sun with salt water gently washing the weariness away, with my almost-lover. I fell in love under a thicket of kisses, in a playful tumble and in a downward spiral. Will there be an end to an unresolved heartache? Yes. Yes there is. Until dusks settled, vision fogged and grasps loosened, then the toughest too shall dissolve.
I love you, and I dislike you.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
In your rhythm, along the crescent of your smile, amidst the strange air on a mellow midsummer evening. The gentle knock of December drops, the gentle rock that is my bright-eyed darling. I am a rested soul, I am the southern wind dancing in the wild. Yes, I am held prisoner on the bed of cerulean pacific. I am still the happiest of the flock. The happiest of the flock.