Sunday, December 08, 2013
Sunday, December 01, 2013
You, the thought of you lingers, like the unbearable heat after a summer's rain. My Sunday was spent awash with the residual warmth of your body. The moist air carries faint scent of you, and they linger on and on, gently reminded me of you. This is the horrible truth - there is an misplaced intimacy between you and I, one that I could not deny. In between embraces, along the arch of your arms, your smiles, the harmonious murmurs of nothing, and the awfully addictive ecstasy that came with you, and with you alone.
Ah you are my almost-lover, my heart carries on yet you linger, like the unbearable heat, after a summer's rain. Is this the perfect physical closeness? Is this our strange resonance? My mind sings an arrhythmic tune, yet with you I sit in a cradle of comfort unlike others. Today I met someone. He is well-versed, travelled far, and painfully attractive. Layers and layers of perfectly draped ideas flew past, I was in awe that I have somewhat found my equal counterpart. One that challenges, one that agrees, and one that teaches. As he spoke of the Inca empire, of the Moroccan trade, once again I thought of you. You have always managed to seep through the crack of my mind, one that I couldn't help, and one that I find repulsive yet comforting. I wanted you, ah how I wanted you. There is a peculiar urgency in this unfulfillment that is deadly poisonous, and I hate that it consumed me. It finally struck me that the notion that I could never have you, and that you had never wanted me had me sitting in this reflux of self-torment - and I had enough.
I wondered and I pondered, and it finally made perfect sense that you are the catalyst that I need. In my poor attempt, in my quest to search for the one who completes, I can now see it in the eyes of this man I found, they sparkle. I found joy that he reads my favourite book, he is eloquent, and he educates me. Will he compete with the thoughts of you? In this strange night I feel perfectly right in place, my hands in his. Perhaps I've found my counterpart, perhaps I've escaped you.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
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 foreigners, 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.
Friday, October 04, 2013
As I moved across the continents, my mind turned as rigid as a stonesmith's bitch and my body refused to align with the need to perspire. Was it because my being has failed to catch up with the bird-like vessel, traveling in a hundred miles per hour, and led to such confusion? I knew too well my shortness of breathes, my stammering, the stunted response was merely a sign of weakness, against the willingness to finally accept that it has indeed ended. Like Kundera's Tomas, I lingered in limbo, between lightness and the weight of my lover's indiscretions - it was not a great tragedy you see, it was the most difficult resolution, and there amidst the fortification lies a strange beauty - of unintelligible truth buried beneath intelligible lies. I don't see this as a tragedy you see, I have played an outsider, a participant, a judge, a partner (in crime), but never a lover. The inaptitude to love, like a stain sewn onto my being has heaved its last draw of breath like a mocking jest. I'm not sure if I could ever learnt how to unlearn this realizations, that I wanted my almost-lover simply because he was out of reach. His ignorance and crude being was irksome, however his active nonchalance tormented me, and it grew on me like malignant poisonous thought - seeping into every crevices, every weakness in me. Confusions, at times, can give birth to love. Did my ability to sieve through these seeds of thoughts dampened my fall? I came out almost unscathed, merely running out of air, like a fish out of water, I'm out of my element. Do I embrace such lightness? Or do I let myself sink?
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Sunday, September 22, 2013
It must have been the strangest night. Lucien was less than sympathetic as I splurged on the stale tales, of my almost lover, of Mister Smith, and of my unwarranted exits. In his arm I weaved in and out of delirium, one I couldn't shook off. I heard him telling me that I've done fucking up; I heard him telling me that it's time that he'd take care of me; I heard him calling me the love of his life. It startled me, it drained the air out of my lungs and it made me heaved, a long, long sigh of relief. Was that the moment that I'd realised that I did love this man, all these while? In his arm I weaved in and out of delirium, feeling safe, and wondrously settled - it must have been the strangest night, I found my cat's cradle and it made me the happiest of all.
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.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Today I woke up to my brown-eyed lover in a quiet daze. A sudden rush of panic started running rampantly inside me - will I ever get relief from this quick exit? Lucien will never understand. This unbearable lightness of nothing, seemingly heavy as if it was something - I wanted it to be something more, yet I'm glad it is nothing more. Will I find him again, somewhere, somehow and that we'd still be in love? I hate being so unrestrained. Lucien will never understand. I had his hands held tightly, as we soaked in the morning sun I had my eyes shut. Let me remember this, let me remember how desperately in love I was, and let me remember how disgustingly awful this was.
Friday, July 19, 2013
In a few fortnights, I'm leaving town. There are several interconversions to be done, couple of editing, and then it'd be a twenty-hour flight to the vast land of uncertainties. To countless walks in Central Park, two Kurt(s), and probably a few hands that I'll learn to hold, once again, arm in arm. I'm struck with a great dilemma. My heart wanders, like a stubborn child it begs to roam free. I found love, lots of love here. In the nook of those midsummer nights, along the belly of the solemn grey winter evening, to the shadow of pale autumn sun. I found love in this city, I found Mr Ito, had my heart broken beyond mending. I learnt to hate. I learnt not to love. I found my writer, the one whom bell tolls, had my sanity creaks. I found my pretentious singer with the dreadful locks, as we indulge in countless meaningless embraces in his soft singing voice, I could have died, I could have learnt to enjoy being lost in his cat's cradle. To my handsome lover, and to the love of my life. Today I felt pathetically mellow. I tiptoed around these odd feelings that are slow seeping back in, as if by such I will feel safe. I don't. I'm feeling dangerously obliged to shut the doors off, so hard it sends your ears ringing. Then you'd remember that night I said goodbye. No tears. Just a happy smirk. You'll think about me and you'll think of me fondly.
Alas, it's time to go. Sweet bye, and bye. My head's in the right place, let's jump.
Tuesday, June 04, 2013
The other day I saw my almost-lover, and then more. It scares me. I once fell in love with this man, I once cried for him, and I once took long, long sleepless nights to ponder all the false possibilities. All of these has been replaced by mechanistic embraces, and foreign dullness. If I looked carefully, there were traces of jealousy and smidgen of angst, but little by little it turned into forlorn sighs and nothing else. It must be my lucky day in hell.
Pour Mr Lennon, aut inveniam viam aut faciam.
Pour Mr Lennon, aut inveniam viam aut faciam.
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
Thursday, February 21, 2013
This fake terror does not scare me anymore. There was a number of time, more than I'd like to admit that I'd willingly let my heart roams wild. Stomping wild in the rain, the truth is, I knew. I'd always knew. A slow-strung demise, almost a welcome calamity.
There is this man whose hand I once held tight. His fingers coarse with marks of life, painted by sweats and earth. His language unpolished, his manner uninhibited, and his pride swollen. Although, I've been able to appreciate his lack of pretense, and his unbearable raw ignorance - that made a man who was true to himself, blinded or not, became irrevocably appealing. Truthfully, I was painfully attracted to this man. I saw the shadow of Mr. Ito in him, tugging my sleeves like a pleading child of the Red. Reminding that I was once hopelessly in love with false courage, no matter how foolish. Almost on the brink.
This does not scare me anymore. I will let this tinge of mellowed sadness follows me as far as his scent carries. Then I'll walk on, with the earth moves under my feet. In my pocket, a little thankfulness for a peculiar encounter. Because you don't scare me. I know you. You are just a chicken with teeth and I do not loathe what I pity.
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.