heres to a new year.
cheers :)
i'll try not to drift through days in a happy bubble like the previous years.
maybe i'll get butthurt along the way, and may be depressed, but at least i tried.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
the quiet world.
In an effort to get people to look
into each other’s eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.
When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.
Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.
When she doesn’t respond,
I know she’s used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.
- The Quiet World, Jeffrey McDaniel
into each other’s eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.
When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.
Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.
When she doesn’t respond,
I know she’s used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.
- The Quiet World, Jeffrey McDaniel
Thursday, December 24, 2009
merry christmas.
its christmas. or it will be, in 20 minutes.
i don't get why i'm so worked up over a holiday that isn't even mine. it isn't even of my religion.
but i still love it somehow.
i'm loving it less in recent years though. maybe its because i'm older but the magic is gone.
i didn't even realise christmas was here until christmas eve.
i wish i didn't grow up so fast. it would be nice to still have that childish innocence.
i don't get why i'm so worked up over a holiday that isn't even mine. it isn't even of my religion.
but i still love it somehow.
i'm loving it less in recent years though. maybe its because i'm older but the magic is gone.
i didn't even realise christmas was here until christmas eve.
i wish i didn't grow up so fast. it would be nice to still have that childish innocence.
Monday, December 21, 2009
dating.
people tell you all the time that you're beautiful that you're pretty that you're elegant.
do you have a boyfriend? they ask.
and when you reply in the negative they think you're kidding.
no, no kidding at all. look at this solemn face.
they pull back, blink, study you carefully, make sure that you're not joking, which you never are.
and then you know they're thinking it.
and most times they say it.
"you must have a horrible personality then."
yeah well. you can only shrug in reply because what else can you do?
sometimes i wonder whats wrong with me. because if what everyone is telling me is true, shouldn't i be beating boys off with a stick?
i don't get it.
i would love more than anything to lace my fingers with another, to walk down the streets with him beside me.
and i watch everyone around me pair up
damn it, if she can get one, why can't i?
its not that i need a guy to live.
i've been happy without him and i will be happy without him.
whoever he is.
its just that it would be nice.
it would be nice to have someone who you know will love you.
maybe i really do have a horrible personality.
do you have a boyfriend? they ask.
and when you reply in the negative they think you're kidding.
no, no kidding at all. look at this solemn face.
they pull back, blink, study you carefully, make sure that you're not joking, which you never are.
and then you know they're thinking it.
and most times they say it.
"you must have a horrible personality then."
yeah well. you can only shrug in reply because what else can you do?
sometimes i wonder whats wrong with me. because if what everyone is telling me is true, shouldn't i be beating boys off with a stick?
i don't get it.
i would love more than anything to lace my fingers with another, to walk down the streets with him beside me.
and i watch everyone around me pair up
damn it, if she can get one, why can't i?
its not that i need a guy to live.
i've been happy without him and i will be happy without him.
whoever he is.
its just that it would be nice.
it would be nice to have someone who you know will love you.
maybe i really do have a horrible personality.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Thursday, December 17, 2009
everything is illuminated.
i want that damn book. i can't find it in any bookstore in malaysia.
damn.
jonathan safran foer. we are not meant to be :D
damn.
jonathan safran foer. we are not meant to be :D
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
mute your mind.
if there was one thing you could do, you would mute your mind.
and there it goes again like a runaway train and you try to stop but it spins and spins and spins, filling your head with silly thoughts and worries, keeping you awake at night. you plea for it to stop but it doesn't work because even if its your mind and you just want to tell it to shut up, it still goes on thinking and thinking until you think your head is about to explode.
its tiring.
because as you think you get paranoid and you become afraid and suddenly there's this never ending list of things you haven't done and should do but you can't because its so fucking late and you need to sleep or you'll be a zombie the next day.
but of course when you wake up, you never do the things on the hastily compiled to-do list you made last night. and so the cycle repeats itself at night.
and people wonder why the dark circles under your eyes are permanant.
and there it goes again like a runaway train and you try to stop but it spins and spins and spins, filling your head with silly thoughts and worries, keeping you awake at night. you plea for it to stop but it doesn't work because even if its your mind and you just want to tell it to shut up, it still goes on thinking and thinking until you think your head is about to explode.
its tiring.
because as you think you get paranoid and you become afraid and suddenly there's this never ending list of things you haven't done and should do but you can't because its so fucking late and you need to sleep or you'll be a zombie the next day.
but of course when you wake up, you never do the things on the hastily compiled to-do list you made last night. and so the cycle repeats itself at night.
and people wonder why the dark circles under your eyes are permanant.
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
满天的云，阴阴凉凉的天气.
she tries to contain the skip in her step as she goes down the streets. it's not that she's particularly happy, it's just that it's automatic. but she tries to contain it all the same because people tend to stare at the girl who isn't quite a girl any longer skipping down the street.
she doesn't like to draw attention to herself.
she's (not skipping) down the street when he appears in front of her, like the magical prince charming mentioned in all the fairytales. except he isn't quite charming, not with his messy hair, unshaved face and ruffled clothes.
he looks wonderful to her all the same.
hello, she says, all prim and proper, the way her momma taught her, how are you today?
he blinks, startled that this girl in the pigtails, a complete stranger, is talking to him but he answers all the same, voice scratchy from not enough water and speech, i think i'm fine, thank you.
she falls in love immediately with his voice and his scruffy appearance and so she strikes up a conversation about the weather and dogs and the stock market. it takes a few misses before she hits gold and it turns out that he's interested in dance.
really? she giggles, her hand to her chest. so am i. (she's never danced in her life. he doesn't need to know that) and she fabricates an elaborate lie about how she hurt her ankle and can never dance again and oh, she has his sympathy and a name to go along with it.
between tsks, he tells her his name and she repeats it on her tongue, delighted at the sound. and she tells him that her name is like the stars because she was named after one, the 7th one in the sky on the day she was born.
(they meet again, this time without the facial hair and the pigtails and the eccentricities and he's not bad looking at all)
she doesn't like to draw attention to herself.
she's (not skipping) down the street when he appears in front of her, like the magical prince charming mentioned in all the fairytales. except he isn't quite charming, not with his messy hair, unshaved face and ruffled clothes.
he looks wonderful to her all the same.
hello, she says, all prim and proper, the way her momma taught her, how are you today?
he blinks, startled that this girl in the pigtails, a complete stranger, is talking to him but he answers all the same, voice scratchy from not enough water and speech, i think i'm fine, thank you.
she falls in love immediately with his voice and his scruffy appearance and so she strikes up a conversation about the weather and dogs and the stock market. it takes a few misses before she hits gold and it turns out that he's interested in dance.
really? she giggles, her hand to her chest. so am i. (she's never danced in her life. he doesn't need to know that) and she fabricates an elaborate lie about how she hurt her ankle and can never dance again and oh, she has his sympathy and a name to go along with it.
between tsks, he tells her his name and she repeats it on her tongue, delighted at the sound. and she tells him that her name is like the stars because she was named after one, the 7th one in the sky on the day she was born.
(they meet again, this time without the facial hair and the pigtails and the eccentricities and he's not bad looking at all)
deceive.
sometimes i pull myself out of this ever happy bubble and laugh at myself for being so fake. who am i? what am i? am i being true to myself? but what exactly am i?
am i being fake when even my mind believes that this is me?
am i being fake when even my mind believes that this is me?
prose.
they write so beautifully that it makes me want to weep.
and i do want so awfully much to be able to spill pretty words like them but a part of me is almost afraid.
because how twisted must she be to be able to create such morbid situations?
can i really write without it affecting me? i know i am weak, that i am easily influenced by emotions. if i write about sad situations, i know my emotions are going to dip until they match the ones of the characters.
once i almost fell into depression. its odd how you know so clearly that it isn't right to feel so lost all the time but still you can't pull yourself out of it. its long over but i remain happy by living in a bubble, by locking all negative thoughts in a box and pushing it to the back of my head.
i don't want to go back to that scary place. ever.
and i do want so awfully much to be able to spill pretty words like them but a part of me is almost afraid.
because how twisted must she be to be able to create such morbid situations?
can i really write without it affecting me? i know i am weak, that i am easily influenced by emotions. if i write about sad situations, i know my emotions are going to dip until they match the ones of the characters.
once i almost fell into depression. its odd how you know so clearly that it isn't right to feel so lost all the time but still you can't pull yourself out of it. its long over but i remain happy by living in a bubble, by locking all negative thoughts in a box and pushing it to the back of my head.
i don't want to go back to that scary place. ever.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
taste.
name a memory evoked by one of the five senses (taste, touch, sight, hearing, smell)
taste.
my parents come home. mom sweeps me into a hug and kisses my hair. she smells different, all the scents from the airport and the airplanes and the travels seeping into her clothes. i struggle out of her grasp. dad rummages through the luggage and hands me the souvenirs from their trip. there's a variety of colourful trinkets but only one thing catches my eye- a bag filled with sweets of every flavour imaginable. i grab the first one i see and pop it into my mouth. the sweetness attacks my tongue and without warning, it turns bitter. hurrying to the kitchen, i spit the offending sweet out.
that was when i was seven. i still hate passionfruit.
taste.
my parents come home. mom sweeps me into a hug and kisses my hair. she smells different, all the scents from the airport and the airplanes and the travels seeping into her clothes. i struggle out of her grasp. dad rummages through the luggage and hands me the souvenirs from their trip. there's a variety of colourful trinkets but only one thing catches my eye- a bag filled with sweets of every flavour imaginable. i grab the first one i see and pop it into my mouth. the sweetness attacks my tongue and without warning, it turns bitter. hurrying to the kitchen, i spit the offending sweet out.
that was when i was seven. i still hate passionfruit.
quote.
When I was 5 years old, my mom always told me that happiness was the key to life. When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down “happy.” They told me I didn’t understand the assignment and I told them they didn’t understand life.
-l'Eco di Bru
-l'Eco di Bru
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
