Pick Your Poison

Pick your poison, we all die anyway;
Tell that to the babe who's lived just one day,
Whose sunrise paired not with sundown, whose feet never met ground.

Tell that to the survivor who's fought hard to stay,
Whose nights shriek in anguish, which the flippant dismiss.

Tell it to the wife who's laughed for the last time,
With the one who last night, seemed just to be fine.

Now tell me it matters not which of these you are,
Blank faces which speak, never searching quite deep -
Pick your poison, they say; like it's of no worth to have
just one more day.

So I cheated. I eliminated the need for that one more word.

Ah, there  you are. It's been awhile since we've had you around; you're most welcome to stay - forever, if you may.

Recognised myself.

In just that flashing thought;
"If this is a test -and even if it isn't - I want to ace it."



Tears creeping into our voices
One of frustration, the other sorrow
Both hearts breaking
One like ceramic, the other shadow

 
As she spoke of her ambition, her dreams, her passion, it stirred something within me
Voice of one kindred spirit to another
It stirred the embers of the very same in me, soul artist and writer, needing art as a body needs the air

 
And why we both turned the other way than we first intended to go, neither one knows. We just needed to be alone with our thoughts, and the voice of a kindred spirit.



I am convinced
This is my gift
To feel for others, as they feel
If not half of it, at least
understanding the vein of it, through which runs the heat of emotion, the spark of life;
For which man truly lives who does not feel?

 
So then am I naturally equipped with that which tunes one in to the very essence of life, which is the emotionality flowing through us all? Recognisable threads, ironic differences, stark exposure, veiled intentions; have we a moment more precious than when two souls are no more, no more than a single drop in the ageless stream?


Stood still and wrote, wrote it all out before I could take another step
Here in the half dark, in the humming silence and burning cold,
in the ghostly presence of what used to be.

So much can change in a couple of weeks; how can we discount the value of a year?

Yet, consider in your heart
Just what is causing you pain?
More than that which has once brought you joy,
Is there more than wounded vanity and carelessly bartered hopes?


So these people sitting in their shells, their caves, their selves,
It may not be known to them, but some are simply waiting for a hand to reach right in and shake them, shake them and say Wake up, without ever speaking the words.

Maybe we all need people like that, if only for a season.

Not Such a Smug Lobster After All

Will this sweet cherishing never go away, grow old and fade?


It matters not where I am - on the bus facing someone's backpack, in a tower overlooking the Harbour, crossing the street double-quick...


This refocuses me
On the fact that
I want someone who makes the effort to know me, ask how my day was, what are you thinking of?


How life makes a mockery of our intentions.


You give me words to read, mull over, dream upon.

 
"I never want to leave!"
Exactly what I felt and said, by the shore.
 

The words weighed down like a stone in my heart
Though they were meant to step light there
So I swapped the tears for a fresh new start
As I took off into the air
  'til you find me.



So the day came
When I washed my hair with that shampoo
And soaped my body with that shower gel
All relics of you

Ran for it
Now the train tracks lead to you.


Object of curiosity
Stepping confidently out the cab
Like I belonged here
To this polished suburb
Where houses gleamed in muted dignity, white picket fences rose pretty from green lawns
Up to the door
And in

Feeling blisters on my toes but oh, to walk with you once more
You knew the look before I even lifted my shades



Well
It was just
Walking with you agan, standing by you
You being the right radius behind me;
Not so much stone face going on today but there you were in entirety;
All I could do was look at you and smile, because it is all so familiar and unstrange
Though we were far away from where it all began.

 
A year is a long time. I knew it then, you let me know it again now. In a year perhaps, we shall meet again
To say our goodbyes in July


Now the stations are marking the miles between us
Growing, growing
'Til once again we are on opposite sides of the globe

 
...and it was tremendously difficult to get my head (and others') around that, but I tried my best.
Maybe it killed some parts of me, but it did grow others.


There are no words right now
Nothing magical
Just warmth and gladness and cherishing, perhaps with some reassurance on top.


"I'm proud to be friends with someone who honours his girlfriend as he should - whomever she may be. And also there was always the part about me wanting you to be happy."



So that was what you meant when you said you didn't think I was the sort who needed frequent close proximity. You'd seen my independence even that early on.

 
Tonight we are asleep in the same city, but come tomorrow you will be going, going, gone back to your side of the world - the opposite side.

There, I've said it. Our city.
What do you think?



And this time you did it Aussie
The way we like it
See you later.

Still Humming

In which corner of the square did we first meet?

The maybe's, the for sure's, the knowings,

Somehow I think you will find a way to keep them alive.

The b-boys were there tonight

Maybe we are the ones to add colour to their world,

A humdrum no-pause-for-lunch, dogged can-hardly-reply-you kind of place.

I remember that day

Familiar little figure, flash in the crowd

It seems strange now

That you should have been more easily found

When I needed you most

As is more often than not, not the case

And all these old thoughts come back like the cloak of a thief,

blotting out the benign moonlight.

Heckles up

Fighting for family

But you told me, it's me you told

And I would want you fighting for me

If we were family

The funny thing is no one here knows I love earrings, and love wearing them.

The funny thing is stuff do add definition to a person, yet there is so much definition left without them.

I felt, and still feel fine being without my earrings - but it would be nice to be known in completion.

Traipsing down the Basser Steps

All by my ownty-downty self

Through the chilly night air of spring

To my warm and cosy room

The basis is contentment, but it is something more than that. A little like fulfilment, but not quite that. Like a cat curling up in its basket - satisfaction.

When a thought holds you hostage:

Toothbrush clenched between teeth, foam on the side of the mouth - writing furiously

And these things, in speaking, become less of tragic secrets no one must know about; they become proof that human nature is more accepting, more knowing than we tend to give it credit for.

It's a bit of a curious relationship

When you've loved and lost, and loved again

So that's the difference between then and now. I grew used to listening to the reasons I couldn't do what I ought to, want to, wish to.

That's not you, Nicole. The one who ran the last 3.5km refusing to give up - is you.

So give me back my caprice, my mischief, my whimsical fancies

To the winds, they fly

And so do I

Wishing my way back into yesteryear

I never tire of Sydney's beauty, and wonder if I ever will.

Suddenly the vague strains of music or voices filter through, to my heart, as the wispy sounds of azan do at dusk. A birthling longing to hear it from my neighbourhood mosque is almost like homesickness.

Lena with her lovely

sun-drenched locks

These flowers smell so sweet

As you did, love, as you did.

Some things are soft only

because they've been

broken in a

 m i l l i o n                                       p l a c e s .

Darkness Rising

"This world is only as heavy
As how we make it out to be"

                 - Jafri -

And I don't understand why it gets this way, why when I step out to fight the world beats me back, defiance versus defiance.

Is it because the fray only comes when one is armed for it, the same way the teacher arrives when the student is ready to learn?

Like how offence cannot be given if it will not be taken

and  how listening is futile if the wind only blows.

Yet it wasn't too long ago I was the voice,

I was the voice and I was the listening
And all I needed
was the in between.

feels like darkness rising.

You'd Take Half a Teaspoonful

The more I think about it, the more I wonder why I let myself get that way.
That is not me.

It may not be as simple as it sounds
but Nicole,

toss your head and get on with it.
There's only so much time in the world for melancholy, and even less if you intend to come out of hardship better, not bitter.



They said I sparkled.

Memories choose you, there is no blocking them out whichever way they lead,
but you can choose which to hold closest.

Gentle On Your Shoulders

It is heavy tonight, again. Whatever happened to the girl who stepped so blithe up the stairway, across the hall and - into a never-forgotten world? For it does seem familiar, like a song I've danced to a hundred times.

Only, how do you navigate when the signs are hazy and the way is dim?

When she hides her light not knowing why she does it

Oh the sun is bright but she's too close to it

While inside hope flickers like the end of a dream.

So while I was away

What else did I miss?

Would you choose life, dearest, in a snowglobe here

Where probing voices melt away

And snowflakes ever fall

gentle on your shoulders

Knowing what is gone may not be again, but nothing is certain in a world never-forgotten.

Otherwise I would still know the way, and still understand the signs.

Subdued frailty. That's how it feels.

I couldn't bear to hurt another, so I hid myself away.

And now it's so plain

The piece that's been missing, is my sunsparkle.

And sometimes you just want someone to see. Just what you mean, when you can't find the words.

Cities, Their Significance

Wonder why I went back for a look.

 But I am aware of still another mental shift; one that notes all I wanted with clarity,

but with the calm of distance. God bless the distance.

 

I don't truly feel envious of what there is between, just as I don't truly feel smug at what you are without.

You have become less.

At one point that is all I could have asked for, and I have it now. At last.

Don't remind me of the dreams I laid down

Don't remind me I was once destined to walk in your shoes

 

Don't remind me of the tears

Numbing fears

Murdered glee

Died beating its wing

falling softly

to finality.

Two years on, and the wounds are clearing up nicely.

Not without a mark, but well enough

to head back out onto the field

and play for keeps.

This is my city now.

Once yours, now mine.

He Shall Drink Coffee.

Feel like Amy, who
"came to... console herself with the beauty all about her."

- Louisa May Alcott -

Nev-

What is it that my heart wants to say?
It stopped halfway, and I am searching for its voice.

But if I don't complete the sentence, there is still the possibility of it ending complete in beauty.
Why am I so afraid of marring it by a mistake which I'm not even sure would be a mistake?

Gardomien

And all of a sudden I burst into tears, feeling discouraged, restless, disappointed. Missing. Feels like I'm missing. Feeling discouragedrestlessdisappointed, lodged against one another, no breath between.

Soloist

Watching them play again
The beautiful game

There is something about watching a team train together
The discipline
Commitment
Unity
Watching lean-spindly-stout legs moving in formation, as to some unspoken agreement

And who is that soloist there
In the middle of the field
Following his own regime
Warmups, excuse me little birdie, you chirp so loud,
Squats, two laps, pumping
Now lying back flat on the green
For situps

While I rest here
Under this tree
Of no particular significance
But to ourselves.

In a Single Frame

The first homecoming brought with it an onslaught of reflections, some of which will surface here. But tonight, tonight I am in a rare state.

What is this restless mood come over me, the feeling of wanting to go somewhere but with nowhere to go, of wanting to speak out but - to whom?

If Gen were here I would shuffle in (or as close as I get to shuffling) and plop down on her bed. She would turn and go Hey, what's up? in that familiar voice of hers, and then chat - scientific discoveries, inconsequential happenings, anything in between - until I felt myself again.

So much for coherent train of thought. Here are the fragments:

We can, we can.

Partly because we have to, partly because... time heals all wounds, and memories fade. Indeed, if they did not fade, we would be dead by now.

For who does not have a memory which could very nearly have killed them, in their minds at least?

Feeling queenly with others to do my hand washing, and ironing, and being able to go where I please, whenever I please.

Back to the comfortable silence, so right you don't have to think about it. Going on your way, past rows of houses hearing the sounds or lack thereof they each emit; scrubbing brushes, nagging matrons, babble of children, and sometimes the voice of a piano - accompanying you on your way like a fading soundtrack.

How can I explain

The tears which well up without warning

As I drink in the atmosphere which is my hometown

Familiar yet changed

Knowing I will not come back for some years

And doing so will expose me to another homecoming, another sense of slight misplacement. 

Talking to him I felt changed, toughened.

I remember you knowing just what I meant

As I looked at the space between vaulted plans

And the flames which lined infinity

You saw the glow-patch near us and were quick to feel its beauty

"Your face is full of determination."

May it ever be so, in the face of adversity.

There we were, in a single frame

Before everything went so wrong

Next to her I seemed to pale, like an alabaster iris

Only in want of a sun to melt her reserve

It is disconcerting to know, in sudden flashes, how the old character still emerges. I know I am growing into someone better, and that she is me, but all growth takes time and I shall not begrudge myself that.

"Is this bag full of your clothes?" he might've asked.

Affirmative.

And I wouldn't have told him about the seven pairs of shoes - still in their boxes.

I can hear the crickets tonight. Were they here before?

It is a happy occurrence, either way. Makes home feel more homelike.

Maybe the sounds of the birds were what I missed most

Sunlight filtering through the clouds

Upon my beautiful homeland

For that is what Malaysia is to me, always has been.

What is China to me? I do not identify with its culture, or the shrill language they speak. It irks me to be so readily questioned for not speaking what is supposedly my mother tongue.

I know some dreams I have are of glamour, and I love luxuriating in dainty pleasures, but we are not rich.

If you can hem up all your trousers a little too short and still stand tall in them, I can very well do my own washing and still do good with rough hands.

Now I get it. He never says the words, but his message all this while has always been to

Be where you are.

There is no need to look back, or try to leap forward.

Just be in the moment.

These moments will come, I know.

But it is also time I recognised that the decision is mine to make - pick apart or set aside, mull over or move on.

I know which I'd choose now. I know who I am.

Stab

Perplexing how a single scene could take me back

to the world of white beds with metal railings, syringes and instruments that beeped the whole drawn night;

to when I lived each day clutching at each straw of certainty in a haystack of uncertainty, ever wondering if I could learn to be happy, if I could be like ordinary people.

I have often wondered how it works if, every person wanting to be unique, there were a standard into which most fell. And me wanting to fit into that standard, just to stem the pain, would be wishing away that which made myself unique. With time I've come to look back and look calmly, chin up; but at the time it was a series of lows and part of me - a big part of me - wanted out.

And so it took me

Back to being fragile and guarded and - just keeping the pieces together.

Skywalker

Every word is true, and it is just as my heart had spoken. We are soulmates.

 

"We appreciate the beauty of life. The beauty of falling in love. The beauty of growing stronger after each lesson.

 The beauty of the heart." 

Every word is true. And I cry because my heart is out there so plain with you, because at last I've found someone who understands.

What a meaningful start to the new year, and a precursor of what we aim still to be.

I could imagine her on her wedding day, a true princess in a fairytale of white tulle and golden trimmings.

Sunlight in her hair, stars in her eyes.

And I just want to see you married happily ever after. Never cheated on again.

 

In the year before this she experienced "the miracle of finding, knowing and loving" [herself]".

I had a great many defining moments; but only today did I find the summary of my 2011 - learning to be a bigger person.

 I learnt to accept defeat gracefully, because grace is what makes a woman;

to extend forgiveness to those who did not ask for it, because I saw how past years of grudgery had embittered my insides.

To hold my peace where a younger me would have made destruction of disorder,

to listen to poison and know it for just that, nothing more;

to fall flat on my rump and then look upward and onward,

and laugh,

and love.

As I go through this life, I realise there is a fair proportion (not too common, but not too scarce either) of people like me, web-thinkers who connect the dots without trying. Kindred spirits, or those of "my world".

Even though we are little more than a week into the year, already profound moments have found their way in to beautify my life by that much.

What is it about writing that is more enduring than identical words expressed in speech? Is it just that it can be read again and again while the  most  meaningful words spoken tend not to occur exactly as they did last, if ever again?

This year will be significant, I feel it.

Away from my homeland I am free to eat only what I please, spend time according to my needs, and furnish my room as I wish.

 

In just my first semester, there have been so many little things which mattered to me, that I never had at home.

A fruit bowl. Wall hangings. Home-baked muffins. Someone who asked "How was your day?"

White furniture. Warm lighting. Pretty things everywhere I looked.

And I know I am partially indulging in a lost adolescence; my own swallowed by angst and mistrust.

 

 It may seem delayed,

but I am going to laugh, 

 

and have a good time,

   

and feel pretty. 

It may seem strange, but I am both girl frivolous at last, and at the same time, woman growing wise in heart. 

My life philosophy;

to shortchange

.

Oh this is youth, and how glad I am to be living it!

Ps. All photos are original, and personal favourites.