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.