A Colour to Say It All

And it brings to mind
old people sitting at an angle, oblique, oblivious to the passing minutes
yet willing them away with the absence of will to do more than sit.
There is a nothingness in the air ahead of them
and gladly would they join it
if only

if only we would let them.
Feels like we're pressing something into a hand within whose very veins
blood shuffles - reluctant.
There's a lot of pain involved
and the last thing we need
is more.

This time I don't hide the knives.

There is too much to record, I can't keep up with my own life, blogwise!
The monster post in the making for Sept and Oct I think will have to remain in the morgue; right now ready your hearts 'cause I have recent writings, a hodgepodge:

I know now that if I had to choose, it'd be writing over dancing. This is my explanation.
Drop everything. That's what I do sometimes when the need to write is compelling. It may be a half-folded T-shirt, a toothbrush, the dishwashing gloves, a fork and its partner, a bunch of keys; I leave and don't return until I've written everything out.




The shuffle, the meeting of eyes, the impulsive smile. As the vendor counted out my change, the smiler named her plate's contents. It was a puzzling garble until I caught "chicken"; the words seemed to tumble out of her mouth, as though anxious to express meaning to a listening stranger. Vaguely that's when I realised she was disabled; a second glance showed mildly deformed limbs, and suddenly her lacking in stature made more sense. In that quick moment a feeling of gladness also registered itself, a sweetness from having smiled with my heart.




It started with
The circle of stones I made for my favourite tree, and when it died I visited its grave nightly just so it wouldn't feel forgotten.
Then
I've never lived in a house without palm trees. One day I came home and they were all chopped away. It feels slightly barren sometimes, remembering the shapes they made on the ground, and me trying to fit both my bike and myself into one of those shapes so we could escape the scorching noon heat while I searched for red dates to cook. I only took those that were smooth, unblemished. Some, which exposed husky strands soaked in a sickly orange, I inspected curiously before silently chastising the squirrel that had left it half-eaten. Finally I'd have scavenged enough or else the heat would get to me and I'd retire indoors after stashing away the day's gatherings.
Just like a squirrel.




"Goodbye, madamoiselle~"
Still young enough to speak nonsense that means nothing and everything at the same time. Nothing because a grownup cynic would scoff at your mindless choice of words; everything because I hear the loving fluorish you added just to make another moment between us.
The next day's ramble was hilarious what with hitch-hiking (which you never see in Malaysia), my little sheep straying across the Lake Gardens, and one mini me being lugged up all the uphills (on a right shoulder I didn't know could ache so), and Cola lips all around.




And I finally got back on the saddle, not to mention the beautiful aisles of books. A place I simply get lost in, and it's nothing to do with my sense of direction. =P

Bit of gravel on my bag. Catch my breath, let me.
Just the slightest bit gingerly, I kicked back the stand and swung onto the pedals. A sense of liberation rolled through me, like a child who'd found her field of flowers. Breezing across the streets, I surprise myself with the surge of control from narrowly avoiding a squashed rat. Oddly enough, it intermingles with an equal lack of control; potholes hoist a redder flag now, rivalled only by roadgrilles like the one I rode into the day of my first Acceptance. We had to wheel my bike home.
Back in the present, I relish once more the in-between speed of cycling. Driving was too fast, isolated from the real world; walking was to slow, the same reality followed you for too long. Cycling feels the right amount of real. The strongest feeling though, was one of homecoming. And it wrapped me, this motion I've known even before pre-school.


I remember clearly a single image of my figure looking out the window, into a grey February morning. I remember how the branches intertwined in broken harmony against the bleakness of an iron sky - how I knew you didn't see the same things I did, or feel the same things I felt!




Rapunzel is the best movie I've seen in months! And I met my first Kirsten, that dolluva girl who held tight for reasons unknown to me. Or anyone else, for that matter. I won't forget that fierce, dictative knock and her walking in for a goodbye hug that felt so genuine.




Crazy weekend and week up ahead. I love every bit of planning!



Oh the title? A sudden obsession a few days back where I went
I need to find a colour that expresses my feelings perfectly.

At that moment, I needed something more than words, I needed something that would stare back at me with strength equal to all I was feeling inside. Something like a buffer to catch me from tipping over.