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?

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.

It's the Life in You That Presses On

Rather strange, it is. To be called an average girl just because I enjoy the things other girls do, because I can.

The irony is I remember being unable to do just this; remember being too afraid and self-restrained. You would not have called me the average girl then, I was a far cry from her. Inside I felt so pale and raging hot in turns; I felt insignificant and raged against it.

Only now I've grown into feeling special and loved; and  you dare call me ordinary? I laugh at that, laugh because you don't know a thing about me.

Time is too slow for those who wait,

Too swift for those who fear,

Too long for those who grieve,

Too short for those who rejoice.

But for those who love, time is eternity.

- Henry Van Dyke -

I spent years waiting, and waited in fear. I stood by the sink grieving, after rejoicing had fled. Now it is time to love, and I'm learning we don't lose when we love.

Plate's Edge

Sudden urge to write, but no time for it, there's not much time for much else besides getting through uni life each day. Not that it's an unhappy thing; on the contrary, I genuinely still find joy in my current time and place; it's just that I don't have those beautiful long spaces of time for indulging in a good read or a write anymore. When's the last time I finished a book proper? Ages ago, it seems. As for writing, all I have now are the itsy bits of print which show up in my mind's eye, and I catch them, jot them down, like crumbs in the space of time between plate's edge and sinkhole. They are snatches of emotion, enough to get me by, a mediocre subset of the whole I'm missing out on.

Sometimes the places look still as they did the day you showed me around, and it brings a smile to my lips.

Like they're already gone despite still breathing in their bodies

Tomorrow I'll wake up and I will be sane.

Started running today and I love it. Gotta add sneakers to my December shopping list, 'cause I foresee these running shoes getting soiled steadily.

*Sigh* Has it really been just over a month since I dressed up for a jaunt? No regrets arriving with little more than a single suitcase and backpack, but I do miss wearing impractically pretty clothes.

Without A Heart

Why is it that once you start crying it is so hard to stop?

And I'm not even crying for the usual reasons one would expect of a girl leaving home; I weep out of old wounds made fresh, weep for the love I never knew I was supposed to have.

Excited I was, bright-eyed and ready to make a new life in a new land - but now I am even glad. I need room to grow, and this space is but a cage over my wings.

It is a trap: this home I have dreamed in for all of my life, this house I have served from the days my broom was actually for stirring cauldrons, this pressure chamber I have shared with her for ten years. And though I've known for some time that I have to go, it pains me to think I'm leaving her behind in this trap.
  

She looked on without a heart, as I wept from mine.

An Equidistant Nameless Sphere Away

Written 3rd August 2010

The old feeling enveloped me; the one of staying motionless and just looking back, nostalgia. I couldn't leave the outside, the whir of wheels and spur-of-the-moment directions called out of the child figures now only visible to me. Once I crossed the line of meeting, I couldn't turn back. Onward, my heart tugged, forward - into memories far older than those I try to restrain now. Immersed myself. The colours, not so close to the ground now - patchy black, with stabs of green; white streaks and smatterings of brown. This is where I grew up. Here in Cats' Alley. I met one of them after fifteen paces; it stared at me with familiar yellow eyes. The same tension, the same pause. I seized the moment and then went on. I liked the view from closer to the ground. Things seemed more real and existent then; not an equidistant nameless sphere away. Crunch, crunch beneath my feet; it used to fill my ears with more exuberance, contending with the wind as I raced my way to the next junction. Stopped, stood.
From this portal I turned to see how far I'd come.
My eyes flew to the space where green was in mid-convo with blue, both resting on the edge of a blackened runway. Now all the houses look the same, though on the way up each exuded personality - the same feelings as I passed the same shaded yards, the same sense of obstruction as I barely turn my head; I knew them all. Then I see you braking to a stop at the end of that runway; I hear the signal we agreed upon and steady myself for the descent. Without thought I switch the right pedal up - and push, on left. Everything hurtling rooftops converging voices scents sounds, all sliding past - swerve to the right, been wondering when that metal sheet would reappear - grip for a screech and the cats break up their conference; once more I push and my hair whips my face, my eyes sting and water but nothing stops me 'cause I know I'm returning to you.
You who wait there a little past the meeting line. I cross the threshold and go back to only holding dreams.

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.

Rev

Feeling achey all over, blue, and slightly fatigued.

A party period?
So not sexy.



I've tried to find a way around it,
tested to see if it would ring any less true, but

I know I cannot be happy being a scorer of mediocre grades.

Yes, I've outgrown the rigid Asian mentality of straight-A's defining my worth,
have shed most of the inhibition which once cloaked me in what the public called aloofness,
have gained also a greater measure of belief in pursuing my ideals
- even if it means going it alone.


I know what I want now.

And I won't let this happen again.

A Quietude In Passing

Another one gone, this same year.


There will be
the walking through space
wrestling belief that something will happen with the next step you take
something that will bring him back, closer to you
or you to him
whichever
anything to lessen the pain

the smelling of linens as you fold them away
preserving the all you felt for him
and he for you
before separation snatched him from your safe harbour
the inward strain of ears
to remember his voice
anything that used to be.


Of fathers and husbands
Every reminder that tells them he is no longer here, every glance that shows them the void he would otherwise now occupy, I know it,

I know it because I've been through a shade of it - once like a clouded daybreak, once again like a rainstorm that surges back and forth.

But these are living people I speak of. Theirs are not.

So how much more would their heart ache, to the very heartseams which I yet know not of - and pray it remain so for long enough a time.

Love is a frightening glory, as great and comforting as it is devastating. It can give you the world the very same time it can take it all away, because the moment you gain something, it's yours to lose.

* Title verb refers to the act of passing away, as well as the walking action of mourners paying last respects. And for this author, a reflective passing of thoughts.

Around The Corner

Elsewhere, the night air would be sweet.

Here, it is too, but only because it is scentless. Void of power to move me through the sense most evocative of memories.

Tonight I escape the captivity of scents which accompany stale textbooks, new paper, perfumed cards, corroding metal; no smell of black ink, oversized jackets, rose shampoos and apricot scrubs.

Some part of me wonders at my approval of this emptiness; why does it not alarm? why not overwhelm like the sense of loss it could represent?,

I think as I breathe in the clean scent of a hope without you.

After all that's happened, I'm living with the people in my mind - once again faceless, nameless; figures waiting to be brought to life, just like what happened
that day around the corner.

Out There

Step in time, love, step in time,
live inside the morning

- Susan Stewart -




First time in ages I've missed a whole month of blogging. There's been no time, and life after CAL is about to begin - I'm counting down the days on my fingers (and toes).

Amidst the hard work and days moving both fast and slow,
my perspective and viewpoint have undergone shifts;
some come in surges, others in gentle undertones which strengthen as life's events dictate conviction.

I'm on a learning streak, finding it in me to embrace life for its subtle joys, tantalising possibilities, and less subtle - but no less precious - growing pains.
Again I say, to embrace life for these, and not despite these.


Here's to living bigger, undiminished.
To the people I love, we've got a masterpiece to make of our lives.

"Fine Like Buteeeeeeeeeerr"

All-effective remedy for one SwirlDancer:



Heaps of sunshine.



Of course, ice-cream and crackers wouldn't hurt either.

Picture above shows poundcake and peach compote, yumm.




There is an airy feeling, a lightness inside me. I've been writing loads, reading regretfully little, worrying occasionally and picking myself up - repeatedly.
With so many things on the agenda, the bright-eyed planner in me sometimes - but rarely - fears there may not be enough time to achieve them all. But it gives meaning and flavour to an otherwise plain existence as man.



To be just man, without plans, without dreams, is unthinkable. And here lies the rub; a dreamer may be one who floats with her head in the clouds, a dreamer may also likely be the one who falls hardest when the bubble is burst from beneath her dreaming form; she hurtles through space, clutches at time, and lands on leaves of brittle stem in the glen below. Her homeland.
Yes, I have been disappointed time and time again, not just as man, but as dreamer. Despite the sidelong glances ever present from Risk, I don't suppose this part of me will change; bruises heal slow in this fragile flesh, but I am not afraid.



Trials ended for me yesterday, then it was straight out after dinner for some downtime with my VP. I'm so glad she waited for me; Step Up 3 came out a loong time ago in dance movie time!
We hurried from work, from home, and settled in place long before the lights were dimmed for 3D action - meaning I did not, contrary to usual practice, go in late for the movie. Eheh.
I'm still thinking about how, when I left the theatre, no words would come to my tongue to describe what I'd just seen. "Awesome" was too weak a word. This is a movie that lived up to expectations; stunning choreography throughout, sicK breaking; the first qualifying rounds I especially favoured for its raw, fierce energy.
In a word with best fit, it was DOPE.




Legacy Perez, my muse for his inspirational brand of breaking.


No conventional ballet-meets-street-dance routines here; this was entirely off the hook with moves so fresh and gritty I could barely blink for fear of missing a step. Then there was the effortlessly lighthearted Broadway-styled number between Moose and Camille; it turned my mouthends up and even let loose an unsuppressed giggle or two. Charming to a fault. Tango too was used to great effect and managed to look classy instead of the usual borderline tacky.



Accent move before movie's finale choreography


Another plus point was the storyline, which evidently had received more attention this time round - thank goodness. Instead of being a mundane vehicle to get us from danceclub to the showdown, this one made a brave attempt at portraying its male protagonist as something more than just a devoted dancer.
I should stop now. But not before saying, the whole sense of family in the movie... reminded me immensely of the peeps over at Subang! ^ ^

Drove over to Sunway Giza and chilled awhile more before parting, each with thoughts enough to keep her up for hours still. In Lienn I've found a fellow dreamer; one who made me realise I'm not victim to the brittle stems that await our kind when the rainbow gloss vanishes; one who showed me I'm stronger even than I think.