hey guys! it's been some time since i blogged huh. i'm still overseas now [in india, as you would've probably guessed] and i'm having fun learning to drive a motorcycle and playing nfs carbon. oops looks like i can't reply to the tags now [i tagged before blogging] 'cos everyone else wants the com. i'm at a net centre now by the way. thanks to everyone who tagged, and i promise i'll reply as soon as i can! have a happy holiday [or what's left of it] and cya next year!

P.S. happy belated birthday to prema [though you probably won't come here]! and advance birthday wishes to diane!

P.P.S. sorry to those whose birthdays i missed out!

Gold ink on black paper

The VIP means a lot to me. The people who made these two years so enjoyable are people i'll never forget. Yesterday, when i looked inside the bag we got at prom, i was devastated to realise i forgot to ask for autographs. I want the autographs, but not because i'm afraid i'll forget you. Like i said, forgetting is impossible. Nor do i want them because i want to know what people think of me. The reason for my wanting autographs is so that someday, when things have changed, if i find i am surrounded by difficulties, if i feel like giving up, i can look into that little black notebook of autographs. I'll look into that book, and i'll remind myself that there are people who have touched my life in ways i can't explain, and this one part of my life is enough to see me through everything else. I'll look into that book, and i'll realise that i can fall back on something other than memories. Memories are addled by a desperate mind, and i want my memories to be kept pure. Autographs are more solid, i can depend on them and keep my memories untainted.

But i forgot to get my autographs. Selfish though the reasons may be, i wish i hadn't forgotten.

Don't be surprised then, if someday i lose my morale and will.

I don't want to be the only viper in class next year. I doubt i can live up to the expectations.

A velvet ribbon for the finishing touch

I postponed my departure day to friday, cos today [wednesday] would've been too rushed, and i haven't finished packing.

Velvet was a blast! I mean, seriously. Our juniors deserve more thanks than they're getting.
I didn't get to take a picture of our prom King and Queen together! In fact, i didn't take a picture of Nazri at all. Subra, if you're reading this, remember what you've to do! haha.
We didn't take a class photo! shucks.
Pearlyn and i decided we would be potatosack-not partners.

P.S., pls send me the prom pics i took with you guys to jaunt.of.january@gmail.com thanks!
__________________________________________________________

Mia and Sneha, your poems are on the way! i'll email them to you from overseas if i can't finish them in Singapore. Unless you don't mind if i post them. =]

you'll never know what hit you

[don't say we have come now to the end.]

looks like i won't have time to post properly. i'm going overseas the day after Velvet and i won't be back till the end of the year. so have a happy holiday, y'all. i'll try to post from there but i doubt i'll be able to.

till next year then.

should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind? should auld acquaintaince be forget and auld lang syne?

does anyone realise the disadvantages of living close to school? i'll post about it sometime.

i've got mcfly's 'star girl' stuck in my head.

You'll never be gone, as long as I remember you.

How much do I know of you? Enough to write four lines?

Amanda likes purple things.
I hear it when her hp rings.
This volleyballer is my height,
When she's captain our team's all right!

Aaron refuses to be called a boy.
Diva oozes but can never annoy!
Macbeth is easy for this Queen
who lords over all that can be seen.

Audrey really loves Miko, her cat.
She is deluded, thinks she's fat.
Pineapple tarts can cheer her up,
She's a dear, really, if she opens up.

Beatrice is one multi-talented girl.
A percussionist who studies real well.
And makes lovely jewellery too,
Who would noir be but for you?

Cheryl is smart, she thinks really fast,
And can tangle you up in your own past!
She's really interesting, and as all can see,
She's way caught up in Grey's Anatomy.

Daniel, always every lady's man,
Holds the door open whenever he can.
It's really funny, the things he's said,
He laughs weirdly for things best unsaid!

Desmond loves to play the guitar,
He's the most frequent blogger, by far.
He is very generous in giving out songs,
And isn't afraid to admit his wrongs.

Diane, a girl who loves soft toys,
She has a well-accented voice.
The youngest in the school last year
Is this year's bowling captain, no fear!

Dhevy, a small girl who truly believes
That she can help to save the trees.
She's right! And her voice is sweet.
She writes stories that others can't beat.

Du Chen is girl who smiles often,
She can run fast, this information,
Is not known by many, and you,
May not know she plays the flute too!

Eileen is a girl who's far from a cliche,
Plays the piano, ice-skated for a day!
She can sing too, and wait till you hear
Her sound advice, which will erase fear.

Eugene, the class's most lame joker,
Is also of the school band a member.
Watch out if he's headed your way,
Hard-core mugging will blow you away!

Ganesh has dreams he will achieve,
Ambitions in which he can believe.
This determined guy can't be put down,
If he were a pirate, he'd be a good'un.

Henry, who's awake really early ,
with adrenaline enough to study!
He loves the songs of National Day.
And has trouble staying awake in LA.

Joel, it seems, can never be mad,
No matter what he is never sad.
People steal his phone when bored,
And he uses a wireless keyboard.

Jonathan, the fair-faced one,
Can cycle to school just for fun.
He's a fencer, so watch the stakes,
It's him, if the class vase breaks!

Olivia, the class's own vocalist,
Has lost three G2 pens, to list.
Orange & green, a perfect match,
Dreads ballgames, she can't catch!

Pearlyn, the jamba juice partner,
Selects us the wierdest flavour!
She's tough when it comes to defence,
She can't squat (Is that an offence?).

Ser En's there if you ever need tissue,
For the queer she raises many an issue.
This frencher is musically inclined,
And she is a fan of Rain, you'll find.

Shakura's a sizzlin hip-hop dancer,
Who does gymnastics with her sister.
She's always expected a little late!
But if she runs, one's left at the gate.

Shao Sheng, almost another CT rep,
He reads the papers and does his prep.
At high speeds his tongue can wag.
What came of his big billabong bag?

Subra, who enjoys playing soccer,
Be it in the field or before a teacher.
He doesn't always reply to sms-es,
But always helps known & new faces.

Thana, who's absolutely comical,
Also can be[of French]very cynical.
But he can teach German very well,
And turns boring classes pell-mell.

Wilbur gives proper names Capitals.
Makes sick jokes during definite integrals.
This sailor is an asset to every team,
But beware of his appetite extreme!

Xu Duo, only efficient librarian in IP.
A patriot who's as friendly as can be.
She is the chairman of horticulture,
And never forgets her own culture.

Yi Xiang is so "refreshingly childish".
Outraged, his mouth drops like a fish.
He bought Paris Hilton's newest,
And he dances, he says, the sexiest.

Zhao Chen, sporty, helpful and wise.
Is top in class for literature EOYs.
He is very friendly and fun too,
So go approach him if you're rue.

Zhu Li, gentle lady fair of face,
She closely analyses each case.
Uses a Chinese version of MSN,
And has a unique sense of fashion.

Whew. Managed it. Some are kinda stretched though. And some of the rhymes are forced. Sorry. I realise that I hardly know anything about some people, which is very sad after two years. But i'm not blaming any of you yea? =] You guys have been a great bunch to people to have in class! haha loves.

P.S. for readers of this post who aren't from my class, tell me if u want one and i'll write another one for you okay? =]

P.P.S. if any one of you i've written about has strong objections to what i've said, feel free to voice them. =)

Break Away

Red red lines across your back
Deepen with every stroke of whip.
Yet you lay out from that sack
Brick after brick without a tip.

Hark, you tired worker,
As you these roads pave.
Anyone can be Master,
If someone will be slave.

Rebellion is a dangerous phrase
But you, you need not fear.
Your oppressor will have to race
Away, it's his time to tear.

So hark, oh dim worker,
As you these roads pave,
No one can be Master,
If no one will be slave.

The boys I see

The white lines on the road are whizzing past. I keep rhythm with my feet. Tap tap tap, as each line passes. I stare out the window, as I always do, but the lines are getting shorter and we're moving faster. I start to miss some of the lines.

Then we stop.

I stop tapping. My feet are parallel to long white line on the road. Let them refill at this stripe, in case I miss more along the way. Someone is walking towards the seat. He pauses for a second, then sits down beside me. I don't take my eyes off the road.

We start moving again. Tap tap, goes my head. The person beside me wears a brown pant. I picture the rest of the bus without even looking. There's a group of boys who just entered. They're very noisy, and they cuss a lot. They don't seem to mind. I don't really mind either, 'cos my mind's fixed on other things. Like picturing the surroundings. Or translating the song in my head to French. I look around with my ears, and I see voices and the music of someone's blaring MP3 player. Not that I mind. I like music. And I'm still tapping.

The person beside me takes out a stack of papers. He looks like he could be from a University, judging by the rustle of papers.

I need my eyes now. They unstick themselves from the road and from my past memories, and i glance at his papers. But my feet keep tapping.

I like his handwriting very much. He has notes, written out on an unruled sheet of paper. He writes very neatly, in black, and there are yellow highlights. My eyes are fixed on his paper. I can't read the words, but I can read the writing. He's holding a pen now, and adds on to that sheet of paper. He writes very smoothly, like it's his natural instinct. His hand moves without shaking, and words appear. His skin is auburn, like he's been in the sun a lot.

He props his leg up against the seat in front. I go back to my window, 'cos he's stopped writing. I like it when the bus goes over a bump. I like to feel my stomach jump. I decide to inspect the bus more. The group of boys haven't stopped talking. One of them is talking about how he told his father he's going to his mother's office, when in fact the whole group is going to someplace else. They're innocent still, these boys, no matter how much they cuss. They get off when the MRT line comes into view.

I wish the person beside me would start writing again. He soon gets off, though. I look at his back view. It says SRJC SOCCER on his jersey.

That evening, I'm walking towards Bishan Interchange with the others. There's a group of older boys sitting at the fast-food outlet. "Bye," they call. I wonder who they are, so I look up. They must be in their early twenties. No one I know. "Bye" they say again, so we ignore them and walk away, towards the Interchange, away from their invitations of ice-cream.

As I take the bus home, I wonder why they said goodbye. And I continue tapping my feet. I won't lose the rhythm, no matter how much I think about the different boys I see.

Red Soul

Excuse me ma'am, have you realised
How uglily this red pen sliced
My poor paper right down the middle
And added a circle, what is this riddle?

It went over my neat handwriting
And now I can hardly read a thing
Of what I wrote, oh who did this?
Two hours' sleep I chose to miss!

Perhaps this red pen can slice
Not just my paper, but my vice.

To the Paradox

all words point at the one
who took away all the fun.
all letters are acknowledging
the one who left nothing.

oh how these sentences lie.
on top of each other, so white.

all this and more, to the one who broods alone.

A lifetime of pourquoi pas.

Has this life been reduced to what I am now? This disgusting mechanism, like the fish [of gollum's riddle], never thirsty, always drinking, clad in mail, never clinking. This perfect uniformity, monotony, with the list of things to worry about increasing twice as much as the information entering my head. This hypocritical life, where I'm willing to spend a whole evening helping you run, but where I refuse to help myself stand. Consider the facts, you're already reaching end game, while I'm still considering my opening move.

This life has been reduced to black and whites. The keyboard I mechanically type on, the notes I mechanically read, violin strings I play on from memory, this keyboard with the black and white keys. This music, it's controlling me, programming the robot I am, until all I can say when I speak are lyrics.

And all my words point at you, because you taught me these songs I sing from memory, because they're all that I can remember.

Them and you.

To the War-Torn

Do we really need all this
Warmongering?
Do we even understand what we're doing, or why we do what we do?
Have we become so full of vengeance
That getting even is what we live to do
Without knowing when or why we should
Stop?
This foolishness is getting out of hand
And no one to stop it all
'Cause we're too caught up
In the power
Of being on top.

To the Guilty

Seven in the morning, people are running about
To wake me it takes less then one high shout
From the frenzied sibling who has just spotted
IT crawling under the pile of papers just sorted.

Enter Father, with spray in hand: "Where is it?"
"Hurry, do, for you're going to be late!" HIT!
The new spray that should kill within a second
Is taking much longer to find than we'd reckoned.

"Oh no Sir, I was late to University, not of my doing,
But due to the untimely and unexpected arriving
Of IT!" And then it seems to Sir that without fail,
IT's appearance is after two days' notice by mail.

Exeunt IT, and with it all order. With papers flying
And all sanity flying with them, Father with fervour
Roots out IT from the depths of last year's articles
Enter Mother, Broom in hand:"For the little particles!"

As I groggily drag myself out the room three voices
Warn me not to step on IT, [that's one of my choices
When I've just gotten up and don't really care
About what's on the ground or what's in my hair.]

Within minutes, everyone's left, for Uni, for work
With instructions not to waste time or to shirk
Which muddle me even more, so I'm confused
About IT being lost late hungry and ill-used.

After a bath my face is the epitome of rue
As I find there's not just one of IT but two!
Sighing I observe them with hardly a thrill
One's dead but the other is wobbling still.

As I delicately sweep the soul-departed shell away,
I realise with disgust the other's headed my way!
Or rather, to my own unkempt wild room
With nooks and crannies reached by no broom.

Barricading the doorway with this handy tool
I distract the stumbling creature under the stool
But IT collapses, i think it's had enough
I admit, in my cluttered house, life's tough

For a being such as IT, which has fallen on it's back
And flounders, trying to upright itself without knack
For the poor thing is dazed from previous contact
With the spray mentioned at the start of this act.

I wait, hoping IT will pass away of it's own accord
But this one's a fighter, and time loss I can't afford.
Bracing my wits and hoping there won't be a fray,
I pluck up my courage and pick up the spray.

Just to let you know (yes you) that the following is the start of a series that refers to more than one person (yes not just you).

To the Wronged

One by one, these hateful words
Lashing clawing biting like birds
At you, in my moment of frustation
Feeding, breeding a conflagration.

A little foresight, had I had that virtue
Would have told me I'll be hurt too
The words I can't believe I spoke
Fuel a fire that licks the one to stoke.

It's growing, glowing, this huge furnace
And it isn't one that I can try to harness
None can calm this self-bred beast save you,
Will you do so ere I am consumed through?

Though, as a late-arriving afterthought
Wouldn't everything for which you fought;
Wouldn't the bleak burnt land in between
Be worse than what is now there to be seen?

Leave this all-consuming fire be,
Let its warm waves wash over me.
Let me die in the hope that maybe
I'm not as bad as I make myself out to be.

cry, dear deluded heart, not from nostalgia, but from shame.

Death of the Subconscious

Riding, riding along this foamy wave,
With dreams and hope my way to pave.
(Round and round this same dark cave.)

Whizzing, whirling on this geared bike,
With dreams and hope to ease the hike.
(Racing and racing on this same spike.)

No road's strong that's built in the mind,
No such road will I ever find.
(Save those of the collapsible kind.)

Searching not for the right foundation,
But the right worker and right station.
(All you create will collapse an-) Begone!
You've had enough attention.

Dilution/Dilation

Colours, many a hue and shade;
Truth, so many forms that fade.
What is the truth in colour?
These eyes are ever-searching.

I Beg to Dream

I dreamt of you last night. It was really strange, seeing you after so long. I don't know how I felt when I woke up, glad or sad. Both, I guess. It's a pity I don't have the time to think about it anymore. Oh you'll understand well enough. You're an interesting person, and I'd like to get to know you better. If only we had "world enough, and time"!

Maniacal

'What will your obituary say?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Faces in the Foam

It's in [y]our eyes. It's in [y]our smile.
Words that sound strangely familiar, I've said them so many times before.
Like waves that dash time and time again on the rock wall.

I often wonder, though; everything has a beginning. So when, how and where did this start? We know it began with you. So that's out of the way, we can move on.

Oh running rivers,
Shores that rivers caress!
Oh waves that wipe down crumpled shores,
Why do I see faces in the foam?

Even rock walls crumble some day. Am I to reinforce it or demolish it?

No matter how much time passes, this rock wall will always miss the familiar feeling of waves on it. And continue to blame itself. As will I.

But try as hard as it may, this rock wall can't join the frolicking waves. Sadly it watches on, trying to push the waves away, trying not to hurt them and saving them from pain.

Secretly hoping the waves will never stop trying, and hoping someday they will understand.

and it's time for some acknowledgement, don't you think?

Leave me be

So close, that when you close your eyes, I fall asleep.

It's just been a day. Just a day. Just a wasted day. What I would give for the concentration and determination to finish my work.

I know I can do it. I know I can ace all my subjects. If, in the end, I don't do so, it means I didn't try hard enough. I don't want that situation to arise.

Leave me be, if you please. You're too distracting.

What a falsehood.

I'm way too distracted. And I can't help it.

And so Death takes us,
When we are uncertain still,
Looking back at broken toys on the floor,
Not fully reassured of better replacements tomorrow,
But going off to sleep anyway, eyelids almost overcome with sleep,
And wondering if we've experienced all there is to experience, when one is still
Alive.

crystal mind and magenta feelings

Don't usually do these but i owe Nandita this for a long long time.

Seven random facts about me:
1. I don't like sleeping.
2. I get restless and fidgety if i sit still for more than 10 mins.
3. I dream really really weird dreams when i sleep in a particular room in my house.
4. I sleep in that room as often as i can to get those weird dreams.
5. Like N., i adore the rain.
6. I learn French.
7. I'm teaching myself to play the keyboard.

Seven things that scare me[hmm this is tough]:
1. People who change drastically.
2. Becoming too detached. or attached.
3-7. I really don't know! sorry N.

Seven songs:
1. Blind - Lifehouse
2. Sweetness - Jimmy Eat World
3. Sugar We're Going Down - Fall Out Boy
4. Numb - Linkin Park
5. Gone - Kelly Clarkson
6. Believe - Yellowcard
7. I Want U - Savage Garden (all-time favorite)

Seven things I like(sorry N. if i seem to copy a lot of ur stuff. similar taste haha!) :
1. The rain. No, getting drenched in it. especially if it's cold.
2. My class.
3. Cedar Red Cross Youth
4. Music - all kinds
5. Poetry
6. Running along east coast.
7. Dreaming and dreaming all day (don't be deceived by attentive look).

Seven bad habits:
1. I procrastinate. a lot.
2. I don't like studying.
3. My room is always untidy.
4. I dream too much.
5. I waste lotsa time doing unnecessary stuff.
6. I'm not as dedicated as i should be, to anything.
7. -you tell me-

Seven victims:
-nil-


haha. so there you go, N. it's quite boring yea. oh well.

Short is the hour that's passed in jest.

How dreary is this lonely hour.
An hour that lasts a lifetime.
The shorter man is reaching to the next number,
Hurry, oh do hurry!

Perhaps the next hour will be better.
But it's all in a neverending circle, these numbers.
It's a trap, I can't get free,
Won't give up yet, no, not me.

So, stand up and challenge me.
Beat my equivocation if you can,
And attempt to beat my feeling.

To My Dear Sir

Sir, you're going way too fast,
Whirls tell me you've passed.
Sir, such a speedy recovery
Harms greatly my memory.

I can't remember how you were,
Remembering myself is harder.
Jolt my memory, if you please,
Sir, help unfold my mind's crease.

I cannot remember why you
Left. Tell me now, tell me true,
What grave mistake did I do?
You can't have forgotten too.

So tell me Sir, if you can,
Why did you suddenly ban
All connections, I now resort
To write to enter your fort.

Sir, I address you with respect,
And that means you're perfect.
Not universally, just to illiterate me
I'm hoping now you begin to see;

That, Sir, t'was never my fault,
I wasn't the one to make you halt.
T'was naught but your pride, Sir,
That made proud you even prouder.

If you'd realised that, Sir, perhaps
You wouldn't have faded like maps,
Useful for some time, after which
As blank pieces they the floor reach.

So, Sir, I urge you to reconsider,
No one but me is willing to shelter
One like you. So, lower the saddle stirrup,
Because, sir, you can fall from so high up.

Infinite Comprehension

I saunter into the garden,
Strange, I can't feel breeze.
What is this new cordon?
It makes the wind freeze.

I kneel by a new flower bed,
Strange, I can't smell sweet.
Should the roses be lovely red?
My eyes turn dark in conceit.

I look up into the willow tree,
Strange, I can't hear birdsong.
Yet the nightingale sings free,
Definitely something wrong.

I've forgotten the taste of fruit
Scarcely remember touch of root.
Oh why is everything now soot?
Strange, the boys can still hoot.

It's slowly beginning to dawn,
On slow-in-the-uptake me,
Life lingers still, won't be gone,
But Death has taken me.

Soul Confessions

Dear Asyle,

It's a whole new group of friends, love. You know, I've been following everything you tell me, so why do you cringe when I do what you tell me to? Mix with everyone, I did that just like you said I should. But you never told me I'd return to a cold heart and unforgiving face. Maybe then I'd never have talked to the rest. You know better than anyone else I'd rather have you than everyone else put together. Well, I've learnt my lesson, and I don't understand why you behave (or pretend I don't- It's impossible not to know when we are at such close quarters) the way you do, but then again, I don't mind. I never have. You know. You don't make sense without

Yours Truly,
Elysa

--------------------------
The mind and soul are like
Two words that rhyme.
Inseparable when united,
Once cleaved fade into time.

A mind without soul is a dry leaf - pretty still but useless.
A soul without mind is like light - So free, yet always lost to shadow.

May V14 be one unit, working, striving and winning together.

Sense in the whirl

What does this mean?

:::

What is this? A colon. What is :? :::
A colon: :
:::

-----------------------------------

It isn't a deaf ear to fear.
It's a ear deaf to fear.
Turn a deaf ear to the deaf ear to fear. It's not that to fear.
Fear not also a ear deaf to fear.
Fear instead a deaf ear, for you won't be able to hear their sweet voices again.
A ear deaf to fear is something to be proud of, it's a brave heart.
Please do not turn a deaf ear, though you wouldn't anyway, it's a deaf ear to fear that you fear. But shouldn't.

Silhouettes in the Sand

It's an empty stretch of sand.
Washed clean by foamy waves.
They leave behind a bleak land;
Just one thing the sea saves.

It's a darkening sky above
The Old Sun he is retiring.
Not entirely spent is his love,
Sends one last ray ere dying.

In the fading light of dusk
I see what they try to show;
Sky a void, Beach dry husk,
They knew what I don't know.

Or so I thought until I spied
What they died trying to save,
Footsteps, one pair, they tried
To keep as the Queen's Knave.

I follow them step by step,
They seem so familiar too.
Follow till I'm almost inept
To move the way they do.

When everything is done,
When all comes to an end,
Who will be there to run
With me across the bend?

Suddenly I see the source,
The path that led me there.
It's you, arms open of course
To take me, I don't care where.

You asked if I would go with you
But you led me to you instead.
I'd never dream of losing you,
The dawn is a promising red.

In the light of the newborn Sun
Two friends make a sacred vow.
Their long friendship thus begun
With waves about, to them bow.

The Foiler of Plans

It's the edge of a perilous cliff.
I kick pebbles, my back stiff.
The peregrine falcon's soaring,
It's power and pride drawing.

I have the same power now,
To fly, gravity need not allow.
For everything' s going to end,
What care I the type of end?

No one can try to stop me now
No one, not you, not you, how..
Ah, satisfying. Seconds away
From freedom, the last fray.

I'm going to fly once it snaps,
This last fray. Free from traps.
But no, not yet, there's the last
Trap I, no you, cunningly cast.

For I'm reminded of you,
When I look at that true
Specimen of freedom,
The falcon and his kingdom.

Do I blame you for painting
Yourself in that beautiful way
Or I, for so naively believing
Every single thing you say?

I thought none could stop me,
I was right. Your mere simile
Is going to make me step back.
Not willing to waste your knack.

I face the ruin behind me,
But this time I know, see,
Your beauty is a contagious one
And soon all the repair is done.

Weaknesses

[Not that I care too much. ]

Promise me your loyalty, friend, and I'll give you my life.

Live how you want to, not how others want you too, they say. Very well. I want a life of adventure. I want to go exploring, and climbing, and trekking, and diving, and flying, and bareback horseriding. I want to own a horse ranch in the countryside. With a house, and my very own stream and tree house. Way too fantastical, be more practical, they say. Who? Me. No, they.

Have you ever experienced the feeling of being so utterly happy, without knowing why? One of those moments enveloped me last year, at Tokyo Disneyland. I was in the treehouse of Tom Sawyer, with two of my best buddies. We were sitting down in house, and I suddenly felt elated. Maybe it was the music. Maybe it was the flowing water outside in the creek. Maybe it was because of my thoughts. Certainly, it was because of my friends. I could hardly pull myself away from the place. I was, am, in love with life.

What is my weakness? Oh, you know, child. At least, that's what you always tell me. Oh, I do know. What is it then? You.

So, I'm going to do what I should have long ago. Throw you out. No, not you, that. One weakness I can do without. But I know, you'll find your cunning way back in. But this time, you won't get the better of me.

I'm puting a padlock on this door. You'll be dead before a score.

Then, I'll be able to really live how I want, living for them. To see them smile. And laugh. And, unlike you (no, not you), they will be sincere. As always.

To whatever end.

It's a mystery, honey. Sit back and watch it unravel. Maybe eat something too, and you'll pass it around as usual. To those you're sitting with of course. And laugh, you're familiar with the procedure. And if you feel like crying halfway, don't be surprised if people like food, not wet shoulders. Maybe you'll remember, and return like nothing's happened. Let's hope the mystery has a happy ending then, shall we? You wouldn't be able to take a double shock, and nor would I, if you remember. If you remember.

Always, it's the silent one.

No place and no time can one pose, to match the beauty of a white white rose. It does not seek to be beautiful, but to make others beautiful by making defects in itself, and in doing so, shows its quality, the very highest. A torn petal, or a thorn too sharp, a bud that doesn't bloom. The red rose is much more favoured, it's almost always perfect and so, more popular. Oh, open your eyes to reality, won't you? The perfect is selfish, and the defected is pure. It's so much more than pure, it's selfless. There's a puddle of black ink dirtying the floor. The white rose on the plant above falls down onto the puddle. Slowly, it seeps up the ink, till there's nothing left, but a black rose, now being trodden on by people who admire the pretty mosaic.

On the Coach

These brown blinds are strange,
From long to short they range.
Framing white windows, they
Both protect and obscure, may.

Light catches on them and plays.
Many patterns they form, these rays.
I see this world in many lights,
Even during the long cold nights.

When the sun is up and about,
The shades give one other a clout.
Bunching together, so I can see,
Through a rainbow symphony.

I turn sharply to my right side,
The seat's empty, like after-tide.
I see you in the distance, doing
Something you'd now be denying.

Music plays, their words ripple
Lightly, but they make me topple.
They are the words you thought,
The words you, not I, now forgot.

It's on the Coach, it seems, that
Everything happens: a little chat,
And maybe some pretence too.
Yes, always, pretence, that's true.

A year, to the date, and I fear,
We will forget all of yesteryear.
It's like I'm clutching at a dream
I wake up from, now just a stream

Of the real thing. A little glitch
Which I forget before I can stitch
The whole picture together as one,
Too late it's gone, now watch it run.

On and on till it's out of sight
And I can't follow, left or right?
The blinds are coming down again
They help to shield from the rain.

The rain that is squeezed right out
From the white clouds under, a bout
Of wet weather. When they open,
All is well, light once again seeps in.

These blinds of mine, shall I decide
To take them down so I can see a side
I've never been able to with them
Let down, I'll see more than it's hem.

Maybe then I'll understand why
They do what they do, I can try
To understand what goes on when
Blinds are let down, closing the den.

I'll be able to see the whole coach,
All the people and their approach
To dealing with troublesome blinds
Both involuntary and spoilt kinds.

It's a moving coach, it won't stop
To let us adjust blinds that hop
Up and down, so I'll have to learn
To hold them up till we make a turn.

We will slow down then, and I can
Ask you for advise on how to man
These blinds, till then my time I'll bide
And hope I'll see you in the seat beside.

Hey, Goodbye.

Dear pal, goodbye.
You are gone forever.
Gently still I sigh,
Stop you, can I never?

First an ephemeral glimpse,
Then that sudden smile.
You were like one who limps,
Slowly yet but mile on mile.

All this while I kept my peace,
Knowing that anything I said
Would destroy all of your ease
And that happy life you lead.

Maybe that was my mistake,
Maybe you were wronged.
I am afraid I cannot take
Back, how much I had longed.

There is nothing I've left to say
But Goodbye, may your wisdom
See you on your perilous way
To your very own Kingdom.

Alone or surrounded,
I cannot now know.
It's time you wielded
A hand by which you glow.

And may that glow see you through
A life about which I have no clue.

Tired.

Friday was a full-day off.

I had to stay in school till eleven to sort out cricket stuff. I've yet to arrange the trainings for the holidays. And we need to train till we drop for the carnival on the 17th of June. And we need to prepare for the friendly against SAJC on the 14th. I really hope we can beat them. And come within the top three during the carnival.

After meeting Mr Harris and Mrs Chan, i left school to join Shakura, Dhevy and Eileen at Whatever. That's a tiny chain of shops near outram mrt that include a restaurant, bookstore and yoga class among others. I reached there just before 12noon and we stayed there till about 1.30pm, eating and looking through the horoscope books. Those were quite interesting. =)

I had to meet Prems (this spelling on purpose) at Pasir Ris at 3. Sha Dhevy and Eileen had to go home and pack. So i decided to get off at yishun mrt and have a look around eastpoint. I went straight for the sports shop and spent most of my time there. Nike bags are really nice. So are adidas shoes. At about 2.45, i left the place and took the mrt to pasir ris, and i met Prems and Sim on the same train! We got off at pasir ris and met Serena there as well =) Then we found out we were 'fashionably early' and that the chalet wasnt even booked yet. haha. so we were lounging about White Sands, where we ran into the chalet organisers. And we helped them buy stuff to eat. We were really early, and people started arriving only much later.

I found out some stuff, some interesting and some horrid.

1. The track person, Nigel, looks malay, learns chinese and has a tamil surname. haha.
2. Never never never tell others secret nicknames you have for some people. It can lead to A LOT of trouble.
3. Some people just don't know how to be tactful and mindful of what they say.
4. News, especially rumours(usually false) spread really really fast.
5. ICS isn't exactly slack. It can be quite fun. And happening.

Simran Prema and I left after some time. Friday was an eventful day. And Sim, your pants weren't in the least 'science-y', so its ok bout the fabric paint =)

Have a wonderful, safe trip, everyone! Happy Holidays!

Prevalence of P

This one's from Nandita (thanks!). She gave the letter 'P', and i've got to make a list of 10 things that start with this letter and say what they mean to me.

Here goes.

In no particular order.

1. Paper

There's something magical about a sheet of paper. For the empty variety, I always feel a sense of excitement, thinking of what this piece of paper is going to hold. Maybe a letter to a friend. Maybe biology notes. Maybe even an interesting conversation with a friend when we're supposed to be listening to a lecture/talk. A piece of paper can hold so much. For the written-on variety, it's a record of anything from my handwriting in Primary 3 to a note from a treasured friend. Paper is marvellous.

2. Pictures

Beautiful ones. A picture can be an eye. Or a group of friends. Or a soccer game. Or a sleeping baby. Pictures are to capture innocence. And they are extra special when they're old.

3. Poetry

Poetry can makle you laugh, reflect or sadden. Whatever type of poetry it is, it reaches beyond words and expression. Lovely.

4. Paths

It's those little by-lanes that i read about so much but have never seen, at least, never in real life, that seem the most interesting. Imagine the thrill of entering a natural path no one has entered before! Or a worn, overgrown path not trodden on for ages! Venturing into adventure, and maybe danger, is very exciting.

5. Purity

It's good to stay pure. Though i'm afraid no one can. Except little children. When you're pure, you're incapable of doing harm to anyone intentionally. But maybe it's a bit too idealistic.

6. Pepper

Just the right amounts of everything to make life good, including the troublesome pepper. Sneeze your way to victory.

7. Patches (thanks dw!)

Pathwork quilts: extremely different pieces of ragged cloth come together to form something timeless and diverse. I have different personalities, though they probably aren't visible. They aren't as seamless as i'd like them to be though, they get a bit too confusing at times.

8. Pine

Pine needles make the most lovely rustling noise. Not that i've heard them. I just imagine they'll be melodious. =) It's good to have an active imagination when you're stuck in a place quite void of pines.

9. Passages

Narrow passages. With no return? Perhaps. A life of no regret? Probably. Passages indicate progression and for some unexplainable reason, pain. And adventure of course. They may not be the most wonderful of things, just something a different part of me likes.

10. Pioneers

The very sound of the word gives me the shivers. Of excitement. To be a pioneer is the most interesting profession I could have. It's a pity countries have all already been discovered. Maybe I shall be an explorer of the Bermuda Triangle. It's a pity that people who claim to be pioneers supposedly aren't very nice. For further details, ask Pearlyn.

Be just one more

I want you to be.

Someone's first miracle.
Be someone's second sun.
Guide someone like a third eye.
Create someone a fourth life stage.
Help someone as much as a fifth limb.
Feel for someone, sharp as a sixth sense.
Give someone the happiness of seven runs.
Live for someone, beautiful as an eighth wonder.
Show someone the path to go, like a ninth direction.
Bear pain and hardship for someone, for ten long months.
Inspire someone to adventure, like a mystery eleventh planet.
Stand strong a support to someone, like a twelth player on the field.
And finally, give someone hope and goodwill, like a thirteenth constellation.

I want for you, as much as I want for me.

The Survivor

Different it is and unique too
But this story can't be true.
It is a story after all,
Maneouvered at my beck and call.

Yet when Winter uses icy fingers
To lull things to sleep it lingers.
Proudly raising high its head,
A sole soldier among the dead.

Abstract Apologies

How i wish i didn't have to see the pain and fatigue in your eyes. All of you. And especially you. I don't know why you bring misery upon yourself. It's like you're clinging to a small strain of hope, that frays and frays, till it snaps, and then you fall. And you look imploringly, and I don't know how to help you. Perhaps, i should have just remained aloof and distant from the start? But no. I would never have been able to gain your friendship. And your friendship is worth loads, even if it did last very short. Pick yourself up, my friend. And i'm sorry about my helplessness. I would explain it to you, but would you listen? And i'm scared of scarring you further. I used to talk to you quite often. And now, it's scarcely a smile. I would take the effort, but you are hurt too much to try anymore. Someday i'll tell you everything, and hopefully, you'll listen. And believe. Like you used to.

Cos some things change, and some things don't.

"Things change," you once said.
I nodded, that was what I'd read.
And that was what I believed, I'd
Have done so had you been dead.

And so I observed with interest,
And honestly tried my very best
To stop some from changing but you
Were true, unlike the swaying rest.

So much did I believe you, I forgot
To check myself, that, I had not.
And so, I realised all of a sudden
That I had, slowly, started to rot.

You told me things about change, but you
Had not warned me of what change can do.
So I floundered, trying to stay afloat, and
Seeing others change, I saw myself too.

What am I to do when I turn around
And find you've gone without a sound?
To my horror I realise you too have
Changed, and I am by myself bound.

Is it your hubris that till the end
Refused to let your words bend?
So much so you had to change,
And now I am left alone to mend.

Then I realise that for all your words,
No matter how people change in herds,
There are some things that, forever,
Fly away from change, as swift as birds.

Never-changing, ever-constant,
Never flickering, not for an instant.
Memories they are that never change,
It's them, not you, that's important.

Nothing but an Illusion

I like the feel of sunrays. Especially when i am in the countryside. Or imagining myself to be there. I'm in a field, it's a spring morning, and i'm on top of the world. Or imagining myself there. There's an apple tree loaded with the brightest fruits i've seen, because i planted the tree myself. I have a treehouse, but i'm not there right now. I'm lying in the field, and birds are singing. I look for shapes in the clouds, and i see lots of things. But mostly people. I see people in the clouds, people i know and people i once thought i knew.

I breathe deeply. I love the scent of fresh grass. There's a paddock in the next field, and my favorite stallion is there. He's a son of midnight and a daughter of wind, he's nature's child. And he whinnies softly, he enjoys spring mornings just as much as i do. His mane is thick and rich, and he has flighty hooves.

Horses were never meant to be tamed. My horse is a wild horse. No saddles for him. I can't say he's my horse then, can i?

I'm wondering, what is mine then? Can i claim to be the owner of anything at all? Possibly not. I see it all fall apart in an instant. Maybe i don't belong here. Maybe i was never meant to be here. Maybe i'm not supposed to be in a grassy field on a spring morning. Maybe i'm supposed to be on a cold, dark street in winter, a scrounging, filthy thing. Maybe i'm supposed to be in a war, fighting with bitter hatred, or maybe i'm supposed to be a maid in a mansion void of warmth and love.

Maybe, i was never meant to meet people i know now. Maybe i don't deserve the friends i have. And suddenly, i realise i don't deserve many things. How do i know then, that this is really where i'm supposed to be? How do i know this is what i'm supposed to be doing?

I don't think i can ever know for certain. But i do know that i could be much much worse of than i am now.

I'm in my sunny field, and now i'm clad in rags, on the street. Or imagining myself there.

Fading into Shadow, Falling onto Stone.

Hope is something I didn't lack.
Each day I relied on it like a back.

Isn't it strange, the way its always
So cruel, the things hope has to face?

So much threatens the only thing
On which I build each song I sing.

Diminishing each time you speak,
I try to save hopes that now reek
So much of abandonment and loss
Can't you realise you're the cause?
Of my losing my drive to become
Unafraid of words, which for some
Remains nothing great at all, but then
Again, that's because they're blind when
Given more than two phrases.
I cringed, and time now races.
Now I've gotta safeguard hope,
Gotta ignore you, no time to mope.

I left part of myself with you.

You are in the morning,
And I am in the evening.
You are the dawn,
I am the dusk.
You have just begun,
But I am about to end.

I was going through my Cedar yearbook yesterday. And it suddenly hit me real hard that I really miss those days. Just two years there is enough to make you miss them so much, the people, the place, my CCAs.

My Cedarian friends are simply wonderful. We've gone through so much together, and they're always there for me. We've gotten into trouble, we've had our fun times, and we've had bad times. But we were always together. When the seperation happened, i tried my very best to unite both groups as one, i really did. I guess things had gotten too bad by then. If any of you are reading this, do me favour, try improving the situation on my behalf. Please.

Then, my CCA. Uniformed groups are indescribable. Cedar Red Cross Youth is the best CCA i've ever been in and when i left Cedar, i left part of me behind with CRCY. It's all about unity, it's all about determinaton, team work, sticking together, standing up for each other, loyalty, team spirit, passion. And when all the pain finally pays of in the end, it's a wondrous feeling. It's when you realise what the CCA actually means. It's when you realise why you have to clean the recovery room till its spotless, why you have to have footdrill training for hours in the sun, why everything must run perfectly during camp.

Footdrill is one of the best things about a uniformed group because it all about uniformity, attention, unity, mutual understanding, helping each other, getting praised and punished together. It's a team effort, and when everyone puts their heart into it, it's a beautiful sight. During the footdrill competitions, at national level, whether your actually marching or cheering your school on, you feel the thrill, and that's when you know you will never be as happy in any other CCA. After watching the squad execute standard drills, on-the-spot drills and fancy drills, with their heads up and shoulders pulled back you feel so proud, and when they announce your school as the champion, there's..there's no where else i'd rather be.

I enjoyed TLDDS as well, but nothing beats CRCY. All the competitiveness from the the other uniformed groups and everything..I just cant get over not being part of it all anymore. The type of people you meet in Cedar are different from any other people. And I can never forget them.

That doesn't mean I don't like where I am now. 05V14 is the best class i've been in so far. But another day. This post is getting long.

We shall not be moved..
We are from Red Cross, we shall not be moved.
We are from Red Cross, we shall not be moved.
Like the trees that are planted by the waterside,
We shall not be moved.
Red Cross, Red Cross, all the way.
We like it here we love it here we've found ourselves a home.
A home, a home sweet home.

Try cheering that while doing hentak, and you'll understand what a Uniformed Group is about.

The call of my soul

There are some whom i recognise
By their faces, or pretty eyes.
They are the ones who pass by,
Without much more than goodbye.

Then there are those I identify
By a voice, a profile, they beautify
every place they're in, but they,
are ones to whom I have little to say.

Them they are, whom I connect
To smiles, laughter, in introspect.
I enjoy greatly their company,
They colour my life, in symphony.

The more precious ones I associate,
With serious talks, when I can relate,
Just what I think, and ever it seems,
They're always there to fill my dreams.

And few there are, whom I realise
Are far more worth than I surmise.
They're beautiful souls, works of art,
Forever, forever a part of my heart.

But you, whom I never dared
To look in the eye, I was scared,
To see you both come and go, so I do
Notice your arrival by your shoe.

For ever I saw it standing,
By mine, or on the landing.
Like it and hate it, I so do,
I recognise you by your shoe.

Looking back on everything that happened, she wonders if it's fair, fair to be forced to sacrifice a wonderful friendship. She wonders, and above her and around her, the storm rages. She is the eye, she is the centre, and surrounding her is a turmoil of thought.

Looking for an exit, she finds none. Trapped in her thoughts, she resigns herself to her fate.

And there she will stay, till he tells her it ain't her fault.

[ Not all "She"s or "I"s that i use in this blog refer to me =) ]

Autumn Confidences

The leaves fall, one by one.
Twirling, floating to the ground.
Until they form a big red heap,
Upon which you fitfully sleep.

The well-used window seat
Where i used to sit and gaze
At the place where sea and sky meet,
Now has me in a daze.

The leaves fall on your face,
And you reach to brush them away.
There's naught I can do but encase
What's left of a memory, each ray.

That seat is now dusty,
But i wipe it down.
And take my place, expertly,
Like a king and his crown.

And then, I look at the heap,
Watching as you flawlessly keep,
A straight face, but hard as you try,
I know what goes on behind the lie.

Gone are the days when i would run,
Out from that seat, to enjoy the fun.
Gone are the days when you would leap,
Up at once, my company to keep.

Hard as I deny, I know for sure,
That you and I can never tour,
Those memories again, without feeling
The gnawing pain of a permanant sealing.

All I can do is to hope against hope
That we will, once more, be able to rope
Our confidences in each other,
There can never be another.

i know your angry, but what would you have me do?

Lost

He was the smartest, by a mile,
The sharpest one you ever could find.
But just one moment, a moment, vile,
He shattered and lost his crystal mind.

He was the most articulate,
With a voice that challenged birds.
But for every single thing 'd relate,
He was lost for words.

He was a hard worker,
Who toiled through the night.
But across his path, just one faker,
He fell hard, lost the fight.

He lost his path, he lost his soul.
He lost his dream, he lost his spirit;
To the thief he thought made him whole.

the traitor.

the tesseract

a wrinkle in time.

She used to wonder if someday, she would forget all that has passed. She wondered if she would forget all the memories, all the pain, all the joy and all the fun. And if everything would pass in a whirl, a grey swirl, till all that is left is a void.

And then, she would smile to herself, a tiny, secret smile.

Blissfully living each day, each more beautiful than the last, like the ever-changing sunset that outdoes itself each dusk.

Knowing that all memories would stay fresh, new, crisp, and that those who made them possible, were the only ones who mattered.

And then she smiled again, and she didn't smile alone, with the wind on her back and the light on her face, she laughed into the dawn.



to sneha, the one who spurred me on: Thank You! =)