Two Thousand Thirteen.

Two thousand thirteen. 

I wish to lay a bouquet of water lilies upon your tombstone. Write a beautiful eulogy that will bring tears to the attendants of your funeral. 

Thank you for the new chapters of my life. I am no longer a student, knee deep in complicated formulas. I am no longer that scared little girl, clinging on to the familiar. If I were to write all the chapters it would be cross genres. 

Thank you for the new relationships. Well, some died. Some grew. And some .. remained frozen in time. I learned that there is no reason to settle for less. To be more open in a friendship. To .. choose which facets of your personality to be shown. 

Thank you for the new self esteem. I have taken steps to improve it. I am more aware of the ways to improve myself. Learned that loving myself, comes first. For the man who does not himself, cannot value others. 

Thank you for the .. sadness. Those moments had taught me so much. 

Two thousand thirteen. 

I hope your successor shall carry on the efforts you made. Be a better year, in so many ways. I shall look back and think of you in fondness. 

Confession No.62

When you realise

Nine months later

That you're back at square one

270 days of

Fooling yourself 

That you have moved on. 

Super Quick Update.

I know the last few things I have posted have all been creative ish. So, in this super quick update, here is what I have been upto:

1. Started my 6 months on the job training at the bank. I am currently in Electronic Banking and been reading manuals since my first day last Monday. And oh, attending meetings. 

2. Wrote a script for a short skit for my soft skills class. Got some compliments for it. 

3. Skyped once with Mokesart. I know, finally. He then said I have an Asian American accent. 

4. Bought shoes. Shoes. Shoes. Shoes. 

5. Become that girl who goes to eat sushi on the weekend. Alone. 

6. Watched Catching Fire. Alone. Awesome. 

7. Wrote so many creative lil poems, some posted here, others are being locked up in my notebook. 

8. Went to this year's Big Bad Wolf Book Sale and bought 21 books. 

9. Talking about books .. I have finished my 97th book for this year. 3 more and I have to save up for that Kindle I promised myself.

Can You See Me?

Can you see me?

Can you see the dark blue of the pashmina around my head? The bright yellow of the bag resting against my hip contrasts against my black abaya. I am a figure leaning against the door of a train coach.

Can you see how my eyes move along the screen of my phone? The words of the e-book has captured me in its magic, despite being surrounded by strangers. It might be rush hour around me, but I'm in Nantucket with Helen and Lucas.

Can you see how my lips sometimes mouth the words to the song I'm listening to? I will lean my head back with eyes closed, softly humming the tune, and sometimes, I will let my mind wander to those hidden thoughts.

Can you see me as I crane my head to check what the next station is? How my nose wrinkles up slightly as my personal bubble is violated, again. The way my body moves slightly as I let out a yearn-filled sigh.

Can you?

Can you see me with me standing in front of you, your name written on my palms? Or will I forever remain at the furthest fringe of your attention?

I Can See You.

I can see you.

I can see you standing in one of those tiny art galleries near my office. In a red t-shirt and cargo shorts. The shadow of a beard, hair curling at the edges with the nicotine scent of your vice. 

I can see you shifting your weight onto your right leg as you look at the paintings in wonder. Interest gleams in those eyes when you see something you like.  You pick it up, those long fingers carefully tracing the edges of colours. 

I can see you turning around to ask the gallery owner if there is more like this. In places like this, you know there will be about 5 different versions of a scene. Your lips break into a wide smile, showing those shiny pearls as the man takes out the paintings. 

I can see you holding yourself back from gathering up the whole collection and running out the door. Your fingers curl into your palms as you lean forward, those eyes taking in every single detail that makes one painting different from the others. 

I can see you smile, nod and say something to the owner. 

I can see you turning to look over your shoulder at me, and ask :

"Do you think this will look good in our bedroom. "

I can.

I can only see you in my mind's eye as I sit at my desk. Only imagining what would never be.