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.

The Pain We Cause.

If we were to feel all the pain

We inflicted on others

Would we walk around

Eyes on the ground

Hearts set in stone

Afraid of the smallest contact

Fearing the possibility

Of that pain?

To..

She preaches the code
Like it is the new holy book
She shakes her head
Slightest violations serious misdemeanours
But like all holy men
She doesn't see
How she straddles the code
And abuse the loopholes
Laughing her guilt off
A hidden knife
Stab.
Back.

Desire: Dream.

I wrote this few months ago and let it rest in my notepad app because ... at that time it felt too personal. It slipped my mind till last night and when I read it, I no longer felt the yearning in the following story.  I do hope you will enjoy this. 


I dreamed that you were waiting for me. You were leaning against a red brick wall, spirals of smoke escaping from your lips. Upon seeing me, you stubbed the cigarette against the wall, adding another scorched mark before sliding those hands into deep pockets of your coat.

The air was cold but when you slowly smiled that all consuming smile I felt a warmth tingling in my toes. My knees weakened and it took all of my self respect to not fall into your arms.

My name dripped from your mouth and yours was like my very last breath. Our feet touched each other as I stare up into your eyes. Fire licked at the air between our bodies, tempting every senses to be fulfilled.

Those long, nicotine stained fingers carressed my cheek as your eyes searched my face. They saw the longing, the trembling of my lips, the fear.

Your voice, as deep and sinful as melted dark chocolate mixed in a tall glass of iced blended coffee.  You swayed me with the tone. You dazzled me with a chuckle. You repeated the question.

"What do you want?"

I want the world. I want to sit on the Spanish Steps at sunset on my birthday. I want secondhand smoking. I want sinfully delicious acts whispered in secret. I want everything and it all flashed in front of my eyes.

You read my thoughts and laughed, deep in your chest. And asked me for the third time.

"What do you want?"

Trembled.

I knew what I wanted.

"I want to get to know you. Get deep under your skin and feel every hum. I want to see you lose control of your temper. I want to watch glee fill your limbs and sadness drips down your cheeks. I want to see you as a mere human."

"Why?"

"If I dream of you after all that, it won't be some fool's longing."

And I could stop sighing your name into my palm and wishing your face upon every forsaken star. Perhaps, with all of the luck in the world I would stop trembling at the faintest memory of you.

I woke with the nicotine breath of your name on my lips.

The Girl in The Mustard Yellow Scarf.

She has a scarf the colour fashion magazines call mustard yellow around her head. A pair of classic sunglasses covered the dark eyes. Adele sang about first love into her ears as she stood on a rough, grass grown pavement with her eyes on the approaching cars. None were the one she's waiting for.

A quick glance at the watch on her right wrist.

A soft silent sigh.

She swirled her head to the right, wondering if she should go buy some fresh mango slices from the nice lady at the roadside stall about 35 steps away.

She swirled her head to the left, for another look if the car is in sight.

It wasn't.

Mid swirl, she stopped. Her eyes locked at a spot. And her world turned black and white.

Time stopped for her.

And in the way life seems to work, the song seemed to play from around her. As if she's in a movie made by a fresh eyed romantic director.

In the world of black and white, she was of colour, the mustard yellow scarf as evidence.

In the world of black and white, she saw one car of colour. Parked at a spot she clearly remembered.

And in the way a romance movie sometimes work, her memory hit on a replay button.

She remembered the way her nerves were jumping around like beans in a pan. The smell of vanilla on her paisley patterned shawl. The way she stopped at one spot and looked to the left, and paused.

The angle of his raised hand. The tilt of his head. The way the sun shined against his sunglasses. The way his lips formed silently around her name.

The taste of hope in her mouth.

And with a rush of wind in her ears everytime went back to normal. There was no car there. No sight that makes her heart jumped into her mouth.

The song switched in her earphones. A stranger walked by, their bag clipping against her arm.

Her lips quirked up into a wistful smile but there was no trace of regret. As her ride approaches from afar, she gave one last look at that spot.

Her steps were positive and proud of herself as she walks away. There were no what-if for her.

Blue Checkered Boy.

Blue checkered boy of the elegant script,
Your shoulder imprinted briefly on mine.
With sleep haunting those droopy hooded eyes,
Wisps of coffee with every word,
I became entangled at every syllable,
Unaware of the mess that lay between.

Blue checkered boy of the jaded tenor,
The lines of your silhouette in the corner of my eye.
Fingertips stained with ink and nicotine,
Igniting flames and my imagination.
I am lured like the clueless firefly to a paragon of beauty,
The veil of a tormented soul.

Blue checkered boy of the languid movement,
The lazy curve of your smile sends a shiver
Down the length of my back.
Such ignorance of the power you hold,
Of the destruction that awaits
Any interest that may lie in you.

Anti Muse.

anti muse

something in that languidness

that kills the creativity

halts formation of words

distracts the heart

so i may only dream

of all the

hopeless longing desire

instead of writing it down.

Confession No. 61

I am smitten

I want to take a dip in your mind

Let myself sink into its deepness

Watch tiny bubbles of awe float

Let my perfume linger

Leave an imprint of my being

I want to tickle your mind

Make you feel as I am

I am smitten. 

A Moment of Not Caring.

My right foot continued to push down on the gas pedal. The stretch of road in front of me was straight and nearly empty, apart from that lone car about 100 metres.

My left hand gripped the gear stick a bit tighter as my other hand shifted the steering wheel a bit to the left. A little more pressure on the pedal.

Another shift.

I laughed to myself as I overtook the car.

My tummy was full of yummy sushi. I had two bags of books in the back. Sunglasses on. Face still tanned. I was a bit content. A bit happy. Forgetting things, for just that short moment.

I just had a day of loving myself. A day of making myself feel good.

An hour workout at the gym? Done.

Time spent showering and sitting in the steam room? Done.

So I decided to have a sushi lunch, all by myself. I sat, and took my time in choosing what I wanted from the revolving belt. I sipped on my cold green tea. I indulged on a plate of salmon wrapped around a ball of rice with a dollop of mayo on top.

It was so good, I'm sure my face had every bit of pleasure of it as the food practically melted in my mouth. After the first one, I was aware of the group of guys at the table opposite me was stealing side glances at me.

Okay. Its because of my gorgeousness.

I paid the bill, after one last bite, or seven.

I went to my favourite bookstore, and came out 7 books heavier. In my defense, I only paid for 3 of them, as one was a must have, and the other two came with a deal of Buy 1, Get 2 Free. Hence, 4 free books.

Bought a slice of Red Velvet for Mama.

Found myself with my foot pressing down on the gas pedal.

For that short minute, I was carefree. I no longer cared.

Confession No.60

It is the lingering thoughts of the road that could have happened that makes those lashes tremble under the weight of longing. 

Confession No.59

Sometimes

You're on auto pilot

Sometimes

Its the high end of emotions

Which comes before 

The curling up into a ball of depression

But most of the time

You pray wish and crave

For a distraction. 

I Have Been Away.

Explaination to come . 

Tuesday Thoughts.

Tuesday Thoughts.

Tuesday Thoughts.

Lone. Li. Ness.

Loneliness seeps between your bones

Curdles in your heart

Blankets your soul

Suffocating once ignorance

Has reached its usage limit.