Keep A Peek

On a night like this, when everything is quiet when it shouldn´t be, I wonder if somewhere beyond the vast abyss there is a parallel universe where habitual chaos transcribes into tranquil lucidity. The traffic outside my window, the clicking of the mouse and the warmth of the laptop against my lap seem all too familiar and languid for a festive season like this. For the first time in many years I am staying in on a christmas day. The fully booked movie theatre resulted in some disguised blessings in the form of a hearty homecooked meal and some long overdue cuddles. There was once a time when I thought it criminal to be idle on a day like this, the wild and reckless debauchery were perhaps masked fear of loneliness, which on hindsight, never really curbed my hungry-soul syndrome. I am happy now, in a simple, bookish and perhaps even boring way. A friend just called from Spain with season greetings and a long-awaited good news, there is an abundant of warmth and love in my life, the shoulder next to me is steadfast and determined, he is twenty seven today and still looks at me the way he did seven years ago, the smell of scented candles and cakes and a smiling Elmo and a 1979 edition of brave new world, a pair of blue gloves and the seeds of unwavering friendship. The pendulum of sanguine melancholy is momentarily suspended on the upside of this roller-coaster ride, and christmas is suddenly more than just a jolly Ho Ho Ho.

When the contours of the last rapid movement settled into my subconscious, I suddenly realized I have been lying to myself all this while. I tried to trace back my steps, like what we learned in school whenever something is lost, but I never found that last piece of puzzle. I still do not understand what happened. I pulled out strands of glittery memories, but everything is fudged, everything is broken, everything is entwined within everything, and it will never go back to being the same again. How did I come so far? I tried holding on to the umbilical cord of our last valid existence, I nestled myself comfortably within the warm safety of ignorance, sucking greedily at the emotional opium. It’s all binary, he’d say. And I’d snigger. I like grey areas, they remind me of possibilities and excitement and indefiniteness and mischief. Ambiguity is like a half written thriller, I climax only at cliffhangers. And then all that is left is silence, and our remarkable ability of forgetting and moving on. But perhaps they are all meant to be like that. Like cheeseburger on a drive through. Like autumn leaves on the roof. Like 3am conversations. Like sex with a stranger. Like love at first sight. They are fleeting. And mythical. And we’re doomed. I can see myself like a mirror, the clarity is cold yet reassuring. And I might even learn the rules of one and zero.

Blogging

Someone once told me people who blog are consciously or subconsciously an exhibitionist. The need to write and share all (un)important details of your (in)significant life and thoughts with the world is, when you think of it, not so different from flashing strangers on the streets. I don’t disagree with this. But I realise that as time goes by, I care less about whether or not there are audiences. I care more of what I feel when I read back on what I wrote and I care about the evolution of thoughts, and the pictures just don’t speak a thousands words to me anymore.

I miss writing. I seek refuge in words which elude my eloquence and pride. Its a pity that I don’t do that as often anymore. Life got in the way. Or is it a phase shift?

Moving

I have moved 11 times in my life. Across 9 cities and 4 countries. And two weeks ago it was my 12th. There is something weird about moving. It is just one of those things in life that you don’t get better at the more you do it. Everytime I move I leave behind a part of me. I still remember the first ever house that I lived in, there was a big rambutan tree that housed the nests of millions of ants. And then there is the swing. Oh how I loved it, that was the beginning of my obsession with swings. I left my childhood in that house, I remember the view from my bed, it was of the back of my dad sitting behind his desk. And I remember the scent of lemon grass and steamed fish and the creak of the iron gate.

I got better at packing, but not at moving. Packing is mechanical, but moving is variable. There is a finality to the word that I can’t get over. I remember the broken guitar chords and slam dunk comic books that I left behind in that crowded living room in Setapak and the four people that I never met again, yes, thats it. The possible never that comes with moving, it unsettles me.

And now I am living in the heart of a big city. Geneva is enchanting in the summer, but I’ve heard about how people feel lonelier in big cities. But maybe that’s what I need?

China

The trip did me good. I was in the presence of wonderful people and food and atmosphere that despite the hazy air and stiffling crowd and traffic, I was happy. I won’t get all philosophical about how a vacation always makes you realise something about the world and yourself and the whole, y’know, soul searching thingamajig. But I was mildly depressed, wait. Scratch that. It irritates me how this word is so overly used to dramatize every little pitfalls (and even that is a dramatization. pfft) one faces. For comprehension’s sake, I was demotivated and was feeling a lil lost during the few weeks before I went to China. Nothing was bothering me in particular, besides those same old quarter life crisis dramas. Anyway I wasn’t on top of the world, and China did me good.

I needed to let loose, to be stripped bare of all niceties and to see that what was left wasn’t shallow. I needed to share and to see. I needed to learn and to feel. I needed adrenalin and change. I needed depth. I needed to find out something about myself that has been troubling me. Talking with different people was therapeutic and rewarding. I was immensely lucky to have been in the company of fun, considerate and interesting people. I came back recharged and felt like one of those ridiculous self help book character. Har har.

Its not the place, its the people. They always say. But China was the catalyst. 回忆是快乐的温床，我猜？

Wedding

I am about to become the bridesmaid for my best friends wedding in like, 3 weeks time. Lately she has been telling me some of the agony and frustration of a wedding preparation. Its kinda … scary.

When the time comes, I am gonna elope with my beloved. Screw all the ceremonial crap and money politics. Seriously, nothing cheapens Love more than money.

That being said, Irene my dear, I won’t become a runaway bridesmaid, in sickness and in health, I’m staying. For the cake.

Friendship

I have a very idealistic view on friendship. In this forever-friends-like utopia of mine, friendship is built on essentiality. There is no tug and push, no calculative game-play, no ego booster nor bolster, no dominance nor submission, no tears. Friends with benefit are not friends, fuck buddies are just bed warmers.

But as the warped Creator (w00t look! I capitalized it!) of mine would have it, I’m not cutout for idealism. And lately one of the things I’ve been pondering about is how come I can’t seem to ever bare my soul to my friends, even friends that’ve known me for all my life. Despite my penchant for intimacy, that is also the one thing I can’t seem to really, feel. Fluidity is a baffling trait.

Gravity

I like his stoic presence. It calms me. I am staring into deep blue sea and all I can feel is the speed of air cushioning my fall. Its safe and dangerous at the same time. When there’s no one around I want to smell his hair and nibble his ear. I never seem to tire of that skip of my heart even when I am suffocating.

Love is weird.

I sit on the un-mended bench of my turquoise past and wonder if it was blue. Sometimes on a cluttered night like this the blurry heartache finds its way and creeps back into the familiar nook where it once nestled. I wonder about the people in my life now, I wonder about the people who had been. I wonder where will they be when the blue turns grey and I wonder if we will still stay. I wonder if I have truly loved. I wonder if anybody truly cares. I wonder if my fear for change is really unfounded. I wonder if nothing excites my anymore, if I will leave. And then I wonder if I will be sad. If nightfall has a sound it will be of a large blanket landing on soft white snow. It will cover the painful cold and blind the broken pieces. I will pick up my heavy heart and place it upon the clean duvet. The awkward crease will eventually settle into the silhouette of my flighty being, and everything will be light again.

“Will you watch the sunrise with me?” he said.

If there is a song playing in the background now, it would be Au Revoir Simone’s ‘The Lucky One’.

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i watch the crowd with a mild fascination
familiarity is something yet to be familiar with
i am dying for some form of input
any form
to reenact that tie that once bind us
maybe if one of them starts cursing i will rejoice in wonderment
i watch with eyes of a new born
the myriad of little snippets i was once a part of
japanese slippers red green tent scorching hot sun bermuda shorts oily faces
rude drivers dyed hair motorcycles dripping ice cream
beauty and flaws intertwined with crotchety people and eccentricity
with the remaining tandem
still pulsating with stubborn persistence
i seek refuge in the comfort of once upon a time
knowing i will find my way back
or out
someday, sometime

A conversation with tingling coffee aroma, I try to grasp the fleeting moment when the flakes of joy are dancing through my senses. But like many things in life, they are not meant to be kept. I was looking out of the window when the wind started blowing. Dancing feathers curtained with enchanting white. Beyond the fallen droplets there was a shredded melancholy. An accidental truth masked with scintillating delight. I sigh because it was so beautiful. I sigh because it reminds me of yesterday. I sigh because I may never understand.

Like snow in april.