Today

Today, I stopped counting the days

but if you want to know, there's 53 more.

Today, I woke up and you weren't the first thing on my mind

but you still pop up occasionally.

Today, I read your blog for the first time in a month

and you're still you.

Today, I didn't need the answers anymore

but I'd like to ask you something else.

Today, I found a broken fragment that fits

now I'll look for another.

Today, I looked back at our two disparate seasons

and finally, thanked God you and I happened, if only for a moment.

Today, I am finally happy

more so because I am happy for you.

Today, I can see the reason why

and maybe, that was the whole point.
Today, I removed the band-aids

and I actually see healing scabs.

Today, I went to sleep
and I didn't dream of you.
Today, I can say that it's okay

because it really is.
Today, I am looking forward to tomorrow.
but all this doesn't mean i don't miss you like hell

Letters From the Sky

Hey dude.

It's been three years now, and I'm still here. You know, I really dislike this time of the year. Partly because you're not here. Partly because you remind me of my mortality. You remind me that time runs, and that sometimes, it's all I can do to try and catch up with it.

Sometimes I wonder, where you'd be and what you'd be doing now. I don't like visiting, and I am sure you don't mind, because, well, it is a sad place for me. But I'll be there in the next few days, probably with flowers in hand. Yeah, I know, you don't like flowers, and I know you probably miss maggi goreng from Lotus, but it's weird if I bring that along. So flowers it is.

I have another friend up there as well, and I can't describe her to you, seeing as how age and visual characteristics gets messed up up there. I can tell you her name, though. Tell her I said hi, and that I am sorry I've never been to pay my respects. I can't seem to find where they hid her.

So..anyways, I'll see you in a little bit, and if you want to know, I am doing fine. Life goes on as usual down here, Manchester United seems to be on the cusp of winning another EPL title. The only difference is that natural disasters are happening more often. It's kinda scary.

I'd ask you to take care, but that seems a little..pointless. Heh. Anyways, I'll be seeing you real soon. Till then...
as

A Tribute to Two Awesome People

My parents and I, we have a very comfortable relationship. It's a very simple policy: don't ask, don't tell. They don't pry into my life, and I don't volunteer much information. Like I said, comfortable.

This may give you the wrong impression, that they don't care. I guess, I'd be surprised to know how much they do, actually. Or maybe I shouldn't, they are my parents, after all. If I had to generalise, I would say 80 percent of Asian households are like this.

The great thing about my parents, is that they let me fall. Repeatedly. They won't force me to do anything that may go against my principles, and they allow me to live my life. I am sure there are times they suspect something has gone very wrong, but they never say a word. My mum usually cooks a nice meal to help, while my dad provides perspective because we view everything so differently. Like it or not, who they are shaped who I am.

I guess, if I were to volunteer information, the truth will shock them. I could tell them I've played hooky tons of times before. Actually, these are the times that define my teenage years. I could tell them that I've smoked before or even that I've had countless near-death experiences whilst driving. Or about my relationships.

I spent much of my teenage years, wishing that we had a different sort of relationship, but looking at it now, I think that this way is the best. I guess, this is as close as I'll ever get to telling them that I am thankful and very contented to be in this family. And that if I could change anything about them, or us, I wouldn't, not a one.

You may think that the Asian parent-son relationship has a lot of flaws, and yes, I agree. But there are many things that works as well; family is important, discipline, how to talk (respectfully) to a parent, that disobedience will bring consequences. And they put family first. My parents have always put family first.

Thanks, mum and dad. For the sacrifices, and the unconditional love. And in many ways, thanks for caring in actions, not words.
as

Retrace

i walked through the sand, my footprints echoing silently behind me, past guardians following me for miles, curving away until it was lost from the eye.

the tide came in then, and washed away all the prints, everything of where i came from, who i was and leaving nothing for me to retrace.

and i stood there, frozen in time. there is nothing left back there. 

nothing left to guide me home.

there is only now, and there is only the sand in front of me.

~

i wrote this post a while back, from last year.

Shards of Home

He had woken up in a white room. White sheets, white walls, white lights. Even the toilet seats were white. And it was spinning, the room was spinning.

"You're a very lucky young man," the nurse had said as she fussed about. "Does it hurt, love?"

At that time, all he remembered was the sound of screeching tyres. Later, he was told that a car had careened into the wall inches from where he was standing. A piece of the wall had hit him in the head.

"Oh, and the paramedics found this in your hand," the nurse had chirped as she left the room.

It was a piece of glass. What had happened was that a glint had caught his eye, and he had stopped to pick it up. If not, he would have been in the way of the car making an acquaintance with the wall.

He had kept that piece of glass, and scratched a date on the surface.

~

He remembered the day now with a sort of detachment, much like remembering a line from a book or a story from a movie, that it didn't happen to him.

The sun kissing her skin, the wind playfully twirling her hair, the smell of sun-lotion and her strawberry shampoo filling his nostrils. She was reading Paulo Coelho's The Zahir as she laid on his lap. He had kissed her then; she tasted like the oranges she had just eaten.

She had stepped on a piece of glass as they walked back to his car, breaking it in two and cutting her foot.

"You keep this one, and I'll keep this one."

Why? It's a piece of glass.

"What? I bled to obtain it! Keep it, okay? I'll keep mine as well. Always. Promise?"

I promise.

He went home and scratched an inscription on the surface: Always. Promise.

A month later, she was gone, but that little shard remained. He wanted to throw it away, but his promise remained as well.

Always. Promise.

~

this is part 2 of a story. part 1 is here.

Goodbye

and thanks for the memories.

The Illusion

and so, we make plans.

we try to map out our future.

we make goals to achieve, places to be, things to see.

we create lists of 'stuff I need to do before I turn 30'.

we write down what we want in that one person to share our lives with.

we chart straight routes through open fields.

not realising that we've missed the whole point.

that it is about not knowing. it is never about rigid plans or straight roads.

that in our quest to reach the destination, we forget the journey.

that control is an illusion, and our maps fallible.

that the adventure lies in not knowing.

sometimes in straightjacket perspectives.

and the 'maybes' on the road less traveled.

Shards of Home

"I've knocked for about, ten times now. Hello? Is there any light in that bulb of yours?"

Yes, what bulb? No, you knocked maybe thrice. Come on in.

He made space on the table; papers were strewn all over so he pilled them up in a corner and placed a metal container on them.

"Yeah, well, here's lunch. Sorry they ran out of mustard. Medium rare, as ordered."

What? A burger with no mustard is like, a boat with no propellers, a car with no tyres, a..

"Uhuh, sure. Got any beer?"

He got off his chair and took two bottles from the fridge.

"Your desk looks like a warzone. You ever do any work in here?"

Well, he rolled his eyes and took a swig of his beer, I try not to do work in here. After all, it's only my office. I try to do work at home, after work hours.

"Ha. Funny. I think you should have done stand-up."

I think so too. Shouldn't have been a writer. There's no money in it. No, no, swallow, and then talk. Can't have you choking to death in my office. Thanks for the burger, by the way.

"Don't mention it. And if I do choke, and you don't save me, I'm haunting you. I mean it. What are you writing -" he reached for his beer but accidentally pushed the metal container off the table, spilling the contents all over the floor.

"Hell, I'm sorry, dude. Let me pick it up-"

No, it's fine, I got it. Don't move, please. You may damage a piece.

He got down on his knees and reverently placed the pieces back into the box, counting as he went. After he was done, he placed the box in his table drawer.

"Hey," he broke the silence that fell on the room, "If you don't mind my asking, what's with the box?"

It's...a long story. And maybe even a little complicated. Where do I even begin...

~

This is part one of a short story. Let me know what you think!

a

Darkness and All Her Friends

I had this strange conversation with a great friend yesterday. Incidentally, she's the first peer I know who will be getting married. Over the course of all these years, she's inspired me to be a better person, she's there with the reminder that God is always here, that He never left and will never leave.

I told her some of my small issues, that the people who love you the most, hurts you the most.

She answered, of course, if not, you didn't love them. She said man will fail you, man will break your trust.

But to that, I have no reply. I mean, I used to believe in people. I did. I believed in the good in people. Now, when a friend asks for help, my first reaction is to be wary. I guess this is what life does to you, it makes you jaded and.. I don't know.. old. I always thought that I won't give in, that I won't let life change me that way, to be something that, in my opinion, was less than who I was.

Now? I don't know. Even without realising it, I've changed. A year ago, I could have sworn I wanted to remain single for the rest of my life, but that was just me being scared and immature. I didn't want the responsibility of taking care of another life when mine was all over the place. I was scared, I guess, to open up my heart and be hurt again. And then, circumstances change and someone walked in.

And I sincerely thought, this was it, but it was not to be, and she walked out. Take it from someone who's been there, timing matters, more than you know. I hear it from my older friends, but never thought much about it.

I mean, how can anyone not turn jaded?

I told her I am an optimist. My friend replied really? I couldn't tell from your blog.

To which I said with a laugh, darkness makes a better muse than sunshine and butterflies.

She said I don't know, darkness will swallow up hope and optimism.


I don't know about that. I think hope and optimism contrasts more starkly against the darkness. That if not for darkness, you won't see it.

And at the end of the day, I know that the darkness will recede and disappear. It always does. Hope and optimism won't. Maybe this will be the part of me that will remain constant.
as

The Problem

If there is a problem with the world,
It is that people think that sad endings in movies are the real endings.

If there is a problem with the world,
It is that everyone wants change, but few are willing to sacrifice for it.

It is that money solves everything.

It is that faith starts wars.

It is that hope is a lie.

It is that love is a weakness.

If there is a problem with the world,
It is that morality and honour has a price.

It is that humanity thrives on inhumanity.

It is that peace must be bought by fire and blood.

But, above all, if there is a problem with the world,
It's not you,

It's me.