Saturday, September 28, 2002
The Sweetest Thing
Today after a nice warm risotto dinner, Bel asked each of us what was the nicest or sweetest thing someone had done for us.
Sarah said it was when E-Gene flew to Hawaii to surprise her at her doorstep.
Then it was my turn and I paused for a while. What about you? At the top of my head, I found nothing. I tried to think of something sweet someone had done for me - that moment in time when you felt like everything else didn't matter, something you could tell your friends about. I found none. Maybe I'm being ungrateful to the many things that people have done for me. I mean, there were the birthday dinners, lunch treats, free sandwiches, watches, t-shirts, keychains, colouring books and warm hugs.
I still can't think of anything significant. I just see a blank surface with small freckles, blemishes and faint brush strokes. Am I just a plain old ingrate?
I keep remembering how I tried to help engineer surprises, catchphrases and more surprises. There was the time when a few of us in our teenage days 'kidnapped' our friend to Sentosa Island. Blindfolded him, gave him instructions to follow his feet and eventually cross a bridge onto a small offshore landfill to attend his own surprise birthday party. We landed with a picnic spread of finger food, little bites and of course the cake and sang him the birthday song, under the quiet star filled sky. I can still remember how he was almost moved to tears by 4 or 5 clowns who got a kick out of the ambush operation. We were 17. Ten years later, I still found myself doing that.
I flew back in Febuary this year under the general impression that I was still staying put here. Just so I could relive those moments. A few people spoiled it for me and for a few others. Steven got a shock when he saw me walk up to his office in bermudas and t-shirt. He was doing his sales talk to three female customers and he lost this train of thought. Yum. Wessatong was a classic. She screamed like a chihuahua with sorethroat and laughed so hard her tear gland bags broke. She was the attention of the general Burger King public. And of course my hilarious ex-colleagues who couldn't stop screaming uncontrollably (actually there was only Ting Ting) and jumping excitedly when I gatecrashed their chinese new year lunch at Stephanie's.
Oh, I remember now. Stephen, my once insane stand-up comedy drummer, surprised me at the doorstep of Ami's apartment on Anthony Street holding a digital camcorder documenting my first reaction at his triumphant entry. Yeah, that was a really heart warming time.
I think the sweetest thing has to be that one late night at Mike's parents' place. My cell group gathered for a Christmas outreach and after the eating, story presentation and singing, we were relaxing in the large living room. I remember little cloud, my mentor, was flipping through my personal scrap book of thoughts, ideas and mainly fragments of poetry in construction. As she turned each page, she began reading them aloud back to me, slowly, one poem after another, as if it was a book she had picked up from the local bookstore. At certain points I cringed at the melancholic emotional junkie I made myself out to be. Then, she turned and said to me, "Charles, do you know you have the ability to write songs?" The rest is history in the making.
This is the sweetest thing someone has ever done for me. Thank you lovely, I miss you so much...
fighting the hypochondriad
chucKie
Today after a nice warm risotto dinner, Bel asked each of us what was the nicest or sweetest thing someone had done for us.
Sarah said it was when E-Gene flew to Hawaii to surprise her at her doorstep.
Then it was my turn and I paused for a while. What about you? At the top of my head, I found nothing. I tried to think of something sweet someone had done for me - that moment in time when you felt like everything else didn't matter, something you could tell your friends about. I found none. Maybe I'm being ungrateful to the many things that people have done for me. I mean, there were the birthday dinners, lunch treats, free sandwiches, watches, t-shirts, keychains, colouring books and warm hugs.
I still can't think of anything significant. I just see a blank surface with small freckles, blemishes and faint brush strokes. Am I just a plain old ingrate?
I keep remembering how I tried to help engineer surprises, catchphrases and more surprises. There was the time when a few of us in our teenage days 'kidnapped' our friend to Sentosa Island. Blindfolded him, gave him instructions to follow his feet and eventually cross a bridge onto a small offshore landfill to attend his own surprise birthday party. We landed with a picnic spread of finger food, little bites and of course the cake and sang him the birthday song, under the quiet star filled sky. I can still remember how he was almost moved to tears by 4 or 5 clowns who got a kick out of the ambush operation. We were 17. Ten years later, I still found myself doing that.
I flew back in Febuary this year under the general impression that I was still staying put here. Just so I could relive those moments. A few people spoiled it for me and for a few others. Steven got a shock when he saw me walk up to his office in bermudas and t-shirt. He was doing his sales talk to three female customers and he lost this train of thought. Yum. Wessatong was a classic. She screamed like a chihuahua with sorethroat and laughed so hard her tear gland bags broke. She was the attention of the general Burger King public. And of course my hilarious ex-colleagues who couldn't stop screaming uncontrollably (actually there was only Ting Ting) and jumping excitedly when I gatecrashed their chinese new year lunch at Stephanie's.
Oh, I remember now. Stephen, my once insane stand-up comedy drummer, surprised me at the doorstep of Ami's apartment on Anthony Street holding a digital camcorder documenting my first reaction at his triumphant entry. Yeah, that was a really heart warming time.
I think the sweetest thing has to be that one late night at Mike's parents' place. My cell group gathered for a Christmas outreach and after the eating, story presentation and singing, we were relaxing in the large living room. I remember little cloud, my mentor, was flipping through my personal scrap book of thoughts, ideas and mainly fragments of poetry in construction. As she turned each page, she began reading them aloud back to me, slowly, one poem after another, as if it was a book she had picked up from the local bookstore. At certain points I cringed at the melancholic emotional junkie I made myself out to be. Then, she turned and said to me, "Charles, do you know you have the ability to write songs?" The rest is history in the making.
This is the sweetest thing someone has ever done for me. Thank you lovely, I miss you so much...
fighting the hypochondriad
chucKie
Wednesday, September 25, 2002
Alright, that's it. I'm heading to the library to unearth some Milton and Marvell. Not who you know nor where spidey came from. Some long gone 17th Century poets whom I've got to go schizo on...
chucKie
chucKie
One Year Three Months Two Days later ...
Where have I been? What have I done? How far have I come? These are worthy questions to take up right now. It's more than a year since I abandoned the humid shores of a heartland and set foot on this colourful cosmopolitan coast. As I read wessa's blog, I started to reflect upon the past year.
I definitely did not feel like I fitted in when I first arrived. Loneliness hit me like ten thousand plagues on my first night. Apart from trying to recover from the logistical madness, that was my overweight luggage that arrived a week later resulting in borrowing utilities to survive being a little more than a joke, there was the reality of relationships, comfort zones, weather changes and foundational cracks unearthing itself.
Instead of going out into the open to chase the sun and kiss the flowers, I found myself running away from anything that moved or behaved like my own species. I became emotionally unavailable, distracted, angry, cold, pretentious and stubborn. I sought shelter in the room I eventually moved into three days after seeking refuge in the north. I spent long hours logging the screams, supressing the angst, wrote a long list of murder mystery stories and songs I would spin out of a rumplestiltskin fable. I rejected love, attention, even kind affection and spent hours indulging in my made up fantasy friends who would end up as fairy tale happily-ever-afters.
I was essentially alone, felt alone and became happy staying that way. I never missed home cos home was never home for me. I was on a journey to build my own sense of home and belonging and was consequently made to believe that there was really no one out there. Even in a crowded room, full of party hat tricks, board games and gourmet tantalizers, I was conjuring up all sorts of devices that could erase all the bad memories that haunted me like a ghost.
I was constantly on my toes and on the run. I was always cornered by well-wishers who conveniently misunderstood my sincere intentions. Old habits and patterns gripped me like a pair of eagle claws. I was the shivering sparrow afraid to take the plunge and fly. I became a victim to a series of intelligent hoaxes and digital lies - I was jaded though I hated the use of that very word. I still do.
When the party was over, I smiled. Because it really felt good to breathe again. It was then that I decided to give the flowers a chance, the waters a try and the people a laugh. The distance healed the broken pieces that built up along the lines and life was once again revived albeit the same dysfunction that still undergirds the process. For a long time I stood by the balcony and envied those who ran along and wore their pride on their contented faces. I prayed and waited by the phone for my providential phone call for days on end in vain.
But I have learnt to overlook the small issues and rely on the big picture view. I have learnt to laugh again, from the deepest recesses of my being. It still doesn't come easily on rainy days. But I am learning. I have learnt that relationships are more important than frequent visits to the toilet. And building relationships is not just about happy dinners, drunken suppers and polite lunches. I have also learnt that I was as hypocritical as the pharisees I accused. I have learnt to think, process and edit my thoughts without giving away too much but still say what I am truely passionate about.
I am still a jigsaw waiting to be completed. So I pray everyday for the courage I need to take on the glimpse. Still, I may not belong or fall into the right categorical arms, but I know I have a parent who is cradling me when I sleep, greeting me when I wake and holding me when I tread on the fine edges of this post-cliche world.
for this reason I will always sing
chucKie
PS: I recommend listening to and paying close attention to John Mayer : Room Full of Squares - Yes this is a clickable link : One of the most honest songwriter this year!
Where have I been? What have I done? How far have I come? These are worthy questions to take up right now. It's more than a year since I abandoned the humid shores of a heartland and set foot on this colourful cosmopolitan coast. As I read wessa's blog, I started to reflect upon the past year.
I definitely did not feel like I fitted in when I first arrived. Loneliness hit me like ten thousand plagues on my first night. Apart from trying to recover from the logistical madness, that was my overweight luggage that arrived a week later resulting in borrowing utilities to survive being a little more than a joke, there was the reality of relationships, comfort zones, weather changes and foundational cracks unearthing itself.
Instead of going out into the open to chase the sun and kiss the flowers, I found myself running away from anything that moved or behaved like my own species. I became emotionally unavailable, distracted, angry, cold, pretentious and stubborn. I sought shelter in the room I eventually moved into three days after seeking refuge in the north. I spent long hours logging the screams, supressing the angst, wrote a long list of murder mystery stories and songs I would spin out of a rumplestiltskin fable. I rejected love, attention, even kind affection and spent hours indulging in my made up fantasy friends who would end up as fairy tale happily-ever-afters.
I was essentially alone, felt alone and became happy staying that way. I never missed home cos home was never home for me. I was on a journey to build my own sense of home and belonging and was consequently made to believe that there was really no one out there. Even in a crowded room, full of party hat tricks, board games and gourmet tantalizers, I was conjuring up all sorts of devices that could erase all the bad memories that haunted me like a ghost.
I was constantly on my toes and on the run. I was always cornered by well-wishers who conveniently misunderstood my sincere intentions. Old habits and patterns gripped me like a pair of eagle claws. I was the shivering sparrow afraid to take the plunge and fly. I became a victim to a series of intelligent hoaxes and digital lies - I was jaded though I hated the use of that very word. I still do.
When the party was over, I smiled. Because it really felt good to breathe again. It was then that I decided to give the flowers a chance, the waters a try and the people a laugh. The distance healed the broken pieces that built up along the lines and life was once again revived albeit the same dysfunction that still undergirds the process. For a long time I stood by the balcony and envied those who ran along and wore their pride on their contented faces. I prayed and waited by the phone for my providential phone call for days on end in vain.
But I have learnt to overlook the small issues and rely on the big picture view. I have learnt to laugh again, from the deepest recesses of my being. It still doesn't come easily on rainy days. But I am learning. I have learnt that relationships are more important than frequent visits to the toilet. And building relationships is not just about happy dinners, drunken suppers and polite lunches. I have also learnt that I was as hypocritical as the pharisees I accused. I have learnt to think, process and edit my thoughts without giving away too much but still say what I am truely passionate about.
I am still a jigsaw waiting to be completed. So I pray everyday for the courage I need to take on the glimpse. Still, I may not belong or fall into the right categorical arms, but I know I have a parent who is cradling me when I sleep, greeting me when I wake and holding me when I tread on the fine edges of this post-cliche world.
for this reason I will always sing
chucKie
PS: I recommend listening to and paying close attention to John Mayer : Room Full of Squares - Yes this is a clickable link : One of the most honest songwriter this year!
Sunday, September 22, 2002
Breathe Again...
Sometimes we get so busy we even forget to breathe. I'm grateful to have come to this rest stop where I can kick off my shoes, not worry about the papers and knowledge I have to cram into my head and go about the banal.
Finished the laundry, did the dishes, took out the trash. Shaved my head, shaved my face, scrubbed the soap stained bathroom walls and floor, cleaned up the pink mould gathering and disinfected the toilet bowl. I was so amazed by the white sparkling marble that I actually sat down on the carpet and stared at it for a while. Like any moment I was going to puke into it, but the purity and pine smell was just too intriguing. The right combination of the scrub and harpic pine fresh liquid - recommended! Remember, it's the green one. All the others suck big time.
It's Saturday night and it doesn't feel like it. Perhaps my Saturday started on Thursday evening - when I finished my last sentence of the first 1500 installment of cultural studies research. Felt like I landed somehow and was carefully gliding back to my pad, crawling into bed to hug my pillow to sleep. Except of course, it wasn't really to sleep. If you've been following the story, yes, the hyper virus is still alive and kicking. The pills I invested in not only put it on restrains but holed me into utter relaxation as well - so much so that at Tai Box the morning after, my limbs were retarded and slow, unwilling to move like it had gained some extra tons. Guess I shall try to do some reading before I sleep. But I'm always busying myself with the digital stuff before bed and forget the time. Well, this long rest stop will help I hope. Let's see where it takes me.
I'm selling some of my stuff and beloved gadgets to raise money for the survival foundation fund. Traded in my technicolor N760C for a S360. Saved $400, so that's a good start. I'll be letting go of my MD player/recorder soon too and the entire collection of my MDs. There's no real need for them now so this baby will have to go to the pawn shop. Sigh, it's been a long battle, but life's too short to hold on to too many things. To begin with, holding on is already digging a ditch so I've been learning to let go - or streamline, as I might like to call it. Yeah, cutting down the flab and trimming the lines to work more efficiently and travel lighter. We all have our baggage that we carry with us and some of these take a long time to relinquish. Like our egos, rights, transcripts, accolades and relationships we attach ourselves to. Sometimes the hold and grip is so strong it'd have to take an industrial strength clamp to pull it apart. Of course, there's pain. What were you thinking? But we pray, we hide in the shadow of His wings and we cry out. But after all that gritting and clenching of our fists, the healing will bring on a stronger and fresher view.
It's like being there and having done that and knowing that you are not going to be the loser people like to name themselves after. It's a viscious cycle we self-effacing Christians go through with our sheep herd attitude in wanting to appear humble. We're never good enough, we should never shine, we should never have a head above the rest, we should never strive to reach for that higher star above jupiter. I say bag it and get real. Our talents are not given so that we can sit around a campfire, huddle each other, pat each other on the back and eat the christmas turkey.
I want to move away from the repressed. I want to walk away from the self contented crowd. I want to abandon my shades and run across to the other side of the street and hold up my hand because I know I count. I don't want to keep missing the boat, get left behind on a broken down hut and wishing you would come back some day. I don't want to stay here and plow the land that bears me no fruit. I don't want to cry anymore and I don't want to wake up screaming from my dreams.
Where do you find your home?
How do you follow your feet?
When do you wish to leave?
Why do you want to go?
long line of leavers
chucKie
Sometimes we get so busy we even forget to breathe. I'm grateful to have come to this rest stop where I can kick off my shoes, not worry about the papers and knowledge I have to cram into my head and go about the banal.
Finished the laundry, did the dishes, took out the trash. Shaved my head, shaved my face, scrubbed the soap stained bathroom walls and floor, cleaned up the pink mould gathering and disinfected the toilet bowl. I was so amazed by the white sparkling marble that I actually sat down on the carpet and stared at it for a while. Like any moment I was going to puke into it, but the purity and pine smell was just too intriguing. The right combination of the scrub and harpic pine fresh liquid - recommended! Remember, it's the green one. All the others suck big time.
It's Saturday night and it doesn't feel like it. Perhaps my Saturday started on Thursday evening - when I finished my last sentence of the first 1500 installment of cultural studies research. Felt like I landed somehow and was carefully gliding back to my pad, crawling into bed to hug my pillow to sleep. Except of course, it wasn't really to sleep. If you've been following the story, yes, the hyper virus is still alive and kicking. The pills I invested in not only put it on restrains but holed me into utter relaxation as well - so much so that at Tai Box the morning after, my limbs were retarded and slow, unwilling to move like it had gained some extra tons. Guess I shall try to do some reading before I sleep. But I'm always busying myself with the digital stuff before bed and forget the time. Well, this long rest stop will help I hope. Let's see where it takes me.
I'm selling some of my stuff and beloved gadgets to raise money for the survival foundation fund. Traded in my technicolor N760C for a S360. Saved $400, so that's a good start. I'll be letting go of my MD player/recorder soon too and the entire collection of my MDs. There's no real need for them now so this baby will have to go to the pawn shop. Sigh, it's been a long battle, but life's too short to hold on to too many things. To begin with, holding on is already digging a ditch so I've been learning to let go - or streamline, as I might like to call it. Yeah, cutting down the flab and trimming the lines to work more efficiently and travel lighter. We all have our baggage that we carry with us and some of these take a long time to relinquish. Like our egos, rights, transcripts, accolades and relationships we attach ourselves to. Sometimes the hold and grip is so strong it'd have to take an industrial strength clamp to pull it apart. Of course, there's pain. What were you thinking? But we pray, we hide in the shadow of His wings and we cry out. But after all that gritting and clenching of our fists, the healing will bring on a stronger and fresher view.
It's like being there and having done that and knowing that you are not going to be the loser people like to name themselves after. It's a viscious cycle we self-effacing Christians go through with our sheep herd attitude in wanting to appear humble. We're never good enough, we should never shine, we should never have a head above the rest, we should never strive to reach for that higher star above jupiter. I say bag it and get real. Our talents are not given so that we can sit around a campfire, huddle each other, pat each other on the back and eat the christmas turkey.
I want to move away from the repressed. I want to walk away from the self contented crowd. I want to abandon my shades and run across to the other side of the street and hold up my hand because I know I count. I don't want to keep missing the boat, get left behind on a broken down hut and wishing you would come back some day. I don't want to stay here and plow the land that bears me no fruit. I don't want to cry anymore and I don't want to wake up screaming from my dreams.
Where do you find your home?
How do you follow your feet?
When do you wish to leave?
Why do you want to go?
long line of leavers
chucKie
Saturday, September 14, 2002
Spring Cleaning
These days, when it hits above the 20 mark, folks with a balcony or two would dust off their barbecue pits. And soon sizzles, snaps and sourdough dogs would begin to fill the void that is the once thin cold air. Complete with beers, loud gruffy laughter and nasal squeaky women. Once in a while, you might find a post-footie buck naked dare pleasing a cheering arena of spectators.
What would you do if the weather turns up its volume and you know it's time to get your sandals out but you've lost them?
We've lost something in our time one way or another. Or, some of us didn't even get to lose anything. We got lost. we were loosed and left behind in the cinema by the ones who brought us in for the first time. So what would you do when the lights come on and you realise you are still the naked little child figuring out what the movie was about and why everyone had to sit in a big dark room to watch a massive TV screen? What would I do? That's a question I can answer easily if conscience wasn't part of the human DNA. Why so? Would you go down a road knowing that it leads into a never ending rollercoaster and you might fall? Or would you take the easy way out, satisfy your cravings for prunes, arrive like a supermodel but get flushed down the hole?
I don't understand many things and as a deeply emotional person, it gets harder everyday, every moment, every second. Sometimes you feel crushed like a mustard seed pounded into the base they use for hotdog toppings.
But what if you didn't fit into the normal frame of disk partitions, fragmentations, operating systems and all things jaguar? Would you be like linux? The lonely penguin who keeps smiling even though as a nifty piece of perfection, it gets catelogued into the reference section of the multimedia library. Stocked up for super humans with chips for brains. It's a flattering but underdog job. What job? It's even given out for free. Like waiting for someone to adopt in time to come. But, at press time, adoption is not even in the pushed envelope. It'll be a long long while before anyone gets to see an animal icon for an operating system.
The zoo perhaps.
There are some things we should never touch, some we should never desire, some we should never love. And there are people who may never find shelter, love and protection from the mental disease of intimidation.
a minute of eternal silence...
chucKie
These days, when it hits above the 20 mark, folks with a balcony or two would dust off their barbecue pits. And soon sizzles, snaps and sourdough dogs would begin to fill the void that is the once thin cold air. Complete with beers, loud gruffy laughter and nasal squeaky women. Once in a while, you might find a post-footie buck naked dare pleasing a cheering arena of spectators.
What would you do if the weather turns up its volume and you know it's time to get your sandals out but you've lost them?
We've lost something in our time one way or another. Or, some of us didn't even get to lose anything. We got lost. we were loosed and left behind in the cinema by the ones who brought us in for the first time. So what would you do when the lights come on and you realise you are still the naked little child figuring out what the movie was about and why everyone had to sit in a big dark room to watch a massive TV screen? What would I do? That's a question I can answer easily if conscience wasn't part of the human DNA. Why so? Would you go down a road knowing that it leads into a never ending rollercoaster and you might fall? Or would you take the easy way out, satisfy your cravings for prunes, arrive like a supermodel but get flushed down the hole?
I don't understand many things and as a deeply emotional person, it gets harder everyday, every moment, every second. Sometimes you feel crushed like a mustard seed pounded into the base they use for hotdog toppings.
But what if you didn't fit into the normal frame of disk partitions, fragmentations, operating systems and all things jaguar? Would you be like linux? The lonely penguin who keeps smiling even though as a nifty piece of perfection, it gets catelogued into the reference section of the multimedia library. Stocked up for super humans with chips for brains. It's a flattering but underdog job. What job? It's even given out for free. Like waiting for someone to adopt in time to come. But, at press time, adoption is not even in the pushed envelope. It'll be a long long while before anyone gets to see an animal icon for an operating system.
The zoo perhaps.
There are some things we should never touch, some we should never desire, some we should never love. And there are people who may never find shelter, love and protection from the mental disease of intimidation.
a minute of eternal silence...
chucKie
Thursday, September 12, 2002
What's age got to do with it?
Just got snubbed two days back - "we're looking for juniors so I can't guarantee you a job." How apt. After conscientiously filling in an employment form, this is what I got. I mean, how has age gotta do with selling goodie bags?
Can't take to the bed again. It's 3 am and I'm counting down the number of hours left before the struggle to wake out of the comfy morning quilt. If I could get down to come out struggling that is. What can I do? Someone help me. Please. Cradle me with the sounds of reassurance and perhaps I might find the rest the body needs. My mind is always revolting with pigments of danger and trouble.
Well, my stomach is the one at war with who knows what. Some time back, it was vehement growls of unrest. This time, it decided to play squash. Or maybe even pin ball - I can hear the ringing twang of the machine going non stop bouncing from wall to wall. What is wrong with my genetic make up? I need serious help. Maybe there is a support group I could go to.
I have just dealt a kind but cruel blow to my personal assistant - digital, that is. Managed to find someone who will buy it so I can downgrade to a monochrome PDA with bigger ram space and free up possibly a few hundred dollars. Something that I need right now. To move it around to possibly a Midiman USB keyboard. Decisions. But then again, I might just keep it until I have excess before plowing it out again. Decisions. And I'll still need speakers, SM58, headphones. The bare minimum for now. Praying for job offers, enlarged territories - like beyond 40 acres - the cost of liberating freedom. There has to be more than this life.
But December will be a massive party. Looking forward.
Stacked responsibilities pilling up on my shoulders and definitely building itself again. Heavy. Ache, might break. Must hold on. Push on. Never give up, nor ever say die. Beat the plowshares for the sake of tomorrow.
"Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble." Matthew 6:33 (NKJV).
*yawn*
chucKie
Just got snubbed two days back - "we're looking for juniors so I can't guarantee you a job." How apt. After conscientiously filling in an employment form, this is what I got. I mean, how has age gotta do with selling goodie bags?
Can't take to the bed again. It's 3 am and I'm counting down the number of hours left before the struggle to wake out of the comfy morning quilt. If I could get down to come out struggling that is. What can I do? Someone help me. Please. Cradle me with the sounds of reassurance and perhaps I might find the rest the body needs. My mind is always revolting with pigments of danger and trouble.
Well, my stomach is the one at war with who knows what. Some time back, it was vehement growls of unrest. This time, it decided to play squash. Or maybe even pin ball - I can hear the ringing twang of the machine going non stop bouncing from wall to wall. What is wrong with my genetic make up? I need serious help. Maybe there is a support group I could go to.
I have just dealt a kind but cruel blow to my personal assistant - digital, that is. Managed to find someone who will buy it so I can downgrade to a monochrome PDA with bigger ram space and free up possibly a few hundred dollars. Something that I need right now. To move it around to possibly a Midiman USB keyboard. Decisions. But then again, I might just keep it until I have excess before plowing it out again. Decisions. And I'll still need speakers, SM58, headphones. The bare minimum for now. Praying for job offers, enlarged territories - like beyond 40 acres - the cost of liberating freedom. There has to be more than this life.
But December will be a massive party. Looking forward.
Stacked responsibilities pilling up on my shoulders and definitely building itself again. Heavy. Ache, might break. Must hold on. Push on. Never give up, nor ever say die. Beat the plowshares for the sake of tomorrow.
"Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble." Matthew 6:33 (NKJV).
*yawn*
chucKie
Monday, September 09, 2002
Don't Belong...
Are you tired yet? If you need it I can make one for you now. How many sugars was that?
Careful now. Don't spill it. These couches don't intend to be washed much so try not to do the unthinkable. Hey, how many times have you felt like you needed to just walk out that door and maybe never come back. Yeah, just maybe, you know. Like you might, you would if you fancied, or you could if you wanted. That sort of thing.
Yes, you can have that. Take it. Don't worry about it. I've had loads of 'em and I seriously need to clear up this shit house! You're right on it. These favours don't come everyday so just cut to the chase. Good. Moving on.
No, I've not really thought about it. [Pause] Actually, I've had sleepless nights about it. Now that you actually asked. I miss you, yeah. Very much. But how could I show it? Show it? Like? A pillow fight is nowhere near that my friend. I wanted to write you a letter since last summer but procrastination is so overrated here, so there you go. Get the big picture, move it aside, stay focused, don't eat too much and maybe look forward to a day where you can have this gala event where all your best buddies and people who grew up with you would be around your table like the knights in King Arthur's court. Wouldn't it be nice?
That long december song you wrote. Yes, do you remember that? The east never felt so beautiful, so surreal and for that particular moment, the world nor our cares for it mattered. Perhaps that was our negotiation for a piece of heaven. Do you remember how we wanted it to go on and on forever and ever amen? The chuckles and childlike dance around the merry-go-round. I laughed uncontrollably and I don't even remember why now. Naivety never felt so right.
But I remember how you looked at me and the words I wrote. Yes, you were almost in tears and don't go blushing now. That was when I knew there was something special. Something that I never knew existed. Something that catapulted me out of your arms. I'll never forget how you wanted to slap me in my face. Because I deserve it. And yes, I still do sometimes. But here's the other side of the coin that won't budge or move an inch in compromise, stubborn as you are. I'm just upset that you didn't deny me in the first place. I could have been a good father.
Your breath is on me now. Like a spider crawling down the sides of my arm, pricking my conscience with the gathered fur coat you're on about. I'm never human enough till I'm greeted with those 40 tales of a random classic joke. You're right. I've spoken too much and sometimes I don't even know why I go on like this. Would you forgive me knowing that I might let you down again? I have a moral responsibility and I know, I know, I know. I have to stop blaming and pointing like Adam did Eve. I've run past the line and I've landed myself on the strip. It's time to take off and stop this self effacement. But I still love you if stupid is what I am.
I'll visit you one day. One day. I promise.
[kisses and exits the dark room]
chucKie
Are you tired yet? If you need it I can make one for you now. How many sugars was that?
Careful now. Don't spill it. These couches don't intend to be washed much so try not to do the unthinkable. Hey, how many times have you felt like you needed to just walk out that door and maybe never come back. Yeah, just maybe, you know. Like you might, you would if you fancied, or you could if you wanted. That sort of thing.
Yes, you can have that. Take it. Don't worry about it. I've had loads of 'em and I seriously need to clear up this shit house! You're right on it. These favours don't come everyday so just cut to the chase. Good. Moving on.
No, I've not really thought about it. [Pause] Actually, I've had sleepless nights about it. Now that you actually asked. I miss you, yeah. Very much. But how could I show it? Show it? Like? A pillow fight is nowhere near that my friend. I wanted to write you a letter since last summer but procrastination is so overrated here, so there you go. Get the big picture, move it aside, stay focused, don't eat too much and maybe look forward to a day where you can have this gala event where all your best buddies and people who grew up with you would be around your table like the knights in King Arthur's court. Wouldn't it be nice?
That long december song you wrote. Yes, do you remember that? The east never felt so beautiful, so surreal and for that particular moment, the world nor our cares for it mattered. Perhaps that was our negotiation for a piece of heaven. Do you remember how we wanted it to go on and on forever and ever amen? The chuckles and childlike dance around the merry-go-round. I laughed uncontrollably and I don't even remember why now. Naivety never felt so right.
But I remember how you looked at me and the words I wrote. Yes, you were almost in tears and don't go blushing now. That was when I knew there was something special. Something that I never knew existed. Something that catapulted me out of your arms. I'll never forget how you wanted to slap me in my face. Because I deserve it. And yes, I still do sometimes. But here's the other side of the coin that won't budge or move an inch in compromise, stubborn as you are. I'm just upset that you didn't deny me in the first place. I could have been a good father.
Your breath is on me now. Like a spider crawling down the sides of my arm, pricking my conscience with the gathered fur coat you're on about. I'm never human enough till I'm greeted with those 40 tales of a random classic joke. You're right. I've spoken too much and sometimes I don't even know why I go on like this. Would you forgive me knowing that I might let you down again? I have a moral responsibility and I know, I know, I know. I have to stop blaming and pointing like Adam did Eve. I've run past the line and I've landed myself on the strip. It's time to take off and stop this self effacement. But I still love you if stupid is what I am.
I'll visit you one day. One day. I promise.
[kisses and exits the dark room]
chucKie
Friday, September 06, 2002
I've finally made it to the weekend. THANK GOD!
The first four days of the week, namely Mondays to Thursdays, are stress-strapped days. I kid you not.
There's TaiBox in the morning at 10am - long break till an hour of Poetry Lecture. Then Tuesdays it's one early lecture at 10am and lessons packed loosely after ... which brings the end of the day at 5.45pm where, during this intermittent winter and spring season, it is almost already dark. Kinda depressing. Then there's the the twin Wednesday and Thursday 9am in the morning what-am-i-doing-rushing-out-in-the-cold-not-enough-sleep-dry-eyed days. Not to mention squeezing in another TaiBox and Gym training in between. By the time I get to Wednesday evening, I come down with a dehydrated throbbing headache. All the time!
But let's not sweat the small stuff shall we?
So the weekend's finally here. And I just discovered that I am broke. Well who isn't? It's just how much in relative terms. Some measure it by the inability to pay for a short holiday to Brisbane. Some the inability to pay for an air ticket home. And some of us worry about the cookie jar running out at the end of the month. For me, holidays and air tickets are high-value goods. Untouchables. Actually, even the cookie and the jar comes close. At least for now. Living is such - rent, food, bills, discipline. For those of us living many many miles, like 3000 miles away from disney death penalty land, can say "I" to this description. But this is just a simulation, a prologue and preamble to what is to take place in the next possibly 30 - 90 years of our lives; depending on how much we exercise, smoke or not, what we eat, yadidardar roundthemountain yadidardar. Even at a discounted rate of 30 years, it is a pretty long time to have to crunch the numbers to find that most often they don't tally up.
Of course the dirty work gets dutifully handed down to the next generation: children, descendants, liabilities, investments or yogurt fruit toppings and the beat goes on.
Isn't your life exciting?
For the first time in 16 months, I might have to ring the reserves. Let's see how long it'll hold out.
PS: I did it! Proud .mac member now... =~)
"if you don't know it, tell someone to tell you"
chucKie
The first four days of the week, namely Mondays to Thursdays, are stress-strapped days. I kid you not.
There's TaiBox in the morning at 10am - long break till an hour of Poetry Lecture. Then Tuesdays it's one early lecture at 10am and lessons packed loosely after ... which brings the end of the day at 5.45pm where, during this intermittent winter and spring season, it is almost already dark. Kinda depressing. Then there's the the twin Wednesday and Thursday 9am in the morning what-am-i-doing-rushing-out-in-the-cold-not-enough-sleep-dry-eyed days. Not to mention squeezing in another TaiBox and Gym training in between. By the time I get to Wednesday evening, I come down with a dehydrated throbbing headache. All the time!
But let's not sweat the small stuff shall we?
So the weekend's finally here. And I just discovered that I am broke. Well who isn't? It's just how much in relative terms. Some measure it by the inability to pay for a short holiday to Brisbane. Some the inability to pay for an air ticket home. And some of us worry about the cookie jar running out at the end of the month. For me, holidays and air tickets are high-value goods. Untouchables. Actually, even the cookie and the jar comes close. At least for now. Living is such - rent, food, bills, discipline. For those of us living many many miles, like 3000 miles away from disney death penalty land, can say "I" to this description. But this is just a simulation, a prologue and preamble to what is to take place in the next possibly 30 - 90 years of our lives; depending on how much we exercise, smoke or not, what we eat, yadidardar roundthemountain yadidardar. Even at a discounted rate of 30 years, it is a pretty long time to have to crunch the numbers to find that most often they don't tally up.
Of course the dirty work gets dutifully handed down to the next generation: children, descendants, liabilities, investments or yogurt fruit toppings and the beat goes on.
Isn't your life exciting?
For the first time in 16 months, I might have to ring the reserves. Let's see how long it'll hold out.
PS: I did it! Proud .mac member now... =~)
"if you don't know it, tell someone to tell you"
chucKie
Wednesday, September 04, 2002
Mad Milk Raspberry Throat Pies at 2.40am on a Wednesday morning...
If there is anything you can do to lure me into slumber, TELL ME!
Here I am again. After battling three hours of trying to get into the tunnel, I get banished out of its lair like my sink that was stuck which kept vomitting water from upstairs.
I need to sleep. But annoying worries, nitpicking woes, unfinished business and comedy of errors find their way into my temple robbing me of my precious illusions. Somebody get me a drug, PLEASE!
I have tried everything actually - instant mee goreng noodles, soup noodles, pills, sugar, milk and even of late, camomile tea - which lost its effect on me just hours ago. Maybe it's the absence of honey - like honey in the rock. I need to learn to forget but I cannot for fear of surprises on the corner of grey street. Do not worry about tomorrow. I am but human and if you tried my pair of sneakers you might just flip or freak out. The inheritance I built has turned into a monster - at least by human terms and I can't help talking about it, thinking about it, rehearsing the execution scenes over and over again till the morning waking hours greet me and daylight lulls me into the mundane and for a while my mind is taken off.
But why am I on this journey. There is a mission to be fulfilled. There is a purpose on this gravel road. There are treasures to be found. There are hopes to be raised, stakes to be praised and the human race to embrace. Except the bitter taste in my mouth is hard to get rid of.
"Sir William Wallace, won't you speak your words of freedom once again. And liberate this trangressing generation."
On another gadget freak show note, I have decided to let Apple have my USD49.95 and get the .Mac membership. The editor of Macworld Australia made a lot of sense when he said that it was a good deal. 100mb space, mac email address plus two essential virus and backup software - that is, if you don't already have 'em. So why not? With that extra 80mb, at least I know I can upload my songs in mp3s when I have them ready. That is, when I get down and dirty myself at the whirlpool of this mystical concept known as pro-audio. At a translated cost of AUD98, it'll be a bit of a burn, but it's a necessary death. I'm just praying for a quick resurrection. And no, I'm not heretic. Mind your own kilt.
if I can burp milk, I can go to sleep now.
*chucKie*
If there is anything you can do to lure me into slumber, TELL ME!
Here I am again. After battling three hours of trying to get into the tunnel, I get banished out of its lair like my sink that was stuck which kept vomitting water from upstairs.
I need to sleep. But annoying worries, nitpicking woes, unfinished business and comedy of errors find their way into my temple robbing me of my precious illusions. Somebody get me a drug, PLEASE!
I have tried everything actually - instant mee goreng noodles, soup noodles, pills, sugar, milk and even of late, camomile tea - which lost its effect on me just hours ago. Maybe it's the absence of honey - like honey in the rock. I need to learn to forget but I cannot for fear of surprises on the corner of grey street. Do not worry about tomorrow. I am but human and if you tried my pair of sneakers you might just flip or freak out. The inheritance I built has turned into a monster - at least by human terms and I can't help talking about it, thinking about it, rehearsing the execution scenes over and over again till the morning waking hours greet me and daylight lulls me into the mundane and for a while my mind is taken off.
But why am I on this journey. There is a mission to be fulfilled. There is a purpose on this gravel road. There are treasures to be found. There are hopes to be raised, stakes to be praised and the human race to embrace. Except the bitter taste in my mouth is hard to get rid of.
"Sir William Wallace, won't you speak your words of freedom once again. And liberate this trangressing generation."
On another gadget freak show note, I have decided to let Apple have my USD49.95 and get the .Mac membership. The editor of Macworld Australia made a lot of sense when he said that it was a good deal. 100mb space, mac email address plus two essential virus and backup software - that is, if you don't already have 'em. So why not? With that extra 80mb, at least I know I can upload my songs in mp3s when I have them ready. That is, when I get down and dirty myself at the whirlpool of this mystical concept known as pro-audio. At a translated cost of AUD98, it'll be a bit of a burn, but it's a necessary death. I'm just praying for a quick resurrection. And no, I'm not heretic. Mind your own kilt.
if I can burp milk, I can go to sleep now.
*chucKie*
Monday, September 02, 2002
10 Things I Hate About You
I hate you for not listening. I hate you for you pretended to listen to me when I belted out. I hate you for banning my big mouth. I hate you for hastening me to make a decision. I hate you for pushing me to the edges of my boundaries. I hate you for stocking up on artificial human resources. I hate you for putting me on the line of your economic sanctions. I hate you for your high forehead which you mistook as a talent for survival. I hate you for the ropes you used to tie me up and most of all I hate you for laughing at me when I wrote a four leaf clover poem for the love of you.
Fear leads to Anger. Anger leads to Hate. Hate leads to Suffering: dhyaiatoe vishuyahn pungsuha sunguhs teshoopuhjayuhte sungauhs suhnjahyate kahmuha kahmaht krowdho bhijahyuhte - wisdom of ancient jedi scrolls.
chucKie
I hate you for not listening. I hate you for you pretended to listen to me when I belted out. I hate you for banning my big mouth. I hate you for hastening me to make a decision. I hate you for pushing me to the edges of my boundaries. I hate you for stocking up on artificial human resources. I hate you for putting me on the line of your economic sanctions. I hate you for your high forehead which you mistook as a talent for survival. I hate you for the ropes you used to tie me up and most of all I hate you for laughing at me when I wrote a four leaf clover poem for the love of you.
Fear leads to Anger. Anger leads to Hate. Hate leads to Suffering: dhyaiatoe vishuyahn pungsuha sunguhs teshoopuhjayuhte sungauhs suhnjahyate kahmuha kahmaht krowdho bhijahyuhte - wisdom of ancient jedi scrolls.
chucKie
