we only meet at farewells and funerals.

and we joke and laugh. and we cry and mourn. we look at the one we have to bid farewell to - in the coffin, at the gate, all the same - and wave our hands. we talk to them trying to persuade them to stay on - at least a little bit longer. we ask them to take care when we realize that's not going to happen. we'd repeat the same questions and hope for an answer we would want to hear. we walk closer when they say its time to leave. we hug the alive and embrace the dead in our hearts. we stare at them when they leave as if they'd come back if we stared harder. we pound on the window panes and the wooden box when they leave and hope they'd look back one more time. we cry again and we mourn again. and the moment before they disappear from sight, we hold our breaths, grasping any tiny chance of hope around and in the end disappoint ourselves again. they leave, never looking back.

we say 'keep in touch.'-despite the fact that we always never do- , wave, and leave for our respective homes.

then we say hi again when someone has to leave us. all the same again.

goodnight.

here's silence marching on the road with proud strides and an air of arrogance. the trees stood still at attention and the dim roadlights stopped flickering. a cat which was purring gently at the air on the wall paused and looked around. something's out there. her pupils dilate but there was nothing for her to focus on. silence chuckled and waved gently at her. she stood up alerted and with swift movements jumped off the wall and scurried away. without looking back. somewhere near where silence stood a car alarm went off. he frowned, walked over and patted the car gently. the alarm stopped and the snoring from within the house resumed.

oh look the lights are still on in this house.

silence stood right in front of the door and smiled. his spread his arms and closed his eyes and then the smile on his face broaden. he began to grow in size. he grew and grew until the window on the upper floor was at his eye level. and he walked towards the house. he diffused through under the doors and crept in from the window. he rolled across the living room and crawled up the stairs. he walked in to the only room where the light was still on and never bothered to close the door behind.

the boy was alarmed and shocked to see him in his room. silence only smiled and opened his mouth. he engulfed the boy.

across the road the cat stared blankly at the house and thought she heard a scream.

Orientation

has it only been three weeks? three weeks since I introduced myself in front of a bunch of juniors in that small crappy room like a failed job interview despite the infinite times I ran through the introduction in my mind during lectures earlier that morning. i was looking at a group of blank and lost faces who stared back at me and laughed dryly at the jokes I tried to crack and thinking to myself that they must be thinking to themselves who the fuck is this.

but now.

it only seemed like a few moments ago that i was cheering screaming laughing pelvic thrusting with them and there were many times I wished I were with them instead of getting stuck in a room with a woman that read so slow the dinosaurs relived and became fossils again or in a hall where the only thing I see on the screen is all their faces, all enthusiastic and looking ready and set to do something exciting. i must admit that i did dreamt of them. then again, it felt like I was going through orientation all over again. it definitely did not feel like three weeks to me. it only felt like a day and yet, like we have been friends for so long. they were so real, free of false pretenses and had nothing to hide. i wonder at times that if the wall that I had around me still stands as firm as strong as rigid as it used to be. then I realize that there must have been a crack somewhere and something must have seeped through.

here's to new friends and unexpected friendships.

Ivy by the road.

raindrops hit the windscreen like little bombs from the ever gray skies. and if one were to notice, each raindrop hits the pane and more little raindrops bounce off and hit the pane and again and again until kingdom comes. for one moment, the windscreen is clear of the pelting raindrops and the next, its not. it's magic at its best, the thin little back hands say, now you see it now you don't. the road is lit up with dim red lights that brighten and stay in their positions for a while, dimmed down and move on. on the other side, yellow lights pass by, sometimes followed with a splash of water across the windscreen. within this enclosed compartment, there is only silence.

sometime later, the skies smiled and i thought i saw an ivy woke up, stretched it's vines and crept slowly up the spine of a tree by the road.

Can you see the sun?

a blind person could see again but he got so afraid of what he saw he stabbed himself blind.

Santa in Summer.

There was a house renovation across the road.

And there was a man by the door. A laborer as everyone would have assumed and guessed correctly. Tall, a rather big tummy I would say. He was shoveling dirt off the ground and into the cart and sweat was all over his face like little streams. He had a short pony tail and his hair was white where the roots were and black at the ends. Occasionally when he stopped, he would wipe the sweat away from his face with the towel hanging over his neck, and then he would touch his goatee and look straight ahead not focusing on any object but probably back into the past.

I thought I saw a twinkle in his eye but the sun was scorching up above and it could have been just my eyes. I walked up and said hello. We exchanged simple greetings and smiled and I walked to a side and watch him resume shoveling. Just right before his shovel hit the dirt, he turned to me and asked me

do you believe in santa claus?

I shrugged my shoulders and smiled at him. Then he turned back and looked into the distance, probably into the past again, and said

you know kids back then used to believe in santa claus. they would do all sorts of things to make sure that they get their presents from santa claus. even parents believe in santa claus back then. they would leave a cup of milk and some cookies by the fireplace for him. but those were the days back then when electricity did not exist yet.

He stopped, sighed and continued

then as time went by, children began to doubt if santa claus exist. and some parents began to tell their children that santa claus was but a hoax for the children to be good kids. but those parents, they were bad kids when they were younger. so how would they have known? how would they?
eventually their kids grew up and told their kids the same thing and it went on for generations.

He paused for a while and looked at his feet then went on

the people still sang my name. they still talk about me but they didn't believe in me anymore. how ironic it became i was all over the place but they didn't believe in me anymore. no more, not like back in those days. no more. they sealed their fireplace and installed electrical ones. the new houses did not even have a chimney for me to fall down into anymore. they installed alarms and all sorts of high tech stuff that still makes no sense to me. i couldn't get into the house or if i did i would have been caught and charged. i stopped what i did.

He continued on with his work and filled up the cart then he pushed it off into the house. I stood there not knowing what to say till someone tapped my shoulder and I turned around. It was the lady living next door. She started off

did he tell you that he's santa claus? that guy's loony. you'd want to watch out in case he went amok.

Then she walked into her house with a smirk across her face. I decided to walk back home and when I turned back for a last glance at the old man he was standing there inside the house looking right at me, this time, I was sure that there was a twinkle in his eye.

tell me where you want to go.

here's a forest filled with thick dense cement blocks, the roads conquered by roaring vehicles, the night brightened up by neon lights and above all, scattered with life. the city's a maze. streets interconnected, taking you everywhere, anywhere but always somewhere. somewhere that tells you that serenity may not only come in the form of high mountains and green foliage. every where's a picture. here, the pace is faster, the escalator, the steps, the everything. even the day and the night. people here walk pass you without even realizing your presence as long as you are not in their way.
this has gotta be the good life. i've heard this from a song but it could be so true. the conference was amazing. the people were. everyone was. i've made new friends and some really close ones. i was myself back there and i had nothing to hide. i snored in lectures like no one's business and got really drunk in front of people i have only known for a few days. i have already began to miss the times we strolled in the streets either to get to mackes(as the australians would have put it) or 7-11 or the local cafes to get supper, and all the while laughing at really silly things we did in the day. i had fun from the morning till i went to bed in the wee hours of the morning. the only thing i had to worry about was nothing.
i love the walk down the harbor in the night where the whole hongkong island comes in sight. i love standing in the junctions, listening to the rapid beep of the traffic light, the many pedestrians that walk across the road and the many cars that drive by. i love the people here how they stare at you when you're slow, but always ready to help despite the grumpy tone. i love the malted vitasoy, something i have to have two packets everyday. i love the convenience store they have all over the place the cool air in it that brings a big difference in the summer. i love the tunnels underground that lead you to so many exits that when you emerge a new undiscovered place greets you.
maybe i'll find it a dull place if i were to live in there but for now i'm addicted and i just can't get enough.

restless

any time now the words on the paper start to run away from the paper. there is a ball for them, a short distance away right next to the edge of the table. it evolves into a carnival sooner and when i try to grab them and cramp them back to where they belong, they scatter off in different directions and they start to laugh and sneer and jeer at me. at my very naive thought of being in control. i look away and up at the walls that surround me. are they closer than they were? and before i could find an answer, they start to scream in my face, into my ears, inside me. then these walls close in. i look at the thin fine gap between the door and the floor and there's this tiny speck of hope that sprouts like a new seedling in a thunderstorm. is someone going to come by? will they know if these walls had eaten me alive? i think of many faces now. but the shrills - the screams had gotten on a new level now - flushes these images away. the carpeted floor beneath me cracks and opens up. it's only emptiness down there.

i pack my bag and leave.

i wake up

to see the cream-colored ceiling staring blankly back at me.

there is an ache in my neck but I let it be. the smooth wooden surface of the floor is all that feels the tip of my fingers. for a second this place is alien to me. the humid air that floods my nostrils the next moment tells me where i am. are you inspired? the question is not funny today or probably it never was. my arms move around the floor my hands reaching out trying to grab a sense of time. I stop and wonder why even bother? the time here is dry and monotonous. I turn around and spread my hands and legs out. my limbs are hard, like the wood. i stay as I am and wait for something to happen. the vibration of my phone, someone calling my name, a heavy downpour, a dog barking, a long fearful shriek or the vibration of my phone. I wait and I start to imagine my own seconds ticking off the ennui that never grows old. but nothing happens. I give up and let the flatness of this space consume me once more and I close my eyes and I wander off in my slumber.

sometime later i wake up and the cream-colored ceiling stares blankly back at me. again.

And

You wouldn't have known
that the rose had bloomed
and yes, so passionately
and fierce and aggressive
when the night arose from it's slumber

and

you wouldn't have known
that when the clock chimed ten
spirits of the wind dropped by
greeted the flower
and shook him gently by the stem
with the utmost politeness and all
but when they left
he was slightly to the right

and

you wouldn't have known
that when the stars were staring down
at you in bed dreaming about them
he shed off a piece of himself
which had bled and dried up a dark crimson red
and it had stained the other pieces

and

you wouldn't have known
that sometime when the stars got tired
and decided to turn in
and decided to cover themselves
in blankets of clouds
it rained just like that
and pelted on him the rain did
like cannon balls and missiles
they shook him badly
and they took him down

and

you wouldn't have known
that after that heavy rain
when the dusk was creeping in behind the mountains
a morning breeze came by
and wept across the rose
caressing the now limp and almost dead
and when she left
he fell off his stem, beheaded
off the fifteenth floor

and

you wouldn't have known
because you wouldn't have seen
a rose, withered and dead
it's core still a tiny speck of bloody red
waltzing outside your balcony
because you were looking elsewhere

so how would you have known?

Write a letter to your best friend who is overseas telling him how you are recently.

Dearest Nigel,

How are you? How is the weather over there? I hope this letter finds you in the pink of health. I am fine here, so are my family and my pet turtles.

Firstly, I would like to wish you happy birthday, selamat hari jadi and 生日快乐 from your motherland.

Then I would like to tell you about how my first three weeks of university were like. I had orientation for the first two weeks. It was fun. I made a lot of new friends. I tried to pick up a few girls like how you taught me. Some were successful but some were not. There was a girl who looked so fierce I stopped talking to her after a few sentences. wtf.

There are only a few people that I know from my batch, and only one was from the previous class in taylor’s and the other few were from bs1 and bs2. Oh. And then there’s Divar. I also met Irfan, who so happened to be my orientation group senior. Okay, back to what I was saying for the orientation. The orientation was muddy and tiring but it was really fun.

We have lecturers from Sri Lanka and Myanmar. The Sri Lanka lecturers are usually almost bald, short-sighted, mostly with a small tummy, talk with a very strong Indian accent and tend to shake their heads a lot when they talk. Just like what you see from the movies. But some of them are really good. YET, I still don’t know all the names of my lecturers. HAHA.

How is life like over there? I would like to hear from you soon. Take care. And send my regards to err, whoever is closest to you there (?) hahahaha.

Your’s sincerely,

Ding

the idea of going to school

the idea of going to school or if you do mind, a university, after 8 months of not going to a proper education center is pretty exciting.

the idea of going to school and interacting with a lot of people, relatively to that many people that i interacted with during these 8 months of recluse is a little terrifying.

the idea of going to school and realizing the major difference in the life i have been leading for the past 8 months up till now and the probably hectic or disciplined life of a student is quite uncomfortable.

the idea of going to school and then making a fool out of myself when i am not that sober is really embarrassing.

the idea of going to school is starting to sound dreadful and i think i should stop. wtf.

anyway, this is so true. ahahahahhaha.

When they run out of ideas,

they'd literally build anything, even a tit. lol wtf.

2011

on eve's the family clan sat down round the long table and played cards. among the chatter and the cheers when a good hand of cards come into play, I heard my uncle said how the people in their time used to celebrate. someone in the neighborhood would throw a party in the house, send out invitations and friends would bring along their crush or their partners to come along. and they would dance and party and move along with the funky beats that ripple across the house from the throbbing speakers. and one could not help but to imagine the clothes that they wear, the hairdo and the make up they put on, and the old school dance moves that they have. and then not much longer in future years the role changes and the audience become the storyteller and someone younger becomes the audience.

the past is behind and a new year offers a chance to let go and to reform and to change. and to let go of all the negative thoughts and desires and memories that intoxicate the mind. then accepting the fact of growing up and then start to act like one. and finally now, to change out of my sleeping clothes wtf.

then I end this post with a line used countless times before - ah. how time flies.