spring

hints of green weighing the branches down, waving quietly outside the window. grass spotted with little white flowers, like scattered snow that never melts away, that will last till autumn comes. and the sun hangs high above caressing everything gently, like a mother's hug, like that comfort pat on the shoulder. the air is crisp and fresh and smell like spring - if it had a smell - but winter has not gone for long yet, not in this country where it leaves a trail of itself until it returns again, as if it had been pushed out of its rightful place, as if it resented the idea of changing seasons, as if it was overly possessive. or spring could be a facade, a mask, a play, an act, an illusion something not real, something that is nothing but false pretense, something to cover up that coldness, something that create hope and joy so to break them down again, something that makes people forget about their mistakes so that they'd do it again, something. really. it never really changes, only deliberately coalesces with our lives, and slowly we get used to it until we never know it is there anymore, until it becomes a habit, until it becomes who we are, until it makes us who we are. it's not really spring is it? there are times when the mask is not tight enough and it slips off a bit and the temperature drops and the shrilling wind carries the cold past and hit us in our faces; or like the sharp edges and corner of the glass table that we forget about until we kick it again; the impact hard enough to remind that winter is still here and it never really leaves.

that is, unless you fly back home.

hello!

a many thousand things have happened since i last wrote and for the past twenty minutes or so, i've been staring at this big block of white with the thin line appearing and disappearing incessantly. there are so many things i'd like to say at so many moments for the past year but i never had an idea of how to rather than where to begin with and this procrastination has taken its toll on me, with all these incidents now building up into this big ball of stories and emotions jumbled up inside my head. writing and keeping a record of this now feels strange to me, printing out images from my head into these characters, these words and occasionally looking up for a flamboyant word or phrase to show that i've not lose the touch to write. or maybe i already have. but for the past year or so i've been continuously asking myself through and through why do i write and what do i write about? i do not find it necessary to express my feelings in words anymore, not when now i have someone to share with; neither do i find an urge to translate images or that precise moment of life into words, not when now i do have a camera that will do the job for me; neither do i require to channel my wild imaginations of sorts on to this online platform, not when i am able to do it through producing videos. so, what really do i write about? 

i miss writing, this whole package of creativity bundled in words sleepless nights soft music in the earphones as well as that occasional cup of coffee and ten exact pieces of crackers - no more no less - and the silence of the streets that hums through the window in my room. i miss this tranquility when i write when i think of the next appropriate word to match the former when i pour out everything inside me and rearrange them into words and it feels like being immersed in deep waters and the moon rays dive through the waters and everything is still and silent and i have all the time i need in my pocket. it is like a time machine that connects all the emotions the memories of the past the present and the future every time i write. the same feeling that runs through my body and calming all my nerves and muscles telling them that everything's fine. then again, today i did not begin with the intention of writing about this and i digressed but the feeling's there again once more that feeling of tranquility there calmly flowing through my body and then i remember why i once loved writing and then it all comes down to the same question again:

what do i want to write about? 

2012

the morning breeze slither through the window grills pushing gently on the curtains and somewhere out there, the rumbling sound of a motorcycle engine which resists to be turned on and all the dreams scatter and run away into the dark. it is on days like these -days that i do not have to wake up to the phone alarm, a favorite song back then ten years ago- that i am grateful that i have enough sleep and that i have a feeling that today will be a good day. there's this spark of joy firing up the reactors within me as i push away the blankets get down from bed and run down the stairs and skipping a few steps just for good measure.

the phone rings and there's the reminder for an assignment due tomorrow and then all the other whatineedtodos come rushing and barging and darting in at once. today i shall procrastinate like any other day and indulge myself in this warm bath of sunlight and the neighborhood orchestra- a blend of chatters and engines and life- and pretend to be a king in this little fortress of mine, with walls of papers and books, right in front of the laptop. lecture starts at 130 and i have a feeling that i might be late. but it's alright because i have a feeling that it's going to be a good day.

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.

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.

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.

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?

Often

i wonder how i pass my time.

until then.

when i think too much.

it's amazing how songs are able to capture feelings and details of precise moments and bring them back to me every time i listen to a particular song. the feeling lingers for some time, or at other times, they just become the song. and then, there are songs that i skip away for certain reasons and when the familiar chords waltz their way into my ears once more after a period of time, the details and the emotions come darting in as well. and for a brief moment, my thoughts wander off and the song becomes silent, and the emotions become the notes, and memories become the lyrics, and the song becomes melancholic. then, i come to myself and it is but a song.
oh. the randomness.

I could have been a singer.

Was clearing out files when i saw this report card which is actually just a piece of paper.
A further look at the comment the Music teacher gave me, i believe he was trying to say that
... I would have been someone like Justin Bieber if Youtube had existed back then.

And then sometimes.

the world looks like it could use a good smile.

Hahas, lols and bais.

and it is on days like these - boring days when the little boxes next to the people i want to talk to ain't green and i get to entertain myself by strumming endlessly on the same guitar chords for hours or replaying a video of me lip syncing on ipod and laugh blankly- that i come to realize i don't have that many friends as i might seem to have(which sounds pretty impossible if according to the number of friends i have on social websites). oh wait. a second look at the contact list and then there's this one friend that i have not been talking to for how long again? i clicked and the conversation window with the once familiar background comes in sight. i run my fingers across the 26 keys and i didn't know which one to start with. i hesitated and closed the window. what is there to talk about after asking howdoyoudo and finethankyou? haha, lol and bai? i suck at conversations and coming up with topics to brag on without preparation. in other words, i suck at maintaining friendship, relationships and blablablacksheeps wtfiknow. the only people i go out with nowadays are the few people that are ultimately close to me. either they had been there with me since primary school or they had bathed with me together or wrestled me on the floor or slept with me in my bedroom or many other little things that still puts a smile to my face whenever i think of them. it's not that [ somerandomyou ] can't make me smile but somehow i had built walls around me since the last relationship. after all, you only get hurt from the people closest to you, no? anyway, i digressed.

despite me telling myself all these and to perhaps, stop shutting myself in, i still can't guarantee you that you won't get haha, lol and bai from me the next time. at least, i promise i'd make myself sound a little more enthusiastic which after all, you can't see my face and i can't see yours either, so. =)

also, a video that i find pretty amusing. look at the boy's mouth from 0:49, he's like restraining himself from laughing. lol.

oh. and 0:38 is also epic. hahaha.

Touching on my what?

If you want to 1__me i wont say no. Touching on my 2__while i am touching on your 3__ you know that we are gonna 4__cause i don't give a 5___.

Gosh. Fill it in for me, would you?

How to rot away.

Gosh. It has been ages since the last post. *blows off dust*

I know. What to do? I was so busy with erm. rotting away.

All my inspirations have rotten altogether as well. I have been kept at home for way too long. I have been restricted to all inspiration sources. I need to go out. *reachesouthandforhelp*

If you are thinking that rotting is awesome and you wonder how to rot away, you can start off by sitting in a corner and just sit there and then keep sitting. Sooner or later, you will start to find mushrooms, maggots and all rotting stuff on you.

Anyway, if you have not been seeing me for a very long time, this is what i look like now.

yes. those are fungi. i am now the fungi man. wtf.

p/s please dont be afraid of me. i do not have fungi on me. seriously.

Life in a club.

You know you are in a club when your ear drums are drumming madly, there are strangers around you, and you really feel like hitting someone in the face because of the mad music.

My house is currently under renovation, and it definitely feels the same.

Where am i?

I am at the moon now.

wtf.

McMahatir™

Was browsing through facebook when i came across this. So unrelated. Mcdonald's and Mahatir. oh wait.


Don't want to get caught by the ISA cause i still have an A2 test to finish. So, i'll let you guys do the imagination lar. hahaha. wtf.

If i am a mouse,

then the purple sheet under me would be a mousepad. wtf.