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?