eAr Desarm aRle?

It was too vivid. Or should I say, selectively. Was it a task or a mission? Either ways, we were all too preoccupied with moving around the place in our pickup, searching for clues or information to help us during the day, while cracking our heads back home with whatever resources we have gathered, during the night. Oops, I lied again; I don't even remember what we were searching for, my mind was only on her.

Four of us, including her and I. But I have not faint recollection who the other two were anyways. I do not even remember the gender of the fourth. Talk about bad partners, but I could not care less.

It was too vivid. I could still remember her melodious voice, and the warmth of her back on mine as we sat on the floor, resting on each other. The way she gazed into my eyes, her mind clearly fixed on me. The way she wanted to blurt out what she had, but held back with a distinct shyness, unsure if the time was right.

And then she confessed. She took the first step. Oh, what a dream come true! I do not know how many beats my heart had skipped in that moment, but it sure did feel like a hell of a lot. It's an addiction. A lit match on my dopamine and serotonin receptors. I have never done drugs or smoked weed, (FBI please do not come after me) but I am pretty sure that is exactly how it must have felt.

Of course, I returned the confession. How could I not.

It was all still real awkward all the way. I mean go ahead and blame us for being normal, unlike Hollywood "glamourised" relationships that hardly even last two whole minutes. Most of the time spent after the incident was thinking of her and wanting to cuddle with her so badly.

How could it not be real, it felt so real!!

Agony

The worst relationships you have with others are those you know right from the start that they won't work out.

The tragedy of seeing all the walls you built up together, ultimately becoming the divider that separates. The futility of effort that both of you contribute, and yet have some mutual understanding that it is all but filthy rags.

And yet almost comically, on the flipside the best relationships you have with others are those you know right from the start that they won't work out.

Because right off the bat it gives you the opportunity to experiment in ways you would otherwise not be able to. It gives you space to be yourself, and to see what is the right thing that works for you.

And somehow there is a romantic youthful vibrancy into it.

For All It's Worth

Often I find myself thinking, if you were here at this very present moment, what would you say? What would you feel? What would you think of me? What will you do next?

Often I find myself thinking, and I realise that every single time you'd drop what you're doing, curse my name, feel embarrassed, think lowly of me, and walk right out the door.

Often times I feel like I should not deserve your friendship. That I am far too awful a heartless person, too creepy a hidden personality, too needy a wretched soul. As much as I would like to blame you for my pain, my misfortune, and my hurt, I know that ultimately I am only doing all to myself.

Often times I feel like I should drop to the lowest ranks of humanity, to cower in my shame. To walk into a wasteland, toxins floating pungent in the air. To swim in the sea of corrosion, wasting away at my heart and mind. To bask in the scorching pains of the Sahara, to embrace the gangrene of Alaska.

If you would only know what I do in the shadows, what I do when no one is looking, what I hide from the observant eye, then you would detest my very existence and withhold all sympathy from me. You would kiss my dreams, hopes, and plans goodbye. I would be good as chaff, drifting along in the wind.

And so I bury my sorrows, a hundred feet below the surface. I scale the highest heights to hang my burdens. I brave my fears and cheat death to look for a way out of my misery. I confront my enemies pretending to be their friend, only to flee from my failures.

Because I know my feelings truly reflect the truth of the matter.

But God. I'd do anything to be with you.

Letting Go

There are five stages of grief.

The first stage is denial.

Sometimes knowing is not necessarily the best option. Unless of course, your hobbies include meddling around with emotions, primarily lingering around multiple shots of pain. Cut to the chase, some emotions just happen to lack mutuality. I should have known it from the start, amidst the abundant foreshadowing. But foolishness blinded me and twisted my logic as delusion suggested that maybe opposites attract. And so blindly I let myself into the night, thinking I can find my way back, thinking I know where I am.

On the other hand, it does clear some doubt as to which direction I have to walk to. Not to follow my heart and take the path wide yet winding, overcrowded yet flowing, inconsistent yet roughly smooth, long yet agonisingly scenic, but to follow my mind, and take the narrow, empty, rough and short path. I must admit that a civil war broke out in my mind, and for many weeks I was troubled, confused, and uncertain. My consciousness was divided, and my heart was not at peace. Yet I drew a certain comfort in fantasy. I do not eat, I do not sleep, I do nothing but think of you. Lies were the foundation of my refuge.

As the proverb goes, the wind blows and the waves crash, and the house built upon the sand crumbles down, and disappears like chaff in the wind. I would most definitely like to think of it as simply a little setback, that as quickly as it left it shall be rebuilt again. But I do know that some things are simply not worth fighting for, especially when done alone. Hitler could not have survived if every single German soul had turned their back towards him.

The second stage is anger.

I clearly remember telling myself that if I failed on Jay, I would quit trying on any other girl. That I would resign to solitude, and respect the promises of abstinence that I have made with the world. I know clearly that that was not entirely a smart decision, as there are many fish in the sea, but then again the polarities of my mind radiate boldly, with the rude challenge that love should be unconditional, even past mutuality. I believe a portion of that decision accepted due to the mysterious cloud in my mind, obstructing my understanding of life and survival, as seen in my "one chance only" mentality.

And she was different. I knew that I wanted to endure her hardships, to feel her pain, to understand her setbacks, and to listen to her grievances. With her around, I lose track of my surroundings; where we have been, what I have said, how long we have taken. With her around, I lose track of myself; what I have been thinking, how I think, why I feel. I often doubt, but I would definitely like to believe that she did show signs of interest, which immediately set me going. She made me feel like I had not a care in the world. She made me feel like I was not living in a messed up world, and that hidden in the nooks and crannies, in the depths and crevices of the world, glimmers of goodness still exist. She was far from perfect, but infatuation has a thing for finding the blindest most queer form of attraction in imperfections. I did not particularly changed my method with my past experiences, except learning from previous mistakes and trying to be more outspoken this time round.

I have always wanted to know more about her, so I held back no effort. I ensured that distance was maintained, that timing was appropriate, and that the only way she could tell of my desperation was from the choice of my words or through the betrayal from selected mutual contacts. I must admit it was draining, but definitely rewarding to make her feel as if she had a virtual pair of ears that she could pour her troubles, her insecurities, and her feelings into. Of course she did not do that just, we had hardly even known each other too well for that, but inch by inch I was getting closer to my goal: to make her feel happy, regardless of the world around her, even me.

The third stage is bargaining.

It has been five days, and every day I tell myself that maybe it is all a mistake. Maybe it was all her clever cunningly conceived plan to deceive me, and to question me of my true dedication. Maybe it was all a brilliant test of intelligence, that despite her general naïvety all along, it showed that she had a side of depth that she simply had not shown me yet. Maybe it was all a lie, and that she just was simply not mentally and emotionally ready to commit to someone she was merely getting closer to. Maybe I'm dreaming, and that it all never really happened. Maybe she was just five steps ahead of me and wanted to let me know that.

As the circus of my mind prepares for the ultimate showdown performance, performers such as emotions, thoughts, and actions go through the final sequence. Rehearsals have been completed days ago, and everyone is excited for the big performance. All has to be at the right place at the right time, and the performance will be a resplendent spectacle. Slowly the clock ticks down, and a row of stage performers unanimously line up, adrenaline racing and stoked for the big day. As the emcee ushers in the first wave of performers, emotions steps out into the podium. Throbbing hearts and palpitating pulses are all over backstage. Abruptly, a gasp from the audiences could be heard. Backstage, every heart stopped dead in its tracks. As quickly as it came, the silence left, followed by a resounding cheer and an astounding applause, followed by a great laughter. Emotions probably messed up, but to a comedic effect. Maybe that is just what it is. A failing circus performance, an entertaining joke.

The fourth stage is depression.

I am guilty of taking it hard on myself. Or maybe it is just in a fit of guilt due to self-accused selfishness. If love is for selfish gain, what lasting eternal value does it have to offer you? For ultimately you leave behind but the remnants of your once revered achievements with the forsaken glory of brighter days. And yet I keep finding my tail caught in between the mousetrap of self-fulfilment, lulled in by the temptation of pleasure and satisfaction. Guilt aggravated by the constant repetitive bombardment from the warped mentality and hideous ideologies of this wretched society, and its uncanny opinion towards romance, which they so blatantly dub as love.

If I could turn back the hands of time and change something, I would definitely make amends in my speech, such that I would avoid the whole conversation altogether. More often than not, the general perception on knowledge is that it is a staple diet of our very humanity. But time and time again, knowledge pulls a fast one and stabs you deep in the back, and you wonder why knowledge of this form even exists, when people ask you to seek knowledge for it will grow you. Pain comes instantaneously, and regret follows suit. You regret the wrongdoings and mishaps that you know are not even your fault. Sometimes, it is just better not to know.

The final stage is acceptance.

Maybe the world has misunderstood the concept of love. Maybe love and passion are on different scales. Maybe love is meant to be manifested to those whom you detest. Maybe love is not romance after all. I am trying to adopt a slightly radical view towards the concept of love. So long as romance is included in the picture, I will question my motives and reconsider my actions, and with every ounce of effort try to ensure that my actions and reactions will be largely platonic in nature.

I will still take this experience as my personal failure, and out of sheer stubbornness and defiance, abstain from any experience of romance that I feel only provides personal satisfaction. Of which purpose I feel is too shallow. As for her, she will always be deeply etched in the inner recesses of my mind, as she has always been since the first day I met her.

I honestly do not know if I will even be able to let her go.

Absent Awareness; Awareness of the Absence

Lost in hypnagogia, trapped in fantasy

Brimming with ecstasy yet flourishing with jealousy

Mind-space tangled in a state of organized mess

Never stopping to dwell on one concentric idea

Eccentricities festoon my wretched mentality

My behavior enslaved to blistering obsession

Vibrant maroon, resplendent charcoal

Concealed by the shadow of unattainable glory

Bottling up a myriad radical intentions

Entrenched in the deep recesses of consciousness

Decayed and distraught, waiting for a day

Yearning for liberty, exploding to escape

Hoping to bide my tongue and shut my mouth

For clandestine emotions expose with violent salience

Ensnared by judgmental watchful eyes

The vulgar pinch of shame and guilt

A surrealist’s interlude is the colors of evening

The blurring of the constructive from the destructive

A blaring conundrum lulled by the song of dawn

Screaming with insanity’s silent trance

The past, the present, the future

Frightens me with a pang of unspeakable dread

My cup is filled with the sap of suffering

Burden my soul with the foul stench of dismay

Blemishes, my reputation has in abundance

My appearance tarnished with grit and filth

Relish in the agony of interlaced words

Hurt radiates my days, intense and lingering

Bothered by the past experiences of anguish

Elucidated by the stark reality of wakefulness

Meticulously harnessing the jurisdiction of manipulation

Coupled with the resentment of a multitude of raging bulls

"Do. Or Do Not. There Is No Try."

They always say, "just give it a try."

But that is not their brain talking. That is their emotions.

The truth of the matter, life is no cheap business. The stakes are high, we just choose not to believe it. The risks are great, we just choose to ignore it. All for experience's sake, so we can learn to get back bigger, better, bolder, when the future comes knocking at your door. And this can be right, but there is a flaw.

The fallacy with the mindset of the current generation is that they believe in the gift of second chance. A new hope, somehow a divine gift that once something happens, there is another opportunity to revisit the situation, to somehow make amends to the way someone responds to a similar situation, to make a change to the way things turn out, so that we learn how to get better. But that does not happen. We are constantly influenced by the people around us, by the things we adore, by the trauma of our past experiences and hurt. Suicides are rampant as someone dear to their heart is lost, both literally and metaphorically. Murder is a way out for those who are trapped with the pre-existing belief that penance is the only solution, that something can be done to somehow thwart the outcome, or change the course of history. More often than not, depression floats over people's heads like the wind, and is commonly passed as attention seeking or deemed downright insincere, despite the stark reality of it.

When there is the belief of a second chance, there is a belief of a third. There is a belief of a fourth. The vicious cycle repeats, and that is why perfection is never achieved. Perfection is something impossible to be grasped, because we don't strive for it in the first place. Rather, we rely on the fact that we will receive a second chance, and therefore give a half-hearted slipshod attempt on the first occurrence.

The truth is, second chances do occur. Second chances do exist. And in a myriad of instances, second chances truly do give us a release, a renewal, a rebirth. But second chances can also give is a sense of misdirection. Second chances can lead us to believe that we do not have to put in our best effort at the first initiative, and can often lead us to become slack in snatching a firm grasp at the first occurrence of an opportune moment, and it is that slack behaviour and mentality that we have to guard against. So why not, for a first, let go of the mindset led astray, and shoot for perfection on your first attempt? Make as few mistakes as you can, and learn hard from each one.

You might say, well it is impossible to be awarded perfection, granted our disheveled human nature. But perfection in its essence is subjective. It is a construct of the human mind to describe a situation where all the desired elements, qualities, and characteristics are present. When the desirable outcome, solutions, and features of something is attained, then perfection is achieved. Under that light, perfection however, must be attained, not awarded. You will never earn it unless you work towards it, with the determination of a world-class athlete. Like the athlete, he or she settles for no less than the grand prize, and to stand proud and strong at the top of the podium, for all the world to see. So like an athlete, make every day worthy of achieving the grand prize. Take every moment as solemnly as you possibly can. Perfection cannot be achieved whilst lying down on a couch. You have to do something about it, you have to make a conscious decision to get up and go. To get up and truly live life.

Nothing great in this world is achieved alone. Social interaction is a sacrosanct aspect of our humanity. To live with each other is a virtue, to harmoniously work together to achieve a common goal is a gift. Accountability amongst each other is frequently overlooked, despite the deeply encouraging and broadly enriching benefits it has to offer, one of which holds cathartic value. Not everyone shares experiences with each other, but empathy is but one of the greatest skills that humankind can nurture and possess. And through the variety of experiences, accountability triumphs.

So the next time you take a girl under your arm or stand by a boy's side, think about what you are doing. Think about the future that beholds the both of you. Think about the experiences that are in store for the both of you. Are they going to be pleasant? Are they meant to be remembered for generations? Are they what you would want to be known for? Are they what you have ever dreamed of, and what you've ever hoped for? Think about the living, breathing, bundle of life beside you. And strive, sparing no ounce of effort, to obtain the highest standards of perfection that you can ever dream of getting, right from the very beginning. Stand bold and courageous, firm and strong like a soldier. For second chances appear and reappear, but experiences are never forgotten.

Intrigue

Her name is Jay. Six SixtyFour, to be precise. But let's just stick to Jay.

Let's also jump straight into the deep end; our feelings lack mutuality. But that's alright, you get "yeses" and "noes". Part and parcel of the package of life. Everyone must experience their fair share of rejects, as perfection resides in none. So coupled with mundane things like these, you learn to live with failure and move on with life.

What utter rubbish. How can I move on from someone I cannot even let go?! Time and time again I attempt to fill my mind with pleasantries, only to find myself hopelessly falling back to square one. You learn to live with the pain, you learn to embrace the hurt, but you can never ever forget. You can never ever truly let go. You can never ever experience freedom from those who provide you freedom in its essence, if you shun them aside into one of the cabinets of life. Life, you have a preposterous sense of humour.

Jay never leaves my mind. She never leaves my consciousness. Like an aphid she clings onto the tendrils of my mind, never leaving me for longer than a few minutes. Like an aphid she absorbs my time and drains me of my livelihood, but retaliation was never an option; retaliation was never my option. Like an aphid, she is is dwarfish and minuscule (which is coincidentally more than just a passing resemblance of her physicality), yet possesses an inner potential both devastating and destructive, gnawing away at the edges of my sanity.

Jay is the banshee that wails at my door, in the wee hours of the morning. Jay is the vampire that disguises itself as a bat, hastily and frantically prying at my window. Jay is the werewolf, howling prominently and frighteningly away at the night, waiting, pondering, lingering, until the opportune time arrives.

I just want to love her.

The Most Resilient Parasite

What is the most resilient parasite?

Many times over I've been just tempted to block you. Amputate your tumour inside of my mind. To sever the far from impeccable bond of friendship between us. Construct the Great Wall of China between us, never to be seen again. Escort every molecule of me two hundred miles away from you. After all, prevention is in fact better than cure.

Infatuation is a disease. It will degrade away slowly and steadily at your conscience, from humble beginnings of nibbles. You do not see the danger, so you feed it. Little by little you fade away, weakening. The worst part is that you do not realise it, the hardest part is that you do not realise you have to stop it. Nibbles turns to bites, bites turns to devours. And within a fraction of time, you realise that a part of you has passed and gone, never ever to return again.

You are fooled by the lie of pain. You are lied to by the deceit of hurt. You are deceived by the foolishness of suffering. Your mind learns to play tricks so well disguised that you do not even recognise it. You find yourself yearning for more, only to find that your satisfaction is only superficial. And yet in your mind you never actually stop trying. It is an addiction that can never leave your soul. It is an addiction that will never leave your soul.

And yet all I want to do is embrace you. To love you for who you truly are. To accept you for your imperfections, to live out eternity together. To withstand the test of time, to truly be a team so great that nothing stands in our way. To jovially enjoy the gleeful moments, and yet tenaciously endure the difficult ones. To support each other and to push one another to finish the race together.

But fear cripples me. The leap of faith is one meter too wide, one foot too impossible.

As oh so famously quoted by Nolan through DiCaprio, the most resilient parasite is an idea, but an idea is dead without emotion. So can emotion ceases to exist without the important jumpstart of will.

Miracles Do Exist

Today was one of those days where you wake up thinking "wow, I actually do hope this will even pass."

Today is one of those days where you go to bed thinking "wow, this day couldn't get that much better."

It's strange how one finds delight in fatigue. Maybe it is the fact that every time we end something so phenomenally big, the sense of accomplishment usually follows. Knowledge of the diameter of how much effort you put in can also make it all worth it.

But not all a bed of roses, in fact it did not start all the way right for me. Heading to school was a drag, I had to shoot a sequence for a filming assignment that I had to do. Somehow attaining a suitable location was biting at everyone's butt because almost nobody in the executive administration committee wanted to lift a finger to help. But it's all fine because a few outliers could do twice as much as the entire committee, and I managed to get the support of a helpful staff in the office.

We got to book a room called 01-37 in block 26A and finding it was not one bit easy either but that was predominantly because I was oblivious to the clues given about the location, and thus I got led to search the wrong block. But it's all fine now.

And so we got on set and started shooting, knowing that prior to the shoot our actress would be late by forty minutes. Forty minutes passed and there was still no sign of her. Finally, with only 50 minutes to spare for both her and the actor, she arrived. But it's all fine now, we managed to shoot the key scenes that include the both of them, even though we were hard pressed for time due to the ridiculous schedule.

One of my group members came up with the idea to shoot the following two day's work, considering the fact that we still possessed a fair deal of spare time, as our shoot was particularly short. Ignoring the nagging hunger and need for shelter, we strut forth boldly into the scorching demeanour of the burning afternoon sun. To add to the trouble, we had to carry our bulky and heavy equipment all over the place, despite a seemingly tiring shoot prior to that. But it's all fine because ultimately, ComDI got cancelled the following day, signifying that we have much more time to complete our video editing assignment the next day basically because of a free morning due to a cancelled class and a shoot that was completed the day before.

Video editing lesson was a chore as always. I never found it easy to work on a software while a teacher or lecturer was guiding us on the various functions of the software. I guess software tutorials is just not my type, ever since I first tried it out in secondary school whenever we had info comm technology lessons. And it is especially draining because video editing lessons are at the end of the day, where everyone is usually rather tired from the energy consuming activities of the morn, much less this morning.

And that was when I hoped for a miracle.

Just a glimpse of her.

The rest is history. Thirty seconds was all it needed to make today one of the best days of 2015.

Thank you, Lord.

Disconnected

You wake up at 5:59AM. You laze around as you wait for your ph-

You jolt to your side, react on instinct, and disable your alarm just as it croaks it's first breath.

You relax your taut muscles and lie back in bed...

You wake up at 8:23AM. Your alarm does not ring.

Why of course it does not ring. You're late for school, genius.

School. At least that is what they like to call it. To you it is a lot like purgatory. In between heaven and hell, but not some place you would want to be in, either.

And you've got myriads of faceless entities walking around in visually unscrupulous chaos, devoid of expression or any form of social interactions. A sea of Davids dressed as Goliaths, characters of mice aspiring to be falcons, all trying to look down on each other.

But you don't merely see beyond their façade either. I mean, who does? If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. We're all pampered with the illusion of courage and pride.

Behind you, duty calls.

"Good morning, rat head."

"How's your day already, latecomer?"

"What did you do last night?"

Keep walking. Just keep walking. Ignore, detach. Time flies. Ignore, detach. By the time you hit the 26th name, you've already forgotten the first. Ignore, detach.

"Hey you, behind over there. The one with the pink shirt!"

You know that fool is calling you. You also know that that fool knows your name. So you pretend to ignore him.

"Don't try to ignore me, um, can somebody at least tell me what is his name? Ryan. Yes Ryan!"

But your name is not Ryan. Rather, Ryan is somewhere on your left. He flinches, and jumps to his feet.

"Yes Mr White!"

"Shut up! You're not Ryan! Ryan tell me who is Carl Gauss."

You almost wished you could feel the slightest remorse, even guilt, for every single soul around you, enjoying every available minute rotting away the living flesh clinging onto their ice cold bones. Not to mention, Mr White's poor guinea pig Ryan. To Mr White, Ryan is anything but Ryan, and everyone else is Ryan. It's almost hilarious to think about how much more of a tangled mess Mr White puts himself in each and every day.

The fire alarm- wait, no it's just the school bell. Wait. No it's the devilish gatekeeper of hell, concealing his mischievous grin as he sweetly jingles the bell, beckoning the demon wannabes to amble off into their demise. Welcome to Blood Red Candyland.

And the infinite cycle of disorganization continues. As distance strengthens, talking heads begin blabbering unintelligible malarkey that you hardly even want to care about.

And then there are your so called friends. These ecstasy-laden impostors don personality masks and expect you to join them in their quest to master the art of backstabbing. And because of what they appear to have to offer on the inside, you blindly jump onto their carriage to hell.

But that is what the world has so shamelessly evolved into. A society so stuck up in paperwork and titles. Yes, especially titles. Branding, titles, and ranks. Leaving behind the scrubs to settle their own set of issues, which they have virtually no sort of solution for.

You take another step and you land in the food center. Here disorganized chaos seemingly transforms into organized chaos. Or so it seems.

Or so it seems.

Or so everything seems.

Quench your nagging thirst and soothe your burning hunger through the ritualistic practice of food consumption. Dopamine shocks stab you with brief illusions of pleasure, your taste buds feign excitement over the sight of whatever limp and lifeless lies on the plate.

But you choose to have none of those. To you, hunger is passion. Hunger is pride. Hunger is peace. Hunger is pleasure. And so you chuck away the half eaten "delicacy" into the waste basket.

But everything else is also a burden. The false sense of security, the longing to fit in, the pressure of maintaining the high standards of your academic grades.

"Do something about it."

But you can't do anything about it yourself.

"I'll help you."

Then it's you against the world.

Where does this all end? You clinching a bright future in the eyes of the bleak? You being the shining star in a world so desolate? And what good does that do?

You know this world is not meant to be lived by one man alone. No superhuman, no artificial intelligence, no man made god, can ever exist in a dimension of solitary confinement. And that does not even explain our innate social nature.

But how about inception of life? Do we all begin as identical beings, adapting and picking up traits along the way, or are we predestined before birth to have set rules and characteristics? And when is enough ever enough?

You board the moving cuboid with rolling rubber for feet called a bus as you head back to the place you call home. Not exactly the place where you began, though. A lot like a timely checkpoint in the journey of a lifetime.

And we have only just begun.