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.

Rainwater

Refresh replenish rejuvenate.

As the silky warmth of saturation rolls up my spine, the crisp coolness and hard serrated contrast tingles my fingers to the touch. The wonder of arcane mysticism floods my mind as I submerged my palm in the puddle of water. My thoughts surge back to the concrete fluidity of that fateful evening in the December of '98.

Peach tinted cotton clouds jotted the soaring vast cyan expanse as the sea flew out far beyond the horizon. The glorious evening star was tucking itself to sleep beneath its brown duvet as its long forgotten father creeps up behind the shame of its former glory to illuminate the ineluctable dark. As the toddler of youth opened his eyes, he saw the miracle of innocence drift away with the wind, to hide its face from the treachery of immorality.

Nostalgia overwhelms me as the faithful degradation of memory takes over. Blaring surrealism vanquishes the blossom of reality. Downpour was but a history of the dawn, as the strung out heaven tears cascaded from high, down to stain the ground.

The Bird & The worm

I met her at the counter. She wasn't the cashier, nor was she the person in front of me. Instead she was the person behind me.

And without looking, I unknowingly took the opportunity.

"I'm in no hurry. Do go before me, young miss."

She peered up with from her grocery basket, with the world's finest pearls for her magnificent blue eyes. Golden waves the length of her arms cascade across the back of her neck, while in front they protrude out of her wide brim hat and fall over her right eye. Her luscious gloss red lips morph in shape, but I can't listen. I freeze for I-don't-know-how-long and subconsciously my mouth drops. Her perfect eyebrows rises in slow motion and a grin breaks on her face as she gigg-

"Are you okay?"

I suck and swallow a stalactite of saliva and snap my jaw shut as I force myself to turn my face away.

"Yes of course! I'm sorry. Please do go ahead."

She giggles again.

"Thank you very much. I appreciate it."

I started to wonder if I was listening to music. Maybe it was just her voice? I step aside more than willingly as she cascades over towards the front of my queue. I must have lost my mind.

"What do people call you young miss?"

Her sorcerous ball of a head rotates to face me with such passive vigour as I watch with bawling eyes.

"Pardon?"

"What's your name?"

"Raven."

Extend a hand.

"Oh nice. I'm worm, nice to meet you."

Bewilderment overwhelms her as she frowns with a grin, stunned for only three moments. With accelerando, she grabs my hand as her warmth courses through our handshake, and surges through my body, brashly barging out the moisture and salt from under my skin.

I'm at a loss for words.

I made the mistake that invited a lifetime of regret. I released the handshake. She turned around and laid her items on the counter. As if accursed from taking the initiative, her basket was cleared in a jiffy. Before I know it, there she was at the doorway. Taking a final look back at me over her glorious back.

"Well it was nice meeting you, worm."

No don't go no don't leave me no no no no no.

"We shall meet again next time. Goodbye."

Petrified, I can't even get myself to exchange goodbyes.

Swoop down on me, o soaring wonder, for I desire to be consumed by you.

New Year

It's a new year, it's a new beginning.

And with a new beginning, comes a new purpose.

A new purpose that brings about change.

Change that will reinvigorate.

Reinvigorate and refresh.

Refresh and renew.

And with renewing creates a different paintbrush.

A different paintbrush with a different canvas.

A canvas that nobody else reads.

Nobody else but loneliness.

Loneliness and me.



Loneliness and hope.

Exams, Absence, & Trivia About Being An Introvert

My humble apologies for my extended absence, and I do seek your pardon. Preliminary exams arrived as ridiculously fast as I had expected, and O Levels would arrive just as ridiculously fast as prelims did, no doubt. It almost frightens me how it is only a matter of time when I would have to abandon most of my friends in this shell I call "school" to move on and take the next step of my life.

And to clarify any more extra doubt if your doubt has not been clarified just yet, no, I did not die.

On that note, I have come up with a simple list on the trivia of being an introvert.

1. You don't like being in the centre of attraction.

If you are an introvert, most of the time one of the greatest nightmares would be public speeches, having a whole crowd looking at you, or even on someone's social media post without consent. You just don't like having all or most of the attention, almost like a phobia of multiple eyes.

2. Awkward silences are not awkward.

Have you ever gone out with someone, only to find yourself hardly saying a single word for what seems to be the entire day? Well for extroverts and most people who feel like they have a duty to say something, or at least enjoy doing so, such occasions can be rather awkward. Introverts, however, do not feel one tinge of embarrassment, and it can be actually rather peaceful and calming. You almost enjoy it.

3. You think twice about what to say, and most of the time you do not say it.

Before you say something, you go through it in your head first, before voicing out. You think about whether it makes any logical sense, whether it can be solved on your own, whether it will make you look stupid before your friends. You think of these technicalities before you let it out. More often than not, this ends up with you not saying anything, which inadvertently leads to frequent extended silent moments.

4. You tend to listen to group discussions instead of joining in them.

You feel that by not contributing to the discussion, you allow your friends time and space to let them think, while most of them blabber away their heads as you frantically try to think of a solution to the problem amidst the noise and the haste. Eventually, you end up saying the least, and "contributing" the least as well.

All these come from past experiences, and might not apply to every introvert out there. However, I do think that some of you introverts might be able to relate with these.