So I was sitting there with Tracy having dinner (thanks for coming babe), and then this guy walks by.
Thin guy, spiky hair, backpack and ugly shoes. There's this smile on his face, and he smiles at the people who cared to look at him.
He also says "SHIT" at the top of his lungs every three seconds.
And he does it with a smile.
What a way to live life huh?
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
A flash, nothing more.
Time is my strangest bedfellow, huddling closely with Memory and Desire. When they talk they resonate within me a cruel concerto of loss and regret - the grand result of the union of my emotional trinity.
Today saw a nice meeting with a friend - badminton and then coffee followed by a surprisingly al dante Agli Olio. Prospective as it seems, the main gist of things revolve not around our conversations, but of a vision I received as we were talking.
I like to look into people's eyes when they talk... sometimes. It takes a good conversation or a very high level of interest in the person for me to do it, but it does happen.
Tonight was one of those instances, and as I looked at her I was visited by a face I've been wanting to see and hear from, lost from me for quite a number of days now.
As the story would go, I blinked and she disappeared, only to return moments afterwards.
No I'm not seeing things, but perhaps it brings me to the apex of my losing battle.
Today saw a nice meeting with a friend - badminton and then coffee followed by a surprisingly al dante Agli Olio. Prospective as it seems, the main gist of things revolve not around our conversations, but of a vision I received as we were talking.
I like to look into people's eyes when they talk... sometimes. It takes a good conversation or a very high level of interest in the person for me to do it, but it does happen.
Tonight was one of those instances, and as I looked at her I was visited by a face I've been wanting to see and hear from, lost from me for quite a number of days now.
As the story would go, I blinked and she disappeared, only to return moments afterwards.
No I'm not seeing things, but perhaps it brings me to the apex of my losing battle.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
A little surprise
A dinner with an old friend today left a nice impression in my mind.
It's one of those things that make you wonder and ask the question "what if"?
It's one of those things that make you wonder and ask the question "what if"?
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Inertia
Moving forward, there are some things that we won't forget.
These are the ghosts of our conscience, constantly haunting us, nibbling at the very hands that sustain their existence. They tell us the moral alternative - to improve ourselves and not fall to the lore of our desires - but with their inner voice they latch on to the very reasons they exist, putting themselves forward as sacrifice for our misdeeds.
There are many things I regret doing, and there are many more that regret not having done. As I stood with the gun in my hand, watching the tears fall from the little girls' face, I explore my inner being searching for the chain that leads to my conscience.
He has fallen, and I have affixed a chain to him. Echoes are lost down the depths of my decisions, and I can no longer hear him.
But still I search, wanting a reason not to do what I'm about to.
The echoes are lost.
These are the ghosts of our conscience, constantly haunting us, nibbling at the very hands that sustain their existence. They tell us the moral alternative - to improve ourselves and not fall to the lore of our desires - but with their inner voice they latch on to the very reasons they exist, putting themselves forward as sacrifice for our misdeeds.
There are many things I regret doing, and there are many more that regret not having done. As I stood with the gun in my hand, watching the tears fall from the little girls' face, I explore my inner being searching for the chain that leads to my conscience.
He has fallen, and I have affixed a chain to him. Echoes are lost down the depths of my decisions, and I can no longer hear him.
But still I search, wanting a reason not to do what I'm about to.
The echoes are lost.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Sorry
A sudden bout of depression hit me. Just.
From identifying my identity and knowing my true purpose in life to crunching numbers and wondering why the hell my credit card bills are so damn high, I have come to the conclusion that I'm not as mature as I think myself to be.
I could go on and on about the lessons I've learnt and the mistakes I have to walk on past, but it all boils down to the same result - that I will revisit the same place, write the same words, and feel the same feelings.
Are we left to ponder our outcomes like toys neglected on a toddler's shelf?
What is the me I want? Is it the me I should be? What about the me others want me to be?
Strangely unnerving, but oh so true - am I the me, is me already in you?
From identifying my identity and knowing my true purpose in life to crunching numbers and wondering why the hell my credit card bills are so damn high, I have come to the conclusion that I'm not as mature as I think myself to be.
I could go on and on about the lessons I've learnt and the mistakes I have to walk on past, but it all boils down to the same result - that I will revisit the same place, write the same words, and feel the same feelings.
Are we left to ponder our outcomes like toys neglected on a toddler's shelf?
What is the me I want? Is it the me I should be? What about the me others want me to be?
Strangely unnerving, but oh so true - am I the me, is me already in you?
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
Cups
Guys, I'm sorry to disappoint you.
While at dinner today, I chanced upon a philosophy. It arose when I was trying to defend my lousy memory. I said I can only remember things from the most recent on - it's like I erase the older ones that I think I don't need and then replace them with the newer information; this would explain why I have the memory of a headless chicken.
For this reason I've not really remembered the birthdays of friends and loved ones.
But then again, there's this section of my mind that I dedicate to remembering things that are very sentimental - the words people say to me, the things I've done, and many other seemingly frivolous emotional junk.
Those I'll never forget. The first words, the first time I felt something, everything people say that left an impression.
So here's my analogy - that our (mostly mine I guess) memory is like a progression of our drinking glasses.
When we are young, we're like those big glasses you can find at IKEA for $2.99 - you use them to hold everything - warm or cold, to the brim or just a sip; we're open to suggestions, and our minds willing take in anything we throw in. That's probably why we still remember the Gummybear song, or the Ghostbusters' Anthem.
And then when the midlife crisis strikes, we're progressively turning into wine glasses - holding less liquid, but whatever we chose to contain is far more refined that the rubbish those young kids pour in their IKEA glasses. To get more wine, we'll have to drink the existing ones - that's me and my replacement theory.
Here's an example of what IKEA glasses hold (explicit language warning).
Lastly, we move on to the fine chinese cups that we see in front of graves. They're elegant, but hold very little water. If you pour too much, everything will spill. Oh, and you'll only use them when you approach the cemetery.
So there you have it - my theory of memory and the drinking glass.
While at dinner today, I chanced upon a philosophy. It arose when I was trying to defend my lousy memory. I said I can only remember things from the most recent on - it's like I erase the older ones that I think I don't need and then replace them with the newer information; this would explain why I have the memory of a headless chicken.
For this reason I've not really remembered the birthdays of friends and loved ones.
But then again, there's this section of my mind that I dedicate to remembering things that are very sentimental - the words people say to me, the things I've done, and many other seemingly frivolous emotional junk.
Those I'll never forget. The first words, the first time I felt something, everything people say that left an impression.
So here's my analogy - that our (mostly mine I guess) memory is like a progression of our drinking glasses.
When we are young, we're like those big glasses you can find at IKEA for $2.99 - you use them to hold everything - warm or cold, to the brim or just a sip; we're open to suggestions, and our minds willing take in anything we throw in. That's probably why we still remember the Gummybear song, or the Ghostbusters' Anthem.
And then when the midlife crisis strikes, we're progressively turning into wine glasses - holding less liquid, but whatever we chose to contain is far more refined that the rubbish those young kids pour in their IKEA glasses. To get more wine, we'll have to drink the existing ones - that's me and my replacement theory.
Here's an example of what IKEA glasses hold (explicit language warning).
Lastly, we move on to the fine chinese cups that we see in front of graves. They're elegant, but hold very little water. If you pour too much, everything will spill. Oh, and you'll only use them when you approach the cemetery.
So there you have it - my theory of memory and the drinking glass.
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