anchor

people want many things... but really, all they need is consistency. they need reliability from a structure they can depend on when that time comes when they cant stand on their own.

and so it all boils down the bare essentials. underneath the desire for appearances, and money, and things, and thoughtful actions, and kind words and warm hugs, and times of laughter and good food. people really want career stability. people want consistent confidantes. people want dependable partners. people effectively need an immovable reference frame around which to build their vulnerable lives. the lucky some find this anchor in religion. the few find it their significant others or important friends. the rest regularly get swept around the hurricane that is life.

the main trouble with money is that it runs out, and that jobs are mere cubicles that repeatedly toggle between occupied and vacant, much like what we're used to seeing in the toilet, which ironically, is what our economy is in. and the chief problem of appearances is that they are often false covers erected for the express abuse of fraudulent misrepresentation. in the not so often cases where there has been no blatant dishonesty, those are still entities worthy to be treated with more skepticism than enraptured attention, because if we are to protect ourselves from getting into messes in the future, we either have to recognise mess-makers early on or become increasingly efficient in the profession of mess-cleaning. this world is fraught with facetious intentions and cheap expressions; sometimes i wonder if the antonym of pessimism should be ignorance instead of optimism.

when the accounts dry up and the wrinkles form and the white hairs reveal themselves, what we're really left with is the kernel of the beautiful, wealthy acquaintance who now is no longer as rich nor quite as beautiful. is that person still as good? or is he/she now simply a bag of bad habits and a string of cons with no pros left to balance that scale with which we undeniably use to judge the people who pass us by every single day?

m&m's with their colourful sugar coated shells are appealing, and the chocolate inside, rewarding, but those soon fade away. so is one allergic to peanuts? because i guarantee: that sweet taste of chocolate is long gone. well then, when the time comes, would one eat the remaining nut or cheek it and at the back of one's mind, wander between the options of spitting it out or wallowing in regret for not having read the words on the back of the package before opening it?

i say find one truly consistent thing, or attitude, or attribute or figure, or god that one can really, really love so that when old reliable time shuffles everything else like it always does, that thing is still there for one to love, and that anchor, if genuine, will surely outweigh the force of every single gust of nature's wind, holding steadfast all the things that actually matter.

5 in 540

builder of the seasons

the familiar adobe made of clay and crooked sticks
with bendy walls and curvy halls
lo a thatched roof which served as proof that he was aloof--this is truth
it sounded out what was capped within, and it too caved like a honey tin
comfortable it seemed, but flimsy it deemed.

and spring arrived, the trees were surprised, that the builder was alive
he kicked the stick and chose the brick and with a flick
he placed the mortar and there was order and there was structure
no one could puncture.

until spring left and in her place stood dawn of summer
which tore asunder his house of wonder
in wanton plunder and rolling thunder.
spider cracks crawled the walls
and trenchant slats, those ploughed the halls
everything he had, he had to lose
dragged by a noose like an old caboose.

but the sun let up and the trees let down their foliage brown as if to say:
you need not frown because the wind has blown
and the seeds were sown so you must have grown.  
your life is your own so dont be a clone just be your own 
now dry your bone: learn to live alone.

matthew wrote that this was wise:  
when the skies split in twain and it starts to rain
as floods start to rise fools avert their eyes from the autumnal sighs
their houses wash away in the rushing sand 
their lives melt away, apocalypse at hand!

so he found a rock along the coast and with a toast he made a boast
that he would build another house fit for a king, fit for a mouse
one no cumulonimbus nor hurricane could douse
small enough, yet big enough--to store everything; but risk nothing.

he kicked the brick and hurled the stick
and without a feel he chose the steel
and upon a kneel he touched the rock
and upon the rock he placed the beams
and with the beams he built a wall, and upon the walls he fixed a roof
and it was proof he was aloof--it was still truth
'cept windows now faced a different azimuth.

the builder had a new house of wonder
no lightning no thunder could reveal a blunder
and he remembered in autumn what the trees said to him:
that no houseguests could warm him
save the seraphim and of course, the Him.

so when winter came the house you'd guess, it was a mess
and as you know it grew terribly cold
im sure youre told that it snowed sixty-fold
it was no gold: the pain of growing old
the bread in hand had festered mold
he was not sold that he could remain this bold.

but man cannot live on bread alone
no matter the toast no matter the boast
so he took the tool and like a fool he broke his home to smell the breeze
a different breeze, a warmer a breeze, a friendlier breeze, a smiley breeze,
a caring breeze, a lovelier breeze, a pretty breeze, a refreshing breeze,
a tiny breeze but an amazing breeze.

it's spring again it seemed to him though it really still was
the coldest winter its ever been.

strawberry swing

i am in a playground an unfamiliar park. it is daytime. i am sitting on a swing, going back and forth, back and forth...on my right is another swing going in the other direction.

on it is a baby boy, no more than a couple months old. its old enough to be able to grab onto the chains, and old enough to actually appreciate this enjoyable activity. i know this because he is smiling and giggling to himself. i smile to myself as am i looking at him.

i get carried away by the happiness he created and start to swing faster. this is fun. i am reaching higher heights with each push, rocketing up and down, my shoes carving troughs in the sand with each pass. the baby is also trying to go faster, and he does so quickly; and something bad happens. he cant seem to hold on. hes thrown from the swing, and he lands facedown 20 feet from the sandbox, on hard concrete.

i appear next to him...to it. its not a baby boy anymore. its a foetus smaller than my last finger. it has hair, and a face, and tiny hands and wiry legs, it has all of those, but it has no breath. i know it is dead now. a crowd of adults gather, and they see a dead creature down on the ground in front of them and all they do is look, and they mumble amongst themselves, and they point, and they shake their heads, and their brows are furrowed but they are far away. im close by, kneeling,  proning. im next to this dead human being for no practical reason. i want to pick it up but i dont. theres nothing i can do.

nothing except stay close to it during its last moment--because i feel for it and because i am the only one who does and because i am the only one who can--therefore i must.

every single one of those adults, they think they know but they dont. they think they are special but they are the same. they speak of laws but have no virtues. they give solutions to problems that do not exist. they talk when nobody listens. they fumble when all they need to do is keep still and stay silent: every single one of those adults: i despise them all.

i wake up, and i decide that i can learn more from a dead baby than from ten grown humans.

gregory for dummies part trois / misunderestimated part trois

Lesson G301

• im not lazy: im a thinker of ways, not a doer of jobs.
• im not lacking in initiative: if i do, im a finisher of duty not a starter of new works.
• im not a judger: im a fixer of broken things, not a creator of brand new ones.
• im not rude: im a supporter of levity not a coward of political correctness.
• im not aggressive: im a leaky kettle, not a perfect pressure cooker.
• im not distrustful: im a skeptic, not a subscriber of naivete
• im not disrespectful: im a campaigner for meritocracy, not a confucianist.
• im not dirty-minded: im a lover of controversy, not a rabid fan of regular jokes.
• im not gay: i have smooth legs, but i didnt wax them. norly. srs!
• im not a fallen christian: im a disillusioned churchwenter, not lucifer. (for pete's sake)
• im not girly: im a connoisseur of all good television, not just an enjoyer of korean dramas.
• im not weird: im a special guy, not a kuku who only smiles to himself.
• im not racist: im somebody willing to joke about minorities, not prance around as if they are minefields because they arent.
• im not funny: im fucking hilarious.
• im not in denial: im an introspector of reality, not a dreamer of ideals.
• im not fucked up: oh wait, i am..

dont you wish you were too? goodnight, kids!

chased

hi, my best friend from primary school. havent you in years. hows it been? good great. youre in ntu too? wow. oh youre doing this module now? i did it last sem! hmm? uh i got A+. why are u so surprised? yup. haha. ok wait ill show you on degree audit...

wait..damn my iphone isnt working. uh youve gotta go? what time is it? oh 1:26? shit i have Labs. well cya then.

i dash out the door, and jump down an entire flight of stairs. ouch, my ankles. a boy appears ahead of me. he is wearing a dark blue hoodie, without the hood on. he turns back to look at me as if to say "hurry up" and i get the message. i hop over a drain and run past a corner. i cant seem to close my distance. he's still just as far ahead. can you slow down?

i am slowing down. its not that my legs are heavy...they just feel, extremely slow. i want to walk faster but they feel like wet starch--it flows and it moves but if you push it real fast, it hardens--it moves just as fast as it wants to--not a tad faster. its annoying. its frustrating. i have to get to class. i feel like im trying to run underwater. the faster i move my legs, the less likely i am to move at all.... and this boy is still in front, asking me to move faster. i cant. i want to. im trying to! but i cant!

he fishes an umbrella out of his bag. i wonder what its for. he opens it to shelter his head. i wonder why. it isnt even sunny. and then it starts to rain. the boy is even further away now. i can barely see him through the sheets of droplets. im still moving half as fast as i want to. he turns back to face me again, looking at me over his shoulder, with furrowed eyebrows, not of impatience but rather...encouragement.

i lift my wrist to look at the time. oh right, i dont wear watches. i look at my iphone. hey, the website finished loading. there it is. my A+. i put it back in my pocket because its getting wet from the rain. immediately i remember why i took it out in the first place, and i take it out again to look at the time. 3:26pm. suddenly i feel like i dont need to go for class anymore. the release from that burden feels...peaceful. i look up and the boy isnt there anymore.

i wake up. oh it's still monday. that was a puzzling dream. usually im running away from something. this time i was running towards something. i guess its still a problem if in all of these chase dreams, i am always unable to run. how long did this afternoon nap take out of my day? i look at my iphone lying next to me, on the bed. time: 3:26pm.

fuck..

ps. 6 july 2010 i have come to the conclusion that i can no longer run in my dreams due to physiological reasons. the sensation that i feel in my legs is nothing more than the fact that legs feel exactly that way when youre sleeping; they are deactivated and heavy and hard to move. trying to run in a dream translates to trying to run in bed--and rather than thinking my legs refuse to obey, i should have realised that they couldnt even if they were that sentient. why do my legs feel heavy and lazy in my dreams? someone said to me "thats exactly how legs feel when youre asleep."