An Athlete's Farewell

When you taste success, mediocrity eats you
Like a dull worm writhing in your lungs
Short of breath
The end of the roller coaster ride
Leaves the unsettling hunger
Of what can be

You strain your eyes
Looking far beyond 6/6
The horizons betray the vague dreams
Glistening sweat stains the track of the fallen
And you stand

Do you go on?
Do you trudge willingly
Destroying your psyche
In the pursuit of perfection?

For no one said glory was easy
And with life's cards dished out in uneven droves
And blood drying out with each second
You are weighed down by what must be
And what has

You smile, someday
You see that dreams end
A picture portrait
A fleeting moment
So yearnfully immortalized in tiny images
And battle scars
But as the climb ends
You must go down
And life goes on

I believe in humanity -

Depression

Excessive bloating
Shortness of breath, tingling
limbs and palor, with
Heavy-set eyes
and tired sighs

Insufficient qi
an orange sheen
meridians reversed
An inconsiderate mind
and frozen thighs

Every doctor he visits
comes cautionary tales
and fairweather reports
Pain strikes a chord
Unmeasured by metal rods

But no doctor can diagnose a broken heart

Late night thoughts

A friend recently asked about my secret to juggling a successful artistic career in the midst of academic commitments. Being not such a greenhorn in this industry, I am tempted to paint a tropical picture of what life is being a mini-celebrity, with a myriad of gigs to look forward to and a fat pocket, perhaps just like what my Instagram shows. 

But I'm not near enough to where I think I should be.

I am struggling, with bouts of depressive moments and days on end where I lie on bed for hours, wondering if anything will ever work out.

I wait sometimes for days, for the next call or email to come my way, wondering if my big break will skip this long queue of actor and host wannabes and come my way.

I sometimes chase the dream so much I forget to dream.

I know this path comes with great sacrifices: No more scholarships if you are just an ordinary person with limited mental resources; no dean's list to look forward to. You'll be happy to get through, living a double life.

Any wrong move could land you a broken reputation and no more media jobs.

I feel lonely sometimes, and I look around, with friends going into law and medicine; and with so many rag-to-riches stories, I know the artistic path is not the path to take for a comfortable life.

And I feel lonely often: I feel like I have to fight alone in this industry; you'd never know when you'll be left behind.

And this feeling weighs you down like a faltering breath till it reaches an illogical suspicion: every call from a friend becomes to feel like a plea to either fill in a survey, to buy insurance, or to introduce him or her to a casting director. Never just because they just want your company.

And you feel lonely because there are so many things you can't say.

I know that I was never able to do this alone. My hope alone runs out, but I know where this hope comes from, though I always forget from time to time. This is my calling, and with the knowledge of who's the one ultimately in charge, I'll rise above all the petty politics I've encountered in this life, all the hearsay of failure and resignation - all these thoughts begging me to stop doing what I love and enjoy.

Through all these heavy-set moments, I pray; and you know that you don't have to carry these burdens alone, with God behind you all the way. There's many things I still don't understand, and I still battle inner demons that feel so natural to me... But I know somehow God has a plan, and He has a reason.

And that's why I am still here, today, chasing what I dream to be.

And that's why I remind myself to be grateful for every little success I encounter - for each acting, hosting and singing gig that I have; for each friend that calls up just to say hello; for a purposeless hug; for slightly bigger successes on TV and otherwise - I have journeyed a long while, but these little joys spur me on.

I've heard or read somewhere that God doesn't give you more than you can shoulder. I guess it's true for successes as well, and I'm just getting ready for the time where God knows I'm ready to tackle a big fish and reach my dreams.

And when my journey ends, perhaps I'll know everything.

The Ancestral Home

A grey wall bears heavy memories.

With the scent of old paine,

and weathered chalk,

distant sounds of clatter in the kitchen

And a lone dog or two barking a tireless rebuttal to my arrival

I look up at the long flight of unpainted steps,

beckoning silently,

up.

A stone table, heavy set chairs lined up against,

green and chipped with age.

I sit, but the cold bades me in,

past heavy metal grills and open doors,

into the darkness of within,

yet warm with what was.

A light shivers tungsten,

swaying with the smell of rain,

yet outside lies the damp night air,

and crickets cry in vain.

A small screen, news droning within,

and the distant smell of dinner peeps in

past tired eyes and dry hands

into eager nostrils

Clanging of the wok

and vegetable oil dancing amidst dead greens

I sit, head furtively to one side,

balanced on a stoned arm

As a voice calls the time from long ago

I stand, as the floor crumbles 

a moldy cake

I open my eyes to a gluttony sea of green

drowning what's left of these memories

I awake to just grainy images

and an echo of what was

Betrayed by the greed of children

She smiles a lonely goodbye

I awake to just grainy images

and an echo of what was

I awake to just grainy images

and an echo of what was

I awake to just

you and me

The Boy at the Pet Shop

The boy down the street came by, day by day
At my shop window.
He stared down at the little cots,
Where my little babies slept in,
quietly,
sometimes not so much.
My shop shone pink and blue,
pastel colours, and matted fur
Baby cries and pretty purrs

The boy looked with batted curls
Face pressed against cold glass,
Palms sweaty and eager
against invisible barriers
Much to my dismay (those handprints!)
Months torn away
And babies grow
The warmth of June left, and came rainy days
Where damp-pressed skin battled against humid winds

And one day as I closed shop amidst a sleepy thunderstorm
I saw him again.
He was wet, translucent uniform
And little frame
Backpack left aside
As he stared at Foo Foo
I locked up, and I came over,
a gentle hand ready to wave
a practiced smile displayed

And I chimed, "Why hello there young man, not going home in this heavy rain?"
He looked at me a little,
Face but a coy smile
Beady eyes with fond memories.
"I will go back soon"
I pressed on, as curiosity got the better of me.
"Why boy, why do you always come look at my animals? Do you want to ask your mummy or daddy to get you one?"
He then said, "Well, they say if I wished hard enough, my efforts will pay off, so here am I..."
I wanted to say more, but I wasn't a generous one,
so I bade him good day and left him to his own devices.

But ain't him barking up the wrong tree
Where we never perform charity
and it's all but wasted trips?

For if you wish upon a star,
It may one day fall,
But it glides above your head and over the horizon
to yet another beautiful dream.