The Cobbler

I walked by, day by day
The roadside where he sat, with his plastic stool
And tools of varying sizes
Metal and wood converging with the smell of old age
He smiled a toothless grin
Creases feebly collecting like mud puddles
A buoyant wart in a sea of marbled lines

And shoes
In various shades of earth
and concrete
and deep voids of black
Hanging by threads undone
Hands moist with polish and fun
A tap-tap-tap with an wooden gun

No expensive paper needed to dream, there

The Modern Depression

At grandpa's house lay a chair.
It was grey, with matted tears
Like a festering rash, old hair
Fabric clutching its wooden frame with lots of care

And when I sat on it,

A creaking welcomes me to his embrace,
its warmth a respite from the cold and rainy outside
A gentle touch on my cheek
and loving words at my face

A suckling of a teet

I lay, a lazy drone of the fridge
Listening to the old radio blare the 70s
Once again a lil' kid
Sinking into a beautiful dream

When my phone rings.

Is it possible, that in our millennial quest to become extraordinary, we would forget to appreciate the ordinary, happy things in life?

An Encounter with a Madwoman

I watch her as she approaches.

Heels digging into soft carpet

Yet the harsh cling clang of 

Her files bristle in her bag

She turns and 

But why must she look into the mirror

And only see us?

The child clamoring for attention

Behind a silent smile

Painted face and glassy eyes

A voice that counts miles

And a hand that hands out our tithes

And a measuring stick

The child screams through a vacuum

Behind translucent lens

She hears the chatter

Of the easy way out

Calm voices that flatter

And her palms with her fives

And a measuring stick

The

Woman knows her place.

Only when we give, can we be free

“Dedication takes a lifetime, dreams only last for a night”

The Night-Time Friend

When we see the moon

We sing

Guitar strings float across an empty mind

Voices we hear from a distant apartment

Are they singing?

Or is it just colors we see

From days we remember

A faint echo on a jet black sky

A story told

That we cannot remember

It is a warm night, yet a certain cold blows from behind

We turn

but all I see is

All but I see is

You

There's No Finish Line in Sight

We can do this.

It's time to ignore the pressing fears.

It's time to stand tall above the illusory obstacles.

It's time to overcome heavy sleep,

the inertia that plagues the passionate beat of passion.

No one that I can listen to, but my own angry voice telling me to move and never, ever, stop.

8.39

We need noise to deafen the loneliness in our hearts

But the only voice we hear is the love unrequited

独自

一个独自的享受

一串串细小的笛声

在耳边念念不忘

诉说着夜中的秘密

一个独自的思念

一串串不明的泪珠

在脸边一滴一滴

地诉说心里的愿望

于过去的自我相认

于现在的真相精通

于自己的面相不明

11.11

That force holding your breath
Like your hidden dragons bellowing
Gripping tightly on your respiratory system
Eyes closed
You move
But you stay within your rut
Of a mind that cannot speak
Of words that can't be said
Of feelings you can't deny
But you can't obey

You move, but you stay on the ground
While the present is in flight
yet the past passes away
beautiful moments wisp away
A melting photograph
burnt by ashes of your own passion

You live to dream
but you dream of death
And you wake to not living

00:44

Recently received an accidental email from a law school in the U.K. inviting me to visit their open house as an "student with an offered place". It brought me back to 2012 again, where I just received my I.B. results and possibilities were endless in terms of where I'd end up working in the far-off horizon.

Fast forward to today, where I am studying a business degree in a local university; where I spend my free time dreaming about a successful career as an actor singer host, where it somehow seems that I'll be working a 9-5, low paying job in some firm in the near future.

In my mind are what-ifs. If I had somehow succumbed to reality, and spent all my time working on my formulae, I might somehow more than scrape through this degree and perhaps end up in a high flier job, with a comfortable future to look forward to.

Maybe if I had said yes to my offer, took a loan, and went to that faraway place to carve a pedestal for myself.

Or even now, perhaps I should cease dreaming, and focus solely on my academics, and maybe... just maybe I'll graduate with a good class honors.

But in my heart is a child, that aches for life to be lived. A child who wants to see the world through a kaleidoscope, to see colours when there are none.

A child who dreams about living, who lives through dreams.

We actors are all dreamers, and there's nothing but life to stop us.

Unrequited Love

You swept me off my feet
And left it hanging
Danced on the moon and stars
And left me churning
For dreams are beautiful

But we wake up rolling around in reality and we wish'd we'll sleep again and frolic amongst deep black illusions and never breathe the cold air of coarse realization that we could love but it's never a promise that you'd be made a fool of love and love itself as a recurring theme in your life and so I end my day and go to sleep

And I dream yet again
It leaves me happy
With photos love and wine
I hang them up on
The ground of my two feet

Asleep

It is beautiful to dream.
To dream in colours, multitudes
reflected in the pupils in eyes of one dear
To hear songs of the sea in gentle whispers
under warm nestled blankets
To close one's eyes and see the rise and fall
of sweet rest

Memories one holds dear

Teenager: On Christmas

The warmest time of the year

Under the pelting rain

Where calories burn

In jet-lagged bodies

and wet blabbering mouths

Crystalized on beads of red, yellow and blue

Smiles exchanged

The fragrance of Jasmine floats 

Beneath the ethanol stench

of blue ticks

red ticks

and lipstick stains

Buzz.

He looks onto ebony 

Loneliness spells a larger consequence than the colours of friends forgotten

And fiends who linger 

in a circular pace

The Beach

One day, I walked along the beach
Sand in my feet, light and bristly
Caught beneath brittle nails, each
pink with youth, softly tingling
Warmth inching into cold skin

Wet with blood running within
Red unseen
Sand with a buried history

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.

The Painted Glass

Why must we see the world through irises?

For these rounded glass approximate the beauty of the world

And we see not the truth

But our truth.

Why must we hear through our clouded thoughts?

For words which we hear, don't come in close

But through learning we hear and not listen

and fear and it deepens

And memories add to the present a pretty little filter

Why must we feel?

For we smile through thickened creases

Chaffed lips hide a heavy heart

Light is the load

But heavy is what I hear

Bogged down are the number of colours in the box

And my trembling hand

Why must we understand

Before loving,

and understand,

before wisdom?

A journey to the Upper World

He scurries along dark pavements,

Scraps of leftovers beckoning

Friendly colours of brown and black

Amidst roads of grey and 

Smells of delicious meat in the broiler

He sneaks a peak out of darkness

Bright tungsten glares from heaven

While a steady whirl 

A constant distraction

One. One. One.

Zero.

He climbs a steady climb up folds of heavy fabric

And musty smells of bleach and dog furs

Brown amidst maroon and yellowy white

While the television blared in a faraway place

Danger contained within metal and plastic

Then he paused.

There, in a tiny pink box:

The It.

Nestled within luscious layers of hay and straw

Toys within reach

Clean water to one side

And a little bell, hanging from the little ceiling of pink and nil

And a little wheel,

all cute and yellow

paradise in the universe

The It slept peacefully in a corner, breathing little, quick breaths

An imaginary squeal waking its little limbs

In an air struggle

An imaginary predator
and an imaginary freedom

He turned, and scurried back into the Under
free

Under the Silvery Moon

Under the silvery moon,
Stars we cannot see
Shining a peaceful melody
Over the purple skies
Of tungsten and green

Padded cushions
Hiding twos and fives
If dreams cannot be seen,
If life cannot be lived
I can't be me

I can't be me

I can't be me

The Man In The Mirror

But why must love be the answer?
To a life
Where we chase dreams that we hold and touch
To a face
Which we see but not our own,

For in the mirror lies a lesser us
Cold and unconscious
But very much as alive
As our tendencies
A dark, burning fire
Dancing with the cold winter
But why must love be the answer?

And I dance along,
In silent solidarity with friends
Every move a mimicry
Every smile a glazed shine on a little mirror
In beady, friendly eyes
Squinting under lines of eyeliner and mascara
For in the mirror lies a lesser us

Breaking free only in dreams,
white on white
on silver and grey
Clean teeth, sharp and ready
To make a point
But why must Love, love us?

Someday we will learn to love
Out of the grainy soil
Of times past

For to love the mirror
And not the man in the mirror
Is but a pity.

The Bogeyman

From a corner of my eye,
it lies.
Slithering from the depths of my dreams
Into a muddy consciousness

I walk alongside the pavement, a heavyweight on my back
Its voice whispering sweet nothings from long ago
A gentle hand
Translucent, slimy, wet with passion
Runs through my hair
Dry with the Sun

And dusk falls
I start running
for with nightfall comes the beautiful nightmare
Hands outreached, it grabs my limbs
Was it my hand, or my leg?
Or did it take?

Stones count its years
And stones replaces heavy hearts
When we stop looking
The Bogeyman smiles, and then it collects its dues

But I can't resist
and I take its hand
Or a gentle kiss on the cheek
So much more we yearn,
but with memories
All comes broken
All comes like a sick breeze from the canal below
Beckoning you in a stomach churning realization

That good things aren't meant to last
From long ago

$10.00

The fear of poverty is real.
The pain of poverty is real.
The constant dig in your stomach,
As your numbers fall gradually, when you have not even swiped a dollar
The numbing feeling when you lend someone your cable
And he disappears with it
That $10.00, so insignificant
Yet so precious
The every day struggle against taxi rides
Or lunch is no more
Or dinner is no more
Yet you smile
And you pay gladly
Every eye you see

The Tarot Card Lady

Thirty.

She took my hand, and led a prayer.

Then saw the moon in my eyes, a dulled ear
Seconds turned to moments of revelation
the witching hour's clock turned

To me, as I looked earnestly
in dim anticipation.

Pulled out numbers from days far gone,

Counting stars, and grave markers doth fond
counting scars and smiled a chore
for the past, is a reckoned simile forgone

I listened, ears red
and mouth dry for the truth is no further gone

With faith

Lessons learnt and wishes wished
Fond memories and what could be -
Time, did stop for a while

With the suspension
of disbelief,
Gently, she prodded
Words mellow, weighted measures
cold hands and warm shadows
Crowd watched from afar
But there were none

With faith

Cards resonate
Life atoned
Smiling more, she was God
and the universe
she spoke in rhymes
for plain words turned happy pills

resonates in thine mind.

The devil, the advocate
The minion in each card tells a little lullaby
Or maybe just
As I twirled with darkness
I could be no further from the truth

But to believe, makes it truth
and truth be told, and truth told
Makes what truth is left in what we perceive truth to be

But stories told do come true
And fairytale endings promised to you

You smile, renewed.

Ignorance? - Maybe.


But... happiness is worth it too.

Classroom 7A

How does it feel like to be alone?

Is it laughter in the distance, where you look through the window panes of your silence?

Or is it the delicious scent of sweet bakes, melting in your mouth
But one bite, just one bite -

Or is it the sound of music in your ears,
sweetly singing undiscernible tones
as you sit, smiling in sweet memory of something long ago

Is it laughter close by, where you laugh a merry laughter, but it reaches your arms
a cold breeze wafting by

Or maybe laughter in your face
At your face
While you cover your face
With your soul

10pm by the roadside

She stood in the rain, beside the pavement
Wearing a shirt of white and grey
Red showing beneath the water stains
Red on teeth,
black on black the clouds grew
In the dark of the night

A frozen leg shook
As her heels dug into old earth
And her legs stained brown
As the cars passing threw her furtive glances

A little clutch lay by the kerb
"More important matters come first"
She muttered under muted breath, again and again,
Measuring the breadth of her own ego
As she counted stars
In the Singaporean night sky

But all she saw were faces of green and white staring
And teeth black and gold
Rotten breath
And a happy smile.

Random musings on a Monday night.

I'd like to count my blessings, from the little smiles in people, to a simple hello.
Days do turn to weeks and months pretty quickly, and my virgin internship experience has been quite a roller coaster, with so much more to learn, so many more to experience and yet insufficient energy to tide me through.

I'd guess I'll try to change up my schedule, and insert a little exercise every morning. Just tried it today (Monday, 20/6/16), and it seems that I came to work feeling so much more positive and ready to face every tired Monday blues face. <3 p="">
God watches over me, and I'm happy that through all the different doors that close, more doors open for me, in my own time.

This, and many more nights, is time to remind oneself to be appreciative, to be grateful of how wonderful life has been treating us.

I'd sleep wanting more, but dreams should be dreamt with no restraint, for only with big dreams, come big goals, and come bigger opportunities.

Cheerios! 

When The Boogie Monster Appears

I like bedtime stories.
Those that keep you warm, in the winter cold.
Where blankets and little cuddly toys
Only disappear into the layers of fabric
And the Boogie monster looms large and free
Just under that dark corner, where Fifi used to play.

I like bedtime stories,
Where a voice, gentle and mellow
Plays a singsong melody
Where fairies fleet
and doggies dig
and little nannies kidnap children

(And feed them gruel for breakfast)

I like bedtime stories,
Sometimes they lull me into a beautiful dream
Maybe just deep satin black covering beady eyes
Ne'er a cause to fear
For tomorrow is but another playtime
For an innocent soul

I like bedtime stories,
Where we snuggle,
familiar smells of family lingering in pinks and blues
There! Where Fifi used to play,
in the beautiful garden below
With the bushes blooming orange and green

I like bedtime stories,
And I tell them to myself -
Now that the Boogie monster has taken them away
And Fifi
Where's she?
Rest in peace...

The Pauper's Daily Recount

Fresh leaves, dampened in lathers of yellow
Sit wrapped in a speckled sea
As hot layers of pink settle asleep
in dreamy droves
On a clear bed of white

The fragrance fills the air
so clean, so bright, so tantalizing
He licks his lips in gleeful anticipation
Of a bite into that gorgeous creation

It travels, carefree
No eyes to see
No nerves to feel
But just a singular aim

And he raises it to his lips,
they part,
and they reveal clipped, white teeth
with little rounds of shine dotting the individual pillars

And down they go,
dancing
parting ways
each cell traveling down in a sea of darkness
into tomorrow

I sit by the side, and watch.

The Old Lady Who Lived In The Bushes

There was an old lady, with a wishing well.
She lived in the bushes, from stories they tell.
A little cottage garden, carnations she grew.
Stories they say that may be just true.

I believe, though, and I walked down
Day by day through smoldering forest ground
Till the forest stopped me bare
Branches hindered me, and fabric tears.

There, days numbered weeks, and weeks turned to years.
Or maybe not, but counting numbers, this my fear.
Without many a standing hair
And hearing God in words unfair

We grew up, and with life we bear.

I Skyped My Ex's Mom In a Dream (A Poem)

It was a chance encounter.

I would say.
I didn't know she would, but she answered, a pleasant,
middle-aged, made-up face answering a video call
from
far-away. A call I made to my memory.
Dorothy chirped, oblivious to the certain strangeness of it all,
Mom, answering her daughter's computer?

"Hi, Oh you were looking for her?"
If only she knew what I was looking for,
wasn't her, but the scent I've long forgotten
the ruffle of her hair when she turns
her unfamiliar gait

"She's just away from her desk for a minute,
How are you dear friend?"
Dorothy blinked expectantly, her face a neutral smile
awaiting my reply.
But I was awash with mucus,
Flowing out of my nasal passages
Of my mouth
Silence was her answer.

"Oh she's here,"
As her familiar face clicked into view.
She had not aged a bit through all these years,
still wearing the exact same clothes she slept in
day by day,
the pajama affair
A pretty sight
Her face betraying her untainted features,
an awkward twitch overcoming her left temple
And the glow from her desk in a far corner.

"Erm, hi?" A bright voice emerged from the speakers, tin-can vibes reflecting the sheer distance
I faltered a hasty reply,
Heart beating skipping twice a beat too soon
Hands clammy
It was the first date all over again,
She was beautiful, there and there

"Oh yeah I am, to a cute sailorboy,
yeah he's cute; What about you? Are you too?"
A lie ensued, a retort in jest
I smiled, and chuckled with a cackle at my own soul

"Oh sure, let's meet tomorrow! Oh okay I'll bring him too though that's totally weird,"
But she had moved on,

As I jolted to life, bedsheets stained a crimson memory
Consciousness rushing in
I knew it was my time too
But she did not wait for me
And memories keep pulling back
Year, after, year

It was a blank screen when I went to bed again.

When Death Pays a Visit

She wasn't afraid of dying,
but dying alone.

He was Death itself, and it pained him to bring to life, life's curse.
He came, sickle in hand, a shroud covering his chiselled face
Cursed in life, and conscious only in death
He walked, bringing the end to a close
collecting his dues

But she wasn't afraid of dying,
but dying alone.

He walked through the quiet corridors, on a gloomy midday
the skies as if to ascertain his presence
powerful, but a powerless release
He walked, he knew what was to come
A wrinkled hand, maybe, or a bloodied face

But she wasn't afraid of dying,
but dying alone.

He reached the room. It smelled of fresh flowers;
Someone had replaced the dying blooms from a fortnight ago
And the remaining rays of the midday glow
cast its gentle eyes on her
Eyes closed, a peaceful smile.

She knew.
She wasn't alone.

He watched, the black folds of his shroud reaching out like streams of tears
They should have cried with
enveloping the creases on the weathered floor
She breathed laboriously, glistening sweat on her temple
As the fresh blooms engulfed the room in a sickly sweet scent

She wasn't afraid of dying,
but dying alone.

And she knew she would never be from then on.
Her Lover has crossed the unending river to take her home
For life has always belonged to death
And memories to the deserving living
They did not deserve it.

She was ready.
She reached out her hand, ready to

Hold the nurse's hand that gripped hers tightly.
"You'll be alright,"
Was a gentle whisper.
Who was it?
Through blurred vision her eyes dreamed beautiful faces from her past

She was ready
And she wasn't alone

Death sat by the bedside,
Black tears raining through plastic veins
Then streaming through scouring membranes
He came, and he went away
Alone.

She was ready,
But We would not let go.

Flu

Whirl! Whirl!

Your head churns an ungodly tune

As rivets of brain juice, blended into a fine silvery consistency

crushes your consciousness 

an hourly alarm clock

You dance a foxtrot,

no, a box-step as you lay down

clockwork turning

a kettle past boiling point

boiled till the metal caramelizes

Knock knock

the devil appears in your dreams

as a dreamless sleep

marred by the strings of paracetamol

weighing on your heavy head

on the littlest frame

your body has now become

           You awake, yet you are struck by a constant melody

The beat of your own drum

Counting a 2 by 2

Thumping heavy

Thumping heavier

THUMPING-PING 

as it is dulled into a lifeless sleep yet again

For days become minutes

and daylight your enemy

The warmth an inviting enemy

The cold cast out, a forlorn thief

And it

Back agin

The Mango Cake

I came around on a sunny weekday,

Hands in my pockets,

Acting out little fidgety stories

Vasaline on my cracked skin disappearing under thirsty pores

Enough was the fear.

And so I walked into the bakery,

Cancelled the order for a delicious mango cake,

Returning favors had never been so easy.

Under the orange tree you lay,

Seated grudgingly on a stone pedestal

How small it was.

Only that you were waiting in vain,

No time could have waited but you

Musing about the possibilities that it could have been.

Under the orange tree we lay,

So long before

Hidden memories under these layers of cream and candy

I sat there once, and ate it all alone.

Just a thought.

It takes very little to be happy, but the knowledge that you are in control of your own destiny. Not the words of others, or material possessions, for they are all but temporary.

When the heretics speak

Amidst this lingering madness,
I plant the seed of optimism,
growing into numerous vines of white and yellow
red blood gushing through tired veins
till it falls
spent but valued.

But who more to live for but yourself,
and for the smiles of many, hungry men?

And the voices of many a authority,
whispering thunders of proclamation
drowning your elephant ears
Bellowing in the gentle breeze?

And the whispers of the dead
silently beneath the cold pressed soil
yearning a turn of the shovel
so as to breathe the fresh country air
wafting green and green over
whilst people toil in grey
repeated patterns quiver a monotonous heartbeat
A single continuum of blue
as red gushes into the green soil above
and into hungry, little mouths of the Fathers
with ne'er a rectum

But many mouths
all chanting the same tune.

Smiling.

The Before Book - Poem

For doors open, yet you don't see them
Only looking back at heavily watered grass
Wishing that in it lies flowered seeds
That break from the thrashed soil, with
Toiling arms not rested
And all of which falls back to a single voice.

The voice of reason resonating in a chamber.

A little man in a little city owned by Big Men - A Poem

We are an old soul, with a young heart. 

A grounded individual with large wings, soaring high in our dreams, only to crash next daylight

So as we sleep, we ponder

And we give thanks to the bread we break

It melts on our tongue

Not reaching our ravished, hungry tummies

Crying foul for capitalism unfair

But those are only words

Which we eat

and we chew

And we listen

And we grow full from the promises our forefathers sung

The foot does toil

the hands filled with callouses

The dry, rabid mouth

Speaking of sticky, sickly sweet words

We look through the drool, and then we see God

in the mirror.

The Past vs the Present

Our parents might have had it harder in terms of standards of living. No air conditioning (or perhaps inefficient cooling), noisier vehicles, no trains to take us around, less shopping malls, no electronics, terrible television quality...

But somehow they had it better too. Everything was more predictable. Change was slow. Communication was slow, but we saw each other more often. Graduating from university was a big event, and your career was made out from then on.

Life wasn't easy, but it was easy to plan.

Now, we think of the knowledge economy, the digital economy. Basically it means - we know too much, yet we think too slow in comparison to the myriad of computers making calculations every millisecond, on stocks, on the value of currency, of businesses - by the time we graduate - knowledge is made obsolete.

And this is reason to be afraid.
 But even more reason to dream big.

Thoughts about a life worth living

Sometimes we fall victims to choice. We choose to be victims of circumstance. We choose to be victims of personality. We choose to blame us on fate, on luck, on our upbringing. While there are many situations which lead us to think that we are but actors in a scripted play - could we choose otherwise?

It has been hard. Growing up in a society laden with expectations. With overly competitive schoolmates, competing in everything from results, to number of sport medals. Growing up, I've been like the others. Chased dreams of scholarships, of good results on report cards, on getting into the best classes in the school and taking more "prestigious" subjects - my entire ego has been fueled by an appetite for approval - by society.

And unfortunately something else crept in - my love for the entertainment industry. And from then on my attention has been ripped into 2 directions, one scrambling to maintain passes in school, and attending classes on time, and the other dreaming of a big break.

The long hours of acting (and sometimes rehearsals), the auditions taking up so much time, the rejections - it has made me into a person with a lot of grit - but sometimes, don't you feel like there's nothing left inside of you, other than a worn down shell?

My ego has been crushed, then rebuilt by a flimsy approval from the entertainment world. Every job I get seemed like a nod from an invisible judge in my mind, telling me that I too - can do well too.

That I will not retire at 70, poor and void of any true achievements.

I have ceased to chase paper grades. My aspirations in law are long over (to good effect, there's too many lawyers now for too little jobs), and my grades in business school are perhaps less than stellar due to my fear of numbers (equations? no.)

And my efforts placed in the entertainment industry are not enough to bear good fruit, but too much for such little progress.

5 years is too much. Yet some actors take 20 years, or more. Do I have enough time? Recently, a poor lady named Cheryl fell down a cliff in Australia, and died. If I was her, and I fell? Would I die filled with a life of what-ifs?

What am I doing with my life? Where are the big dreams dreamt of as a teenager?

Even now, I dream of an existence where I am a successful entertainer, host and actor, getting big gigs, my timetable full yet the full control to reject any gig; with a successful side business to helm and grow my finances - and a nice house and car to boot (I guess its alright to be a little materialistic), but then I wake up, to a comfortable home, though a little small, to parents who adore me, to a stable family, to a future where I may live a simple, perhaps frugal but livable lifestyle, where I am at my best comfort to at least try a little longer to reach my dreams.

And there are so many things to be thankful about.

My new internship that is going to last for 6 months, with very diverse and interesting colleagues, a convenient workplace, a friendly and sweet boss - all willing to take me in despite my inexperience and quirks.

My good grade for a single module, with a professor that is earnest and innocent.

Friends who are there for me, silently, but surely.

Good things do happen, and it should be made a habit to end every day thinking about the positives in life, and how exciting tomorrow would be.

The little gestures of kindness a fellow intern gives, a smile leeching from an unfriendly face, a pat on the back - and seeing happy, smiling people brightens up an otherwise unexciting existence.

And every tomorrow gives hope, that I am working towards a big break in my own little way - where the toil bears fruit and I am content.

Mindfulness goes a long way.

Random essay about Circle Values - Heh heh

Many talk about excellence in today's society. About excellence at work, at play, winning competitions and getting that perfect GPA. Many talk about leadership, with people running for executive positions and the like. However, less talk about commitment, as it is no longer a trend in today's fast-paced world. People are job hopping. No longer is being committed a valuable characteristic. But only with commitment can you grow, from your failures, from the many hours learning - from discovering yourself.  What about integrity? Many preach about that. Many pride themselves of being responsible adults with a conscience - but integrity is not something to show the world. It is something that feeds the inner soul. However, you cannot achieve this yourself. We need people. Collegiality is something very much overlooked, as many would like to rely on your own abilities. But with people comes synergy, and with synergy comes success.

The beauty of life lies in the beauty of human fragility: from the gentle smiles worn on tired faces to the silent thoughts of human fears - we all live

How to succeed in school

We all want to succeed.

It is easy to achieve excellence in school through a commitment to your school work and readings. However, paper grade alone will not ensure a complete learning experience from school. The corporate world requires a high level of leadership, something not achievable by just listening in class and finishing your assignments. It is necessary to consciously uphold yourself with integrity, never cheating in assignments, even ungraded homework; as your character is not an action, but a habit.

You cannot achieve this yourself, though. Work together with your colleagues and schoolmates to achieve collegiality, where your strong support system can groom you and your friends into responsible young adults capable of surviving in today's ever-changing environment.

so listen to not only your mind, but your heart, where your inner-conscience will guide you in becoming a person of character and wisdom, an asset to society.

Good luck!

To be happy is when you are in the company of happiness.

The Happy Pill: Where is it?

What is it to be happy?

It seemed much easier in our childhood, where a free treat will induce euphoria and a hug from a parent equates to pure bliss. Where a good grade meant a wonderful holiday ahead, presents from parents and self worth. Where love seemed much easier.

However, in recent years, this concept drifted from its shore. Now, with choppy waves and unprecedented depths, happiness - as an emotion grew incoherently complex. Now, it was easy to feel this temporal emotion called glee, called excitement, called joy; but happiness as a basal emotion, as a state of mind -
seems even more out of reach, with increased expectations of ourselves, of life, of how to live life;

It would be apt to say that nowadays, we are easily elated, easily delighted, easily cheerful - for the sake of pleasantries, but few would say that we are happy.

In this age of social media, happiness has become transient - it has become a flurry of photos, of staged, smiling faces, of predetermined poses and scenery: it has become a calculation.

And as we look through hundreds of Instagram photos, of Facebook photos - we see, and we get used to all these many photos screaming "Look at me! I am happy and you all know it!"

And it gets harder. We ask ourselves, are we happy? Do we have enough exciting activities, just like our Instagram follow? Do we have enough achievements to be proud of? Do we have enough happiness to parade to the world through our tiny computer screens?

But do we have to?

As long as we have tried, we would be happy. As long as you believe in yourself - and that's emerging a distant option - as we need others to believe in our reality, for us to believe in ourselves.

For we need approval, from co-workers at work telling us how good a job we've done, to an A in our transcript, to a letter proving our scholarship receipts:
happiness is no longer within our control.

And we have to change. For every moment is the only moment we will ever have.

For every waking hour, that is spent wallowing in despair, in sadness, in boredom -
Can be spent with happiness. With loved ones. With the work that you do - and enjoy.

With an innocent mind - that believes in happiness from within.
A mind that believes in free love, a love not calculated, not measured, and not owed.

A happy mind, because we are happy.

So why complain of unhappy things? Why fear of not doing well in school, at work, with relationships and friends? Why be afraid and unhappy when all you have to do is to try? This is a technological age, where connections are so much faster, yet people are so much further apart. Where meetings are no longer face-to-face communications but email exchanges.

Feelings are so much more described than felt. And we have to change. Why not make a change today? Why not as you go to work, think of ways to make happiness real? Instead of sending an email - why not find him or her to initiate the discussion?

Walking never hurts when it leads to good returns. And human interaction - real ones - are the best returns you can ever get, especially in today's age where we are so close;

yet so distant.

And then we can be happy.

A Story of a Voluntary Slave

When he talked to me, his arms were shaking. His face was gaunt with grief. I had to hold him for a while, to compose his thoughts while he tried making sense of it all. But Jensen something else to say, and he stopped me from quietening him down.

Thus we sat down, and I listened.

He begun, "Never in my life has a mere sacrifice been so significant. But to me - it is everything: because of the amount of effort I put into this. You borrowed us for these little hours, but it all amounted to more than Tarry the amount. You knew what was happening. We always came to your zoo for the beatings. You escorted us - and you knew how hard we were being beaten and the many extra hours we put in because you always escorted us from the safe-haven and to the safe-haven after the beatings."

It was cryptic, but I understood. From ages past, the village chief had practised sorcery, using the villagers as unsuspecting, innate sacrifices for the Moon God. For a pittance of crumbs from His dungeon.

"I was up for this - with much faith in this Village - and thanks to His Exploit - I will have to rethink my dignity in life - because this Village seems to be filled with miserly people without a conscience. Like Him."

He was breaking down into tears, and I comforted him, for I too understood. He should not have registered as a voluntary citizen in Laza.

"Even a kind word seems so hard to get now since you want to keep it private for a greater future of your cult. You think the world only for yourself and your Doppelgängers, and you use the collective force with no guilt. You used the guise of the Church to validate the vanity of this entire comedy - sorry that we all saw through it. We all did -"

In my eyes were a fiery fire that ignited at the Injustice.

"You are powerful, we know that. You with your many sheep, the sheep whom stands guard at the gate, the sheep whom you lock up in pens, the sheep who lock our hearts in pity. But you are the poorest of us all - with your dry, selfish heart. I do hope the repercussions of your Cold will come back to haunt you into having a conscience. You will be remembered for your cowardice - by all of us, and we will come back as legion, as a collective voice - and all who has met you will chant the sins you have committed."

My heart ached with guilt for the Chief - for his Evil had stemmed from an Earlier, more innocent time.

"This fire burns within our hearts, and this light of truth shines upon you like the Sun on a maggot.

And though the truth was buried, it will arise, when you are old and knackly, and it will be remembered."

The words from his mouth disappeared like a wispful sigh and he quickly disappeared into the darkness of the slums.

I knew I had to perform the Anti-Spell to reverse His Curse, but I alas was too young and unable.

It was all for a Better Time.

It's an old, tugging feeling yet again.

Visiting melancholy, so bittersweet, stretching heartstrings till ends don't meet

Peace within 

I love

I love life, but not how I have to live life not by my standards.

I love people, but not how I have to love people by their standards.

I love myself, but not how I lie to myself.

I love freedom. I love the freedom to be myself. 

I love sincerity. I love the little comforting words friends say when they mean it. 

I love people with a weak heart - for they are the most sensitive souls with the purest thoughts.

I love children - for their outlook on life - on how a little smile and a gentle word can make darkness pull away like a eager tide.

I love old people - for they have lost so much that they are not afraid to lose more.

I love mad people - for they feel.

I love the little voice within me - that speaks of right and wrong.

I love to love.

Do you?

I Was Ok (A Poem by me)

Familiar feelings once loom again

The dullness -

The slow, but throbbing heart -- -- -- -

The heaviness set once again, -

recalled by ages

- come.

The many –

swivelling thoughts –

of “what-if”. What if. What if

life - gave better choices. What if

life revealed more its - truth. What if

life was easy.

What if love

Was easy,

No?

What if -

Worm

Cure this pathetic worm of its coldness.

Of regrets unforgettable. 

For life's sake - finding a haven in the harsh meaningless of life.

Of lost dreams and comfort.

Warm it up with boiling water

Stir it in leaf greens

Shock away the lingering itch

Stir stir stir

Up the troubling reality of time's one way track to hell

Of procreation, survival, and then death

(As an afterthought)

Only a few cycles of seasons to live

Indonesia (An old poem I wrote years ago)

In the land of exotic traditions,

New Hope arises, soaring into the skies

Destination? Infinity, as the bagonjong rises up in confidence

Over the shadows of the singkok

Never falling, the cards never turned against its good fortune

Elegant papan banyak reflecting grandeur and beauty

Succinctly people of the land proclaim:

“I heart the land of wonders,

A haven of many islands and happiness in confluence.”

I'm still a child at heart, not ready for life.

Off colour.

There is a growing uneasiness within me.

Day by day it tugs at my chest, filling me with anxiety.

I am not sure what I am feeling. I am finishing my mandatory service very soon - what is this?

Fear of the unknown? Fear of making a decision?

There is so much to life. So much to live. Yet so little time.

In a few months - I would most probably be going to SMU to read business.

Yet a part of me tugs at the possibility of reading law in the UK.

The challenge I will most likely not take up due to the high initial costs involved.

And yet another part of me pulls me to the entertainment sector.

I just wanna act, and sing like there's no tomorrow. Coz' there's no tomorrow, it seems in this sector.

You work, and there you are again pining for your next gig, being at the mercy of the many casting managers, competing with many talented and aspiring artists as well.

Will I take this life?

I have only 20 years or so of productive working years. If I must be an entertainer, even less.

Time waits for no one, yet now - I await, all the time.

There are so many obligations - and as much as I would want to live a life of giving, I realise - it requires first a lifetime of effort.

This clammy feeling in my stomach is not unfamiliar.

I once, and once again feel it.

Life - forces you to make decisions faster than you are ready.

Interesting dream I remembered. Interesting ain't it?

I was in front of a condominium, in the lobby. There were large steps leading to the lobby, and it was sure grand.

I was standing there, with a misty Sun above me.

Then there were this being of the night, already transformed, and in his arms lay a captor.

He was one of those who are too far condemned from a life in heaven. Therefore being in the Sun would not bring him closer to the light.

He proclaimed possession over me and all those in his presence. Yet I was just a spectator.

And there were hooded crows, messengers who spread lies over the plain country.

They were strangely silent, yet their hooded heads nodded in fervor.

And then there were people, dressed up like crows, sniggering and hiding. Hiding, but their white, fat faces did not escape our gaze.

And I never knew if they escaped His gaze.

And I heard their conversation. They were talking about curiosity. And that they could leave anytime.

But could they?

And there was this heat.

I knew I was dreaming, but I could not wake up from this scenario. Strangely, that large winged being drew me with his majestic demeanor, his thirst for blood hanging in the strangely misty air.

And there was this constant wind blowing brown autumn leaves, leaving some on my hair - but there was no wind that I felt, only an intense summer heat.

And the white faced people giggled, and switched positions between the silent, still cloaked crows, boasting about the ignorance of these creatures of the night.

And the Sun was swallowed by a cloud.

I woke up.

De Zhong

Life's good.

Clearing leave feels so good.
Late mornings.
Sloth.
No pressure.
A nice, warm brunch ready for you at the table.
No work.

No humans to please.
Thanks be to God for this restful period.

It's near Christmas.

Christmas is coming.

Sometimes. I wish it was more eventful.

There should be one time of the year I'm looking forward to, and Christmas seems to be the best time.

It's the end of the year, there's less work, there's holidays coming up, there's nice Christmassy songs...

Something's missing.

I know what's missing.

Presents!

Okay something more politically correct would be - to feel God's love.

Random rants rock. :)

Sometimes.

Sometimes, all we need is kindness. Kindness changes lives. A smile, a considerate action, empathy.

Trust.

Here's something I did on a Saturday.

Thanks for giving this opportunity for an emotional catharsis. I sung my heart out and I think I did a pretty good job:)

Here's my song below.

"My Funny Valentine"

How Toys Become Real - A book I should pick up someday.

"What is real?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real is not how you are made," said the Skin Horse. It is a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but really loves you, then you become real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit. "Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. When you are real you do not mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, “or bit by bit?"

"It does not happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. You become. It takes a long time. That is why it does not happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby.

But these things do not matter at all, because once you are real you cannot be ugly, except to people who do not understand."

Is this a children's book?
It gave me goosebumps.

A reflective post I saw on the net.

"Grant me the ability to never settle for anything else that I truly deserve and let me work my hardest for what I desire. 

Let me charter into territories unknown, let me get lost and help me find my way. 

Get my heart broken, my knees scraped, get my arms bruised. 

Let me be in so much pain that when I get out of it whole and clean, I know I can take on anything that comes in my way. 

Let me delve into the deepest pools of thought, and let me drown in its richness. 

Allow me to continue befriending dynamic individuals, continue challenging me to my wit's end, and please help make sure my spirit never falters. 

More than anything else, no matter how much I tread the path of the unfamiliar with much bated breath, please, please help me make sure I am never terrified of being terrified."

......

Stranger, what you need is not all those. What you need is to learn how to appreciate what you have.

But good job for that well constructed essay. You left a good impression of yourself,

A blessing on a Friday.

Sometimes, you can learn so much by being willing to listen.

Today, I talked to a senior colleague in my office. It was a blessing for me. I learnt about business, learnt about myself, learnt how to communicate and most importantly, learnt how to listen.

Thank you mister.

Though you told me you learnt from me as well: I feel that this talk can potentially change the way I think.

Bit by bit, I will shed the naivety in me and learn the art of being socially adept.

Bit by bit, I will climb the ladder of success and live the eventual lifestyle I want.

 Bit by bit, I will learn to listen more and more, till I have something to offer on my own.

Thank you for believing in me, though others may belittle and chide me, though others may look upon me with scorn and pity.

Thank you for being my friend in this society where everyone can be the next one to shoot you down.

Thank you for changing the tides for me - for giving me this sense of meaning, this joy in attending daily activities, for giving me confidence in my own self.

With your encouragement, I sincerely feel that I have grown.

I will not forget this day.

This is truly a blessing from God.

Something good about today.

My bosses were not around:)

Alright I still did my work. But still...

It's going to be a wonderful Friday.

A poem I wrote way back in January 2009. I was so mushy back then. Sigh.

Love is all one needs.
With the passing of time, all will pass,
withering, withering, within
As the beautiful petals of your present
will fall away, leaving the
Brown unsightly core
"Do you still love me by then?"
I ask, as you witness the results
of an unordinary love.

Love is all one needs.
As infatuation leads to self denial,
further progressing to
emotional security
"I do"
I say, as I make a promise
for a life time.

Love is all one needs.

Telling not all, but one,
And convincing one that one actually
Never wants to leave him
Yesterday, today and tomorrow
Under the blanket
You do understand this, and so do I
As someone close to you
Never will, and never will
Give you away.

Love is all I need.
As time compacts into a moment in time,
forever treasured as moments are temporary
A photo taken by the mind
of your eyes
Filled with power
Not of dominance but of emotional communication
Brown is actually such a lovely colour
The colour of your eyes
"Baby," someone's voice whispers
In the distant present
in the nearby past
As you stare through a screen
transcending through space
through time
through physical and momentary barriers
to come face to face
Heart to heart
Together
Hand in Hand
Love
Is all I need.

De Zhong

A Swan Song

How I shed my feathers,
one
by
one
The white crushed by the fiery fire of despair
The croak I sing
This melodious ode to your affection
Methinks
This dress I wear, this momentary attraction
melts as the heat reaches the afternoon air
As all goes to black
With eyes closed, my wings flap
Flap
Flap
FLAP
While the gentle release
of my digestive gasses
released from my dead, rotting body
As I fly,
A dream of me in bed,
never opening my eyes
Never again, he said.

Daisy

Jazz is still my favourite.

When Life

Sometimes, things grow heavy
Heavy in your swollen eyes filled with gravy
Yet is it not a heaviness in your heart so long and far
A grief you cannot escape thus far?

Sometimes, my face grows heavy
I speak to myself all day
As my jolted heart bears no more
To speak to mouths of stone and molton iron

Sometimes, my heart feels cold
An empty heart with a soul
Yet a black-hole finds its way in part
As mind and heart segmented, one in a jar

Sometimes, when I do feel sad
I tell myself to smile
For it is right to smile in vain
For life can only travel this far

Sometimes, when life comes to pass
I will fly like a bird
Forgotten
Into the past

Into happiness in part

De zhong

The Ghost

I see him walking down the cobbled street
His eyes of grey reflecting desires I seek
A boy of 15 so forlorn and cold
Dreams of a beautiful past I have told
Sometimes I see him, beneath the cornea of my eye
A shadow of the past, a memory of mine
For the ghosts of your past will pass away
As the nights of your dreaming turns to day
Where do they go when they leave?
They go into the shadows, shifting like thieves
Sometimes I see him, beneath the distractions of time
A poor little boy, not theirs nor mine
But belonging to no one, not adored and forgot
By all who walks through life blind
Happiness they do not find
Someday, when they do die
They will find themselves like this boy
Unable to let go, to let go of their insignificant toys
In limbo for the rest of their days
Fading memories of fate
Repeating past and undue mistakes
Undone
Are the doors in their heart
For it was no more.

De Zhong

Eradicating This Pig-let of a Bully

Dreaming of forgetting unhappy memories
I let my mind set free
Although in my nightmares, sometimes
this girl, clad in white, with a large mouth, ratty nose comes
a devilish smirk on her face, her voice as loud as Medea's scream
I falter in my footsteps to friendship
I lie down squirming in self agony
I am silent.
Running away is stationary
I use my leg-claws
Dug a massive hole with due unintention
And I hide from this monster
And similarly from all other angels
This will not do, though my wings remain clipped
I will grow them back, shed my heavy weight of a heart
Fly free and set free
The mocked bird lying forlornly in my stone heart
I will grow to find you so
To love what I have lost
To regain cheerful memories which unkind words have robbed
To be free from the clutches of hypocrisy and arrogance
And unkind words
Of the Bully.

Happy faces.

The Wait

Waiting patiently for my days to go by.
For it to be over,
where I can stroll guiltless through trees of green
where I can think free
run free away from all this madness
written madness of life

Dancing zebras are what I dream of

as Life is more than I can say
more than I can feel
more than I can take
The instantaneous detail
the momentary happiness and fear of the unknown
few unknown
few unspoken
much left to hear
that one cannot hear
one that one may avoid
and seek to find
some meaning
in depths of meaningless struggle
for momentary pride and favor
with beings not worth your respect
of elderly snobbery
and gossip
and laugh
and lust of gleeful words
of sniggering hurts
of life not well lived

Memories

Memories, just a bitter lingering after taste in your mouth

washed dry with the sweetness of passion

the nostalgia of innocent happiness forever buried

by the realization of the evil of this world

the childhood clamor of old friends replaced

with the silence and coldness of strangers long before

and the awkwardness I feel

lingering, lingering

as she turns a head up high, back to the conversation

as I never existed.

Will you never grow out of your facade?