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.