A nightmare, always around the corner. The giant arowana was trivial but losing her wasn't. In this dream, we quarreled bitterly. Our relationship grew colder, even more strained, painful. It was scary, and I woke up with this weight on my heart. It was fear and terror all over again. I trembled. It felt so cold. I was so scared. I still am.
She's the only one who can tell me that everything's alright. She's the only one who can say the sweetest things, the right things, and make all the ghosts disappear. She's ineffably special to me. She's my strength and my frailty. She is my other half. I struggle for serenity without her around, but she's always so distant and cordial. What am I supposed to do? I'm fragile without her, yet vulnerable with her. I need her, I depend on her support. I need her to help me back on my feet. But I fall on my knees asking for her love.
The nightmare lives while sleeping. It's still there when I wake up.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
Questions
There're never really far behind.
Why did I have to go through that and lose so much? It's not my fault.
Where am I headed now? University and- what?
Will my grades be good? Please let me go to Melbourne.
Will I make good friends there in an alien land?
Where lies my dream?
Where lies love and companionship?
How should I spend my remaining days? Only cycling? Surely there are some books I can read.
How can I find the will to practice on my piano when I'm so restless?
How do I stop thinking so much?
How can I find something meaningful to think about?
It's so boring these days... and we all know that boredom makes its own fatigue.
Does anyone really understand me? Can anyone comprehend what I've been through?
Can someone still love me in spite of all the scars I bear?
Can they?
Why did I have to go through that and lose so much? It's not my fault.
Where am I headed now? University and- what?
Will my grades be good? Please let me go to Melbourne.
Will I make good friends there in an alien land?
Where lies my dream?
Where lies love and companionship?
How should I spend my remaining days? Only cycling? Surely there are some books I can read.
How can I find the will to practice on my piano when I'm so restless?
How do I stop thinking so much?
How can I find something meaningful to think about?
It's so boring these days... and we all know that boredom makes its own fatigue.
Does anyone really understand me? Can anyone comprehend what I've been through?
Can someone still love me in spite of all the scars I bear?
Can they?
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Soliloquy
"Some friends don’t understand this. They don’t understand how desperate I am to have someone say, I love you and I support you just the way you are because you’re wonderful just the way you are. They don’t understand that I can’t remember anyone ever saying that to me."
Elizabeth Wurtzel, Prozac Nation
Vengeance
Today, I was in high spirits. My odometer broke through the 1000 Km mark. I was happy and proud of myself. Then my fucked up father had to ruin it. When I ordered a pair of contacts, he told me to get a trial pair first because of the cost - in front of the optician. I snapped at him.
This disgusting fuck. After two bloody years of unrelenting suffering I've finally found something I love doing and he has to disparage me for it. When I first went to get my bike, he kept on going about getting a fucking rental first even though I've told him many times that no such bike can be rented. Even my club members have better things to say than he does. "You're strong" "You're holding back, I can tell" - the veterans in my cycling club are all impressed by me, this newbie on an entry-level bike, who manages to challenge these experienced cyclists on classy Italian bicycles.
They make me happier than my father does.
Fuck you dad. One more statement like that and I'll pound the fucking shit out of you. I swear it. Forgive and forget? Forget it. Reciprocity is a basic human operation. I shall teach you that. You, who are too niggardly to even help pay for my bike, my coach's fee, my jerseys, equipment - everything! - have no right to speak on these issues. Fuck you! There shall be no forgiveness or forgetting until you fucking learn not to mess with me.
You don't pay, you don't praise.
Fuck off dad.
This disgusting fuck. After two bloody years of unrelenting suffering I've finally found something I love doing and he has to disparage me for it. When I first went to get my bike, he kept on going about getting a fucking rental first even though I've told him many times that no such bike can be rented. Even my club members have better things to say than he does. "You're strong" "You're holding back, I can tell" - the veterans in my cycling club are all impressed by me, this newbie on an entry-level bike, who manages to challenge these experienced cyclists on classy Italian bicycles.
They make me happier than my father does.
Fuck you dad. One more statement like that and I'll pound the fucking shit out of you. I swear it. Forgive and forget? Forget it. Reciprocity is a basic human operation. I shall teach you that. You, who are too niggardly to even help pay for my bike, my coach's fee, my jerseys, equipment - everything! - have no right to speak on these issues. Fuck you! There shall be no forgiveness or forgetting until you fucking learn not to mess with me.
You don't pay, you don't praise.
Fuck off dad.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Hating My Coach
Damn it.
You charge me so much for a training plan, yet I hardly hear from you after that. You are always quick to criticize and slow to praise. You always compare me with your 'elite guys' full knowing I've only cycled for a month on an aluminum frame that doesn't offer a world-class.
Damn it.
When I ask you for advice, you say it "topic that can go on for pages and I shall not go into too much details here. You will also learn by experience and observing how others (who know what they are doing) do it.". What's the point of being a coach if you can't even show me how it's done?
Damn it.
Your absentee coaching and deprecating remarks are eroding my morale. What's the point of hiring you if you're going to affect my performance anyway?
Fuck you.
You charge me so much for a training plan, yet I hardly hear from you after that. You are always quick to criticize and slow to praise. You always compare me with your 'elite guys' full knowing I've only cycled for a month on an aluminum frame that doesn't offer a world-class.
Damn it.
When I ask you for advice, you say it "topic that can go on for pages and I shall not go into too much details here. You will also learn by experience and observing how others (who know what they are doing) do it.". What's the point of being a coach if you can't even show me how it's done?
Damn it.
Your absentee coaching and deprecating remarks are eroding my morale. What's the point of hiring you if you're going to affect my performance anyway?
Fuck you.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Existential Entrapment
I need to break free! Aggressively!
Out of the Ghost's reach
Out of isolation
Out of the Past
Out of myself
Out of everything else!
Was that sense of reprieve and progress completely illusory? No hope was to be found in work, no lasting friendships forged, not great learning points. No joy was found with the Joy Riders - everyone said 'hi' and 'bye' as if it meant nothing! NOTHING!
To hold on to: nothing! What good is money when it can't get me the things I want? I need? Society, company, prospects, status! No internships, no scholarships - NOTHING!
I don't find any kindred spirits in Karate. I hate cycling alone. I hate my nonexistent cycling coach. What the hell am I doing here? Waiting? For the 'A's to come and pronounce my sentence. What if- what if it doesn't get me somewhere? What then? Then there will be no tomorrow - nothing left to live for, no life to hope for.
A disgusting existence. Trapped in the shadow of the past, never free from its Ghost. Always living in fear of this insubstantial being. Boredom boredom boredom! I read the magazines, I read the novels, but they always come to an end and I'm left exactly where I started - in the grasp of the Ghost's shadow. Better thou hast never been born than face this wretched life!
How do I escape? How do I get out? Do I find respect and status and love again? How hOw HOW???
Out of the Ghost's reach
Out of isolation
Out of the Past
Out of myself
Out of everything else!
Was that sense of reprieve and progress completely illusory? No hope was to be found in work, no lasting friendships forged, not great learning points. No joy was found with the Joy Riders - everyone said 'hi' and 'bye' as if it meant nothing! NOTHING!
To hold on to: nothing! What good is money when it can't get me the things I want? I need? Society, company, prospects, status! No internships, no scholarships - NOTHING!
I don't find any kindred spirits in Karate. I hate cycling alone. I hate my nonexistent cycling coach. What the hell am I doing here? Waiting? For the 'A's to come and pronounce my sentence. What if- what if it doesn't get me somewhere? What then? Then there will be no tomorrow - nothing left to live for, no life to hope for.
A disgusting existence. Trapped in the shadow of the past, never free from its Ghost. Always living in fear of this insubstantial being. Boredom boredom boredom! I read the magazines, I read the novels, but they always come to an end and I'm left exactly where I started - in the grasp of the Ghost's shadow. Better thou hast never been born than face this wretched life!
How do I escape? How do I get out? Do I find respect and status and love again? How hOw HOW???
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Fear
It's a terrible thing to be afraid of sleep.
Again.
There's so many things I want to do. Not enough has been done today, so I feel.
Again.
Again.
There's so many things I want to do. Not enough has been done today, so I feel.
Again.
5th February 2010
It was another panic attack. My hands grew cold and it spread towards my chest. I needed to hold onto something. Then my eyes grew wider in fear before the same, haunting memories all came back again. I broke. In fear, in tears, in terror - I was so lonely.
I called Eric. He couldn't make out what I was saying. I called him before the tears came because I wanted to rest, to regain a sense of calm. But when the memories came, the floodgates could not hold. I gasped once, twice, then the grief took over. I cried and cried, wishing he'd say something right. It was so painful... But he couldn't hear me, and the chill grew stronger. He wouldn't know how it feels like to be robbed as I had. No one can; it is beyond imagination, beyond Verstehen. I've never found the words to describe those two long years of isolation and entrapment. Perhaps that is why no one understands.
I told him I needed her, Xue Wen, because she has become my source of strength. No matter how hard things got, I would always feel better when she called, when she came to visit me. Her smile, her laugh, the sparkle in her eyes all enchanted me, but more so because she came. She cared enough to. Then there was that one time I held her hand. Her soft, firm grasp gave me the courage to face the the days ahead. Silly as I was, I let go before she did. Since then, I've always wanted to hold her hand again.
Eric called Xue Wen and told her what happened on the said day. She called me and said she'd come. I waited at the train station. Half an hour, an hour, two - I thought I saw her among the crowd. I dashed and chased, I searched with a frantic haste, but I didn't see her there. Then she called. She was right outside my place. We sat on a bench. I led her to the same side but she sat across instead. I understand.
We talked. I felt that she really cared, but she would always turn the discussion away from her. She subtly draws the line between us, the line that discourages all notions of romance. Yet she's so beautiful. I've never met someone who could talk like she does, someone who engages me in conversation. She's so kind, so gentle, patient and loving. She's such a precious dear and I cherish her very much.
We listened to some songs and sang a few we used to sing together in the choir. We played with Marco my retriever, cracked a few jokes and whiled the time away. We had prata for dinner. I passed her the music box that had been lying in my room since December '09, just waiting for the right time. There was a folded note inside. As it unfolds, it reads "I" "Cherish" "You". When the paper is laid flat out, she can see the little flowers and snowflakes I made with colored pencils, made with loving hands just for her. And as she left in a cab...
Bl: "On the side, it means 'through adversity to the stars' :) "
Xw: "Oh my gosh.. I love it! Thank you :) Oh and the question, are you feeling better?"
Xw: "I cherish you too"
Bl: "Yes, I always feel better and braver after I've spent time with you. I can't find the right words. You're.. precious to me"
Xw: "Thanks. But remember this, even if you're alone, you'll be brave too because you know there're people who truly care about you. You're my treasured friend."
Bl: "I understand :)"
Xw: " :) You should be sleeping soon since you're having an early day tomorrow. Do take care and have enough rest. I'll emphasize this again, you're no burden to me. I forbid you from thinking that way."
Bl: "Yes ma'm! (sry if I've accidentally made you sound too old :P ) And as for you young lady, drop the notes I know you're holding. Turn the spindle for a lullaby :)"
Xw: "Haha, that was spooky. I'm really studying. Just a bit more and I'll turn in :) Good night :)"
Bl: "I'm psychic :P Sleep tight! :)"
Xw: "Yup, you too psychic! :)"
She sent me a message again this morning asking how I was. For sure, her care is genuine but her words... why does it always feel like a chess game? Why do I always find that she sends these signals asking me to keep away. It's as if she wants to keep me away unless I direly need her. But I always do.
"You've become central to my recovery"
"Hahas! Central. Makes me think of cells you know? The nuclei at the centre"
Perhaps... it's unavoidable...
"The moon is a literary device used to capture nostalgic or poignant sentiments"
"No, the moon is a sphere in elliptical centrifugal orbit around the earth"
But when we sang those nostalgic lines, there was nothing else that needed to be said. I wanted to hold her so much, to tell her she's special to me.
I still do...
I called Eric. He couldn't make out what I was saying. I called him before the tears came because I wanted to rest, to regain a sense of calm. But when the memories came, the floodgates could not hold. I gasped once, twice, then the grief took over. I cried and cried, wishing he'd say something right. It was so painful... But he couldn't hear me, and the chill grew stronger. He wouldn't know how it feels like to be robbed as I had. No one can; it is beyond imagination, beyond Verstehen. I've never found the words to describe those two long years of isolation and entrapment. Perhaps that is why no one understands.
I told him I needed her, Xue Wen, because she has become my source of strength. No matter how hard things got, I would always feel better when she called, when she came to visit me. Her smile, her laugh, the sparkle in her eyes all enchanted me, but more so because she came. She cared enough to. Then there was that one time I held her hand. Her soft, firm grasp gave me the courage to face the the days ahead. Silly as I was, I let go before she did. Since then, I've always wanted to hold her hand again.
Eric called Xue Wen and told her what happened on the said day. She called me and said she'd come. I waited at the train station. Half an hour, an hour, two - I thought I saw her among the crowd. I dashed and chased, I searched with a frantic haste, but I didn't see her there. Then she called. She was right outside my place. We sat on a bench. I led her to the same side but she sat across instead. I understand.
We talked. I felt that she really cared, but she would always turn the discussion away from her. She subtly draws the line between us, the line that discourages all notions of romance. Yet she's so beautiful. I've never met someone who could talk like she does, someone who engages me in conversation. She's so kind, so gentle, patient and loving. She's such a precious dear and I cherish her very much.
We listened to some songs and sang a few we used to sing together in the choir. We played with Marco my retriever, cracked a few jokes and whiled the time away. We had prata for dinner. I passed her the music box that had been lying in my room since December '09, just waiting for the right time. There was a folded note inside. As it unfolds, it reads "I" "Cherish" "You". When the paper is laid flat out, she can see the little flowers and snowflakes I made with colored pencils, made with loving hands just for her. And as she left in a cab...
Bl: "On the side, it means 'through adversity to the stars' :) "
Xw: "Oh my gosh.. I love it! Thank you :) Oh and the question, are you feeling better?"
Xw: "I cherish you too"
Bl: "Yes, I always feel better and braver after I've spent time with you. I can't find the right words. You're.. precious to me"
Xw: "Thanks. But remember this, even if you're alone, you'll be brave too because you know there're people who truly care about you. You're my treasured friend."
Bl: "I understand :)"
Xw: " :) You should be sleeping soon since you're having an early day tomorrow. Do take care and have enough rest. I'll emphasize this again, you're no burden to me. I forbid you from thinking that way."
Bl: "Yes ma'm! (sry if I've accidentally made you sound too old :P ) And as for you young lady, drop the notes I know you're holding. Turn the spindle for a lullaby :)"
Xw: "Haha, that was spooky. I'm really studying. Just a bit more and I'll turn in :) Good night :)"
Bl: "I'm psychic :P Sleep tight! :)"
Xw: "Yup, you too psychic! :)"
She sent me a message again this morning asking how I was. For sure, her care is genuine but her words... why does it always feel like a chess game? Why do I always find that she sends these signals asking me to keep away. It's as if she wants to keep me away unless I direly need her. But I always do.
"You've become central to my recovery"
"Hahas! Central. Makes me think of cells you know? The nuclei at the centre"
Perhaps... it's unavoidable...
"The moon is a literary device used to capture nostalgic or poignant sentiments"
"No, the moon is a sphere in elliptical centrifugal orbit around the earth"
But when we sang those nostalgic lines, there was nothing else that needed to be said. I wanted to hold her so much, to tell her she's special to me.
I still do...
Friday, February 5, 2010
Images
Haunt scar plague spectre looming insidious malicious terror fear retreat insulation flee cower hide affliction sinister shatters shards shock scythed on and on and on
Two years
I still need her
DIstant isolate reject cordial painful wish dreams shards love hurt pain tears tears in-com-mu-ni-ca-do
Remeron atarax seroquel lexapro epilim slumber fragile
...Xue Wen
Two years
I still need her
DIstant isolate reject cordial painful wish dreams shards love hurt pain tears tears in-com-mu-ni-ca-do
Remeron atarax seroquel lexapro epilim slumber fragile
...Xue Wen
Thursday, February 4, 2010
elwm
What could have been
What might have been
What we dreamed of being
together... lost in the years between.
I remember E.L.W.M.
Does she remember me?
What might have been
What we dreamed of being
together... lost in the years between.
I remember E.L.W.M.
Does she remember me?
Hot-Pots
There were hot-pots on display
Big ones, little ones, all set for New Year's Day.
I thought "This would be nice for a reunion dinner with Xue W-..."
Is it so wrong to have a Freudian slip? Because I find myself so irrevocably affectionate when I think of her. I veer to the side of reason and deny my hopes, but I always drift back towards her tender memory and sweetness of soul.
The soup is growing cold.
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