i didn’t go back to scgs today.

do you know how painful it was for me to talk to you like that?
to hear you say things like that?
i’m not going to romanticize it nor dramatize it by saying
rubbish like
you broke my heart you farthead
or that you left me behind.

i will say that you’re so full of shit

and i miss you.

i should have known the gamble i was making when i said you were my friend.

it sucks i never was yours.

i would have loved for us to stroll,
down the beach
down where the salty breeze tickles
our noses
our mouths
our hair

we would run
oh how we would run
chasing imaginary targets
to collapse laughing
onto soft blankets of the shore’s sandy carpets

roll around abit
perhaps
watch each other abit
perhaps
laugh a little too
perhaps

and watch the sun set into the orange blue pastel colour like salty salty sea

and laugh at the times that have since past
ancient history to some

i would have loved for us to stroll,
down the beach
down where the salty breeze tickles
our noses
our mouths
our hair

perhaps

but you wouldn’t.

oh where my love are you?

the sun is waiting.

Pablo Neruda

i think that Pablo Neruda writes beautiful poetry.

he was a political activist, and he won the nobel prize for literature to alot of controversy. i wish i knew the heart of the man with the hands who penned poems such.

Saddest Poem
Pablo Neruda

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: “The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance.”

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don’t have her. To feel that I’ve lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn’t keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That’s all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else’s. She will be someone else’s. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

For You I Will

i have to admit that
our minds don’t touch

as light subtle
butterfly wings

as cool lemonade
at midday

we still play ice breakers
we still run around in circles

we force us to walk
the emotional plank

we watch dancing shadows
in silence

you with your book

i watch you read

i with my phone

you listen to the clicking on my phone pad

and our hands fit

hugs are always welcome

tears flow free

because we are

you and me.

Post Auditions

We went to the GE branch at Grange Road for Youth Science Conference Emcee Auditions. I can’t believe i’m saying this, but i actually missed a valuable physics lesson because i had to leave early.

it was amusing because we all had to stand up to say, more or less the same speech, with improvisations here and there. There was RGS, NUS High, RI, Nanyang, HCI etc. 16 of us only, and they need only 12. hahahaha.

this is post auditions outing. outing? eh. a walk-walk session around taka. (:

Fart and the Fat one.

Everyone is beautiful? We have cut it down to specifics. (:

And the wall came crumbling down. HAHAHAHAHAH.

take two? (:

I went to meet Lynn and Danni-poo after, to watch Mr Bourne kick ass. No pictures for that unfortunately. But i love friends. they make life here easier to live.

oh baby i wish the anxiety attacks will stop
panic buttons out of control
the hot breath of despair on my neck
i notice the shadows
i notice the shadows move
did they?
honey did you see?
or maybe you cannot share this with me

would you take me on your go-cart
out to the hills
out to the hills where the air is fresh and sweet
would you run with me?
arms wide open around trees and flowers and fields and.
no sugar this isn’t real
you think i see you?
your eyes remind me of my fear
your touch the fire of judgement
your collar that this is merely a lazy distraction
you think i see you?
baby you cannot share my burden with me

behind the pastel smiles
i sit by black and white
i lean by darkness
i wait to fall into the light
because i cannot escape
i cannot
cannot
cannot
run
away

and baby
you cannot share this with me

“i am a little match in a matchbox, and i burn for you. with all that i have, with all that i am. till i am gone with the wind, i am yours”

Fiona was asking me about writing something mushy for her loveletter. She has to do it for school. She has interesting english classes =)

How about this:
“Father, i am but like a little match in many matchboxes. When i am used and to what end, those are determined by you. But I will not be a spoilt match to be discarded. I will burn for you, with all i have, with all that i am. i am yours. and when i disappear with the wind, to go to you, the God who is unseen, there i will be made new in Your glory and love.”

Siti Aminah

Siti Aminah took care of Maria Hertogh when her Dutch parents fled the country during the war. Maria was later named Nadra, whom Siti Aminah refused from her parents. The court case that followed sparked off the Maria Hertogh riots in the December 1950, Remember?

And this poem injects human emotions into the dry, seemingly detached account of history in your subject textbook. I remember how i frantically memorised last year. No joke at all, my friend.

courtesy of Ms Sandhya.

Siti Aminah
by Alfian Sa’at

So you let the Dutch television station
Into your house,
And the kind Dutch interpreter
Drank your coffee,
Which was all you could offer
Apart from, of course,
Your unhelpful silence
Which grew more stubborn each minute
As the static in your head
Buzzed louder, then turned to a terrible song:
The car ride to the High Court,
The monsoon of fists on the car roof,
The splatter of hands, like blind birds, on the windshield
And Nadra frightened by the beating of your heart;
You closed your mind
To their gentle questions,
What do these people know about love?

let me tell you about my life

let me tell you about my life

about the fact that i have three excruciating ulcers in my mouth,
and eating is the last thing on my mind
but i still do.
a tremendous lot, and frequently.

I tease Brandon and Leslie about being skinny, and they tease me about being fat.
it seems that eating is, somehow, a form of relief.

about the way tears come without reason
despair rarely does make sense

about the way things seem so much out of control

i failed 2 papers you know

and i completely deserved it

i walked the way hoping serendipity would smile at me when i turned the corner,
but reality rarely hands you a bouquet of roses undeserved

i cannot say why i deserved it, because there are so many reasons.
perhaps the moment i walked away from my notes to, watch Bleach with feverish anticipation, to somehow be released from the invisible cords that tugged at every part of me, there was not going to be a survival plan. Because studying suddenly became meaningless. Something i \ dreaded, something i feared.

why did i work at first? maybe because i believed that i would do better here. i had friends who actually were on the same wavelength as me. things had meaning.

i was in control.

i don’t know what’s happening. So many things have happened to let me realise that i’m not in control. i can’t be. People leave, people let you down. You let yourself down. You cannot expect people to care. neither can you force them to.

i lost a friend this year. something i still haven’t got over.
i see him everyday.
and i still can’t look at him.
this is what happens when you play with fire.

the hour with my small group is a crisp superficial atmosphere
i didnt rebel, i didnt cooperate
i just went mad.

DD is spiralling toward disaster.
if my committee were political, they’d censor this part off my blog
but my guess is, they wouldn’t read this. and they arent political. i guess they don’t even care.
if things go wrong
i cannot dare guess where the blame would fall
but what i know is that at that point, pointing fingers is merely a cheap form of excuse, and comfort for the pathetic few who didn’t care enough to want to make a difference.

my mother helped me figure things out last night.
pain? oh its still around.
i feel it every time i move my mouth. Every time i open my calender. Every time i pause to look at things hard enough i somehow feel i have failed. she gave words to my feelings, she found the adjectives i have lost. mother always know best. cliches always ring true, disgusting as they may be.

And somehow, this song wraps my wrist with a thread of comfort.

Unintended-Muse
You could be my unintended
Choice to live my life extended
You could be the one I’ll always love
You could be the one who listens to my deepest inquisitions
You could be the one I’ll always love

I’ll be there as soon as I can
But I’m busy mending broken pieces of the life I had before

First there was the one who challenged
All my dreams and all my balance
She could never be as good as you

You could be my unintended
Choice to live my life extended
You should be the one I’ll always love

I’ll be there as soon as I can
But I’m busy mending broken pieces of the life I had before

I’ll be there as soon as I can
But I’m busy mending broken pieces of the life I had before

Before you

i feel like leaving church. confession.