Warp Zone

DNAR

2009-10-18T06:45:00.008+08:00

This is my heart
Two atria, two ventricles, perfect in its creation
Every strip of myocardium working in perfect sync
Filling up, pumping blood, working hard, never stopping
Not a hint of stenosis or regurgitation
This is my heart, perfect and whole

This is my heart stopped in mid-beat
Stopped because it is too tired to go on
Stopped because it has used up all its reserves
Stopped because the oxygen supply has been exhausted
Cut off and denied it cannot go on
This is my heart, stopped beating

This is my heart broken accidentally
I ran out of bubble wrap
In which to wrap my brittle heart
It's been broken one too many times
That glue just doesn't work anymore
This is my heart broken beyond repair

This is my heart stepped on carelessly
I've left it out and so it gets
Stepped on by dirty footprints
Who take advantage of my niceness
Kicked, stamped on, mud wiped on it
This is my trampled doormat of a heart

This is my heart stabbed intentionally
By myself because I hate me
By everyone else because I hand them the knife
The pain from each thrust helps me forget
Other lesser pain for a moment
This is my heart, a bloody, bleeding mess

This is my heart shattered to a million pieces
The impact so great, the pieces so tiny
That no one can find them
No one can put it together again
I sift through the debris and find nothing
This is my heart shattered, lost forever

Do not attempt resuscitation
CPR is an invasive, unpleasant process
Resuscitation in this case would not be practical
Considering the co-morbidities
And the poor quality of life
Decision made not to attempt resuscitation

Sweet Sleep

2009-10-06T06:32:00.006+08:00

If I could choose
If I had the option of sleeping
Sleeping forever, and never having
To wake up to another morning
Another grey dismal morning
Of dread and drear
Another day of pain and headache
Hours of mindless slog
Meaningless minutes ticking away
So difficult just to exist
I yearn for nothing more
Than to get home at the end of the day
Gratefully crawl back into bed
Rest my head and be set free
In sweet liberating sleep
Oh if this freedom could last
If I could sleep forever
And do nothing but sleep
And never have to wake up
To another morning
Another grey dismal morning
Of dread and drear

I am 24 Today

2009-09-06T03:41:00.005+08:00

I am 24 today.

Birthdays are depressing, and this is the most depressing birthday of my life... so far.

Please don't wish me happy birthday. It just serves as a painful reminder that you're not here with me, just makes my heart ache at the years we've spent apart needlessly. At a word from you I'm ready to drop everything and be by your side, so please shut up because I can't do that. Please don't think about me, because I don't have time to care.

If only you knew how much I love you and how much I miss you. How alone and forlorn I am without you. Nobody else could know me and love me the way you do. And how today of all days I want to be with you, just to be with you.

What have I done? I've made all these sacrifices, and for what? To make myself more miserable, more depressed? And what do I see for myself, in this life I've chosen. Yes, this is what I have chosen, consciously, knowingly, willfully chosen.

Tonight is the darkest night of my life, but tomorrow dawn will come, the sun will rise and there will be new hope.

I will never forget this birthday.

The Princess in the Tower

2009-08-29T21:59:00.003+08:00

The handsome prince was talking a stroll in the cool of the evening, wandering through the woods, taking in the wild beauty, suffused in an aura of happiness and content, the feeling that all was well. He walked on dreamily, a smile lingering on his face reflecting his state of mind. Suddenly, he heard it, the faint strain of a voice singing a sad, haunting, melancholy melody weaving its magic through the trees and the leaves.

His heart did a double take. Without even realizing it, his feet had changed direction and were bearing him towards the source of that voice. In that moment he knew one thing; he had to find the owner of that voice. Find her, and make her his queen. The voice grew stronger and stronger. He came at last to a tower in the middle of the woods. A grim, solid, impenetrable tower, higher than the highest tree.

And from a window near the clouds, he beheld a figure leaning out, his ears caught a despondent sigh. This must be the princess legend told about, kidnapped in her childhood by an evil witch, imprisoned in the tower to which there is no entrance, guarded by a vicious prince-devouring dragon who never slept. She was lovelier than any other maiden he had seen, and her voice which had captivated him was sweeter than a nightingale’s.

His heart throbbed with emotion as he thought of the princess hidden away all the years of her life, with no one near or dear to bring her comfort, to tend to her needs, to keep her company. He thought of all the dull and lonely hours she had had to endure, the days wasted, waiting for someone to rescue her, and how sad she must be when day turned into night yet again and no one had come. He imagined her laying her head on her pillow with a sad smile, hoping against all hope that tomorrow will be the day that her prince will come for her.

His jaw tightened, and he could have killed the witch then and there with his bare hands. He vowed to slay the dragon, solve the mystery of entering the tower, rescue her and bear her off to his castle in triumph. Never again will she be sad and lonely, never again will she be in want of anything. His face was set, his eyes determined. He advanced cautiously towards the tower, welcoming the prospect of combat with the dragon who had tormented his darling all these years.

He found himself in a courtyard where a strange sight greeted him. A pile of dragon bones laid in a heap, the flesh having long since rotted away. He marveled at his good fortune. Could it be that this dragon had died or was killed, and the poor princess had no idea that her ferocious guard had long since abandoned his duties? What about the witch? She was another force to be reckoned with, she could turn him into a frog in the blink of an eye, and he did not fancy spending the rest of his days on a lily pad, eating flies.

He caught sight of the outline of her pointy hat in a corner. His mouth was set grimly. He decided to take the risk and have some words with her, to let her know what he thought of demented old women who snatched young princesses from the bosom of their homes and imprisoned them in remote towers, and then he looked forward to choking the life out of her and seeing the light die in her eyes. But that pleasure too was denied him, for he came face to face with the witch, he saw that she too had died and turned into stone.

He wheeled round in bewilderment. He had been thwarted twice. His rescue mission was not going according to plan at all. What was a prince to do, if he set out to slay dragons and kill witches when the dragon and witch in question had most inconsiderately put themselves out of the way?

But although her enemies were now dead, the princess was still trapped in the tower. Princes and knights before him had searched in vain for the way up to the tower. The witch had used her wiles and magic to device an entrance so ingenious that no one had been able to find it. It was then that he noticed a sign above a door saying in bold print, TO THE TOWER. His head reeled a little. Had he found the entrance, and so easily, or was it a trap? Maybe the door was locked and he would have to chop a tree to batter it down.

He pushed it gingerly and it gave at his lightest touch. The prince saw before a stairway, lights with motion sensors detecting his presence were already switching on, showing him the way. He climbed the stairs in a daze. He was feeling rather subdued from his strange discoveries, but the thought of rescuing his princess and delivering the good news brought a fresh spring into his steps. Finally he reached the tower, feeling strangely timid all of a sudden. He knocked on the door nervously.

“Come in,” said the princess in her sweet, lilting voice.

The door swung open and he was at last face to face with the princess. She stood up from her seat by the window and came to him. For a moment, he couldn’t speak, the sight of her took his breath away. There was an awkward pause. He found his voice, infused with ardor. “Come with me, my princess and be my queen. Leave this tower forever, and forget your unhappy past. We will live happily ever after.”

The princess looked distressed. “But I can’t leave.”

“Don’t you understand? I’ve come to rescue you. The door is opened. The dragon, he was dead. The witch was also dead,” he said regretfully, wishing he could have told her he had slain the dragon and killed the witch, longing to see admiration in those lovely eyes. “They can’t stop you from leaving anymore.”

She cast her eyes down. “I know,” she said quietly.

He stared at her incredulously. “You know? You knew the dragon was dead, and the witch was dead?”

“Yes.”

“You knew the door was opened?”

“Yes”

“Then why did you stay up here by yourself all these years? Why did you never venture out into the world?”

She turned away from him, wringing her hands in agitation. “I can’t leave the tower. You don’t understand. This,” she gestured at the tower room, “is my world. It’s the only world I know. The witch and the dragon were the only people I knew. And when they died, I was left alone.”

The prince shook his head. “Don’t you realize that you have parents who love you, family who miss you, subjects who adore you? They’ve searched all the world over in hopes of finding you. Even now, they’ve not given up and yearn for news of you. Come with me, and I will show you.”

“I can’t leave the tower.”

“Why not honey?” he asked gently. “You must be lonely here. Are you scared of the world outside?”

She nodded, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Don’t be afraid, I am with you. There are so many people who love you and await your return.”

“But it’s been so long. They would have forgotten me.”

“Can a mother ever forget her child? Do you remember her at all? And your father, and your sisters…” his voice trailed off as she gave a little sob.

“But I’m so ugly, they will hate me.”

The prince was astounded, then realized there was no mirror in the room. He shook her gently by the shoulders. “That’s not true. You are beautiful.” And one look at his expression when he said it should have convinced the princess. “Come with me, my princess,” he said softly, persuasively.

“I – can’t – leave – the – tower.”

“Why not?” he asked in frustration, wondering if the witch had devised some trap or bomb which will go off and kill the princess if she set foot outside.

The truth was simpler. “I don’t want to.” She stopped.

His raised eyebrow demanded an explanation.

She spoke hesitantly, never having had the need to explain herself. “I’m happy here, I have everything I need, and I am perfectly at home, perfectly safe here. Nothing can harm me. I love the woods, the birds keep me company, and I have my window and my music. Why do I have to leave? What more can the world offer me?”

He shook his head. “You’ve been trapped in the tower too long, cocooned in your own dream world. Don’t you realize that real life is not like that at all?”

“Real life? I don’t like real life. I told you I’m happy here.”

“But you’ve got to face it one day. You can’t stay here forever. Come with me. Please.”

“I’m sorry,” she said gently. There was nothing more to say.

He knew then that he had failed in his mission, failed to rescue the princess, not from the witch and the dragon and the tower, but from the confines set by her own mind. He nodded slowly, respecting her decision for now, but not giving up altogether. “May I visit you sometimes?”

She smiled at him. “Yes. I would like that.”

He left the princess in her customary place by the window, singing her sweet, sad song through the lonely night.

I will come back, he promised.

Sharing Molecules

2009-05-14T03:03:00.004+08:00

You breathe out
I breathe in
I breathe in the air
You breathed out

Twin atoms of oxygen
Inseparable soul mates
Bound together covalently
To form forever molecules

Seconds ago this very molecule
Was sucked into your nostril
Hurtled down your trachea
Swirled around in your alveolus

Stopped in its tracks
At the air blood barrier
Was denied entry
Forced out in a deep sigh

Only to fall again
This time into my lungs
As I take a deep breath
And becomes part of me

With each rise and fall
Of chest walls
We breathe the same air
As molecules cycle

And so we sit
Side by side
In silence
Sharing molecules

A Good Cry

2008-12-21T01:39:00.005+08:00

I want to cry. I need a nice, good, cathartic cry.

Everything seems to have been nicely set up for a most satisfactory bawl. The weather has been most obligingly dark and gloomy and cold. I have been avoiding contact with any form of cheerfulness and my brain has been primed with lots of depressing thoughts.

The misery which engulfs me is so tangible. I feel a heavy weight on my chest, heavier than any elephant could ever be, a sensation dragging me down, down to the deepest darkest abyss.

I shut my eyes, waiting for the tears to come. Why are they not coming? I squeeze my eyes harder, trying to draw out the tiniest drop. It’s not working. I am physically unable to cry.

A wave of sadness wells up within and overwhelms me. It doesn't matter that I can't cry. I’m crying inside, crying so hard it hurts.

Inside Me

2008-12-12T08:42:00.008+08:00

Inside my head are many thoughts
Some are good and some are not
Senseless daydreams and futile plots
Battles lost before they're fought

Hidden in my heart are strange things
I wonder who put them there
But I can't seem to find my wings
And no one has an extra pair

Inside my tummy roams some riddles
They churn up a nasty conundrum
Piercing me like a thousand needles
Heralding a catastrophe to come

Tucked away in my appendix
Is a castle built of old dreams
Dreams with complications I couldn't fix
Like a dying star it sadly gleams

Around the region of my behind
There lies a patch of good intention
The bigger it gets the more I find
Myself guilty of procrastination

Illusion

2008-09-12T16:48:00.007+08:00

I hold my breath.

Everything is under control. Everything proceeds in the prescribed manner. I do what is expected of me. I am on my best behaviour, doing what is right and good. I can do this. I can keep doing this.

No I can't.

I can't keep up this deception for long. Every morning when I wake up, I have to remember not to be me, but someone else. Every day I have to make the effort, every word, every gesture, every response, every thought which is not mine. One false move would betray me.

I'm tired. Tired of being good. Tired of being on my best behaviour. Tired of trying so hard. Tired of playing a part. Tired of keeping my guard up. Tired of maintaining the frozen, unnatural snapshot illusion of perfection.

My lungs are bursting. Every cell in my body is crying out for oxygen. But still I hold my breath.

Yes I can.

Why can't this be real, this illusion I desire so much and go to such extent to create?

Strangers Now

2008-05-28T05:48:00.005+08:00

I saw him yesterday.

Just a glimpse over my shoulder, a mere glance. And I knew he was there. And he knew I knew.

I took a deep breath, collected my thoughts, rearranged the inside of my head. He has trespassed into my world. Why is he here? He shouldn’t be here.

I wanted to look again to make sure it was him, to see the face I remembered so well, but I willed myself not to look. I forced myself to concentrate on my work, but my thoughts drifted towards him.

My eyes were inevitably drawn to him, my ears pricked to catch his voice, but when I looked up again he wasn’t there anymore. And suddenly he was everywhere. I saw him in every person I walked past, every man of the same height, or hair, or dressed similarly, even those not remotely like him, until they turn round and I know it’s not him.

He was gone. Without a word, without a smile, without any acknowledgement he was gone.

We were friends for a short time, but we come from different worlds. Our orbits crossed once and after that there were just chance sightings from afar. And that is that. I lost a friend even before I really had one.

Normal

2008-05-20T08:51:00.001+08:00

I want to be normal. I don’t want to be extraordinary.

Normal is safe. Normal is tried and true. Normal works. That is evident in the world around me. I see normal people going through their normal daily lives. They are alive. They survive. They live out their lifespan and die an unremarkable death.

Extraordinary is dangerous. Extraordinary people die, go mad, are ostracized, ridiculed, tortured, murdered, imprisoned and some suffer fate much worse. They pay the price for being extraordinary, or even just trying to be.

So why not be a normal, common person who can function in a normal world among common people? Why be different, special, weird, a freak, an outcast?

Tell me, please

2007-12-09T22:28:00.000+08:00

I didn't know and I would never have guessed. When I found out I felt cut to the heart. A flood of regret swept over me. A sense of loss for the time wasted, bitterness over how things could have been different.

If only I had known, if only I had known. These words beat a tattoo inside my head and to it I saw the hours and minutes march by, time I had spent in oblivion.

If only you had said something it would have made all the difference. If only you had told me it would have given me hope. If only I had known it would have changed everything.

Why did you not tell me? Why did anyone not tell me? How would I know if nobody said anything, if nobody told me anything?

Listen, please

2007-12-08T10:34:00.000+08:00

Hi, I said softly into the receiver.

Immediately an overwhelming verbiage descended on me from the other end. They came unceasingly, one tumbling after the next in quick succession. Words about trivialities, telling me things which I already knew, which I didn’t need to know, which I didn’t want to hear now.

Why? Are you afraid of a pause? Does the thought of sudden silence scare you? Do you not know what matters? Don't you know me well enough to understand? Can you be quiet and listen? There is something to hear.

I want to tell you something. I'm desperate to talk about it. Yet I can’t say it. But I expect you to hear it.

I put down the phone drained and disappointed. We are separated by thousands of miles but tonight the gulf between us surpasses that by far.

To be a Cat

2007-12-06T03:31:00.000+08:00

I want to be a dog. I want a master I can adore, a hero I can worship. Someone I can imagine to be the best and most perfect person. Whenever I see him I will wag my tail in delight. I will be his loyal shadow. And if he said fetch I will run to bring him anything he asked.

I want him to pat my head in approval when I’ve done a good job, to praise me and to throw me a dog biscuit for a reward. I sit patiently, leash attached to collar, waiting faithfully, trusting that he will come get me.

But he wasn’t expecting a dog. He didn’t want a dog trailing after him, getting underfoot, cramping his style. He didn’t want to bother with an animal which was always looking for him, demanding affection, wanting to be petted and taken on walks. He didn’t want all his time to be taken up looking after a dog.

What he wants is a cat. A cat who will fend for herself and does not need him all the time. A cat who wanders and prowls the outside world and welcomes its dangers. A cat who will not come looking for him in every instance, who will not bother him with trivialities, who requires no attention. A cat whose existence he can conveniently forget. He will leave some food out for her and she will condescend to come in for meals when she is hungry.

I understand. A cat is much less trouble than a dog. I throw one last wistful forlorn doggy look at his retreating back.

An Encounter

2007-11-12T11:04:00.001+08:00

I looked at her and she looked back at me. It was an interesting face. I smiled at her and she smiled back at me. I continued to stare for a long time, fascinated, but the longer I looked, the more uneasy I became.

The eyes were now cold and hard, focusing on me with arrogance and unconcealed loathing. The proud mouth was curved in a malicious smile. She filled me with a sense of distaste and disgust.

She was the embodiment of evil. I instinctively disliked her and shied away from her. This was one person I don’t want to know, never want to become and don’t want to be associated with.

I squirmed in my shoes, feeling smaller and smaller under her hostile gaze. I wanted to get away from her, away from her malevolent glare. But somehow I couldn’t tear my eyes away. She held me in a stranglehold. I couldn’t break it.

I hate her. I hate her with a passion. Her expression changed into untold fury and I was gripped with fear. Her face had murder written on it. I felt an indescribable horror rising within me. Something bad was about to happen, something awful, something terrible.

I want to kill her. I want to gouge out those eyes, disfigure that face, wipe her out from existence so that she would cease to torment me. I have to kill her.

Suddenly the sound of a mirror shattering to a million pieces pierced the still night air.

Cogito, Ergo Sum

2007-09-24T06:40:00.000+08:00

I think, therefore I am.

I suppose it follows that I don't think, therefore I am not.

This is afterall a blog of my meaningless meanderings and tortuous thoughts, the interior of my volatile mind, my interpretation of external stimuli, observation of trivialities, the way I see my world and the conclusions I draw.

But somewhere along the way the thoughts became too tortuous and the meanderings too meaningless, that thoughts and meanders ceased. The activities in my volatile mind came to a grinding halt.

Perhaps the thoughts I thought were unpleasant and I did not like the conclusions I was forced to draw. Perhaps I felt more comfortable and safe not thinking. Perhaps I still hide in perhapses because there are still things I am coming to terms with, parts of myself I have yet to reconcile.

I stopped thinking and I stopped being me. I didn't know who I was because I wasn't me anymore and the only me I knew was myself. Someone walked around in my body answering to my name but no one knew who that person was, and no one wanted to. I was nobody.

I need to find me. I want to be me again. It's time. I have to think. I must think to be me again.

A Conversation

2007-09-23T06:41:00.001+08:00

Let me sit next to you. Let me talk to you. Let me ask how your week has been. Let me ask you questions about yourself and tell you my stories.

Why are you so nice to me? Why do you come up to me, talk to me when no one else bothers? Why do you ask, do you really want to know?

They sat together in awkward intervals of silence, both shy, wanting to talk, but not knowing what to say, unnaturally polite, fumbling clumsily to find safe topics and correct words.

Why did I talk to her? After awhile the conversation just fizzles. I run out of questions. I don't know what to say. She doesn't talk much, just stares in front and draws picture in the puddle of water with a finger. Am I boring her?

Why did he talk to me? After awhile the conversation just fizzles. I've answered all his questions. I rack my brains trying to think of something intelligent to ask and say and meanwhile we sit in silence. Am I boring him? Or does he think I'm bored? And always the question, why? Why? Why?

They sat together for some time, not saying much, both helping each other as they find their ways through the conversation. It was not easy, but he did it and she was grateful to him for just being there.

What really happened there? Were any meaningful words exchanged? Or did they just hide behind their words and silences, never truly revealing who they are, never able to know each other?

Too Long

2007-07-06T01:49:00.001+08:00

This was my blog. This blog was me. How could I have neglected it for so long? How could I not have been me for so long?

It's been too long. When I returned I found a stranger. This blog is not me anymore. I had changed.

Some thoughts must be thought, some things are meant to be written down. I avoided thinking them, I refused to write them and so it starved.

It's funny how I have written so much without telling anything. And so much more remains that I have left unwritten.

Smells

2007-06-08T03:47:00.000+08:00

Every place has its smell. I noticed the smell of this room on the first day. After I move in, my smell took over. The old smell was still there, but imperceptible, masked by the smell I brought with me. I would catch a whiff of it occasionally when I returned after an absence.

But now I’ve packed up all my things. Emptied all the drawers, cleared all the shelves. The room knows I am leaving, it will be left empty again, the smell is back. I remember it well. I remember the first day I moved in, the first night I spent here and all the other nights. Long nights, cold nights, restless nights, peaceful nights, lonely nights.

It's beginning to get light. I’m up to see another dawn. But I’m really tired now and I shall sleep in this bed for the last time.

Bewitching Hour

2006-12-13T10:09:00.002+08:00

In the dead of night
When all is still
I try to fight
Off slumber until
I reach the place
Where sleep and consciousness
Blend in a haze
Of nothingness

In this transition
My thoughts stray
Here cognition
Has no say
On this brink
Of the unknown
The thoughts I think
Are not my own

Lost in time
All is at peace in
This moment sublime
And I begin
To feel somehow
That all is right
Here and now
In the middle of the night

How can this be
Who am I now?
Am I still me?
I do not know
Tomorrow morning
With bright sunlight
A new day dawning
I will but forget tonight

Still Me

2006-09-23T06:13:00.001+08:00

I was just sitting there. And something came over me. I recognized the feeling at once. I knew it so well. It had happened so many times before. The same memories flooded through me. And I thought the same thoughts, felt the same emotions, reacted the same way. And I did the things which were so me.

I had always looked back on some things with regret and wish that I could have done things differently. Yet I do them again in exactly the same way.

If I thought that going far, far away would make things any different, I was wrong. Because it’s not the place, the outside, the surrounding, the environment which matters, it is the inside, my brain, my mind, my soul, my very heart. Wherever I am, I would still be me. And I can’t change that. Ever. Nor do I want to.

And if I thought leaving home meant leaving all my problems behind, I was wrong too. For they have followed me faithfully because they belong to me, they are part of me. I would not be me without them.

I believe in fate. I do believe that I was created to be a certain person, play a certain role. But am I helpless in the grip of destiny? Do I stand back and watch it take over my life? What then is my fate?

Sometimes I’ve felt that I’m living in the wrong time, the wrong place, the wrong era. But I know I am not here by chance… He determined the times set for [me] and the exact places where [I] should live.

Of Alopecia, Acne and Awful Angst

2006-07-16T17:02:00.000+08:00

My hair has been migrating from my scalp to the floor. A strand or two at a time, more and more of them have been sneaking away as I sit unsuspectingly on my chair for hours on end trying to stuff more things into my brain than there is space to hold it all. Maybe my hair follicles have been suffering from ischaemia because all the nutrient rich blood have been diverted to my brain cells which are working overtime. If this keeps up, I’ll soon be as bald as a billiard ball.

And of course my brain cells require premium fuel to work in top form. Nothing less than the finest selection of German chocolates, although M&M’s will do when they are short in supply. The downside is that for every molecule of glucose my neurons take in a pimple pops up on my face. And it doesn’t help that I suffer from onset sleep insomnia, often tossing and turning in bed for hours on end pondering my fate.

Exams start tomorrow, 17 July 2006, 9:30 am GMT +8:00.

“On a scale of one to ten, with ten being as dead as a sardine which has been caught, gutted and tinned and eaten and digested by the gastric juices of a finicky tomcat with the remains excreted in a pile of cat sh*t and one being a dog which has just died peacefully of old age, how dead are you?”

Well, five-ish I would say. Perhaps as dead as a rat who has been cornered and knows that he will soon be caught and dipped in hot boiling oil and skinned and hung by his tail for the vultures to come and pick his bones but yet, seemingly beyond his reach he sees a chance for escape and all will be well if he can seize that chance.

If I’m so dead why am I still here? Makes me so upset I want to let it out à la Zidane.

(By the way, I love Zidane, but that is a different story from a different world...)

My Poo is Blue

2006-05-29T23:35:00.001+08:00

Well, actually it’s not. It was brown the last time I checked. It’s usually brown isn’t it? I grant that there may be variations in shades but normally, it’s brown.

Ever wondered why it’s brown? It’s your blood. Your red blood cells to be more precise. RBC’s who have grown old and outlived their usefulness make their final journey to the spleen where they die a violent death and are ripped apart. Haemoglobin from the RBC is released and is broken down to haem and globin.

It’s the haem we’re interested in. I don’t know what happens to the globin. It probably gets recycled or turned into something else but who cares?

The haem is converted to biliverdin which is green in colour and then to unconjugated bilirubin which is yellow. Unconjugated bilirubin is not water soluble. That means it can’t just jump into the blood stream and head off to the liver. It has to hitch a ride with the ever helpful albumin.

In the liver unconjugated bilirubin is conjugated with glucoronic acid to become bilirubin diglucoronide which is more water soluble. It is secreted in bile and in due time into the duodenum, the small intestines and then the colon.

In the colon, bilirubin diglucoronide is unconjugated by the resident bacteria and reduced to urobilinogen which is colourless. Some of the urobilinogen is returned to the liver and recycled. It can also be excreted in the urine by the kidneys.

And some of it gets oxidized by bacteria into the orange-brown stercobilin which is excreted in faeces.

Now you know why it’s brown.

So, why is pee yellow?

The Loner

2006-04-20T01:39:00.001+08:00

I’ve noticed him a few times. He was always alone, a grim expression in his eyes and a somber countenance which kept people at bay. His was a sad face which hinted at a life of untold suffering. Only a brave handful dared approach him.

I’ve been observing him closely. He was different from everyone else. They could not understand him, so they instinctively kept away from him, ignored him, despised him, wouldn’t be friends with him.

He pretended not to notice, although he was acutely aware of what happened behind his back. But he went around as if nothing was amiss, putting on a brave front. He had no need for such friends and kept himself aloof. His pride would never let him show any sign of weakness or vulnerability.

I confronted him the other day.

“Why are you always by yourself? Why don’t you talk to people? You’re so weird. You have no friends. You’re a loner.”

“No, I am not.” I must never let anyone guess that I mind. They must never know how close they are to my secret. They must never know how miserable I am. They must never find out. They can curse me, slander me, mock me, but they must never pity me. As long as I can keep up this charade, I can stay alive.

His face was just a mask to cover a wounded heart. He was too proud to acknowledge his condition and ask for help.

Yet I could not help but admire his fortitude. It is amazing how much pain the human soul can take on and still survive. But barely. I wonder how long he can last.

Poor Billy

2006-03-28T19:07:00.001+08:00

I counted my teeth the other day. I have 31 of them. That’s weird. But my right lower wisdom tooth has never appeared.

Its upper counterpart was the problem. Let’s call him Billy. Billy was out of the way, didn’t have a partner and grinded against my gums. So off to the dentist I went, after avoiding dentists for more than a year. (My pre-visit post is here)

He poked around in my mouth and pronounced my teeth in good condition, but said it would be better to take Billy out. I had expected that. Poor Billy.

Before I knew it, he had another instrument in my mouth and I only realized it was a needle when he stuck it into my gum in a few different directions. I wondered if this dentist attended communication skills or behavioural science classes…

I was sent off to take an x-ray, and left alone with my thoughts of awhile. I began imagining bacteria flooding my blood stream after the extraction. Isn’t dental procedure a risk factor for infective endocarditis? And wasn't there a nerve somewhere which could be paralysed? I started praying that this dentist knew what he was doing!

He scaled my teeth as he waited for the anaesthetic to kick in. He was none too gentle and I was beginning to have some misgiving about him manhandling Billy later. But too late to change my mind. My cheek was already going numb.

Then he took out something which looked like a pair of giant pliers. I closed my eyes. He clamped it around Billy and pulled. Pain! Pain! That’s funny, he said, it should be numb. I didn't mention that I have a low treshold of pain. Very low.

He gave me more anaesthetic and tried again. Pain! Pain! He paused. And gave me another generous helping. And tried again. Still pain! I squeezed my eyes shut. I could hear a cracking sound and feel Billy giving way. The deed was done. He came out in one piece.

Out of my mouth, Billy lost his individuality and became just another tooth the dentist had pulled out. He was the perfect specimen of a molar.

Seeing him lying there, I felt as if I had conspired to murder him. The fresh blood reminded me that a moment ago, he was alive and healthy, minding his own business, doing his duty. And now he was dead. And I could never have him back. And I can’t have anymore teeth. My 30 remaining teeth will have to move on with life without him.

My tongue goes back to where Billy once sat. It’s empty now. Feels soft and gross. A huge, gaping, aching, bloody hole. And when I say bloody, I mean bloody. It’s still bleeding…

Fool

2006-03-18T01:02:00.000+08:00

There are certain things I would rather forget. Sometimes these unwelcome thoughts invade unexpectedly, leaving me utterly mortified. I cringe inwardly as I recall some of the things I have said or done. Wasn’t it the most sensible thing to do then, based on a sound decision?

What about the times people look at me expectantly expecting some brilliant insight but all they get is the vacuous stare which so frequently appears on my face that it is fast becoming part of the permanent landscape? And how often have I missed the most obvious clues, ending up totally embarrassed? And of course I mustn’t forget the mass of garbled nonsense which have passed my lips in answer to questions posed to me.

I suspect that a good proportion of the world’s population already think I am a fool. And yet I have not succeeded in correcting that erroneous view. On the contrary, any effort only serves to confirm that notion and convert people who initially thought me to be the most wonderful person.

Maybe they are right. Maybe I am a fool. What’s wrong with being a fool? There are worse things than a fool.

If I am to be a fool, let me be a worthy fool. Let me make the most of my folly.

Pearse has spoken for all the fools in this world. What more have I to say?

Are the wise truly better off than the foolish?

Last Day

2006-03-12T23:32:00.000+08:00

Today is the last day of holidays. The weather is aptly grey. The skies have put away their blue and are mournfully covered by dark clouds. The wind blows solemnly, a rustling somber tune. The rain is ready to pour out her sorrow.

I’ve blotted out all thoughts of school and studies for the past two weeks. Was it only two weeks? It seemed like ages. I seemed to have forever been hovering in a reverie where all unpleasant things do not exist. But it is a dream from which I have to wake.

Tomorrow is a new day, a new era.

Tomorrow is a new day which has to be faced and lived.

Why you?

2006-01-14T23:46:00.001+08:00

You walked in and immediately all eyes are on you. They look up, stare, steal glances, each in their own way. Do you notice? Do you feel their eyes on you? They take in every detail, noting every action. Can you even breathe without them noticing?

All thoughts turn to you. Do you sense what they are thinking of you? Condemning you, judging you silently? Or making excuses and defending you? Whether they are condemning or defending you, you are the one who occupies their minds.

Do your ears tingle at the things they say about you? When they open their mouths and your name is on their lips, do you hear? They exchange tales about you, discuss your deeds and analyze your behaviour, try to figure out your words.

All the time spent observing you, thinking about you, talking about you, dreaming about you, praying for you… All this for you.

To them no one else matters. No one else exists.

Why you?

Of Allergies and Allergens

2005-11-27T00:23:00.000+08:00

I’ve always suspected that I’m allergic to Pinky, and I’m getting more convinced of it.

When she was in Manchester, I never ailed a day. Every time she came back, she would bring with her the dreaded itch. She herself was immune to it, her skin being thick and insensitive. But my smooth, delicate skin was most susceptible. And now that she’s back for good, my ordeal worsens.

It usually happens at night. Whenever she’s around, I’ll develop an intolerable itch suddenly. The more I scratch, the more severe it gets. My skin feels hot, turns an angry red and wheals pop up.

Even as I’m typing this, my legs are streaked with the wildest design of red rash because she contaminated my chair just now.

It can’t be anyone else in the house because I never get the itch and rash only when she is not around.

It can't be anything in my room because it still happened when I went to China for a week with Pinky.

It can’t be my clothes or toiletries because I was fine when I went off on my own for three days to a lonely, rural place and stayed in a bug infested hostel.

What else could it be? I can only conclude that I am allergic to Pinky.

Nocturnal Ramblings

2005-10-26T01:01:00.000+08:00

Hey you! Sleeping already? How dare you go to sleep? Wake up, wake up! Don't sleep. How can you sleep when I'm still awake? Are you listening to me? It's not fair. Everyone is sleeping soundly except me. Why can't I sleep? I want to sleep too...

But I can't sleep. So you must stay awake to keep me company. Play with me! Talk to me! Anything but sleep in front of me. You shouldn't sleep if I can't sleep. I won't let you.

Okay, fine, let's sleep. But we must sleep at the same time. Wait for me, I'm not sleepy yet. Hey, are you waiting for me? No, no no! How can you sleep before me? You're not my friend anymore.

Fine, sleep all you want. Shut your eyes, your ears, all your senses. Don't see, don't listen, don't care. Be unconscious, be dumb. I don't exist to you anymore, do I? Fine, ignore me.

Too late...

2005-10-21T22:16:00.001+08:00

I would recognize that face anywhere. It was a face I once knew, a face I once loved. I had known that he had come upon hard times, but time and space had separated us, kept us apart. Now as I watched him, my heart ached at the change I saw. His face was lined with care and his eyes told of a pain so deep, a sorrow so great.

I fumbled for the present I had for him. I had kept it for such a long time. This is the time to give it to him. Maybe he needs it badly now. I must give it to him. Our paths may never cross again.

Timidly, I crossed the street. We met face to face. He started. Our eyes met and I could see a flicker of recognition in them. "Hi." I said softly.

He averted his gaze. “Lady, I don’t know you.” His voice was hard and cold. Without another word, he turned and walked off in the opposite direction.

I stared at his retreating back, bewildered, crushed, disappointed, clutching the unwanted gift in my sweaty palms. Come back, I pleaded silently. Aren’t you glad to see me? I’m your friend, remember? Please don’t ignore me. Please don't go away. I just want to talk to you. I have something to give you.

But I knew it was no use. It’s all my fault. I had waited too long. It’s too late now…

(untitled)

2005-10-15T03:00:00.001+08:00

He could not bear to be alone with his thoughts. Every time he closed his eyes the images would play in his mind, reminding him of his guilt. He could hear the accusatory voices condemning him without mercy. And he was filled rightly with remorse, though strangely, stubbornly unrepentant.

His days were meaningless, filled with empty noises and cheap distractions, anything to keep those memories from flooding in. He would shudder as night approached, willing the moment he would have to shut his eyes in slumber to never come for it did not bring peaceful repose but horrible nightmares, painful memories.

The pain was so real, so tangible he could feel it physically, eating away at him, destroying his core, emanating from him so that those near him shied away as if he had a contagious disease.

Alone, alienated, he wandered while others slept, his eyelids drooping and his feet becoming heavier with each step, his body weakening, vulnerable. But yet to keep awake was safer than to fall into the dark abyss of unconsciousness.

His every action brought him further from that which he sought and yet without it, he was powerless to control them. This then was his sentence.

His back straightened, shoulders shrugged in resignation, one more day, he told himself. One more night I must keep awake and tomorrow I shall sleep.

Thumper

2005-08-25T22:48:00.001+08:00

Thumper died today.

He had been docile from the first day I met him. Was he tamed or subdued? I do not know. He had a gentle spirit, unresisting as I carried him, tweaked his ears or teased him. He never bit anyone, not even the slightest nibble though he had his fits of temper sometimes. When he was displeased, he would upset his food and water.

He had lived under my roof for ten years and yet he never really belonged to me. He suffered my caresses and deigned to eat the food I set before him but in his eyes I read contempt. Was it imagined? I tried to win his love, offering him choice morsels but he never ate from my hand. He would snatch at it deftly and hide in his corner to devour it. I doubt he ever loved or trusted me. As for me, did I ever really love him? I am ashamed that I cannot say for sure.

Whenever I let him out, he would seek the most obscure hiding place so that I had a hard time finding him when it was time to go home. He never responded to his name when I called. When he saw me, he ran and a chase usually ensued with him reaching his hidey hole while I made wild grabs at disappearing legs.

Perhaps he had grown disillusioned and cantankerous with age. His eyesight had failed and I suspect his mind was giving way too. He had grown very thin with folds of loose skin hanging over his bones. Was he lonely as he died? Was he terrified as he breathed his last? Where is he now? Would he return to haunt me?

I looked at his body, still warm but going stiff and already attracting flies. He was lying on his side, eyes opened, glazed, unseeing. I stroked him half expecting him to raise his head. But he was gone.

When I close my eyes and think of him I just feel sad.

an endless farce

2005-05-20T12:32:00.001+08:00

leave me alone
to brood over
and bemoan
my vain endeavour

i am weary
of this charade
this dreary
masquerade

what's this about?
it leads nowhere
i want out
i don't care

there's no where to
turn or hide
nothing i can do
to turn the tide

nothing will alter
it will go on
even after
i am long gone

Fire!

2005-05-05T22:37:00.001+08:00

It died just as quickly as it had flared. There was nothing to suggest the heat and intensity threatening total devastation that was there a few moments ago. The raging, blazing fire which refused to listen to reason, which could not be placated, which no water could douse, which threatened to consume itself along with the object of its wrath… it had receded suddenly of its own accord. It had a mind of its own, easily provoked by the merest hint of insult or the slightest deviation from optimal conditions. It could be appeased just as easily for no apparent reason or arduously, satisfied only after the price has been paid, blood avenged. It had a thousand moods which no one understood nor predict. No one could judge the thoughts behind the quiescent, brooding front. No one was hurt this time, but everyone lived in fear of the next time...

An Ant's Life

2005-05-02T22:55:00.000+08:00

My table has become a minefield for ants. I don’t know where those annoying arthropod emerge from but I have a sneaking suspicion that they must have set up a nice comfy nest not too far off to be near the generous bounty of crumbs and bits of tasty snacks. But as they sally forth in their quest for sustenance they must inevitably traverse the perilous, unchartered terrain of my desk.

And there they come to the end of their natural lifespan. Without mercy they are blotted out of existence, flung carelessly into the mass grave of my dustbin. And yet I see more of them marching every day. I can’t bear to think of them crawling all over me as I sleep at night, getting into my clothes, my books, my stash of sweetmeats… that would be catastrophic!

I guess some ant poison is in order…

Another down, more to go...

2005-04-29T13:47:00.000+08:00

That’s the way it should be but it’s not always the way it is. My resolutions never had a chance from the start. My brilliant plan fell right through and today I was left floundering in a confounding cascade of MCQ’s. Staring at the paper, I didn’t even want to make the effort to think. My mind didn’t exactly go blank… it was already blank.

Well, exams are just trivial procedures, significant only for advancing to the next level of education, and they’ll be around for a long time. If everything were procrastinated until after exams, if life were put on hold until exams were over, if the things which really do matter were sacrificed for the sake of exams… I think that’s really, really sad.

Anyhow, I’m glad to have that out of the way. If I fail, I know that I would have deserved it. And if I pass, it would be a miracle. It’s a good thing I believe in miracles.

Dog tired

2005-04-23T23:57:00.001+08:00

Is it possible to be this tired? I feel exhausted, worn out, spent, fatigued, drained… just plain dog tired. I just want to stretch myself out in bed, shut my eyes and sink into blissful slumber and not have to think of anything, to recuperate and be refreshed. But how can I sleep with so much more waiting to be done… always the tomorrows stretching endlessly, bringing more deadlines, more problems, more headache, more stress accumulating in a huge insurmountable mass. And then one day the mounting tension will reach breaking point and you can visit me in the psychiatric ward…

Warning: Fragile

2005-03-20T23:20:00.000+08:00

They were so beautiful, so sacred, yet so delicate. A moment of thoughtlessness, a little carelessness and they would pine away and vanish. Many more would come after but they would never be the same. They seemed made to be broken. I had created many of them, and many had been entrusted to me. And as many had died in my hands. The anguish of the loss is almost too great to endure. But the rewards of having a pulsating, living one far outweigh the pain of a thousand who failed to survive. I must continue to make them and seek them. They are too precious to give up having. And maybe, one day who knows a very special one will live on.

Divine Retribution

2005-02-19T01:19:00.000+08:00

“…dust you are and to dust you will return.”
~Genesis 3:19~

It lay on the cold metal table, no longer a living being, a mere corpse. Devoid of life it was stripped of dignity. He came, his face a mask without expression. No grief, no pity, just the face of a person who is merely discharging his duty, his emotions remaining aloof.

He cast away the cloth which covered her and it fell to the ground in a sad pile. I saw her face serene in death, ignorant of the activity around her. Her hands were clasped. He seized them, straightening them with an effort.

Grasping a pair of scissors, he began to snip at her clothes, exposing her flesh. It was too much of a bother for him to undo the clasps and zips. Afterall, she would never again require the use of these garments.

As he carelessly snipped away, I thought of the woman, living, putting on her clothes that morning. Surely she never thought she would end up here stripped in this manner, under the prying eyes of doctors and students.

He now picked up a scalpel and started slicing through her chest. Layer by layer, the skin peeled aside to reveal fat, muscle and bone. It did not look like anything in the books I had painstakingly pored over.

The lungs were punctured, causing an effusion of blood and fluid. Next came a tool to cut through the ribs. The sternum was wrenched away, exposing her heart. She felt no pain but I cringed, as if it were my ribs, my heart. He cut away the vessels which anchored it to her body and ripped her heart from its place. Gauze was used to mop up the blood.

He held it in his hands, this venerated organ which had pumped steadily to sustain her life. Sadly, it had failed her. He weighed it and then held it under a tap flushing out the blood. I looked over his shoulder as he prodded it with his fingers and sliced the veins with a scalpel. He dissected the heart and could I see the muscle, the veins, the valves.

Someone had removed the lungs, leaving a gaping hole in her chest where some blood sloshed around. On the scales it looked no different from meat sold in the market place. He continued hacking through her flesh, right down along her abdomen. A putrid stench infused the room. I saw the stomach, the greater omentum, the intestines. They became real to me. He stuck a hand into the mass of intestines, pushing, probing, searching for the kidneys.

Finally they were satisfied. Serving no more purpose, the organs were unceremoniously dumped back into the body. A huge, curved, evil looking needle was threaded to sew her up. The jagged edges were united by slow, coarse stitches. I left the room, having seen enough.

It made me think about life, the futility of it all, and yet so profound. Life is sacred but so brief and when it has departed all that is left behind is a hollow shell.

* * *

“I will greatly increase your pains in childbearing; with pain you will give birth to children.”
~Genesis 3:16~

She laid on her side, groaning in pain, gripped by the agony which comes with child birth. On the bed in the labour room, there was no dignity. She was vulnerable, suffering, bearing the full brunt alone. No one to share her pain, not even drugs to ease it.

The nurses and midwife had seen scores like her. They offered little sympathy and dispensed some advice. They were waiting for the time, which they knew had not yet come. They made her lie on her back, legs bent and apart. One of them pushed her gloved hand into her vagina. I could not bear to watch.

The baby was coming. They told her to take deep breaths. I saw something pushing its way through the opening which was widening. The baby’s head came through and then easily, the rest of the body and the umbilical cord. It was a boy. His skin was ashen grey, slimy. He took in his first breath and began to cry.

It was her third child. She has undergone this ordeal three times. I marveled that she had willingly taken all this upon herself yet again. It was the first time I had seen a woman giving birth, reminding me that despite all the great strides we have achieved in technology humans, though more than animals, are afterall very animal.

A strong emotion was stirred up within me which said quietly but firmly, “No.” Sadly, I had missed the miracle of new life; instead it had made me a cynic.

How are you?

2005-01-28T19:54:00.000+08:00

Our eyes met. In hers was a flicker of recognition. Mine, I hoped, did not betray my indifference. Her lips begin to curve in a smile. It was the typical smile flashed at passing acquaintances whom one did not really know but never failed to greet and maybe wished to avoid.

“Hello, my dear! So nice to see you.”

I smiled the same smile back at her. Her eyes were now vacant, her voice mechanical; the air of somebody perfectly at ease with her social obligation.

“How are you?”

How are you? Do you really want to know? It was after all a question asked universally when humans meet, with immense abuse causing its value to degenerate from the voice of true concern to a mere cliché, hardly ever meant to evoke an honest response.

Do you really want to know? Do you care? What would you do if I told you? About everything which had gone wrong in my life, everything I had messed up, everything I longed to be but was not, the pain and anguish, the guilt, the hopelessness and futility, the loneliness, all the problems and worries, the doubts and uncertainties, the sleepless nights, the countless times I thought of dying, the depression and tears, the never-ending tunnel of darkness I was traversing and at the end of it more agony.

All this hidden behind a façade which says to the world smilingly, nonchalantly…

“I’m fine.”

Every time someone says to me “I’m fine” I wonder how much it cost him to lie.

So… how are you?

A Blank Page

2005-01-20T18:17:00.000+08:00

Life is like a book, we the unknowing characters oblivious of what will happen on the next page.

Sometimes, nothing does. Nothing. Empty. A blank page.

Sometimes the story takes an unexpected ugly twist. It wasn’t meant to be that way. Erase it. Tear it out. Leave behind a blank page.

Sometimes, some things are better left alone, concealed. The secret must be kept. A blank page tells no tales.

It never was.

Nothing but a blank page.

I wonder what’s on the next page…

The Last Drop

2004-12-31T19:49:00.001+08:00

It’ll soon be over
Gone forever
A volatile brew
False through and through
A taste of ecstasy
A mere fantasy
One moment of bliss
The next in an abyss

Pain and bitterness
Bathed in darkness
To every cell
It unleashed hell
It wrought fury
Made life awry

But yet
There was more than that
Though I never understood
It brought much good
Iron in my soul
Making me whole
A reason to live
A faith to believe
To live and thrive
To work and strive
To run and pursue
'Cause dreams do come true

An unlikely liaison
Elixir and poison
I cannot shrink
This cup I must drink
Of distress and delight
The last drop tonight

Another potion is brewing
What it would bring
I know not
But this is my lot
Love it or hate
It is my life, my fate

ΙХΘΥΣ

2004-12-12T22:59:00.000+08:00

Ichthys

It's here. And here.

The old has gone

2004-12-09T20:45:00.000+08:00

The blank sheet stared at me accusingly. His pure virgin whiteness reproached me. He yearned to be filled, to take on words and weave them into sentences which would take on meaning and give a purpose for his existence. Come on, he seemed to say. That’s what I’m here for!

I could only look away regretfully for I knew that I would disappoint him. I don’t need him anymore. How sad that someone I had known and loved would one day have to be cast away like an old shoe. Maybe one day, I will know him again as a different person, for a different reason.

An Awakening

2004-11-17T23:28:00.000+08:00

I think I positively enjoy wallowing in misery. I guess I get some warped sense of morbid satisfaction out of it. I’m weird…

But well, I guess I can’t stay buried in that muck forever. It feels a million times better to hoist myself up, walk away from it and take a nice refreshing shower to wash away the grime which has accumulated.

I’m beginning to see things more clearly. A change in perspective, the scales falling away from my eyes… It’s funny now how I can accept things without being the least bit bothered by them. How foolish to be troubled by trivialities and chase after futility.

Life is so short. We're caught in between death. Why resist?

(Oh dear! I've managed to sound morbid without meaning to the least. I'll explain it one day when I'm in the mood....)

An Aching Mess

2004-11-04T13:11:00.001+08:00

I've got this nerve tearing, bone crunching, muscle searing, skin pricking, head throbbing, heart stabbing pain. It must be chronic because I don't remember a time I never had it. Is this what life is all about? A long continuous pain which goes on and on....

This pain trails me wherever I go and hovers over everything I do. I am never free from it. Even as I lie down to sleep, it is the dull, numbing pain I remember before I finally drop off. It haunts my mind and manifests in nightmares. When I awake, it is still there.

The pain grows more intense sometimes, it rarely lessens. It has a crippling, debilitating effect on me. I can't remember who I was before this pain came. It had eaten away my being and reduced me to a wretched worm.

Is this what life is all about?

Just me

2004-10-30T14:36:00.000+08:00

I woke up this morning in a strange place and couldn’t remember who I was. What is my name? What do I look like? What do I do everyday? I gazed into the mirror at a strange face which stared back at me blankly. Gingerly, I touched my face. Where those my eyes and nose and mouth? Did those eyebrows and lashes belong to me? I studied each blemish, each angle and curve of the face. Was it really mine? I saw it all for the first time.

If I were a person, I should have a name. But I couldn’t remember my name. I picked up a letter on the floor. “Dearest Valerie…” it read. Valerie. Was that me? It sounded so pretty. I liked its lilt on my tongue.

I threw the doors of the wardrobe open, looking for clothes. It had lots of somber suits in shades of black and white which I flung aside without regard. How boring. The world needed some colour today. I burrowed deep inside before I found a bright orange outfit which I donned happily.

Attired in new clothes with a name to my face, I ran out of the house humming a gay tune. Life is good, I thought. I had woken up with a blank past and no identity but now I was a real person. I was ready for anything. The world was my oyster!

I saw everything as if for the first time. The cobbled streets, the birds chirping, the fresh scent of dew on grass… all my senses seemed to be heightened and I took it all in delightedly. What a beautiful world it was. I felt a sense of joy and bliss, at peace with myself and with everyone in the world.

With a jaunty step I walked into a coffee shop. Oh how cute the doughnuts looked all line up waiting for someone to take them home. They smiled at me, practically calling out to me and I was saddened to think that they will be eaten up. The aroma of coffee hit my nostrils. I sat down and soaked in the warm atmosphere.

It was the loveliest day of my life. I spent it wandering around the streets, reveling in being alive. I took in each aspect of changing beauty as the sun made her way across the sky through the wisps of clouds. It was getting late but dusk offered a different shade of splendour. The moon, the stars, the cool night breeze, the glow of lights from shops and houses, the delicious smell of dinner cooking, people hurrying home to their loved ones... I savoured it all.

It happened suddenly like a bucketful of water upturned over my head. My memory returned. I remembered who I was. I was just me. I had always been me. I staggered home and hid under my blankets to cry.

Ramblings

2004-10-29T13:08:00.000+08:00

Funny I feel compelled to write but I don't feel like blogging because I haven't been feeling very morbid of late and this blog deserves nothing but my morbid best...

Nothing much has been happening around me. Just that I had my exam yesterday and I now know the meanings of 'screwed up' and 'dead'.

More has been happening within. My mind has been churning endlessly, trying to sort out my warped notions. There are so many messes to untangle in my web of thoughts. So am I thinking straight now? I can't say for sure...

Life is rum ain't it?

This girl named Sumi

2004-10-16T23:53:00.001+08:00

(30 May 1985 - 15 October 2004)

Sumitra. My beautiful friend, so vibrant, so full of life. She was never quiet for a moment, always happy, always monkeying around, bringing squeals of laughter wherever she went. No one could resist her.

I will always remember the colour she splashed on our lives in school. There was never a dull day, never any peace or silence when she was around. But now, where there was once laughter, only weeping can be heard.

When death strikes so close I remember once again that life is so fragile, so brief, yet so precious. There is immeasurable worth placed on each human soul.

For those of us who are still on this side of heaven, life goes on.

Sumi, your memory will always remain.

The Tempest

2004-10-13T19:12:00.000+08:00

The air was ominously still. Not a rustle of the leaves could be heard. The birds were not chirping as usual, nor were there any children playing in the streets. The sun shone on bravely, attempting to reassure. There was a sense of foreboding as the clouds began to gather overhead. They darkened the sky and blotted out the sun.

The rain started at first with a mere trickle. Within minutes, it became a steady torrent. Thunder crashed in an expansive outburst, as if the heavens were venting all its pent up rage and frustration. The lightning flashed haphazardly making angry slashes across the sky. The wind blew fiercely in an aimless frenzy. The thunderstorm was unrelenting and would not be silenced. It was an outcry against the world.

Finally, the storm had spent all its energy. The rain was reduced to a tired but dogged drizzle which never stopped. The clouds stubbornly continued to shield the sun. Everything looked drab and grey. The tempest had wrought devastation on the earth. The earth was tired and dying.

Sunshine rarely slipped through the vigilance of the clouds. They would not allow even one blade of grass to stand before hurling down more raindrops to lay bare the earth. The storm was merciless.

And so the clouds and the perpetual storm became a normal part of the world. Even as everyone longed for the brightness and life giving warmth of the sun, the days before the thunderstorm came was soon a fading memory, unreal and distant. Like the weather, they became a dreary people with no joy, no laughter, dragging their unwilling feet through every step of life.

Will the sun ever shine again?

Loving Unloveables

2004-10-11T10:05:00.000+08:00

“You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”

~Matthew 5:43-48~

Is it possible to love somebody just by knowing you have to and deciding to do so?

The woman with no pulse

2004-09-29T23:19:00.000+08:00

The young doctor leaned over to take the woman’s pulse. He frowned, seemingly having trouble detecting it. A look of growing concern and bewilderment flitted over his face. He looked up at her with a start of surprise. “You don’t have a pulse!” he blurted incredulously.

The woman met his gaze with a blank stare. Her face was expressionless. She did not share the doctor’s amazement. To her, it was most natural thing in the world. “Well, doctor, of course I don’t have a pulse because I don’t have a heart. I lost it,” she said matter-of-factly.

“You lost your heart?” the doctor questioned. And how, he wondered silently but was too tactful to inquire. “Didn’t you try to find it?”

“Yes, I tried to but after awhile, it didn’t matter anymore. What difference does it make whether I have a heart or not?” she said languidly. Her manner was listless, uninterested in the conversation.

Big difference, the doctor reflected but thought it wiser to try a more subtle approach with this intriguing patient. “But don’t you find life a little bland without your heart?”

She laughed bitterly. “Mine is not a life but merely an existence. I have no emotions. I can’t feel anything. To me, life is just a farce. I don’t give a d--- about anything or anyone. Aren’t we all just waiting to live out our days here on earth and then die and move on? I’m sick of life. I’m ready to make my move anytime.”

“That’s true but the way we live out our days here matters a lot. I’m sure you matter to your friends and your loved ones.”

“Honestly, I don’t really care about them now.” A note of regret crept into her voice. “I wish I did. I used to love my children very much but after I lost my heart, I just can’t anymore.”

“Is there no purpose, no cause for you to live for?"

“Absolutely none, doctor.” The answer came candidly, flatly. “Along with my heart, I have lost my passion for living. I have lost my love for the people I used to care for. I have lost my enthusiasm for activities I used to enjoy.” Her voice wavered. “Doctor, I need your help. You’ve got to save me from myself. Can’t you do something? If not… if not I fear that you’ll be last person to see me alive.”

The doctor looked at her with compassion. This woman needed a heart transplant immediately. There was only one Person qualified to undertake the operation. “Don’t worry,” he reassured her. “I know a Doctor who can help you.” He handed her a card. “I’ll introduce you to Him in a moment.”

The woman fingered the card. “Dr Jesus,” it read simply. “I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.”

The End

2004-09-25T23:16:00.001+08:00

She gazed pityingly at the pathetic shell of a man before her. His eyes were bloodshot and a stench of depravity lingered around him. His clothes were rumpled. Each crease and stain on them gave evidence to the disreputable way he had squandered the night. “Will,” she said softly. “Will, I…”

He held up a hand, halting her speech. “Not tonight,” he said brusquely. “I’m not in the mood for another harangue.”

“But I…”

“I know. I’m a loser. I’ve screwed up on everything and my life is ruined. I’m such a miserable wretch. I wish I were dead but I’m too chicken to commit suicide. I know what you’ll tell me to do but don’t you get it? I can’t do that. So just leave me alone, okay?”

Without another word, he brushed past her rudely into his room and slammed the door. She heaved a sigh, her emotions overwhelming her. She crumpled into a little heap outside the door and buried her face in her hands, sobbing, her heart shattered to a thousand pieces.

It doesn’t have to be that way, she kept repeating to herself. He was a good man, well loved and respected. But he had been willing to trade all that for the momentary pleasures of the world which now dictated him.

The gradual decline sapped his spirit and altered his character. He became moody and listless, often isolating himself. She had pleaded with him repeatedly. He had wanted to turn back and had tried to many times but his determination never lasted beyond the day.

Then he would not listen to her anymore. He avoided her and slunk away shamefacedly when he saw her. It was as if she no longer existed to him. Deprived of his attention, she had grown weaker inevitably.

At that moment, she saw the depths he had fallen to and realized that she could not stop loving him despite that. Their lives were intertwined and he would die if she abandoned him. But she also knew that the way he was heading would bring them both to hell. Though she shunned it, there was only one thing left to do. And she had to do it now before it was too late.

Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she opened the door and came face to face with him. He was about to shout at her when her manner checked him. Her face was white and her eyes were resolute. “Will, I’m leaving. Good bye.”

She had made up her mind. There was no tremor in her voice, no flickering in her eyes to betray her feelings or to give him hope. He stared in stunned silence. She turned and left, liberated. She was finally free. As she walked away from him, the extent of his loss dawned on him and remorse gripped him. “No! Wait! I’m…”

But it was too late. The words died on his lips as he felt his life ebb away. If only he had repented earlier. If only he had taken those second chances. If only he had listened to her and allowed her to help him. He struggled to hold on to his last breath as his spirit left him. At last he gave it up in a whisper. “…sorry.”

Wasters

2004-09-23T11:44:00.000+08:00

This is an issue very close to my heart. Somehow, after ambling along in the walk of life for 19 years, I have come to the conclusion that generally, boys are wasters (so are girls for that matter but let's not get distracted here). I know how stark this harsh fact stands. And no, I am not a feminist and I would love to be proven wrong but the fact remains…

Boys are wasters. Or let me rephrase that. Most of the boys I know are wasters (I can imagine my male acquaintances cringing and wondering if I am referring to them. Wonder no more. You can always ask me, you know ;p)

What are wasters? I picked it up from Wodehouse in whom I have been shamelessly indulging for the past few weeks. My thesaurus kindly provides these synonyms in case a more lucid description is required – wastrel, drone, shirker, malingerer, idler, dropout, degenerate, ne’er do well, loafer, lay about, good for nothing…

Wasters are not necessarily rude and uncouth, nor are they all boors, though some are guilty of being all three. In fact, many wasters are naturally nice, affable and perky. But they do spend their time doing things which will never amount to anything and chasing after the wind (however, having said all that, I must admit that wasters are essential to society).

The only way to exist in harmony alongside boys is to understand first and foremost that they are wasters and to accept the fact. Having established this, there would be no more expectations and thus no more disappointments and reproaches. So peace will be able to uphold her supreme reign with nary a hint of discord to threaten it.

But that’s not to say that I’ve not had a few pleasant surprises along the way. I concede that there are some exceptions to the rule. And there also exist wasters who have seen the error of their ways and repented and amazingly metamophorsized into well behaved and industrious gentlemen.

So do not despair!

Week 1

2004-09-17T13:37:00.000+08:00

I’ve been back in university for a week. Can barely seem to think of That Place as a university. I’ve been trying to wake up early every morning without any success so I have yet to be early for lectures.

I’ve been attempting to pay attention to what the lecturer is saying about pathology, microbiology and immunology (all of which I know absolutely nothing) instead of giving in to Day Dreaming, Doodling Nonsense, Whispering or Dozing Off (all at which I am absolutely adept).

I’ve tried to see nice things in people instead of being distracted and repulse by their blatant Weirdness. I’ve tried not to complain so much about everything so that I do not burden the ears of my companions and drive them away by being a Grouch and a Real Pain in the Neck.

I’ve tried playing netball too. I suck at it. But anyway, the ball hardly ever comes near me. ;) But I don’t mind, it’s quite fun actually! What I do mind is standing under the Hot Sun at Two Pm and staying back until Six Pm.

Being in Semester 2 has not made any difference nor brought much change. I see that two months of Holiday has done little to mellow me. I never change, do I? But yet, I have changed so much.

It’s all in the mind…

Moonshine to Moonface

2004-09-15T23:46:00.000+08:00

The house is peacefully quiet once again. It is bliss to return to my room with the certainty that no shadow of undesirable company will darken my treshold and that my belongings won't find legs and go scuttling all over the house. Oh yes, I'm a selfish little self-centered spoilt brat. I value my privacy and will defend my territory to the last molecule of oxygen in my very healthy pair of lungs.

Moonface has gone back to Manchester. I will certainly not miss her but just sit back, relax and enjoy the silence and tranquility. It is a joy not to hear her voice ringing all over the house. The quieter tones over the phone are certainly more pleasant and soothing. It's definitely easier to say that I love her with more sincerity when we are not on the same continent.

She'll be back in December. I guess I'll start forgetting what a pestilential creature she is by October. In November, she'll be a saint in my memory and I'll probably start missing her. And by December, I'll actually be (horrors!) looking forward to seeing her again. Ah, the intervention of time and distance can work miracles!

Preposterous!

2004-09-11T14:02:00.000+08:00

(rantings of a lazy bum pampered by timetables which allowed the luxury of getting up no earlier than 9 am...)

8 am. EIGHT am! EIGHT o'clock in the MORNING!!!!!! Aaaaarrrrggghhhh..... that's the time I have to be in IMU on 13 September 2004. Which means I have to be up latest by 7 am. Sigh... I've never had to wake up so early since I finished Form 5. That was two years ago.

It's cruel to make people wake up so early to go to school. Only a madman can conceive of such an excruciating torture. Only a heartless person with no conscience would relish imposing the regime on 200 odd innocent and undeserving students.

Come on!! These people are medical personnel. Surely they know that the brain does not function at such an unearthly hour? Why, that's common knowledge! And to rouse a person from slumber in the wee hours of the morning to stuff information into the person's brain...... tsk, tsk, tsk..... that's the ultimate cruelty to poor medical students......

Is there no one to fight for our rights? No one to uphold justice? No one at all to champion our cause? *sniff, sniff*

A few things to bear in mind...

2004-09-07T15:17:00.000+08:00

I shall contrive to be as honest as I can be. But then again why should I not be honest? Okay, as long as I don't lie. That should be good enough....

But, there may be more (or less) than meets the eye in some of stuff I write. You're most welcome to read in between the lines and draw your own conclusions or take things at face value. But I shall not be responsible for any consequences which may arise.......

Also, I'm not actually as morbid as I sound. I guess I'm more morbid than average but I'm more inclined to write when I'm feeling morbid. I mean, writing is a better alternative than committing suicide or murder, right? So... that's why this place is rather gloomy.

Some of the things I write may be the effect of something which has moved me. Words written when walking on the clouds or stumbling over in pits ought not to be taken seriously.

Some of the other things I write may not come across as I meant them to. So again, don't take it seriously cuz anyway, I try not to take myself seriously.

I am 19 Today

2004-09-06T18:54:00.002+08:00

I am nineteen today. Could I ever imagine being this old? Why that's almost TWO DECADES!!!! Sigh..... I wish I were nine again, without a care in the world, frolicking the days away in sunshine and smiles. But I do not want to mourn over the years which have passed nor do I wish to grow up any faster. I want to be content with the present and savour what life has to offer now.

Looking back at my life only serves to remind me of how insignificant I am. Those nineteen years are my whole life and they are all I know of life. It’s funny how one can be so full of life and so filled with life and yet have not even begun to experience life! The life that we know of here on earth is but a speck of eternity. And nineteen years are just the merest fringe of that speck.

What are mortals that [God] is mindful of us?

As for man, his days are like grass, he flourishes like a flower of the field; the wind blows over it and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more.
~Psalm 103:15,16~

O, how morbid I have become!

Tribulations of an Insomniac

2004-09-05T21:34:00.002+08:00

I can't believe that yesterday was just 24 hours ago. I feel like a totally different person, as if someone had been inside my head and changed all the furniture and wall paper and lightings and the whole setting!!! It's all in the mind....

What is life afteral but our responses to a series of external stimulation? Different people may well respond differently to the same stimulation and thus lead totally different lives. So who am I today? Or rather how will I respond today?

I certainly did not choose to be me and if I had a say in it maybe, just maybe I would have chosen to be someone else. But I have learnt to never envy someone whose heart I do not know (Envy... that's another interesting subject to discuss). It's a good thing that it's not up to me.

I spent the early hours of this morning in my own hell trying to pursue elusive sleep. It evades me so craftily. Though my head ached and my eyes couldn't stay open, yet sleep did not come. My mind soon becomes a battle ground. Mental darts assail me in quick succession and I'm desperate for sleep to deliver me. Oh for the blessed relief of unconsciousness!

Sigh, the chase will start again tonight....

Meaningless!

2004-09-04T21:47:00.000+08:00

Today has been a very strange day. Lots of strange things have been happening to me recently. I've been thinking a lot. Maybe I shouldn't think too much. Afteral, life is short... and pretty meaningless. Siggggghhhhh......

I echo the words of the Teacher who wrote in Ecclesiastes... "Meaningless! Meaningless! Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless." I wonder if he ever found meaning during his brief sojourn on this side of heaven.

What is the meaning of life? The night is too young to ponder and discourse on that. I'll save it for a nocturnal writing marathon...

Meanwhile, let us all go our own way and continue in this big drama of life, staying true to the roles which have been assigned to us though we had no say about them.

Why?

2004-09-03T13:42:00.000+08:00

So many things to do, so little time... and I certainly shouldn't be here typing out crap which most likely will never hit the retina of eyes besides mine. Afterall, I'm not so conceited to think that there are people out there who are dying to read my musings and are actually interested in what I think. I guess this is just to keep me amused while I waste precious time for want of something better to do. Oh well at least I'm occupied and sharpening my writing skills.