A day at work would describe the typical Singaporean. Every morning as you enter the train station, you make a mental note that the daily tussle begins just after you scan your ez-link card and walkthrough those battlegates.
You scuttle past everyone and come to the escalator which bears an unmistakable sign saying "Keep Left". Few Singaporeans fail to notice the sign but countless more simply ignore it.
You then come to the platform, almost numbed by the lack of feeling and consideration for others that your fellow Singaporeans can have. "Well, maybe they just didn't realise they were blocking everyone else," you think. On the platform are lines that indicate the angle at which you should wait in order to let people getting off the train to dismount with ease as well to ensure that you get in as fast as possible. You wait in line behind the yellow line and your train finally arrives. You then realise that in the few seconds before the doors of the train open, tens of fellow Singaporeans simply push their way through, disregarding the yellow arrows that were painstakingly drawn and reducing the decent respect that all human beings should have for each other to an absolute zero. It appears that all that matters to your fellow Singaporeans is that they get into the train.
Well you finally get into the train all sticky and sweaty and filled with disgust. The door closes as you compress your body into the packed train that seems like it wouldn't fit even one more mouse into the cabin. You breathe a sigh of relief that the train is on the move again and that the cabin has accepted you in it. Then you take a glimpse into what lies deeper into the cabin: pockets of empty space that at least 10 people could fill but for some strange reason is left as it is. It seems that someone's got a bad case of body odour somewhere around there. Or does it?
As some people get off the train and more people get on, it only seems like the natural thing to do is to move into the empty spaces inside the cabin. This, you realise, rarely happens. So you wait patiently for your stop, while fending off the "tsk" and "hai" of your fellow Singaporean commuters who seem to think that the accidental brushing of an elbow is an indecent display of affection, even in a crowded train.
You finally arrive at your stop and you anticipate your ultimate liberation from this hell-hole they call the MRT. The train stops. You use your body to indicate that you wish to make your way to the door. nothing. You say "excuse me" in a loud voice. nothing. Finally, you realise that the only way your fellow Singaporeans would make way for you to get to the door is to violently push your way through, preferably while making remarks like "haiyoh". Most of the time though, the age old "tsk" works rather well.
Liberation at last! Or so you thought. You see that about 30 people exit from each door at the same time. But that doesn't really bother you. But no words would be able to describe the scene before you as you stand in awe right beside the closing cabin door. Working adults dressed in the best office clothes you thought possible rush out of each cabin door practically lunging themselves in the direction of the escalators. Your mind suddenly gets jolted back to your primary school canteen where everyone would rush to buy the 'limited-for-the-recess' country flag erasers for 10 cents. Never in your life did you imagine that the working world would bring you back to view an image even remotely similar to that, but now it did. Grown, working-class men and women dressed in their best attire rushing for... erasers worth 10 cents?
As you resign yourself to the fact that you have indeed returned to Primary School once again after all those years of slogging at various tertiary institutions, you can't help but stick those earphones in there to drown out the sound of the Great Singapore Rush that has, by now, grown rather repulsive.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Writer's Block
When I got into major quarrels with her, I remember that the first thing that I wanted to do was to walk away. To leave things as they were, to not have to deal with the issues that were thrust right into our faces. I never did have the courage to walk away though, and all I did was threaten to walk away; which probably gve her the idea that I never would. Not that day, not the next, not ever. Because I may not have been the best guy around, but I did my best to stay around.
Well my mind was jolted back to this awkward contradiction between my desire to walk away and the lack of courage to. I wanted to walk away because having those arguements made no sense to me. On the other hand, I didn't want to leave things hanging. Contrary to what most people think, I liked to kiss my girlfriend goodbye everytime we had to say goodbye. It's a little hard to do when you walk out of the house in the middle of an arguement isn't it?
The fact is, there still is a certain kind of longing to leave that is deeply etched in the person that I am. So throughout these few weeks that I've had a case of 'writer's-block', I've been trying to figure out just what is so attractive to me about the concept of leaving.
There are few things that can fall on both sides of the line. Leaving is one of them. Any person who leaves his company, girlfriend, family, country or anything else, can and will be labelled as a coward by some, and a hero by others. To quit your job or breakup with your girlfriend is not an easy thing to do hence the bravado; then again compared to facing your job/girlfriend every single day when you know you don't exactly want them, leaving seems like the easier thing to do and hence the cowardice alleged by some.
When you walk away from someone, you turn on back on her, which means that you walk in a direction opposite to her from now on and probably for a long long time. If you should ever reurn, she would have gone on without you, enjoyed life without you, heck, she could even be happily married with children, and none of these events included you as a part of it. Now depending on hw you look at it, would you be a coward or a hero to leave her?
Similarly, when you leave your country, you turn your back on her. For the next few years or decades of your life, you will never see the streets that you have walked on. You will never see the area that you grew up in. You will never see the people with whom you grew up with; not your parents, not your childhood friends, not the mee-pok man down the lorong. Sure they might visit you wherever you are once in a while, but how different would that be from meeting what you might call a 'familiar stranger'?
Perhaps the most painful part about leaving is walking out of the lives of the people that you care about. Your family and friends. How many of them would leave with you even if you asked them to? One, if you're lucky? To start your life away from a place you have called home for the most part of your life is definitely something frightening but utterly attractive to some. In fact, some people thrive on the unfamiliarity of location, lifestyle and cultures of different places around the world. They choose to live their lives like urban nomads and the truth is, they are probably what real jet-setters are like; not the suit-donning senior executives who seem to garner the respect and admiration of many for 'travelling the world', when when they've seen all around the world are the insides of planes, trains, offices and cafes that are almost exactly the same anywhere in the world.
So would you leave if anyone asked you to?
*This cannot be taken as an analysis of the concept of leaving, just extremely random rants.*
Well my mind was jolted back to this awkward contradiction between my desire to walk away and the lack of courage to. I wanted to walk away because having those arguements made no sense to me. On the other hand, I didn't want to leave things hanging. Contrary to what most people think, I liked to kiss my girlfriend goodbye everytime we had to say goodbye. It's a little hard to do when you walk out of the house in the middle of an arguement isn't it?
The fact is, there still is a certain kind of longing to leave that is deeply etched in the person that I am. So throughout these few weeks that I've had a case of 'writer's-block', I've been trying to figure out just what is so attractive to me about the concept of leaving.
There are few things that can fall on both sides of the line. Leaving is one of them. Any person who leaves his company, girlfriend, family, country or anything else, can and will be labelled as a coward by some, and a hero by others. To quit your job or breakup with your girlfriend is not an easy thing to do hence the bravado; then again compared to facing your job/girlfriend every single day when you know you don't exactly want them, leaving seems like the easier thing to do and hence the cowardice alleged by some.
When you walk away from someone, you turn on back on her, which means that you walk in a direction opposite to her from now on and probably for a long long time. If you should ever reurn, she would have gone on without you, enjoyed life without you, heck, she could even be happily married with children, and none of these events included you as a part of it. Now depending on hw you look at it, would you be a coward or a hero to leave her?
Similarly, when you leave your country, you turn your back on her. For the next few years or decades of your life, you will never see the streets that you have walked on. You will never see the area that you grew up in. You will never see the people with whom you grew up with; not your parents, not your childhood friends, not the mee-pok man down the lorong. Sure they might visit you wherever you are once in a while, but how different would that be from meeting what you might call a 'familiar stranger'?
Perhaps the most painful part about leaving is walking out of the lives of the people that you care about. Your family and friends. How many of them would leave with you even if you asked them to? One, if you're lucky? To start your life away from a place you have called home for the most part of your life is definitely something frightening but utterly attractive to some. In fact, some people thrive on the unfamiliarity of location, lifestyle and cultures of different places around the world. They choose to live their lives like urban nomads and the truth is, they are probably what real jet-setters are like; not the suit-donning senior executives who seem to garner the respect and admiration of many for 'travelling the world', when when they've seen all around the world are the insides of planes, trains, offices and cafes that are almost exactly the same anywhere in the world.
So would you leave if anyone asked you to?
*This cannot be taken as an analysis of the concept of leaving, just extremely random rants.*
Monday, September 17, 2007
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Dawn To Dusk...Dusk To Dawn
One thing that can never be changed is the amount of time we have in a day. Our 24 hours are divided into different parts of the day and depending the amount of sunlight that shines on us.
On our sunny little island, the sun usually rises at about 6.30 a.m. I have, on more than one occassion, stayed up late enough to actually see the transition of the colour of the sky, and I must say that it is utterly disappointing. There are so many metaphors/idoms that revolve around daybreak. "Dawn of a new era" symbolises a bright new future for new beginning. To "dawn on" something is to have an enlightening realization of something. But the real dawn is far less appealing than these phrases that evoke a sense of new birth in a normal person. Sunrise breaks the fabric of the tranquil night sky. Bit by bit, ugly rays of sunlight force their way through the solid darkness under which true feelings are able to present themselves without pretense or avoidance. Eventually, all that arises other than the burning hot sun is the knowledge that another monotonous day has begun.
Then begins what we generally call the 'day'. Most people get out of their beds to go to school, work, or to do household chores. Some play golf and swim all day, breaking for food and drink in between. The day to be detailed no more than this because our existence belongs to it.
Then comes the time where most people stop their working day, pack their bags and go somewhere where they can spend some time appreciating the end of the day. Most people spend this time on the train. They get on when the sky's still bright and when they arrive at their destination, darkness has fallen and night has come. Dusk is the process of the sun retreating from its throne in the sky into the deepest valleys of the earth. In contrast to dawn, sunlight fades away bit by bit, leaving people to think that a glimmer of hope lies within those last rays projected from the sun.
Little do they know that those rays are only distractions from the real hope. Real hope that exists in darkness. When the sun goes down, there is no need to pretend to be happy when you're not. There's no need to be courteous to people you don't want to be courteous to. When night falls, one's character truly shines out, in defiance of the fact that the glaring rays of the sun shine no more. People go to pubs and clubs only at night. They can only enjoy themselves at such places of entertainment at night because only then can they bring themselves to admit that they are unhappy beings in need of some happiness, however superficial and shortlived. When the sun still sits high up on its throne in the sky, it subliminally reminds everyone that they are being watched. Every twitch of the eyebrow can be seen by virtue of the sun's light-giving traits. So people deal with dark and light, by creating a different persona for the hours when the sun is in the sky. So much so that that persona envelops a person's life and eventually devours the heart of his soul.
At the end of the day, this might seem like the rantings of an unnerved person. Truth is, it is hard to see the truth once we've been reigned into the eye of a tornado. You seem to stay still, you seem to be calm despite chaos all around, but does that calm stem from knowledge or foolishness? Ask any 25 year old working girl about which face is her true face: the one with make-up or the one without and she'll have a hard time trying to figure it out. She may tell you without flinching that the one without make-up is her real face, for she came into this world without any make-up on. But you can always trust that she will walk away from that conversation confused about the question, the answer to the question, and even more bewildered about her answer to the question.
On our sunny little island, the sun usually rises at about 6.30 a.m. I have, on more than one occassion, stayed up late enough to actually see the transition of the colour of the sky, and I must say that it is utterly disappointing. There are so many metaphors/idoms that revolve around daybreak. "Dawn of a new era" symbolises a bright new future for new beginning. To "dawn on" something is to have an enlightening realization of something. But the real dawn is far less appealing than these phrases that evoke a sense of new birth in a normal person. Sunrise breaks the fabric of the tranquil night sky. Bit by bit, ugly rays of sunlight force their way through the solid darkness under which true feelings are able to present themselves without pretense or avoidance. Eventually, all that arises other than the burning hot sun is the knowledge that another monotonous day has begun.
Then begins what we generally call the 'day'. Most people get out of their beds to go to school, work, or to do household chores. Some play golf and swim all day, breaking for food and drink in between. The day to be detailed no more than this because our existence belongs to it.
Then comes the time where most people stop their working day, pack their bags and go somewhere where they can spend some time appreciating the end of the day. Most people spend this time on the train. They get on when the sky's still bright and when they arrive at their destination, darkness has fallen and night has come. Dusk is the process of the sun retreating from its throne in the sky into the deepest valleys of the earth. In contrast to dawn, sunlight fades away bit by bit, leaving people to think that a glimmer of hope lies within those last rays projected from the sun.
Little do they know that those rays are only distractions from the real hope. Real hope that exists in darkness. When the sun goes down, there is no need to pretend to be happy when you're not. There's no need to be courteous to people you don't want to be courteous to. When night falls, one's character truly shines out, in defiance of the fact that the glaring rays of the sun shine no more. People go to pubs and clubs only at night. They can only enjoy themselves at such places of entertainment at night because only then can they bring themselves to admit that they are unhappy beings in need of some happiness, however superficial and shortlived. When the sun still sits high up on its throne in the sky, it subliminally reminds everyone that they are being watched. Every twitch of the eyebrow can be seen by virtue of the sun's light-giving traits. So people deal with dark and light, by creating a different persona for the hours when the sun is in the sky. So much so that that persona envelops a person's life and eventually devours the heart of his soul.
At the end of the day, this might seem like the rantings of an unnerved person. Truth is, it is hard to see the truth once we've been reigned into the eye of a tornado. You seem to stay still, you seem to be calm despite chaos all around, but does that calm stem from knowledge or foolishness? Ask any 25 year old working girl about which face is her true face: the one with make-up or the one without and she'll have a hard time trying to figure it out. She may tell you without flinching that the one without make-up is her real face, for she came into this world without any make-up on. But you can always trust that she will walk away from that conversation confused about the question, the answer to the question, and even more bewildered about her answer to the question.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Tempted To Cry
If I could just take the first step and let you know how I feel
I could be the hand you hold on to in the deepest darkest hours
Just wash away those memories they're hardly worth a dime
Come away with me now this is what is real
I can't lie on my bed while I know you're sunk in yours
Tempted to cry
I could be the hand you hold on to in the deepest darkest hours
Just wash away those memories they're hardly worth a dime
Come away with me now this is what is real
I can't lie on my bed while I know you're sunk in yours
Tempted to cry
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
The Death Of Us All
Last night was yet another dinner night. A restaurant half filled with family, lots of food and drink (but we were spared the alcohol 'cause it was a weekday.. ironic isn't it?) and lots of random chatter.
Being the youngest cousin in the family, I've always been a listener at these parties. There really isn't anyone to talk to. The next cousin is 24 and the eldest in the generation below me is 14. It might seem like there'd be a lot of things to talk about since I'm right smack in between their ages but think again. We've been leading our entire lives with no relation to each other except for these parties. We're at different stages of our journey and have absolutely nothing in common in terms of school, work or even interests. Its not to say that we're all not close to one another cause we are. I'm just trying to paint a backdrop of why I seem to be more used to listening than to actually talking and mingling (socializing sounds like a wrong word to use within the family).
So anyway, last night's topic at my side of the table was, strangely, death. The 50 smths and the 60 smths were talking about old times when Mr Eng of Eng's 'kolo-mee' used have a pushcart instead of a unit at Dunman Food Centre; when mahjong used to extend to the wee hours of the morning (they were only 30 smths and could afford the lack of sleep) followed by supper afterward; the 27 bowls of gu-bak-kway-teow after a night of mahjong shared amongst the 6 of them headed by one man called Robin Tan Tian Chye. That's how it all started.
Robin Tan Tian Chye was everything a man could want to be. Fluent in at least 3 languages, single, always available and was most noted for his cheekiness (which could sometimes be rather vulgar) even in front of the elders. No, he wasn't blood related but his family and mine were so close since the days at Marshall Road that he was little less than my uncle ever since I was born. Uncle Robin passed away at slightly over 60 in Australia, a country he so loved and had become a citizen, after close to 5 months of pain and suffering. His jovial self shone through his pancreatic cancer, a rare cancer that somehow struck him so suddenly. Even in his last days, sundng frail yet strong, his last words to me over the phone were "Uncle Robin loves you you know." And hours later, he finally succumbed with a loud yet peaceful gasp.
Pancreatic cancer is relatively rare. Which brought my father to talk about his sister, who was diagnosed about 5 years ago with cancer of the nose, another cancer that though relatively rare, is strangely common in Cantonese people. My father boarded a plane to Australia, where she had made her home to see her one last time. She succumbed just a few hours before my Papa's plane landed so he didn't get to see her before she passed. I've never dared ask him what he felt when he heard the news. But how else can it feel to get on an aeroplane to fly for 8 hours to see a dying sister only to have her move on before you even land?
What these two people shared, other than passing from cancer, was that they came back to their birthplace one last time before they left this world. Uncle Robin came down for 5 weeks, the longest ever since he got his Australian citizenship. Ku-ma came back just before she was diagnosed with the cancer, which spread tremendously quickly. Both had a lot of fun back home, visiting relatives, savouring all our local dishes, Ku-ma even went on a shopping trip to JB for 2 days in a row. Then they 'went back' to Australia.. to die. Did they know they were going to go, thus made their way back to Singapore for one last time? No one will ever know and now that they're probably somewhere better, it's better not to discuss.
You see, that's the problem with death. You can't discuss death as if it were a health science issue because there's no treatment for death. You can't talk about it from a humanitarian point of view because its not a wrong which the UN or other similar forces can remedy or give aid to. So we live in silence, consciously choosing not to talk about death because to do so would be morbid and foul, not to mention inauspicious.
Which also leads to a bigger problem: we all fear death. And the fear of death will bring it about prematurely, if not controlled. Uncle Robin once mentioned this, "I'm not scared of AIDS, because I not gatal. But I'm scared of cancer". And cancer was what he finally gave in to. There is a scientific term called 'auto-suggestion', which means that whatever you 'suggest' to your brain, your body automates. Simply put, the more you think you're ging to die of cancer, the more likely that you will die of cancer.
But what is the point of all this jibber-jabber, mambo-jambo about death? For there is only so much we can say and so little we can do. When we come to the end of our lives, we come to the end of our lives. What's there to talk about? Nothing could be further from the truth. Death is life seen from a different angle whether you like it or not. The world may portray life to be all that there is: hope, love, faith, patience. What they don't tell you is that the very same hope, love, faith and patience are at the very core of death itself.
So the next time you find yourself inexplicably stepping back onto a pavement when you were about to jaywalk, just take note that death might have just whizzed by you in the form of a car. The next time you get a heat stroke and pass out, remember that death was with you through it all, but left you at the last moment. And the next time you get so drunk that you fall down an escalator without knowing it, do make a little offering to your guardian angel, cause death could have taken you then but your guardian angel changed death's mind.
Being the youngest cousin in the family, I've always been a listener at these parties. There really isn't anyone to talk to. The next cousin is 24 and the eldest in the generation below me is 14. It might seem like there'd be a lot of things to talk about since I'm right smack in between their ages but think again. We've been leading our entire lives with no relation to each other except for these parties. We're at different stages of our journey and have absolutely nothing in common in terms of school, work or even interests. Its not to say that we're all not close to one another cause we are. I'm just trying to paint a backdrop of why I seem to be more used to listening than to actually talking and mingling (socializing sounds like a wrong word to use within the family).
So anyway, last night's topic at my side of the table was, strangely, death. The 50 smths and the 60 smths were talking about old times when Mr Eng of Eng's 'kolo-mee' used have a pushcart instead of a unit at Dunman Food Centre; when mahjong used to extend to the wee hours of the morning (they were only 30 smths and could afford the lack of sleep) followed by supper afterward; the 27 bowls of gu-bak-kway-teow after a night of mahjong shared amongst the 6 of them headed by one man called Robin Tan Tian Chye. That's how it all started.
Robin Tan Tian Chye was everything a man could want to be. Fluent in at least 3 languages, single, always available and was most noted for his cheekiness (which could sometimes be rather vulgar) even in front of the elders. No, he wasn't blood related but his family and mine were so close since the days at Marshall Road that he was little less than my uncle ever since I was born. Uncle Robin passed away at slightly over 60 in Australia, a country he so loved and had become a citizen, after close to 5 months of pain and suffering. His jovial self shone through his pancreatic cancer, a rare cancer that somehow struck him so suddenly. Even in his last days, sundng frail yet strong, his last words to me over the phone were "Uncle Robin loves you you know." And hours later, he finally succumbed with a loud yet peaceful gasp.
Pancreatic cancer is relatively rare. Which brought my father to talk about his sister, who was diagnosed about 5 years ago with cancer of the nose, another cancer that though relatively rare, is strangely common in Cantonese people. My father boarded a plane to Australia, where she had made her home to see her one last time. She succumbed just a few hours before my Papa's plane landed so he didn't get to see her before she passed. I've never dared ask him what he felt when he heard the news. But how else can it feel to get on an aeroplane to fly for 8 hours to see a dying sister only to have her move on before you even land?
What these two people shared, other than passing from cancer, was that they came back to their birthplace one last time before they left this world. Uncle Robin came down for 5 weeks, the longest ever since he got his Australian citizenship. Ku-ma came back just before she was diagnosed with the cancer, which spread tremendously quickly. Both had a lot of fun back home, visiting relatives, savouring all our local dishes, Ku-ma even went on a shopping trip to JB for 2 days in a row. Then they 'went back' to Australia.. to die. Did they know they were going to go, thus made their way back to Singapore for one last time? No one will ever know and now that they're probably somewhere better, it's better not to discuss.
You see, that's the problem with death. You can't discuss death as if it were a health science issue because there's no treatment for death. You can't talk about it from a humanitarian point of view because its not a wrong which the UN or other similar forces can remedy or give aid to. So we live in silence, consciously choosing not to talk about death because to do so would be morbid and foul, not to mention inauspicious.
Which also leads to a bigger problem: we all fear death. And the fear of death will bring it about prematurely, if not controlled. Uncle Robin once mentioned this, "I'm not scared of AIDS, because I not gatal. But I'm scared of cancer". And cancer was what he finally gave in to. There is a scientific term called 'auto-suggestion', which means that whatever you 'suggest' to your brain, your body automates. Simply put, the more you think you're ging to die of cancer, the more likely that you will die of cancer.
But what is the point of all this jibber-jabber, mambo-jambo about death? For there is only so much we can say and so little we can do. When we come to the end of our lives, we come to the end of our lives. What's there to talk about? Nothing could be further from the truth. Death is life seen from a different angle whether you like it or not. The world may portray life to be all that there is: hope, love, faith, patience. What they don't tell you is that the very same hope, love, faith and patience are at the very core of death itself.
So the next time you find yourself inexplicably stepping back onto a pavement when you were about to jaywalk, just take note that death might have just whizzed by you in the form of a car. The next time you get a heat stroke and pass out, remember that death was with you through it all, but left you at the last moment. And the next time you get so drunk that you fall down an escalator without knowing it, do make a little offering to your guardian angel, cause death could have taken you then but your guardian angel changed death's mind.
Blaze Of Glory
So I'm crazy over Bon Jovi these few days. I can't help it. They're the greatest band that ever lived. Well at least the only band thats still together as of now.
**Each night i go to bed
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
No I ain't looking for forgivness
But before I'm six-foot-deep
Lord I gotta ask a favour
And I hope you'll understand
You see I've lived life to the fullest
Let this boy die like a man
Staring down a bullet
As I make my final stand... **
-Blaze Of Glory, written for the movie "Young Guns 2"
**Each night i go to bed
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
No I ain't looking for forgivness
But before I'm six-foot-deep
Lord I gotta ask a favour
And I hope you'll understand
You see I've lived life to the fullest
Let this boy die like a man
Staring down a bullet
As I make my final stand... **
-Blaze Of Glory, written for the movie "Young Guns 2"
Monday, September 3, 2007
Keep The Faith
**I've been walking in the footsteps
Of society's lies
I don't like what I see no more
Sometimes I wish that I was blind
Sometimes I wait forever
Just to stand out in the rain
So that no one sees me crying
Try to wash away this pain
Mother mother
These things I've done I can't erase
Every night I fall from grace
Its hard with the world in your face
Try to hold on
Try to hold on**
Its funny how what Bon jovi wrote more than 10 years ago seems to fit so well into today's context. I guess that's what you call timeless lyrics.
Of society's lies
I don't like what I see no more
Sometimes I wish that I was blind
Sometimes I wait forever
Just to stand out in the rain
So that no one sees me crying
Try to wash away this pain
Mother mother
These things I've done I can't erase
Every night I fall from grace
Its hard with the world in your face
Try to hold on
Try to hold on**
Its funny how what Bon jovi wrote more than 10 years ago seems to fit so well into today's context. I guess that's what you call timeless lyrics.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
To A Girl I Hardly Know
Sometimes memories flood my mind unexpectedly. Memories that I don't want to have. Memories that I wish would just pass me by rather than enter me. But the fact is they do.
I stumbled upon your blog today. Seeing pictures of you and that sweet smile of yours, I can't help but fantasize about the days that we would have had if I actually had you by my side. But I never did. I never dared to pull you in and hold you close to me.
Thinking about that part of my life, the few times that we've met, I've always had this special feeling for you. Something that I really can't describe even till this day. But my eyes weren't meant to roam. I guess the time wasn't right for us. And you slowly faded away..
We lived our lives from then the way it would have played out even if we hadn't known of each other's existence. I never really was a significant part of your life and neither were you in mine. But every once in a while I think of you. I smile.
The time could be right for us now. You've been single haven't you? So have I. But I lack the intestinal fortitude to approach you. We seem to belong to different dimensions. We seem to exist in the same plane and yet our worlds are so far apart. What makes me smile might make you cry.
Don't get me wrong. I do want to be the one for you. I want to be the one to hold you and tell you that everything's alright. I want to banish all those memories that you and him created. But the only way I can even come close to that is to make new memories, of you and I.
I'm afraid. I'm afraid that to start a new life with you, I'd have to go back to a hidden place in my mind where I've dumped all the disappointment, all the hurt and all the pain from your world, confident that I'd never have to go through them again.
I might be wrong. We might be the best thing that could ever happen to the both of us. Please tell me if I'm wrong.
I stumbled upon your blog today. Seeing pictures of you and that sweet smile of yours, I can't help but fantasize about the days that we would have had if I actually had you by my side. But I never did. I never dared to pull you in and hold you close to me.
Thinking about that part of my life, the few times that we've met, I've always had this special feeling for you. Something that I really can't describe even till this day. But my eyes weren't meant to roam. I guess the time wasn't right for us. And you slowly faded away..
We lived our lives from then the way it would have played out even if we hadn't known of each other's existence. I never really was a significant part of your life and neither were you in mine. But every once in a while I think of you. I smile.
The time could be right for us now. You've been single haven't you? So have I. But I lack the intestinal fortitude to approach you. We seem to belong to different dimensions. We seem to exist in the same plane and yet our worlds are so far apart. What makes me smile might make you cry.
Don't get me wrong. I do want to be the one for you. I want to be the one to hold you and tell you that everything's alright. I want to banish all those memories that you and him created. But the only way I can even come close to that is to make new memories, of you and I.
I'm afraid. I'm afraid that to start a new life with you, I'd have to go back to a hidden place in my mind where I've dumped all the disappointment, all the hurt and all the pain from your world, confident that I'd never have to go through them again.
I might be wrong. We might be the best thing that could ever happen to the both of us. Please tell me if I'm wrong.
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