that lonely hill

we walked today up and down that lonely hill
and before we knew it, before too long
we parted at the gate you entered but i not.
and as you walked, gleam in your eye
excitement in your gait and adventure in your bounce,
i watched and waited.
you turned and flashed that lazy grin,
and the crowd swarmed over you.
i wondered then who really was the one drowning?
me and my inperfections
or you and your ordinary.

when the greats throw in their final spears
when the dieties fall in love with mere mortals
that is when the heavens weep.

and i think, in a little whisper
the heavens shed a few tears today.

prozac

maybe it's time.
PROZAC is one of the world's most widely prescribed antidepressants; it has been prescribed for more than 54 million people worldwide.

i always had a walking prozac wrapped in his little green uniform and red scarf, 3 fingers held up.
but these days it seems, maybe i should get hold of the real deal.

numb numb numb. but there are always bigger problems than me.
there always will be.
depressed or not, prozac-ed or not,
the world continues revolving, screaming, and barges in to interfere.

ballet under the stars

i missed it again this year. woe is me, truly.

i find out about it, just today, but as heavens would have it, today--at 8pm was the last performance.
no big loss, but i really wanted to catch it.

so she goes "haiya, no raised seating, cannot see anything anyway, its sooo warm and humid"

but still.

Life is a cabaret

yesterday night was a good reprieve from black eye peas
the boyscout and i went to watch cabaret
courtesy of tickets from the rabbit,
with whom we had a good carl's dinner with.

so easily we are swept into such a fantastic yet real world
of decadance, of leather boudoirs, of cheap reeking sex
of glamour, of show biz, of such torrid lust.

yet, it still isn't sweep you off your feet,
though we have certainly come a long way.
found the two main leads were too weak
but i think the old lady stole the show.

we sat in the front row.
:) and one of the showgirls sat on the boyscout's lap
and sang to him.

i'm teeter-totering on the edge of too many things.
and part of me feels if i don't keep this delicate balance,
i'm gonna crash.

so it's back to the balancing board,
the trouble is, i'm bone weary, i'm tired
my legs are aching, my eye lids are drooping.
i wanna lie down and sleep.
but i've to stand here, and balance.

balance them all--
or i crash.

lessons from the park

given our respective *for the lack of a better word* nehnehness with our lovelives, the bestfriend and i decided to take the night off for frivolous fun, starting with taxi rides that made us both car sick, listening to the new CD we bought, picking up the car, cooking dinner, harry potter, then we were off to the playground.

1. we are too big for the swings.
2. don't chase the rabbits, they're too fast (yes, there are free-ranging rabbits@my park)
3. we don't know how to ride the see-saw, do we sit on that rubber thing?
4. we can't fit onto the nodding squirrels.
5. don't slide down the slide, it makes your ass wet.
6. we don't have the muscles for the monkey bars.
7. don't slide down the slide, you'll bump your head.
8. we are now scared of heights we used to scale.
9. we don't know how to play with some contraptions.
10. don't walk barefoot into the sandpit. cat-poo-boogey trap.

transfusion

i would need alot of blood; to drain this venom from these veins.

take out your dancing shoes

maybe in the course of loving each other, we have forgotten the many others we loved before those nights of supper, the many others that still depend on us, and despite our neglect of them call us their own.

maybe its time to make that dash back to independance, not stand-alone independance, but focus a little less on us and more on them. part of me resists this, for in this course we bid farewell to the dactyllic lalaland, and face reality. but the other part of me knows we need to do this, before we lose the people important to us, to stress, to old age, to careers, to self-abuse, to puberty, to teenage angst, to frustration.

this is as much your suggestion as it is mine-- we are still one, but independant. a couple, but not an entity joint at the hip.

but, sweetheart, my question is this.
when we find independance, what if we find that couple and independance are seperate irreconcilable entities, mutually exclusive? what then?
would then, taking what is now to find out that answer be too high a price?
where does the line of couple and independance lie?

i miss

our newest addition

it's been a few days now,
nearly a week.
meet the 5th dog @ tamarind,
name's cooper



have been sleeping downstairs with him
cute little fella, always sleeping
and totally cuddle-friendly
and snuggles right on your chest
heaves a sigh
and chases the birds in his head.

i love.

scoff

shut up bitch
i don't need your advice
and i dont care whose wing you're under
where my private life is concerned
it's none of your business

so shut up


really.

OWL NIGHTS

I. CANNOT. SLEEP.

A.G.A.I.N.

ARGHHHHHHH.

if i should die before i wake by Han Nolan

it isn't lyrical, nor poignant, the way i usually like my books. it lacks the fluidity of language of the books i enjoy, usually being fat with metaphors and literary devises, the way i like. it was not a book that had alot of class, in fact it's transitions were too stark, too abrupt and too obvious for my liking.

however, this book, was written stark, with non emotive, non descriptive phrases that left a huge impression. it left me to my imagination, providing sufficient bare bones for me to flesh out in my mind. death, was just death. cruelty was just written, as it came. it was a good 3 hours for me to forget this world, and walk in line with the Jews in the concentration camps.

it was a good read, and one that leaves me with a greater impression of world war II than even schindler's list. can't quite explain it. i didn't pick it out, though the title was certainly attractive. the prose was just okay, but the subject matter, written in such clarity made up for it's lack of imagery.

i don't know if i'd recommend it, but i really enjoyed it.

a neo-nazi goes into some sort of coma, after some cruel pranks on the jewish neighbour, in an accident, and she accesses or rather has flashbacks of a young Jewish girl, who gets sent to a concentration camp, and how she learns to survive.

i dunno if i would have the sheer will to survive a concentration camp.
but it's a crying shame that Hitler didn't die at the hands of a Jew
a damn shame he died so quick.

she is skilled in the wiles and guises of the trade in a split second, her eyes went from dilated and wet to bright and cheery, her drooping demeanor sprung to life. no time for worries or tears, painted on the smiles, and she's off!

bouncing and laughing on stage, she put up a world class act.

as the show draws to a close, and laughter hits its climatic high, she stopped in the fly of the stage, looked around, listened closely, to the easy chuckles and smiles shared by them in the crowd, and wept, hidden behind face paints, curly hair, and a bright red nose.

she brought laugher, but admist it, as she stood in the bright spotlight, shining like a halo around her, she felt cold to the bone, like she was the only one breaking inside.

making love outta nothing at all

tired out; though today was a good time away from things.
the rabbit and i,
went to the animal farm
and had a good talk
then impromtu swimming
and caught an hour of sun,
then dinner and chilling out

good talk, good company

but as usual, the night creeps on
and ends, quite as usual these days
on a bad note

so here i am,
broom stick in hand,
trying to sweep at the eerie cobwebs
of my metaphorical room.

enough, enough--
i just need to be quiet.

what happens when the cat goes to sleep
and the mice are out of its reach?

sput sput.

she screamed
and screamed in rage
in anger
in frustratuion

no one heard the dust speck.

schweet.

He wrote,
"I really missed spending time like this. Just the 3 of us. Truly wonderful. The magic never goes away."

ditto, darling boys, ditto.
so here's cheers,
to the shaman queen, the bum and the alcoholic,
and the lovely glassy night sea.

and magic shimmered all around.

yohoyoho!

this is the holiday life.

1 min to make a snap decision--
and the 3 of us, the 3 of us,
we're off to the beach!

grin.

cheesed

i could just snap his head off.
the liar which takes the shape of my biggest mistake
has been spreading foul again.

to the effect of me calling him on a near daily basis
and how i've been in contact with him.

no seriously, i think he's taken delusion to a complete new level
to the point where i think he's got some serious hallucination issues.
or schizophrenia.

says the pope, "R shoots himself in the foot all the time."

smashed glass

this says alot about my current mood.
fight-mode
and destructive.

she graduates summa cum laude in bitchology;
university of fuckoffavania.

thank you. bye.

what makes you any different
when you log off during a fight
or when i'm upset or tearing up
and before i am done saying what i have to say

what makes you any different
when you refuse calls
or ignore smses
even though they were my pleas
for response, closure.

bangkok 3 saturday (night)

The night ended amazing, with us filled to the brim with too much food and too many sights seen. it was an incredible dinner we had at Yao Wa Ratt, ie, Chinatown. I think the photos we took can speak for themselves.




Seafood bbq dinner which cost about 15 SGD, mind you this is considered expensive, but look at the amazing food! Just bbq-ed with all it’s natural juices and amazing flavour. The sauces! The too small stomaches!




We had birds’ nest. (because in Bangkok you can live like kings and queens.)

Then we were off to Khao San, which is like their hippie street, with beads, bags, earrings galore. I got my hair braided, and the boyscout got himself a sexy henna tattoo, which alas, did not take to his skin, and barely left an impression despite being left there for nearly 45 mins.

bangkok 3 saturday (pm)

(I have to admit, these Jatujak market pictures are not mine, I was too worried about being mugged in that crowd to pull up the digital camera and snap away—there was little room to breathe much less take photos.)

Jatujak market is an amazing place, with its’ street stalls and amazing food. We spent a good 6 hours there, and we didn’t even cover 1/3 of its stalls. Hawkers screaming and tourists with already big bags pushing and shoving their way down the dirty lanes. It was a real eye opener, a real confluence of rich and poor, where tourists all flock to make purchase of cheap, and I mean Cheap articles of anything—from clothes to ornaments to accessories to even a whole lane of puppies for sale.

It was incredibly hot with poor ventilation and great fun. The boyscout being an absolute angel in carrying my bags without protest and patiently waiting while I scoured through piles and piles of imitation roxy, billabong and quicksilver. I think we lost some weight there in the market, from perspiring buckets and hauling huge bags. The boyscout bought a lot of spa effects, and samples of possible uniforms tor his spa, but nothing for himself—except 3 pairs of pants, which is featherweight, compared to my spoils of the day.

Jatujak opened my eyes to the world of poverty really. With armless, legless beggars trying to make their way through the crowd, and children of hawkers sleeping on rattan mats on the dirt floor. There is an unusual emphasis on dirt floor in this post, but you’d have to see it yourself to understand the appall. It’s neither soil nor road, it’s neither dry nor wet, with pockets of puddles, black water, where rain had collected. The limbless beggars made me think of my father’s paranoia about Thailand, where he believed someone would kidnap me and chop off my limbs (and tongue) and sell me off to the syndicate to work as a beggar. I paused to think about how they ended up as such, them, a little stump that barely reached to our knees. I don’t mean to be cruel, I am not. But we saw people step on them, accidentally, because for someone that size and one would think, physically challenged, they move pretty darn fast—and people don’t notice them until their knees bump into their heads.

I wish I could do an inventory of my spoils from the market, but I can’t, simply because I do not know exactly how many t-shirts I bought, close to 25 maybe, with around 6 dresses, too many earrings, slippers, shorts, even shorter shorts, was sorely tempted to buy a puppy—from the MANY on display—a quiet little Yorkshire terrier, for 300 SGD. But Basil the German Shepard is coming soon, so I will wait.
--7.45 pm Jatujak Market

lullaby at dawn

there are many ghosts in the closets
ghosts that come out at times such as these
the twilight between night and dawn
where the sky is black, jet black
with a rude streak of electric blue
when morning bleeds its colours
onto it's unwilling canvas

the ghosts only get more opaque
with the coming of dawn
and as we ignore them
and pretend not to see
or hear their insistant rattling

but some nights
they manifest their presense on oneself
such as tonight, tonight
they come out to feed
as unwilling a prey such as i
but during the battle of dark and light
and night and day
they impose their visits

and expose the secrets we lock away with them
like a dirty robe they are forced to wear
with our sins streaked red and glaring

miles apart

i recline in my room
eye lids nearly touching close
still dressed in work clothes

still dressed in work clothes
because i am tired
the pillows are plump about me.

the pillows are plump about me
and the sandman beckons
but the pillows, they're not you,

but the pillows, they're not you
for you are miles away
further still

further still
we are miles apart
from that last phone call.

eye lids nearly touching close
because i am tired
and the sandman beckons
for you are miles away
we are miles apart

bangkok 3 saturday (am)

This morning has to be the highlight of my trip, when we explored the peripheries around the hotel. We were assured by the concierge that although the back alley was dirty with drains of brackish waters, the people were somewhat friendly, although poor. They were neither beggars nor thieves, just poor folk living in what we would call a 2 storey slum. After a good breakfast of fried tidbits we took a scroll down the surrounding estate and walked—and walked.

We came to a small street corner, with the broken down cobbled stone passage to the main road, and I had initially thought it were just like any ordinary back alley, but to my surprise, this 1.5m walkway was actually the main door passage way of the houses in the lane.

There was a little girl, with massive hoops of hair, glinting in the sunlight, running around without panties, and laughing at nothing in particular really.

She smiled, and waved at me, disappearing behind her mother, seated on the ground, chatting easily with their neighbors, and smiled at us with real warmth in her eyes, and asked where we were from. I asked if I could take a photo of the little angel, and she said of course, if I wanted to bring her back to Singapore it was fine too—I was stunned speechless, and she laughed and declared that cannot do, that was her little darling.


We took some pictures, laughed a little, and felt tears gathering in my eyes at how happy these people were, despite the fact that they’re stuck in a backward society, where households share a communal toilet, and cook together to save on fuel, where children run amok, underwear less, amist the raging motorcycles and cars, where kids’ main source of entertainment were scratching at ants in the dirt, and yet a simple camera flash, made the little boys in the community come running laughing and clamouring, preening for the camera, perfect smiles painted. The women laughed and egged the children on, asking them to strike poses or not block each other from the lens eye of the camera.

It was a perfect way to start the morning.

The most it-advanced item they own is a broken television, and there are interference lines across the screens and its rusty antennas stick out like feelers. Far are they from the frustrations of bidding online for courses, and computer crashes, or the big (well, now insignificant) issue of mac vs pc. They don’t worry about spreadsheets or P & L statements, litigation, even shareholdingthey find joys at thai variety show, at having caught a spider, and laugh as the rain water caught in the potholes in the ground splash on their ankles.

I was disallowed to give the children any money, for fear of being mobbed. But the boyscout bought me some biscuits to give the children—so at least this passing stranger, feels like she made some little one’s day.

--11.00am Periphery Community Dwelling, Din Daeng District.

bangkok 2 friday

Work in the day, no photos there, and nothing much really, except that half way through the afternoon the cramps set in and I had no choice but to retreat to the hotel and recover. Feeling sick in Bangkok was not great, having cramps were worse. Ponstan was a life saver, did you know that they were available at any convenience store in Bangkok? The patent must have run out. Man, I was happily cruising on Ponstan.
--5.30pm, Central Business District

Suan Lum night bazaar was a hive of activities, from ferris wheel rides to shopping to incredible food. The boyscout and I had some to drink and were off shopping.

It had a big tentage and girls, tightly clad in their beer-girl outfits came round and ordered with you, turn left you are greeting by the smell of fried chicken, turn right and you see Basil Pork rice.

So many shops, too many repeated ones. Excellent nightspot—and toilets there are clean.


We winded down the night by going on the Ferris Wheel, I wish I had a picture of the entire thing—but for now you’ll just have to see the ones we took while we were in it. It was breath-taking, Bangkok’s lights and roads from wayyy up there.




Our first of many tuktuk rides. I love the sound of “lady, tuk tuk?” I love tuktuks, and if I had my way—or if the boyscout hadn’t insisted that tuktuks only at night, because the jam in the day means pollution and no fresh air—it would have been my only mode of travel.



--1.45am Suan Lum Night Bazaar

bangkok 1 thursday

The ariport is brown here, brown tiles, brown glass panes, brown pillars, brown cornices, brown people with perfect smiles on their faces. There is little wonder this place is called the city of angels, because everyone is so ready to help, from the point of touch down, its been just greetings after greetings, and staff station around the baggage claims to help weary travelers pick up their heavy luggage, golf sets. I saw this beautiful European trunk, the long almost coffin like trunks that scream old world—the embroidery of roses and the leather strap and the cute little push pin locks.

The flight here was eventful, perhaps because the plane took off into the rain—turbulence and changing heights mean a 2h long roller coaster ride for me. I’ve always been a nervous flyer, always been jittery about flights, short ones and long ones. Funny, this time I couldn’t quite fall asleep—perhaps due to nerves of the upcoming meeting, or perhaps the quaintest book I picked up at the airport bookstore: the sea by John Banville—winner of the 2005 Man Booker Prize. It’s beautiful prose and vivid description made me wish that I had chosen this book en route to Bintan or even Bali, instead of here, landlocked.

I got my first look at the Chao Praya river, or at least a glimpse of what should be the Chao Praya—from my tiny window on the plane, this country is a beautiful painting of parallel lines, green open fields and small linear housings. I want to visit the fields, and maybe see them plant—but this is post planting season, more like the waiting season, where all the seedlings take root and begin their journey towards the sun, before maturity and harvest.

I wish mariann was here on the plane, I could explain the housing patterns down the river, and point out the irrigation lines. I think she would love this city, with its warm smiles and willingness. Only, maybe when she’s a little older, and more able to understand cultural diversity in this land.

It’s a beautiful place, and we only start work at 6pm today. I hope, I hope I get the chance today to see the temples, It’s sun-kissed gold tips and it’s ornate charm.

Please pray it doesn’t rain.

--10.33am; Bangkok International Airport; Café.

The hotel is filled with things to do, it gets quite amazing trying to fit this many things into our day, just had lunch at what our Thai counterpart calls a safe roadside stall, even for my usually over sensitive stomach, the food was simply gastronomic.

We had the most amazing glass noodle pat thai, thailand’s signature dish of noodles, sticky wet, with chicken, sauce, crushed nuts, spring onions, kangkong, and topped off with sugar and fish sauce. (I take mine mai ped, which translates to no chilli). Then it was followed by beef noodles, though curious why it was served with chicken meat rather than beef, again, amazing tastes, as real and as authetic as it got

Next stop, MBK.

--2.25pm, Princeton Park Suites, Room 1428

MBK was not what I had expected of MBK, specifically, I was expecting street stalls, selling their wares and a kaleidoscope of colors and smells, with hawkers screaming at you to look inside and find something that catches your eye. Essentially it looked exactly like far east plaza, where prices aren’t even that fantastic.

We found melt in your mouth donuts, and spent most of our stomach space wolfing down fresh soft donuts that simply melt in one’s mouth, and left us craving for more. We stopped at 2 donut shops—dunkin’ donuts and mister donut—the latter was more mouth watering.

--10.35pm