worry.

Worry is the selective disturbance of one's own mind due to the fear of an occurrence or situation that, directly or indirectly, would affect one's concern and interest. However, this possibility of an occurrence should inherently imply the probability of it not occurring as well, and thus, naturally ought to be granted equal weight, even though the opposite probabilities might not be matched. To put it simply, the consideration of both the occurrence and non-occurrence of the subject of worry ought to be the same. Why then, should either of which - or more importantly, the cause of worry - be given predominance?

Furthermore, the establishment of worry often elevates the mind into unnecessary anxiety, as well as hypersensitivity to areas involved with the topic of concern. This could further lead to over- as well as mis-interpretation of insignificant details which may be determined as a supporting premise for either case. As a result, we have a snowball effect and the worry worsens.

Above all, a possibility is only a possibility, which, can by no means affect anyone directly, simply because it is only a postulation of what has not happened. In the case where our feared (or otherwise) situation actualizes, we do not actually proceed to "worry" about that given situation anymore, but it's potential consequences. That is as good as saying, we never actually worry about anything of immediate relevance to the present. We only worry about the future.

As such, there is no true justification for whatever worry one might induce upon oneself, but to say it is only of our carnal nature that we react to our own speculations of the future in such a way. In other words, it is completely useless to worry, though it is still beneficial to keep open one's mind open to possible consequences of situations in life that would keep one, mentally, a step ahead.


(Why is it not working?)

was.

Over this indefinite period, I was lost.

I was displaced.

And I was.

i'm boring that way.

It is a usual Friday morning. On a particular fifty-three - a fairly packed fifty-three as morning crowds always pack it to be - the bus driver opens the doors to a good supply of patrons in good-willed civility. Naturally, the bus's capacity is pushed to its limit; But he insists. "Hou mian yi dian," move in! Those fortunate enough to get on the bus, quietly oblige. An extra old lady manages to compress herself into the vehicle. "Hou mian yi dian, hou mian yi dian," move in, move in! he cries; The old lady joins in, dishing out Chinese words of fierce sensibility to the poor boy who had saved too much space for himself. The other patrons wait in silence. The boy moves what few centimeters he could. The old lady now noisily pushes her way through, scolding that Malay boy for being so silly as she finds her place in a curiously empty seat. She grumbles, rather loudly, to her neighbors, justifying her proclamations to the bus, though no one acknowledges. Finally, when she had satisfied her rantive urges, she settles down, shaking her head to herself while the standard criticisms of today's youth ran through her mind...

only friendly advice.

Use the web wisely; Be e-Responsible.

the cloudy

You can never trust the clouds
not to rain on you, or
shade you from the sun
when needed.
You can only try in guessing,
where to, shall they next float off,
and make the best of it,
like the weather reports.

close

Use the alternate control,
then delete;
Find the cross on the map;
Ride along escape,
or four buttons after -
not forgetting
the ends of space.
Then again,
just go off, bottom-right,
immediately
after you start.

all i don't know

stop
tapping at my window
looking over my shoulder
asking me how do i do
this
is not the time
to be here
to be
there is no excuse
there isn't an aswer
to the questions you got
there isn't even a word
for me
don't
don't ask me
because nothing i know
can enlighten
my feelings
or you
no sun
could brighten
without being too bright
but need you know
all i need
now
is to fly away
to some dust-ridden
shelf bottom
bedsheet
a nowhere
or somewhere
where nobody can find
any reason
any excuse

this is no escape

goodnight;

Oh! dost mine eyes
bear th' burden of
sleeplessness,
that I should be
unable to see?
Rest, unblind me.

vanity

Treading ever so close to Lines of Death, I give my life up, just to keep it?

guess - what am i?

doing what i love doing best
waiting to catch rain clouds
hoping for something to die
capitalizing on weaknessess
only to eventually run dry
then write bad poetry, or
none at all. What am I?

stifled

Smile for me,
Because I can't.

Love,

denial?

Hello dreamer,
Are you thinking,
thinking grassy greens,
o' apple-picking
and daylights blue?
Oh, silly thing,
you've set yourself up
on'n emotional swing
twice the fool
half the king
Killed yourself
while trying to bring
life in itself,
Eternal spring?
Give slap one, two-
more! so it stings
come back, come
back, fold your wing
there's no room to fly
only you-  dang'ling
mid-air
while you sing
love songs to the world
reverie-gambling
On dreamers' chance
and intuitive fling
you are the make
of cold nothing

nothing.

There is an indefinite point where everything will mount to nothing. You will speak nothing. Because you will think nothing. Because you will be nothing. And then you will resort to speaking of speaking of nothing.

don't mind me,

I suffer from chronic uncertainty.

women of future.

I can picture them, ten years down: They'd be successful career women, breaming with confidence. Them in their business coats and lady-pants; Their hair, still tied back, only pinned up more fashionably in a bun, perhaps - or a more liberal perm and colour; And their french manicures, constantly stroking the back of thier touch screen designer mobiles whilst they walk down town with purposeful click-clocking, tending to their overseas client with their slightly Americanized accent.

i think you are stupid.

What is your issue with me? May I ask. I am terribly sick and tired of your messed-up system. For once, will you please look past your watch's face, and at mine instead? Maybe then you will see my soddy, greyed eye-bags. Perhaps then you would at least notice, that I've been trying. I've been moving my lardy bum out of bed and the house significantly earlier. It hasn't been easy for me. But I'm still trying, Mister/Miss Authority. I'm trying. I believe I deserve credit for that. But no - it isn't good enough. I need buffer time for my buffer time. I need to be early for being early. Apparantly, the margin for 'early' ends only at six-thirty.

(I needed to rant.)

escapism.

I want to fly into tomorrow, yesterday... whichever. I want to fade away from now.

Because both of which are never real - both of which will always have the space for hope.

three days hostage.

Save me.

woozy warm fuzzies.

I hate to sound cheesy, but hey, everybody loves cheese! Just look at how people eat pizzas these days. The mozzarella usually ain't ever enough, so they lay the parmesan on thick. That's cheese on cheese, mind you. Double-extra cheesy.

stock.

I want to sit in a bottle and go way past my expiry date.