Been a long time. And what is my first feeling for returning to this blog, pouring out my emotions (do I really have any at this moment? I'm feeling so devoid and lost...) in this virtual space? I do not know. Again, I stress that I have no idea what I am feeling. Maybe I just want to share my views at this particular moment, maybe guilt of not updating my blog (hmm... I'm doubtful) has finally seized control of my conscious mind, maybe I'm just plain bored, or maybe, I have absolutely no idea what I'm planning and am just taking in things in its stride.

With my absence, I doubt the blog has grown fonder. Nor does it have a heart. And neither do I think I have. Biologically/Physically, if one rips open my chest, tearing apart the two lumps of breasts at the very intersection that separates them (or if this sounds too erotic because I mention my mammary glands, then cancel this line out) they should be able to glimpse a beating fist-sized red muscle, between the gaps of the mesh of skeletal ribbones that accomplished their purpose in protecting the heart. But no, I am not talking about biology, or my physical body. It is the mind (or is it soul?) I am talking about. it is said to many that the heart is where one feels emotions (I shall not dwell into the realm of science because I am not comfortable within it... I know too little of that particular field). I do not have a heart. I feel, but cannot feel. I am touched, but knows not of the substance that triggers the particular emotion in me. I smile, but that also is a facade. Do I know what I am doing? I fear not. Some days, perhaps, I will look back into this disturbing post (assuming I do not delete it anytime soon because it is way too disturbing), and laugh in its face. Perhaps I will not, and I will sob because I have fallen into the abyss that I dug for myself. Because of the knowledge that i have been aware of my condition, yet did nothing, or am powerless to do nothing.

That however, does not mean it is constant, usual. No, I firmly believe I lapse into this state because of a certain receptor. That I do not know what. Maybe its the past again. The past always has a strange way of catching up with you. I fight a losing battle everytime. Yet I am permitted to retain myself... how interesting.. almost like I'm a mannequin, a pawn... a figure of entertainment. Ah, disturbing thoughts. I am a toy for my ownself. I thought that only happens to people that wants to have fun, by engaging in acts like mutilation. After all, endorphin will be released. But it seems to happens in me. mm... the dark cascade is falling away. Granted, I should be back to normal. I'm laughing (LOL, ROFL, LMAO?) at this insanity that presides dominantly in this space.
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I owe this person a truth, and for that, I'm repenting and responding by having this story out. In the truth, a white lie lies. Because this is a dedication, because it is a bid to ask for forgiveness, hence lies within it the element of truth.

Between Worlds (2007)

Everyone harbours a dream, reaching out for the cracks in reality. They succeed in escaping into their flight of fantasy when necessary, emerging out from their cover only when reality pulled them back. Yet dreams hold true even in the current world, seeking its space amidst the people, waiting for others to discover, that a fairyland exists in reality.
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He ran his fingers through his hair, switching his view from the building behind him to the small card in his hands. A few strands of hair fell as he lowered his head slightly. He pushed them up, took a deep breath and walked forth in the darkness. The only light source, the lamp, failed to illuminate most of the path for him. He was almost thankful that the spherical mass in the sky was almost invisible. Reaching a quivering hand out to press the doorbell, he dropped the card on the doorstep and took flight.
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They had met while visiting a cave, chased by the cloud of bats that sought for relief from their blinding torches. He had been amused when she waved her handbag at the bats, while she was horrified when he settled down near the bats’ nesting ground. When they departed from the cavern, he remembered nothing more than her name.

Their second meeting took place near a city square. Despite the crowd of people, he spotted her looking lost, attempting to find the way back to her hotel. He laughed when she bluntly refused his help, relenting when the golden rays dissolved into oblivion as darkness swallowed them. Even then, she ignored his existence completely. He knew it was wishful thinking on his part.

She left the next day, a small note placed neatly on the hotel’s desk. There was nothing written on the paper, not a phone number, an address or a word of goodbye. He almost turned heels to run, to penetrate through the barriers that held him in reality. But he held on. They were separated, but on the same plane, the same world. He took a pen and wrote his number instead.

The relationship took a turn when she called suddenly. Time itself flew, beating its tiny wings against the memories that held it back. He started to forget about their home, their love and finally her. While she forgave him time and again, he kept silent, letting his eyes do the job. They appraised the situation, her feelings, and his choices. He was torn between the office and his home, but the eyes showed him. Reality and dream were two separate entities. He finally made his choice.

Valentine’s Day came. He sighed quietly, appreciating the tiny droplets descending from the sky when he returned home. Around him, shops started pulling down their shutters. He caught a glimpse of red boxes stacked up high, in preparation for the special occasion. A solitary banner, stating “Love is in the air”, hung from the gift store. He walked past the bright decorations, letting the festive feeling and melancholy song of the rain seeped into his heart.

“Dear, you should get out of the rain.”

He turned around, breaking into a soft smile when he noticed her waiting under a shelter. A pink parasol was grasped tightly in her hands. As she crossed the road to reach him, he ruffled his hair.

“Do I… know you?” His brows creased together, struggling to find the faintest hint of memory that showed the answer.

She paused, letting a tiny smile crossed her face as he continued to appraise her. “I’m… the one that you loved.”

Turning around, she walked away. He caught the faint look of distress from her eyes as she left. Sliding both hands into his pockets, he lowered his head and continued his stroll. The rain had stopped, letting the tune end abruptly. He muttered quietly to himself it was the final time.

The large pile of paper greeted him instantly when he reached home. He sighed and immersed himself in his current world. When the door opened once more, he stood up and smiled. She nodded quietly back to him, her lips set to a semi curve as she set down the parcels. The pink parasol on her arm was dry, even though rain had fallen earlier.

He could see that she had forgiven him once more, for the three hundred and sixty fourth time. Hesitation set in as he glanced repeatedly between the pile of work and her. He took the easiest route provided, lightly entering the state of sleep to search for a solution. There used to be a time when they lived on the same dimension. Now, he had moved ahead, constantly shifting between the two options. Exhaustion was wearing in as time passed. He opted for a vacation to clear his thoughts.

She supported his decision, heaving out an inaudible sigh. They were both tired, but hung on to the fragile thread titled love. He moved on to a new stage, a realm where peace was easily established. Once more, his hold wavered. He was a human, tired and weak beyond his means. The trip throughout the ages had worn him down endlessly. Here at last was his salvation. But a human remains a human. He still hung on stubbornly to love.

Perhaps love itself is the manifested form of dreams, the solution to escape from reality. He realized how much he needed her, and the break from work. Humans chased after dreams more than they appreciate reality. At the same time, they shattered the reveries that they found themselves in. He was sure he wanted neither, but he was a human. A human seeking out the best answer, lost in his thoughts, searching for the ultimate relief.

He returned a year later, embracing his job as the middleman in both worlds. He had more insight, more experience, less hesitation now. Tiredly, he held on to his new found hope. He still loved her, spending most of his time with her. Time still spreads its wings when they were together, in their own worlds. But he had other realms to visit.
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She opened the door, surprised to see no one. Looking up, she noticed the moon peering out from its dark curtains. The soft beams reflected off her eyes, revealing the same sadness and tiredness she had held on for two years. She sighed and turned away, half expecting him to turn up at the doorstep. But it was impossible. They were in two worlds. From the start, she had known the outcome, but foolishly accepted her fate as a character in his dream. Similarly, he was only the lead role in her dream. She shook her head slowly and walked in, leaving the card quietly settled on the doorstep.

The moon continued to radiate, acting like an opaque beacon of light, accidentally covered by partial darkness. He leaned against the wall of the building, maintaining his gaze on the moon. She sat quietly on the bed, observing the light that fell on her bed. There were two worlds, separating two persons with a brick wall. There never once existed a path in between. It was reality and dream, dream and reality.

As the clouds shifted off from their position, the moon revealed its brilliance. They stepped out of their place at the same time, meeting each other’s eyes directly. He smiled apologetically, pointing to the little card. When she moved to take it, he started to walk off.

“Wait!”

He turned, his eyes displaying lifelessness. “Do I know you?”

She faltered before shaking her head for the three hundred sixty fifth time. Exactly one year, exactly enough time for redemption. Enough time to know his choice.

They parted then, just like how they parted when they first met. She took a small glance at the card he had given.

A blank card.
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One of course, might ask who this person is. I am entitled to keep secrets however. Doubtfully so, the person will not be able to see this. But then again, I can't take a risk. A risk too much ruins my life.

As a lighter mood... lets touch on something i find ironic.
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And then there were none (2006)

Disclaimer: The title is not set by me. It was a set question. The origin comes from Agatha Christie Novel: Ten little Indians/ And then there were none.

His eyes fluttered open slowly, unaccustomed to the glaring sunlight that penetrated through the thick covers of leaves. The darkness he had been in suddenly dissolved into nothing, replaced by the sight of busy roads and tall trees. In just an instance, his sanctuary had disappeared completely. Sighing, he leaned back against the bridge railing and retreated to his own world.

Everyone around him hustled by, mind occupied with the thought of going to work or school. The footsteps never stopped, only increased slightly as the time goes by. Busy with the daily routine they had established, the crowds moved forward as one, never halting to turn back. In a way, there was no freedom in the busy crowds.

He sighed again, this time with content. As time ticked on, the mob dispersed, gradually leaving him in his quiet and private space. He no longer heard the low mumbling of the passing students, the roaring of the vehicles and the fast pace of the rushing commuters. The only sound left was the occasional chirps made by the birds. The serenity of the scene amazed him, and he opened his eyes once more. Light, there was still light, but lesser people now.

Time controlled everything. He saw it himself. The memories one held close were of the past while the daily routine is of the present. Goals belonged to the future, where things are unpredictable. He smiled softly to himself, proud that he realized it while the grown-ups, “the matured” as he had been told, were not even aware. They worked under its spell, being controlled like puppets but refused to accept the truth. Once a person is born into the world, time keeps track until it releases hold of the person. By then, it would be too late to understand.

Tilting back his head, he vaguely heard the call of his frantic mother. He waved casually to her, flashing a smile as an extra attempt to calm her. Still, she ignored his assurance and gestured for him to come. His only response was a ghost nod as he weaved his way to approach her. She was in a hurry to get home, another victim in time’s clutches. Smiling thinly, he brushed past the last few people and appeared before his mother. A liberated single parent, she was one of the many who had walked past him earlier. But unlike others, she noticed him and did not say anything.

He felt the tug on his jacket sleeve and looked down. His mother was glaring at him with an irritated look in his eyes while stepping down onto the curb, hand still holding tightly to his sleeve. He shrugged off the hold but reached out to grab her. His fingers barely touched the fabric before it moved out of reach. The petite figure advanced onto the road, looking around attentively. Behind her, he followed slowly, eyes stuck onto the back of his mother. He heard a roar and turned. A breeze caught his jacket and let it trailed in the wind. Seeing nothing, he returned to gaze, only to be greeted by a shock.

Life is fragile, easily broken. He slumped back against the white walls, head in his hands. The sight of his mother under a white cloth was too much for him to bear. Humans are controlled by time, living as a puppet, dying as a puppet. If only he could have slowed time down, if only he could have controlled time… His fists clenched tightly as he shut his eyes. His mother had wanted him to hurry but he had diddled. Perhaps it was destiny, but destiny was about the future, about time. He felt something wet in his eyes and opened a slit. White figures were crowding around him as he shut his eyes, and then there were none.
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I write tragedy. Or tragedy follows me. Whatever is suited... Adios.