There once was a boy, who thought he could be anything he put his mind to. Mommy always told him, "boy, you can be anything you put your mind to". The boy smiled and believed. That night, he thought of what he wanted to put his mind to. Should he be an astronaut? No, I don't like the bulky suit he thought. How about a firemen? No. I don't like fire he thought. A musician? That'll be cool. But it'll only last as a hobby. A spy he wondered? Girls. Yes. Gadgets. Yes. Adventure. Yes. Life is not a James Bond movie though, so no. All night long, he wondered what he wanted to be. He could be anything.

The next morning, mommy told him yet again, "boy, you can anything you put your mind to". He replied, " I know mom, I already decided what I want to be". With a curious smile she asked him what it was he wanted to be. "Well mom, I'm gonna work hard, and put my mind to being a boy for now. Cause that way, when I'm all alone or with my friends, I can be anything I want to be in my mind."

Wise boy. But would you believe it? His mom got upset that he didnt get what she was trying to say. Truth was, he did. but she didn't get what he was trying to say. Ah well, its just a story. I miss being a kid.

I rambled rambled rambled at 5:09 PM

Bloody hell, photoshop was God's greatest gift to the idle minds. Sorry Richard, Lynette, Michelle, Yazid and Shoe... I haven't got a good enough picture of you guys to edit. When I find one, I'll add on and make a huge collage alwright? (oh and fyi, they seem a lil pixelated here. just click on em for the actual ratio version. should be better. And if u guys want the huge actual size version, just lemme know yea?) Here we go:














I know it aint really much. But I like em. Haha. Alright that's the end of this post. Now get the fuck outta here and don't you bloody forget to tag me first.

I rambled rambled rambled at 12:36 AM

How wrong can you be? I called you up before you left. Your phone was switched off. But I try and try. Even got Aini to call you. I mope around all day, waiting for someone to talk to to come online. Just to talk about something and take my mind off what's going on. I still think of you all the way though, but at least my mind's not running crazy and start to tell me you hate me now. Or I've lost you completely now. Or sometimes, I'm alone long enough to think that I never made you happy at all. The guilt from a thought like that... it can push any teardrops lingering in my eyes over the edge and down my cheeks. You're wrong about me. I never once forgot you. Have we moved on?


Put out a cigarette on my arm and blow the ash away.
Run water and let it cool. But please let the scar stay.

I rambled rambled rambled at 1:35 AM

Those momentary glances and stares
In a backdrop of laughter and lights.
Nothing moves, everything silent.
You & I, we're the only ones alive tonight.

A smile behind every word, a beat in our hearts.
The cloud parts and the dark turn bright.
We want to be lost, we want to find our own way
We want to survive the day, so we can come alive tonight.

So we lose ourselves in each others lives
hoping to help the other find a way out
but the path of the other feels so familiar
but hope lingers cause we're tired of doubt
and maybe for a moment we found our freedom light.
the moment we came alive; tonight.



Sigh, I remember writing this for you. Before everything else.

I rambled rambled rambled at 12:05 AM

Lonely corridors.
Empty rooms.
One man standing alone in the hall.
Lonely minds.
Empty hearts.
One soul abandoned by all.

Tears running.
Tears held back.
Falling rain reflect one man's misery.
Crowds roll in.
Crowds ignored.
The story of one man's fateful tragedy.

Black hearts
Black souls
Black tears from dried bruised eyes.
Dimly lit.
Flickering lights.
The halls harbor shadows with broken ties.

Lonely corridors.
Empty rooms.
Passing crowds.
Rainy days.
We find the unattached to associate with,
to ease the loneliness of hearts, shrinking in width.

I rambled rambled rambled at 12:01 AM

His eyes glazed. My eyes blurred. He was truly happy. I cried at that. I cried and it blurred, to me, anything or any thoughts that could ruin the moment. My eyes focused on him. I cried being truly happy. I love being loved and he loves loving me. We're a perfect match. In his eyes I see a world for us. In his pupils I see a globe of dark brown life. Joyful tears never ran so sweetly down this hill of cheeks. It slid into my mouth and tasted salty. A little bitter. But all I tasted was sweet.

I bought him a new phone. Boys and their toys. Anything electronic will make him smile. Oh, what a beautiful smile he had. Dimples on both sides, grinning like a little boy's first time playing in snow. He stared at the present and I stared at him. He doesn't notice me. He does, its just that he was appreciating my present to him. He loves it. He loves me for giving it to him. I love him. It was our anniversary. My gift was late because it was ordered specially from the UK. That's what he told me. Damn delivery guys. I hope they didn't lose my present. Maybe they did. I'll never see it now. They probably lost it on its route here. Its not his fault. He went through all the trouble to buy me something nice from overseas. He didn't know such a thing could happen. I don't even know if it did. It might be here any minute, but I doubt it. Damn delivery guys.

We watch a movie, at his place. We cozy up together. I was lying on him. He stood up and went to the kitchen to get us a drink. So sweet. We cuddled and when the movie was at its most tear-jerking moment, he got bored. No, he wanted to kiss me. He wanted to kiss me when the moment was the sweetest. So sweet. He kissed me and I kissed him back. His hands around my waist. Or maybe a little higher than my waist. Its ok. I was lying on him. Then, he lifted me up kissed me and push me down. He was on top of me. My hands roam across his face, feeling every inch of the face I would kiss my whole life. However long that would be. His hands roam across my body. He was gentle. He smiles and says, “I love you”. He moves his hands up my skirt like he has a hundred times before. He makes me shudder with his touch. I'm not wearing underwear. He likes it that way. I like it too of course. Its cooling and doesn't restrict me. Yes, I like it too. We made love that evening. I didn't get to climax. He did. I'm glad I satisfied him. But we were both tired by then. I can't blame him. He tried. Then he climaxed and what else could he do? He was limp already. Its ok. He loves me. I love him. That's why we made love.

I woke up the next morning and he was gone. I was worried, gave him a call. He went off to work. He didn't want to wake me up. So sweet. I tidy up the place. He always made a mess of his house. But I'm happy to clean it up for him. He takes such good care of me after all. I went back to sleep.

I woke up that Sunday afternoon with a fright. He had come come wanting to make love to me. He wanted to wake me up making me feel good. So sweet. We made love, and again, he climaxed before I did. He slept. Poor boy. Work must have tired him out. I made him dinner.

* Beep !*

I vaguely heard his phone. He had put it in silent mode. I checked to see if it needed charging. Poor boy must've forgotten to charge it. No, full battery. New message. His old phone had a password set on it. He didn't tell me what it was. Wanted me to guess. It was our game. Sweet game. I pressed a button and the message zipped itself across the screen. It was from Adeline.

He left his jacket at her pl... his workplace. Poor boy. He'll catch a cold in this weather without his jacket. I'll make him soup. I tasted it, made sure it was ok. I let it flow from the spoon into lips. It was too hot. It was too salty. I wanted it to taste sweet. It tasted sweet. My eyes blurred. It blurred to me, anything or any thoughts that could ruin the moment. I crawl under his arms, I wanted to sleep. I wanted to dream. I cried and it blurred to me, anything or any nightmares that could ruin my love. Teardrops flowed down my cheeks. My eyes blurred.

I rambled rambled rambled at 11:58 PM

"Its been a while now since you passed." A whisper. The first breath he took that morning was for that whisper. It was the first thought as he woke. His alarm rang. 6AM. He seem to always wake up a minute before the alarm these days. Its like the day can't start unless he had those thoughts. Like the world won't wake if she wasn't remembered. There was no need to wake up early. He drifted back to sleep. His left arm spread across the right side of the bed. The empty half of the bed. No one slept on that side anymore. Not even him. It was a Sunday morning. This is how the story starts. This is how his morning starts.

It was a Sunday morning exactly 2 years after she had passed on and it hit him like an alarm clock that went off at a different time that it was set to.

8.23AM he awoke. He laid in bed, waiting for 8.30 to come. He stared at the door wondering, hoping if she would come in with breakfast on a tray. He smiled at the thought. He cried at reality. Two opposing emotions felt at the same time only served to amplify whichever emotion that would hurt the most. 8.30 came and he sat on the edge of the bed, looking over his shoulders to make sure she wasnt lying there anymore. She wasnt. He wondered if there was a reason, a motivation, to get him up this morning. To get him out of bed, to get him to function. He couldn't think of any but he rose up and got a shower anyway. He dressed. He dressed well. He shaved neatly, he took the newspaper from the lawn, he kept his house neat. There was no indications in his lifestyle and appearance that would make anyone suspect his hollow pain.

They say if you took any container no matter how strong, and you sucked the air out of it to create a vaccuum, the hollow container would be crushed from the inside.

She was air, he's the container.

He went for a walk. The same walk he took last year. On the exact date. It was a monday last year. He took a sick leave. The walk down memory lane. It sounds corny, but thats exactly what it was. He walked to every spot that meant something to them. Them. Him. Her. Them. The started at the coffeeshop down the road. Where they use to spend endless hours getting to know each other. Where they wrote little poems and drew little characters on the serviettes. He drank a cup of coffee watching joggers come in and out. Youngsters come in and stayed. They didnt seem ready to leave. Not for awhile. But he was. He walked out with a sad look in his eye, a sad frown on his face. He smiled at the baristas bidding him good day. Then the frown came back. He stood outside the coffee shop, wondering where to go next. He knows, but he wonders if he should. If the pain was worth the memories. He walked on to a small park, where they would sit and smoke and talk and argue and cry and smile and laugh and smoke and stare and just sit and smoke. He smokes. A habit she introduced him to. A habit he found himself addicted to. A habit that brought painfully happy memories with every puff.

Puff! A face appears in the smoke and he knows its an illusion. Or a delusion. The latter implies that he has gone crazy. Illusion it is then.

He goes on to where she had stayed. Sat downstairs, under her apartment building as though he were waiting for someone. He wishes. The tiresome and irritating act of waiting (sometimes hours) now became a nuisance he would prefer. A lesser of two evils. Waiting being the lesser, having no one to wait for being the other. Anyone else would have left after 30 minutes. He waited for, the longest running time would be 3 hours. Crazy man. Crazy. Delusions. He walks on. His face being expressionless. Expressionless. That in turn expressed his sadness and pain. Paradox. The next stop on his walk is far away. He predicts a 3 hour walk. He walks it. He walks it till it was dark. Till he sees his smoke only when under street lights. He walks it.

A walk down memory lane. Its like walking on any street and seeing people that looks familiar. People from your past. People you don't recognise enough to talk to. But familiar enough to take a lingering glance at.

He's there. A national park where they shared their first kiss. There isn't much to say. He just remembers the kiss, the orange glow from the street lights. There was nothing else to remember. There was nothing to describe that moment. There was only that. He walks home. Its near midnight. He changes into his boxers and lie on one half of the bed. The left half. His face, expressionless. He stares at the ceiling for the longest time.

"Its been a while now since you passed". The alarm rings. 6am. The reason he's awake a minute before the alarm rings is because he never slept. But he wasn't really awake either. Every night, he took that walk down memory lane. Like a dream. Every year, he took that walk. Like a nightmare.

I rambled rambled rambled at 11:56 PM

John rushed over, running across traffic, jumping over bushes, not resting, not panting or catching his breath even once. Flattering actually. He's sweet. But he's too late. Why didn't I see this part of him sooner? He should have told me how he felt. Annoying actually. I follow behind him. He doesn't know it. Or maybe he does, that's why he keeps going faster. He doesn't even take the elevator, he rushes up the staircase. 22 floors up. Boy, the adrenaline is really flowing in him. His heart must be pumping blood at an amazing rate. Or maybe its not adrenaline flowing through him, maybe its not blood. No, its something else.

He ran a solid 4 block and 22 floors staircase marathon in under 8 minutes. He's fit I give you that. Lean, muscular, handsome. I never saw that part of him either. Its too late now. But he won't get that. He's desperate. There's still time he thinks. Or at least that's what I think he's thinking. Why else would he run that marathon? Oh John, you're so innocently sweet. Thank you and I'm sorry. It really is too late.

Funny. I find myself wondering how I look like. I find myself wishing I had put make up on myself before, before I did what I did. He'll see me ugly, pale and he won't love me anymore. That's it. Love. That's what was flowing through him, pumping in his heart. That was his energy in that marathon. This is the 4th marathon you've been in John, and this is the fastest I've seen you run. Unfortunately, this is the only one you won't win John. I'm sorry. Which dress did I put on? Or was I just in my trainers and sweatshirt? God, I look so ugly. You won't love me anymore John will you? Just like him, you won't love me anymore because I'm ugly. He drove me to this you know. He said he couldn't take it anymore, that he found someone more beautiful, more adventurous. He said its over. That's when I called you. I got your answering machine. I thought you were just like him. Didn't want to take my calls. Didn't want to take me. But you were bathing weren't you? I felt so hurt. But I didn't know then. I'm sorry John. I left a message for you and you came running. I wish I knew that... Before.

"John, he left me John. Said he found someone else. More beautiful he says. More adventurous he says. So many times he asked me to be experimental and I was so squirmish about it. God John, he wanted a slut. I could have been a slut for him John, I should have. Now nobody's gonna love me. He was the only one willing. And I couldn't repay him that way John. I'm sorry John. You're my best friend. You've always been. Thank you and goo..." "BEEP!".

I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye. I guess I could have called back, but maybe I was afraid this time you'd pick up. You'd stop me. I didn't want you to John, but now I wish you would. I wish I called you that second time. You just missed me. You rush to pick up the phone but it was too late. You called me back but I'd already yanked the phone from the wall. I didn't want to be interrupted. I wanted it to over and done with. You ran over. I saw you. I was with you all the way here. I don't know why I went to you. Maybe in my heart, I felt the same for you. I just didn't see it. I didn't see a lot of things John. They say love blinds you. But truth is John, many times, we're blind to love. We just don't see it there. I didn't see it there. I wish I did.

You stop running. You call out my name. Why aren't you rushing anymore John? You know it by now don't you? You know its too late. You're resigned to it. How I wish things was different. Don't go into the bedroom John. If you can hear me don't go in. I don't want you seeing me that way. You won't love me anymore. I want you to love me. I want you to remember me beautiful John. Don't go in. No use, you can't hear me. You walk into the room and I saw that look in you John. Knowing what you'll see but not quite ready to see it. Tearing up even before you saw. You knew.

There I am, John. No make-up, pale, trainers and sweatshirt on and a very messy hairdo. I understand John. You can walk away feeling disgusted now. Wondering to yourself how you could ever fall for that. How you could even be friends with something that looks like that. I'm not beautiful John. Go find another. More beautiful, more adventurous. More beautiful, more adventurous. More beautiful, more adventurous. You don't love me anymore do you? How could you?

John? What are you doing? You can't hear me can you?

He's lunging towards me, hugging my legs. Lifting me up. I'm heavy, fat. My legs swinging left and right, hanging in mid-air. I'm fat, but he's strong. He hoists me up loosening me off the hook. The scarf still around my neck. Like a beautiful fashionable scarf to cover my scarred neck. He gently place me on the floor, holding my head up and crying? Why? Why is he crying? He still loves me. Oh my god John, you still love me. Thank you. I love you too. But you still can't hear me can you? I wish I saw this earlier. This feeling. He loves me. I never saw. I wish I wasn't blinded. By mascara and eyeliner.

He grazes my cold, pale cheeks with his fingers and I almost feel it. I can go now. In peace. Thank you John. I can go now. I love you. Say something John, before I go. Say it to my shut eyes and sealed lips. Say it to my hardening face that's growing paler and colder. Before I go John, say something.

I rambled rambled rambled at 11:53 PM

The rattling sound always made my ears perk up before I even wake up. Slowly, subconciously, the consequent meaning of the noise would be processed and automatically, I'd stir from my deep sleep (meaning corner of a loveseat and curled into a ball of fur) "FURBALL! Dinner's ready!", He shouts. I wonder how he'd like it if his owner named him in that same fashion of ironic, sadistic manner he calls cute and humourous. Imagine: "LAZYASS! Come give momma a kiss!"(That's what they call their owners in their language. Momma, mother, mom, ma and a whole array of other words. Quite redundant if you ask me.

This man doesnt deserve my company. Yet I'm compelled to stay. Call it fate, call it a life calling as a pet, call it a means to a secure, stable dinner time. Lunch and breakfast too for that matter.

There he is, my 'master' and the pack of dinner waiting to be poured into my waiting bowl and then into my waiting mouth. Then it'd wait some more before coming out of my waiting end and onto a unwanting, non-waiting patch of land. My dinner? Dried, hence the rattling. He's too cheap to go out and buy the fancy, wet types. Sigh. This is my life. As dry as my dinner. Well, they do say you are what you eat.

Wait, whats this? My master, my dinner, and is that her? The woman he claims to be in love with? Currently at least? Love. What is that to this people? The fairytale story of happily ever after they so commonly analogise it with? Or is it something you feel when 1 out of 50 treats you a little nicer than the other 49 would bother to? The latter applies for my master. Must be the same for the others too right? Dumb species. And we're suppose to be the pets? What cruel fate lies for us.

Here's a secret, she doesnt know it YET, but their chanced meeting wasnt the 'Oh-I'm-sorry-I-didnt-mean-to-bump-into-you-and-spill-your-coffee-Let-me-buy-you-another'as she would have thought it was. He's been stalking her and planning that chanced meeting since she smiled at him at the supermarket. I suppose she chanced to smile at him. So maybe it counts as a chanced meeting after all. He's like me I suppose, lurking in the background stealthily, waiting for the right opportunity to pounce.

The opportunity came, outside a starbucks. She was carrying coffee and so the 'chance' meeting took place. He pounced. The had coffee. Now they're having dinner. So am I. They sit on the loveseat and talked. Drank wine. Laugh. He had that usual glinter in his eyes. Making sure, and priding in the fact, that everything was going according to plan. No, he won't have chance messing this up. He loved her. But leve never lasts. So he'll make sure this love will last till the end. Till her end anyway.

They kiss. Why would any girl kiss him? Was it the wine? It sure wasnt his good looks or fat wallet. He had neither. No. He had something else. Another quality he and I both share. He had that charm about him. The kind that got me and thousands of my kind around the world a shelter, food and a cosy corner of their own. Charm. They move from the loveseat to the bed. And they made it into a lovebed. I watch. Licking my paw and rubbing my fur as I watch. They're going at it like, like... Well, like cats in heat. I went back to my dried dinner while they continued at their wet dessert. This is gonna take a while. I ate and went back to sleep. The soft moans choreographed my catwalk from the kitchen to the loveseat, the jump onto my lil cosy corner, the stretch, the curling into a ball and it lullabied me into sleep.

"Rattle!Rattle!" My ears perked up, I stirred awake. Was it breakfast already? I follow the sound. Automatically. False alarm. Nothing worth getting excited over, just a necklace being dragged against the floorboards. I watch. This is part of their love making. Part of his anyway.

When he's done, he carefully puts her in a garbage bag. He handled her gracefully. A final kiss before sealing up the bag. The lovebag. I watch. He carries her out the door. I wonder where he's bringing her. I wonder if this is a continuation of their first date, or does it count as a second?

I stop wondering. I'm getting old. 9 lives I have and I just watched the 7th one go. Not much time left, Furball. I accept the name. I resign to it. I don't have the fight I had as a younger kitten. No, I'm getting old. Furball's pretty cute actually, I think. Not much time left, better make the most out of it.

So I catwalked to the loveseat, jumped onto my cosy corner, stretched nd curled into my name. My fate. No music to accompany me this time. So I lullabied myself to sleep. Purrrr. Soft, sweet.

I wonder what's for breakfast.

I rambled rambled rambled at 11:31 PM

The first post is always the hardest. You want to make an impression. Build up a fan base, make em keep coming back for more. You want to come of intelligent, but not be labelled a braggart. Its hard posting that first post. Later on, you build up momentum, it'll be easier. But I don't really care about all that really. My blog is where I post my literary works, short stories, poems, social ramblings, emo memories, etc. All to be used for future reference (meaning I read my own crap when I'm bored) So I figure I'll just start posting some of my old works from my old blog. For those who didnt know, my old blog use to be plainolme.blogspot. Now its sameolme.blogspot. Infer what you will as to what my intentions were. Maybe I just couldn't think of anything new.Haha.

Or....

Maybe I'm still the same ol person I use to be. Still the same ol', plain ol' me. Maybe. Just maybe.


P/S: Forgive me for reusing my old template. I don't have my handy dandy photoshop with me. And those of you who think my template now is sick, just ask yourself... whoever said I was well?

I rambled rambled rambled at 10:50 PM