to you

i thought this day would never come;
i, demented, tortured me,
would have the chance to write for love.

shadows of the past now, stand aside!
(the old verses mean nothing now!)
slack-jawed amazement : how did he find himself before the
Altar of Love?

and yet, I did.

many moons spent waiting,
wondering if this demented, tortured soul could find another.
i’ve prayed, implored, died – waiting.

it came as a shock – perhaps
when the arrow did strike true.
bloodless and painless it was.

where the wound was
emptiness replaced itself with boundless hope.
and lovers’ words bequeathed themselves upon me -
that and endless euphoria.

(it seemed that The Fates had been waiting for this chance.)

faith of maddening proportions – crazy thoughts, all became possible
because of Love. (gosh!)

i’ve fallen fast, i’ve fallen deep,
(god help me!)
but perhaps i don’t want help.

because to have fallen to you -
is perhaps the best and last thing i ever would want to do.

2211hrs

its been awhile, hasn’t it? to feel alive, to feel Dream’s drive, to taste the bitterness of Defeat, to know of Hope’s endless strength.

i’ve not been properly alive for years. and to suddenly find it back – it’s pretty amazing. and i am truly thankful. grateful beyond measures for all the good that people have given to me, even if they didn’t quite know it.

over my years in the university, i’ve managed a strange affinity with the campus newspaper. The Nanyang Chronicle runs once every three weeks during the semester – we produce ten issues annually. It is not a great number by any means, but, it is the one thing that has consistently given me hope for the past three years. I am touched and humbled by the immense dedication and energy that each editorial team brings to the paper. this year may yet become one of the special ones. working with year 4s in a newsroom has been nothing short of amazing. functioning in the managing editor’s capacity has given me the chance to observe the higher-order decision making processes within a newsroom – as well as learn from the new editors operating within their various fields.

it’s one of the stranger relationships that i have developed in university – that of the newsroom and i. i am somewhat convinced that it is the ‘can-do’ energy which the editors bring into the newsroom that really draws me back year after year. it is a strange camaraderie – to know that there are people around you working with you, together, to accomplish a greater goal. it is this gathering of like-minded individuals that have truly bonded me to the newsroom – even my news credentials are questionable.

 

looking back to just a year ago, i am also surprised how much i’ve changed. i remember last year this time, i was going through one of the most difficult times in my adult life. every aspect of my being was challenged – i didn’t really know who i was, and what was it that i stood for.

fast forward till today, i seem to have found myself – however briefly it is. the people around me inspire me to outdo and challenge myself. the pressure is still there – only that now, it comes from within and not external factors. friends and colleagues around me inspire me to become a better person daily. it might very well be the kindness in the people around me – it gives me the strength to challenge myself and break through previous limits.

i thank you, the chroniclers, for giving a tired old man like me, the will to continue believing and dreaming. i thank the many individuals and characters that i’ve met this semester, that have stood by me against the trials and tribulations of life, that disregarded conventionality and pushed to be better than you can be.

and perhaps most importantly, thank you for accepting me.

2340hrs

since photography was invented, common literature has had photographers chasing after the perfect moment. as an artist figure, the photographer must, like all other artists, suffer for his art. the photographer is the active one, hunting down the photograph that will define his craft and work. the craftsman does all the talking, the work is the silent receiver. 

but occasionally, the work finds the need to speak to the artist. the work knows it cannot speak directly. it calls upon Fate to give the artist the impetus to see the moment where everything is seen and crystal clear.

thank you, my work.

- the artist

1517hrs

somehow, whenever i am doing one of these things, i never find the right words to start it.

i’d begin, logging into the website, get distracted by an interesting looking link, come back to this interface and think – gosh, what was it that i wanted to write about.

—-

maybe i just wanted to write about how thankful i am about the week that has passed. i wonder if it’s right to say that the past week, i’ve lived like i’ve never lived before.

i was doing all the things i loved – with the most wonderful, talented people i’ve come to known. in between filming, rehearsals, meetings – i’ve finally actualized the avalon i’ve dreamt for so long. i don’t know if such a time will come again. but i will hold onto this dream, and see it through the end.

i have seen ‘the good’ in people – played out every single day this week that i’m a little too overwhelmed (and perhaps aware) to describe it in detail. to put it down into words would, as the post-modernists argue, to cheapen or commodify these experiences. i’ll keep them where it is safe – in the confines of my memory. even as they become fuzzier and less sharp each time i remember, they will always invoke the same emotions.

i’d like to think, (and hence i say these words), that i’ve seen  Hope manifest itself physically.

and if we don’t have Hope, how can we ever hope to continue to be alive?

 

that, and love, of course.

—-

thank you, everyone.

and you, of course

 

Being deeply lo…

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.

Lao Tzu

because, these are the only words i can find to help myself at this hour.

0359hrs

i started the night; wanting to write about clarity.

everything but clarity came to me. i am reminded of how messy the car was. how careless i’ve been with the car. i remember a time, not too long ago, that i felt the same way. its surprising how much, or how little i have changed over the course of a year.

still that same drive for something that is quite out of reach – a dream if you will. it is not as practical as “a goal” maybe, nowhere close to being a “KPI”. the wonderfully painful thing about dreams is their immaterial nature. it is an abstraction that has to be interpreted: a multi-faceted being – just like the sentient beings we claim to be.

equally painful, and hard to grasp, is how to quantify a dream. to count the uncountable seems insane – even at the word level; “to quantify a dream” implies a certain meta- process which a dream is broken down into small parts, into material bits which can be worked on, to be actualized,

but then, is it still a dream? or is it a goal? because people don’t work for free – and on most days, should feel no obligation to fulfil what you say. enter the multitude of rationalizations made by learned individuals on this subject matter – knowledge, as it’s more commonly known. even with its value, knowledge itself is suspect to the shortcomings faced by totalising theories in this postmodern world.

and in all this discussion of how to actualize a dream, even the author has (almost) forgotten the dream he set out with in the first place.

but; this is the wonderful thing about dreams that makes them so alluring.

they evolve. like us.

we refuse definition. we constantly go out of the way to prove to people that something can be done. we disown the labels that society has given us. we seek outlets to tell the people around us that this world can do better. we are confused, we are lost, but we know where we are going.

we – who is we?

we are the mad ones. you, the artist. you, the dreamer. you, the child (or innocence) that has hidden itself.

yes.

0002hrs

its been awhile, hasn’t it.

to sit in front of a computer. a device. anything. to write. to reflect. and even though writing is something that should be done with careful thought, even “thought” has to be accelerated. to be recorded down faster and more efficiently. hence typing, even when this speed usually equates to thoughts that are not quite as deep as i want them to be. but it is better than no thought. and i have learnt to live with certain realities. even in this realm of dreams and infinite possibilities, i have to allow reality to seep in a little.

my dear dreams, forgive your creator. for your imperfections, for the abuses you suffer at the expense of realism.

—-

i write, or i think i write. i try to remember the happenings of the day, but my memory is flawed. the things i remember come to me in fragments. i try to make sense of the fragments – and often i come up with new stories along the way.  but the memory is flawed. so new fragments and new stories come into existences. sometimes, i wonder if CBM was a dream that i woke up from. but when i open my dashboard and see the box of cards there; my rational mind tells me it is real.

its these fragments that haunt me the most.

i see a bicycle and i remember the time i was hospitalized for an upper respiratory infection. i remember it was the second time i passed death.

i speak to a group of people in a voice quite unlike my writing voice. i mask my unease with public speaking by using controversial words. i swear, because swearing is the easiest mask to wear. i think in archaic terms, allow my emotions to run my logic most of the time. i hide behind the comfortable mask of the village weirdo; because no one gives the weirdo a second thought. a weirdo is a weirdo right?

there needs not to be a reason why someone is weird; and it is easy not to think about it.

its comfortable to be hiding behind the mask of a weirdo.

—-

i am tired of wearing masks. but there is a problem. i am a mask-painter. i paint masks for a living. i am a pretty good craftsman.

and the worst of all? the newer masks are getting more and more comfortable to wear.

—–

this is all i can coax out of my mind tonight. or rather, all that my mind can hide in code.