Memory.
Dec. 20th, 2009 | 02:15 pm
I wish I were a ghost. Because that is when it won't hurt so much when I'm forgotten.
But I forget. I am already a ghost in people's minds.
But I forget. I am already a ghost in people's minds.
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Voices.
Dec. 4th, 2009 | 09:34 pm
I need to train my voice because it is so sickeningly weak.
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Chai Tea
Nov. 30th, 2009 | 12:06 am
is really Yes Tea.
2. I may be your most nomadic friend
3. who runs on batteries or oil on most days
4. and seems to be able to read your mind.
I need to do work. I feel really meaningless. Gosh.
2. I may be your most nomadic friend
3. who runs on batteries or oil on most days
4. and seems to be able to read your mind.
I need to do work. I feel really meaningless. Gosh.
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When I Was Ten.
Nov. 23rd, 2009 | 02:13 pm
I learnt not to fight for what I wanted when I was ten.
I learnt to deal with Loss.
Because when I struggled and writhed, fighting for what I wanted most,
(A calm sea outside, World War Three inside.)
I still had to bid "Goodbye".
I really did not articulate the words. In reality I just nodded and smiled, but stood there with no emotion.
In the car, I sucked in a deep breath and my eyes watered and I pretended I was tired and yawned excessively to trick everyone else I was not upset. I wasn't. But the void was there, and perhaps I thought tears could have filled up the bottomless well.
When I was home, I went to sleep. Sleep is subjective and therapeutic. Because sleep could have meant lying there, writhing and screeching like a possessed child who did not know what she was doing. That was what I did. But when you're ten, you realise that every locked door has a key to it, and every scream can still be heard through your house's paper-thin walls.
"Get up and eat, they will be very sad if you don't." I remember staring at the clock. It was 6.42pm.
It was not with sympathy or hope that I was advised. There was no hug or no patting of heads, stroking of shoulders.
I ate. I threw up.
I learnt to deal with Loss.
Because when I struggled and writhed, fighting for what I wanted most,
(A calm sea outside, World War Three inside.)
I still had to bid "Goodbye".
I really did not articulate the words. In reality I just nodded and smiled, but stood there with no emotion.
In the car, I sucked in a deep breath and my eyes watered and I pretended I was tired and yawned excessively to trick everyone else I was not upset. I wasn't. But the void was there, and perhaps I thought tears could have filled up the bottomless well.
When I was home, I went to sleep. Sleep is subjective and therapeutic. Because sleep could have meant lying there, writhing and screeching like a possessed child who did not know what she was doing. That was what I did. But when you're ten, you realise that every locked door has a key to it, and every scream can still be heard through your house's paper-thin walls.
"Get up and eat, they will be very sad if you don't." I remember staring at the clock. It was 6.42pm.
It was not with sympathy or hope that I was advised. There was no hug or no patting of heads, stroking of shoulders.
I ate. I threw up.
You can tell me about nature versus nurture.
I can tell you surely that I grew up having little emotion,
but I learned not to cry.
You could say that that day, I wept until I had nothing left inside.
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Elitism.
Nov. 17th, 2009 | 09:30 pm
e·lit·ism or é·lit·ism
The belief that certain persons or members of certain classes or groups deserve favored treatment by virtue of their perceived superiority, as in intellect, social status, or financial resources.
The belief that certain persons or members of certain classes or groups deserve favored treatment by virtue of their perceived superiority, as in intellect, social status, or financial resources.
Excellence in education need not mean elitism, and equity need not mean mediocrity."
Mary Jean LeTendre
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I draw back.
Nov. 16th, 2009 | 08:33 pm
Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us.
- Rainer Maria Rilke
- Rainer Maria Rilke
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Letter From An Unhappy Wife.
Nov. 6th, 2009 | 04:39 pm
I do not seek to be loved by you if I have to be owned by you.
What? I am a human, a woman, a living breathing organism.
To be reduced to your special companion lacking of a name?
I'm sorry that is not quite attractive!
I have a name.
To have my precious things stroked and molested at whim, do you take me as a stuffed toy?
Even stuffed toys come with a price tag
And are not brought home just by saying "I love you"
Talk isn't cheap, it is Free. Free spittle from an overconfident mouth.
How much does verbalised affection weigh on a scale? Nothing.
I think it a loss for all women to have their ears tuned to such a channel.
(Behind your backs, we women are called 'fools'.)
Unless you can buy me presents and joys of this earth
You can never repay me for marital rape.
But you cannot, you are not a cash cow nor a money-printer.
And do not say "You make me happy" because I am not an entertainer.
Why should I sleep on the right to fulfil your idealistic views of life?
My marrying you is already not ideal. *Tortured*
1. Why should I iron your clothes and black-coat your shoes?
2. Why must you put your arm on my shoulder?
You say you have your own arms and legs!
And I am not an arm-rest, I am short enough!
Do not think I am challenging you. I am your friend!
Just not the friend you would marry, but you forced me.
So tell me quick and tell me now, tell me freedom in four words!,
Know that I am unwilling to sell my smile for you.
Still your wife(?)
Still your friend, Anne.
Meanwhile, she went out and bought some shoes. You really should look at your credit card bill.
What? I am a human, a woman, a living breathing organism.
To be reduced to your special companion lacking of a name?
I'm sorry that is not quite attractive!
I have a name.
To have my precious things stroked and molested at whim, do you take me as a stuffed toy?
Even stuffed toys come with a price tag
And are not brought home just by saying "I love you"
Talk isn't cheap, it is Free. Free spittle from an overconfident mouth.
How much does verbalised affection weigh on a scale? Nothing.
I think it a loss for all women to have their ears tuned to such a channel.
(Behind your backs, we women are called 'fools'.)
Unless you can buy me presents and joys of this earth
You can never repay me for marital rape.
But you cannot, you are not a cash cow nor a money-printer.
And do not say "You make me happy" because I am not an entertainer.
Why should I sleep on the right to fulfil your idealistic views of life?
My marrying you is already not ideal. *Tortured*
1. Why should I iron your clothes and black-coat your shoes?
2. Why must you put your arm on my shoulder?
You say you have your own arms and legs!
And I am not an arm-rest, I am short enough!
Do not think I am challenging you. I am your friend!
Just not the friend you would marry, but you forced me.
So tell me quick and tell me now, tell me freedom in four words!,
Know that I am unwilling to sell my smile for you.
Still your wife(?)
Still your friend, Anne.
Meanwhile, she went out and bought some shoes. You really should look at your credit card bill.
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The Hostel
Oct. 25th, 2009 | 08:54 pm
Shadowy and dark, shrouded in night skies
It is lonely here, eternally quiet other than the hum of the ceiling fan,
the occasional noise of the television.
It is no different from a house, shelter from the cold.
But is it really warm inside?
I have the freedom to choose!
Independence and self-sufficiency all rolled into one location.
What is an individual without a place to call home?
He is like an orphan, a displaced person in a foreign place
or simply Lost in himself.
He cannot find his soul, it is encased in his physical self
but he has never truly known himself.
What stories can he tell when he does not know his roots?
He asks where is my home.
I cannot answer. Home is where the heart is,
but I do not know where mine is.
I am as displaced as one without a home.
I am as worthless as one without an occupation.
I am as broken as one from a broken family.
Grey walls and whirring fans
Purple curtains and empty shelves
A cleared table: Empty, empty, empty.
This room is colder than anywhere else.
Heartless and mocking - but I sleep here.
Difficulty. Breaths are harder to take.
This room is a black hole.
I am as lost as a body without a soul.
It is lonely here, eternally quiet other than the hum of the ceiling fan,
the occasional noise of the television.
It is no different from a house, shelter from the cold.
But is it really warm inside?
I have the freedom to choose!
Independence and self-sufficiency all rolled into one location.
What is an individual without a place to call home?
He is like an orphan, a displaced person in a foreign place
or simply Lost in himself.
He cannot find his soul, it is encased in his physical self
but he has never truly known himself.
What stories can he tell when he does not know his roots?
He asks where is my home.
I cannot answer. Home is where the heart is,
but I do not know where mine is.
I am as displaced as one without a home.
I am as worthless as one without an occupation.
I am as broken as one from a broken family.
Grey walls and whirring fans
Purple curtains and empty shelves
A cleared table: Empty, empty, empty.
This room is colder than anywhere else.
Heartless and mocking - but I sleep here.
Difficulty. Breaths are harder to take.
This room is a black hole.
I am as lost as a body without a soul.
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Fruit & Futility.
Oct. 25th, 2009 | 02:08 pm
There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under heaven:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8
and a season for every activity under heaven:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8
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Happy!
Oct. 25th, 2009 | 12:50 am
Chris' msn PM: wo yao kai xin, ni neng bang wo ma?
L says (00:40):
hahaha WO NENG BANG NI
L says (00:41):
WO DAI NI QU PUB HAPPY
LOL!!!!!!!! BU SHI WO GEN NI HAPPY. WO DAI NI QU ZAO BIE DE NU REN HAPPY
my hiding place says (00:41):
hahahahaaahhhhahaha
bu yao la, wo gay
L says (00:41):
HAHAHAHAHA
You told me guys don't tell girls what really go on in their minds
my hiding place says (00:43):
haaahahahahaha
L says (00:40):
hahaha WO NENG BANG NI
L says (00:41):
WO DAI NI QU PUB HAPPY
LOL!!!!!!!! BU SHI WO GEN NI HAPPY. WO DAI NI QU ZAO BIE DE NU REN HAPPY
my hiding place says (00:41):
hahahahaaahhhhahaha
bu yao la, wo gay
L says (00:41):
HAHAHAHAHA
You told me guys don't tell girls what really go on in their minds
my hiding place says (00:43):
haaahahahahaha
