house of sand and fog

Beneath the mercurial obscurity,
lies a future of infinite possibilities
of dreams, of hopes, of life; Of home.

Was yesterday home alone; one of the rare exceptions where everyone, even the maid, was out. Took it t myself t do something productive- grabbed the towel, the keys and headed downstairs.
The pool was inviting -naturally- and i couldn't stand another minute of the windy chill (the weather was surprisingly cold given the intensity of the sun). *splash of water* Amidst the occassional strokes of aquatic movements, a thought struck me of what would be something of immense hilarity- i played dead. For a minute and a half i was cut off from oxygen, floating like a corpse, in the most literal context possible. Even then i was almost out of breath (for i didnt take a full gulp of air). That was when a man, or a lady (i couldnt tell then) tried t grab me t shore and a terrible case of resuscitation action ensued. The man, i later found out, was so strong, he practically strangled me while getting me on shore, which of course led t my further lack of breath; he tried t perform a mouth t mouth. Of all creepy crawlies and supernatural fiends i could not imagine, even for a second, how it felt like t kiss a guy. Luckily for me i regained composure and coughed water -where the water came from i had not the faintest idea- and there was about half a dozen people standing around me; it was a terribly awkward moment. I burst out laughing, for the weirdest reason somewhat, followed by resounding echoes of delight from the six individuals who were still looking at me with much interest.

Crazy sunday. Oh, and i didn't attend school today- im sick. Get well soon, myself, for the doctors can't save me now. I'm too tired t reply Grace- sorry you, will do so, as soon as possible.

Again, one of those insane prepositions of the motion 'life don't exist' ... this house believes that life is nothing more than a fleeting entity, pass it will, in a blink of an eye; but wait, isn't that of contradictory conjunction- that it does exist?

Bullshit.

its not mine t make- its yours t take.

To Ms Lily Evans:

I'll hide all the bruises,
I'll hide all the damage that's done.
But I show how I'm feeling
until all the feeling has gone.
And for you t know-
friends, we've become.

8 weeks, 53 days, 1272 hours, 76320 minutes left.
And counting.
Honestly require a final form of motivation; something which is able t last. Circumstances, they tell so much- i am but forced t admit, i lack a disciplined mind. I have been impeded by every possible thing i have so solemnly sworn against. Is it testament t my weakness? Or is this truly part of God's plan- the one where i fail? Little by little, things get me carried away, drifting me, anything but closer, t the futuristic vision i have of every night; that vehement realisation of finding myself opening my eyes t a morning of bustling, city life- of street lights, of duplexes, of snow and bells, of mist and unconditioned weather- where i find myself, away from home, in the city of newyork. Please, Teo Zhi Hao (of the many posts by far the first) 'get your act together'. Isn't that of staunch motivation itself? Yes, it has t be. No, it must be. This is for yourself, not your father, nor your mother, nor anyone in particular.
Yourself. Yourself.

I ask in Your name, give me strength and wisdom t do what's right, and for Marcus Tan t teach in our class again.

Amen.

that of pursuit, inquiry
and of reasoning

Found myself in a state of sublimity, which didn't last very long as soon as consciousness settled in; i woke up t the soft consonance of melody and voice, very evidently from one of the old records i must have put on earlier. Without glasses i very quickly skimmed the room and found myself staring right back at me; the parents had gone overseas and were only scheduled t return the following sunday. Having taken over the parents' room (now settled very nicely on the king-sized berth staring blankly at the ceiling),
what was i t do?

The american university goal still holds- essentially the only thing left working for- so why, then am i not putting my head t shitloads of papers and words? Perhaps i dont want t do this alone, perhaps im tired of visiting cinemas with a ticket for one, perhaps im sick of this solitude,

The question is, 'Am i, really?'
Nah.

With people walking in and out of my life this easy, it figures t think, it's hardly anything worth keeping.

(the record still playing in the background) i brought them biology notes t my face- knowledge, in forms of paper, my passport, my future.

Im heading out alone, so embrace me,
american dream.