Perhaps.

Hello world. Pardon my disappearance for a couple (months).

Blogging was never an obligation for me, and i say that with apologies, for i doubt it'll ever be. Maybe it should (though i don't see how), but perhaps in knowing my posts live on a certain something for its existence, would aptly explain the lack in its frequency- 'inspiration', they call it.

However with that said, this post is none of inspiration nor motivation; just a mere case of fatigue, frustration and the unfortunate lack of a listening ear.

My life, (or school life rather since there's all there is t it now) has been going downhill. My job, school, dance class, table tennis.. t be entirely honest it'll take superman t cope. And i sure ain't no superman. My mom's making me quit the job at GV. "You can't cope", she says. And perhaps she's right.

Perhaps she's always right. Perhaps I'd prefer t have this honourable gift of thought taken from me- this inquisitive nature t question; t find a reason for everything. Perhaps sometimes things just are. Perhaps sometimes it's okay t follow; t conform; t not stand out. Perhaps it's fortunate not t be that one in a million (that everyone aims t achieve). Perhaps heroes have it hard (and never recognised only till after their deaths). Perhaps regrets are excuses. Perhaps prevention isn't better than cure. Perhaps it's not death that scares us, but the life after (or the lack of). Perhaps t get more, we should expect less. Perhaps all it takes t do more 'Right's, is just t do less 'Wrong's.

Perhaps.

Your mind, a funny thing.

Like the sun;
a rise or a set-
that's just your myopic perception.

If the sun never sets,
how then, if i may ask,
does it rise?

The stern definition of what's good and what's bad- that in itself, revolves around the subject of controversy. There is- in my book of facts- no clear distinction between good or bad; it is a mere image which society wants you t perceive, a norm that has been socially accepted for so long, it seems silly t even question it's authenticity. But is it true, really?

That's the question.

You struck lottery- that's a good thing, isn't it?
(Society wants you t think it's a good thing- how else do they get you t buy the tickets)
But... what about greed?
What about being 'down t earth'?
What about the belittlement of the importance of hard work?
What about the notion of 'easy money'?
Now that's bad, isn't it?
So, do you still call it a good thing?

Yes, you do.

Why?
Because you've won the lottery, God damn it, who complains when they win lottery; there's nothing bad in getting more money, is there?
But there is.
There is.
That's the thing, see.
Everyone knows (or they think they do) that there're pros and cons in everything that happens t us. We define something t be good, when it's pros over weighs it's cons, and vice versa, for something bad.
That's it.
That's the particular 'weighing process' that discerns one individual's claim from another.
The process that explains why your mom thinks football is stupid when you clearly don't;
why your school sets regulations about your skirt when you find it utterly silly.
So, there really isn't a clear cut definition.
Good, Bad.
It's all in your head.
Up there.

Taking that everything above is accurate (however minutely possible that might be), and that your mind defines what's good and what's bad, then for that and that alone, I choose optimism, where everything (no matter how terrible) is good eventually. Shit's not getting me down; for

'What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger.'

The last time i checked, I'm still alive.

I remember it well.

I remember it well,
the year 1936,
ships engorging the docks,
as vessels pass continents-
people flocking the theatres
t watch you play
your august scene;
'The lies of obsolescence'

As the curtains draw,
your enigmatic demeanor
-with it an elucidative carriàge-
puts Shakespeare down upon his knees
you, the discountenancer, triumphant,
as you take center stage
the pedestal beneath your feet,
unreservedly yours.
I remember it well.

The acts played out,
in seven ages,
your exits,
your entrances-
you, the leading protaganist,
you, the adversative antagonist
you; assuming both the role of cast and of crew.
Oh yes, i remember it well.

The curtains coalesce
-a sheet of red-
behind the commoving applause,
of whistles,
of clamor,
superseded by an auricular confession on my left,
'Subliminal performance.'
I pause briefly in aftermath,
that breathtaking éncore-
I remember it well.

The stands clear,
seats empty,
the marking of the end-
the end of the play,
of year 1936.
You waved goodbye,
t faces of enthusiastic crowd
in waves of curtsy
in pulses of bow.
That, i remember it well.

You were 45.
mid-life, gorgeous, charismatic.
Your soul-sundering pair of blue-
I remember it well.

The year 1946
ships scarce; none in sight
docks empty; void of light
only through the filter of neon signboards-
your august play;
'The lies of obsolescence'
still carried on.

I remember it well.
The curtains coalesce,
-a sheet of maroon-
behind vague claps of silence
deafening in its context;
no shouts,
no applause,
no éncore.

The irony of your last act,
'The lies of obsolescence' ;
as gradual transformation take its place,
the highest notch of roleplay,
when you and play become one;
Obsolete.
I remember it well-
I remember, you were forgotten.

A simple lesson drawn : Whatever you possess is temporal. It may be long-lasting, assuring while it still exists, but never eternal. There can never be a forever; humans remain, unfortunately (or fortunately, if you ask me) mortal. Death draws a line, however fine you may perceive it t be- perhaps in your aspects of the afterlife. It puts an end, even if for the most minute second, t whatever you own, whatever you've achieved. This does not apply merely t the silly defects of materialistic possessions. Ideologies, emotions, and even something as great as love comes t an end when you depart; a dead mind does not have the ability t think nor feel. We are- as are all other human beings- but a living entity; clasped in books of history if you're significant enough, but when life as we know it ends, we cease in existence t our present world. We may be remembered a little, for a while- grieved over, perhaps- but eventually, at the very very end of time... we, are forgotten.

We will be forgotten- that's an unspoken truth- but honestly, do we care?
No.
Maybe infinitesimally, yes, we feel an inexplicable tingle of unjust, for the massive belittlement of our individualistic presence, but in all truth- i can assure you- that doesn't matter.
It doesn't.

For years, millions have tried thrusting their names upon the glamour of "Guinness World Records" or history texts; books which might leave a trace of their once, minuscule existence in years t come.

History? -laughs- It could be as much of a hoax as the man next door being President of India. History's written by victors... so the extent of truth? Not reliable.

Why then, may i ask, would people want t do that?
(The following part is pretty controversial, just my two cents worth.)

These are the people, who are terribly unsatisfied with their lives. They wish t be remembered; t show others how wonderful (or shitty, really) their lives were. T be held in high esteem, maybe, for things that they might or might not have done. These are the people who require evidential proof as t how amazing their life is. It explains their lack of meaning and their overwhelming need for constant reassurance as t how their life should be led. I dare say this, for a person who has led his/her life with satisfaction, wouldn't see the need in seeking substantial proof for their wonderful years spent here, in mortality; they are clear of what they have, and they are contented.

Bottomline: Cherish whatever you have- it won't be eternal, it won't last forever, but it's as real as it gets- for real things don't last.

Let's embrace death; the dawn of a new life.

I wish

Probably the best picture t ever describe the word

A brief look out of the window on the last bus back from queensway got me thinking. That same sensation of living with a meaning; or that of inspiration of some sort, essentially just, a prohibitively different life as that of the present, strikes me. (I find it strange), for everytime this happens, a distinct feeling of morbid envy unleashes within me, and everytime, i seek t change. But of course, i can never grasp this feeling, hard enough for me not t let it go. It is with no doubt at all that knowledge does not equate t application and i, with the intellect of differing right from wrong similarly have neither the power nor the will t apply that sense of knowledge.
I wish t hold on t that feeling, that feeling of inspirational change (for inspiration is powerful)- not immediately, but maybe with gradual increment, soon enough i'll make that desirable life, my own.

It's about time i put aside this procrastination and start doing something in order for any form of change t happen. Afterall, this is my life we're talking about.

Wish me luck.

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.