stripped bare

I've moved on...

2009-03-16T18:24:00.002+08:00

... over to the other side.

I really hope to see you there.

First Breath After Coma

2009-03-04T18:00:00.001+08:00

Should I or should I not?

The Goodfellas.

2009-02-22T23:59:00.000+08:00

All it took was one familiar song and a look we shared from behind the back of someone who was sitting between us, and immediately, I could smell his scent and feel the warmth of his arms around my body.

Like I've always said, it's that look in his eyes.

~ written 9 February 08

One Week On: An Epilogue

2009-01-14T00:14:00.002+08:00

She remembers standing at a corner, against a wall. She remembers the warm wave after wave of sweaty bodies that swam past her. She remembers the deep bass pumping in her veins. She remembers the blinding spotlight that shone on her face. She remembers the endless sea of hands out-stretched, not touching, not feeling. But when she closes her eyes, all she remembers were the tears on her face, the music in her ears, and him in her mind.

For each forgotten kiss
For all the memories
For all the times a look said all we had to say
You played your part so well
A modern Romeo
You came on Cupid's wings and then you flew away

When you touched my face
When you call my name
I'm burned with desire
When you touched my face
When you call my name
I'm burned with desire
But you left me in the rain

For every sleepless night
Forever in your arms
For every hour spent lost in the reverie
You broke your promises
No shame and no regrets
You burned the bridges to an endless mystery

When you touched my face
When you call my name
I'm burned with desire
When you touched my face
When you call my name
I'm burned with desire
But you left me in the rain

Maybe I need to explain my actions. Maybe I don't.
Maybe I will write again. Maybe I won't.

Maybe she will love again. Maybe she won't.

Welcome, Ghosts.

2009-01-05T16:18:00.001+08:00

It's a painful decision to make, but it is one that has to be done.
I end my life as smudgie here in this world.
It has been a warm and comforting one.

The Rain Drops.

2009-01-02T16:20:00.000+08:00

I’ve been putting off the really dreary task of writing the Here-are-my-New-Year’s-Resolutions post. It’s now the second day of the new year, and I haven’t even given my would-be resolutions much thought.

As a teen, and maybe even during my early 20s, this period has always been the most exciting time of the year. Christmas, then the New Year, and then the Chinese New Year… it meant lots of holidays, lots of friends, lots of parties, lots of happiness. However, as I grew older, and as each year segues into another as seamlessly as rain into a river, these festivities seem less celebratory.

I may have, consciously or unconsciously, caused some heartache to those who love me this past year, but that’s not to say that those whom I love have not been responsible for my own anguish or insecurities. I’ve learnt a lot in 2008 about trust, maintaining a relationship, and the strength of familial ties. This may sound like a cliché, but your family may be the only ones who will accept you for who you are. I’ve also discovered my own strengths and, mostly, weaknesses. Some of them, I’m not proud of, but I have to say I am learning to deal with things my own way.

I could list 10 items I’d like to do in 2009, but I know the only time I’ll refer to it again is in a year’s time. So if I could only have one wish for this new, trying time in my life, it would be for peace. Peace within me. That may be the only way I, or anyone, can find happiness without depending on, or at the expense of, another person.

Here it is, my obligatory New Year’s post for my blog in retrospective.

Status Quo

2008-12-13T22:32:00.004+08:00

"We're going for dinner now," my dad announced to no one in particular. We were seated in a semi-circle around the hospital bed. I, the precious eldest grand-daughter, was sitting on the bed next to my grandma.

She let go of my hand and pushed me off the bed gently. "Go, go. It's late." Grandma was in high spirits today. I think it was because I kept her company for three hours today. Still wide awake, she sat upright in bed and waved us goodbye. As we made for the door, my grandfather, who had always be sullen and impatient with the frequent hospital visits, walked back towards the bed, painfully slow. His tanned, wrinkled hand reached for my grandmother's. "We're leaving now," he said, rather redundantly. Surprised, Grandma, in the usual way old Asian couples speak to one another, raised her voice at him. "I know that. Just go."

It was apparent in everyone's actions. My father and my aunt turned away; my mother stopped in her tracks; a tear rolled uncontrollably down my cheek; Grandma's harsh eyes faltered for a second. Grandpa, oblivious to the gravity of his little gesture, turned and walked to the door.

When we were still kids, my brother, the cheeky arse, often asked Grandma if she loved my Grandpa. "Rubbish!" she would exclaim loudly. "In my time, there was no such thing as love." Of course, as young children, we didn't think she was serious. But as we grow older, we watched their twin beds move further and further apart. There never was any show of affection in my family.

That was why we didn't know what to make of the gentleness of Grandpa's hand on Grandma's. She may or may not recognise what it was, but I did. We all did. If that wasn't a man's love for his old, ailing, lifelong companion, I don't know what is.

The New New Year

2008-12-11T15:24:00.002+08:00

The New Year came early for me.

Starting in November, I’ve made so many changes in my life, big and small, that it’s almost as if I’ve finally grown up. I’ve been at my company for more than year now. I had told myself some months back that I have to keep myself in this company for at least 12 months, to gain experience, to make my resume more credible. Maybe I’ve finally found a job I can settle into. This is quite an achievement for someone who never really knew what she wanted to do. I found myself giving advice to an ex-classmate last week. She was in the top class in my secondary school (and the Principal’s daughter) and went on to the top Junior College during our time. Now she’s finally finishing her PhD and doesn’t know what to do with her life.

I’ve also actually started to save. I started a new savings account that automatically draws a pre-established amount from my current account so that I won’t have to suffer the physical pain of transferring an amount over. I’ve also begun to make calculated payments for my purchases so that I can accumulate $1 gold coins and save them in a tin box I’ve allocated to store them. You won’t understand how proud I am of myself for managing to do this without crumbling.

I have put on quite a bit of weight ever since I started working in this company, which is situated right smack in the middle of an almost food paradise. My parents take turns to remind me of that fact every day and I initially felt resentment at how tactless parents can be when it comes to their children’s body issues. After I quietly took in all the insults and erupted into a vicious hatred for my body, I stopped asking D the “Do you still love me now that I’m fat” question and signed up for a full course of body slimming treatments at FIL.

I’ve also bitten the bullet and got myself a new look. I haven’t changed my hair for the longest time, and after consulting my people in the “industry”, I went and snipped off my fringe. My hairstylist was so happy with my new look he couldn’t stop giving me suggestions on how I could style my hair. The reviews were mixed though. Some loved it; some simply said I looked “Different”. “Different” can mean many things.

I have two more things to do before my year is complete. I intend to give my room a makeover as well, though it’s really dragging because of the endless overtime I have to do at work. I still haven’t gotten myself enrolled in a Japanese language school as well, and this is the one big regret of the year. In the grand scheme of things, I guess some things just have to wait.

I need to go to Japan soon.

The Venom Spreads.

2008-11-10T16:51:00.003+08:00

I've been travelling quite a fair bit this year, though for most parts, the motive for the trips were borne out of need and not out of want. This has been the year of China for me. Admittedly, China is not amongst my list of top five favourite holiday locations. But since February, I've been to Shanghai twice, Beijing once, and I've just returned from Macau and Hong Kong.

Shanghai was amazing for me for its past; the legendary Bund and the beautiful buildings on the historical side of the river gave me much to think about. Its present: the high-rise buildings, the perpetual construction, and the unfortunate impressions some of the Chinese gave me, did not make me love the country my forefathers came from.

Beijing, on the other hand, was exceptional. The wide open spaces. The snow outside the cabin window on the Z14. The somewhat friendlier attitude of the people. The Forbidden City. The Great Wall. Everyone should experience Beijing once.

I was in Macau for work, so I didn't see what most tourists and punters must have seen of Macau. I was herded everywhere by an agent in a mini-van, straight from my gorgeous hotel room, to my various work locations, to the lavish dinners that have already been paid for, then straight back to my hotel.

Hong kong on leisure with my colleagues was another matter altogether. I have never stepped into so many Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Prada, and Goyard boutiques so many times in my life. I stood in the quiet corners of each boutique watching my bosses and colleagues shuffle from shelf to shelf, and wonder why they couldn't pay me more so I can join in the fun. Still, I finally understood why Hong Kong is a shopping paradise. Too many brands, too little time. The last time I was in Hong Kong, I was all of 10 years old. I suspect I'll be going back there some time. But not so soon.

The travel bug bit me when I was 21 and allowed to finally travel on my own. I haven't stopped since. My first love will always be Japan, although my lust for travel, like my lust for most other things, is insatiable. As I clock the hours, earn my meal, fatten up my bank, and plan my next holiday, I say "Bring It". I'm never too poor or tired to travel.

Incensed.

2008-10-26T21:53:00.003+08:00

There are three kinds of people in this world.

The first kind trip over themselves offering unsolicited comments after hearing one side of a juicy story.

The second kind often wait until they have heard both sides of the story before giving their opinions about what they think had happened.

The third kind, the very rare kind, keep their mouths shut no matter what they hear and who they hear the story from.

Now which kind are you?

The Dumbing Down of Love - Frou Frou

2008-10-24T22:36:00.004+08:00

Well painted passion
You rightly suspect
Impersonation
The dumbing down of love
Jaded in anger
Love underwhelms you
No box of chocolates
Whichever way you fall

And if i tell you
Lover alone without love
What will happen
Lover alone without love
Will you listen
Lover alone without love

No, no I'll get this
I want to treat you
You're still not famous and you haven't struck it rich
Underachieving
Cos no-one's receiving
This tunnel vision
It's turning out all wrong

Music is worthless unless it can
make a complete stranger
break down and cry

And if I tell you
Lover alone without love
What will happen
Lover alone without love
Will you listen
Lover alone without love
Without love
Without love
Without love

Impressed.

2008-10-13T22:35:00.005+08:00

I love McDonald's. Not for the quality of their food, no, but for their efficiency and convenience. And who can resist a Mackers brekkie whenever they can?

And so a week ago, because D and I stayed up to watch brainless Taiwanese variety shows all night, we ordered Mackers online at about 5am. Just because we can. It was yummy; hot, sinful junk food delivered right to our doorstep at wee hours of the morning. However, yesterday afternoon, as I was doing some internet banking, I discovered that the breakfast we had cost me three times as much. The amount was credited from my account two times more than required. Intensely disturbed, I called my bank but they couldn't help because the amount had already been transferred to McDonald's, so I had to go to them instead.

Because it was a Sunday, I only had the delivery hotline to call and the only two options I had was to press 1 for New Order or 2 for Web Enquiry. Naturally, I pressed 2. The guy who picked up the phone was impatient. Instead of listening to me describe the rather long-winded situation first, he asked twice if I had wanted to make an order. However, after I got my point across, he became very helpful. He asked for my mobile number, as well as a separate contact number just in case I couldn't be reached, so that he could check with the higher-ups. He called back less than 10 minutes later to tell me that they would do a refund on Monday.

Now I was pretty satisfied at how prompt they were, but nothing impressed me more than this email I received from McDonald's today:

Hi Ms. XXX,

Thank you for your feedback on 12th Oct 08 to our McDelivery Call Centre
with regard to a charge to your credit card for a McDelivery 24/7 web order
dated 5th Oct 08.

Our investigations show that your credit card has been incorrectly charged
for a McDelivery 24/7 web order that was not completed due to an unforeseen
technical glitch. We sincerely apologise for the error and has taken
immediate steps to ensure this is corrected.

Instructions have been given to your bank to reverse the charges. This
reversal will take effect within 2 weeks from 13th Oct and should appear in
your next credit card statement.

Once again, we apologise for the error and inconvenience caused.

Your Sincerely,
XXX (Ms)
McDelivery Consultant

I mean, McDelivery Consultant? Anyway, it's been a while since I've received such an (almost) perfectly worded email, so much so that I felt it actually warranted a post. I've been too lazy to blog about much else these days, and I apologise.

Are you?

2008-10-05T15:03:00.001+08:00

I watched you sleeping soundly, like a baby, the side of your face pressed down firmly on to the pillow, your hand half-covering your face as if to block it from someone who's coming to take your dreams away. You tremble slightly from the chill in the air-conditioned room, but you could never stand the heat, baby. There's a void on the bed beside you, shaped like me. It was always a tight fit, two of us on my super-single, but I secretly liked it because it meant you'd be lying closer to me.

I'll be honest and tell you that I just read something I shouldn't have again. It started as an accident, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from it even though I recognised it the moment I saw the first few lines. It brought a tidal wave of emotions over me, and I had to look up from what I was reading to make sure you're really sleeping next to me. You are, snoring away, oblivious to the tears rolling down my face.

These two years have passed by like a dream, just as fleeting, just as surreal. The only thing real to me is your warm body, pressed firmly against mine.

I read those words because I missed them. This side of you disappeared slowly after we met. You said, "Happiness does not write, love." And I understood what you meant. I found my words slipping slowly away from my fingertips as well. But I can't help wondering—foolishly I know—if perhaps there is something lacking in me that caused this drought in you. You leave a little of you behind each time you write, a little piece of your heart, a little piece of your love…

I climbed into bed and hugged you tightly from behind. Your hands subconsciously clasped mine and you held them over your heart. I wept silently, the tears that haven't fallen in a long time.

Are you mine, really?

Are you?

I Bruise Easily - Natasha Bedingfield

2008-10-02T23:31:00.002+08:00

My skin is like a map, of where my heart has been
And I can't hide the marks, but it's not a negative thing
So I let down my guard, drop my defences, down by my clothes
I'm learning to fall, with no safety net, to cushion the blow

I bruise easily, so be gentle when you handle me
There's a mark you leave, like a love heart carved on a tree
I bruise easily, can't scratch the surface without moving me
Underneath I bruise easily, I bruise easily

I found your finger prints on a glass of wine
Do you know your leaving them all over this heart of mine too
If I never take this leap of faith I'll never know
So I'm learning to fall with no safety net to cushion the blow

I bruise easily, so be gentle when you handle me
There's a mark you leave, like a love heart carved on a tree
I bruise easily, can't scratch the surface without moving me
Underneath I bruise easily, I bruise easily

Anyone who, can touch you, can hurt you, or heal you
Anyone who, can reach you, can love you, or leave you

So be gentle
So be gentle
So be gentle
So be gentle

I bruise easily, so be gentle when you handle me
There's a mark you leave, like a love heart carved on a tree
I bruise easily, can't scratch the surface without moving me
Underneath I bruise easily, I bruise easily

I bruise easily, so be gentle when you handle me
There's a mark you leave, like a love heart carved on a tree
I bruise easily, can't scratch the surface without moving me
Underneath I bruise easily, I bruise easily

I bruise easily
I bruise easily

More Than A Penny

2008-09-09T23:07:00.002+08:00

You always ask, "What's on your mind?"
And I always reply, "Nothing."

We both know that's a lie. Like you said, there's never "nothing". Haven't you been guilty of such a lie? I can see your worries in your frown, your pain in your eyes, your self-doubt in your fidgeting fingers. But I'd usually leave you as you were, because I know. I know in that "nothing", there lies myriad questions you are dying to ask but cannot. I know in the silence after that "nothing", there lies the invisible biting of the lips. I know.

I pretended to be you today. I caught myself frowning, and because I was thinking of you, I imagined that I were you and you were asking me what I was thinking about. In my head, I thought for a while. I lingered on that word, that word that held a heavy burden even though its meaning defined emptiness. I thought of where I should start, because I wasn't just thinking about one thing; for some strange reason, when I am plugged in to music, my mind becomes empty and I am able to let thoughts flow like slivers in my brain.

I worried if I remembered to lock the door when I left my flat. I thought of the times I'd stand at that very door, reluctant as I watch you put on your shoes to leave. I thought of you. My mind suddenly went to her. I wondered when she'd appear between us again. She haunts me like a ghost. I don't want her around and God knows I've tried to exorcise her from my life. I contemplated killing her. Then I thought of your parents, which lead me to visualise our perfect, imaginary home. I missed you. I thought of the things you said recently, those that made my heart break. Then I remembered my grandma, lying weak in her bed with a mask perpetually over her face, leaving marks on that face I'd always look up upon whenever she carried me in her arms when I was a child. I wondered when she was going to die. I think my dad will be devastated. No, that I didn't think. That I know. I thought of my parents' greying hair. They're old, and yet at my age, I can't even support them. I worried about what will happen when they decide to retire. I realised that I am a failure. I pondered about death. I prayed that I could take my grandma's place, for very, very selfish reasons.

That was what was in my head. Whenever you asked what was on my mind, did it ever occur to you that I was this fucked up? That I wasn't simply thinking of one specific thing, that these thoughts swirled around in my head, dormant, waiting to explode? Whenever you asked me that question, were you prepared to actually listen if I had said what was on my mind? Would you tune off, or brush it off as silliness? Are my fears silly? Don't you have fears?

Was I on your mind as well whenever you were clenching your teeth in thought as I walked next to you? Was that a fleeting moment of hatred I saw in your eyes? It usually disappears as quickly as it appears. You'd then turn to me and offer your hand for me to hold. But just as our palms are warming to each other, you'd let go. It's as if you were seeking assurance from my hand. Contented, you let go. Reset.

I'd turn silent, contemplating my next move. I liked your hand in mine. I would worry about that little separation of our hands and what it meant at that moment. You'd then turn to me, forehead wrinkled, your hand reaching out for mine, and in a gentle, admonishing voice, ask, "What's on your mind?"

"Nothing," I'd reply.

Six Days at the Bottom of the Ocean

2008-09-02T23:03:00.002+08:00

During the couple of days leading up to his departure, I rehearsed those lines every night in my head. I had convinced myself that those were the words I want him to have in his head the moment he turns and walks away from me. I always dealt with anger in my own terms; that’s the only way I manage it.

This evening, I sat calmly at the viewing gallery, taking in the smell of the still-new terminal, the shrill screams from the children running up and down, and remembering what sitting at the viewing gallery meant to me in my past life. A strange calm came over me. Strange because it came at the most unexpected of time. Strange because immediately after, I received his text message on my mobile.

I went down to meet him with lightness in my heart. Even as I walked with him to that little Bermuda Triangle right before where the officers stood, where all travellers disappear for any indefinite amount of time, where friends hugged and lovers kissed, I was sure what I would do.

I didn’t say what I had wanted to say. Those words were very clear in my head, at the tip of my tongue, but he kissed away my weakness. I watched resolutely as he was swallowed behind the jaws of the technology that separated us. As I turned around to make my way home, there were tears in my eyes, but they didn’t fall. I was glad I found peace—peace within myself.

These six days will pass like a breeze.

The Year of Quiet.

2008-09-01T22:30:00.002+08:00

Is it me, or has everyone suddenly decided to stop writing?

*hears crickets echoing through the dark hollowness of the blogosphere

Shot.

2008-08-18T23:15:00.001+08:00

When I first saw that photograph, I was filled with wonderful memories of that eventful day, and especially of everything we've done to make it perfect. Then suddenly, I was reminded of something more poignant, more heartbreaking.

I don't know if I should be holding on to that memory.

Or maybe I don't want to know anything at all.

Sabo-ed.

2008-08-13T20:49:00.009+08:00

This is my latest indulgence:

It's been more than a month since I walked into the Thomas Sabo store at Raffles City and went mad salivating at the trays of charms before me. I picked the plane and the cat after much thought; D set me straight about the fact that I should choose the charms that represent something I really care about, and that helped with zooming in on specific ones.

I've promised myself that I will get a new charm every month, just so I can look forward to something, since the figure on my payslip isn't worth hooting about. It's about time for my next one. Guess what it's gonna be?

Will you still love me tomorrow - Amy Winehouse

2008-08-02T23:12:00.001+08:00

Tonight you're mine completely
You give your love so sweetly
Tonight the light of love is in your eyes
Will you still love me tomorrow?

Is this a lasting treasure
Or just a moment's pleasure?
Can I believe the magic of your sighs?
Will you still love me tomorrow?

Tonight with words unspoken
And you say that I'm the only one, the only one
But will my heart be broken
When the night meets the morning star?

I'd like to know that your love
Is love I can be sure of
So tell me now, cause I won't ask again
Will you still love me tomorrow?
Will you still love me tomorrow?

August 1 2006

2008-08-01T23:58:00.001+08:00

"Don't fall in love with me," I had said.

Four years of companionship

2008-07-31T23:55:00.000+08:00

Dear Blog

I'm sorry I forgot that you turned 4 five days ago. It's been a tumultuous four years.

Happy Birthday.

Love
smudgie

Unspoken.

2008-07-30T23:58:00.002+08:00

Your bag has just been packed, but there's still fifteen minutes left before you can leave. So you chat with your colleagues who are all waiting for time to pass. Your eyes flit impatiently to the time bar at the top right hand corner of your screen. 18:48… 18:52… 18:55… every time your colleagues laugh at something you say, you check the time.

At 19:01, you stand up to leave and sing a cheery Bye to your colleagues. Wait, one of them says, give me five minutes, I'm going the same way. There goes my bus, you say jokingly, or maybe not so, if she gets the hint. She doesn't. After that, as you are about to reach the overhead bridge that separates you from where you are to the bus stop, you watch dejectedly as your bus hisses past you.

You climb into a cab, not wanting him to wait because getting on the next bus would mean another forty-five minutes gone. You grimace as you peep at the meter clicking happily away. But at least he won't have to wait long. When you arrive, you walk towards the cafe where you are supposed to meet him and you see him amongst the crowd, pen in hand, diary on the table, frown between his brows. You approach quietly and sit down. He kisses you hello, then continues writing. You know it is going to take a while. You quickly order your drink and your dinner because you are famished. Then, prepared this time, you calmly take out your book and start reading.

To live with a creative man and support him with your love, you learn to be dispassionate. Creativity, like passion, ebbs and flows. If he flows like a river downstream, you erode away like the soil around it to accommodate. Together, you meander down the mountain, aiming for the sea. Maybe one day the both of you will get there. You hope.

Finished with the writing, he turns on the laptop. You close your book because the words are giving you a headache. You reach for your mp3 player instead. Ebb and flow. After that, on your way home, he hands you one side of his earphones. You take it without question. You know he doesn't want to talk. He communicates with you through the tracks he chooses to play, the both of you having discovered a shared language of your own. That, and also through the love you make. He once told you long ago that making love to you was his way of connecting with you, and you remember all the make up sex. Every thrust a punishment, every stroke an apology. Unconsciously, your gaze rests on his lips. Noticing that, he smiles and kisses you tenderly. Your heart starts beating passionately again, so much so that it stings your eyes.

You reach your stop and he insists on getting off the train with you. You make him stay on his side of the gate as you make your way to the terminal to wait for your bus home. You watch him from your side of the world as he, standing fifty metres away behind the glass wall waiting, drifts into his own. You want to touch him, stroke his face, but he's too far away. He turns into something cold, impermeable, while you burn alone for him.

Passion. It ebbs and flows.

Remembering.

2008-07-29T22:46:00.005+08:00

"As daylight bleeds into the dark our bodies are folded into each other's, there's the jigsaw fit and I'm slamming my eyes shut and remembering the sweetness of it, can hardly bear its intensity. To be held so tightly, to stop the fight, to relax."

~ Nikki Gemmell, Lovesong

Call it whatever you want.

2008-07-28T20:59:00.004+08:00

All the fuss I make may seem ridiculous to some. So be it. I answer to no one but myself. They may choose to say I'm being over-sensitive, or choose to be in denial, but my instincts have never proved me wrong. Maybe I'm a psychic, or maybe I'm just subconsciously very protective of whatever belongs to me.

Female tigers do tolerate other females that loiter in their individual territories, but aggression arises when their positions are threatened. When dealing with such females who don't know their places, I wouldn't give any chances if I were a tigress.

And I don't just THINK so. I KNOW so.