torn

you tore my lips

with but your gaze

and now bitter blood 

escapes my wound

with words i vowed

my lips won't utter 

now it all sputters 

onto your face

my blood and words of bitter 

upon a purple sunset. conversation

i am alone

so am i

but you have so many friends around you. you have a lovely man who loves you

but I still feel alone

but you have them. i don’t have anybody. no friends. no lover. no body

i have all of them, but i still feel alone

you have no right to feel alone. you have them

i know. but yes, i feel alone

i am truly alone

me too  

inversions

sometimes it's nice to see things the other way round. talking to the back of someone's head instead of their face - you get to avoid unnecessary changing facial expressions. brushing your teeth - still with a toothbrush - but with a different hand, so as to enjoy the awkwardness of the experience. i remember reading somewhere that doing things differently, even simple things like the using a different hand to brush your teeth, or closing your eyes when in the shower, helps prevent memory loss in old age. that is certainly a good thing now, isn't it. 

inversions. to be inverted. or to invert. inside-out. flip. flops. just don't drop.

The Interpretation of Untitled Loves

staccatos

picnic/vision boarding spaghetti "everybody dance now" eyelid in the eye, engulfed Tiong Bahru to Tanjong Pagar silent smiles 9-6 seuty gaiman him leaving through my sleeve water day 3: a product of the system shanthini Sugar exploding veins fumbling with the lens erased gangsta songs right art-a-day late. period.

untitled

shut my eyes

and I would cry with every quiver of my chin

for my face weeps

for a heart that cannot 

passing worlds

in the reflection of his body
he sees worlds pass by
made up of lights that light up
of light swallowed by darkness
each beside the other
a couple's kiss
worlds telling stories of its undead
breathing before you and i
and even after
worlds passing him by
none latch on
none stay
and at the end of the journey
he exits
carved out by his own emptiness
they watch as he steps onto the platform
fully void

unveiling hybrid realities

so it's been a few days since i last got back from KL, Malaysia. one thing i love about KL is how real it feels. in fact, i have a feeling most if not all cities feel this way, except for Singapore. i don't mean to sound like one of those people who constantly diss Singapore - because i do appreciate a lot of things about this city - but it just feels too contrived, too sanitized. and sometimes, it would be nice to have some dirt lying around. it would give me something else to photograph for a change. but yes, i planned a solo trip to KL so i could get away from it all and just be with myself for a bit. but of course, i've learnt that being alone in a foreign place is actually worst than being alone at home. imagine sitting up in the hotel room late at night, in a queen-sized bed where you only occupy the left side of it, the rest untouched, as P.S. I Love You is playing on Star Movies. you sit there alone with a temperature because you were sick on your way into KL, and your tummy still feels (shitty) weird as you sniff away into tissue after tissue - used for both snot and tears, sometimes at the same time. eew. that movie always gets to me. tear jerker. and falling asleep is never easy because you're a scaredy cat who despite having finished your ghost thesis, is still afraid of ghosts and has an imagination that can summon them anytime. and so, i slept with the lights on. blaring hotel lights. under white covers. alone. not that it's any different at home but something about hotels just make it lonelier. but loneliness is good because it makes you discover things about yourself, things that would otherwise be clouded by the presence of people, work, or trivial distractions, like ice-cream. and these are things that one needs to know, or come to terms with in order to move ahead in life. hence, onward!

gut the court jesters

why is the idea of the individual, alone usually depicted as an abnormality? a state of being awaiting some sort of reconciliation, a resolution. an unfinished story. in movies, such characters are introduced as weird and eccentric, and we laugh or sympathize with them. it is depicted as incomplete in its worldly experiences. lulled in a state of void because its private parts have never been touched. the story will then end with it skipping off into a pixelated rainbow with someone it has encountered who completes it. you complete me. what an irritating concept: needing someone to complete your sense of self.

nevermore. nevermore.

it is important to have people in our lives. but people should not complete us. our attitude towards people should be akin to that of ghosts. it's fun (or not) to see them, initially, but then it would be better in the long run to be rid of them. for those we encounter, they impact our lives, experiences, and emotions and in that moment, we change. for those we don't see, we don't. but that doesn't mean that they don't exist. they still do. spirits are everywhere! and we hear about them in stories and accounts by those who do see them. and they might or might not leave any marks in our lives but either way, they're still there. and then there are those who haunt us for long periods of time and perpetually keep us on our toes. and soon we begin to feel comfortable with having them around, no matter how grotesque they are. but soon, they'll leave too. because the dead must live as the dead. because everything is momentary. momentaries. and soon, everybody leaves. and because, perhaps the only resolution in life, is death. and i don't say this in a dark, cynical, and ironical manner, muttering displeasure into fingernails that then claw out mine eyes. rather, it is matter-of-fact, isn't it?

and because people are actually selfish beings and we need to recognize that not necessarily as a bad trait but as a normal one. because each person creates her own needs and wants and for some, these needs and wants do not reside within others. i don't need you. but i love you. this does not make it wrong or pathetic. in fact, if you find yourself constantly needing that someone, or the presence of others in your lives, you're abnormal or probably deformed in some way and should proceed to chew on some bones or flesh to complete your growth process as a human being.

i am reminded again of the novel Veronika Decides to Die. everyone is essentially insane. we fill ourselves up with idiosyncratic jewels that we then conveniently transform into mere stones just because the Grand Narratives deem it so. we cast aside our court jesters, stuff their bells into their mouths and silence them. and we hide. we make ourselves feel weird, alone.

of fate, freckled pages, & an uncracked spine

i just finished reading Veronika decides to die by Coelho. i've been meaning to read it for a while now but didn't for i believe that my relationship with books, like love, exists and is run by fate. i read a book when i am fated to read it, even if the book is within my possession and i find my hours in the day sauntering away. each time i finally read a particular title is when, at that point in time i find myself searching for an answer, to something. answers that most amazingly grow in the pages of the book. as we are all permitted our idiosyncratic ways of reasoning, pray, leave me with mine as i sway a little into another story about fate.

i believe that i am fated to do 'art'. i took art classes when i was a youngling. an eager girl who spent her afternoons after school tracing pictures of flowers and animals from huge encyclopedias. words didn't interest me. i derived immense pleasure from holding a crayon in my hand. second skin. its somewhat hard clay-like texture felt normal against my rough skin. i also loved it when crayon got under my nails. as i was a nail-biter, i found myself on several occasions swallowing small deposits of crayon buried under my nails. i've since however, stopped.

art class. i won second prize for the school's art competition drawing dinosaurs (long necks). using crayons, i drew three long necks, a mom, a dad, and their child. the typical family unit. mother insisted that i not draw the 'm' birds -those that children would usually draw- as those were 'modern' birds which did not exist in the time of dinosaurs. in her eyes, my drawing would lose its authenticity. she specifically said that if i wanted to draw 'birds', they would have to be those 'dinosaur birds'. the pterodactyl. winged lizards. not birds after all. but i didn't know how to draw those 'dinosaur birds' and my sky in the drawing was looking too empty. and so i drew in the 'm' birds. the fake birds. a lot of them. i won the second prize. there was however a girl in my class who knew how to draw a real bird. she drew a parrot so perfectly shaped and colored for the competition. it was green and had a sharp beak. she won the first prize.

i'm sure it wasn't because i didn't win the first prize, but my parents soon reprimanded me whenever i decided to draw and trace. i should have been studying instead. and so i studied.

i took art for my 'O' levels and did very well in it. i got an A and with encouragement from my art teacher, was determined to head to the local art college. this didn't sit well with my parents, especially my mom. no future in being an artist. and so i headed to college to do my 'A' levels. and then university. and then had thoughts of doing a PhD, until finally, i reach this point in my life where i'm revisited by art yet again. through photography, tea bags, and ink, i've become addicted to art and it is something that i plan to start and finish, even if it means i'll have to learn to draw a 'real bird'. i've since recently purchased, after 14 years, a new box of crayons. pastels!

they're still delicious!

so yes. i believe that i am fated to do art. even though it took me many, many years to actualize and chart its path in my life. i believe it as much as i believe that i was fated to finally read Veronika decides to die, for, having refused to spend $26 on it at BORDERS, i finally got to it at a second-hand bookstore at Bras Basah complex two days ago. it was priced at $5.90. and even though the cover and pages have been freckled by time and the sun, its spine was still uncracked. i fell in love. instantly. and i got some answers.

words