Life less than travelled

I wish I am all bravado and all guns blazing. As much as I hate to admit it, I am mostly a wimp when it comes to travelling.
Afraid of the eyes set upon me.
I cowered and shied into my little world.

Moving on. Or am I back to the beginning?

No, I didn't write them.

But life happens, and suddenly you find yourself so far from where you've been. No warnings, no street signs, no one telling you where you made the wrong turn.

And soon it will be 2 years, then 3, then 10, and I won't even remember his face anymore and something somewhere will remind me of him and I will think to myself I really loved that boy.


I have so many things that I want to say and so many things that I want to do. But I can’t do anything. I don’t know this somebody, and I am afraid that I never will. I have waited so long for this somebody to come, so long that I have made him an unrealistic and fictional person. Boys like him don’t really exist. They are too good to be true. They are made up in messed up minds like mine, and the only time you will ever meet them, is when you fall asleep and drag them in to your dreams.

What awaits me?

Sometimes I want the normalcy. The attention it deserves, and the respect that I do not give to it.
All I do is crowd myself with moments.
Like snapshots. Transitory and momentous.

I was crossing the road and I thought to myself, every relationship will end this way.
As ordinary as crossing the road.

I come and I go

I hate the way I live.
The bubble. Pricked by my ever fastidious whims.
Pop.

In that distant world I call home

That queasy feeling.
Is it the meeting of a nemesis?
Or knowing that someone else is living my dream?

That vast silence that deafens me

Have you forgotten about me?
Quietly in these silent days?

Have you look up to the sky and wonder that I am looking up at it too?
And thinking about you.

Me - The forgotten one

Am I greedy because I love?
Feeding on the impossible.
Pining for what he had forgotten and laid to rest.

By Emily Dickinson

Heart! We will forget him!
You and I—tonight!
You may forget the warmth he gave—
I will forget the light!

When you have done, pray tell me
That I may straight begin!
Haste! lest while you're lagging
I remember him!

She cuts a lonely figure

Leave me alone.
I want to sit quietly by myself.
Just by myself.

The sun shines, on my flaws and all

When bad things or misfortune befall other people, what do you do?
Gloat over their bad luck? Relief? That it did not happen to you? Or genuinely sympathise?

I wish I can summon all my honesty and say I belong to the latter. But I can only heave a huge sign of relief.
That it was not me.

Alexander Supertramp May 1992

I picked up the book on a whim at Target but I honestly did not enjoy it.
Too investigative.
Too much imagination from the author. Tried too hard to explain his actions and the pysche of this person. The ending disappoints too.
Judgement even at his death.

Yet his story still fascinates me.
'No longer to be poisoned by civilization he flees, and walks alone upon the land to become lost in the wild.'

街角的祝福

词:戴佩妮 曲:戴佩妮


多少个秋 多少个冬
我几乎快要被治愈好
但还是会只因为一个重覆的话题
就无心自扰
也曾想过
若真遇见 我们应该如何是好
我想我还是会站在某一个街角
不让你看到

只因为我不想打扰
只因为怕你解释不了
只因为现在你的眼睛里
她比我还重要

我只好假装我看不到
看不到你和她在对街拥抱
你的快乐 我可以感受得到
这样的见面方式对谁都好

我只好假装我听不到
听不到别人口中的她好不好
再不想问 也不想被通知到
反正你的世界我管不了

就把祝福 留在街角

I know you are somewhere

At the back of my mind. The sublime conciousness.
Ever so present.

But I refuse to see you. I did not want the silent movie to play out in my head.

Is it morning already?

Someone 7 years younger can understand that.
And can take that brave first step.
Why can't I?

This big fat lie of a life.
Got to go.

7 mins since yesterday.
7 mins too late.
I wonder how long I can keep this up.
A post each day.
Anyway.

People disgust me today. Filled me with torment and vile.
Or do I repel them? It felt like old days. Those lonely ones.
Glad that they are over, for now at least. Yoy never know when they will come back again.
Looking forward to the end.

I just realised that I am careless.

Careless with my spelling. Writing.
Careless about other people. Their feelings and thoughts.
Careless even with myself.
CARE-LESS.
Am I?

Thursday

It was another day. It feels like another.
The days are long but the years are short.
I glanced through the obiturary today and suddenly wish I was one of them.