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Aug 2017 · 283
Untitled
Chui Choo Aug 2017
Dark, whirly clouds of grey
Smoky tendrils reaching towards the skies
The blue and grey interact
Creating a gradient, white to black
Aug 2017 · 248
Not for a moment
Chui Choo Aug 2017
When you think you know
When you think you can relax
That’s when it happens
A betrayal, hatred; a sudden attack
Aug 2017 · 397
Nightstalker
Chui Choo Aug 2017
She walks alone at night
In the pitch black darkness, unafraid
Of what may come
In the absence of light

Her thoughts move like demons
Gliding in the dark spaces
Slipping in and out freely
Leaving invisible traces

She can feel them nonetheless
They inflict pain beyond measure
But she is unafraid now;
She has felt far worse

Her body is numb from the pain and cold
Howling winds that have made her so
Both physically and mentally
She emerges battered and drenched – but still on her feet
Chui Choo Aug 2017
She stays up all night
Thinking of things no one else might
Her mind full of ordinary things
Still scary enough to keep her awake
Aug 2017 · 206
Armour
Chui Choo Aug 2017
Teach me
To be vulnerable
How to leave my arms and heart
Wide open

For I have no trouble
Keeping it shut
To be honest
That’s exactly the problem
Aug 2017 · 205
The girl and her shell
Chui Choo Aug 2017
That girl you see, tall and strong
Inside she struggles, so much more
Her exterior, a hard shell
Inside, an entirely different person; someone else
Aug 2017 · 295
The girl and her pen
Chui Choo Aug 2017
Sometimes she feels unbearably lonely
As she sits alone, in her study
In a large house, full of rooms
Penning poems on her own
Title will probably change. The start of another series perhaps?
Aug 2017 · 316
My grandmother and dementia
Chui Choo Aug 2017
Po Po wakes up in the middle of the night
She’s scared, her eyes – unusually wide
She checks the gate three times
Until she’s contented that it’s bolted, safe from the outside

When she did that she told my uncle
To always remember so that they’d be guarded from the robbers
You never know if they’re hidden in the rubber trees
All around; it’s so easy to deceive  

She has forgotten, that she’s in the present
Her children all grown now
Enough to scare away any plunderer or thief
The area still scattered with rubber trees, but no longer dangerous like it used to be

You see 40 years ago she raised
Nine children on her own, her husband away
Working in the city to provide for the family
It was inevitable; yet she must have still felt lonely

A woman alone, nine children in a tow
She was fearful for their safety
In that time and place – understandably so
She didn’t know what could happen, if she didn’t lock the doors

So every night without fail she did
How scared she must have been
Laying wide awake in bed
Hoping that in the morning, everything would be okay

Just the other day she asked my father
A worried expression, but her words did not falter
Are you doing well, she asked
Reminded of the rough times he had in the past

She has forgotten that in the present
My father runs, successfully, his own business
It is tough sometimes but goes well enough
To provide for me, my mother and brother; he has built a comfortable life for us

The same happened to my father’s siblings
Four brothers, four sisters – all with their own families
When they realised what and why she was asking
I imagined that they all stopped and realised something

“Lao ren chi dai” is what they call it in Mandarin
A common condition for the ageing and elderly
Dementia I realised is what Po Po has
It’s no wonder she has the tendency to forget

This we all accepted easily
Life went on – that is how my family is
Stoic and accepting of whatever happens
Stereotypically Asian? I guess that is how we reacted

What made me sad though was not that she forgot
But that she remembered the bad times, and her thoughts
From those parts of her life are very telling
Of the uneasy and difficult experiences she was reliving

How hard it was for her I will never fully understand
I’m lucky enough to live a life very blessed
But I wish I could shoulder some of her burden and her stress
If that would even help at all; for I cannot prevent what happened back then

~

When she passed, I will never forget
My youngest uncle, his eyes so kind
They teared up, I swear I saw him cry
It was the strongest display of negative emotion I had ever seen
In my short, but whole life of knowing him
This doesn't have the "-" in the title, because it's a personal story.

Both my grandmothers experienced dementia before they passed away. My paternal one, who I affectionately called Po Po (Mandarin for grandmother), lived a difficult life. My father told me that until the very end she kept getting worried about my aunts and uncles – her children. She kept asking if we had any financial troubles or if we needed money. And she was worried about the gates, whether it was locked or not, not just in the night anymore but also in the day. I remember seeing her fiddle with them in the afternoon and wondering what was going on.

I can't imagine the fear she felt then if that was one of the key feelings that was triggered because of her dementia. How lasting was it and how deeply had it impacted her?
Jul 2017 · 1.1k
Children are like glass -
Chui Choo Jul 2017
Tired and happy
Expressions on their faces
When parents first hold their babies
Clad in hospital dresses

But in the same hospital there is another
A couple, fighting, hours after
How are we going to feed her
With the rest of our children?

At the back of the same building
In the shadows at night
Is a mother leaving
Her child behind

Fast forward, 10 years later
A boy who only wears long sleeves in the summer
He does this to hide all his bruises
Given to him by his father

In 5 more years
A girl who spends all her time outside and away
So she doesn’t have to face her parents
Who are intoxicated, violent – drunk all day

10 years more
He continues to wear his sleeves long
Because even though the marks on his arms have faded away
The scars in his heart, forever remain

Another 5 years
She now has 2 children from “sleeping around”
Who she’s too busy to look after;
She can barely look after herself

What will happen in another decade?
The boy, now man
Will he treat his children the same way?

The girl, now woman
Will she return home inebriated
Day after day?

I’m not saying that these outcomes are final
But it often happens since children learn by example
They may do the same as their parents
And end up hurting other people

So before you have children please remember
The profound impact you can have on another
I implore, do not forget
The courage to raise a child, before it ends in pain and regret

~

Like fingerprints on glass
Damage done
To what extent
Is a question unasked

Some hands leave marks
Others mar
And also cracks
That rip through the glass

The worst of all
Are those who shatter
The delicate material
Into a thousand pieces

Oh how I wonder
The damage inflicted
How broken a person’s glass is
A telling indication
Part 2. This time about how parents can inflict grievous physical and mental harm to their children that can have lasting impact.

The use of glass as a metaphor for children is inspired by a quote found in a book: The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom. See below.

“All parents damage their children. It cannot be helped. Youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers. Some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhoods completely into jagged little pieces, beyond repair.”
Jul 2017 · 583
My friend is an orphan -
Chui Choo Jul 2017
You got lost at the very start
You were raised by strangers
Thought that you were unwanted
Not enough

Hard to find a place
Somewhere to settle, to stay
A place safe and warm
Home, a place to call

No time to find yourself
When you’re busy with too much
Life throws more lemons at you
Than it does at everyone else

I don’t know what to say
Except “stay strong”
But as if that could make things better
I wish I could do more

Just know that you’re not unwanted
That I’m here with open arms
A place called home can be a person
Ready to catch all the lemons life throws at us

I know that there are some things I can’t understand
But if there ever comes a time when you need a hand
Let me know and I’ll be there
A listening ear, a shoulder to cry on when you can no longer bear

I hope you don’t shut yourself out from the world
Thinking no one will care
And suffer alone
It’s too much to withstand
I don't actually have a friend like that. But recently I've been thinking of writing in the perspective of others – which I think is a healthy habit to have. More to come. Note: This series will be denoted by "-" as seen above.
Jul 2017 · 261
For a friend I miss
Chui Choo Jul 2017
I know you are trying your best
But this feeling I get makes my heart sink
All the way down past my chest
Did I do something wrong, I think?

You leave the room when I enter
Your eyes diverted when I banter
You end our conversations so easily
It seems like you want to get away from me

Alone with my thoughts, time passed
I was angry at first but perhaps now I understand
What you’re trying to attempt
Nevertheless I still feel hurt and abandoned  
  
I opened up my heart to you
Do you know how hard it was?
And then you went and slammed the doors
Now shut so tightly; I’m back to square one

If you had planned to do this from the start
Don't ask me of the herculean task
To confide in you about my problems
Now I really wish you didn't ask

I can only blame myself
For being foolish enough
To trust someone like you
So ready to cut loose

Still I can't get angry at you
Because I know your kind intentions
But your selfishness knows no bounds
For assuming that what you're doing is the best for us

I want to ask but I’m not the type to force
Someone to talk to me when they don’t
I wish that you would just tell me
What is going on and what can be done

I feel sad more than angry
And that’s a good indication of my feelings
I don’t hate you and your decision
But I want my friend back, right this moment

I miss sharing our ideas and thoughts
Singing songs with everyone else
Making fun of each other as always
The happiness of working together, those fleeting moments

I want them back
Is this too much to ask?
Please don’t leave me
Just like everyone else
If you still cared maybe you will see this
I hate that I'm the only one you ignore
You make me feel like I did something wrong
Jul 2017 · 3.3k
The bird and the tree
Chui Choo Jul 2017
Once upon a time
A bird on a tree
Perched on a branch, too small to see

The bird hopped
Arm to arm
Peeking behind the leaves

The bird was happy
The tree and he
Or so he thought, for the tree could not speak

He found a mate
As things go
And built a nest, in its crevice

Raised his children
Through wind and rain
The tree secure, steady – safe from pain

When time had passed and his children grown
They had flown away and left him all alone

He leaned on its trunk
Weary from age
Took one last breath and passed away

The tree as always was stoic and still
It did not care
Never did, never will

Though to the bird the tree meant everything
The bird was but another that had strayed into its branches

Just like that the passing of the bird
Had no one to mourn
Especially not the tree, to whom he did not matter

As the tale shows sometimes it is better
To stay away from those who do not really bother

When one means the world to the other
It is not always the case that the feelings are mutual

So before it hurts, start to distance
Yourself from the people
Just like this tree – they don't really matter

Take flight and go far away
Find another
One who really cares – those are truly important
Inspired during a road trip while passing by countless trees and birds / Reminded me of Two Birds by Regina Spektor
Jul 2017 · 296
Hi, I'm new
Chui Choo Jul 2017
Why are poems all so complex
Conveying abstract ideas in words many don’t understand
I write this text to ask this question
Although after you may think it as an irony, a contradiction

For my words are not exactly simple
They may be pleasing to hear but not all that different
From the convoluted manner
Other poems are written

I don’t deny that there is
A certain beauty to it
As if words could dance across the paper
To their own silent beat

How the way they are arranged
Can be so surprising and delightful
Just the way they are being written
Can make me feel something new

Still I want people to understand
What I pen and what I express
There may be meaning even if no one comprehends
But I really want people to be able to listen

To my voice decorated with rhyme and reason
Perhaps it is my own vain desire (and not of others)
For people to hear, to understand
I want justification

That my thoughts and feelings are perfectly normal
That I am not alone in this world, not just another
Misguided and moody soul ploughing through this weather
Soaked through my skin in lightning and thunder

Honestly I still don’t know
What constitutes a poem
This jumble of words
Could really just be nonsense

So while I may be in no position to rat
On how hard it can be to interpret
I think I can speak from the perspective of a regular person
Who sometimes really just wants to hear and understand

— The End —