[feb]
2020 was the year of discomfort and change
through a chain of spontaenous events or accidents
i started work as a prisons counsellor, with no experience to my name
in an unfamiliar sea of faces, setting and processes
i encountered foreign species called case concepts and case discussions

[apr]
although i loved what i did,
when the storm came 2 months into work
it felt like a struggle to breathe
alternating between
head over water
and water over head

lifebuoys were thrown at me
but in the cold and darkness
i found it hard to see

at the same time i started learning to climb
loving the challenge to the top
despite my fear of being high up the rocks
the climbs were accompanied by countless falls
and there were times i let my fear conquer it all

[dec]
after a year of discomfort and change
through waves of self-reflection and self-confrontation
climbing into and above myself after much pain
learning to savor the beauty between and within each complication

i'm slowly befriending the species of case concepts and case discussions
and though i know there is more that has yet to happen
and the climbs are still accompanied by countless falls
whether the highs or the lows, i've learned (and am still learning) to love it all

i made sworn enemies out of Monday.
fumbling, ruminating.
clock ticks by;
helplessly hiding,
glass encloses me.

"i don't understand...
why does it have to be so hard?"

like a pendulum,
fumbling, swinging,
between hope for the future,
and despair for the inevitable.

don't get me wrong,
even i tried hard at something once:
piano, guitar, ukelele,
stories, poetry, photography...

even i had moments,
of rainbows and roses;
while fully aware,
of storms and thorns.

like a pendulum,
fumbling, spinning;
dizzy from pain,
or happiness, depending.

i don't understand...
why life has to be so hard.

spinning round and round, i
cry into the eternity,
that i've chosen to hide myself in,
i can't go back now.

this dark pain in me,
stains the grey clouds, till it
seeps into my skin, continuing,
i'm just tired of numbness,
i don't know if i can ever
survive the empty night.

if you pushed me one more step,
if i told you how i felt,
we might not return from here,
we could never turn back.
if i took just one more step,
if i closed my eyes, made a choice,
maybe it won't matter then,
because all will fade to black.

maybe this is all a dream,
maybe nothing else is real,
you and everyone around,
blurring faded figurines.
maybe my heart stopped existing,
the moment i breathed the night,
paralyzed in uncertainty, i
fall into a deep nightmare.

will time start turning again?
will i find myself again?
in this icy world where i have paused,
but the world keeps on flowing.
maybe someday i won't mind,
maybe one day it won't matter,
because i will use these hands and
make it all fade to black.

We won't always remain who we think we are.
By chance, hard work, or just through
Our natural trajectory of life,
We transform into a stronger, wiser, better, us.

I used to fail physical education.
Never into sports, hated it with a passion.
Now I exercise thrice a week -
Skateboarding, ice skating, muay thai, & yoga.
Don't get me wrong, I'm still physically weak.
Only liking exercise
Just enough to be healthy.

When my first love broke my heart,
I felt like being torn apart.
Heart swelling like it's been stung  
By all the hurt I couldn't contain.
But as I grew larger my heart stretched,
Now accommodating
Both love and pain.

I was never one for religion,
And surprised myself when I started reading,
Thinking about God,
Wondering, hoping...

I always thought I had a gift for pessimism.
"Why so emo?" they liked to chime in.
It took a spiral to the sightless abyss,
Before I found comfort in the darkness.
With blinded eyes I've seen a fraction
Of the world's beauty,
Filling me
With a thirst for more,
To scents and sounds I've never been.

Life finds us in funny ways,
We are capable of more than we think.
Doing things greater
Than we ever imagined.

Change is the only constant,
And to change is to grow,
To grow is to live.
To remain stagnant is to regress,
And that is the opposite of living.

awkward and easily misunderstood,
he only eats fried food.
hates exercise with a vengeance,
"you're gonna die before me", i always tell him.

he weaves something out of nothing,
in him i found what i was lacking.
pushing through stress, pain and fear,
with pvc, glue, pen and paper.

while the world dreams he's awake,
structures, rhythms, games he creates.
even when he sleeps his eyes are half-open,
his heart in the stars and his mind full of wonder.

to the you who constantly creates,
even when darkness inhibits;
i'm proud of what you've done and made.
you with your weird blue chinese jacket,
unkempt hair and dark eye bags;
constantly tinkering,
shining from within.

have you heard about the goldfish,
with the three-second memory?
lost, helpless, forgotten...himself.
they said, "in this unforgiving bubble, give it two days, he'll be dead."
he swam around aimlessly, swallowing their words;
waiting for death.

but he came upon an orange fish, much like himself;
and then another,
and then another.
he stopped and realized, he was not alone in his woes.
they supported each other through the cold waters,
for they knew they could not make it alone.

emerging from the depths not many have been,
they could finally say it with enough certainty -
"PS: did you know?
goldfishes have months-long memories."

you shunned when the light came through,
tousled hair, eyebags hanging loose.
you were always good at navigation,
your future though was in the opposite direction.
your smiles were fueled by smokes and dreams,
effervescing in snowglobes of sleepless mist.

i was merely a fly attracted to fire,
hoping your tendrils could propel me higher.
when you learnt that i glowed in the night,
eyes shut tight, you extinguished the light.

he was a fly who wanted to be a dragon,
his gaze held beats of 25 per second.
they said it'd sting when he touched me,
the devil's needles, they called him.

whoever believed in those stories,
couldn't be any more sorry -
dragonflies can't hurt fireflies,
for they're both creatures of the night.

once upon a time,
there was a tiny cactus in a large valley.

the tiny cactus lived day by day,
going about its cactus routines.
he wasn't happy, he wasn't sad;
he didn't feel, for he didn't have to.

one night, the tiny cactus felt little droplets of salvation
free-falling from above.
the water droplets filled him up and embraced him,
from inside out and outside in.

soon, he himself started to produce tiny droplets as well.
he remembered now,
he had experienced this phenomenon - rain - before.

he had waited through
countless waxing and waning of the moon
for the rain to return again.
but it never did, and his walls grew tougher
until he didn't need the rain anymore.

and now that it was back, now that he could feel again...;
despite the thickness of his walls,
gentle streams of fluid were flowing out of him.

now that the rain finally came back,
all the tiny cactus could do was cry.

if i memorized an ice cube,
and time melted its looks;
nothing has been killed,
you are still you.

rain falls, goodbye.
the look in your eyes,
my facade of a smile,
nothing is the same now.

twisting internally,
in ways you can't see.
the sun came out to play,
but you were too far away.

if i smothered my sparks,
and followed you into the dark;
oh, what i'd ****,
for you to still be you.

if we were sun and moon,
we'd meet every monsoon.
if we were sea and shore,
gravity is our only law.

if we were guns and doves,
we'll fight with weapons of love.
if we were dreams and hell,
let's live in wishing wells.

if we were black and white,
i'd curl myself around you despite.
if it was you and me,
i wish we could blend endlessly.

hope is planting a seed,
squatting above the soil;
after all that toil -
only time can tell.

disappointment is noticing the sun, and
realizing that day will never come;
after all that toil -
into yourself you coil.

It is difficult to comprehend,
how vast the sky stretches;
And if it never ends,
how amazing is our universe?
Holding this amount of stars, life, pain,
each billions of light-years away.

I am humbled to be this tiny conscious being,
for the chance to experience this white hole;
Even if it's just a fraction of its body,
even if it will soon take away my soul.

i ran,
i cried,
again,
i lied.

i did everything i could,
just to feel alive.

my queue number: 94
current number: 52

i've come to the point where i don't think it's worth it to continue waiting anymore.

...yet here i still sit.

In sakura-scented spring,
powder-pink feathers are falling.

A thousand moon-suns have set,
yet I still hide under your wings.

Dear Diary,

I've been doing it all wrong.

I don't think we can purposely set out to "find" ourselves by going for volunteering sessions, or choosing to live alone away from our families, or forcing ourselves to meet new people when we don't really want to.

It's kind of just like...like the way we forget how to breathe or walk when we're conscious of doing it, or how love unexpectedly just happens from a friendship when we've been wasting our time overturning chairs and rocks. Like how that one time we turned the entire house inside out searching for that particular item, only for it to somehow find its way back to us a year later behind an unsuspecting dusty cupboard.

I'd love to be the best person I could be right now.
But I've learned that it takes time. It doesn't happen by force.
And I should enjoy my life while I'm at it.

Love,
Girl-who's-finally-at-peace-with-herself

I don't know who I am,
but I know the person I want to become.

I want to be rich,
like mother teresa's heart of gold,
like the iridiscent colours in sunshine-eyes.

I want to be poor,
like the beggar who appreciates any scrap of food,
like the bankrupt who eventually learns to count his blessings.

I want to be quiet.
Like the introvert who wishes she wasn't so,
like the girl who meets her boyfriend's parents for the first time.

I want to be loud,
like the drunkard who casually spits out truth,
like the pounding club music that makes my head hurt.

I want to be nothing,
like how the girl who doesn't belong anywhere is treated,
like how a guy who's afraid of commitment denies your relationship.

I want to be everything.
Like the atoms our entire physical world is constructed out of,
like the girl who's your first pill of the morning
and last of the night.

I want to be weak,
like professor xavier, who's too kind for his own good and can't walk.
like the flimsy piece of paper that caused your paper cut.

I want to be strong,
like professor xavier, who can control people with his mind,
like how it feels to be reminded that you're needed and loved.

I want to be a bundle of contradictions.
Rich yet poor,
quiet yet loud,
everything but nothing,
weak but strong.
Well, maybe I don't.

Or maybe I already am.

All I can hear is silence,
when torrential storms should be brewing,
volcanoes erupting,
hurricanes and tornadoes
turning everything into decadence.

All I can hear is silence,
when the world should be collapsing,
whirlpools of black holes ******* in its iridescence,
until the world is no longer in existence.

You were my world,
and I can no longer feel your presence.

Because when I place my ear against your chest,
all I can hear is silence.

"no one wants to talk to me."
she declared,
with hands outstretched.

I don't know,
if i'm simply
unwinding
under your shade,
or hiding
reclusively
amidst your shadow.

He stands before her
Like a man sent to the gallows
Head bent, looking unkempt
(Supposedly?) the posture of guilt

His mouth weaves together
Floral wreaths of honey
To be tucked into her hair
Or placed above his coffin
After his death
While his calculating brain is hoping
Her x-ray eyes cannot see through his act,
His esophagus, and into his stomach
Still digesting his last meal
Served by the prison officer
Consisting of a woman who
Smelled like drugs and roses except
The flowers sold outside now
Have lost their smell
- - -

"How will I know he won't leave me again?"
"You won't."

I miss everything.

I miss everyone. I miss my mum, my dad, my grandma, their home cooked food, all my four siblings, my bed, my soft toys, my hamster. I miss disturbing my siblings whenever I felt sad because I'm a sadist, miss eating in front of my laptop instead of having to make small talk with strangers over dinner, miss the comfort of my family, miss the luxury of just being able to hug my knees in the snug silence. I miss my home, my real home..

I miss my other home too, where home was once where ever he was. But that home shut me out when the weather was icy cold and sleet was pelting at me, slicing me up from the inside. I tried so hard to pick open the lock, to ram open the door, tried peeking through the windows for that someone to let me in, tried looking for the spare key; But no matter how much I tried, I couldn't get back in. And I think I won't ever be able to feel the fireplace's warmth on my skin while lying on the intricate, rich soft carpets in that particular house again. I miss it so much.

I miss him so much.

Last night, I dreamed that I lost someone very important to me. Someone who has watched over me ever since I was young.

I woke up with tears streaming down my cheeks, unable to remember who it was that I'd lost. My mind then slowly wandered to the precious, intangible things I was born with and have cast away. Like a child who will try to reach for the 3D figure in the movies only to be disappointed with thin air, I've tried but failed to salvage them.

My trust, my soul, and my heart - these are what I'd carelessly given, and have never gotten them back since.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
*Your departure triggered
A lifetime of homesickness
Because "home is where the heart is."
And mine is still with you.

I baked you a loaf of bread,
but you tore it to pieces
and fed it to the ducks
on our last date to the park.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
*"How does it feel to have someone return your love?" I mused.
"How does it feel to love?" He wondered back.

We line up in two parallel columns, me at the front of the first column and you beside me on the other.
You flash me a challenging grin. I smile back, accepting your offer.

The coach blows the whistle and we start to sprint across the hall towards the line of hurdles.
We match each other's pace, leaping across the hurdles of increasing height in perfect synchronization.

We reach the final and tallest hurdle.
You briefly turn your head towards me and mouth something.
I can't hear what you're saying - you're too soft. Or maybe my heart is too loud.

I shift my focus back to the last hurdle and heave my springy legs up, confident I can at least break even in this match.
But even before my right ankle was on the same level as the hurdle, my line of sight plunges, and I crash head-on into the embarrassing mess of defeat.

I tilt my head up in time to catch you flawlessly hop across what's become of my failure, your posture lacking any hint of looking back at me.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
*Till now, you haven't looked back.
And I still can't get over that last hurdle,
the same way I haven't gotten over you.

The day brings me smiles
The night brings me tears
Isn't it obvious which I prefer?

The sun gives me strength
Its warmth gives me hope
Yet the skies cloud my vision
With lies that I'm told

The night blinds my heart
The monsters come to a start
Yet the moon brings clarity
Along with stars that form a path

The day brings me smiles
The night brings me tears
Is it more obvious now
On which I prefer?

Sometimes, when I get my hopes up, I would imagine a gun in my hands and shoot the flying yellow canary down.
I thought: its life would already have been short-lived, and nothing would have come from it anyway. Better to finish it off fast than to let it suffer.
"The only product of hope is disappointment." That's what I constantly reminded myself.

But then, I realized, what I was shooting at wasn't a canary.

The bird morphed into the shape of a girl, her frightened eyes staring back at me. I knew who she was, I could recognize her anywhere; because I see her everyday.

And then I finally understood.

I wasn't just trying to ****** a bird, or a stranger, or my hopes.
I was trying to **** me. I was destroying myself, starting from the inside out.

I was getting the over-idealistic colours ****** out of my soul, in preparation for the funeral procession that would officially get me stamped and labelled as a sensible, practical, money-making product of society.

Ups, and downs.
I see us through liquid smiles,
you saw us with regretful frowns;
We stand on opposite ends of the isle.
You are high when I am low,
we are but deadweight to hold onto for control.

What matters is past and present:
I still keep the photos of us,
while your heart's still not shaken.
I still see us in my dreams,
and as for you, you are not keen.

Step 1
"I love you."
Get your ready-made heart
Tender from the bruises
Because of last night's dream about him

Step 2
"I still care for you, as a friend."
Season with salt
Not the type that comes in a box
But the special kind
That comes from his warm breath
And magically condenses on your cheeks

Step 3
"So I like this girl now.."
Let it sizzle
From the uncontrollable jealousy
Let it spit
At that innocent girl
But let's not kid ourselves now
The only thing getting burnt
Is your heart

Unexpectedly
A layer of frost
Surrounds your heart
A defensive mechanism
Now an ice box

Exhausted
From the painful bruises
The salty tears
Burning anger
The icy numbness

Darkness takes over.

Repeat step 1

Once upon a time, there was a frog.
It was just a normal frog, nothing more, nothing less.
- - -

One day, it caught a fly and was going to eat it when it shouted:
"Don’t eat me!! I’m a magical fly. I’ll give you some of my magic!"

The frog couldn’t understand what magic does.
It was contented with just eating and surviving and reproducing, it didn’t need magic.
And so it ate the magical fly.

The next morning, when he woke up, he felt taller than usual.
When he saw his reflection in the pond, he stumbled backwards in shock.
He turned into a human!

After awhile, he realized that the magical fly caused this.
He wandered around aimlessly and stumbled upon a playground.
A human boy much smaller than him was reading a book with a picture of a frog on its cover.
Not knowing about human politeness, he snatched it.
He flipped through the pages and tore out the page of a female frog kissing a human man.
If he is a male-frog-turned-human, then he must kiss a female frog?
That’s what he must do.

He rushed back to the pond and realized he couuldn’t tell the genders of the frogs there.
Frantically, he kissed every frog he could catch.
After a moment of silence, nothing happened.

Confused, he went back to look at the picture again.
Maybe he should try kissing a female human instead?
With that thought in mind, he set out to look for female humans to kiss.
Unfortunately, every one of them pushed him away, and one even hurt his face with her hand.

Even more confused than before, he sat slumped against a tree.
He sat there the whole day, watching people who walked past him.
He didn’t realize this before, but humans have their own set of social rules.
He had to practise these rules before he could get close to a human and go back to his simple frog life again.

A month later, the frog-man managed to assimilate himself into human society.
He worked odd jobs and managed to befriend a man who is a university french lecturer he met at a cafe.
In fact, the frog-man was the one who approached him after learning about the term “french kiss”.
It has to be called that because only french people kiss, right?
Through him, he could probably find a french female and return to being a frog!

The frog-man found himself closely attached to the french man.
They would often eat, drink and talk till late at night.
They even had some impromptu ballroom dancing together when both were very drunk.
The frog-man had a lot of fun with him.
He thought, “this is what ‘friendship’ must be.”

One night, the frog-man was invited to the french man’s house for dinner.
It was a candlelight dinner, which was supposedly odd for two men, but the frog-man wasn’t familiar enough with human society to realize this.

After dinner, the french man switched on some jazz music and slowly approached him.
His eyes were locked on the frog-man and the frog-man started to feel odd.
The french man started tilting his head towards him.
The frog-man was shocked and recognized this gesture.
He was trying to kiss him!

For some reason, the frog-man’s heart started pounding loudly.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
He knew that this was wrong.
How could two males have such feelings for each other?
How will they reproduce and continue the human race?
"This is wrong! This is wrong! This is wrong!" He shouted in his head.
But for some reason, he couldn’t turn away.
Because it felt right.

Before he knew it, their lips collided, and when he opened his eyes, he was smaller than before.
He was a frog again.
Bewildered, he quickly clambered and hopped out of his house and hid in a nearby pond.

"It’s finally over. I’m a frog again." He sighed in relief.
He was happy again, to be back in his simple days as a frog.
He has to be happy, even if he’s not.
He has to be happy.
But he’s not.
Because there was no way he could turn into a human again.

He often found himself risking his life just to check on how the french man is doing.
Whenever the french man looked sad, he himself felt sad.

Back at his pond home, the female frogs didn’t interest him.
He couldn’t think about being with a female sexually again.

The male frog was shamed by the other frogs for refusing to help in carrying on the frog line.

Eventually, after spending an eternity alone, he found a way to do it by himself.

- - -
Once upon a time, there was a frog.
It was just a frog that went through love and loss, and in the midst of that, found its calling.
It was just a normal, asexual frog.

I have lived without you,
I can live without you;
But I'm dying to be with you.