I guess I would never know you, though I could make out a faint silhouette from the memories of your friends. It's a shame; and that regret always come when there's nothing anyone can do.
I read your letter to Nika, and it touched me; it shook me like how the news of your demise cast a shadow over my heart.
I don't know you, not personally at least, but I am grieved at your demise - too early, too soon.
I would have loved to talk to you, about film, about life.
I've heard so much about you today, from your friends, your confidante. How much sadness you've left behind!
I don't know you, but I lament your passing. Maybe not you, but the death of a man of passion, of a giant in SEA cinema. Your passion drives so many people, it's a little freaky, actually.
I am touched by you, even though we've never talked.
I don't know why I'm writing this to you, but I know it must be done. My heart aches for you and Nika. I could never have said this in front of your friends, but you will be missed by me.
It's depressing to come back to this blog and be whining about something.
Inconsequential, perhaps. Or maybe it is the beginning of dark times...
I feel like I am pulling this mask over me again, hiding every part of me from scrutiny; I feel this urge to not let myself come into contact with anyone. I've done this before, and it's not a nice place to be at.
Somewhere sinister and lonely.
Maybe I'm just being overwhelmed right now, coupled with Six Feet Under (which is just downright depressing); I'm pretty messed up right now.
This is more like a reminder to me than a proper blog post (though with precise and acute psychoanalytic skills, you might be able to glean insights about me based on what I'm about to pen down and how I do it).
Industrial design, but also a liberal use of geometrical shapes. I would also like to explore natural materials (might be a good juxtaposition with the stainless steel of industrial design) and curves.
1. learn to juggle 2. learn to play the violin/erhu 3. master French (the language, that is; I'm a master at the other) 4. devote more time to volunteering
Dear blog, you shall be temporary guardian of these notes. I trust you.
That is the title of the book that I got from the last Page One warehouse sale. It was supposed to be part of my wild dream of opening a hotel in the future; I am still harbouring that dream. If you have any good books to introduce about interior designing or about hotels, do drop me a line, yah?
It has been a fucking rollercoaster ride for me since my internship ended. It felt like a 10-tonner did not stop in time and crashed into me, leaving a mangled mess behind; and on other days, I was glad I survived. Honestly, I do not really get what I am actually saying here. Basically, it is all fucked.
Pardon the language. I have been watching too many cable television; and you know how liberal they are with their language and sex. I think I am a perfect proof of the magic bullet theory - just too goddamn malleable.
I think these past few days, old issues have been resurfacing: personal insecurity, which also translates to self-inferiority complex, the empty life I trudge through, and my fucked-up personal life. (Though one could say the last and first are essentially the same; but screw you, this is my blog.) A few things I have learnt (again): you do not have to try so hard, it just makes you look like an idiot; all good men are taken, no exception, or they probably have a room to put their skeletons; your friends love you, no matter what, and if they do not, they are probably not your friends to begin with.
I forget why I came to this place. Oh yeah, I thought it has been a long time since I wrote anything in here. Well, baby, Daddy's home, and he has got a shitload of crap with him.
PS: In case you are wondering, I am happy, and just a little contented. So, do not worry, if you are; and if you are not, well, I do not know why you are reading this in the first place, stalker.
Then there were images, images of blooming flowers. Gunpowder, a fuse, and then, explosions.
Whistling, twirling.
She ascended to the very top. She told us what her mother told her. Then there was fire, scorching, towering fire.
Then we were awed by the magic of fire and gunpowder.
A fountain that spewed forth bronze and flakes of gold: it was like a mad gold rush of olden days.
A bird made of shooting stars, soaring, tumbling, eager to join us, but apprehensive of our own magic.
Then they came, a multitude of flowers, flowers of light, illuminating the skies, and our eyes. We screamed, fear of our proximity of these fiery blossoms. It was as if we stepped into an elusive dome, with a roof that lasted for moments, before drifting into the night winds.
Shooting stars that came from the ground! A throng of them, finding their way home, leaving a trail of orange that would never find its way back.
A bang! A woosh! A splatter! And then there was silence.
Thank you, thank you very much for coming. It was fucking fabulous.
I am terrified of being trivial. I am afraid that what I do and think will be trivial.
I cannot stand to mean nothing. I cannot reconcile that my actions, thoughts and feelings are impermanent and fade to obscurity, barely making a scratch anywhere.
I have the need to be heavy, to be able to let my weight felt in the world. Look at me! Smile at me!
Random Thoughts When I Saw An Old Woman Picking Up Aluminium Cans From A Trash Bin
I guess the first thought was: how could her family let her come out and do this? Maybe she does not have any family; maybe she was abandoned.
How did we get here? Neither accountability nor responsibility for the less privileged around us. Maybe she does not want to be helped. But what about the others?
Where are we heading? What are we striving for? It seems like we are solving problems as they come - economic crisis, global warming, healthcare, handicapped-friendly amenities. Talk about leaders with vision! Should we have an ideal, a utopia, that we want to work to? (Truth be told, I have not really given much thought to this - just a fleeting idea. My throbbing eye right now inhibits my ability to do so right now. I will revisit this another day, perhaps.)
Then again, I considered: Maybe this ideal should be in the domain of the individual aspiration. We have our own ideas of what future we want to have, and these single dreams propel us towards a collective future.
