Saturday, June 17, 2006

These Are My Memories

I got home from my grandmother's house. Tired, I emptied the contents of my pocket unto the bedside table. My eyes caught a selection of wallet sized photos on the table.

Thinking of what my friend had said previously, I picked them up and looked through them, and am reminded of the happy moments the photos triggered, stolen though they are.

I put them back in my wallet, turned off the light, and fell into bed.

*Written on March 23rd.
*Read Strings of Attachment.

Thursday, June 15, 2006

Today...

...I stood Last.

Twice.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Strings of Attachment

It was a cool night. I had slid the windows open, letting in the refreshing air that is unmistakably cool in every sense of the word. The humidity whooshed away, having spent the whole day ensconed in the room.

Behind me, my friend, visiting from Singapore, was flicking through some of the pictures that I have on my desk. I had made it a habit to have pictures of my friends and family on my desk, just to remind me of what’s important in life.

I laid down in bed, willing to let the fatigue wash itself out of me. On the mattress I’d laid out for him on the floor, Zul was near the end of the picture collection. His hands flicked the photos one behind another, his eyes quickly registering the picture in front of him.

Seeing that he’s near the end of the picture collection, I offered him another, smaller, batch, from my wallet. He took these, and began flicking through them as well. I provided a running commentary of the story behind the photos.

“And that was after dinner, during which we had satay...can you believe she doesn't know what ketupat is...and that was at the ball last year, you remember that...”

“I think you’re too attached lah,” he mentioned suddenly. That got me a bit. “What made you say that?” I asked.

“Well, you hold on to the memories,” he replied without looking up, “and, though it’s not a necessarily bad thing, I think that might not help you move on.”

“Perhaps,” I began to counter him, “but these are the memories that I hold close to my heart for a reason. They’re the people that I love and care about. These photos just reminds me of the moments.”

“Yeah, but I think you’re too attached, alright…and I think that…well, it’s difficult lah.” I get what he’s saying at, funnily enough, and can see his point.

He finished flicking through. We talked a bit, before he turned in for the night.

I left the light on for a bit, and flicked through the photos myself. Here, a picture of my and my friends at Kuala Selangor, after a seafood session. There, my mum teasing my little sister by putting birthday cake cream on her face.

Of me and my friends in the M Lab.

Me and my friend in my room, as we took pictures of each other.

A group shot of my colleagues at the property company I used to work for.

A passport photo of my grandmother.

Of my and my cousin when he surprised me with a visit to my house.

Of me and my friend at the ball.

A surprise birthday party for my friend, an event fraught with difficulties to organize and coordinate, but one which the smile on her face made up for.

A picture of my cousin and his girlfriend, given the night that his mother died from cancer after two weeks in hospital (the event which kicked off two years of personal hell). “I just wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for me and my family,” I remember him saying. “I’ve nothing else to give you.”

There were more, but I didn’t want to finish flicking through.

I put the pictures on the bedside table, and turned off the light, not quite feeling sure of myself.

Perhaps he’s right.

*Written on 18th March 2006.

Friday, June 09, 2006

The Post That Won't Mention Anything About X-Men (Except For In The Title)

It's slightly past midnight, and I'm dithering, alternating between doing work and chatting with friends. The clock ticks loudly in the background, so much so that I can still hear it above the music blaring from the laptop.

The doorbell rings, the intercom monitor showing Pele's face. He's dressed casually, almost as if he's ready to sleep. But I know that he's not. And I know why.

I open the door for him, almost inviting him in. But he didn't move to. "Come on man," he says, killing the pretend face I try to put on. He knows it. "You know it, man. Come on."

I do

Changing quickly, and saying my goodbyes to the unsuspecting, we descend a flight of stairs, going straight to Tascha's room.

"Yo," Damon says, looking up as I step through with an 'anyeong'. "He's here."

In essence, 'here' and 'there' are mere words that we use to indicate, rather than tell the truth. A world that we see, rather than feel and truly know. But this is not the time for such mindless philosophical ditherings, for the night is not the time for such endeavours.

The night is for acknowledgement, and recognition. For not only knowing, and remembering, but also showing.

Damon, Tascha, Pele and Kirsten knew. They remembered, and they showed. With time, others followed suit.

So, for those who remembered, and for those who showed...

...thank you.

Monday, June 05, 2006

Beastiality

"No matter where you go, no matter what you do, no matter what troubles you may encounter in life - there are nine hundred million people in China who really couldn't care less. So you might as well have a good time."

The Beast, X-Men Legends