Days at The Hospital
20111017 @ Monday, October 17, 2011
“You were the hope that kept me trusting”
There was a cafeteria
on the ground floor of the hospital, and on most days I used to go there,
mainly to hear voices other than my own. Normally, I arrived around tea-time,
and over the weeks I began to recognize the regulars. Most were employees, but
there was an elderly woman who seems to be there every time I arrived. Though,
I’d never spoken to her, I learnt from Li Nar, the nurse, that the woman’s
husband had already been in the intensive care unit when Nick was admitted.
Something about complications from diabetes, and whenever I saw the woman
eating a bowl of soup, I thought about her husband upstairs. It was easy to
imagine the worst: a patient hooked up to a dozen machines, endless rounds of
surgery, possible amputation, a man barely hanging on. It wasn’t my business to
ask, and I wasn’t even certain that I wanted to know the truth, if only because
it felt as though I couldn’t summon the concern I knew I needed to show. My
ability to empathize, it seems to me, had evaporated.
Still, I watched her, curious about what I
could learn from her. While the knot in my stomach never seemed to settle
enough for me to swallow a few bites of anything, she not only ate her entire
meal, but seemed to enjoy it. While I found it impossible to focus long enough
on anything other than my own needs and my friends daily existence, she read
novels during lunch, and more than once I’d see her laughing quietly at a
passage that amused her. And unlike me, she still maintained an ability to
smile, one she offered willingly to those who passed her table.
Sometimes, in that smile, I thought I could
see a trace of loneliness, even as I chided myself for imagining something that
probably wasn’t there. I couldn’t help wondering about her marriage. Because of
her age, I assumed they’d celebrated a silver, even golden, anniversary. Most
likely, there were kids, even if I’d never seen them. I wondered whether they’d
been happy, for she seemed to be taking her husband’s illness in stride, while
I walked the corridors of the hospital feeling as if a single wrong step would
send me crumpling to the floor.
I didn’t know whether I should admire the
woman or feel sorry for her. I always turned away before she caught me
starring. I remember pushing aside my tray, feeling ill. My sandwich was only
half-eaten. I debated whether to bring it back with me to the room but I knew I
wouldn’t have finished it there either. I turned toward the window.
The cafeteria overlooked a small green space,
and I watched the world change outside.
A Tough Decision
Monday, October 17, 2011
“Everyone was watching you as you slipped away, but all they ever
wanted was the light you gave them”
They’ve given us a
week to decide which stream to take. A WEEK.
Choosing streams isn’t
as easy as I thought; it’s choosing what subjects you’re going to take for the
next 2 years and the examinations that you’re going to sit for SPM. It isn’t a
decision that should be taken lightly. It gets harder when your ambition
changes almost every 5 minutes. It’s probably much easier for the students that
have their life planned out, like Esther Kok.
I was thinking of choosing Sub
Science as my 1st choice and Arts as my second, package C to be
precise. Yet now, I think that I might take Pure Science as my 1st
choice and Sub Science as my 2nd. The only thing I know for certain
is that I am definitely not choosing Package D.
Tough decisions are always
frustrating.
Anyway, I have to keep
this short and simple, cause I’m off to go jogging with Oli.
The Yellow Brick Road Out of Wonderland
20111015 @ Saturday, October 15, 2011
I can’t think of anything
more difficult than accepting
that the first thing you’ve ever known
and believed in,
the first thing, from birth,
is all false. Have the earth
pulled away from under you.
It’s more than cutting
the proverbial umbilical cord
more than leaving the nest
in your wobbly wings
more like a contradiction
you swallowed and can’t spit out,
so you have to undo the knot
from inside you, a million times
worse than waking up after
sleeping with the enemy and
you can’t take back the night
and you have to live with yourself
and your personal effects
be surrounded by the things you bought
with the interest earned after
banking your sacrifices
and you were struck with amnesia
and don’t even know who you are.
But you have to start from somewhere,
and it starts with a purge.
Remove yourself from the wrong
you are trying to make right
and address it from a distance, not
when you’re waist-deep in it.
If it’s not you,
you can leave it.
It’s is like a demon
who feeds on your insecurities,
and burrows in
the gaps of your self-esteem,
making you hate what you love,
making you fear what
you can’t live without.
You have to get out.
Because the first thing you’ve ever wanted
was to impress her,
it was the axiom
of your life and your choices, but
you’ve almost already conquered the world
and she’s still stepping all over you.
You’ve lived your one life
taking the world more seriously
than most, intent in
finding validation,
and if no one is home,
maybe it’s in the songs on the radio,
or corporate brand slogans,
or fictional characters from Murakami novels.
But you found it.
Only God knows how, but you did.
You didn’t hear it growing up,
so now that it’s done
you should tell your own self:
you’re all you’ve worked so hard at becoming,
you just have to get it from within.
.
more difficult than accepting
that the first thing you’ve ever known
and believed in,
the first thing, from birth,
is all false. Have the earth
pulled away from under you.
It’s more than cutting
the proverbial umbilical cord
more than leaving the nest
in your wobbly wings
more like a contradiction
you swallowed and can’t spit out,
so you have to undo the knot
from inside you, a million times
worse than waking up after
sleeping with the enemy and
you can’t take back the night
and you have to live with yourself
and your personal effects
be surrounded by the things you bought
with the interest earned after
banking your sacrifices
and you were struck with amnesia
and don’t even know who you are.
But you have to start from somewhere,
and it starts with a purge.
Remove yourself from the wrong
you are trying to make right
and address it from a distance, not
when you’re waist-deep in it.
If it’s not you,
you can leave it.
It’s is like a demon
who feeds on your insecurities,
and burrows in
the gaps of your self-esteem,
making you hate what you love,
making you fear what
you can’t live without.
You have to get out.
Because the first thing you’ve ever wanted
was to impress her,
it was the axiom
of your life and your choices, but
you’ve almost already conquered the world
and she’s still stepping all over you.
You’ve lived your one life
taking the world more seriously
than most, intent in
finding validation,
and if no one is home,
maybe it’s in the songs on the radio,
or corporate brand slogans,
or fictional characters from Murakami novels.
But you found it.
Only God knows how, but you did.
You didn’t hear it growing up,
so now that it’s done
you should tell your own self:
you’re all you’ve worked so hard at becoming,
you just have to get it from within.
.
Oleander
Saturday, October 15, 2011
let’s both pretend that
all you see is all there is:
my body is healthy,
well groomed, well fed,
never mind that there are
large, purple bruises on my soul.
Because nagging is a form of
psychological abuse
and everyday I have my own brand
of struggling to survive.
I still remember the bad dreams
I had when she’d touch me.
I remember standing in front of
the school cafeteria, staring at
the door for half an hour,
having an internal shouting argument
with myself on whether I deserved lunch,
because she’d told me that morning
I was lazy and selfish and irresponsible
and girls like that didn’t deserve to eat.
I remember never being good enough.
I remember being laughed at
when I was seven and I asked her
if I was beautiful.
I remember getting my first
award and she told me
don’t be too happy, because
so many things can still go wrong.
I remember the nights I would
muffle my violent coughs with a pillow
so she could sleep in peace and not
find out I had pneumonia because
she said I was disrespecting her
every time I allowed myself to get sick.
I remember how she’d turn off the lights
and lecture me in the dark
every time I messed up
as if it disgusted her to see me cry
so I promised myself at one point
she had no right to see my tears
and I remember searching for a place
where I could be myself
and I remember learning how
to fix a schedule for my emotions.
Don’t look too close.
My body is OK, but my spirit
is having an awful day.
I'm Still Alive but Barely Breathing
20111006 @ Thursday, October 06, 2011
“My universe will never same,
I’m glad you came”
The Lark Ascending wasn’t such an illogical piece to be played at
his funeral. It was one of his favorites.
I didn’t want it to be played. I could not bear the thought of
losing all those mental pictures of him and all those memories and remembering The
Lark Ascending only as music from his funeral. There was a part of the piece,
the first part. It was a heartbreaking beautiful solo; it was the musical
ascent of the lark, haunted and lonely, before the verdant tones of the other
instruments joined in. Even more than losing the imagery of graceful dancers, I
couldn’t bear to have him leave in the company of that violin.
Victor chose to use The Lark Ascending, and as I feared, he chose
the violin solo. The man who played it, I had never met before. He stood in
front of all of us and coaxed the music from the violin very slowly, his eyes
closed. He was tall and muscular and looked foreign to me. With a lover’s touch
he drew the notes from the instrument; the thin sound became achingly sad. I
expected to cry then. Rynn, Alexis, Den, Mel and the rest of them were crying.
But I sat, separate and dry eyed and desperately lonesome for him. He left me
here and went away.
He tended to be very vocal about a few
things, and it made you believe he was saying a lot, which I suspect was what
he wanted. But in fact, I think most of his thoughts, he kept to himself.
The worst part for me
was discovering the casket was open. No one told me it would be, and I was
repulsed by the sight of it. Why would people want to look at him when he was
dead? Besides, it didn’t even look like him. It looked like one of those
figures in a wax museum, exceptionally life-like, but sterile and inanimate,
nonetheless. His love kissed him on the lips and placed a rose beside him. I
didn’t touch him.
When we returned to the
studio, I got out of the car, went into the studio, straight through it and out
the back door into the small yard. I walked to the other end of the backyard,
to the fence beside the lilac bushes that marked the end of the property. I had
no reason in mind for going there other than to escape the others. I wanted to
be alone. There weren’t many places around the studio to do so. I was still
dressed up, teetering uncertainly in a new suit.
There wasn’t much to
look at from where I was standing, just the chain-link fence, the alley and the
father studios on the other side. Distantly, between the father studios I could
see the plains encroaching, their emptiness never quite arrested, even in the
city. Easing out of my sneakers, I stood barefooted and felt the damp coolness
of grass on the soles of my feet. The air was heady with the smell of lilac and
a slight scent of cologne. Time passed and I remained fingering the chain-link
fence.
“Micky, aren’t you coming in?” It was Rynn.
I shook my head.
“I know how hard it must be for you”
“Please, just leave me alone”
I could hear him standing there, although he was doing no more
than standing. I didn’t turn to look at him.
“It’s no one’s fault, what happened” he said breaking the silence.
I did not answer.
“It’s easy to want to blame someone, something or yourself when a
truly terrible thing happens. That’s natural. But you shouldn’t do it. This is
devastating for you and also for all of us. Don’t make it worse for yourself.
Absently, I ran my hand back and forth along the cool metal in the
fence.
“I know you cared for
him dearly. We all did. You most of all. I know he had a difficult past, and
that made him a rather more complicated person.”
“I don’t need you to tell me about him, Rynn. I know all about
him. I don’t need you to tell me”
“Someone needs to, Micky” he said reaching out to touch my
shoulder. I jerked away.
“This isn’t your fault. I don’t want to see you blame yourself for
it, because you weren’t responsible for any of it. If you are to be blamed,
it’s for loving someone a little more imperfect than the rest of us.”
-
I shut myself in my room. After changing my clothes, I took out
the book I had been reading, curled up on my bed and opened it. It was a great
book. It must have been, because I found it so engrossing.
Den came to my door to
say that dinner was ready. I told him I didn’t want any, and that I wasn’t
coming down. Sometime, late night Den came up again. He didn’t bother to knock
this time; he simply let himself in and closed the door behind him. Crossing
the room, he grabbed the chair from my desk, put it alongside the bed and sat
down.
“Somehow,” he said, “I get the feeling you’re awfully upset with
me”.
“Not especially”
I continued to read.
“This is a difficult time for all of us”
Not only was I able to continue but I was able to concentrate on
the gist of the story.
“This has been nearly unbearable”
It was as if he weren’t there.
“This just isn’t the time for you to do this to me, Mi”
“I’m not doing anything” I said and kept reading.
For several seconds he watched me. I could feel him watching me.
Then he leaned over and put his hand across the page of the book. I looked up.
He was only inches away from my face.
“If you really want to know” I said “I do blame it on myself, the
others and you. We could’ve stopped him. If we really wanted to, we could have.
If we did, he wouldn’t be dead right now”
He flinched. Not in his body, but in his eyes. His pupils
contracted the dilated again. He shook his head.
“Den, we could have.”
“No.”
“I could have, Den. I could have, if I really tried”
He looked down.
“I know he was scarred badly, from all the things that happened in
his past. But I could have, we could have helped him get over that. If you love
somebody, sometimes you have to help them through things even though they don’t
want help. Anything would have been better than what happened. I could have
done something.” Slowly tears began to puddle at the corners of my eyes.
“Mi, you couldn’t ever have made him do what he didn’t want to do.
Never. No one could.”
“I could have at least tried!” I said as tears slowly began to
stream down my face.
Silence fell between us.
The guilt slowly killing me with each and
every breathe that I take.
Labels: The Author Within
A Thin Line
Thursday, October 06, 2011
“They say the worse things in life come free to
us”
2nd
day of PMR. I’ve been banned from the use of the internet, so I have no idea
when this post is going to be posted up.
“All around me are familiar faces, worn out
places,
Bright and early for the daily races,
going nowhere.
I find it kind of funny; I find it kind of sad,
The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve
ever had,
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to
take,
When people run in circles,
It’s a very,
Mad world.”
Ever wonder how many
times you’ve been lied to? Ever counted how many times you’ve lied to others?
Lies hurt, I know. Yet
the circle never stops. You lie, you get lied to, you lie, you get lied to… it
just never ends.
You know what sucks?
When someone feels
hurt after being lied to, and stops talking to the ‘liar’ without ever thinking
how many times he’s lied to her.
Lying is forgivable;
it’s not something that’s impossible to forgive. The hardest part of forgiving
a ‘liar’ is when you find out that there was no legit reason behind hiding the
now uncovered truth.
I admit I have lied. I
have been lied to. Yet, life still goes on.
The one thing that
everyone has in common is the “I’m OK” lie. We’ve all said it.
I am a liar. I have
the guts to admit it. Do you?
-
I found that people
will question you on the big decisions you make in life, as though you hadn’t
thought about it all before, as though, through their 20 questions and many
dubious faces, they’re going to shine light on something that you missed the
first time or hundredth time round during your darkest hours.
They mean well, but to
me I find it rather pathetic. There are people who ask those 20 so questions
out of curiosity and care without crossing the line. But then there is always
the opposite.
-
One thing I realized
as PMR draws nearer was the fact that although almost every Form 3 across
Malaysia panics a little, most of them have already started planning what
they’re going to do after the examination. I find it rather odd.
Human behavior never
seizes to amaze me.
-
Anyway, lately I’ve
been catching up with some friends; Sie Mone, Benroy, and Julius.
It’s nice y’know
although sometimes it is quite sad having to ‘catch up’. To me, catching up
means I haven’t spent time with …whoever. I don’t like doing that. -.-
Julius told me that he
never quite seemed to be able to figure me out. I didn’t respond cause I wasn’t
sure whether that was a compliment or not. Then he went on to say that I was a
very complicated person. He even gave an example;
The
fact that I don’t expect much from someone makes that someone expect more from
his or herself.
My
reaction to it was “What crap are you crapping boy?”
Then
he continued with his little “Maria Monash is a very complicated person”
speech. I wasn’t listening half the time but I got the main idea of the entire
speech. He also stated that although I’m very open about my life, he feels that
I don’t tell him things, the things that I feel and how I am. He said that I
practically know his entire life yet the only things he and many others know
about me are the ‘tragedies’ that happen.
Other
than that, he stated that he finds it hard to have a one on one conversation
with me sometimes because he doesn’t know what to say and that my eyes always
seemed very dark to him.
Very
dark, metaphorically speaking.
Apparently,
to him I’m complicated.
Apparently to a lot of
people, I seem like a complicated person.
Even Phones Need To Be Destroyed
20111004 @ Tuesday, October 04, 2011
Ways to destroy a phone:
Drop it in a vat of nuclear waste.
Drop in a volcano.
Drop in toilet.
Drop in liquid of any kind.
Throw at ground.
Throw at wall.
Throw at particularly hard-headed person.
Smash with baseball bat.
Electrocute it.
Smash with cricket bat.
Throw onto train tracks.
Throw onto road.
Feed to dog.
Disembowel phone (pull apart).
Smash with hammer.
Smash with brick.
Smash with another slightly bigger phone.
Drop in vat of dry-ice.
Feed to elephant.
Plant small bomb inside and detonate it.
……………………………………………………………………………………….*This list was compiled on a day that our housephone continued to ring, thus disrupting the internet, over and over again.
Every Moment
Tuesday, October 04, 2011
And what if you knew each time you left them, that this could very well be the last time? Every parting could be the last. "What if today is the day we get ripped apart?" How do you cope, having this sickening fear that today is your last day together, what if they die while you're out? You would stop wasting your time fighting. Anger would spark up, and then quickly dissipate with a sadness and a fear to drown it out. Oh god, that raging sea of fear.
You overcome that fear with desire. Every moment means so much more. Everything counts. That last look, that trailing of fingertips across the skin. The way they set down their tea cup. Hearing the sound of their footsteps echoing down a hallway. You pretend that you have all the time in the world, while being painfully aware that you don't. Curling up on the couch together means more than going out to dinner at a fancy restaurant. Commit every sound/smell/feeling to memory. Keep it forever. Hold them with all your heart for as long as you can. Don't miss a second.
Labels: The Author Within
Dear You
Tuesday, October 04, 2011
I love your laugh. It has such a lazy "It's sunday morning, and I was sleeping in, and you just woke me up" quality to it. I want to put it in a bottle, and store it somewhere inside me, labeled "Things that make me feel good." Because I probably won't get to keep the rest of you. I won't get a single piece of you, so at least let me keep this memory of that laugh. I'll store it next to the way a previous other smiled at me. And the look in the eyes of that stranger that walked past me once. Amongst the millions of good memories, I keep a particular shelf for the ones that seem to actually notice I'm not invisible. I love that laugh. I'd love to have the chance to love the rest of you, but for now, this is all I want.
Me.
Labels: I Wrote This For You
The Lights We Once Were
Tuesday, October 04, 2011
There is no pain.
Just atoms becoming humans and picnics, lovers and stars. And then something else. And sometimes it feels like if the wind blew too hard, it'd take us all with it. You don't have to close your eyes. There is no pain. Just atoms becoming the blood that pumps through your heart and the knot in your throat, the clouds above us and air inside your lungs. There's nothing to cry about. There is no pain. Just the light from distant suns and flocks of birds. The sensation of time passing. Waves against the sky. Those shudders than run through your body, aren't there. Your nose isn't blocked. There is no pain.
Labels: I Wrote This For You
The Cosmic Joke
20111002 @ Sunday, October 02, 2011
And yet, of all these things, we feel sadness the most. We are
never buoyed upon an ocean of apathy. We are never crushed by
complacency. We are never moved by the okayness of the world.
Sadness
and pain, to help us flee danger and hurt. To help us get away when
we're bleeding. You have a body and it screams "Something stirs like
broken glass in my chest, leave this place, before I die."
An animal part of us, still here after all these years, breaks our hearts.
Labels: I Wrote This For You
A Thought
20110921 @ Wednesday, September 21, 2011
And what if you knew each time you left them, that this could very well be the last time? Every parting could be the last. "What if today is the day we get ripped apart?" How do you cope, having this sickening fear that today is your last day together, what if they die while you're out? You would stop wasting your time fighting. Anger would spark up, and then quickly dissipate with a sadness and a fear to drown it out. Oh god, that raging sea of fear.
You overcome that fear with desire. Every moment means so much more. Everything counts. That last look, that trailing of fingertips across the skin. The way they set down their tea cup. Hearing the sound of their footsteps echoing down a hallway. You pretend that you have all the time in the world, while being painfully aware that you don't. Curling up on the couch together means more than going out to dinner at a fancy restaurant. Commit every sound/smell/feeling to memory. Keep it forever. Hold them with all your heart for as long as you can. Don't miss a second.
I'm Still Alive but Barely Breathing
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
“My universe will never same,
I’m glad you came”
The Lark Ascending wasn’t such an illogical piece to be played at
his funeral. It was one of his favorites.
I didn’t want it to be played. I could not bear the thought of
losing all those mental pictures of him and all those memories and remembering The
Lark Ascending only as music from his funeral. There was a part of the piece,
the first part. It was a heartbreaking beautiful solo; it was the musical
ascent of the lark, haunted and lonely, before the verdant tones of the other
instruments joined in. Even more than losing the imagery of graceful dancers, I
couldn’t bear to have him leave in the company of that violin.
Victor chose to use The Lark Ascending, and as I feared, he chose
the violin solo. The man who played it, I had never met before. He stood in
front of all of us and coaxed the music from the violin very slowly, his eyes
closed. He was tall and muscular and looked foreign to me. With a lover’s touch
he drew the notes from the instrument; the thin sound became achingly sad. I
expected to cry then. Rynn, Alexis, Den, Mel and the rest of them were crying.
But I sat, separate and dry eyed and desperately lonesome for him. He left me
here and went away.
He tended to be very vocal about a few
things, and it made you believe he was saying a lot, which I suspect was what
he wanted. But in fact, I think most of his thoughts, he kept to himself.
The worst part for me
was discovering the casket was open. No one told me it would be, and I was
repulsed by the sight of it. Why would people want to look at him when he was
dead? Besides, it didn’t even look like him. It looked like one of those
figures in a wax museum, exceptionally life-like, but sterile and inanimate,
nonetheless. His love kissed him on the lips and placed a rose beside him. I
didn’t touch him.
When we returned to the
studio, I got out of the car, went into the studio, straight through it and out
the back door into the small yard. I walked to the other end of the backyard,
to the fence beside the lilac bushes that marked the end of the property. I had
no reason in mind for going there other than to escape the others. I wanted to
be alone. There weren’t many places around the studio to do so. I was still
dressed up, teetering uncertainly in a new suit.
There wasn’t much to
look at from where I was standing, just the chain-link fence, the alley and the
father studios on the other side. Distantly, between the father studios I could
see the plains encroaching, their emptiness never quite arrested, even in the
city. Easing out of my sneakers, I stood barefooted and felt the damp coolness
of grass on the soles of my feet. The air was heady with the smell of lilac and
a slight scent of cologne. Time passed and I remained fingering the chain-link
fence.
“Micky, aren’t you coming in?” It was Rynn.
I shook my head.
“I know how hard it must be for you”
“Please, just leave me alone”
I could hear him standing there, although he was doing no more
than standing. I didn’t turn to look at him.
“It’s no one’s fault, what happened” he said breaking the silence.
I did not answer.
“It’s easy to want to blame someone, something or yourself when a
truly terrible thing happens. That’s natural. But you shouldn’t do it. This is
devastating for you and also for all of us. Don’t make it worse for yourself.
Absently, I ran my hand back and forth along the cool metal in the
fence.
“I know you cared for
him dearly. We all did. You most of all. I know he had a difficult past, and
that made him a rather more complicated person.”
“I don’t need you to tell me about him, Rynn. I know all about
him. I don’t need you to tell me”
“Someone needs to, Micky” he said reaching out to touch my
shoulder. I jerked away.
“This isn’t your fault. I don’t want to see you blame yourself for
it, because you weren’t responsible for any of it. If you are to be blamed,
it’s for loving someone a little more imperfect than the rest of us.”
-
I shut myself in my room. After changing my clothes, I took out
the book I had been reading, curled up on my bed and opened it. It was a great
book. It must have been, because I found it so engrossing.
Den came to my door to
say that dinner was ready. I told him I didn’t want any, and that I wasn’t
coming down. Sometime, late night Den came up again. He didn’t bother to knock
this time; he simply let himself in and closed the door behind him. Crossing
the room, he grabbed the chair from my desk, put it alongside the bed and sat
down.
“Somehow,” he said, “I get the feeling you’re awfully upset with
me”.
“Not especially”
I continued to read.
“This is a difficult time for all of us”
Not only was I able to continue but I was able to concentrate on
the gist of the story.
“This has been nearly unbearable”
It was as if he weren’t there.
“This just isn’t the time for you to do this to me, Mi”
“I’m not doing anything” I said and kept reading.
For several seconds he watched me. I could feel him watching me.
Then he leaned over and put his hand across the page of the book. I looked up.
He was only inches away from my face.
“If you really want to know” I said “I do blame it on myself, the
others and you. We could’ve stopped him. If we really wanted to, we could have.
If we did, he wouldn’t be dead right now”
He flinched. Not in his body, but in his eyes. His pupils
contracted the dilated again. He shook his head.
“Den, we could have.”
“No.”
“I could have, Den. I could have, if I really tried”
He looked down.
“I know he was scarred badly, from all the things that happened in
his past. But I could have, we could have helped him get over that. If you love
somebody, sometimes you have to help them through things even though they don’t
want help. Anything would have been better than what happened. I could have
done something.” Slowly tears began to puddle at the corners of my eyes.
“Mi, you couldn’t ever have made him do what he didn’t want to do.
Never. No one could.”
“I could have at least tried!” I said as tears slowly began to
stream down my face.
Silence fell between us.
The guilt slowly killing me with each and
every breathe that I take.
Questions Remain
20110918 @ Sunday, September 18, 2011
hear 1 answer. 1 person changes the question. Everybody is none the wiser. clever work mr
health beurocrat. Very clever indeed. But the question remains. We'll just keep asking
Fairytale
Sunday, September 18, 2011
| Fairytale 'cause I don't care for your fairytales You're so worried about the maiden though you know She's only waiting on the next best thing Snow White is doing dishes again cause What else can you do With seven itty-bitty men? Sends them to bed and calls up a friend Says will you meet me at midnight? The tall blonde lets out a cry of despair says Would have cut it myself if I knew men could climb hair I'll have to find another tower somewhere and keep away from the windows |
Haunting yet Beautiful
20110917 @ Saturday, September 17, 2011
When you have done the things that you've done, all I can do is worry. Your words are haunting and beautiful yet I see no deeds to suggest you are sorry.
Your less beautiful words have foreshadowed my hitting the ground in most peculiar way. And I tell you now you will have reason to be sorry if it comes to bear.
Your actions are more than I can take. I've given you back to fate. You are filled with a depth of hate in this life - a hate and disregard for me, yourself and others, that gives me no reason to stay, to wait for you, for you to meet me at the door to tell me you are sorry; how sorry you really are. Sorry indeed. Even if you did, how could I ever believe what you say.
Your words, even in kindness, are nothing more than part of a peculiar pattern of abuse. It is more than I can take. You are more than I can take, Machiavelli.
Actions are everything.
Make a choice.
Not for me.
Not for us.
For yourself.
Your less beautiful words have foreshadowed my hitting the ground in most peculiar way. And I tell you now you will have reason to be sorry if it comes to bear.
Your actions are more than I can take. I've given you back to fate. You are filled with a depth of hate in this life - a hate and disregard for me, yourself and others, that gives me no reason to stay, to wait for you, for you to meet me at the door to tell me you are sorry; how sorry you really are. Sorry indeed. Even if you did, how could I ever believe what you say.
Your words, even in kindness, are nothing more than part of a peculiar pattern of abuse. It is more than I can take. You are more than I can take, Machiavelli.
Actions are everything.
Make a choice.
Not for me.
Not for us.
For yourself.
You're Worth It
Saturday, September 17, 2011
So I get up. I brush myself off. And I continue to wait for the light that is you. It seems my patience must be endless.
Because you are worth the wait. You are worth it all to me.
The Wind Almost Took You
Saturday, September 17, 2011
When you have done the things you've done.
When I tell you I'll meet you at the door. And you tell me you're sorry. That I have no reason left to worry.
When you hit the ground in a most peculiar way. And I tell you to wait. And you tell me I'll be sorry. That you have no reason left to worry.
When I am more than you can take, just give me back.
Labels: I Wrote This For You
Mother’s Sacrifice during the Japan Earthquake.
20110915 @ Thursday, September 15, 2011
This is a true story of Mother’s Sacrifice during the Japan Earthquake.
After the Earthquake had subsided, when the rescuers reached the ruins of a young woman’s house, they saw her dead body through the cracks. But her pose was somehow strange that she knelt on her knees like a person was worshiping; her body was leaning forward, and her two hands were supporting by an object. The collapsed house had crashed her back and her head.
With so many difficulties, the leader of the rescuer team put his hand through a narrow gap on the wall to reach the woman’s body. He was hoping that this woman could be still alive. However, the cold and stiff body told him that she had passed away for sure.
He and the rest of the team left this house and were going to search the next collapsed building. For some reasons, the team leader was driven by a compelling force to go back to the ruin house of the dead woman. Again, he knelt down and used his had through the narrow cracks to search the little space under the dead body. Suddenly, he screamed with excitement,” A child! There is a child! “
The whole team worked together; carefully they removed the piles of ruined objects around the dead woman. There was a 3 months old little boy wrapped in a flowery blanket under his mother’s dead body. Obviously, the woman had made an ultimate sacrifice for saving her son. When her house was falling, she used her body to make a cover to protect her son. The little boy was still sleeping peacefully when the team leader picked him up.
The medical doctor came quickly to exam the little boy. After he opened the blanket, he saw a cell phone inside the blanket. There was a text message on the screen. It said,” If you can survive, you must remember that I love you.” This cell phone was passing around from one hand to another. Every body that read the message wept. ” If you can survive, you must remember that I love you.” Such is the mother’s love for her child!!