14 February, 2006
(0 ) 20:17 I go through phases. Much like a moon I wax and wane.
Sometimes I don't know who I am, or who I've become. You go through the motions of living, of laughing, of life, and then what? Often, when I think of me, of who I am, I see myself sitting alone at the class bench on a cool, sunny day, facing the rock-climbing wall which no one climbs, and just letting the wind blow and blow, sanding away my features and sins and everything that is wrong with me, until I too become the wind that goes on blowing and doesn't know where to end.
Sometimes, the future just seems so bleak. You don't know just how very bland everything seems to me now. It's like having the most fantastic revelation ever that you just have to write down, then realising you only have a sheet of laminated white paper without a marker in hand. It isn't hopelessness, it isn't being resigned, it's just understanding so much that there just doesn't seem to be anything to look forward to anymore, because you know how things will turn out, and you know they aren't going to be full of colour or zest or life or any of all those other nouns laced with happiness. It's just going to be there. Because the future is what it is, inevitable. Sometime later, the future will roll around and become the present. And then what?
So for the first time, I'm not looking forward to school tomorrow, nor am I dreading it. I'm just accepting it. It's not a happy event, nor is it a sad event. It's just an event that has to occur, because it has been written in the scheme of time (or rather, it is more likely protocol, having to go to school as required to by the law). I just happen to be the sad puppet that has been put on God's stage, to go through the motions that I am expected to execute, to recite the lines that have been written since time immemorial, and then take a bow and exit as quietly as I have come.
I had a very odd dream. It involved Thaipusam, which is so totally random I was taken off guard. It also involved a lot of body piercing. And trying to recall the name of a band, which, until now, I am unable to remember. Dreams are so very fleeting. It slips past your hands like silk -- you want to touch it again, because it feels so comforting you would give anything to plunge yourself into it, just to feel that moment of perfection, but before you can get a proper hold, it disappears, but you can't pick it up again, for what was touched once doesn't come back to get touched again.
I don't know what I'm going to do tomorrow. It feels meaningless to go on like this. I need to find an anchor, but the sea I'm sailing on is an abyss of indecision and I can't find a place to set it down without causing the boat to capsize at the same time. So I go on sailing, on this world where the water doesn't seem to ever end, even when the seagulls begin to land on the railings and rot and die in the unforgiving sun.
Sometimes I don't know who I am, or who I've become. You go through the motions of living, of laughing, of life, and then what? Often, when I think of me, of who I am, I see myself sitting alone at the class bench on a cool, sunny day, facing the rock-climbing wall which no one climbs, and just letting the wind blow and blow, sanding away my features and sins and everything that is wrong with me, until I too become the wind that goes on blowing and doesn't know where to end.
Sometimes, the future just seems so bleak. You don't know just how very bland everything seems to me now. It's like having the most fantastic revelation ever that you just have to write down, then realising you only have a sheet of laminated white paper without a marker in hand. It isn't hopelessness, it isn't being resigned, it's just understanding so much that there just doesn't seem to be anything to look forward to anymore, because you know how things will turn out, and you know they aren't going to be full of colour or zest or life or any of all those other nouns laced with happiness. It's just going to be there. Because the future is what it is, inevitable. Sometime later, the future will roll around and become the present. And then what?
So for the first time, I'm not looking forward to school tomorrow, nor am I dreading it. I'm just accepting it. It's not a happy event, nor is it a sad event. It's just an event that has to occur, because it has been written in the scheme of time (or rather, it is more likely protocol, having to go to school as required to by the law). I just happen to be the sad puppet that has been put on God's stage, to go through the motions that I am expected to execute, to recite the lines that have been written since time immemorial, and then take a bow and exit as quietly as I have come.
I had a very odd dream. It involved Thaipusam, which is so totally random I was taken off guard. It also involved a lot of body piercing. And trying to recall the name of a band, which, until now, I am unable to remember. Dreams are so very fleeting. It slips past your hands like silk -- you want to touch it again, because it feels so comforting you would give anything to plunge yourself into it, just to feel that moment of perfection, but before you can get a proper hold, it disappears, but you can't pick it up again, for what was touched once doesn't come back to get touched again.
I don't know what I'm going to do tomorrow. It feels meaningless to go on like this. I need to find an anchor, but the sea I'm sailing on is an abyss of indecision and I can't find a place to set it down without causing the boat to capsize at the same time. So I go on sailing, on this world where the water doesn't seem to ever end, even when the seagulls begin to land on the railings and rot and die in the unforgiving sun.