make-believe

Face it.

The world we're living in, the associations we make of the things and people around us, are false pretenses.

Deliberate distortions, misrepresentations, unreal, illusions.

How clear can the water be when we want it to be sweet... to taste the way we want it to be.

No longer point zero, no longer the origin.

Deflections from truth, deviations from facts.

We can't bear to look at things straight in the eye, to avoid inconsistency with the ideal, with the seemingly right.

voir la vie en rose - to see life though rose-coloured glasses

Life can be pink when you want it to be.

Choose the colour, the frame, the perspective.

And perspective is biased, isn't it?

Life is a tale that we spin; a tale that is as exciting as we want it to be.

Make everyday a love story.

Make everyday an adventure.

Make everyday a happy story.

Life is afterall a fiction. A story with a beginning and an end.

Love is afterall a distraction from loneliness.

And happiness, a distraction from sadness.

it hurts

it hurts to have hoped and then see them fading away.

it hurts to have once possessed and lost.

I shouldn't have even entertained the slightest thought of it. It was foolish. It was naive.

I shouldn't have hoped that things will have an unexpected turn... one day, someday, maybe, perhaps.

Will I see a miracle?

Why do I always hope for the impossible no matter how slim the chances are, how past experiences reminded me that I'm hoping for the impossible.

I see the blocks slowly building up and then to be crumbled at the very end. Thereafter I forgot about it quite quickly and those blocks start building up again.

Am I feigning ignorance or is this ignorance a bliss?

Insisting to hold on to that tiny trail of hope... no matter how thin it is.

"though hope is frail, it's hard to kill"


we wish for something unlikely; we hope for something that is likely possible.

and it's a human weakness to treat all wishes like hopes.

it still glows

When it's ignited, it roars with flames; so strong, so powerful and so magnificent.

Thereafter it slowly dies down, sinks down, gets weaker and disappears.

Splendid but short-lived.

Just like the marvellous love stories we have heard of.

Except that when after it died, the stinging pain remains, leaving traces of its existence. It was there once. Like the hollow in the sand after a foot imprint - a space waiting for time to fill or something else to replace the space that was once occupied. But nothing else will fit so perfectly as the first one.

There's no use denying that there was a hollow once, cos memories remain, haunting us... perhaps in a good way.

We tried filling up the gap, time or replacement, but quietly waiting for its return.

The flames never died completely.

That glimmer of hope still shines, though it will not sparkle with the glory it once possessed - less the brilliance and intensity.

Silently it glows from within, slowly but keeping it warm... like a burning charcoal.

The glow retains, so quietly and slowly it stays till it can no more.

a time of nothing

Time has frozen for my over-reactive brain cells which are ever scrutinising and questioning reality, and fantasizing about endless possibilities.

It has been a quiet time; a time of nothing... no extreme negativity nor optimism.

For me, I have gone into hibernation – a much better word to describe then to refer myself as hiding away from my ever-distracted thoughts cos the latter seems to suggest intentional avoidance, dishonesty and refusal to follow one’s truest self. I will not admit to the latter as I am trying very much to stay rooted to one place, one thought, and one possibility – like what everyone else can do.

Commitment may very well seem like my greatest phobia though fickle-mindedness is not my forte. Explain my memory lapse – forgetting which mug I was using the next second after I put it down, confirming details and writing them on paper which never register into my memory bank, and failing to recall what I did on x’mas just a week after. Selective memory or what I say, my special way of relieving burdens. Writing negative thoughts down as soon as they came, and I left them there; like passing batons, it was as though they weren’t there in the first place.