There was an announcement as I was walking through the engineering blocks of my school: the results for our final exams were to be released in 3 days.
I stopped in my tracks like everyone else did, to listen, and while they continued to walk after the announcement was over, I stayed in my place. To pray. I placed my hands together and prayed for the results of the exams I didn't put my everything into.
Afterwards, I went searching for milk tea. The ones at the sandwich shop and Co-op weren't cold and somehow I was just insanely desperate for an iced cold drink. My throat was parched and lukewarm wasn't gonna do it.
There was a Cheers between the poolside canteen and the pool, and no, they weren't cold there either. I just took one anyway, left the shop and walked around it, where there was this narrow pathway surrounded by tall walls.
My view changed from first to third person. I was looking at my own face, drinking my lukewarm drink, even though I could still feel the liquid going down my throat. It was starting to feel like fire, and I watched my own face, noting my facial expressions.
My face started to distort, going to and fro a horrible crying face and my normal face, within milliseconds of each other, like a glitch. It went on and on, and I vaguely heard a baby crying in the background.
Slowly the view panned out to show me on a screen, with freaking Pewdiepie at his little window in the corner. Another window appeared beside my face, right where my throat is, showing a long bone of some sort. It broke into vertical half, forming jagged edges that rubbed against each other.
Apparently Pewdiepie was controlling the movement of the bone in my throat. I'm not sure what it's called, the gullet?, if that's even a bone? [the trachea, just checked Google.] He was yelling in amusement like he always did, that mock evil tone whenever he tortures a character.
Well he was torturing me. I was staring at my own face, but I continued to feel the pain that this seemingly virtual character was going through. My faces kept changing, and it reminded me of a demon possession. He wouldn't stop controlling the pieces of my trachea grinding against each other, sharp edges stabbing the inside of my throat.
I watched myself on screen clawing at my throat, gasping for air, slowly falling to my knees. I watched all that while feeling the movement on my own body, it's indescribable but I see it all in my head right now. I don't think anyone is getting my descriptions right now but it was terrifying... And yeah, Pewds just kept laughing.
Of course, I woke up taking in a deep breath of air myself, and saw that it was nearly 6. I couldn't sleep back after that, and I just stayed awake, waiting for the sun to come up.
Showing posts with label Dreams. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dreams. Show all posts
Saturday, February 21, 2015
Monday, January 12, 2015
3 AM
I just woke up from a dream.
There were floods everywhere.
I saw on the news that there were so many bodies, they had to separate them into two piles.
One mountain for the bodies who drowned, one mountain of bodies who were burnt.
One body of a little boy washed up into my house, and my aunt and uncle and granny sent it off to the authorities.
They told us the body had been floating around and about all the way from Europe.
Spirits wouldn't leave us alone after that.
My aunt and uncle and granny told me to sleep separately from them.
I was sent off with my parents and brothers to "appease the spirits" and we were forced to walk through a secluded kampung that was surrounded by forest.
They told us not to speak, because our voices would intimidate 'them'.
My big brother was blind when he got married, and while walking through the forest, he asked me to tell him all about his wedding ceremony.
'They' got angry.
I woke up. And the time said 3:08. I used to be scared of the 3 AM hour because I was very sure this is when all the bad things happen, including dreams.
Now I can't help but wonder maybe I'm thrown awake because my dreamself is getting punished for the noise and they don't want me to be a witness.
Maybe bad things happen to you whether or not you're awake.
Bad things will always happen at 3 AM, just that you don't know if tonight it will be in the dreamworld or in the real world.
I feel like the queen of demons has laid eggs in my brain.
I don't feel sad at night from over thinking. Instead I go through all this shit with dreams.
I'm numb from it. I don't cry or shiver from the fear. I don't feel fear whenever I wake up from a vivid dream.
I'd like to believe I'm numb. But I believe more in the fact that my inner self is screaming in fear that 'things' are tearing her apart. Tearing me apart from the inside.
MAKE IT STOP PLEASE
There were floods everywhere.
I saw on the news that there were so many bodies, they had to separate them into two piles.
One mountain for the bodies who drowned, one mountain of bodies who were burnt.
One body of a little boy washed up into my house, and my aunt and uncle and granny sent it off to the authorities.
They told us the body had been floating around and about all the way from Europe.
Spirits wouldn't leave us alone after that.
My aunt and uncle and granny told me to sleep separately from them.
I was sent off with my parents and brothers to "appease the spirits" and we were forced to walk through a secluded kampung that was surrounded by forest.
They told us not to speak, because our voices would intimidate 'them'.
My big brother was blind when he got married, and while walking through the forest, he asked me to tell him all about his wedding ceremony.
'They' got angry.
I woke up. And the time said 3:08. I used to be scared of the 3 AM hour because I was very sure this is when all the bad things happen, including dreams.
Now I can't help but wonder maybe I'm thrown awake because my dreamself is getting punished for the noise and they don't want me to be a witness.
Maybe bad things happen to you whether or not you're awake.
Bad things will always happen at 3 AM, just that you don't know if tonight it will be in the dreamworld or in the real world.
I feel like the queen of demons has laid eggs in my brain.
I don't feel sad at night from over thinking. Instead I go through all this shit with dreams.
I'm numb from it. I don't cry or shiver from the fear. I don't feel fear whenever I wake up from a vivid dream.
I'd like to believe I'm numb. But I believe more in the fact that my inner self is screaming in fear that 'things' are tearing her apart. Tearing me apart from the inside.
MAKE IT STOP PLEASE
Sunday, January 04, 2015
Drowning in perfume
The family whom I love so much is against me. Both my brothers and my sister-in-law only look at me in disdain, and my mother only talks to me to tell me to fuck off because I am an annoying motherfucker.
"Yeah that's all you're good at aren't you," she scorns. "Fuck your mother up?"
My little brother, my best friend; he stands beside her, looking at me like I am nothing more than a cockroach. Just for a second and then he looks away, as if the sight of me is just too much to bear.
I walk away slowly, for I have no confidence in where I'm going. I see them get into a taxi, not even giving me a glance, and off they go, leaving me alone at the side of the road.
I find a train station, or at least that's what all the signs on the building are saying. The first thing I find myself in is an elevator. There's a boy my age sitting at the other end, reading a book. I sit down at my own corner, taking out my own book.
After the elevator starts moving, it takes me a while to realise that this is the train. It can move vertically and horizontally, stops at many levels and pit stops, fetching more people that have backpacks on their shoulders.
The elevator's walls are made of glass, and I can see how it's circling around the inside of the building. I see people bustling about, going in and out of shops. It's like a city within concrete walls.
The boy with the book asks me what I am reading. As I tell him the story of it, he listens attentively. I notice the book in his hands and realise it's one I've read before, and I wish to myself that he won't explain his book to me.
One of the people who have gotten on at other stops looks at me, and his expression reminds me of the looks my brother and mother had given me. "I told you not to read here, didn't I?" he has a British accent. "Put it away right now, it isn't a place to show off your smarts."
I put my book away. The first boy puts his away too, and he gives me a shy smile.
If it isn't a place for 'smarts', then what is it a place for?, I want to ask.
A robotic voice fills the elevator, telling all of us to stay together as a group. I look around me to see all boys.
The elevator door opens and everyone files out, me and the boy with the book last. I don't catch his full name for it's from another language, so I call him G. "Can I stay close with you?" he asks. I nod, because it's better than being alone in this strange place.
Honestly, the building reminds me of a mall and school rolled into one and thrown into the pits of a jungle. The east side is where all the libraries and classrooms and dorms are, while the west side has all the bookstores and department stores and cinemas. Meanwhile, grass fills the ground entirely, trees grow all over the sides, bushes take over all the walls of the shops.
We keep walking, exploring all the nooks and crannies we encounter, develop friendships with one another. G takes my hand at one point and asks if it's okay. I hold on to him for a second before muttering, "I already have someone I like."
I hold open the library door for our comrades, and while most of them thank me, the one with the British accent and another tall bulky guy snap at me to never hold open the door for them. I let the last other guy pass through before I slam the door in their faces.
It opens again and British Accent lunges at me, slamming me onto the wall with a hand around my neck. Everyone of our other group members push him off and stand in a line in front of me, creating a barrier between us. As surprising as it is, it's also touching my heart in a weird way.
"I need to go to the toilet," I say, and with a glare towards British Accent, I make my way past tables and into the ladies at the side of the room. I stare at the mirror, and I don't know where I got it, but there's a huge cut that goes from under my eye to across my cheek and down the side of it, almost like the path a tear would go. Bruises shaped like fingers circle my neck.
I go outside to find my comrades nowhere in sight. A girl who's sitting at a table looks at me and says pityingly, "They're gone, yeap. They left without you."
That's when I go frantic. I run out the library and everywhere, trying to find my familiar faces. I whip my head around at every sound, every voice I hear, hoping to see G or the other losers I was starting to love the presence of.
I stumble upon twigs and branches. I don't stop to ease the itches the bushes left where they touched me. I lean against a tree with all my strength and get up to have my forehead and cheek indented with the pattern of its trunk. I cry salty tears that enter and sting the cut on my cheek.
A toy shop I'm passing by is giving away balloons, and even in the midst of my misery I go and take one. Mine is in the shape of an elephant, as long as my arm. I am admiring it, trying to cheer myself up when I see my comrades.
For some reason, I don't run to them and hug them in joyful reunion. They look like my comrades, but they are... not. The ones I know are calm, quiet, very nerdy. These are frantic and noisy, screaming nonsense and a little bit crazy. They're jumping around on these huge teddy bears like little kids. Not like the intelligent-looking people I met.
I watch as one of them picks up a teddy bear and starts running crazy outside the toy shop, swinging it around. He knocks over people, before swinging it one last time and knocking down a shelf of perfume bottles outside the neighbouring shops.
The crash is loud and it doesn't stop until complete silence. I unclasp my palms from my ears and open my eyes to see everyone has stopped to stare. The smell of the perfumes mixing in the air is overwhelming, and I am urged to cut off my nose to make it stop.
A piece from a perfume bottle had flown at me, stabbing me right at the side of my throat. I remove it and blood drips all over my elephant balloon. I seem to be the only one moving, my breathing being the only thing I hear that it almost starts to irritate me.
The owner from the perfume shop comes out and looks at my comrade, who is lying on the ground, he and the teddy bear stabbed with pieces of perfume bottles. It's a mess of meat and blood and teddy bear stuffing.
The old man says: "It's okay, you're just a child. I understand that you can't contain your excitement. It's okay, it's okay, it's okay." and he starts sweeping up whatever glass pieces his broom can reach.
My comrade stands up slowly and says: "I'll pay you back." he turns to look at me, but I cannot bear to see how his face will look like. I turn on my heels, and my shoulders are caught in a pair of hands; G's. He repeats what our comrade has said; "He'll pay back."
I don't care. I don't want to see. I release myself and try to run, going frantic all over again and this time in silence. I hide, wanting to kill myself to stop my breathing like how you'd want to kill a baby to stop its crying.
When I finally have the courage to return to the shopping mall side of this strange building, I see a small crowd gather in front of the perfume shop. I join G at the back, and he puts an arm around my waist, gently pushing me to the front so I could see what's going on.
There's our comrade, naked and skin painted black, with his mouth attached to the bottom of British Accent, who is shoving the trunk of my elephant balloon down his throat.
The perfume shop owner stands beside, collecting money thrown to him as mine and G's friends continue performing all sorts of obscenities with each other and my balloon. I stare for a long time, for I have not witnessed anything like it before. It can't be unseen ever.
Dreaming to me is like drowning. It starts off okay, like a swim, and then you realise you're too far gone from the shore, and it gets to a point where you can hardly breathe.
Waking up from a dream is just the same as finally breaking the surface after being too long underwater. I gasp for air every morning, thankful that I was not gonna be stuck down there forever until I die.
"Yeah that's all you're good at aren't you," she scorns. "Fuck your mother up?"
My little brother, my best friend; he stands beside her, looking at me like I am nothing more than a cockroach. Just for a second and then he looks away, as if the sight of me is just too much to bear.
I walk away slowly, for I have no confidence in where I'm going. I see them get into a taxi, not even giving me a glance, and off they go, leaving me alone at the side of the road.
I find a train station, or at least that's what all the signs on the building are saying. The first thing I find myself in is an elevator. There's a boy my age sitting at the other end, reading a book. I sit down at my own corner, taking out my own book.
After the elevator starts moving, it takes me a while to realise that this is the train. It can move vertically and horizontally, stops at many levels and pit stops, fetching more people that have backpacks on their shoulders.
The elevator's walls are made of glass, and I can see how it's circling around the inside of the building. I see people bustling about, going in and out of shops. It's like a city within concrete walls.
The boy with the book asks me what I am reading. As I tell him the story of it, he listens attentively. I notice the book in his hands and realise it's one I've read before, and I wish to myself that he won't explain his book to me.
One of the people who have gotten on at other stops looks at me, and his expression reminds me of the looks my brother and mother had given me. "I told you not to read here, didn't I?" he has a British accent. "Put it away right now, it isn't a place to show off your smarts."
I put my book away. The first boy puts his away too, and he gives me a shy smile.
If it isn't a place for 'smarts', then what is it a place for?, I want to ask.
A robotic voice fills the elevator, telling all of us to stay together as a group. I look around me to see all boys.
The elevator door opens and everyone files out, me and the boy with the book last. I don't catch his full name for it's from another language, so I call him G. "Can I stay close with you?" he asks. I nod, because it's better than being alone in this strange place.
Honestly, the building reminds me of a mall and school rolled into one and thrown into the pits of a jungle. The east side is where all the libraries and classrooms and dorms are, while the west side has all the bookstores and department stores and cinemas. Meanwhile, grass fills the ground entirely, trees grow all over the sides, bushes take over all the walls of the shops.
We keep walking, exploring all the nooks and crannies we encounter, develop friendships with one another. G takes my hand at one point and asks if it's okay. I hold on to him for a second before muttering, "I already have someone I like."
I hold open the library door for our comrades, and while most of them thank me, the one with the British accent and another tall bulky guy snap at me to never hold open the door for them. I let the last other guy pass through before I slam the door in their faces.
It opens again and British Accent lunges at me, slamming me onto the wall with a hand around my neck. Everyone of our other group members push him off and stand in a line in front of me, creating a barrier between us. As surprising as it is, it's also touching my heart in a weird way.
"I need to go to the toilet," I say, and with a glare towards British Accent, I make my way past tables and into the ladies at the side of the room. I stare at the mirror, and I don't know where I got it, but there's a huge cut that goes from under my eye to across my cheek and down the side of it, almost like the path a tear would go. Bruises shaped like fingers circle my neck.
I go outside to find my comrades nowhere in sight. A girl who's sitting at a table looks at me and says pityingly, "They're gone, yeap. They left without you."
That's when I go frantic. I run out the library and everywhere, trying to find my familiar faces. I whip my head around at every sound, every voice I hear, hoping to see G or the other losers I was starting to love the presence of.
I stumble upon twigs and branches. I don't stop to ease the itches the bushes left where they touched me. I lean against a tree with all my strength and get up to have my forehead and cheek indented with the pattern of its trunk. I cry salty tears that enter and sting the cut on my cheek.
A toy shop I'm passing by is giving away balloons, and even in the midst of my misery I go and take one. Mine is in the shape of an elephant, as long as my arm. I am admiring it, trying to cheer myself up when I see my comrades.
For some reason, I don't run to them and hug them in joyful reunion. They look like my comrades, but they are... not. The ones I know are calm, quiet, very nerdy. These are frantic and noisy, screaming nonsense and a little bit crazy. They're jumping around on these huge teddy bears like little kids. Not like the intelligent-looking people I met.
I watch as one of them picks up a teddy bear and starts running crazy outside the toy shop, swinging it around. He knocks over people, before swinging it one last time and knocking down a shelf of perfume bottles outside the neighbouring shops.
The crash is loud and it doesn't stop until complete silence. I unclasp my palms from my ears and open my eyes to see everyone has stopped to stare. The smell of the perfumes mixing in the air is overwhelming, and I am urged to cut off my nose to make it stop.
A piece from a perfume bottle had flown at me, stabbing me right at the side of my throat. I remove it and blood drips all over my elephant balloon. I seem to be the only one moving, my breathing being the only thing I hear that it almost starts to irritate me.
The owner from the perfume shop comes out and looks at my comrade, who is lying on the ground, he and the teddy bear stabbed with pieces of perfume bottles. It's a mess of meat and blood and teddy bear stuffing.
The old man says: "It's okay, you're just a child. I understand that you can't contain your excitement. It's okay, it's okay, it's okay." and he starts sweeping up whatever glass pieces his broom can reach.
My comrade stands up slowly and says: "I'll pay you back." he turns to look at me, but I cannot bear to see how his face will look like. I turn on my heels, and my shoulders are caught in a pair of hands; G's. He repeats what our comrade has said; "He'll pay back."
I don't care. I don't want to see. I release myself and try to run, going frantic all over again and this time in silence. I hide, wanting to kill myself to stop my breathing like how you'd want to kill a baby to stop its crying.
When I finally have the courage to return to the shopping mall side of this strange building, I see a small crowd gather in front of the perfume shop. I join G at the back, and he puts an arm around my waist, gently pushing me to the front so I could see what's going on.
There's our comrade, naked and skin painted black, with his mouth attached to the bottom of British Accent, who is shoving the trunk of my elephant balloon down his throat.
The perfume shop owner stands beside, collecting money thrown to him as mine and G's friends continue performing all sorts of obscenities with each other and my balloon. I stare for a long time, for I have not witnessed anything like it before. It can't be unseen ever.
Dreaming to me is like drowning. It starts off okay, like a swim, and then you realise you're too far gone from the shore, and it gets to a point where you can hardly breathe.
Waking up from a dream is just the same as finally breaking the surface after being too long underwater. I gasp for air every morning, thankful that I was not gonna be stuck down there forever until I die.
Thursday, December 25, 2014
About religion again ugh
So I came home today, silently, without any greeting as usual. Not even the standard "peace be upon you" that is to be greeted at every Muslim house... I honestly can't remember the last time I said that, or even the reply.
My dad asked: "Why do you never give your salaam?" to which I kept quiet to, because I had too much to say in answer. Sometimes a person stays the quietest when she has the most to say after all.
He came into my room later, asking: "Do you have a lot of Chinese friends?" I wasn't sure how to answer, truth be told, because I knew why he was asking. I really only have 4 close friends who are Chinese, the 3 girls from my secondary school clique, and 1 from poly which is Shihui.
Most of my friends, as of 2014 anyway, are Malay. Muslims. Does it make any difference to my views on religion? NOPE.
I find it irrelevant for him to have asked me such a question... It's got nothing to do with the amount of Chinese friends I have, or friends from different religions. Parents' constant mistake: whenever something goes wrong with their child, they blame company, even though most of the time it's a thing borne of solitude.
Some time ago, I made a pact to myself that I'd decide on my 20th birthday if I'd like to try repenting again, or be fully atheist. I've been leaning against the latter, especially after many events and thoughts of the past year.
I keep saying this, but: religion tears people apart, be it from one another, or from themselves. Difference of religion make people hate each other, think themselves highly, better than others, things like that. Those cliche quotes of how people with tattoos are always nicer than those who go to church blahblahblah, I find it true in many ways.
Even my own parents aren't spared from this judgement of mine... They don't pray and never really raised us that way, and yet they tell me to be a better Muslim yadda yadda. At least my mom took me out of religious classes at the end of primary school, and I'm glad she did, because it was a way of letting me choose my own views.
Still, I judge my mom heavily for the way she associates herself with religion. She wears a headscarf but she doesn't act it out. She's a powerful woman in her own way, but I don't think she should wear it just because she feels disrespected for not wearing it at the age of 50. I have to admit I'm not entirely proud of her starting to wear it because of how she really is.
Sometimes I think I believe in the devil more than in God. Main reason: if dreams are the devil's playground, then wow that means the devil has been there for me more than God ever has.
The wind's argument to this: "Yeah it's the devil's playground, but the devil was made from God." which made me wonder, as silly and stupid as it sounds, what if God was made from the devil instead, created to divide everyone, to inflict pride and conflict? I sound so stupid saying this but hey.
If people can believe in a God they can't even see, then why can't I believe in the devil more, considering the fact that I've been supported by him every night in my dreams?
What's more, I kinda support things that are against my religion. Things like feminism, because I was told in Islam, women are always second to men, things like LGBT, because relationships with the same sex are prohibited.
And if you think about it, sometimes when you pray to God, you're technically just praying to Him to simply undo the things that He himself has done. Just my thoughts okay?
My dad asked: "Why do you never give your salaam?" to which I kept quiet to, because I had too much to say in answer. Sometimes a person stays the quietest when she has the most to say after all.
He came into my room later, asking: "Do you have a lot of Chinese friends?" I wasn't sure how to answer, truth be told, because I knew why he was asking. I really only have 4 close friends who are Chinese, the 3 girls from my secondary school clique, and 1 from poly which is Shihui.
Most of my friends, as of 2014 anyway, are Malay. Muslims. Does it make any difference to my views on religion? NOPE.
I find it irrelevant for him to have asked me such a question... It's got nothing to do with the amount of Chinese friends I have, or friends from different religions. Parents' constant mistake: whenever something goes wrong with their child, they blame company, even though most of the time it's a thing borne of solitude.
Some time ago, I made a pact to myself that I'd decide on my 20th birthday if I'd like to try repenting again, or be fully atheist. I've been leaning against the latter, especially after many events and thoughts of the past year.
I keep saying this, but: religion tears people apart, be it from one another, or from themselves. Difference of religion make people hate each other, think themselves highly, better than others, things like that. Those cliche quotes of how people with tattoos are always nicer than those who go to church blahblahblah, I find it true in many ways.
Even my own parents aren't spared from this judgement of mine... They don't pray and never really raised us that way, and yet they tell me to be a better Muslim yadda yadda. At least my mom took me out of religious classes at the end of primary school, and I'm glad she did, because it was a way of letting me choose my own views.
Still, I judge my mom heavily for the way she associates herself with religion. She wears a headscarf but she doesn't act it out. She's a powerful woman in her own way, but I don't think she should wear it just because she feels disrespected for not wearing it at the age of 50. I have to admit I'm not entirely proud of her starting to wear it because of how she really is.
Sometimes I think I believe in the devil more than in God. Main reason: if dreams are the devil's playground, then wow that means the devil has been there for me more than God ever has.
The wind's argument to this: "Yeah it's the devil's playground, but the devil was made from God." which made me wonder, as silly and stupid as it sounds, what if God was made from the devil instead, created to divide everyone, to inflict pride and conflict? I sound so stupid saying this but hey.
If people can believe in a God they can't even see, then why can't I believe in the devil more, considering the fact that I've been supported by him every night in my dreams?
What's more, I kinda support things that are against my religion. Things like feminism, because I was told in Islam, women are always second to men, things like LGBT, because relationships with the same sex are prohibited.
And if you think about it, sometimes when you pray to God, you're technically just praying to Him to simply undo the things that He himself has done. Just my thoughts okay?
So many things to say about this... Just one simple exchange of words with my dad can spark all these rants. But yeah, the points I'd wanted to prove: 1. My views on religion has got nothing to do with the friends I have. 2. I believe in the devil and in demons more than in God.
Tuesday, December 02, 2014
Conversation with a reflection
After years of being in each other's heads, we finally meet.
...Why aren't you looking at me? I'm right here. You've been so curious as to how I look like but now you refuse to even stand up.
As cliche as it sounds, you're stronger than this. Can you stand up, girl?
You're not even 20 yet and you're already so tired. You've fallen in love with the idea of being alive, and yet here you are refusing to even live up that love.
Such a shame, isn't it? There you were, giving all the love and trust that you had, to everyone you met, whether or not they deserved it. You forgot to save any for yourself, of course you're so tired out right now.
You're a strong person but that doesn't mean you won't break. Stop being so selfless, letting everyone have what you have and refusing to take anything of theirs. Didn't you say, "If I give you a piece of me, and you give me a piece of you, then nobody is really broken"? You're leading yourself to your own falling apart.
...Still refusing to stand up?
...You were right. Sometimes the best way to move on is to go back to where you came from. Just like how you returned to your parents to move on from your precious wind.
Right now, you need to talk to your old friends. You've realised how cruel the people who you thought to be your friends were; they didn't return your love, they made you out to be the bad guy... Go back to your old friends.
They may be busy, but it's worth a shot. Send a text asking how they are, call them up asking for a lunch or something. Anyone. Anyone other than the 'friends' you have loved the past 4 months.
Stand up, girl.
She grabs my wrist.
Stand up and look at me.
She holds my chin and makes me face her. I close my eyes.
You're a fucking tyrant and you're gonna get through this.
I let out a cruel laugh. That's what I've been telling myself.
That's what I've been telling you.
Go back to where you came from. I'd return as far back as my mother's womb if I could, start all over from my very first breath. But you can't do that. You move forward from difficult times by going back, and you go back to your precious moments by moving forward.
You're not alone in this. Not ever. See how you've laughed so much with your mom and aunt the past week even with all the problems within your family. See how you've enjoyed your 5-star view at Ion Sky with the love of your life even with half of another shithead in your heart.
And most of all see how you've continued loving everything around you, the sky and the trees and the roads, even after all the shit everyone's put you through.
You're gonna get over this. You're gonna be an amazing daughter, aunt, wife, mother. Heck you're already an amazing person if you'd just stop giving so much of your flame away to others. Now stand the fuck up.
She gives my wrist a hard grip and pulls me, forcing me onto my feet.
I jerk awake. It's 6 in the morning. The mysterious bruise I've had on my wrist the past 2 weeks has faded from an ugly purple to a murky yellow.
...Why aren't you looking at me? I'm right here. You've been so curious as to how I look like but now you refuse to even stand up.
As cliche as it sounds, you're stronger than this. Can you stand up, girl?
You're not even 20 yet and you're already so tired. You've fallen in love with the idea of being alive, and yet here you are refusing to even live up that love.
Such a shame, isn't it? There you were, giving all the love and trust that you had, to everyone you met, whether or not they deserved it. You forgot to save any for yourself, of course you're so tired out right now.
You're a strong person but that doesn't mean you won't break. Stop being so selfless, letting everyone have what you have and refusing to take anything of theirs. Didn't you say, "If I give you a piece of me, and you give me a piece of you, then nobody is really broken"? You're leading yourself to your own falling apart.
...Still refusing to stand up?
...You were right. Sometimes the best way to move on is to go back to where you came from. Just like how you returned to your parents to move on from your precious wind.
Right now, you need to talk to your old friends. You've realised how cruel the people who you thought to be your friends were; they didn't return your love, they made you out to be the bad guy... Go back to your old friends.
They may be busy, but it's worth a shot. Send a text asking how they are, call them up asking for a lunch or something. Anyone. Anyone other than the 'friends' you have loved the past 4 months.
Stand up, girl.
She grabs my wrist.
Stand up and look at me.
She holds my chin and makes me face her. I close my eyes.
You're a fucking tyrant and you're gonna get through this.
I let out a cruel laugh. That's what I've been telling myself.
That's what I've been telling you.
Go back to where you came from. I'd return as far back as my mother's womb if I could, start all over from my very first breath. But you can't do that. You move forward from difficult times by going back, and you go back to your precious moments by moving forward.
You're not alone in this. Not ever. See how you've laughed so much with your mom and aunt the past week even with all the problems within your family. See how you've enjoyed your 5-star view at Ion Sky with the love of your life even with half of another shithead in your heart.
And most of all see how you've continued loving everything around you, the sky and the trees and the roads, even after all the shit everyone's put you through.
You're gonna get over this. You're gonna be an amazing daughter, aunt, wife, mother. Heck you're already an amazing person if you'd just stop giving so much of your flame away to others. Now stand the fuck up.
She gives my wrist a hard grip and pulls me, forcing me onto my feet.
I jerk awake. It's 6 in the morning. The mysterious bruise I've had on my wrist the past 2 weeks has faded from an ugly purple to a murky yellow.
Monday, December 01, 2014
Pride without an audience
It's raining non-stop and it intensifies my misery. The people around me are expressionless, as if the presence of rain is nothing to them. Maybe they are used to it, learnt to live alongside the sky's tears.
I also seem to be the only one getting bothered by the cold, decked out in my thickest cardigan and a beanie, while everyone else has sleeves rolled up and hair tied in ponytails.
Someone has an umbrella propped up above me, protecting me from the rain. I can't see who this person is because everytime I try to see, I am pushed on the shoulder to face forward.
I try again to see who this stranger is, and this time he or she doesn't make me look forward anymore. Instead, he simply takes away the umbrella and walks away. He shields himself from my view with his umbrella, and I don't chase him. I've pushed away the one act of kindness in this dampness.
I continue walking in the rain, everyone else around me still with their emotionless faces, dripping wet with raindrops or silent tears, I do not know.
My sneaker splashes against a puddle. I look down and kick the water around with the foot of my sneaker, and continue on ahead.
Another puddle, and this time the water reaches my ankle. My sneakers and socks are uncomfortably soaked, so I remove them. I continue on ahead, barefoot.
The rain keeps coming, until water is to my knees.
I look around to see everyone with the same expressionless faces. I hide in the water and remove my jeans. I keep walking, the dirt of the rainwater tickling my exposed thighs.
The rainwater now covers me to my neck. I remove my cardigan and t-shirt, and I am completely naked, only the dirt and grime of the rainwater covering me.
I am below the surface now. The water pushes me forward, and I allow it, letting myself float wherever it wants to take me.
Everyone else continues walking even underwater. I am the only one floating, and I am not even ashamed of having every inch of my skin exposed like this.
Because nobody is watching.
Here I am, getting along with my fear, and nobody is watching. I am the only one floating while everyone continues walking with vacant eyes.
I wake up to the pitter-patter of the rain against the window.
I also seem to be the only one getting bothered by the cold, decked out in my thickest cardigan and a beanie, while everyone else has sleeves rolled up and hair tied in ponytails.
Someone has an umbrella propped up above me, protecting me from the rain. I can't see who this person is because everytime I try to see, I am pushed on the shoulder to face forward.
I try again to see who this stranger is, and this time he or she doesn't make me look forward anymore. Instead, he simply takes away the umbrella and walks away. He shields himself from my view with his umbrella, and I don't chase him. I've pushed away the one act of kindness in this dampness.
I continue walking in the rain, everyone else around me still with their emotionless faces, dripping wet with raindrops or silent tears, I do not know.
My sneaker splashes against a puddle. I look down and kick the water around with the foot of my sneaker, and continue on ahead.
Another puddle, and this time the water reaches my ankle. My sneakers and socks are uncomfortably soaked, so I remove them. I continue on ahead, barefoot.
The rain keeps coming, until water is to my knees.
I look around to see everyone with the same expressionless faces. I hide in the water and remove my jeans. I keep walking, the dirt of the rainwater tickling my exposed thighs.
The rainwater now covers me to my neck. I remove my cardigan and t-shirt, and I am completely naked, only the dirt and grime of the rainwater covering me.
I am below the surface now. The water pushes me forward, and I allow it, letting myself float wherever it wants to take me.
Everyone else continues walking even underwater. I am the only one floating, and I am not even ashamed of having every inch of my skin exposed like this.
Because nobody is watching.
Here I am, getting along with my fear, and nobody is watching. I am the only one floating while everyone continues walking with vacant eyes.
____
Friday, November 21, 2014
'Them'
You're gonna think I'm crazy, but I assure you what I'm gonna say is true. It's what's happening to me. Every single day. For who knows how long.
I don't know if it's normal, but it's so frequent to me that I think it is. But nobody else understands this, much less encounters it.
I dream every single night. And I wake up, every single event etched into the back of my eyelids like a memory.
My dreams, they're very real. No matter how violent they are, every second I am asleep it feels like I'm living that very moment. After I wake up it takes a while to differentiate the dream from the real.
Just last year they got more controlling, to the extent that sleep became very difficult for me. This year I declared I wanna be friends with them, writing stories out of them and yeah I guess it's been going okay with them.
I call them "them" like they're these stray cats coming to my doorstep, or horrible spirits haunting me. But that's because they're, my dreams, are a bit of both.
Sometimes they're lovely, like the one where I was in a really huge bookstore that stretched beyond the horizon. Like the many ones where I kissed the flower on the cheek.
At other times they're horrible, like a tidal wave actually managing to swallow me. Like the one where the wind bashed my head against the wall until I could split my skull open.
Not to mention the fact that this year alone I've came across many places that I've dreamt of before. It's perfectly normal for me to be walking along a road I've never been to before, and saying "Hey I dreamt of this place before." it just doesn't feel weird anymore.
It's totally different from deja vu. In fact I don't really encounter that much. I don't experience in real life something that I've dreamt of, in the exact same way. At most, something similar happens, but the most frequent for me is walking along the place where I dreamt of.
Just today I was looking out the window of the train, and I see a whole housing estate where I've had an entire dream in before. The dream was kind of dystopian/post-war/post-apocalyptic-ish, and I remember most of the building where it took place at.
And this new housing estate, the one that you see when you're leaving Pasir Ris MRT station, has the exact same structure as that dream of mine. Every slope, every hallway, I remember it all. I had this dream around the middle of this year, before the buildings were even built.
I really don't know why I'm talking about them actually. The last time I did, they 'attacked' me, I was sleeping all the time, dreaming every single second, jerking awake and being so damn affected by the intensity. I've blogged about this before.
Sometimes it's hard to grasp what's real or not. Sometimes dreams and reality are so similar that I just can't tell, even though someone may be alive in one side and not in the other, differences like that. I'm pretty sure you think I'm babbling right now, but you wouldn't understand unless you go through this.
If people could believe in things they've never seen before like a God, I have reason to be scared by these things I see every night. At least they're not the same in the sense that there's one single person or thing being in every dream.
One more thing about them, which I can't decide if I like or not, is the fact that I have my own alternate being. I have reason to believe my dreamself exists as her own, and is living her own life. I don't know if she really looks like me, I've caught glimpses of her in mirrors but I can't remember how she looked exactly.
I've had plenty of dreams connecting with one another, dreams that hinted my own life in the other side. She's doing real good the last time I saw her, because the flower still loves her a lot. Yep, the flower's dreamself is totally in love with her, as proven by plenty of dreams ever since the one where they got together, back in, like, April?
Not saying that my dreams happen in chronological order. They're messy that way, and I'm not always me in every dream. I was a little boy once, I was my friend once, little shit like that.
I'm honestly not sure if I've ever done lucid, because for all I know I've never gone to sleep with that intention. They do happen but not with me wanting to. I don't know. This part is fucked up, let's not touch on it yet. But yes I do have dreams where I could control my own movements. If I blog about long dreams with no random cuts and shit, that was definitely a lucid. They tire me out though.
Dreams are fascinating, really. If there were ways to record and share them, I'd throw in all the money I have for that. I'd love to share mine, love for you to see what I mean, the things I've said in this post.
They were scary last year, and still manipulative as heck, and clever, because they're so damn real sometimes. But nonetheless, they fascinate me. I love writing about them, and I wish to know more about them if they let me.
I don't know if it's normal, but it's so frequent to me that I think it is. But nobody else understands this, much less encounters it.
I dream every single night. And I wake up, every single event etched into the back of my eyelids like a memory.
My dreams, they're very real. No matter how violent they are, every second I am asleep it feels like I'm living that very moment. After I wake up it takes a while to differentiate the dream from the real.
Just last year they got more controlling, to the extent that sleep became very difficult for me. This year I declared I wanna be friends with them, writing stories out of them and yeah I guess it's been going okay with them.
I call them "them" like they're these stray cats coming to my doorstep, or horrible spirits haunting me. But that's because they're, my dreams, are a bit of both.
Sometimes they're lovely, like the one where I was in a really huge bookstore that stretched beyond the horizon. Like the many ones where I kissed the flower on the cheek.
At other times they're horrible, like a tidal wave actually managing to swallow me. Like the one where the wind bashed my head against the wall until I could split my skull open.
Not to mention the fact that this year alone I've came across many places that I've dreamt of before. It's perfectly normal for me to be walking along a road I've never been to before, and saying "Hey I dreamt of this place before." it just doesn't feel weird anymore.
It's totally different from deja vu. In fact I don't really encounter that much. I don't experience in real life something that I've dreamt of, in the exact same way. At most, something similar happens, but the most frequent for me is walking along the place where I dreamt of.
Just today I was looking out the window of the train, and I see a whole housing estate where I've had an entire dream in before. The dream was kind of dystopian/post-war/post-apocalyptic-ish, and I remember most of the building where it took place at.
And this new housing estate, the one that you see when you're leaving Pasir Ris MRT station, has the exact same structure as that dream of mine. Every slope, every hallway, I remember it all. I had this dream around the middle of this year, before the buildings were even built.
I really don't know why I'm talking about them actually. The last time I did, they 'attacked' me, I was sleeping all the time, dreaming every single second, jerking awake and being so damn affected by the intensity. I've blogged about this before.
Sometimes it's hard to grasp what's real or not. Sometimes dreams and reality are so similar that I just can't tell, even though someone may be alive in one side and not in the other, differences like that. I'm pretty sure you think I'm babbling right now, but you wouldn't understand unless you go through this.
If people could believe in things they've never seen before like a God, I have reason to be scared by these things I see every night. At least they're not the same in the sense that there's one single person or thing being in every dream.
One more thing about them, which I can't decide if I like or not, is the fact that I have my own alternate being. I have reason to believe my dreamself exists as her own, and is living her own life. I don't know if she really looks like me, I've caught glimpses of her in mirrors but I can't remember how she looked exactly.
I've had plenty of dreams connecting with one another, dreams that hinted my own life in the other side. She's doing real good the last time I saw her, because the flower still loves her a lot. Yep, the flower's dreamself is totally in love with her, as proven by plenty of dreams ever since the one where they got together, back in, like, April?
Not saying that my dreams happen in chronological order. They're messy that way, and I'm not always me in every dream. I was a little boy once, I was my friend once, little shit like that.
I'm honestly not sure if I've ever done lucid, because for all I know I've never gone to sleep with that intention. They do happen but not with me wanting to. I don't know. This part is fucked up, let's not touch on it yet. But yes I do have dreams where I could control my own movements. If I blog about long dreams with no random cuts and shit, that was definitely a lucid. They tire me out though.
Dreams are fascinating, really. If there were ways to record and share them, I'd throw in all the money I have for that. I'd love to share mine, love for you to see what I mean, the things I've said in this post.
They were scary last year, and still manipulative as heck, and clever, because they're so damn real sometimes. But nonetheless, they fascinate me. I love writing about them, and I wish to know more about them if they let me.
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Kings of tidal waves and lightning bolts
Why do we keep running?
Is it because the king of tidal waves is growing out of the horizon, coming faster and faster towards us?
I never liked water. It's my biggest enemy. I don't get seasick; but the slightest interaction with water drives me crazy. A shower is fine only if it's set to the highest available temperature.
I wouldn't have boarded a ship in a million years. But with that giant wave threatening to swallow me, I jump right on, my cheek dragging against the wood of the floorboards.
Panicked whispers form out of the other survivors. I struggle to sit up before I drag myself along the floor to sit in the corner. My knees hugged to my chest, I look through the glass that makes the wall of the ship.
The wave is growing larger, coming closer. Everyone comes forward and watches the sight with me; they fall silent, as if still trying to process what they're witnessing.
Some of them react as dramatically as sliding down to their knees, burying their faces in their hands. The others walk away further from the glass wall towards the other side of the ship, heads stooped low. A few groups hug each other; it must be nice to still have your family or friends during this disaster.
Me? I have no one. I'm alone. I don't know where any of my loved ones are.
The wave comes closer; it's so large it covers whatever sight is left of the sun. I don't move from the wall at all, just watching my fear expanding beyond my strength.
Everything seems to pass in slow motion. I watch the wave hit the floor of the ship, its boards breaking apart; the impact creeping up on me, throwing everyone off and then me. I hit the water, and instantly I can't breathe.
I don't know how low I've gone. Maybe it's just an exaggeration on my part, because I don't like water after all... Being just an arm's length away from the surface still makes me feel like I'm chained down to the deepest recesses of the ocean.
To imagine that giant wave from before destroying our ship and throwing us off into suffering, only to go back into its origin and hiding within the rest of the ocean..... it makes me so sick. Water is a cruel thing.
The currents grow stronger, and I see a few bobbing heads scattered in the water. A few floating bodies, dead. The sight scares me, but I don't know if I'm shivering from the fear of dying that way or from the cold of the wind against my soaked being.
A few quick strikes of lightning.
I'm struggling to find a piece of the ship to float on. The impact of the wave was so strong that nothing is left of it.
And then I see it; a fat line of light coming down slowly from the sky, towards the waters. The king of all lightning bolts, determined to fry us all once it kisses the very tip of the ocean's surface.
Indescribable pain shoots up every fiber of my being. I don't feel my body anymore, don't even remember if I even own one.... How am I still alive? How is everyone around me still screaming in pain instead of floating quietly and dead and charred?
I wake up tangled in a net.
The first thing I realise is: I can't feel my legs.
The first thing I see is: people are still alive, but they're not people anymore.
They're burnt.
And as they're pushed by guns belonging to men that still look human, they walk forward, on all fours.
I'm trapped in a world where people continue to slave despite how the kings of tidal waves and lightning bolts had caused everyone's legs to fold beneath them, making them look like distorted frogs.
I don't want to look down to see for myself how my legs are, but I feel the muzzle of a gun forced onto my head, and I proceed forward to find myself walking on my feet and my hands, my knees on either side of my face.
Is it because the king of tidal waves is growing out of the horizon, coming faster and faster towards us?
I never liked water. It's my biggest enemy. I don't get seasick; but the slightest interaction with water drives me crazy. A shower is fine only if it's set to the highest available temperature.
I wouldn't have boarded a ship in a million years. But with that giant wave threatening to swallow me, I jump right on, my cheek dragging against the wood of the floorboards.
Panicked whispers form out of the other survivors. I struggle to sit up before I drag myself along the floor to sit in the corner. My knees hugged to my chest, I look through the glass that makes the wall of the ship.
The wave is growing larger, coming closer. Everyone comes forward and watches the sight with me; they fall silent, as if still trying to process what they're witnessing.
Some of them react as dramatically as sliding down to their knees, burying their faces in their hands. The others walk away further from the glass wall towards the other side of the ship, heads stooped low. A few groups hug each other; it must be nice to still have your family or friends during this disaster.
Me? I have no one. I'm alone. I don't know where any of my loved ones are.
The wave comes closer; it's so large it covers whatever sight is left of the sun. I don't move from the wall at all, just watching my fear expanding beyond my strength.
Everything seems to pass in slow motion. I watch the wave hit the floor of the ship, its boards breaking apart; the impact creeping up on me, throwing everyone off and then me. I hit the water, and instantly I can't breathe.
I don't know how low I've gone. Maybe it's just an exaggeration on my part, because I don't like water after all... Being just an arm's length away from the surface still makes me feel like I'm chained down to the deepest recesses of the ocean.
To imagine that giant wave from before destroying our ship and throwing us off into suffering, only to go back into its origin and hiding within the rest of the ocean..... it makes me so sick. Water is a cruel thing.
The currents grow stronger, and I see a few bobbing heads scattered in the water. A few floating bodies, dead. The sight scares me, but I don't know if I'm shivering from the fear of dying that way or from the cold of the wind against my soaked being.
A few quick strikes of lightning.
I'm struggling to find a piece of the ship to float on. The impact of the wave was so strong that nothing is left of it.
And then I see it; a fat line of light coming down slowly from the sky, towards the waters. The king of all lightning bolts, determined to fry us all once it kisses the very tip of the ocean's surface.
Indescribable pain shoots up every fiber of my being. I don't feel my body anymore, don't even remember if I even own one.... How am I still alive? How is everyone around me still screaming in pain instead of floating quietly and dead and charred?
____
The first thing I realise is: I can't feel my legs.
The first thing I see is: people are still alive, but they're not people anymore.
They're burnt.
And as they're pushed by guns belonging to men that still look human, they walk forward, on all fours.
I'm trapped in a world where people continue to slave despite how the kings of tidal waves and lightning bolts had caused everyone's legs to fold beneath them, making them look like distorted frogs.
I don't want to look down to see for myself how my legs are, but I feel the muzzle of a gun forced onto my head, and I proceed forward to find myself walking on my feet and my hands, my knees on either side of my face.
____
I wake up in my bed this time, and my legs are aching, but they're not folded beneath me.
Thursday, October 23, 2014
The silence after fire
An explosion.
The last thing I remember before the burst of flame was the presence of other people around me. Everyone was laughing, enjoying each other's company, moments before they were all torn mercilessly to shreds.
I remember my palms placed flat against my ears, and him jumping to wrap his arms around me. I remember cuddling against his chest, seeking solace in his scent like it was a physical wall that could protect me.
You don't know what 'loud' is until you hear silence.
It was deafening.
The silence was screaming from within me, threatening to split my head wide open. It was louder than what any concert or clap of thunder could ever be.
I don't recall how long I closed my eyes... I squeezed them so tightly I thought my eyelids would have eventually ripped apart.
I opened them to see everything gone. Pasir Ris, the town where I'd grown up in, nothing but ruin and debris. The grass stained with blood, roads littered with burnt body parts.
I'd closed my eyes with his arms around me. When I opened them, they were still around me.... Just his arms. The rest of him was gone. Whatever had been left of him was a mangled, charred mess with the remains of everyone else.
Everything and everyone was in ashes, and I was the only survivor.
The sound of the explosion completely deafened me, but the silence and still that followed was louder, that it masked even my screams.
I jerked awake from my mattress and released a breath I was unconsciously holding.
The last thing I remember before the burst of flame was the presence of other people around me. Everyone was laughing, enjoying each other's company, moments before they were all torn mercilessly to shreds.
I remember my palms placed flat against my ears, and him jumping to wrap his arms around me. I remember cuddling against his chest, seeking solace in his scent like it was a physical wall that could protect me.
You don't know what 'loud' is until you hear silence.
It was deafening.
The silence was screaming from within me, threatening to split my head wide open. It was louder than what any concert or clap of thunder could ever be.
I don't recall how long I closed my eyes... I squeezed them so tightly I thought my eyelids would have eventually ripped apart.
I opened them to see everything gone. Pasir Ris, the town where I'd grown up in, nothing but ruin and debris. The grass stained with blood, roads littered with burnt body parts.
I'd closed my eyes with his arms around me. When I opened them, they were still around me.... Just his arms. The rest of him was gone. Whatever had been left of him was a mangled, charred mess with the remains of everyone else.
Everything and everyone was in ashes, and I was the only survivor.
The sound of the explosion completely deafened me, but the silence and still that followed was louder, that it masked even my screams.
I jerked awake from my mattress and released a breath I was unconsciously holding.
Tuesday, October 07, 2014
Line between reality and possibility
Don't know if you've noticed, but I haven't been writing in as regularly.
Don't know if you know, but that's because I've been so damn busy.
Reading books.
I've borrowed tons of books from the library in September, and since they had due dates with them I rushed to read them all. I still have 10 more to go, heh.
I'm just blogging now because I've had these thoughts over the past few days or maybe weeks.
So I read this book called Pivot Point by Kasie West, a paranormal YA. This paranormal world where people have 'abilities'; our main character Addie has the ability to Search; when faced with decisions to make, she is able to see into the futures for each choice.
When her parents got a divorce, she had to choose between staying in the paranormal world with her mom, or move to the real world with her dad. So of course, she decides to see into both futures. The chapters alternate between each futures.
During her Search in the future with her dad, she meets this boy named Trevor. A normal boy, with no abilities, considering he's from the real world. At one point of the Search, Addie decides to tell him all about her ability, all about the paranormal world.
They're having that loving moment, him cupping her face in his hands and she looking at him adoringly when Trevor asks; "Addie, what if this is a Search? What if now, this very moment, isn't set in stone. What if you're just seeing a vision of what could be?"
That caused some bomb of realisation to explode somewhere in my head. The thought of a moment being something less than a reality. A moment being just a dream, or a daydream. That it was never real, or that it will never be real.
Addie chose the future with her mom, so she never met Trevor in the same way as in her Search. In the sequel, Split Second, she goes to live with her dad in the real world during her holidays, and there she does meet Trevor, but in a completely different way.
Can you imagine having someone you shared moments and love with, staring at you like you're just a stranger? Another thought that ripped my heart out. To have Addie being the only one who 'remembers' all that time spent together.
Sure, it was just a Search, nothing more than a daydream, but it was also a potential future. It was going to happen for sure if she had chosen that path, and yet just as easily those moments could be violently taken away.
I don't know what you think of it, but it kinda scared me to think about it. To live in a moment only to imagine that it isn't set in stone, that it could be just a daydream.
Think of it this way, it's like having grown 20 years and then waking up as a baby, having all those years as a mere dream you were having. All those times you had fallen down, fallen in love, laughed and cried and all those friends you made were just a vision of the future. And now that you're back in reality, it's not confirmed that you'll have all that at all.
It's exactly like how sometimes the line is blurred between reality and Dreamworld. [if you know the problems I have with my nightly dreams] One second I'm very sure that's reality, and then I wake up to realise no, I was just dreaming.
Makes me question every moment that I breathe when I'm awake. I've read 4 books since then, and I'm still lost in the thought that right now, this moment, may or may not be real at all.
Don't know if I may seem like I'm babbling, but these are just the thoughts that came when I read those books. I'm getting goosebumps now.
Don't know if you know, but that's because I've been so damn busy.
Reading books.
I've borrowed tons of books from the library in September, and since they had due dates with them I rushed to read them all. I still have 10 more to go, heh.
I'm just blogging now because I've had these thoughts over the past few days or maybe weeks.
So I read this book called Pivot Point by Kasie West, a paranormal YA. This paranormal world where people have 'abilities'; our main character Addie has the ability to Search; when faced with decisions to make, she is able to see into the futures for each choice.
When her parents got a divorce, she had to choose between staying in the paranormal world with her mom, or move to the real world with her dad. So of course, she decides to see into both futures. The chapters alternate between each futures.
During her Search in the future with her dad, she meets this boy named Trevor. A normal boy, with no abilities, considering he's from the real world. At one point of the Search, Addie decides to tell him all about her ability, all about the paranormal world.
They're having that loving moment, him cupping her face in his hands and she looking at him adoringly when Trevor asks; "Addie, what if this is a Search? What if now, this very moment, isn't set in stone. What if you're just seeing a vision of what could be?"
That caused some bomb of realisation to explode somewhere in my head. The thought of a moment being something less than a reality. A moment being just a dream, or a daydream. That it was never real, or that it will never be real.
Addie chose the future with her mom, so she never met Trevor in the same way as in her Search. In the sequel, Split Second, she goes to live with her dad in the real world during her holidays, and there she does meet Trevor, but in a completely different way.
Can you imagine having someone you shared moments and love with, staring at you like you're just a stranger? Another thought that ripped my heart out. To have Addie being the only one who 'remembers' all that time spent together.
Sure, it was just a Search, nothing more than a daydream, but it was also a potential future. It was going to happen for sure if she had chosen that path, and yet just as easily those moments could be violently taken away.
I don't know what you think of it, but it kinda scared me to think about it. To live in a moment only to imagine that it isn't set in stone, that it could be just a daydream.
Think of it this way, it's like having grown 20 years and then waking up as a baby, having all those years as a mere dream you were having. All those times you had fallen down, fallen in love, laughed and cried and all those friends you made were just a vision of the future. And now that you're back in reality, it's not confirmed that you'll have all that at all.
It's exactly like how sometimes the line is blurred between reality and Dreamworld. [if you know the problems I have with my nightly dreams] One second I'm very sure that's reality, and then I wake up to realise no, I was just dreaming.
Makes me question every moment that I breathe when I'm awake. I've read 4 books since then, and I'm still lost in the thought that right now, this moment, may or may not be real at all.
Don't know if I may seem like I'm babbling, but these are just the thoughts that came when I read those books. I'm getting goosebumps now.
Thursday, September 11, 2014
Wind of voices
The first thing I see are my black jeans. My black shirt. My black sneakers. I hold up my hands. They are dirty. I don't need a mirror to guess that my face is probably just as soiled.
Something about ferns... They are everywhere. I see a few HDB blocks but even those are not as many as the fern trees. They are growing everywhere, I could die strangled by their leaves.
I see a family pass me by, looking at one another like they were the most wonderful things each has ever seen. They look happy to be together; they don't even realise I'm standing there and practically walk right through me.
One of the daughters picks up a fern leaf, spins around while letting it go. I watch the fern float higher and higher until it is gone into the clouds.
When I look back down from the sky, I see a boy staring at me. He grins and runs off, and I find myself chasing after him. I've never seen him before, yet he has the aura of something familiar, as if I've been intimate with him in my past life.
I lose him for a moment, fern trees breathing down my neck and pulling my ankles wherever I go. I stand on a lift lobby, very sure I've lost him, when there he is in the distance.
He holds another girl in his arms, she with her long wavy dark hair. They stand in a space that is surrounded by the playground, embracing each other. Occasionally he looks over her shoulder and gives a secret smile at me.
My stomach wants to lurch and my throat wants to throw itself out my mouth. People are gathered around them, filling up the playground and watching and cooing at them, I believe admiring how cute they are together.
I see his eyes on me still, how longingly they look at me. I almost see him reaching his hand out to me, but I turn away when I notice how she looks completely in love with him.
I can't ruin that, can't ruin the show that everyone is enjoying.
I hide at the back of the playground, making sure I don't see them anymore. I sit in the shadows of the audience, sobbing until a soldier comes over to me. A soldier, with a patch over his left eye and a wooden leg. He looks like a pirate in these parts, yet I identify him as a soldier because the rest of him looks that way.
He has a huge gun slung over his chest, while he holds a chain whip. He tells me not to cry, comparing my heartbreak to his past. He tells me he's lost an eye and a leg in the war, and yet he never cries.
"That's your story, this is my story, and I want to cry as and when I feel sad. I don't care about your past!" I argue. He continues demanding I stop crying, that I just suck it up unless I lose a leg and an eye myself, then I can cry. The bastard!
I glare at him, and that is when he whips me with his chain. I don't see it coming, and even if I did, he moves fast. It tears through my jeans and even my skin; I catch a glimpse of my bone through the hole his chain has made. My bone looks burnt, as if the chain is made of fire.
He tells me to stop crying, while he holds his chain up, ready for another beating. I turn to run instead, into the lift I was standing by earlier. A silhouette that resembles the Grim Reaper is the last thing I see before the doors close on me.
As the lift takes me up to the highest floor, I drop to my knees and bury my face in my hands. The whispering in my ears grow more and more intense the higher I go.
The door finally opens after what seems like forever; in front of me is nothing but a straight lane. Neither doors nor windows decorate its dirty walls. I don't see where it ends.
I begin walking to the end, and that is when the whispers become shouts. I can't make out what they're saying, but the voices act like wind blowing against me. The louder they get, the harder it gets for me to walk forward. My injured leg doesn't help.
My desire to jump to my death is what keeps me alive, to the extent that my walks become crawls. I try to get up, but I hear the crack of a bone. I look down and watch in horror as the bottom of my leg breaks away from my thigh. I fall on the remaining of my leg, and watch the rest fly back to where I came from.
I make out a little of what some of the voices are saying: I hear "red and blue", "Fernvale", "die with a Ghost". I hear the name of the boy, and the girl he was hugging. It's almost too much for me to bear.
I think I almost reach the end, and the voices become sharp as knives, cutting into every part of my face. The Grim Reaper stands before me; he lifts his cloak to reveal the soldier from before.
I can't run anymore. I let his chain cut through my every bone, as he whips at me again and again. It is made of fire, it burns me yet it doesn't hurt me. In fact, I seem to enjoy the heat. It's solace compared to the cold of the voices and the wind.
He cuts me into pieces, each part of my body flying off to where the lift door stands. He cuts off my ears and finally I hear nothing but silence, as my head lifts from the ground and floats back to wherever the wind of the voices takes me.
I am finally in oblivion.
It is my last thought before I wake up from the nightmare.
Something about ferns... They are everywhere. I see a few HDB blocks but even those are not as many as the fern trees. They are growing everywhere, I could die strangled by their leaves.
I see a family pass me by, looking at one another like they were the most wonderful things each has ever seen. They look happy to be together; they don't even realise I'm standing there and practically walk right through me.
One of the daughters picks up a fern leaf, spins around while letting it go. I watch the fern float higher and higher until it is gone into the clouds.
When I look back down from the sky, I see a boy staring at me. He grins and runs off, and I find myself chasing after him. I've never seen him before, yet he has the aura of something familiar, as if I've been intimate with him in my past life.
I lose him for a moment, fern trees breathing down my neck and pulling my ankles wherever I go. I stand on a lift lobby, very sure I've lost him, when there he is in the distance.
He holds another girl in his arms, she with her long wavy dark hair. They stand in a space that is surrounded by the playground, embracing each other. Occasionally he looks over her shoulder and gives a secret smile at me.
My stomach wants to lurch and my throat wants to throw itself out my mouth. People are gathered around them, filling up the playground and watching and cooing at them, I believe admiring how cute they are together.
I see his eyes on me still, how longingly they look at me. I almost see him reaching his hand out to me, but I turn away when I notice how she looks completely in love with him.
I can't ruin that, can't ruin the show that everyone is enjoying.
I hide at the back of the playground, making sure I don't see them anymore. I sit in the shadows of the audience, sobbing until a soldier comes over to me. A soldier, with a patch over his left eye and a wooden leg. He looks like a pirate in these parts, yet I identify him as a soldier because the rest of him looks that way.
He has a huge gun slung over his chest, while he holds a chain whip. He tells me not to cry, comparing my heartbreak to his past. He tells me he's lost an eye and a leg in the war, and yet he never cries.
"That's your story, this is my story, and I want to cry as and when I feel sad. I don't care about your past!" I argue. He continues demanding I stop crying, that I just suck it up unless I lose a leg and an eye myself, then I can cry. The bastard!
I glare at him, and that is when he whips me with his chain. I don't see it coming, and even if I did, he moves fast. It tears through my jeans and even my skin; I catch a glimpse of my bone through the hole his chain has made. My bone looks burnt, as if the chain is made of fire.
He tells me to stop crying, while he holds his chain up, ready for another beating. I turn to run instead, into the lift I was standing by earlier. A silhouette that resembles the Grim Reaper is the last thing I see before the doors close on me.
As the lift takes me up to the highest floor, I drop to my knees and bury my face in my hands. The whispering in my ears grow more and more intense the higher I go.
The door finally opens after what seems like forever; in front of me is nothing but a straight lane. Neither doors nor windows decorate its dirty walls. I don't see where it ends.
I begin walking to the end, and that is when the whispers become shouts. I can't make out what they're saying, but the voices act like wind blowing against me. The louder they get, the harder it gets for me to walk forward. My injured leg doesn't help.
My desire to jump to my death is what keeps me alive, to the extent that my walks become crawls. I try to get up, but I hear the crack of a bone. I look down and watch in horror as the bottom of my leg breaks away from my thigh. I fall on the remaining of my leg, and watch the rest fly back to where I came from.
I make out a little of what some of the voices are saying: I hear "red and blue", "Fernvale", "die with a Ghost". I hear the name of the boy, and the girl he was hugging. It's almost too much for me to bear.
I think I almost reach the end, and the voices become sharp as knives, cutting into every part of my face. The Grim Reaper stands before me; he lifts his cloak to reveal the soldier from before.
I can't run anymore. I let his chain cut through my every bone, as he whips at me again and again. It is made of fire, it burns me yet it doesn't hurt me. In fact, I seem to enjoy the heat. It's solace compared to the cold of the voices and the wind.
He cuts me into pieces, each part of my body flying off to where the lift door stands. He cuts off my ears and finally I hear nothing but silence, as my head lifts from the ground and floats back to wherever the wind of the voices takes me.
I am finally in oblivion.
It is my last thought before I wake up from the nightmare.
Sunday, August 31, 2014
Death by roots
A boy and a girl. About my age. Each on either side of me, frowns on their faces and arms wrapped around themselves.
The country was in ruins. The world as we knew it, gone. People couldn't be trusted. I'm not sure they were even people anymore; everyone was empty, vacant, haunted by something that couldn't be exorcised.
The ghosts came after us as much as the 'people' did. We were running every minute, trying our damndest to escape the monstrosities all around us.
We ran and we ran, but we couldn't escape.
I was holding her hand, running as fast as we could, when a voice above us hollered; "You can't get too far away from each other, or the one left behind gets turned to dust!"
We looked back to see our other companion fade to dust as promised; his clothes fell to the ground, and as we looked back in horror, a tree grew in his place. Roots crawled all around, branches and twigs grabbed at his clothes and kept them bound to the stone where he fell.
The country was in ruins. The world as we knew it, gone. People couldn't be trusted. I'm not sure they were even people anymore; everyone was empty, vacant, haunted by something that couldn't be exorcised.
The ghosts came after us as much as the 'people' did. We were running every minute, trying our damndest to escape the monstrosities all around us.
We ran and we ran, but we couldn't escape.
I was holding her hand, running as fast as we could, when a voice above us hollered; "You can't get too far away from each other, or the one left behind gets turned to dust!"
We looked back to see our other companion fade to dust as promised; his clothes fell to the ground, and as we looked back in horror, a tree grew in his place. Roots crawled all around, branches and twigs grabbed at his clothes and kept them bound to the stone where he fell.
____
We were being taught how to bury the dead. A man stood in front of us, filling in a hole with dirt, telling us to be careful with our movements.
He came over to me and with a piercing glare, asked if I had someone I needed to bury. I pretended I didn't know what he was talking about, but he didn't keep his eyes off me.
I went over to one of the tombstones in the cemetery we were at, looked at the poem written on it. The man came over again, said; "You have to bury him despite his state as dust, because his roots need to grow underneath where they belong."
He stabbed the point of his sword onto a metal that lies on top of the grave; a piece of metal that beeped red as soon as he did that. A bomb that was going off, threatening to blow the bodies beneath the soil to bits; and me too, if I stayed.
____
I hadn't had time to run.
I was flying once again, only in a broken state. My neck was still twisted, my legs were still broken. My hair still flowed gently with the breeze.
No sound could be heard except the whispering of the wind in my ears. Maybe I'd gone deaf from the explosion at the graveyard.
One thing's for sure, I was at peace as the wind carried me. I didn't trust that it'd bring me somewhere safe but I savoured the moment of being in its arms.
A tree had grown to the height where the wind took me. It would have been beautiful if it wasn't for its fast growing rate; it was shooting into the sky faster than a bullet. Faster than me.
Among the evergrowing bark of the tree, I caught a glimpse of a face inside it. A torso lied in the middle of it, branches growing where its limbs would have been, where its head would have been.
A voice said to me, like a narrator from a movie or a book: "And finally, she managed to catch the most beautiful sight in all of history; her soulmate growing in his element, becoming one with the trees and keeping in touch with his roots."
I realised that if we died intertwined with our Types, an explosion would be one way. I just had to wait for the fire to take me from the inside like how the trees had done with my soulmate; wait for the flame to eat me, lick my entirety and continue burning from my charred skin.
____
I woke up with a fever.
These 3 dreams convinced me that my soulmate is Grass-Type or dead or both.
Been a while since I updated about my dreams. I wish I could understand them better instead of declaring war back on them.
Tuesday, July 01, 2014
Found love in a hopeless place
Love was found in a hopeless place.
The first time I saw him, he was looking so beautiful, standing in the middle of the road. He looked at me like he thought I was beautiful too. He looked like he was made to stand there, and I admired him for that because I loved the roads.
We both felt like we were made for each other. We both felt most belonged on the roads more than anywhere else; we found love in each other through our belonging nowhere. He didn't talk much but he spoke to me through his eyes and smiles, and the way he brushed my hair away from my face.
The second time we met, we climbed up onto a rooftop that was in plain sight of everyone, and looked at all the people passing by. We judged them, we wondered about their life stories, what could possibly make them laugh or cry at night.
When people started to turn and look at us instead, we decided to give them something to judge by kissing each other. The looks of disgust and disgrace given to us only made us burst out into belly-clutching laughter each time.
The third time we met, love was made in the middle of the road. It was 3 in the morning, and my back was against the asphalt that I've only stepped on my whole life. The texture of the road left marks down my back and on his knees, but they didn't stay very long.
He didn't stay very long either. He died after our third and last meeting.
And I didn't stay very long myself. I didn't even have time to mourn for him, because I had to wake up and go back to the real world.
Had this dream like a month ago, and it still bothers me somehow. I woke up feeling a strong presence, like he was there in my room. Like it's God's way of informing me that my soul mate has died and I will truly be alone.
He didn't stay very long either. He died after our third and last meeting.
And I didn't stay very long myself. I didn't even have time to mourn for him, because I had to wake up and go back to the real world.
____
Friday, June 27, 2014
A war with my dreams
I didn't want to talk about this to anyone because people would just think I'm crazy.
My dreams have been getting weird. I have no other way to put it, but they're starting to have minds of their own. Like how a doll suddenly gains ability to move around.
As if it wasn't enough that they've been dark, violent, bloody; now it feels like they want to take over me. Like they want to be real instead of just dreams. Like how Pinocchio was a puppet who wanted to be a real boy.
Just a while ago, they started to come at times of the day when they were least expected. Then they started to come more and more consistent and frequent. I'd wake up from a dream that seemed to have gone on for days, only to see that 10 minutes have passed since I fell asleep.
My dreams were improving like how movies improved in time. They were becoming 4-dimensional, or 5-dimensional, or whatever. I've been starting to feel the effects of what my dream-self went through in the dreams. I've felt cold when I woke up from a dream with snow. A headache from a dream where I was shot in the head. Little things like that.
A few nights ago, I had this dream where I was surrounded by fire, and at the same time being rained upon. I had a high fever the day after, the kind of fever you'd develop when you get caught in hujan panas [not sure what it's called in English, but it's kinda 'rain when the sun is still out'].
This morning, I woke up vomiting non-stop, and my stomach was hurting so bad.
I had just woken up from a dream in which I was pregnant.
I told myself I've grown used to all these dreams, but they're still scary nonetheless. What scares me is how they're starting to control me. The line that divides reality and Dreamworld is fading, and my dreams seem to be winning this war right now.
My thoughts don't control my dreams anymore.
My dreams control my thoughts.
They're getting into my head and I've no idea how to get them out.
I've been happy these past 2 months or so, really I have. So I have no reason to dream of such miserable things, because I haven't had sad thoughts. It feels like, the dreams I have need misery to feed on, and are angry to know that I've been happy, because they're hungry.
Someone told me he's had nightmares about me, three nights in a row. We've never talked personally with each other. We've not talked or met for a long time in fact, and we were never even close, so it was strange for him to be getting bad dreams about me.
It makes me feel overpowered by something so damn weak like dreams. What does my Dreamworld want? What is it trying to tell me, or do to me? It drives me crazy thinking of how it's acting on me right now. It's a mystery that can never be solved. A case that people would just laugh at and forget.
I really don't like sleeping anymore, because of all these bad dreams. Nightmares that leave lasting impacts on me through the whole day, screaming for attention and desperately wanting me to be miserable. God. It's tiring. I won't be surprised if I die in my sleep anytime soon.
Then again I really want to fight back. If they really do feed on my agony and pain, then all the more I should be happy and positive in order to get rid of them. I shouldn't let these things get to me; what comes from Dreamworld should stay in the Dreamworld. Stay at the back of my head, and don't come out ever.
My dreams have been getting weird. I have no other way to put it, but they're starting to have minds of their own. Like how a doll suddenly gains ability to move around.
As if it wasn't enough that they've been dark, violent, bloody; now it feels like they want to take over me. Like they want to be real instead of just dreams. Like how Pinocchio was a puppet who wanted to be a real boy.
Just a while ago, they started to come at times of the day when they were least expected. Then they started to come more and more consistent and frequent. I'd wake up from a dream that seemed to have gone on for days, only to see that 10 minutes have passed since I fell asleep.
My dreams were improving like how movies improved in time. They were becoming 4-dimensional, or 5-dimensional, or whatever. I've been starting to feel the effects of what my dream-self went through in the dreams. I've felt cold when I woke up from a dream with snow. A headache from a dream where I was shot in the head. Little things like that.
A few nights ago, I had this dream where I was surrounded by fire, and at the same time being rained upon. I had a high fever the day after, the kind of fever you'd develop when you get caught in hujan panas [not sure what it's called in English, but it's kinda 'rain when the sun is still out'].
This morning, I woke up vomiting non-stop, and my stomach was hurting so bad.
I had just woken up from a dream in which I was pregnant.
I told myself I've grown used to all these dreams, but they're still scary nonetheless. What scares me is how they're starting to control me. The line that divides reality and Dreamworld is fading, and my dreams seem to be winning this war right now.
My thoughts don't control my dreams anymore.
My dreams control my thoughts.
They're getting into my head and I've no idea how to get them out.
I've been happy these past 2 months or so, really I have. So I have no reason to dream of such miserable things, because I haven't had sad thoughts. It feels like, the dreams I have need misery to feed on, and are angry to know that I've been happy, because they're hungry.
Someone told me he's had nightmares about me, three nights in a row. We've never talked personally with each other. We've not talked or met for a long time in fact, and we were never even close, so it was strange for him to be getting bad dreams about me.
It makes me feel overpowered by something so damn weak like dreams. What does my Dreamworld want? What is it trying to tell me, or do to me? It drives me crazy thinking of how it's acting on me right now. It's a mystery that can never be solved. A case that people would just laugh at and forget.
I really don't like sleeping anymore, because of all these bad dreams. Nightmares that leave lasting impacts on me through the whole day, screaming for attention and desperately wanting me to be miserable. God. It's tiring. I won't be surprised if I die in my sleep anytime soon.
Then again I really want to fight back. If they really do feed on my agony and pain, then all the more I should be happy and positive in order to get rid of them. I shouldn't let these things get to me; what comes from Dreamworld should stay in the Dreamworld. Stay at the back of my head, and don't come out ever.
Sunday, June 08, 2014
Erudite anal-probe???
Another night, another dream. Long enough and an impact that's hard. I'd managed to get a whole dream to write about this time, after getting vague dreams the whole term since school started. Meh.
Anyway, I'm starting to believe my Dreamworld is really one world in its own. I don't know how to put it in words, apart from the fact that the places I dreamt of, I don't just see them again in real life, but I see them again in separate dreams.
Just a while ago I dreamt of an apocalyptic Johore Bahru. I was in a car, looking out the window, driving along its abandoned ruins. The grounds were snow-filled, though I don't remember if there were anymore snow falling from the sky.
I believe last night I was brought back to that time and space. I remember more snow, the same ruined road, and someone mentioning that we were going 'deeper into Johore Bahru', probably further than where my dream-self had explored before.
'We' arrived at this little town [I don't recall exactly who I was with], which actually consisted of a garden, a few houses and a freaking huge school. The whole town was filled with snow, which made it difficult to walk, especially through the garden, but I made it.
We got into the compound of the school, which was deserted as hell. Not for long because a woman with a giant bell protruding out of her stomach ran over to us and started making a lot of noise by ringing the bell and yelling at the top of her voice.
One of the people I was with said that was the job of these bell-stomached people: to attract attention and alert the authorities when there are intruders. As soon as he said that, a woman appeared behind him, one who looked important, she in her suit and hands behind her back, chin held high.
We all seemed calm, though I'm pretty sure my companions were scared as fuck. She commanded us to follow her, which we did, until 2 of the boys from the 5 of us developed a plan and ran off. The remaining 3 of us didn't follow, because the woman had had her eyes on us. What's more, the fact that she had seen the other 2 boys running off but wasn't fazed by it just intrigued all of us.
She brought us into this room, chucked at the back of the school, and the first thing I noticed upon walking into it was a grown man laid on an uncomfortable-looking bed. He was naked, and he was completely stripped of his sexual organs.
I slowly looked around to see that he wasn't the only one. There was one by the door, another by our side, both laid down, naked and without any genitals. My companions who followed the woman with me were a girl and a boy, so you can imagine the look of horror on the latter.
The woman explained: "For many years, this town we live in has been in extreme poverty. Despite that, education and intelligence mean the world to us, more valuable than any amount of money or any diamond. Many of the people in our school were too poor to afford schoolbooks, but the rule of the town is that it's compulsory for everyone in our town to know the content of our books.
That is why, the only way we could spread the knowledge without spending a single cent was to circumcise these men, so we could probe into them the content of the books. What is written in these books are put into them via anus so as to transfer the information to their heads."
And she demonstrated.
I'm not even gonna try to describe it. It was too grotesque, too horrific for words.
We all watched in horror until the woman casually looked at us and said, "As long as you've touched your feet on our land for more than 10 minutes, you are considered part of us, and thus, it is necessary that you withhold the content of our schoolbooks in your heads as well."
We slowly backed up as she approached us, until the door opened behind us and our other 2 companions yelled at us to run. We didn't need them to tell us that; we bolted out the door and our feet took us, anywhere as long as we were away from the woman and the anal-probing.
We had a car, but it was parked at the outskirts of the garden and we couldn't take the risk of changing direction. It was chaos as we just, well, ran.
I got separated from my companions, and for the rest of the dream I was on my own exploring this dystopian town that was once Johore Bahru. I reached a carnival where monkeys were attempting to steal your phones. I drank at a bar where they decided who were your friends or foes by taking blood tests. I looked out the window to see that the sun was just a giant yellow spaceship with orange rings around it.
My dream-self was in disbelief that that was happening to her. It all felt too surreal, but unfortunately for her, everything that she had seen or felt was her reality. Just like how I feel when I'm on a bus, looking out the window, thinking of all that has happened to me.
Maybe that's just why my dreams take a huge toll on me. She's convinced that she's in reality when she's just in my dreams, so I wake up believing that her world is mine. I wake up still stuck in there, still messed around by the things she had seen.
Just a theory. I love theories.
And that's just the dream I had this morning. I woke up from it at 4 in the morning, feeling breathless and perspiring my head off. I don't remember what was the last thing I'd been running from really, considering the fact that running away from the woman had happened toward the beginning. There're so many gaps in my dreams most of the time.
I also can't forget the display of the men on their beds, with holes at where their sexual organs should have been. As much as I hate men, that is not a pleasant sight, and seeing them anally probed was not nice at all. Ah. My goosebumps.
Anyway, I'm starting to believe my Dreamworld is really one world in its own. I don't know how to put it in words, apart from the fact that the places I dreamt of, I don't just see them again in real life, but I see them again in separate dreams.
Just a while ago I dreamt of an apocalyptic Johore Bahru. I was in a car, looking out the window, driving along its abandoned ruins. The grounds were snow-filled, though I don't remember if there were anymore snow falling from the sky.
I believe last night I was brought back to that time and space. I remember more snow, the same ruined road, and someone mentioning that we were going 'deeper into Johore Bahru', probably further than where my dream-self had explored before.
'We' arrived at this little town [I don't recall exactly who I was with], which actually consisted of a garden, a few houses and a freaking huge school. The whole town was filled with snow, which made it difficult to walk, especially through the garden, but I made it.
We got into the compound of the school, which was deserted as hell. Not for long because a woman with a giant bell protruding out of her stomach ran over to us and started making a lot of noise by ringing the bell and yelling at the top of her voice.
One of the people I was with said that was the job of these bell-stomached people: to attract attention and alert the authorities when there are intruders. As soon as he said that, a woman appeared behind him, one who looked important, she in her suit and hands behind her back, chin held high.
We all seemed calm, though I'm pretty sure my companions were scared as fuck. She commanded us to follow her, which we did, until 2 of the boys from the 5 of us developed a plan and ran off. The remaining 3 of us didn't follow, because the woman had had her eyes on us. What's more, the fact that she had seen the other 2 boys running off but wasn't fazed by it just intrigued all of us.
She brought us into this room, chucked at the back of the school, and the first thing I noticed upon walking into it was a grown man laid on an uncomfortable-looking bed. He was naked, and he was completely stripped of his sexual organs.
I slowly looked around to see that he wasn't the only one. There was one by the door, another by our side, both laid down, naked and without any genitals. My companions who followed the woman with me were a girl and a boy, so you can imagine the look of horror on the latter.
The woman explained: "For many years, this town we live in has been in extreme poverty. Despite that, education and intelligence mean the world to us, more valuable than any amount of money or any diamond. Many of the people in our school were too poor to afford schoolbooks, but the rule of the town is that it's compulsory for everyone in our town to know the content of our books.
That is why, the only way we could spread the knowledge without spending a single cent was to circumcise these men, so we could probe into them the content of the books. What is written in these books are put into them via anus so as to transfer the information to their heads."
And she demonstrated.
I'm not even gonna try to describe it. It was too grotesque, too horrific for words.
We all watched in horror until the woman casually looked at us and said, "As long as you've touched your feet on our land for more than 10 minutes, you are considered part of us, and thus, it is necessary that you withhold the content of our schoolbooks in your heads as well."
We slowly backed up as she approached us, until the door opened behind us and our other 2 companions yelled at us to run. We didn't need them to tell us that; we bolted out the door and our feet took us, anywhere as long as we were away from the woman and the anal-probing.
We had a car, but it was parked at the outskirts of the garden and we couldn't take the risk of changing direction. It was chaos as we just, well, ran.
I got separated from my companions, and for the rest of the dream I was on my own exploring this dystopian town that was once Johore Bahru. I reached a carnival where monkeys were attempting to steal your phones. I drank at a bar where they decided who were your friends or foes by taking blood tests. I looked out the window to see that the sun was just a giant yellow spaceship with orange rings around it.
My dream-self was in disbelief that that was happening to her. It all felt too surreal, but unfortunately for her, everything that she had seen or felt was her reality. Just like how I feel when I'm on a bus, looking out the window, thinking of all that has happened to me.
Maybe that's just why my dreams take a huge toll on me. She's convinced that she's in reality when she's just in my dreams, so I wake up believing that her world is mine. I wake up still stuck in there, still messed around by the things she had seen.
Just a theory. I love theories.
And that's just the dream I had this morning. I woke up from it at 4 in the morning, feeling breathless and perspiring my head off. I don't remember what was the last thing I'd been running from really, considering the fact that running away from the woman had happened toward the beginning. There're so many gaps in my dreams most of the time.
I also can't forget the display of the men on their beds, with holes at where their sexual organs should have been. As much as I hate men, that is not a pleasant sight, and seeing them anally probed was not nice at all. Ah. My goosebumps.
Sunday, May 04, 2014
Strangled by a spider the size of my face
After two weeks of school, my dreams have been relatively 'normal'.
Okay, there was one where Johore Bahru was all dead and abandoned because it got bombed, and another where we were escaping a giant tornado on a ship, where the people around me were all soulless. And another where I was driving on the wrong side of the expressway, a la Heavy Rain.
Honestly, this is considered early for me to be up on a weekend. But that's because I'd woken up from one hell of a dream. I can still feel it all over my face.
It starts out with a narrative; a voice is saying, "I was forced to do homework, because this teacher had a reputation for giving us assignments that would fill to the brim of the cup."
The person I am in the dream [pretty sure it isn't myself] graduated from high school and moved out, and the dream fast forwarded to years later, or maybe I just forgot what happened in between.
I'm back at the house I was in at the beginning, and this time, a little boy is in my place. By the desk, slumped over with a pen in hand and papers beneath his cheek. Exactly my position at the start of the dream.
A spider sits beside him. Just the normal house spiders you'd see, the ones with super thin legs that look literally just like lines. You know? Except this spider is the size of your face. And it's talking.
It looks like it's manipulating the little boy, who is apparently my little brother in the dream. The narrator says again, "She watched him take her place, watched in horror because she knows how [insert a teacher's name which I didn't get] had a reputation for giving assignments that filled to the brim of the cup."
The spider is babbling some motivational shit to the boy, but when he remains slumped, it brings him over to me. The boy follows, and I can see how tired and dead his face is.
Before I can question what it intends to do, the spider throws itself onto my face. I try to scream, but it wraps half its legs across my throat. I reach for its body, trying to pull it off my face, but the harder I pull, the more it strangles me. There's also a burning sensation on my hand whenever I make contact with its body.
As if that isn't disgusting enough, the spider says to the boy: "You have to be able to do this in order to study...." it has a draggy, raspy voice, gosh. And it wraps more legs around the back of my head, and inserts them into my ear.
I'm really struggling to get it off at this point, but I can't bear how it's strangling me. The front of my neck has always been my most sensitive spot; could never sit properly during a haircut because I was always tugging the drape away from my neck.
The spider's legs are all over me by now; strangling me, cleaning out my ears, and it's even saying, "You have to insert from here, and go through, and come out from the other ear....." I can't scream, but my heart's beating fast while I shake my head violently.
One more shake of my head, and BAM. I woke up. And I could still feel the tingling on the side of my face and in my ear, and around my neck.
I swear I've not been thinking of spiders, what the hell. Maybe it's because you guys have been so obsessed with The Amazing Spider-Man 2, ugh. Thanks a lot guys.
Okay, there was one where Johore Bahru was all dead and abandoned because it got bombed, and another where we were escaping a giant tornado on a ship, where the people around me were all soulless. And another where I was driving on the wrong side of the expressway, a la Heavy Rain.
Honestly, this is considered early for me to be up on a weekend. But that's because I'd woken up from one hell of a dream. I can still feel it all over my face.
It starts out with a narrative; a voice is saying, "I was forced to do homework, because this teacher had a reputation for giving us assignments that would fill to the brim of the cup."
The person I am in the dream [pretty sure it isn't myself] graduated from high school and moved out, and the dream fast forwarded to years later, or maybe I just forgot what happened in between.
I'm back at the house I was in at the beginning, and this time, a little boy is in my place. By the desk, slumped over with a pen in hand and papers beneath his cheek. Exactly my position at the start of the dream.
A spider sits beside him. Just the normal house spiders you'd see, the ones with super thin legs that look literally just like lines. You know? Except this spider is the size of your face. And it's talking.
It looks like it's manipulating the little boy, who is apparently my little brother in the dream. The narrator says again, "She watched him take her place, watched in horror because she knows how [insert a teacher's name which I didn't get] had a reputation for giving assignments that filled to the brim of the cup."
The spider is babbling some motivational shit to the boy, but when he remains slumped, it brings him over to me. The boy follows, and I can see how tired and dead his face is.
Before I can question what it intends to do, the spider throws itself onto my face. I try to scream, but it wraps half its legs across my throat. I reach for its body, trying to pull it off my face, but the harder I pull, the more it strangles me. There's also a burning sensation on my hand whenever I make contact with its body.
As if that isn't disgusting enough, the spider says to the boy: "You have to be able to do this in order to study...." it has a draggy, raspy voice, gosh. And it wraps more legs around the back of my head, and inserts them into my ear.
I'm really struggling to get it off at this point, but I can't bear how it's strangling me. The front of my neck has always been my most sensitive spot; could never sit properly during a haircut because I was always tugging the drape away from my neck.
The spider's legs are all over me by now; strangling me, cleaning out my ears, and it's even saying, "You have to insert from here, and go through, and come out from the other ear....." I can't scream, but my heart's beating fast while I shake my head violently.
One more shake of my head, and BAM. I woke up. And I could still feel the tingling on the side of my face and in my ear, and around my neck.
I swear I've not been thinking of spiders, what the hell. Maybe it's because you guys have been so obsessed with The Amazing Spider-Man 2, ugh. Thanks a lot guys.
Thursday, April 17, 2014
I can't sleep alone
I miss my grandmother and the cats.
I miss Paya Lebar. I like everything about it. I've gotten used to the ringing of the bells on the cats' collars. I've gotten used to staying home all day just reading. I've gotten used to my grandmother's nagging and her stories. I've gotten used to being forced to sleep every night.
Here at Pasir Ris, everything is different of course. The only cats here are the ones at the coffeeshop, and the neighbour's which could only occasionally visit. Here, I'm out everytime nobody else is home. Here, nobody nags at me properly. Here, I stay up all night every night.
I told myself to be strong and I did it. But guess what? I still have a weakness. And it sucks.
I've repeatedly reminded myself, "Love over fear", because it was the only way to make me go to sleep. My dreams make good stories; the more horrible they are, the more they actually mean to me. And you know me, I'd love to have a good story from my dreams.
School holidays are a good chance to avoid bad dreams. I needed a break, because when there's school, I'm forced to sleep early, and I'm vulnerable to the dreams that way. They make me tired, they mess with my head because of the inflicted emotions.
Even during holidays, at Paya Lebar, I know my grandmother wouldn't allow me to sleep late. I wouldn't mind that because when I have bad dreams, I'd wake up to see that she's there with me.
It's not the same here. I have my own bedroom. I don't want my parents to think I'm still a kid. Like hey, I survived a year without you guys. I'm stronger than you think.
I tried. I tried to have a night alone, but it still scares me. Before I left Pasir Ris in 2012, the dreams weren't as bad as they are now. Possibly because I've seen a lot more since then.
I know it's stupid that I'm actually letting dreams control me, but really. You should see how they really look like, in the dead of the night, in my head. It's far worse than emotions.
If you read my blog posts from before... I can especially never forget the feel of the gap at the back of my head. The way I could pry my skull open just by using my fingers. The sticky texture of my blood, on my fingers and running down my face. The way I looked in the mirror. [link]
There are a dozen others of course, most of which I never blogged about because they were too short. But trust me, they're dang memorable in the harsh way. Little moments here and there that were scary or violent enough to be etched into your brain.
Honestly, I'm most scared of the 3 a.m. hour. If I'm sleeping alone, I'll make sure I'm not asleep within this time frame, because I wouldn't be able to handle it on my own. The safest time to sleep is at 4.30 in the morning. Just because.
I know. It's weird to be in the control of my dreams. It's weird, and unbelievable. But I was tired of the dreams. I dream of ghosts that went up my skirt and into me, of classmates being buried alive and trapped under boulders, of children being slaughtered, of my grandmother being thrown a distance by a truck.
I remember all these and more. Dreams aren't easy to forget. People say it's cool, that I remember my dreams, when in actual fact there's nothing cool about it.
I've gotten tired of them. They eat away at me, long after I've woken up. Even if they were normal, without violence or creepy shit, they linger. They make me think of people I've forgotten, they make me wonder if these people are safe. They're that controlling of me.
Yeah. The dreams I have at night have always been my weakness.
I'm dreading school not only because of the fact that I've no friends now, but also because I'll be forced to go to sleep every night in order to be able to wake up the next morning. Not looking forward to it at all.
And you know what? The harder I try to fight this, the stronger they seem to become. Naps at 1 in the afternoon have always been peaceful, but lately they creep up to me at these times too, in broad daylight. I don't like it.
There's more to this. But I don't want to show anymore weakness than I should have.
I miss Paya Lebar. I like everything about it. I've gotten used to the ringing of the bells on the cats' collars. I've gotten used to staying home all day just reading. I've gotten used to my grandmother's nagging and her stories. I've gotten used to being forced to sleep every night.
Here at Pasir Ris, everything is different of course. The only cats here are the ones at the coffeeshop, and the neighbour's which could only occasionally visit. Here, I'm out everytime nobody else is home. Here, nobody nags at me properly. Here, I stay up all night every night.
I told myself to be strong and I did it. But guess what? I still have a weakness. And it sucks.
I've repeatedly reminded myself, "Love over fear", because it was the only way to make me go to sleep. My dreams make good stories; the more horrible they are, the more they actually mean to me. And you know me, I'd love to have a good story from my dreams.
School holidays are a good chance to avoid bad dreams. I needed a break, because when there's school, I'm forced to sleep early, and I'm vulnerable to the dreams that way. They make me tired, they mess with my head because of the inflicted emotions.
Even during holidays, at Paya Lebar, I know my grandmother wouldn't allow me to sleep late. I wouldn't mind that because when I have bad dreams, I'd wake up to see that she's there with me.
It's not the same here. I have my own bedroom. I don't want my parents to think I'm still a kid. Like hey, I survived a year without you guys. I'm stronger than you think.
I tried. I tried to have a night alone, but it still scares me. Before I left Pasir Ris in 2012, the dreams weren't as bad as they are now. Possibly because I've seen a lot more since then.
I know it's stupid that I'm actually letting dreams control me, but really. You should see how they really look like, in the dead of the night, in my head. It's far worse than emotions.
If you read my blog posts from before... I can especially never forget the feel of the gap at the back of my head. The way I could pry my skull open just by using my fingers. The sticky texture of my blood, on my fingers and running down my face. The way I looked in the mirror. [link]
There are a dozen others of course, most of which I never blogged about because they were too short. But trust me, they're dang memorable in the harsh way. Little moments here and there that were scary or violent enough to be etched into your brain.
Honestly, I'm most scared of the 3 a.m. hour. If I'm sleeping alone, I'll make sure I'm not asleep within this time frame, because I wouldn't be able to handle it on my own. The safest time to sleep is at 4.30 in the morning. Just because.
I know. It's weird to be in the control of my dreams. It's weird, and unbelievable. But I was tired of the dreams. I dream of ghosts that went up my skirt and into me, of classmates being buried alive and trapped under boulders, of children being slaughtered, of my grandmother being thrown a distance by a truck.
I remember all these and more. Dreams aren't easy to forget. People say it's cool, that I remember my dreams, when in actual fact there's nothing cool about it.
I've gotten tired of them. They eat away at me, long after I've woken up. Even if they were normal, without violence or creepy shit, they linger. They make me think of people I've forgotten, they make me wonder if these people are safe. They're that controlling of me.
Yeah. The dreams I have at night have always been my weakness.
I'm dreading school not only because of the fact that I've no friends now, but also because I'll be forced to go to sleep every night in order to be able to wake up the next morning. Not looking forward to it at all.
And you know what? The harder I try to fight this, the stronger they seem to become. Naps at 1 in the afternoon have always been peaceful, but lately they creep up to me at these times too, in broad daylight. I don't like it.
There's more to this. But I don't want to show anymore weakness than I should have.
Wednesday, April 09, 2014
The girl who played with people's dreams
Remember when I told you I cleaned up my room and found a whole bunch of stuff that I'd written over the years? Well... I just found a book that I'd been writing. And by book, I mean an actual progressive story with lots of chapters, which I had thought of as a real physical book. Because I really believed this story would go far.
I've forgotten what I named the series, but each book was titled after the protagonist of that particular book. Each book was in the perspective of a different character in the story, the last one being the villain. I wasn't even done writing the first book, but I already thought of til the sixth!
Alright, my memory is quite vague about this series but how convenient; there's a chart here I did, that explains the concept of the story.
The first book was in the perspective of a girl named Kai Xin, which means happy in Chinese, that's why I named her that. As far as I can tell, she's the one who got the ball rolling; her meeting with a few old friends and strangers was what triggered certain events of the story.
An old friend named Bunny, and a strange girl named Yume, both of whom have the ability to play with people's dreams. For all I remember, Bunny uses this gift to 'matchmake' two people, while it's Yume's job to tear them apart.
Simpler said, if your dreams were caused by Bunny, it means you have to find that other half whom you saw in your dream. If they were however caused by Yume, it means you have to stay away from whoever she put you into the dream with. And the thing is, you have no idea who those dreams were caused by.
Most of the characters who get these dreams are normal people, who are usually already next to the person that they'd dreamt of. Problem is, they never know if they should be together or stay away from each other.
There's this group of 'special' people who also have their own abilities, these boys with strange abilities and equally strange nicknames. Illusion, who could see ghosts; Illustrate, who could see the future; Illuminate, who could see the truth, and the 'leader' of the pack, Infinite, who could simply live forever, finding other people to pass these nicknames and powers to in every generation.
These guys use their gifts to help those normal people find their destiny, for all I know. And also, I vaguely remember Yume being the villain, because she's gone a little mad thanks to her gifts. She couldn't control her ability, and it was eating away at her and whoever whose dreams she'd played with.
What genre is the book eh hmmm. I'd say it's a fair mix of contemporary and... fantasy? Since most of the time it's about friendship and love and betrayal and sacrifice, finding out who you are and what you love, just with the bits of magic and powers and shit being thrown in.
There are 24 chapters written so far for the first one, though I don't know where the first three chapters are. I think I felt like my writing style was too different than in the other chapters and that I'd planned to rewrite them. Still, no traces of those chapters here.
My writing was pretty cheesy back then, but I honestly think the storyline is pretty good. I remember some of the ideas I'd had as a 14-year-old, and I think they'd make a good series if I combine those ideas with a better writing style of my current self.
I just read the last chapter I'd written of book 1, and I must say... That was cheesy as hell. Really. I'd love to share it here, but dang.
The protagonist Kai Xin is left on a long train journey to 'the other side of the country', as everyone kept saying, because the person that she dreamt of had run away and hid there. She sets off to find him, because being with him was the only way to discover who she is.
Cheesy, I know.
Oh the feels to continue writing this series, or rewriting the first book in a more suited writing style.
I've forgotten what I named the series, but each book was titled after the protagonist of that particular book. Each book was in the perspective of a different character in the story, the last one being the villain. I wasn't even done writing the first book, but I already thought of til the sixth!
Alright, my memory is quite vague about this series but how convenient; there's a chart here I did, that explains the concept of the story.
The first book was in the perspective of a girl named Kai Xin, which means happy in Chinese, that's why I named her that. As far as I can tell, she's the one who got the ball rolling; her meeting with a few old friends and strangers was what triggered certain events of the story.
An old friend named Bunny, and a strange girl named Yume, both of whom have the ability to play with people's dreams. For all I remember, Bunny uses this gift to 'matchmake' two people, while it's Yume's job to tear them apart.
Simpler said, if your dreams were caused by Bunny, it means you have to find that other half whom you saw in your dream. If they were however caused by Yume, it means you have to stay away from whoever she put you into the dream with. And the thing is, you have no idea who those dreams were caused by.
Most of the characters who get these dreams are normal people, who are usually already next to the person that they'd dreamt of. Problem is, they never know if they should be together or stay away from each other.
There's this group of 'special' people who also have their own abilities, these boys with strange abilities and equally strange nicknames. Illusion, who could see ghosts; Illustrate, who could see the future; Illuminate, who could see the truth, and the 'leader' of the pack, Infinite, who could simply live forever, finding other people to pass these nicknames and powers to in every generation.
These guys use their gifts to help those normal people find their destiny, for all I know. And also, I vaguely remember Yume being the villain, because she's gone a little mad thanks to her gifts. She couldn't control her ability, and it was eating away at her and whoever whose dreams she'd played with.
What genre is the book eh hmmm. I'd say it's a fair mix of contemporary and... fantasy? Since most of the time it's about friendship and love and betrayal and sacrifice, finding out who you are and what you love, just with the bits of magic and powers and shit being thrown in.
There are 24 chapters written so far for the first one, though I don't know where the first three chapters are. I think I felt like my writing style was too different than in the other chapters and that I'd planned to rewrite them. Still, no traces of those chapters here.
My writing was pretty cheesy back then, but I honestly think the storyline is pretty good. I remember some of the ideas I'd had as a 14-year-old, and I think they'd make a good series if I combine those ideas with a better writing style of my current self.
I just read the last chapter I'd written of book 1, and I must say... That was cheesy as hell. Really. I'd love to share it here, but dang.
The protagonist Kai Xin is left on a long train journey to 'the other side of the country', as everyone kept saying, because the person that she dreamt of had run away and hid there. She sets off to find him, because being with him was the only way to discover who she is.
Cheesy, I know.
Oh the feels to continue writing this series, or rewriting the first book in a more suited writing style.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
A poem and a dream from 2012
So I'm back here in Pasir Ris, and the first thing I did was to clean up the mess that was my room. I came here two days ago, to place on my bookshelves some of the books I had at Paya Lebar.
Seeing my new collection of books on my shelves just motivated me to clean up, because they deserved the cleanliness. Or am I the only one who feels that way?
Anyway, I found a lot of weird things from secondary school. Old photos, and old notebooks. By notebooks, I don't mean the diaries I'd written; those had been in my knowledge forever, but the notebooks I discovered today were just.... Random. They weren't diaries. They were random as hell.
I found one of "My Random Poetry", and another which I used to write the dreams I had. For the fun of it, I'm gonna share with ya one from each. Take note these were from years ago, so please excuse the silliness of what I'd written.
I shall rewrite exactly what had been written, though I have to edit names out or unnecessary segments, things like that. Here's the dream.
"It was late December. Everyone was running out of homes, for some reason, and I had stumbled upon a building which served as a shelter for those who had lost their ways of housing.
Most of the people staying there were students. In fact, I saw many familiar faces. I saw juniors from my school. I had lingered outside the building for a while, fingering the red and black hoodie of mine that I had slung over my shoulder.
I looked at everyone All the students were chaotic. I saw a sign that said "5/1" and I saw two of my then classmates standing outside a room. I propped my hoodie on a wall and made my way towards them.
Everyone had bags and were walking to certain classrooms, including me. I was walking along, with my eyes on the room with the "5/1" sign, when I bumped into someone from 4/3, but I just walked off without an apology.
It turned out that the classes took lodging in a classroom each. I don't know what was done to separate the girls from the boys, but for all I saw, everyone from the same class shared a classroom together. 5/1's was empty, and I sat inside, alone.
There were windows, and students were walking past, to and fro, to and fro. I don't remember their faces anymore, but they were all sec 4s from my school.
[some unnecessary parts that I have to crop out]
When I woke up, it was New Year's eve. I was alone in the 4/3 room, and when I looked out the window, everyone was moving in the same direction, hastily. They were not walking to and fro like the first day that I had walked in the compound. I wondered what was happening, and to my surprise, I managed to get out of the bed without difficulty.
I followed my gaze to the direction that everyone was walking away from. All the classrooms were stripped of their walls, and all that remained were the bricks that laid on the floor. If the destruction were to resume, the classroom that I had been in was to be the next to be brought down.
I looked back to where the students were walking towards. At the end of the road stood a wall. I saw them climbing over it, some even jumping.
I saw some 5/1 students, and I walked to where they were, right by the wall. My hoodie hung over it, and as I was taking it down, XX had came up to me asking for my real name. I didn't answer because I didn't understand what she meant.
I overheard some conversations beside me, saying things like "We spend our last few hours of the year being chased out of our homes..." and everyone looked so very sad...
At that moment, an aeroplane had crossed the sky. It was blue, a contrast of the darker blue that the sky was. I don't remember how long I'd stared at it, but when I looked back down, all the students were gone and I stood alone next to the wall."
Bloody hell, I remember this dream. I remember the compound, and it had that dystopian atmosphere to it. Dystopian or post-apocalyptic, either way it was.
Now for the poem. It may or may not make sense to you, maybe not to me either but I'm still gonna share it in its original form. What I remember about writing this poem, I'll let you know too.
"Please set fire to my precious eyes
It's the only way to run from ghosts of you and I
The solitary escapade unties no rope
The movement of time unleashes no hope.
Rather blind than at mercy
Of the smiling ghosts in bow and courtsey
Rather darkness than colour
Accompanied by figures of purple.
Nobody to look into your eyes
Nobody to figure out your lies
Nobody to determine in what way you're recognised
Nobody to tell you that you're not okay or fine.
No tears to show you're sad
No frowns to show you're upset.
No fire in your eyes to show your anger
No spark in your eyes to show you're in love.
No motive for murderers
No opportunity for witnesses
No reason for weaknesses
And most certainly no need for questions."
I remember, that this was during the time of my 2012 break-up, where practically everywhere I walked in Pasir Ris had a memory of him. I couldn't handle it then, because I'd been way weaker than I am now, and that's what was meant by 'set fire to my eyes', because I didn't want to see the memories floating all around me.
By 'smiling ghosts of bow and courtsey', it probably goes to show how those memories were way happier than I was as a human, even when they were just putting on a show.
The last three verses were probably the good of having no eyes. Eyes are the windows to the soul indeed, and without them, not only would I be unable to watch memories I'd rather forget, but people wouldn't be able to look inside, to come closer to me, to know me.
I guess that's it for tonight. My room has so much treasure in the Literature of E'in Nadh; diary entries and poems and other stupid little random things. Might wanna share some here occasionally. Goodnight.
Seeing my new collection of books on my shelves just motivated me to clean up, because they deserved the cleanliness. Or am I the only one who feels that way?
Anyway, I found a lot of weird things from secondary school. Old photos, and old notebooks. By notebooks, I don't mean the diaries I'd written; those had been in my knowledge forever, but the notebooks I discovered today were just.... Random. They weren't diaries. They were random as hell.
I found one of "My Random Poetry", and another which I used to write the dreams I had. For the fun of it, I'm gonna share with ya one from each. Take note these were from years ago, so please excuse the silliness of what I'd written.
I shall rewrite exactly what had been written, though I have to edit names out or unnecessary segments, things like that. Here's the dream.
"It was late December. Everyone was running out of homes, for some reason, and I had stumbled upon a building which served as a shelter for those who had lost their ways of housing.
Most of the people staying there were students. In fact, I saw many familiar faces. I saw juniors from my school. I had lingered outside the building for a while, fingering the red and black hoodie of mine that I had slung over my shoulder.
I looked at everyone All the students were chaotic. I saw a sign that said "5/1" and I saw two of my then classmates standing outside a room. I propped my hoodie on a wall and made my way towards them.
Everyone had bags and were walking to certain classrooms, including me. I was walking along, with my eyes on the room with the "5/1" sign, when I bumped into someone from 4/3, but I just walked off without an apology.
It turned out that the classes took lodging in a classroom each. I don't know what was done to separate the girls from the boys, but for all I saw, everyone from the same class shared a classroom together. 5/1's was empty, and I sat inside, alone.
There were windows, and students were walking past, to and fro, to and fro. I don't remember their faces anymore, but they were all sec 4s from my school.
[some unnecessary parts that I have to crop out]
When I woke up, it was New Year's eve. I was alone in the 4/3 room, and when I looked out the window, everyone was moving in the same direction, hastily. They were not walking to and fro like the first day that I had walked in the compound. I wondered what was happening, and to my surprise, I managed to get out of the bed without difficulty.
I followed my gaze to the direction that everyone was walking away from. All the classrooms were stripped of their walls, and all that remained were the bricks that laid on the floor. If the destruction were to resume, the classroom that I had been in was to be the next to be brought down.
I looked back to where the students were walking towards. At the end of the road stood a wall. I saw them climbing over it, some even jumping.
I saw some 5/1 students, and I walked to where they were, right by the wall. My hoodie hung over it, and as I was taking it down, XX had came up to me asking for my real name. I didn't answer because I didn't understand what she meant.
I overheard some conversations beside me, saying things like "We spend our last few hours of the year being chased out of our homes..." and everyone looked so very sad...
At that moment, an aeroplane had crossed the sky. It was blue, a contrast of the darker blue that the sky was. I don't remember how long I'd stared at it, but when I looked back down, all the students were gone and I stood alone next to the wall."
Bloody hell, I remember this dream. I remember the compound, and it had that dystopian atmosphere to it. Dystopian or post-apocalyptic, either way it was.
Now for the poem. It may or may not make sense to you, maybe not to me either but I'm still gonna share it in its original form. What I remember about writing this poem, I'll let you know too.
"Please set fire to my precious eyes
It's the only way to run from ghosts of you and I
The solitary escapade unties no rope
The movement of time unleashes no hope.
Rather blind than at mercy
Of the smiling ghosts in bow and courtsey
Rather darkness than colour
Accompanied by figures of purple.
Nobody to look into your eyes
Nobody to figure out your lies
Nobody to determine in what way you're recognised
Nobody to tell you that you're not okay or fine.
No tears to show you're sad
No frowns to show you're upset.
No fire in your eyes to show your anger
No spark in your eyes to show you're in love.
No motive for murderers
No opportunity for witnesses
No reason for weaknesses
And most certainly no need for questions."
I remember, that this was during the time of my 2012 break-up, where practically everywhere I walked in Pasir Ris had a memory of him. I couldn't handle it then, because I'd been way weaker than I am now, and that's what was meant by 'set fire to my eyes', because I didn't want to see the memories floating all around me.
By 'smiling ghosts of bow and courtsey', it probably goes to show how those memories were way happier than I was as a human, even when they were just putting on a show.
The last three verses were probably the good of having no eyes. Eyes are the windows to the soul indeed, and without them, not only would I be unable to watch memories I'd rather forget, but people wouldn't be able to look inside, to come closer to me, to know me.
I guess that's it for tonight. My room has so much treasure in the Literature of E'in Nadh; diary entries and poems and other stupid little random things. Might wanna share some here occasionally. Goodnight.
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Thanks for showing me my strength
My fingers hover over the letters of my keyboard and that's when I realise I don't remember last night's dream. Is that a miracle or what? But damn, now I have nothing to blog about.
That aside, I know it may seem strange that I have dreams every night but I rarely blog about them. I don't know if anyone's ever noticed, if I even have enough readers for someone to wonder that, but just saying, that I only blog about a dream I had when I remember enough to write a story about it.
Maybe I shall blog about that now: dreams in which I only remembered little to one scenes.
Okay I'm just gonna write about one dream for now, since it's long enough already. I had this one in late January this year, my break-up misery days.
I was in a school... My school, to be exact. I'm not sure how I remembered it was my school, but that's how dreams work: you wouldn't know how you know something, you just do.
There was that holiday kind of atmosphere, the school was half empty, and the few students littered around were just slacking and laughing, not studying or rushing to classes, shit like that.
It soon got a little darker, like it was 7 in the evening or 6 in the morning? Now that you mention it, I don't exactly recall the exact time of this one but the lighting was around those timings of the day.
I was walking past a group of other students when I receive a text from the ex's best friend. ...Wow, it's been a while since I last thought about him.
He gave me some random directions in which I obediently followed, and got into this classroom that was dark as hell. I could make out chairs and desks, like a normal classroom, but I didn't really see any reason special as to why he'd made me go there.
And then, bit by bit the classroom started to light up. There were these little pictures being lighted up, letters that spelled out words and words that made sentences, all of which glowed in the dark.
The pictures were of me, from all stages of my solitude, from misery to picking myself up, gaining composure and moving forward. At the time I had this dream, I was at my most miserable, and I hadn't been through that 'strong' stage in reality.
I don't exactly remember how they went, but the sentences were quotes, reminding me of how strong I am, how strong I should be, how I'd be able to handle this pain and more.
The pictures and quotes not only glowed in the dark, but they were spinning around me, slowly, a show of lights that was only meant for me and me alone. Really, it was extremely beautiful. You can't even begin to imagine. The way the lights bounced on my body, danced around me.
The ex's best friend texted me when I was in the midst of admiring the show, but I don't remember what it said, unfortunately. Never did remember it, not even the slightest.
I woke up with lots of butterflies in my tummy, but I did feel that little spark in me at the moment. And because my dreams have always meant so much to me and were always right, I strongly believed that the best friend had something to do with my moving on from the ex.
I dunno, it sounds stupid thinking back about it, but *shrugs* you never know?
And, I guess in a way, he predicted my strength. Okay, just his dreamworld alter-ego, but damn. At that time he was one of the few who really knew me well anyway, so... Yeah. Damn.
That aside, I know it may seem strange that I have dreams every night but I rarely blog about them. I don't know if anyone's ever noticed, if I even have enough readers for someone to wonder that, but just saying, that I only blog about a dream I had when I remember enough to write a story about it.
Maybe I shall blog about that now: dreams in which I only remembered little to one scenes.
Okay I'm just gonna write about one dream for now, since it's long enough already. I had this one in late January this year, my break-up misery days.
I was in a school... My school, to be exact. I'm not sure how I remembered it was my school, but that's how dreams work: you wouldn't know how you know something, you just do.
There was that holiday kind of atmosphere, the school was half empty, and the few students littered around were just slacking and laughing, not studying or rushing to classes, shit like that.
It soon got a little darker, like it was 7 in the evening or 6 in the morning? Now that you mention it, I don't exactly recall the exact time of this one but the lighting was around those timings of the day.
I was walking past a group of other students when I receive a text from the ex's best friend. ...Wow, it's been a while since I last thought about him.
He gave me some random directions in which I obediently followed, and got into this classroom that was dark as hell. I could make out chairs and desks, like a normal classroom, but I didn't really see any reason special as to why he'd made me go there.
And then, bit by bit the classroom started to light up. There were these little pictures being lighted up, letters that spelled out words and words that made sentences, all of which glowed in the dark.
The pictures were of me, from all stages of my solitude, from misery to picking myself up, gaining composure and moving forward. At the time I had this dream, I was at my most miserable, and I hadn't been through that 'strong' stage in reality.
I don't exactly remember how they went, but the sentences were quotes, reminding me of how strong I am, how strong I should be, how I'd be able to handle this pain and more.
The pictures and quotes not only glowed in the dark, but they were spinning around me, slowly, a show of lights that was only meant for me and me alone. Really, it was extremely beautiful. You can't even begin to imagine. The way the lights bounced on my body, danced around me.
The ex's best friend texted me when I was in the midst of admiring the show, but I don't remember what it said, unfortunately. Never did remember it, not even the slightest.
I woke up with lots of butterflies in my tummy, but I did feel that little spark in me at the moment. And because my dreams have always meant so much to me and were always right, I strongly believed that the best friend had something to do with my moving on from the ex.
I dunno, it sounds stupid thinking back about it, but *shrugs* you never know?
And, I guess in a way, he predicted my strength. Okay, just his dreamworld alter-ego, but damn. At that time he was one of the few who really knew me well anyway, so... Yeah. Damn.
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