When I look into your eyes
I can see a love restrained
But darlin' when I hold you
Don't you know I feel the same
'Cause nothin' lasts forever
And we both know hearts can change
And it's hard to hold a candle
In the cold November rain
Siren's Song
Tuesday, September 16, 2003
Thanks, Ei Bing. It's a good one.
Someone said... "Wallets are a lot like girls. You really have to take good care of, because if you won't, something might happen"...
I know what he means. I just lost a wallet, and I just lost a girl. You know, it's the exact same thing.
One day, you just realize it's gone. You try to look for it everywhere, even going back to the places where you could have lost it.
You think, and you think hard, only to come upon a grim realization: it's really gone.
Of course, you can hold on to some hope. After all, there have been some very, very lucky (blessed?) people who get it back.
Perhaps you could become one of those people. You sit home and you hope that someone would call, and that you would get it back. But then, some time passes, and you realize that it's still gone, and you realize that it's time to let go.
The first few days, you turn to your friends for support. Some tell you you'll be ok, some tell you that it was your fault and that you should have been more careful, and some tell you about their own experiences.
They give you all sorts of advice, none you haven't heard before.
You then go out to find a new wallet, only to realize that you don't really want a new one. You want the old one that you lost.
No, you don't want all these better-looking wallets, you want yours, because of how comfortable it is, because of all the cards and pictures and other stuff in it.
You go out and carry on without a wallet, keeping your money in your pocket instead. You throw away stuff that you would have held on to if you had your old wallet. And then, finally, you find a new wallet you like and settle in.
You then start filling your new wallet, little by little. It still doesn't feel as comfortable as the old one, but it's getting there.
Then you start putting in cards and pictures and other important stuff in the wallet. Soon enough, there's as much stuff in your new wallet as the old one. And then, after some time, you feel as comfortable with your new wallet.
And then you realize that you've almost forgotten you ever had your old wallet. Sure, you still remember most of the stuff you lost on that wallet. But then again, you don't remember the feeling of hurt that you felt when you lost it.
That's because that wallet you lost is no longer your wallet. You're no longer holding on. This new wallet you're holding, it has all the important cards and pictures and stuff that you need. This is your wallet.
And this time, you tell yourself, you're never losing this one.
11:08 PM
Thanks, Janine and Tan. It's true, I've been disillusioning myself. Me and him, we can't communicate. He simply hasn't seen enough of me, the whole me. Down under, I was temporarily emancipated from all academic concerns and scholarly pursuits. Only then did I have to time to explore the complexity of the very real human quality - love. Was it even love? Maybe so, maybe not. The line between love and lust is drawn so fine, one can never be truly sure on which side a relationship belongs to. He used to tell me "Love is patient, love is kind", but silently within the depths of my heart I'd retort "But lust is always on your mind".
Astute I was, but a fool too - my loss - to disregard a gift of profound insight - the powerful force of a woman's instinct. The escape from reality and school-related stress was just too tempting. I wanted to live like a fairy princess for just that happily-ever-after moment, forever frozen in time. Now it seems like the only things that are perpetually fixed are memories eternally etched at the back of my cranium, like cryptic hieroglyphs. My sad love story has been told countless times to numerous ears, but just like knowing A, E,I,O, and U of the English alphabet doesn't allow one to recognize the word "hope"; even upon learning all the letters in the alphabet, one may not understand the meaning behind words. They listened. They offered shoulders to cry on. They cared. But they cannot grasp the full magnitude of my pain, my suffering, my bleakness. They cannot understand how someone who looks so cheerful on the outside can be fighting excruciating pain on the inside. They cannot see how a relationship this short can have an impact so huge. They wonder why I refuse to end this adulation of bittersweet sadness and glorious madness. How could they? They will never know. It is an emotional burden that I alone have to bear. Blessed be.
2:49 AM
Thanks, Edmund. I've got your Photoshop creation as my wallpaper. I nearly forgot, like you pointed out, that I once knew serenity too.
P.S.: I AM a bimbo, through and through! =P *big tongue sticking out!*
i wrote this for a human relations paper asking me to describe myself. i'd like you to have it, seeing you might be able to make something out of it. i no longer have the whole paper... just snippets of an icq conversation.
"There’s beauty in this world. It’s in the aforementioned breezes, and the lights on the water. The sunflowers at the pavement-side in the middle of some private estate, just blooming in the morning. Patterns on tree bark, and in radiating branches. Smiles on peoples faces. Voices in harmony. A cup of iced-coffee and a salad, next to a good novel, three air-conditioned floors above as the rest of the world passes by. [Burkes’ at Plaza Singapura, Coffee Club at Takashimaya]. Be still, and listen. The world sings."
