Twilight

I know we are just human. And I know human can easily love, hate, long, despise someone. Or in my case, something. Even though it is so unreal..I was quick to obsess over this fantasy. A story.

Just like this blog. It began with obsession. The only reason that can explain my absence for such a long time is just another obsession has assert itself between me and this secret place that I try to run. I had a new secret place. I wonder if it still exist.

I started reading Twilight last Sunday. That is two days after I watched the movie. It opened a door, and I walked in. This frenzy of passionate, almost sacred love washes over like waves of La Push. Not even halfway through with Twilight, I know I am hooked.

Sleep became irrelevant unless that is the only way that I can keep reading. Food was an annoyance, I hated the fact that I am just human, and food yanked me out of my new secret place again and again. For seven whole days, I only allow myself out of the door once. When I thought my laptop was going to give up on me, I refuse to shut it down just because I was afraid it won't start up again - and with that, will seal my only doorway to my secret little town of Forks for sometime. The idea of not being able to be in that world that only exist in Stephenie Meyer's book made me flinch at the pain.

I would turn on the Twilight movie soundtrack and let it loop while I read. The yearning, longing, pain and other complex emotions that flows in the tunes sets everything in its mood.

In Twilight, I.. I, obsessed over the intense curiosity of Bella towards Edward. Curiosity - with a hint of averse - morph into the first stage of love. Then it grew unrestrainably into a love so strong it was sacrificial. It was unhealthy. I let myself soak in every scene, breathe in every scent, sway with every inaudible lullaby. Though the emotions were not strong enough to bring tears, but definitely contained enough of me that I squeal and shriek in tense pages, chuckle and went all giddy over the happy pages, pant with adrenaline pumping in my blood... It was a odd feeling, like Bella finding the meadow, walking into the deadly addictive scenes with caution - but never returning - and lurch into this dark water of love so sacred that it is considered...an impossibility.

New Moon was a stronger drug to me. Physically, mentally - and in all other aspect of life - draining. The initial hints were like flashings of approaching nightmare. The raw fear of lost love. Every sob every hint of pain written in words was never so real, as if my knees and my heart are giving out at every reminder that the reason of existent was lost. Gasps and chokes of tears were inevitable. It made me feel like if it was me, I would be exactly the same. I would be just as numb; I would scream if they make me leave Forks; I would provoke the positively dangerous bar crowd just to hear his voice, I would buy the bike, and jump off the cliff. I would flinched at memory of his face, the sound of his name, every place that brings back the memory will be just as much pain as it had been to Bella. And yes, by the end, I would love him just the same.

Eclipse is not my favourite book but it held my favourite line and it was not said by any of my favourite character, it was true to me. I was left in a state as emotional fragile as if the exact same thing had happened to me. The unconscious protective layer that was pulled up like a cocoon covering a baby was a painful reminder of New Moon but I knew and truly understand that wounds need time to heal. The vampire, the werewolf and the girl torn in between, I'd never like the idea of a love triangle, but I was too far gone. One thing that I can be sure, was that Bella would be with Edward again, he is her reason of existent and she is his. No matter how much Jacob was Bella's personal sun, "The clouds I can handle. But I can't fight with an eclipse."

Breaking Dawn came after that, of course, there were explanation needed for things left unexplained, loose strings need to be knotted, a happy ending was bound to come. The marriage was heartwarming, rediscovering an almost ancient idea of decency and pleasantness in the already passionate relationship was simply endearing. His immortal flaw complimenting her mortal determination, and her mortal fragileness fitted into his omnipotency perfectly. Her pregnancy and struggle to keep the little nudger was heart cleanching. The labour and the resurrection enforces my belief in her will power. And I loved every second of her immortality - even with the underlying risk. A shield, her talent though was a surpise, was not unpredictable. It was still one of my favourite part of the story. As the triumphant victory unfolds, I sank with a heart so heavy like a granite was heaved at me. I miss every bit of it.

'Tis, my obsession.

That I would be good?

It's four in the morning, there is no school tomorrow, it's the Queen's birthday. Like the Sultan's birthday in Malaysia, like the time when it always bump into mine and while the whole nation celebrate my birthday alongside with the Sultan's, they close up bakeries and force me - who do not have a royal baker in my kitchen - to either live without a birthday cake or to get one the day before my real birthday. So what is new in New Zealand?

It's officially winter, the dawn of 1st of June. First time ever that I get into this blogging mood like the one I soak in back in my apartment days. It's probably the effect of dawn and some random hormones collision. And Stefanie Sun's version of the good old songs. So would I be good in situations that are that messed up? Yes and no. I've seen myself acting like a total tool, and I am not proud of it. But yea, I will be good. Since my bad was ever really that bad. So yea, I will be good, here. No matter how much I miss home.

I heard your voices yesterday. Just over the phone. It feels like we're not that far away. I know what's going on in your lives and most of the who what when and how. It's a beauty. I hope I haven't loose my passion. I think I still feel the clingy warmth and want to be so so nice to everyone. It sparks when I am not too deep into the melancholy thoughts.

I am getting a camera. And I know that most of my photos are monotonous. But I still like pretty things, I still want to snap them and make them into little pictures and keep them in bottles. Maybe I will share it with you. If only you would come close enough.

Not too into it,

-Winter Vava-

Mom's

It's mother's day this week...she went to bed like any other ordinary night. By ordinary, it meant with an empty house, all her children were not by her side, scattered across the globe, the comfort of knowing them having better education was overwhelm by the fact she no longer can open the doors of their bedroom and sneak a peek at her three sleeping children.

Her husband lied at her side, snoring away as usual, her eyes were as heavy as her heart...

Then there was a sound of her cooking, a mother at the stove, stirring away some yummy dinner waiting for her children to return home. Her cooking had always worked the magic, the trick of getting the children home in time for dinner. And it worked, she can hear the slamming of the heavy wooden front door in the midst of the sizzle of the food in her pan. Ian came in and slipped his head out behind the door frame, with a big grin on his face, his signature grin that makes his eye shrink to a thin line. "What's cooking mommyyy..." He said with his clingy voice, this boy had never grew out of his love for mom. She smiled and signalled him to come on in to the kitchen. He just stood at the door and smiled.

Whoosh, she woke up in the dark, even more conscious than she is in the day. Realising that Ian is half a globe away, she could barely calm herself down. But the tiredness of her body after a long day at work drove her back to sleep.

She walked into the television room, the best room for afternoon naps in the heat of the day. The fan was making the sound as it cut through the hot air. Eva was lying on sideways on the couch, as she always did after college. She would just watch television until she falls asleep and the scent of the dinner cooking would wake her up. Mom knows her best. Her routine which does not involve revision had always worried her. She walked into the room, her daughter on the couch breathing steadily. Mom stooped down beside her, and put her arms around her daughter who used to be so small when she was born prematurely, now a young lady, even taller than mom herself.

Whoosh, she shrieked herself awake again. She couldn't hold it back, the thought sipped in like water in the flood, her children were no longer by her side, and tears dropped from her weak eyes.

She is my mom; and I am not by her side. I am so sorry, mom. No matter how bad a present I had bring to her for her special days, I realize now that the presence is more precious than anything else, just being with her means the world to her, and to me too.

......................................

Thank you for giving me your eyes, your nose, your smile, your hands...your love, your time and every shining moment of my life.



慈母手中线，游子身上衣。
临行密密缝，意恐迟迟归。
谁言寸草心，报得三春晖？


妈~等我回家！





-不孝女-

Life here, right now

You know what.. when I finally get to sign in to my private accounts in facebook and my blog and all other wesites that I am familiar with, there is one slight moment when I feel like I am back at home, but then the door opened and closed and some random uni students walk in...reminding me I am not. Thousands miles away from home. I tend to have a weird thought that I have really good recovery system and great protection mechanism in me, get what I mean? Like if I fall down, I don't get the painful feeling for such a long time, and until the pain finally sinks in I am already recovered almost at least 60%. Yea, crap isn't it.

The thing is it's just 2 weeks since I left home, and I am already thinking about planning to go home at the end of this year. I mean, it is february and I am planning november stuff. I don't think the part about leaving my A4 at home even registered in my brain. I know leaving Joshua definitely made a mark somewhere...but I am already anticipating seeing him again, like it is only a day away till I can go home. Anyhow, life in New Zealand is not too bad. My days are practically filled with going to uni, walking, chores, television and proud to say reading chapters of the Bible each day. Though I still can't find any church as vibrant or a church that I can be as "at home with" as TOG, one thing I know for sure is that God has never left me. He has been with me, on the plane, carrying overweight luggages and while I was stumbling all the way to New Zealand.

I miss home. There is no denial of it. Every piece of reminder can practically draw tears to my eyes, like when the sing How Great Is Our God in church last sunday, I was battling tears down my throat. And I keep missing Joshua, the little guy who bring smiles to me even though we have the least means of communication. I know there are years to go, I will have to come back and finish my studies...but I have always have this determination so deeply within me, that this is a journey, I will walk through it in such courage, finish it with grace and go home, bringing pride to all those who are waiting for me. I am just so sure that I will go home, that is the thing that I think about everyday when I walk from home to school and school to home.

Wait for me, will you? I will be home in awhile.


buckets of tears and misses,
vava

Pattern

Looking back at the things that we did, we heard, we favour, we hate, we were once crazy about, I do realise that we live up in a pattern. And it hurts to think that myself, is too bound by a pattern, some pattern of other people's life. Yes, it is rude to label people like items, but the truth is, I think we all can be labelled, like how we react in situations. No matter how much we would like to deny, history does repeat itself, and in human, the time period of history isn't really that long, sometimes, it's just months away.

So it offends me and hurts me to know that I can be fitted into a pattern of someone else's. I do not believe in coincidences. It doesn't need a genius to tell you we are similar. She did that, so did I. She was that, and so am I. In the surface, I cannot deny the things that I do and whoever I am. So I hate it to my bones that what I do and who I am hunts me back. I am vain, I want to be an individual, up till now, I still believe with my heart and soul that I am an individual. God created me not to fit into some other people's mold. I am made for His mold, and in my life, may He refine me and try me to make me fit better.

For once I ask, do not label me, judge me, or try to fit me in the patterns of people who had been there before me. Don't like me because I am like a certain he or she, and at your mercy, don't hate me for being like someone else. I have my own identity, though I may seem the same on the outside, I would appreciate if you actually try to look within.

Certainly, after this, I am swayed and confused. But off this page and the words, I am sure of myself, who I am, what I do. I still have some growing up to do. =)


With love,
Eva

I will walk on water.

Listen to the song playing with this blog. I... will walk on water, and you will catch me if I fall. Haven't I be just as lost? How long have I been in the storm, overwhelmed by the ocean and waves crashing over my head? He sings, if I could just see you, everything will be alright. I am lost, confused and very much overwhelmed. Silenced by the noise around me. He hath not bring me out to drown but still I feel like I am ten feet under and upside down. When barely surviving becomes a purpose, I know things might not go right.

What a peculiar line that follows. I will walk on water, and you will catch me if I fall. I wonder if I would walk on water, have I have the faith of Peter to walk on the lake heading to Jesus? And if I do, will I fall? How could this be? That I am so unsure about myself, he sings "You will catch me if I fall..." how could this be? I am sure You will. The only thing I am so sure. You have did that a thousand times. No matter how deep how messy, you will catch me if I fall.

You have been with me every step of my life. Though I may not know of your presence. Side by side you have walked me through. If I could just see you, everything will be alright. I will get lost in your eyes and know everything will be alright. A love so different from others, so much plainer yet deep. If I could just see you... this darkness will turn to light.

I will walk on water, you will catch me if I fall. We will walk on together.



-water walker-

The truth about living.

I sat in the hospital ward, looking at the things around me, the smell of medicines and chemicals makes my stomach surged in disagreement with its surrounding. I stole a feel looks at him and tried to think of something to say, a topic to converse. He looked grumpy, now more then seventy years old, all he intended was a check-up and they detained him in this foul place for two long days. The bed was too small and too high, old and soft that he said he slump into it. His bloated tummy and weak legs didn't help in this case.

He looked at the old ladies in the opposite ward, they are older than him, so old that they sat in wheel chairs and have problems raising spoons to their mouth. Then he said to me, "It's no good for a man to live that long you know, there are just more troubles," I did not know what to say, mum just told me that the doctor said he have a couple of dark spots in his liver yesterday but forbid me to tell him because he might not be able to accept it in these circumstances. "Look that those old ladies their, they can barely walk, I don't think I wanna suffer like that." I just told him in my mother tongue, "Grandpa, don't think so much, you're just here for a check-up. We just want some assurance that you are fine. That's all. I'm sure you are."

He was discharged the next day, but all of us can see that he detests all the things in the hospital, maybe even himself. Seeing him hating the fact that he is old and sick. I didn't even notice that he had one part of his middle finger cut away, Yvonne said it was an accident when he was a carpenter long time ago. His right foot was swollen the last time I saw him at home. He is much slower now, his temper better than when he was young but not at all good. I didn't get to send him home, mum sent me to the office to sort out some paper works after we had lunch the day he was discharged.

That's my grandfather. He attempted to take his own life yesterday, not wanting to live another moment suffering. He is not the young hot-blooded man anymore, mum said he's afraid of suffering. He took all the medicine that the doctor prescribe for two weeks in one night. They sent him to the hospital after that. He is alright, the doctor said that those medicine are mainly painkillers. They made him drowsy, he could not even walk on the way home.

He does not know the truth. What's the truth about living anyway? We live, the moment when we're alive we cries our heart out, we must have known we're in for some pretty bad falls, sickness, pain, heartache, heartbreaks, some failure, a lot of fear and some abandons by the people we love. Those who realize it, we live, those who did not died, those are the babies who doesn't cry at the moment of birth. We all have our fair share of those that we don't want. Some face it with a brave spirit, some simply ignore them, some go in fear and struggle, others, in peace.

Who are we to decide in what way we are gonna face it. After all, we are just human. Weak and mild, fearful and cowardly, impulsive and agressive, helpless and lost. Who are we to decide what courage we can muster, what faith we can live on. I asked for peace, God gave me love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control. I am weak but I have a shelter like no other. Everyday I would look out my window, see the world outside of me. They who don't have God, live in fear, confusion, troubled by their past, troubled by their lack of self control, regret in their lack of kindness to others only when they need kindness, hunger for gentleness in a situation of hostility. What they look for, they could not find.

My God, is big, so good, and mighty. But in these moments I can just sob to Him. "God, have mercy on them! Bring them life, don't You see that they are suffering without You. Everyday of their life, every step of their way, they take it in confusion. Father, have mercy on them." He said, "They have to ask. For Me."



-a sobbing servant-

Heaven Of Matches

There she is, in the snow, selling matches in the Christmas night. Her fingers turning purple from the cold, the layers of thin cloth is just not enough to give her the warmth she needs. Breathing out in vapour asking, almost begging for the people who rushes by, those who are late for their Christmas dinner. "Please buy a match, please..."

She can't go home, no, it would mean that she will get another beating from her father. They are just too poor, desparate. With no mother to turn to anymore, she need to sell off these matches in her rattan basket to get home. She shivers at the thought of the temper of her much drunken father.

Looking into the windows of the house just around the corner, a family is saying grace for the food blessed by the Saviour. A cheerful fire burning in the fireplace, puffing up gray thick smoke through the chimney above, a turkey lies beautifully done on the dinner table. It looks so real to her, as if she is in the picture too, with new warm clean clothes and hair curled up tidily into a half-bun.

The cold suddenly shook her. She needs warmth, wherever it may come from. With a swift and a twinch in her heart, she lit her first match, telling herself she would only use one, just one. The flames on the match starts to burn, the warmth overwhelms her, like a touch on her finger, she saw a fireplace of her own, burning just as cheerfully as the one she just saw. Craving for the warmth, but the match is dying out. It's getting further and smaller, and it is gone.

"No..NO....come back!", and she lit another one, a turkey starts to materialize in front of her, just as the fireplace, it got closer and she can even smell the warm delicious air, the brownish skin of the turkey shimmer in the flame of the match as if it had just winked to her. She smiles, taking in the hopeful fantasy. But her smile did not last the flame is growing weak, it can't be, she looked helplessly at the burning match. It's going away too...the air, the sight, the crave and her hopes.

Just one more, just one more, she tries to convince herself she just need another look into the things that she wants, she needs. The third match was lit. Laughter and voices of people talking starts swimming in the soft spark, they are here! All her families, they are here again, just like they had always been in Christmas. It is not even about the presents this time. She felt a painful joy to find love again, in this fantasized family. Even well before she can get over her grief, the faces starts to grow blurry, they are fading away too.

The sadness is drying her throat, tears starts welling up and finally burst forth and wet her cheek, desparation screaming in her; she doesn't care if they are real now. She cries out, "NOoo!! Don't leave me! Don't go!". She franticly reach for another match, lit it and a familiar face came into sight, the family was gone, the only one left now is just her mother. She heard a choking sob and almost collapse at the sight of her beautiful mother. She seems to try to speak out to the girl but the flame is getting weak, the purple fingers grabbed another bunch of matches and kept the flame burning. She is not letting her go this time, she can't bear to loose her again, her mother is her only hope.

The matches burned and the heat almost touches her fingers, she can't hold them anymore. She cries out, "Take me with you...take me with you..." and throws herself into her mother's arms. Her voice rang in the streets before it goes back to

its stillness again.

They found her body the next day, smiling, her hands are pink and they were curled up as if she was holding somebody's hand. She had left, in the arms of her mother, to the Heaven of matches.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Little Match-Seller", Hans Christian Andersen 1846.

Rewritten by,
me.

cruel wishlist

I had another session with my mom. I didn't call it an arguement 'cause I stayed quiet. She asked me what do I want. Well, here's my wishlist.
1. I want a Christian family. Whatever I went through could have been the struggle of my forefathers and not mine.
2. I want an understanding Christian parents who knows what I want.
3. I want parents who can sceam with me when I'm happy and not tell me that I'm being immature.
4. I want a father that stay faithful in his marriage.
5. I want a family free from the curse of adultery. Not up to me to bear the burden so my children will stay pure.
6. I want a home free from statue that brought me nightmare.
7. I want a new cellphone which my dad buy for me. Not a cheap meal for my good results in major exams.
8. I want people to give me directions when I am lost. Not to make me more confuse.
9. I want them to stop telling me I am responsible for my life. I need guidance, not burden.
10. I want another part time job, which will help me make money so that I can get things that I want.
11. I want to be someone who doesn't need to get a part-time job because my parents refuse to help me out.
12. I want to better manage my finance.
13. I want to feel home when I come home, not a big house with conflicts.
14. I want to babble to my parents about my day, I want them to listen amusingly like they were when I was five.
15. I want parents that don't talk so matter-of-fact-ly.
16. I want to be able to tell my parents my exam dates because I know they will be there to give my all the moral support I need. Not myself making up a mental picture.
17. I want an mp3 which is not a free gift from the insurance company which my parents work for.
18. I want a hug when I am crying. Not "what esle do you want from me?"s.
19. I want dad to say "daddy will be there no matter where u want to go in the future.", not "daddy was too poor to even have the luxury of dreaming, why couldn't you understand."
20. I want parents who would be there whenever I need them to fetch me. Not forget to pick me up after tuition classes.
21. I want a mom who is smart enough to not blame me when there is no fault at all.
22. I want a mom who can take a discussion civilisedly. Not raise her voice and proclaim her misfortune.
23. I want to be not crying right now.
24. I want all these to not happen.
25. I want to turn to Jesus when I am happy. Not when I am broken and in tears. I don't mind turning to Him. But I don't want the heartbreak.

..............................................................................................................................

I call Your name, cause it's the sweetest thing I know.


-va-

.untitled.

The beauty of misidentification. When one is covered up under the shade of misidentification, courage and freedom is stretched beyond the boundaries of an identified being. Just as if I am in a state of drunkenness, I would write, of such fascination. And one can say or write or think of things so out of mind that not one word made its sense, not one insult would cause any pain, no declaration would be a surprise and no love can be real.

Given a sillhoute to be someone esle in a moment. Would you have the guts to stand up, walk straight and have all the confidence in the world. Or the similar fear would still bind the spirit from being free to speak up and live every single moment of misidentification. Just as one can converse so freely in another's indentity, speaking of her mind and having no expectations of anything in a conversation that it became a light sweet free moment of true friendship.

Ask and you shall receive. But do not greed. Be hopeful of today but do not chase after anything of the world. Given whichever identity, known or not known. I shall not greed. I shall be hopeful but not greed. To have the heart to go back to the most beginning. The innocence, purity and a child-like faith.



-va-

the return

He doesn't know, he must not have known. that his return brought about mine. how could it be..did i not write as much when he was gone. no. perhaps not as real. i had not had this burden for some time. to pour out and write. while drunkenness in my mind. but you are going away..should this be the second last time i would see you again.

yes, i walk through the streets again. drove with my inadequate skills in hope of seeing you again. and wandered in places we've been. rejoice when Ian plan to have lunch in the same place we met before. in hope for a coincidence. i shall not be in want. the Lord is my shepherd. i shall not be in want.

i was sorry. i am sorry. and will always be sorry. for i do not possess the skill of conversing with calmness and grace with someone whom seem too much like a dream to me. of being rude and protective of taken into account too much advices. persuasion. it is not in my comfort that i had missed you. so too many times. and each time i would catch your stare. or at least know you had looked. and i had hidden. i am sorry. i must have hurt your feelings. or at least i had hurt mine.

i still watch you in silence and enjoy the moments of being invisible. my idiocy and stupidity in hope of staying that way..prayers. so i shall pray and wait upon the Lord. my wishes would be at least we can stay this way. somewhat intimate in a distanced way. without either of us noticing the presence of the other.

i assure you however that as much pain i had caused on you, it had been as much burden to me so. and every smile and your mere presence still mesmerise me. i will always and always treasure every moment of it. and rejoice in every prayer for you. thank you. for your return. and mine.

hearts.

-va-

.unacknowledged existent.

this is my final attempt to ease the suffocation. it's not the best timing, having an exam coming tomorrow. i do question the cause, is this a stress that i never had before in exams, or the same old reasons for all heaviness of my heart. as though my ribcage is squeezing my heart. i've missed you...i've missed you.

never, ever, give up on someone you can't go a day without thinking about. whatever will happen to the one whom you can't go an hour without missing...every moment he ran out of sight, a heart dropped, disappointment falls and a sense of bitter sweet melancholy dissolve into the air. was that pain? i doubt it can be defined. no...so much emotions and too much thoughts. those had to be overcomed. yet i can't.

your words indicates your knowlegde of the circumstances. or is that just my bad habit, of reading into everything. no...none of those. just my denial, my shield. please, let me protect myself. my last resort. finally like an idiot allow myself to decieve myself. you have not known. you couldn't have.

and thus i could not blame. for my existent is so cheap. ever-ready. taking in any pain, criticism, coldness, and all that you are ready to pour, i am ready to receive. jokes and misidentification. how much did i hate that of Shakespearean comedies. endurance. pathetic of me. to have waited in such faith and hopefulness to be able to absorb any pain at all. no limitations. and finally to break. into pieces and tears.

self denial, Gandhi said, is good for soul. i guess he must have seen beyond it. while the rest of us are still struggling. some gave up, midway, those pain is not worth all those philosophical jargons. some are still headstrong. stupidity, ignorance. how peculiar for us to find serenity in these.

and i will. no matter what the end results will be, endure through. for i adore, and am addicted to you. my existent unacknowledge. but let me be true, and i will too, dissolve till nothingness and endless time is due.


-va-

A detour into memories

I would not have address myself as romantic until someone reminded me of that earlier. I hate the cliche-ness in the word. But what then form the beauty in romanticizing about the past, the beauty and the memories.. If anything of the present time is folly and mortal, then am I wrong to think that the past would be exempted from time? It has passed time, thus immobile and eternal. History could not be changed, time made present temporary but he was not aware that he accidentally made the past eternal. careless, careless time.

It was probably after I start driving Pam home from Yan's when I accidentally ventured into the past again. Was it that time tried to punish me for the insulting remark, or was it mere accidental that I crossed over just as I always wished I can re-live those moments. Indolence and freedom. Warmth and emotions. Distance and the air. Night and the sweet touch of the wind from the nearby but out of sight dark sea. Lights that sparkled in distance and my immature side-parking skills.

I drove with the person that remained through the time and we did the things we would have done just as if we were in those days. They reconciled. Just like they did loved and the lights of their innocent hopes that they love and always will love. Through the ways and routes and streets and road, all of which we would travel, with voices and silences and soft music playing, just as they always could. The good-byes and good nights and the serenity of sisterhood.

I drove on the way just as I would, the way home, both old and new. And so at the junction I made an impulsive move, my driving skills instantly inadequate again and my nerves as young and anxious as I would be. pass the flyover overlooking the highways and lights and cars and my last night of independence days. Down and turned at the place which I once walked and drove and not noticed of and I parked my car at the space which the old me would consider good, with skills just as bad as I once had. I could not help smiling, though I did not know I've ventured through time, I thought it was too good, too close, too warm, to be true.

I walked in the street, dark and somewhat creepy, passed the guards all of whom seem somewhat sleepy. And so I walked and down near the pool and to the place where I would walk home through. My pace were light and soon turned slow, from the cheerfulness of a girl to the gentle press on the walkway. There it is, as it always had been, where I would look at from 5 floors above. Through that curtains which i would wonder and there came my words and mt thoughts. I looked briefly at the places it had been, my emotion, my inspiration, my idle days. A slight glimpse of disappoinment, could I have expected?

Then off home my feet steps, by the poolside and out again, into the streets and soon in my car and in a way I would drive, as my brother said, a naughty driver I am, off on the road I headed home. The old metal piece which swims, under the flickering lights like those shimmer in the streams. As I had not notice the way in, I ventured out in a way unnoticed. The turns and the curves, driving all alone, I finally got home.

I guess in this post you would not see a clear shadow of him, it is more of my detour than his. But I still somehow missed, the pieces and bits, those nights and my silly dreams.


-va-

i've been here.

looking back into this year make my future seems unclear. all along, i have been here. with all the words and the lil' pictures, everything around me changes. but i have just stayed here. and in the morning i will wake up and to see that the sun still shines and the day is so clear, with a lil' wind and a lil' noise from the fountain next door. and i, i choose to stay here.

if ever i knew anyone my words would make all the difference, i...would i choose it to be so? or is this the best my words can make out of me. through these years we say we all learned and the process and the steps and gained something dear, but haven't we all stayed in the same place. Reciting the same conversations, replaying the same roles. or is it just i, i who stayed here...

As the seasons are made for change, our livestimes are made for years, could i, can i choose my way to stay here, as i am, content with everything that i have. do i..am i...will i be just as contended. with people leaving and ever changing. what am i doing staying here. waiting..simply waiting just for the moment. to feel and finally have the guts to leave here.

da da da...and who so will bring me away from here..or i, i would leave here alone.


-va-
simply crappin'

the feeling of loss

such long empty time since the departure... and the soundless arrival. what've happen in between? The normal day hectics, a few on going songs playing, the continuous seeking the face of the Lord and yes, God's grace...the joy He brought, the tears and laughter, the only one that I can express myself fully to...admitted my foolishness, placing my burdens...pouring my heart.

how can I put this in words... how should I pour it out right here? my loss..my loss in stringing words. He's leaving. Ignorance...my ignorance stopped me from knowing so..over the years, drawing distance in between us. creating emptiness. pursuing silence. my stupidity...those miles apart, was it just a trailer leading finally to our movie... should have known so.

A joke...yes a joke that reveals my ignorance. of me placing myself in the cocoon of my dreams. fantasy. It would have been better if there weren't any in the first place..or would it had been worse if it had not been any. the happiness in the hope gave me... it is enough for me to take the fall willingly, endure the distance, wait in his silence.. a fickle of smile, an one-word message. I've forgone my dignity, my intelligence, my rationality, my understanding. what is life without love? what is life without hope?

distance...i have suddenly decided to wait on the distance..such courage can only come from innocence. will this be the last time i let my random insanity overrule my senses. the hope. all this while I clinged on his existent...this distance. please break my hope. I could not stop. call it my wild dreams. say it's just a rush of mindlessness. tell me this is not happenning...bring me back to before knowing him.

so many times I pondered. what do I want out of this... as I speak, I wonder...will I be more cheerful if this portion can be eliminated from me.. ignorance is bliss...or is ignorance anotther excuse I made for myself. where am I now. caught again in the middle of this mess I made. my thoughts, let it swirl around me. consume me. dissolve me. break me. free me.

uncontrollable tears...

Half a globe apart. can I wait on you... wait on the Lord. Let this be a time of serenity. stay in this place waiting until my license to depart. I've missed you...



-va-

Departed

Departing from my used-to-be comfort zone. Where I used to live, a cocoon of dreams and thoughts, of wishes and empty hopes. The beauty of inexistent reality, the only thing that is permanant seems to be the changes...thoughts forever evovling just like rolling a snowball. Letting the new thoughts covering the old thoughts. More thoughts. Fantasy. A snowball of fantasy.

I still miss those days where I dreams off into the drunkenness and think thoughts. Ignorant of the reality is never close to dreams. I prefered the my mind's work of art than the paintings of this world. Smiling to my own works. How wonderfully stupid. Gone are those days. Seeing things I shouldn't see, hearing words shouldn't be said and so much growing up to do. I could not stay young, time did not stop, people couldn't help changing, this world refused to slow down.

Tired...so tired of the pace... oh it started again.. the twirling of earth. I'm just so worn out, by the late nights and being exile in a crowd. Nobody knew me. We never shared the same shoes. We did not shared the same air. Were we even present in the same space? They did not know me...me and my burdens. Me and my drunkenness. Me and the inner pain. Abnormal of me to cherish the pain. I cherish my pains.

Inability of dreaming anymore, a forced soberness and the compelling departure. I left. Killed myself. Witness my own death. The ending and the beginning. Here I am again. In this place, just as much a stranger as any other stranger to this town. With a lil backpack of clothes, my cellphone, a mp3 player, this laptop and another bunch of 1st times. I heard it is warm in the day and cool in the nights. Did my silent departure awaken your pain...no..no more wishes. I know it didn't. My relief, my pain...

I'm here but I'm not back. I'm eva but I'm not me. I'm the pain but it doesn't hurt anymore. I'm bitterness but no more envious. I'm beauty but I'm not gorgeous. I am dead but I took my breathe back. Who am I? No new name, none new identity, neither a new location or a strange town. I am me, but what makes me me? All I know is I left and but here I am.

My departure. Cherish my pain.




departed
-va-

Killing Eva - The Ultimate Release

Killing the soul of somebody may seems to be hard, even harder than a cold blooded murder. Killing one's physical does not determine the death of the soul. The same theory applies, killing one's soul does not determine the death of the physical.

Finally tired of the waiting, the writing, the thinking, the confusion, the lost, the beaten up feeling and all those dependence of him. Killing Eva is a slow long process. The murder started when I thought my life started. Hmm...such similarities between the beginning and the end. The beginning of a life, the ending of a soul.

Waited all along. From strangers to friends, the distance of the air to thousand miles away, an awkward wave to a hearty laugh. It all must come to an end. No more clinging on the mere relationship, no more hanging on the ever changing distance, no more holding on an unintended joke. Killed the soul, release the nothingless.

Flying solo. The breathe I finally get back. Killing eva - my ultimate release.




-va-
released 0022 12.07.2007

evaporate

as night falls in...tiredness eases in... and emotion rushed in... my existent evaporated. It's a slow process, yet so obvious that I can see pieces of me disappeared into the air. I couldn't do anything about it, so I laid back and savour my slow disappearance... savour the pain and the lightness of departing into the air. Wonderful isn't it? Of slow death. Painful isn't it? When nobody cares.

my tiredness evaporated, so lightly into thin air. The burden was never fair for me to bear... Let go, I allowed myself to be swallowed...shh...my inexistent...tired of this world, tired of these places, tired of these people, tired of these faces; slowly losing traces. Let my tiredness evaporate...

my love evaporated, so lightly into thin air. my affection to these people...losing hope, would we ever be the same again? Losing hope, would you ever look me in the eye again? Loving such burden and such burden of loving... Burdens evaporate into thin air. Don't stare...love that nobody cared...

my life evaporated, so lightly into thin air. of the pain and cuts , falls and wounds; never healed, that's the words...never healed...My life, of complication...Such inexistent...Slow slow death... If anyone could've have saved me, none seems to care.

Finally me myself evaporated into the thin air. Shh...i'm dead.




-va-

something killed me

something killed me. I don't know what. I just realized that I died. when? I have no idea. Proabably before I was drunk.

something killed me. this family. differ in beliefs won't split the family, it's the sceptical opinion against my belief that would. It's not the misunderstanding that breaks the bond, it's the unwillingness to understand that does. you killed me. did you notice?

something killed me. my best friend. hugs and kisses never heals me, they healed you. of guilt. neglect,ignore,absence...feel familiar with these words? Shh... I died, did you notice?

something killed me. my friends. did you know me? my inexistent, my invisiblity...shh...something killed me, could you hear me? empty people..could you understand me? something killed me...

something killed me. this world. strange strange world. a place of weirdness, of non-believing, of non-belonging, of unknowing, of non-living, of non-existing; a place of in-betweens, teared between. this world, you killed me, did you notice?

something killed me. this life. never ending, of slow creep. of silent nights, of cold hearts, of lonely meals. such lengthy story. which part killed me? my life. please tell me.

something killed me. this dream. I'd always loved this dream, sweet calm peaceful nightmare. long long dream...when did i sleep? after I died? but my dreams killed me. how could this be?

something killed me. these songs. of my life. hmm..mm....big girls don't cry...50 miles to go and she was running low, on faith and gasoline....hello there, the angel from my nightmare...this innocence is brilliant, I hope that it could stay.....I'm not missing you....my scars reminds me, the past is real.... come on, sing along, pieces of words that made up my life, my life that killed me.

something killed me. can anyone see? can anybody tell me? I killed me. my cold hand, my stuffed heart, my drunken brain.

I killed me. somebody save me...Father, save me.


dead bloggaphile: certified death 8.00a.m. 7.6.1989
-va-

依賴

Oxford Advanced Learner's Eng-Chi Dictionary
依賴 [mandarin]: dependent; to rely on ( the support, etc. of) in order to exist or to be true.

Bloggaphile Va's Guide to Life
依賴 [existent/life/love]: the privilege of having/ abstractly having sb to lean on; to cling on to at times, to look forward to, the inexplainable jinx of holding one together.

My drunkenness always gives me the claim to not know the beginning of a certain process in my life. I am drunk. I love it when I am drunk... Yes, dependence is a process, and I never knew when it started. I can only assume when it start. I allow myself to remember the parts and pieces of the things I wanna remember and I always remember them well. But I would always leave out bits of it, giving out a room for me to complete painting the pictures with my mind. In other words - saving spaces for my imagination to flow.

Well, tonight I disect myself...weaving a process which I cannot recall. Getting used to his presence...a presence that seems so natural, it makes no sense. a person that blends in so well in the crowd, he seems invisible, an ordinary that catches breaths and get away with his acts. his presence, his voice, his smile, his words, his jokes, his car, his friends, the crowd. Got used to having him around. a habit of having him around...a habit...of mine. *smiles*

Habits - of random meetings, of pointless messages, of meaningless words being put together. The anxiety of him stop replying, the worries when he is slipping away, the nervousness of finding proof that he had always, always been around, only unnoticable. Him being around, doesn't neccessary have to be physically around, digital presences? cyber presence? Just enough proof to give me the comfort of he is still sharing my space, my air, that he'd not vanish from my world. Please please please tell me you had always been around.

The dependent of his present absence. When such reliance turn into dependence, it's painfully beautiful, finally realizing I am depending on him, without him knowing, in his absence. The dependence that wrote this blog, the dependence that kept me waiting, the dependence that kept me smiling, it's seems so small yet it's essential to keep this time running, keep this life going. Silly isn't it, if you would know you mere existent is enough to generate such words? In your presence, I find strength; in your absence, I find hope. Dependence is less than words, yet it weaves words.

I missed you. If you do know, please tell me, you'd be around. My survival on the on-and-off presence of yours.



waiting
-va-