hello, you.

You are just a tiny thread of vapour tremulously hanging in the air.

It is as though a thick veil hangs over you,

you are familiar but you are a stranger

I’ve seen you before, but I don’t know you

I frown to remember how you have fit into my life

Weak memories that threaten to push past that barrier, strangely I don’t feel a thing.

It’s as though you are a distant dream, a wisp of smoke that dissipates without leaving a trace

Nothing besides a faint pleasant/unpleasant memory.

It’s sad this is how life works – is anybody ever worth holding on tight to?

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questions, only questions

Edgy. On edge.

Shouldn’t let things worm inside of me, but I do.

Shouldn’t think so much, but I do.

An eternal poison. A ball and chain I’m stuck to.

As wide as the sky, my thoughts fly and falter, sink and struggle.

I’m happy but I seethe. I’m grateful but I yearn. I’m here but I’m there.

What does it mean, really?

A reflection of a reality I refuse to see, or an expose of my flawed character?

What’s wrong, what’s wrong what’s wrong?

Elusive, it slips from my fingers, every time.

Oh heart oh heart, won’t you settle down?

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Lord of my ways

Sometimes I will receive e-mail notices from a blogsite telling me that there are updates from my church friends’ blogs. Well, the term ‘church friends’ is kinda an understatement, since I seldom get to go to church anymore because of my work, and they hardly see me as their church friend anymore. I’m more like “the woman who wrote that article” or the-blacklisted-traitor-who-should-be-struck-off-all-church-related-events.

Something like that.

(btw the article came about out of no choice of mine, but nobody would really understand that, because the angry would want to find someone to blame and my name’s on the forefront open for bashing, so whatever, no matter.)

But anyway, when I get the time, I’ll click through them just to catch up with their lives and see how they are doing. And there would be this list of blogs, friends of friends, that kinda thing, that appears whenever I open the email. One thing always strikes me whenever I glance through the list.

They, almost always, talk about God in their entries. Long, detailed accounts of how good God is, what they have learnt from their days, how they are applying God’s principles, thanking God etc. And then I look at my blog *glances below* and it’s like…….whaa? Beeeeg difference. Monumental.

And to be honest. It makes me a little upset.

Maybe I’ll always be God’s illegitimate daughter. The daughter that no one wants. The adam-lambert of church (sans black eyeliner).  The Samaritan woman at the well.

After all how can I ever fit in? I will never be able to be that obedient, sweet little Christian girl at our church, the one that everyone loves, everyone accepts, everyone dotes upon and pampers, who knows how to say the right things, what to say and when to do what they are supposed to do. Almost everybody I know in church is like that.

And here I am, swearing my mouth off sometimes, hot headed, stubborn, spoilt and wilful, with a penchant for mini skirts and tube dresses.

I guess this is the reason, among many others, why I wasn’t invited to the wedding that everyone else was invited to. Yes. There, I finally said it out loud, in the open.

All these things just made me just a little sad. Okay maybe alot sad. Because if even the church has abandoned me, if even they judge me, if even they have dismissed me as someone not of their own, then who do I have left?

For a long time now, I have felt that I have no place left for me that is safe, and it’s been gathering speed. No church, no caregroup, no christian leader I can trust. No one who believes in me.

Maybe I just need to be comfortable in my own skin. But the world is too big.

And it’s just me and God. Just me and God.

What if someday He leaves me too?

—————————————————————————————————

Just don’t give up, I’m workin’ it out
Please don’t give in, I won’t let you down
It messed me up, need a second to breathe
Just keep comin around
Hey, whataya want from me (Whataya want from me)
Whataya want from me (Whataya want from me)

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death

I’ve been very morbid recently, thinking very often about death, in particularly the death of people closest to me, and the death of myself. Strangely (or maybe not so strangely), I only cry when I think of the death of others.

The little things would spark it off – an elderly man in a wheelchair pushed by a young lad, the sad and distressing cry of a grieving young girl whose boyfriend recently passed away, a cancer plot in my favourite tv series, sitting in a car which swerved for just a millisecond…

I would doggedly string up my own plots within minutes, imagine vivid scenes, apply them into my life and feel horrid almost immediately.  But I don’t stop this morbid obsession until I finish the whole run, until hot tears spring to my eyes, as though the things in my head really did happen. As though the vacant loss, the burning hole in my heart was real.

I’m not sure I would be able to take it if it was.

I don’t really know what’s the point of this exercise. I don’t really know what’s wrong with me either.

I also realized I don’t have a Christina to my Meredith (from grey’s anatomy). If I’m grieving, if something happens, I don’t have a Christina who will come over to my house, take off my three-day old clothes, crawl  into bed with me, and hold my head while I cry. I don’t have one. So if anything happens, I’m gonna be alone. In that bed. With a pit for a stomach and a gaping hole in my chest. With no soulmate-best girl friend who would understand or try to.

That really frightens me.

(I reject the thoughts in Jesus’ name)

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warm in my heart

Sometimes my life is going along so peacefully (and sometimes mundanely, I think) that I take for granted how good everything is. That is until I’m jolted once in a while and reminded that things could be worse, that other people face this and that and it could have been me. I know, I’m so evil for finding contentment in other people’s misery. I’ll be the first to admit that humans are strange, perverse, and sometimes terrible creatures! (But we have our redeeming qualities.)

I must remember …

that my job is better than anything I could have wanted or asked for

that the bf is an amazing person, and good to/for me

to thank God that my parents are still feisty healthy people

that I have a few very great friends (and it’s all I need)

that everything is smooth and sweet – my work, favour with bosses, getting to travel around the world several times a year (which i love love love)  etc

Ok ok I’m getting a little sentimental, it’s even making me nauseous. Must be  the chilly winds and stars in the night.

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korean dramas are no good for me

“Haughty and self-centered, he’ll be disappointed to take second place to anyone else’s arrogance and pompousness. He acts like he knows everything, but actually he’s really naive. Also…if he likes something, then he’ll ignore other’s opinions and stubbornly go after it. Like a bulldozer. *smiles* Hmm. When he’s angry, he’s incredibly scary. But when he’s good to you….he’s affectionate.

Uh anyway….what I’m saying is he’s an immature, elementary school, overbearing big devil!” – Geum Jan Di reminiscing rather sadly and bittersweetly about Gu Jun Pyo (Boys over Flowers)

Sigh…sounds like someone I know :)

This show will be the death of me. only 9 more episodes left, how will I spend the rest of my days?? *overly-dramatic*

Watching this show made me think. Which would you have – a love that is intense and passionate, making you deliriously happy on the one hand, and yet heartbreakingly difficult, sad, and painful; one that made you cry your heart out?

Or a love that is enduring and silently sweet, always caring for you from the sidelines, protecting you, and giving you whatever is in your best interest, even if it means letting you go.

I don’t know. If a tv show is entirely based on the second type, there wouldn’t be anyone watching. So maybe secretly, all of us are perverse, masochistic people who long for our hearts to be broken, to ache, to be hurt,  and for heaven and earth to fall in melodramatic ways before we think a love is worthwhile.

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thoughts churning in my head

Have you guys ever tried reading your old blogs? I have quite a few, and they all span across many years and signify certain periods of my life that I have gone through.

I was saving the links in my netbook when I started reading through some entries. It’s very very painful, like the words still sting a little, even after so long. Yet, it is also perversely addictive to just keep going, to see how messed up you were then, to read again how and why certain things happen, what was I thinking/feeling then.

You’d think that you have gotten past it, risen above, become a better person after so long. But I realise, with a tinge of horror and sadness, that it kinda isn’t so. It seems like I still am the same person. Is life just a huge cycle perpetuated by your inner flaws?

Reading through them, my sense is that I am more often than not, unhappy. I wish it wasn’t so. It’s probably not anybody’s fault but my own.

I analyze things, I think too much, I compare. I let myself get affected by the things i see or know. I start feeling too much, and then start getting into this ambivalent/distressed bubble. Or I just let this general sense of sadness (which has no reasons behind them) settle deep into my soul, which dims the light in my eyes and makes me feel like it’s an uphill task to smile and act and present a cheerful demeanor.

Maybe it’s a wake up call. For me to realise what I’m doing yet again. For me to just stop this and live my life fully and happily. I have a good one, I know. But even now as I type this, the dreaded sadness is still there, and I’m unsure of whether I’d follow through with this (yet again) weak attempt at making a resolution. Whether it will last or not, I don’t know. But at least I can try now.

(This is a boring post, for me to pen down what’s in my head. This again, shows that i think too bloody much. Yes I should have placed these brackets on top.)

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those nights

I love sitting on a park bench on a wintry night,

with quietness surrounding me,

with only me and my thoughts.

I love squatting by a fat cat in a lonely playground,

stroking it as it curls and lies on its back,

swatting my hand playfully.

I love looking up at the cloud-clad orange sky,

seeing the leaves rustling and stirring gently to its own rhythm,

bringing peace to me.

I love winding through the many houses,

peering into their living rooms that are aglow,

looking at the snapshots of different families;

some dark and quiet as stone,

some with families eating, and sitting around a tv set,

some in the midst of a celebration, with opened doors, food dishes, blaring lights, carelessly tossed shoes and sounds of chatty laughter,

some with lit balconies filled with deck chairs, tropical plants and rocks,

some alone, in a dim room, watching the tele on their own,

and I wonder what are the lives they lead,

whether they are happy,

whether they smile,

whether the days are hard for them,

and whether they love what they are doing, and who they are with.

And I wonder, what do people see, when they look into my house?

Do they wonder as I do, how my life is?

And what do I tell them?

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