What do the numbers in your room say about you?
$300 swivel chair.
50 red roses.
500 piece jigsaw.
18 tourist snaps.
36 novels – 12 childrens’ books.
3 door wardrobe.
5 drawers, unlocked.
2 diaries, bedside.
1 alarm clock.
Filed under: quirks
November 10, 2009 • 6:01 am 0
blinking heart
Here’s a sneeze. Someone’s random wish–or a bothersome allergy? If someone’s random wish- who would it be, and for what reason, the pricze of a sneeze?
To this I ponder the ABCs.
A- I left (them:himher) a not too memory- not unpleasant: a warm glow in the recent drawers of the front-row cupboard -unpleasant: a stray thought first, and then a burgeoning corn I become.
B- My image is evoked amongst other thoughtful associations in the long eventful hours of a day, note: I am nothing much, nothing less, I could be functional utility.
C- I am the curator of awaited admiration, affection, obsession, the pirate’s plank of reasonable restraint, or?
A bothersome allergy. Born of me, and born by me.
I’ll have to wait for another sneeze.
…
..
.
And still not know.
Filed under: heartaches, quirks, written word
September 14, 2009 • 4:06 am 0
Long-tailed macaques
swing across trees, from towering to feeble trunks, to branches and vines, the leaves quiver and awake, fast become greenery that quakes in the wake of the monkeys and their nimble sure-footedness. They approach my space in my morning wait for the bus. Hardly any of my bus-shelter companions blink an eye. They don’t see them.
Monkey approaches the green dividers- dividers that mark pedestrian from mammalian, constructed from divine, their way versus ours- and perches himself securely onto the railings. He’s eyeing the trash-vomitting public dustbin at our shelter. He accesses his potential finds. His family continues to quake in the greenery behind him, he has to do his work soon to show his leadership.
Monkey chooses Macca’s coffee over a bumper-can of Tiger beer, stuffs a quarter slice of toast into his mouth and pushes accompanying bread ends away, peers into emptied-out F&B packaging in disdain.
I recall my supper last night and my well-stocked fridge. It’s good to be human sometimes.
Filed under: quirks
August 4, 2009 • 4:30 pm 0
f and t makes the best two-letter fence.
ftftftftftftfttftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftft
f and t makes the best two-letter fence.
106 calories/evening: a latch-key child grows up on cup-instant noodles with panda-faced fish-cakes.
‘how are you doing’ : hardest question to ask in shortest amount of time.
goose-egg activist: a person who fights visibly while all else around him or her remains in obscurity- empty and stinky.
ftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftftft
“its a disappointing piece”.
Filed under: after-shower-post, quirks
June 10, 2009 • 3:05 pm 2
the yellow foolscap letter
Today I find a bumpy envelope addressed to me.
“Birthday Girl!”
No name. Belated from the UK. My sister’s earnest handwriting.
Dear girl always makes me smile with her scrapbooking genius. Its a letter for me, written one part essay, one part instruction manual. “Super (wo) Man!!!”, it salutes, like a generous birthday greet. a superman cardboard cut-out falls out from the letter, except the cut-out is adorned with my face instead of o’ Kent (she even chose a picture she knows I favor).
And so I am greeted by a grinning ‘Super-Myself’ accompanied by four other strange looking parts of cardboard puzzle. What are those? The curiosity of a child approaching new toys fills me. What a treat. They are oddly shaped. They don’t look like they can fit together. For a moment, the fact that it could be a puzzle I was unable to piece mocked my recent musings for some jigsaw love. ( I am tired of coming home and being unconstructive in my free time, and decided jigsaws could be the missing cherry). I finally gave up her odd little cardboard bits, and read her manual on the flip side of the yellow foolscap letter.
“1 piece original cloak,” Ah. The red piece fitted neatly beneath ‘Super-Me’. Of course. Its Superman’s red cloak. “The original, the full-flavor, your cape is constantly introspective and self-improving, which can be a little tiring at times.” True.
“3 pieces special cloaks”. Genius. Interchangeable capes. For days when being red and shiny just isn’t enough. They’re exactly the same shape and size as Superman’s red cape, but these other ones are patterned, instead of plain graphic red. One of them- a street map. Another one, a mosiac of my scribbled name. The last one, she sketched Martin Luther King, Mahatma Ghandi, and Harvey Milk. The little buffet of male role models should be further analysed later. Meanwhile, the powers of these capes are named: Direction. Yourself. People. How well-thought out. Whenever I need divine intervention. What else can a person want?
The idea is winsome. She’s outdone herself again.
One thing that strikes me hard, how vulnerable i feel at the moment, and how my sister understands that I need strength and support. Thank you. Life doesn’t deal us with special capes. We have only bare flesh. Can people really own capes? perhaps. Capes sewn from experiences of hardship, capes borne out of love, capes modelled after iconic role models. We need capes. Because this journey called Life, I’m afraid sometimes we require superpowers.
Super-Me. She even included blue-tack so that I could attach the cape right away. But she stuck it right across my smiling mug. In my haste to remove the bluetack (for what? to confirm that the face was indeed mine?), the print from my mouth tears off slightly as well. So now Super-me is partially disfigured. I am missing some teeth and gum.
Even better, I hadn’t realize the significance of the blue-tack and tossed it aside for the colourful cardboard bits. Now I don’t have anything to fasten the cape onto Super-Me. And I have a disfigured grin. That is Everyday me. Flawed, and cape-less. Which isn’t so bad. What do you do if at age 24 you’re perfect and with perfect super-powers? What else would life have in store right?
No really, I’m not trying to put a nice spin to things. Naked and flawed Super-Me resonates with me. I am tired, tired, tired everyday from work. I wake up and I groan, I go to bed, and I wish i don’t wake up from my dreams. Optimism weaves in and out my consciousness, leaving me with yo-yo-ing spirits on a daily basis. I had thought this job was the best I could’ve scored after the months of searching. I don’t disagree yet. But yet the stress is getting the better of me. Sandwiched in this reality, I’m frantic and fidgety- am I stuck? Am I going to fail? Am I not going to be able to run away?
I’ll locate the blue tack.
P.s. how come the cardboard cut-outs smell like Play-doh?
Filed under: quirks, smilies, working world
