i’ll make it all up

Knowing and Believing are different things.

This is not the reward I am seeking.

I just finished another box of royce. God I have to stop this.

C’mon

All the time, windows. Closing and opening.

“You think you’re waiting for help. For someone to tell you what the right thing to do is. Even though, at the back of your mind, you already know what that is. So all you’re really waiting for, is a time when you’re forced to do it.”

this is the way the world ends

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

The Persistence of Memory

I don’t remember much of my life–but when I do the memory is vivid, a hot iron to the flesh. Today, amidst the chaos of a massive headache and excessive vomiting, I remembered suddenly a defining moment from my pre-IB life:

It was somewhere in Sec 3 or 4. The A/C in my room broke down for the night (I remembered thinking it was ironic), and so I dragged my stuff out to the tatami to sleep. The windows were open, and I could hear the secret sounds estates made in the night; the water streaming from my neighbour’s pond, the doleful cries of dogs long forgotten, the rustling of leaves. I drifted off to sleep, and as quickly as I entered the slumber I stirred from it. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a plane, slowly blazing a trail in the sky… I must have stared at it for at least an hour.

I thought,”where, and to whom, are all these people going to?” Strangely, it did not occur to me that the plane might be returning to the nearby Seletar airport/airbase, or that it might not be a commercial flight in the first place. But I was young then, and I marveled at the contraption. I wondered at the weight of the plane–did it know how heavy it was? For it had occurred to me that pilots were surely guardians; they were stewards of the fears, desires, and hopes of every individual on the plane. And so I watched, spell-bound, as it slowly made its way out of my vision. I could have sworn then that I heard the distinct laughter of the Little Prince… and I just knew the cargo would arrive safely.

I wish I could muster the same sort of certainty now.

I’ve always had a fondness for planes. For them, not being on them. Sigh, on Monday I will be doing a paper on an entirely different sort of plane. Heck, might well not take it.

Heh. They would have been parallel planes. Side by side but never meeting.

defeat

My head will not stop throbbing. I am on the verge of exploding in my room, punching every available surface and/or bursting into a torrent of tears but I think I’ll put such unglamorous activities off to a more opportune time. An “iron repression”, this is.

I now have a smurf party wallpaper.

“You will have us all in disgrace.”

Frightened. Out of my wits. Heh.

battling in vain

And then it will dawn. Tiny silences creeping in to fill the air… the ticking of the clock, the sweat on my palms, the merciless staring down. Gulp.

Then again, my experience in the world thus far tells me that nothing is over until it is over. Hai, fuck it. I’m going to sleep.

More everything presses on…

It’s funny how life works. This time last year I was worried for my future in the school. This time this year I find that I am not worried, despite facing similar (if not more) potentially dire consequences. In the place of the Hope that once sustained me, I have now in place a minor ultimatum, and a latent fever. O the joy that is life!

Running on empty…. trying to stay alive.

Week 1 is over. ONLY FUCKING ETERNITY TO GO.

A Reprise: Brinksmanship

One year has passed; why does this period in my life seem to me bleaker than the year last? My feet are tired from marching in line, and the cracks are beginning to show in the frame… It seems destined that I meet with the Iron Lady yearly, near this date. Not looking forward to it. Not looking forward to the amount of revision I have to complete, or the long overdue work I have to finish now because of my stupidity in recent months. Still, I am thankful that I have re-glimpsed the line to abide by, the glue holding the frame together. Truly, the best is yet to be.

Until we are returned, and all colours fade into one… (Would it have been worth it, after all?)

She had done the same thing every year, in the hopes of reversing the Institutionalised Dissolution that drove them apart, and away. “This time it will work!” It felt stupid, it felt worthless, but at least it made her feel.

One year has come and gone; old things are passed away, and all things are become new. Even things teetering on the brink.

Here’s hoping it doesn’t go over the brink.

before we all burn…