Friday, August 19, 2011

Now Playing: Boulevard of Broken Dreams

24 hours after the release of results, the reality sinks in. What I've got, I realise, is sufficient for the end all of my dreams, perhaps sufficient for most of my peers. But I aimed high and was disappointed, unable to accept things so ordinary. Effort was never minimal on my part, and when what I sow was lesser than that, I felt hopeless, cheated, betrayed. I distracted myself, avoiding my grief by hanging out with friends, getting intoxicated but yet when I was alone, awake and sober, like now, 24 hours later, I'm just another loser who had lost a battle and I have to face defeat like suckerpunch in my face.

The only good thing about my results is that, I passed. Knowing me, I don't want to just pass. Out of rage yesterday I tore off every motivational banner I had on my wall. now they're lying in pieces on my table, exactly, the boulevard of broken dreams. I was packing my notes, ready to give them all away knowing that I do not need them anymore as I am moving on. I can't help but to realise the bulk, the research materials, the effort, all the hardwork and sweat. My pile of articles and notes, essays, scribbled texts, torn books. I remembered those hopes those days, the energy I had, the dreams I believed in. I was so happy then, even though I strained myself senseless trying to comprehend, analyse, argue, and I thought all was for the best, and I will be rewarded in the end. I remembered amidst the mockery, the disbelief, I carried on knowing I am fighting for my better tomorrow.

Now, the enormous pile of paper meant nothing at all, nothing but representing the scarce event of an unfortunate incident where failures do, happen to those who work hard, aimed high, and believed.

Now, you know what I meant by feeling cheated and betrayed. For all the heartbreak, I can't help but to let those tears fall freely to soak those dreamfilled sheets, once, a person who dedicated so much to her dreams had wrote her heart and soul in each letter on those notes.

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Can't Live Without You

You stopped me aside, in my pace, leave me gasping in awe.
You taste like midsummer night so sweet, but I need you like air,
You took over me, possess me, take me up high.
Control me, lure me into your maze, still dazzled, I beg you on my knees.

Why do I need you so? So much that has been of me.
You made up every piece of me,
My soul lingers in the presence of your breath,
My spirit leaps by your sight.

Why do I want you so? So much more than me.
I reach out to want you, thristy for you,
Hungry over the pieces you leave,
Lust over your imprint over me.

You again came back to me, call for me,
Tempt me with your scent.
I'm again cast in addiction, little then by more.
You, I only can live within, and will die without.

Is it as they say,
That you can't invent? Some get made and some get sent?
I was blinded.
Shower me a rainfall of you.

And you, you, what I call love.
It's you love that possess me.
I do not fall in love with the man.
I'm just in love with love.

Sunday, July 24, 2011


I was told by a classmate of mine that she actually still reads my blog despite it running into dormancy. I have no plans of reviving whatsoever, but the mind has always been idle, allowing constant influx of emotions, mixed feelings about people and the world. Hence I'd opt to vent out in a more efficient and discreet manner, ie via my blog, where I, for a fact, know that only the closest, and the most concerned people on the earth, would actually read and appreciate it.

Many years ago when my innocent world was robbed, raped and died, I always had been envious of people who think too little about everything, living in their own bubble of clean air, the warmth of the protective womb that they infest in. Many would be deem innocent, foolish, or ignorant, but I just admired the simplicity they created, and the happiness they brought to the people around them, being honest and decent without being called a hypocrite. People on the other extreme often pride themselves as being experienced, mature, having travelled the world and ready, for anything.

A: Why did you do this to me? What did I do to deserve this?
B: I don't know, but I guess I have myself to protect.
A: And I thought you loved me.
B: Yes i do, I still do, but I am...still me. My self interests.
A: No, it wasn't that when we spoke that day.
B: I don't want to be this way, no one else wants this to be in this way, but we just suck it up and move on with life. By 2 years, 5, 10, you will not know me, you will forget about me. You will have your new friends, your own family, you will be happy again. I'm just a phase you have to go through in life. I guess I'd just be a fragment of your memory. Sweet the taste, bitter, sour; I guess we have our own tastebuds that differs. You'd remember at first, and you'd reserve the memory. And by the time you have Alzeihmer's when you're dying, I'll be non existent. It's by then the last man standing, would be the one you know. And it'd not be me.

Sometimes life is just so random that I lost track of who I'm supposed to treasure. I'm so scared in losing everything in life. I grasp too much and I ran out of air all the time, and it's just not enough everytime. Yes I'd scream and cry to God asking why life is just that agonising and unfair; that people who sacrifices, makes the most efforts, are always on the losing side and are always sceptical about what content is in life. Yes, I'd try thinking from a neutral point of view, but all the time i'm too carried away, and I hated myself for that. And when they told me smiling is good for the face, i wonder what is any longer good for the dying heart.

Every morning I run 7km, and for all the distances that I've ran, I know I'll just keep you, and eveything you did to me, as a memory.

Sunday, June 26, 2011


I heart them all.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Right There

I took a long run and lots of thoughts flood my mind, where all I listen, is the thumping of my iPod music and my racing heartbeat. I see cars leaving office blocks, the usual six thirty jam. I kept running, panting slightly, shirt soaked with sweat on the back.

I took a long run, the evening sky turning twilight grey. I wanted to cry so badly.

On that sudden, I hope some car can just come and knock me down, so that for once, I don't have to think. For once, I don't have to let all these heartaches and hurt to be disguised under false pretense. I don't need lies to know the truth, nor the smile to know the hurt. For once, let my aching heart die.