gid

i’ve decided to revert to the good old pen and paper form of journaling. something about its old fashioned style appeals to the romanticist side in me.

byebye virtual blogging. my posts are no longer for a screen and keyboard and the worldwideweb

i find it strangely disturbing, people’s insatiable desire to rationalize. sometimes i find content in unsaid loose ends, where answers not found was the answer itself. until delving too far looses its focus of its search. i dont know. maybe i’m just lazy. or because i’m too much of an idealistic dreamer who doesn’t care to comprehend how the world works anymore.

i decided that doing 5bx is good. so waking up at unearthly 6.15am i set out for a morning jog at the beach. the strategically timed run allowed me the pleasure of watching a rather uneventful first light. the activity reminded me of how dawn takes over from night, not in one sweeping blow wherein the sun pops its searing hot bright sunny face and poof all darkness begone! no. the slow unnoticeable creeping of light rays across the sky, only discernable if you close you eyes and counted to ten, was a stark reminder to me that change never happened with the snap of a finger, or the crack of a whip.

point of impact the joining collision intercept.  gravity of the day strangely resembling the unique phenomena of blackholes and revelations. then again its just me. feeling heavy. perhaps time to get rid of spare baggage i’ve been carrying. too much and for too long. a burden only God will lift off. in time. how long, faith will bring it.

i reflect on the routine days of past weeks, mundane hours each a sandbag of minutes and seconds. i carry them. like a man fortifying his mind from outsiders. why is this? i remember, the scorching sun upon the split image of tarred road and concrete hangar slope, the line of LBV’s lined up as if on parade. rifles neatly arranged like dead men’s graves. i remember, and wonder what went through my mind on this particular day. A day of heat, sweat and toil. A day of heavy glances between fellow soldiers, the look of doomed resignation to an irrevocable fate. yes i remember i thought about that. and the weeks ahead before commisioning. and the weeks after. and i saw, without a thread of doubt in that intricate weaving of a future, emptiness. i deeply hope God can drag me through it.

its improbable that anyone would look at themselves from a human-omniscient point of view. because then they would know how utterly hopeless and wretch they are, and yet be able to change. but i cant. i cant change you, i cant change me. and i dont understand why. its as if i was doomed with an lifetime curse of, wait let me try to find the right word, ‘you’ ?

Look at the stars,
Look how they shine for you,
And everything you do,
Yeah they were all yellow,

I came along
I wrote a song for you
And all the things you do
And it was called yellow

So then I took my turn
Oh all the things I’ve done
And it was all yellow

Your skin
Oh yeah your skin and bones
Turn into something beautiful
D’you know you know I love you so
You know I love you so

I swam across
I jumped across for you
Oh all the things you do
Cause you were all yellow

I drew a line
I drew a line for you
Oh what a thing to do
And it was all yellow

sunday nights were never such a dread. i remember the times not too long gone. while i was still 18, maybe 17, have sold my life away to some hard-faced IB examiner somewhere in cardiff [God knows if that is really where those insiduous dream-shatterers live and work, definitely cambrige is fill with similar specimens] anyhow, schooling sunday nights always seemed so utterly loathsome, it felt like.. dropping a half eaten ice cream cone. you were just starting to enjoy something when, unprovoked, it is suddenly deprived from your very existence! no doubt at the point in time when i ended the whole IB thing; screaming at the topmost of my lungs “it is finished!” i, in drunken stupor, felt that all miseries would magically disappear into stardust which i would then gladly scatter across the vastness of mylong awaited freedom. i thought national service would be a breeze. so here i am one sunday night, and you the reader would have by now guessed where i’m beating around to bush to get to. yes dear friends. it feels loathsome. only this time, instead of  going back to a monday morning classroom filled with people in uniform looking uniquely dreadful in their own way as are you, i’m going back to a bunkful of people in uniform looking uniquely dreadful each of whom is at the mercy of the mood of their instructors and officers, whom they have to salute and greet at every opportune moment so as to avoid being reprimanded for being ‘rude’ and ‘disrespectful’ or ‘un-cadet-like’ . imagine this goes on everyday of the week till friday evening, but then on sunday night, you hit the replay button and start all over again. the only time you can take out this miserable recorded dvd of a life out of the dvd player is when one commissions! oh what joy that word implies. however sadly after the ceremonials and laughter and peace and joy, it all boils down to just changing one recorded dvd in for another albeit more carefree less stressful but recorded and replayed nonetheless. yes indeed. perhaps the government might want to consider the social impact of NS especially at the tender age of 18, and dont give all the we need to be defended arguement, who doesnt know that? but do we really need people 18 years old? my gosh thats hardly old enough to own their own car and you want them to take care of men.

this may be the worst week this year.
i hate being sick.
THE worst week.

i cant imagine why anyone would wanna be wordpressing from here..

Amnesiac angel, i once glimpsed,
wondering clueless, perplexed,
by choices laid out;
laws for her to float.
green enveloped mortals
gaze, utter disbelief
in that flawless fatality.
far, from whom to draw relief.
Mastery was never for us to grasp,
when sirens sound and courage fails,
leaving hence a wake of silence.
adoration, romantic boyish hopes, shifted
from never, into timeless existence.

my dear girl, i dont understand you one bit.
i thought i just might have seen a glimpse but i guess i was wrong.
are you gonna keep me hanging like you always do.
like you always do. until one day i’d finally say,
i had much, too much of this.

no