Rainbow

The rainbow is plastic. You didn't hear that from me. My words are my brush; you only hear the music in your ears when it sings. I hope I am not trying too hard. All stones are brittle, don't you think? Or maybe hope is a coconut - husk outside, and all pulpy inside. 

And That is Alright

Long I have been away. Till, as if suddenly, 2023 has come to its end. Still, here I am, as if to sweep off the cobwebs, mop the floor and open the windows to let the air in. 

One lesson learned hard: the heart is a house not to be abandoned. You live in it as much as, if not more than, your physical body. I ran, swam, wrote, read and sang as much as possible; filled my world with sweat, tears, ink and notes. These are only for my own knowledge. These are parts of the private, inner world I have built for myself. Only I am in it. And that is alright no matter how others see it. And that is alright.

Time Waits

The sun tells time, rising and rising, then falling and falling. While the wind pretends to be time, alluring yet elusive. When darkness descends, the mysterious night shades lives into shadows, reaching into every heart. 

We are part of day, as we are part of night. So, after all, time does wait. Wait for her turn. Allow you to come home, take off your shoes, lift both feet off the ground. At last. Time slows down, turns her page softer, softer, as you close your eyes.  

Keep Moving...

Again, it is not that I have not been writing that makes this page empty. Though not as much, I am still writing on my Facebook and my hand-written journals. So all is fine. Life, to move on, finds its own way out. And life always moves on. 

Perhaps not writing here does have its benefits. For one, I now doubt anyone is following my blog, which gives me the power of anonymity - yes, I am that way, though I have never met any of my readers in person, I know some may be of a vulnerable age - to free my thoughts. 

I don't smoke, or drink excessively. No, nothing like that. In fact, I am a running addict - for the uninitiated, it means you get hooked on the running high, the energy or self-confidence. But I do have a dark side. I am a man. A single man. Some days, when evening comes, and everyone goes back to their family, I ponder my options. I don't remember when it started, and though I wasn't physically there, my mind was: Geylang. Yes, I visited the legal brothel, the red-light district. It did not just start suddenly; it took a lot of self-convincing, or self-deception, whatever you like to call it. And almost every time, it is a guilt trip. It is a matter of satisfying a natural need, like a nature's call, I said to myself. A thousand times, before and after. And to make things worse, maybe because I have started having sex so late in my life, I just couldn't finish the job in a woman's vagina, only by a handjob, or maybe I am just not used to wearing condom, I don't know; how would I know?

Just on Saturday, I just visited one, an illegal one, that I booked via a website. And for the first time, I did it, finished the job with a condom inside her. Honestly speaking, it felt nothing special. It is just sex. I don't feel sad that I am missing something special in my life. Nothing like that. Neither does it encourage me to visit her or another one soon - she did offer that we go for a second. 

Still, life moves on after that. I went for my run and back home. Just like any other Saturday. Yes, it must be true that man has the ability to differentiate sex and love, which explained my flat emotion. It is safe to say that I have "trained" myself well as a single man. Or rather, I just do what I need to do to survive, to keep moving...

Raising

I can say to be going through a rough patch in my personal life - nothing to do with the office, or my immediate family members. I have to come to term with myself in more than one way. I have also come to believe there is a time for everything. And when it is over, it is over - there is no way back and there is no point crying over spilled milk. I know, and already knew that life, being single or otherwise, is not going to be easy. And there is a purpose in life being difficult, of course: the harder it is, the harder is the lesson learned, the stronger you become. And by being stronger, it doesn't mean you will not make mistakes, or fall down, or the path will be smoother. Well, a little smoother maybe, but the point is that having seen it all - nothing much fazes you - you are more likely to take to the pain well, to rebound faster. Like when I was younger, I used to say: the show must go on. With or without fireworks. Even the calm raise of night walls, though enfeebling, opens minds in its dark suggestion of infinity.

Never Been Yourself

To good effect, I am not really a bad person. For good reason too. But sometimes, I don't even know what that means. Fundamentally, I just live to get out of trouble. With the law, with other people, avoid embarrassing my immediate family, those I still have regular close contact with. I don't want to have to face the day when I have no face to face them, yet have to. I don't know what I would become, faceless? I definitely wouldn't be able to meet them in the eyes, with my eyes. So, it is safe to say, I am a good actor, acting to be a good person. And a willing one too. Till I even begin to believe I am a good person. Look, we all have to compromise at one point or another. We can never be our selves truly. How can you be when you don't even know what it is, what it feels like. That is, to be yourself. I lie, even to myself, that this is me. And that is fine with me. The question is, is it fine with you, for having never been yourself?

If This World were a Song...

There is nothing much to do these days except to take each day in its stride. Nay, it would be grossly inappropriate to say that, a child of mental fatigue born out of wedlock. One wonders at what age will one get to slow down, to take it easy. And what is next when that happens - a regression? One thing for sure: one should not, in any circumstance, remain still for too long. Dust, or rust, may gather, invade the head. Lines will slowly fade away; write them before they are lost. Move! Be moving! Shake off the rigidness. I am not calling for tears to fall, or tear in the head. Just me reaching for myself - one word every moment. If this world were a song, what will be your verse?