Saturday, 28th August 2010

I had so many things I wanted to type about tonight, but when I watched this, all the petty little things just went away.

My tear ducts have been working overtime lately, and the taps wouldn't stop gushing when I watched this about 5 minutes ago. This emotional roller-coaster is undoubtedly exhausting, but I'll deal with it somehow.

Watching this video just filled my blood vessels with warmth, my heart with love, my mind with smiles. It just struck me hard, because it stands for what I believe in:
The elderly only grow old if they let themselves.

I don't know how many times I've reflected on this. Society has always categorised us, making us conform to the standards it sets. You think I haven't been told all that before?

"So old already, why still watch cartoons?" "How old already, still play with toys?" "LEGO is only for babies, you know?" "Aren't you too old for this?" "Where got girl have short hair one?"

Who's to say that adults can't play with toys, that teenagers can't watch cartoons, that girls can't have short hair, that the elderly can't play in puddles?
Childhood seems so far away now, but that doesn't mean I push it away, thinking that I'm "too old" for something. No, childhood is to be embraced.

You never know when life will end.

Tuesday, 24th August 2010

Le promesse che abbiamo fatto,
amore mio,
sono quelle che abbiamo terremo per sempre.
Mi manca il tuo abbraccio, mi manca il tuo bacio.
Te amo, caro miele :)

Sunday, 22nd August 2010

She thought she was going to die of sorrow.

They shot through her veins, in her blood, poisoning her. Her tears rolled ceaselessly as she tried to keep it all in.
Bitter, bitter sorrow.

And yet, as the night went along, what had to be said had been said, what was left to forgive was forgiven, what there was to love was loved.
Indeed, love is the greatest power, not death.

She is now at peace.

Thursday, 19th August 2010 (2)

She stood precariously at the edge, waiting, just waiting for that shove. A little one was all she needed, her heels teetering on the concrete ledge. The others flew high above her in the Spanish square, filling the air with a chorus of chirps. She glanced down again.

It was quite a drop from the top of the bell tower. The sun, friendly and warm, embraced the square with his rays. She felt the warmth on her soft feathered back while she pondered.

It had happened before; her wings always saved her from the fearsome jaws of death. She had leapt off that same bell tower too many times before, but her feathered, light but strong structure always opened against the wind beneath her, swooping her away from the cold, hard concrete so far below.

She smiled.
They won't be able to save her this time.
Only hours ago had she chanced upon some string at the market square, abandoned but still good. The woolen twine was short, there was just enough to tie both wings together. Siesta was always the best time of day, when the stallholders closed their shops and left behind scraps of food to pick at. Sweet melons, small strips of meat, even berries that rolled astray.

The others were picking at them now, feasting greedily. The chirping subsided as they ate, to a murmur barely audible. She got ready to leap, and then sprang forward in one swift movement.

Falling, her wings struggled in their bound state, straining at the twine to break free, but no, the string, however flimsy it seemed, had the strength of a thousand hands. They bound her and they did so tightly, and she fell to the ground, her eyes wide open, her pupils smiling.

Thursday, 19th August 2010

The hospital was breathtaking.

Breathtaking not just in the sense of beauty, but in the environment and order as well. I visited it for the first time today, and got to see the wards. Long, seemingly endless corridors stretched everywhere I turned, the smell of pee lingered in the air. Countless rooms were listed at the lifts, there was even a mortuary.

When I entered the wards, I saw countless beds occupied by elderly patients, each one with a different diagnosis, different drips hanging from above, different machines attached to them. The ward was dim, but there was a constant soft beeping of the heart-rate machines. I tried to imagine a whole team of doctors and nurses rushing around with patients in their beds, wheeling them at top speed to the emergency unit. It all looked so orderly, it was difficult to imagine chaos.

I felt like I was suddenly sucked into "Scrubs". It's strange to think that I'll work in that environment one day. In any case, I hope to be the surgeon or the doctor, not the patient.
I think I was like a child in a candy factory, a child who had never eaten any candy. My eyes wide and my mouth agape, I stood in awe of that beautifully intimidating place, lost in thought, lost in fantasy.

It was a much-needed jolt of inspiration, thanks so much.

Tuesday, 17th August 2010

"Yet he was doing a fine thing- proving on how little the soul can exist. Fed neither by Heaven nor by Earth he was going forward, a lamp that would have been blown out, were materialism true. He hadn't a God, he hadn't a lover- the two usual incentives to virtue. There was no one to watch him, nor did he watch himself, but struggles like his are the supreme achievements of humanity, and surpass any legends about Heaven.
No reward awaited him. This work, like much that had gone before, was to fall ruining. But he did not fall with it, and the muscles it had developed remained for another use."

I had a fantasy in my youth. Perhaps I shouldn't call it that- it was but 2 years ago. I imagined an ideal world with nobody else in it, leaving me free to walk the Earth, wherever I pleased, whenever I pleased. I would live with animals, and I would wear whatever I wanted. I could have gone nude, had I so desired. The freedom is appealing in a way that this world could never deliver to me.
Freedom is gone, banished from society to the pits of earth and stone. Fatigue eats away at me as I type, my senses falling asleep one by one.

Going.. Going.. Gone.

Monday, 16th August 2010

"It was all so complicated.
When love flies it is remembered not as love but as something else. Blessed are the uneducated, who forget it entirely, and are never conscious of folly or pruriency in the past, of long aimless conversations." -'Maurice' by E.M. Forster

In Secondary School, sex was a sacred topic, unbroached, undiscussed. It amused greatly those who attempted to open the discussion, which was always more or less dismissed as rumours. It seemed that the people around me then never really sought to satisfy their curiosity by hankering after literature in the subject.

Strange, that.
Were people simply afraid? And, of what? One shouldn't have to fear another on this Earth, even though society took upon itself, the role of banishing anyone who disagreed with its views, behind bars.

We are at the age when we experience many new and unfamiliar things- things that scare us, things that delight us, things that upset us, things that excite us. Yet, what keeps us from going insane are things we call "belief", "values", "trust", "morals", "respect".

What does it really mean to respect someone?

Wednesday, 11th August 2010

Freedom.

Freedom means so many things to so many different people.

To a prisoner, freedom means walking freely, without being under the scrutiny of guards, to be able to do what he wants, when he wants, to be able to walk where he wants, sleep when he wants, talk to his loved ones without having to fill out forms.

To a child, freedom means playing whenever she wants, to be able to have fun and yet, be taken seriously instead of being pushed aside.

To a student, freedom means studying to her limits, to juggle studying and other activities of interest, to be able to go home to acceptance, support and comfort.

To a teenager, freedom means being trusted by his parents to manage his time between friends, studies, love and life. Freedom means staying out past curfew and going out without being questioned.

To a working adult, freedom means having a job he enjoys, to be able to chat with his peers, colleagues and bosses. To be able to keep within schedule comfortably, to separate work and life at home.

To an elder, freedom means being young at heart, to walk without a stick, to have joints that don't swell and hurt with every move.

To a foreign citizen, freedom means the ability to vote and have a say in the country's well being, government and decisions. To be recognised as a country's own, instead of someone different and apart.

To a couple, freedom means the ability to love without reserve, without factors such as race, beliefs, gender or age. To be able to see each other without fear, to be able to stick together after arguments, to be able to accept each other instead of trying to change.

Freedom.

Tuesday, 10th August 2010

Tu sei il vento che sussurra, che canta agli alberi
che fa frusciare le foglie di gioia
e fa i fiori a danzare al suono brillante

Nei giorni di pioggia si tiene in mano un pennarello
per disegnare un sorriso sul mio viso
di tenere la mia mano nella tua, come ci troviamo ad affrontare la vita insieme

Vieni, rimani con me
aiuto quando cado
per voi siete la luce del mio mondo
il mio amore
il mio amore

Sunday, 8th August 2010

"God won't send you to hell just because you don't convert."

"Yes, he will."

Saturday, 7th August 2010

She had left him with no choice.

Her pleading look intensified as his vice-like grip tightened around her neck. The skin there was turning purple now, and she felt the hand of her husband, her lover, there. Her eyes rolled backwards as she tried in vain to gasp a last time.

They had gotten married at 30, they were secure. Through thick and thin with each other, both husband and wife had gained the wisdom they sought. After having spent 40 long years together, fate saw to it that she broke her spine.
The paralysis devastated her; and he sacrificed everything to stay by her side.

She rode around in a little grey wheelchair, unable to move, unable to chew. All that was left was her ability to hum, and so he would hum tunes with her while she was awake. He played her songs on his keyboard, resorting to singing whenever arthritis set in. On rainy days, she liked to sit by the big glass window; the rain calmed her, it was like a veil that shielded her from the world.

As more time went by he felt it- the pull of death. Fatigue often left him weak and pale, even though he did his best to remain upbeat around her. His joints swelled up so he could fit his ring no more, but chose to remain silent about his condition for another 4 years.

The doctor had told him. He went to the hospital after the pain got unbearable. She was sleeping downstairs, tucked up cosily while the rain poured outside. He was so afraid she might see him whenever his bed was rolled past her door.
He was afraid to tell her, he couldn't. He, alone, knew what she needed, what she wanted, what songs she liked to listen to while sitting by the window. He had spent every day there since she was admitted, and couldn't bear the thought of leaving her behind. He knew it was coming to an end, his life, it was slipping through his fingers like sand.

"No," he whispered, "I must tell her."

He chose a perfect day; the calming rain poured outside the huge glass window, no lightning in sight, no thunder to be heard. All there was, was the soft pattering of raindrops on the ledge. He brought a blood-red rose, snipped of thorns and trimmed of half its stalk. The light grew in her eyes as he presented it to her, thereafter planting a kiss upon her lips.
How beautiful, he thought, as he gazed at her lying sweetly on the bed. Pushing the bed towards the window, he took care not to drop the flower, and whispered into her ear the calming words she wished to hear.

Then, came the time to tell her.

The light in her eyes slowly dimmed as the words escaped from his mouth, his tongue flicking deftly as he spoke, of his greatest fear- that he would die first.
The thought of his lovely wife sitting and lying alone day after day was too agonising to bear, let alone comprehend.
He had to do it, it was now or never.

And so he reached out to her frail neck, "I'll see you again soon, my love."

The rose fell to the cold, hard floor as the light disappeared.

Friday, 6th August 2010

T'was a performance, after all.

People saw me, cheered for me, and then told me they saw me. Hmmm. Dr Khin was there, too, and so were several other lecturers.
Thank you, thank you.

The difficult Mandarin song got cut in the end. T'was simply too difficult, I say! The other one was relatively much simpler, with repeating verses and chorus. Good for people like me. Several of our other songs got cut, too. I wasn't happy about that; that's just plain mean. Mr S was just being.. himself.

I'm at the freezing library again, waiting for D. He did say he would meet me at the library, but, as his voice lesson starts at 4pm, and it's already 3.16pm, I think he might've left to attend it. My hair is still sticking up in an odd/awesome fashion (courtesy of Charlie, thank you!) and I have eyeliner around my eyes. I could wear it today because I didn't sleep well last night, which resulted in a both-side double-eyelid.

CSAS got cancelled again, therefore I have no more reason to stay at school after taking the Biomolecules Practical Quiz. Thought D would be here, so I came to the library. I was surprised when I couldn't find him sitting at the computers, so I guess I'll just borrow someone's phone to call him, and then head out.

They're playing 'Glee' over the speakers now, gotta go.

Wednesday, 4th August 2010

Never has a PIPC quiz gone as right as this one.

It went more right than I expected, although, I have to admit, I worked quite hard for it. Stayed up till 2 this morning doing a summary sheet for the two topics tested, and then awoke at 10am to do questions and revise.
I don't want to say it went absolutely all right, because I think the results won't be fantastic, but I really think there may be a chance at passing it!
If I pass, Mr Teong will be pleased.

At TP library again, waiting for my Love to arrive. I have yet to memorise the darn Chinese songs for the performance on Friday, so feeling a bit nervous, but I think my body deserves a break from stress. I panicked so much today I awoke at 8, then at 9, then finally at 10 when my alarm rang. By the time it rang, I was feeling so exhausted but my heart continued to race, disallowing me to fall back to sleep.

I miss the comfort of Oscar Wilde. Not too long ago I had time to read about Dorian Gray and his picture, now I can scarcely find the time to do anything. Painting. Drawing. Customizing. Cooking. Baking. Playing. Composing. Writing. Learning. Practising.

Make time? Don't make me laugh.

Tuesday, 3rd August 2010

Some random thoughts for the night-

I felt weird after drinking the thick 'teh' at supper with the same few choir people tonight. My stomach started churning and I had such the urge to puke. Later on, I experienced a bit of giddiness and felt like my heart was racing. Must have been something I ate or drank.
You can imagine how horrible the bus ride home was for me.

Quiz tomorrow, God help me. It's PIPC, I promised the teacher I'd try really hard for it, and I aim to at least get a pass. However, life's been hectic these past couple of weeks, and these few days there's been choir every night.
I've just been told that my ABRSM exam is on the 20th of September.

Felt a bit unloved tonight. I think it was another small-scale mood swing. I have no idea why, nobody displayed any less affection towards me. I just felt unloved. It's just me, I guess.

Now I know why all my lecturers who hold MDs and PhDs are single. The workload in the medical academic path is beyond insane.

If people never knew what love was, would they feel deprived of it?

Sunday, 1st August 2010

See that small clearing over there?
That's where I want to live.

I want to be free to taste the morning dew, to feel the falling leaves in my hair, to hear the crunch beneath my feet. I want to spend hours in a day just lying on the cool grass, gazing at the beacon of light across the sky, and sit by rivers to write poetry, songs and stories.

The stress is coming back.

It hit me so suddenly, like a bucket of cold water right in my face. I need to start now. I have so much to do before the holidays. I need to summarise my notes from my general notes, for every topic, for every subject, so I can study with ease during the 1-month break. Thank God for the 1-month break, Thank you, God.

3 quizzes- Biomolecules Prac, PIPC, CSAS next week, as well as a Biomolecules lab report due on Monday. No more tutorials, so that provides some relief and time for me to study. Choir practices on Mon, Tues, Wed, performance on Friday.

So much for the last week of school, huh?

Saturday, 31st August 2010

Stop shoving things down my throat.

Everybody deserves the right and freedom to love.