Jun 26, 2012

A disclaimer I should have added a long time ago

Quite a lot of the stuff I write about don't come from my own genuine personal experience. For example, I don't club. I don't see the fun in it at all. I'd rather go somewhere less noisy and have a good chat with my friends. I also have never gotten drunk - after seeing what drunk people can do without remembering, I've vowed never to get to that state. If these people could step out of their bodies and see themselves. No, the next day they pass by the same acquaintance / friend they made out with / cursed / publicly humiliated, and they don't realise anything has changed. I only drink anything alcoholic at social gatherings, and the number of times I've touched alcohol can be counted on one hand. My life is also a lot less interesting (but a lot more happening!) than my blog depicts. Most of my made-up stories are inspired from movies, books, performances, music videos, whatever. Sorry to disappoint. That said, my writing is also raw and genuine, which means I can't write it if I can't genuinely feel it. And my writing speaks my heart, whether or not the situations depicted really happened.

Jun 24, 2012

John 11:35

Jesus wept.

the game of keeping your heart out

Two conveyor belts that go in opposite directions are laid next to each other. Girls on one side, boys on the other. It's a game, you see, the game of making it remain what it is. The conveyor belt goes slowly enough for you to get to know someone a bit too well, but too fast for the little rainbow cloud above your heads to form. The key, then, is to enjoy each one you pass on the conveyor belt, with a tease, a wink. Inch closer to the edge of the belt; toe the line, just make sure you don't fall off. The key is in inching as close to the edge of the belt as possible without falling off, without ousting yourself from your spot in the game. The stupidest thing you can do is to hold on to any one person.

So you let your hearts make brief contact and move on, move on. Hurry, now, he needs to leave; number five is waiting. You do not, I repeat, you don't let your heart latch on to anyone. Tear it off if you must, but that leaves the edges raw and hurting for a while.

And this is why you don't play your game of hedonism here, not on me. See, I haven't mastered this game yet. I continue to fall off, even when I've strapped myself onto the belt, and my heart always leaves the game raw.

Jun 22, 2012

just enough to see you

one shot and I see you somewhere behind, a hazy image of a man
two shots and I see you looking right at me
three shots and your face so close, your eyes penetrating into my own
four, your face pressed against mine, now, your hand on my waist
five i see myself in the mirror eyeshadow all screwed up, an ugly wreck of a face wet with your tears

Jun 21, 2012

At night I pray / That soon your face will fade away

Everytime you make your way into my head again I wonder if you still think of me too. The days I curled up in my bed in the afternoon with tears streaming down my face, the long minutes I stared at my phone, my heart at the bottom of a pit, wondering what you were feeling; I can ignore all those. Even the beauty of the staircase hours, it's easy to dismiss those. But how about the beginning, the very start of it all - the magic of the stage and the airport, sneaking into places at night, you and the way you looked at me. Your stupid laugh. Your quiet smile.

And a little further back, the last chapters of the book; the way you recounted your childhood story, your value pack of Mars bars, the magic of day three when you held on so tight, worried on day three that you might lose me. That smile as you used one hand to drag my chair towards yours and held my hand with the other. You helping me to adjust the collar of my top. Asking me to sing you that song. "You're sweet as heaven". Your quiet, sincere truths. "It's our stop, but I don't want to leave. I wanna stay here", you pulling me into a tighter hug. The love told in sentences without the word, told so simply, all raw. The times you didn't smile.

I'm on my way to emotionally distancing myself from the beauty. Someday I'll be able to look back at all the magic without any feeling of longing or pain. I know it was nothing firmly grounded; nothing but whimsical infatuation, but it was so huge. So huge. All the heartache, all the tears, walking around like a zombie for weeks, empty

At least I know magic now. I know how beautiful things can become. I will continue to wait for a moment as magical, a moment as strong. One less riddled with searing pain, more rooted in something strong.

no, don't say it yet

The first i-love-you is a special one. It must be told at the perfect time, a memorable moment. Perhaps a night when you're walking down the beach, with the water at your feet, as he does a little violin performance just for you. Perhaps one day when you're crying over something and he doesn't know how else to cheer you up. Maybe he'll hold you tight and refuse to let go until you stop crying. You wait for the perfect moment, hold yourself back till then. Don't waste it on an exam day. Don't waste it on yet another lonely night.

Then another typical day comes along, one hot day after school, and you're in the bus with him on the way to the library, just another typical study afternoon. Tired from all the stress. You put your head on his shoulder, and you feel his arm slide around you. You feel his hand cupping your face, tentatively, shyly. He slowly traces your jawline, his fingers on your cheek. Delicate, you feel like a delicate doll surrounded by his warmth. The intensity, the tragedy of love, all in the traces of his fingers.

The bus makes a turn and the glare of the sun hits you. The sun, mighty, life-giving but so alone; it's jealous of you, jealous that you have someone else to share life with. He puts his hand over your eyes, a shade.  Don't let it disturb your rest, now. You feel the heaviness of his palm against your eyelids, the warmth of his promise.

"I love you."

Jun 13, 2012

You know me as Karen,

the girl who's always late, who makes all the mistakes, who drops expensive stuff, who's always muddle-headed, who never speaks up. You know me as Karen, a quiet, submissive average girl, who gets people annoyed because she can never seem to speak audibly, who spills the drinks and gets orders wrong. You know me as Karen, the timid girl who says 'sorry' about seven thousand times a day, who says 'sorry' instead of 'excuse me', like I'm apologising that you have to be near me.

But it doesn't matter. This Karen doesn't exist. You don't know Karen. This is only a shadow of a girl. This girl  disappears as soon as she leaves the building, and then I'm Karen again. The real one.

I am Karen, the girl who's always late, who panics over her mistakes, who drops and loses expensive stuff, whose muddle-headedness is a joke - but I am not silent. I am not unopinionated. I have a soul, a passionate, bold flame of a soul. I speak up. I engage. I contribute. I don't sit back and whisper and say 'sorry' seven thousand times. I hold meaningful conversations. I am not timid.

In that building, I am too timid and silent to have a personality. I don't stand out in any way, especially for anything good, but I try. I try hard. I am slow but meticulous, and I am diligent. I don't have a personality there because I am not me. You do not see my contemplations, the issues that engage me; I silence myself.

I am Karen; I am not a colour that blends into the wallpaper. I am not typical. I am not bland. I am not silent. I'm bold, passionate burning bold, and I am a burst of colours - yellow or red or deep blue, depending on which way you hold me. I am anything but the wallpaper.

Jun 2, 2012

And all else simply falls away

Karen, God sees the desire of your heart, and it's a wonderful desire...

Oh God, his mouth has just confirmed the very thing, you know it, God, you know - 
you'll do amazing things, we'll do amazing things together - 

Karen, I want you to know that Jesus is proud of you, and every morning when you wake up He's very happy -

Oh God, I'm so sorry, and to think... and I'm so unworthy - 
no, cut it off, cut off the guilt, just delight in the Lord and His love

Don't cover your face when you cry, don't look down, let Him see the face that He has created

Karen, when I was sitting beside you I just sensed in my heart that you might be feeling like you have expectations you need to meet, that you feel inadequate, even for God -

Oh, God, who am I but a baby in Your kingdom; who am I but a servant, undeserving - 

But God has made you in His perfect, wonderful image, and nothing you do can make Him love you less, make Him love you more. And you don't have any expectations to meet, you don't have to feel inadequate.

Thank you, God; you made me just the way I am, and you make my weaknesses my strengths in You.

(People who are emotionally dependent have a lot of love to give away / And they need a lot of love / Karen you're blessed because God has created you with a great heart / I want to believe that God's going to fill your life with lots of meaningful relationships)

And don't let your past affect you; you are a new person in God; God has given you a new name

Oh, God, this is me, I'm so weak, so dependent, I succumb so easily, this is who I am, you know how I cling on, how I stumble so soon, you know what I'm facing this very moment - 
no, cut it off, the past doesn't determine anything, just delight in the strength He has given you

Your strength is made perfect in my weakness Lord

Reminder to self, the desire you have, the wonderful desire that God is delighted with and will come to pass in Him. The things that you know you have to do. The strength that He has given you but also needs to be renewed. Don't succumb. You have the strength. Don't cling on to the self you knew. Don't keep reinforcing the weakness. You aren't weak. You have the strength of the Lord.

(Thank you Daniel & Germaine for being vessels of the Lord; cg 020612)