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poeticpunk

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9/1/17 10:45 pm - Sunday, 27th August 2017 @ 1938 hrs

His vision had begun to deteriorate long before he sat in the briefing room of the medical centre, penning his thoughts in a black notebook with a picture of himself with his grandmother on the first page. Use of his swollen and reddened eyes had been put on hold an hour earlier as he lay on the crumpled blue sheets that limply wrapped the lone mattress in the middle of the room surrounded by a fortress of ugly orange chairs, dreaming about classrooms and imaginary people named Elaine Foo and a panel giving him ratings based on his looks and personality.



These dreams were a strange relief to the sorrow and uneasiness he felt every waking minute since his eyes had been infected with the sores. The veins bulged and stretched his eyes, making them seem to pop out of their sockets, causing him much discomfort. The slimy discharge could be seen long after he had wiped them from his eyes using his sleeves, a whitish residue resembling mucus. His eyelids weld shut each time he slept and required flexing when he woke, a distinct cracking sound when he forced them open with his fingers. It was an unpleasant feeling he certainly did not welcome.



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7/25/17 10:33 pm

When you get those rare moments of clarity, those flashes when the universe makes sense, you try desperately to hold on to them. They are the life boats for the darker times, when the vastness of it all, the incomprehensible nature of life is completely elusive. So the question becomes, or should have been all along; what would you do if you knew you only had one day or one week or one month to live?

What life boat would you grab on to?
What secret would you tell?
What band would you see?
What person would you declare your love to?
What wish would you fulfill?
What exotic locale would you fly to for coffee?
What book would you write?

7/22/17 12:19 pm

Snaking my way through the shops at Geylang East Central reminds me of the period when I spent most of my nights doing exactly the same at Serangoon Central. The old shops sold cheap goods, pirated gaming cards and once shiny watches through old and yellowed viewing panels.

It makes me sad to think much of Serangoon Central has changed drastically in the past 5 years. I wonder if the same shop owners still parade their wares there or whether spanking new owners have replaced them.

We can never prevent change. We can hardly even cling on to the sentimentality these memories make us feel. The phrase "love always wins" doesn't quite ring true either. People grow old and die. New managements make changes. Memories are relegated to the very back of minds. Nothing stays the same.

6/13/17 11:32 pm

You're on a boat with a hole in its side. You can't get off the boat or buy a new one. What you can do is bail the water out faster than it's coming in.

3/21/17 02:27 pm

They each had small, specific glow-in-the-dark patches on the back of their jungle hats.

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1/3/17 01:39 am

"I thought I understood it, that I could grasp it, but I didn't, not really. Only the smudgeness of it; the pink-slippered, all-containered, semi-precious eagerness of it. I didn't realize it would sometimes be more than whole, that the wholeness was a luxurious idea. Because it's the halves that halve you in half. I didn't know, don't know, about the in-between bits; the gory bits of you and the gory bits me."

Favourite quote from one of my all-time favourite movies. It's always in my head, every word of it. But once in awhile I like to say it out loud to myself or in this instance, see the actual paragraph.

1/2/17 02:02 am - Aurora Idontunderstandthis

In November I had the financial privilege of spending the combined total of almost 2 full days in Paris although the only thing I enjoyed was walking around in the Louvre pretending I was a connoisseur while "admiring" art I did not understand.

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12/24/16 01:13 am

My parents once spent $4,500 on a laptop for me and what have I done to repay them? They weren't financially stable, they had absolutely no need to splurge on an overpriced piece of hardware for a child who simply wanted the biggest and shiniest MacBook that Apple could manufacture. Did they spend that kind of money in the hopes that I would one day become a prolific filmmaker and repay them tenfold; a comfortable life in a large house, expensive cars and never having to worry about money again?

$4,500 is a huge sum of money in today's context. Exactly how much was it worth to them back then? What was going through their heads as they deliberated whether to buy me that 17-inch silver laptop? Where did they get all that money from? What was I thinking, going for the top-of-the-line products when I should have been satisfied with anything half that price. I think about all the financial difficulties they've had in the past and yet they still decided to buy me that MacBook. Was I really that worth it? Couldn't they have said no to me? Till' now, they have never spent quite as much money on any single item or for any other cause on any one of my siblings or myself as they did on that laptop.

What compelled them to do it? Did they really want their son to have such an expensive piece of equipment just to browse the internet and be able to do his school work away from home? It's been 7 years and I still have that MacBook Pro. I still use it although it has recently been replaced with a new, much more powerful custom-built desktop. The difference in price and performance is unfathomable to me. $4,500 in 2009 but only $1,600 in 2016 yet three to four times the performance today. They paid a premium for what was back then a revolutionary piece of equipment that everybody wanted but most did not understand.

Abba, Omma, what did I ever do to deserve such an expensive gift all those years ago? I'd feel much better if I had done something significant with it. Instead I've thrown away everything I ever learned in school and all that's inside the MacBook now are movies and miscellaneous files of zero worth.

I can't sleep well knowing my parents' hard earned money hasn't been invested properly. I really can't.

10/18/16 04:44 pm

It's drizzling lightly. Rain has a subtle assertiveness that can both bring everything it touches to life or ruin one's day. The terraced housed are smothered by a dull grey shadow that threatens to swallow the red bricked rooftops and dark green fences. The tiny grooves in the wet tarmac causes the road to twinkle like a million angry stars in protest at being pelted by the rain. A gentle wind blows, nothing one would notice with a simple sweater on. It teases my hair playfully each time I reset those runaway strands.

I glide listlessly past the 2-storey houses, encountering the odd raincoat-clad individual every now and again. I'm headed somewhere but I'm not entirely sure where. I'm on a mission with no direction. As with all dreams, I've appeared like an apparition with no clap of thunder, no guidance nor clue. But I do know my short appearance has a purpose.

I feel as a suspicious person would, constantly checking my six for an unknown premonition occurring. My body is tense, bracing for any unwanted surprises. I suppose this is paranoia. I turn again and unlike before, there is a figure approaching. She's moving toward me quickly and decisively with a skip in her step. I freeze as she appears from under the shadow of a tree and her face is illuminated slightly. Suddenly water is poured silently into an empty glass and my purpose in this altered reality is crystal clear.

Her cheeks and exposed arms are flushed, I tell myself. She's not panting so it must have been from the sun elsewhere. She hasn't changed at all. My heart goes into overdrive as she embraces me. I look at her and she looks straight back. The divide is no more and we are whole again. She whispers words into my ear and kisses me so hard I fear will never recover. Her kisses are wet, her kisses are overwhelming and her kisses are mine.

She pulls me away underground where the walls are white and there is a small black door. She tells me she's going to school to study and I wonder out loud why that particular locale. She turns back and looks at me with untroubled contempt, then disappears into the doorway.

8/19/16 12:02 pm

Washing my face and brushing my teeth just now transported me from a neglected toilet in Hendon camp to a cold morning in one of Tokyo's capsule hotels. The rain from last night had chilled the water rushing out of the faucet. As I splashed the water on my face, it tightened my skin and literally woke my soul up. I instantly felt alive and ready for the events that would unfold for the rest of the day. But it's just not the same; I'm not in Japan and as soon as I step out of the toilet the humidity envelopes me like a choking fog.

I have 15 days of leave approved between the 12th and 26th of November. I haven't quite decided where I want to go yet. I've been to Japan once every year since 2013 and would hate for that streak to snap this year. But I'm strongly entertaining the idea of really exploring the unknown and going to Bhutan. It'd be really costly and physically taxing but I wonder what I would find there..
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