Fleeting night

Just look at that girl,
Watch how her hips twirl,
I need to get to her

Yes, my hands are on her hips
Yes, my groin is touching her
No, she is not responding
I need to do something

She is tipsy, her head is spinning
Her lips-so full and red
Her hair- so soft and brown
Her eyes- so big and empty
Her curves- so irresistible

Yes, she turned around
Yes, she is leaning on my chest
Yes, our lips touch and tongues intertwine
Yes, my hands are making her moan
I love this

It is 4 in the morning
The music stops
The lights come on
What happens in a club,
Stays in a club


Emptiness never leaves

The brown, dull looking squatters huddled miserably together along the river bank. Just looking at them would make one feel nauseous and claustrophobic. There was barely enough space to move around and oxygen was scarce; given the amount of people per square metre. The area smelled of sweat, dirty socks and cat droppings. Each day only comes alive before sunrise when men would stream out of their grimy one room apartments, dressed in durable, practical black plastic boots and hop onto their small, elongated boats which bobbed leisurely on the murky river waters. Those boats had girly, round eyes drawn on the pointed ends accompanied with life-like eyelashes that pretty much fixed the boats’ genders. Legend has it that the Goddess of the River was a lesbian who would not cause trouble for any females. Hence, fishermen dressed their boats, making them look as feminine as possible to ensure a safe and fruitful trip. If not for the chauvinistic culture, men would be at home doing household chores, feeding and chasing after hyperactive, screaming children while women would be out in the rough, glistening river hauling in schools of fish under the blazing sun that scorched the land.

There was a new childless couple in town. He was the average Joe and she, a plain Jane, a perfect description of their names. They had recently shifted into one of the squatters, adorned with broken lightbulbs, cobwebs, rusty pipes, scurrying cockroaches and a shattered glass window where a miserable ray of light would shine in. The ray of light seemed to symbolise their glimmer of hope for their pathetic lives in a new living environment. At least this dilapidated room was much better than sleeping on the cold, bare streets and fighting with stray dogs for food. Maybe they could be like normal couples; get a decent job and adopt a child.

Four seasons turned into eight and eight into sixteen. The squatters were bought over by a filthy rich man and demolished. Standing proud and tall in its place were apartments painted in bright, warm orange that seemed to exude a cheerful ambience in this once gloomy area. Smells of grime, dirty socks and cats dropping were replaced with the fragrance of prosperity. Smiles, both straight and crooked, were plastered on people’s faces. The children that used to scamper around barefooted and clothed in rags had transformed into young adults, donned in suits and western dresses. Each day never seemed to die, the hustle and bustle never ceased, the day was flooded with office workers, businessmen, fishermen, market people, so on and so forth. The night was, however, intoxicated with drugs, booze, smoke and sex. Many described this place as a heaven in hell. Wildest desires could be fulfilled within a night as long as you could pay. Some lost their fortunes here, others lost their family and others lost sanity. The fortune overflowing from Squatter Town had a story behind it. Up hidden in one of the apartments, the biggest and most well-adorned one, was a man who never stepped out of his room. He had an assistant who would run daily errands for him. Speculations over his identity were rife, especially in the marketplace. There were rumours that he was a young, charming man with a face that made women stop in their tracks, a voice that could send birds falling off branches mesmerised, who inherited his father’s fortune and made an excellent but risky decision of acquiring the whole plot of worthless, desolated, run-down squatters. Some attributed his withdrawal from society to his quirky nature while others imagined him to be a lovelorn man who suffered from a serious depression and hence became detached from the world.

A storyteller at the end of Port Avenue claimed that he knew the real man. Honestly, he earned quite a sum from his claim. Adults and children alike would sit around him during their breaks to listen to him spin tales as he stroked his long, wispy beard with his big, coarse hands. Maybe, fantasy was better than reality. The billowing clouds of colourful imagination kept the people of Squatter Town interested and entertained. “Whatever would happen if they realised that reality was like a dull speck of dust; mundane, unwanted and common?” More tales, more building of castles in the air and definitely more spinning was Mr. Long Wispy Beard’s answer. After all, most people aren’t critical thinkers, taking in whatever he said about that mysterious man as the ultimate truth. “These fools!”, he mused, curling his lips into a sly smile before falling into deep slumber. In the corner of the room was a lone, dark shadow. The shadow seemed to exude even more darkness that it could engulf any ray of light that attempted to reach it. The room was stone cold, silent and gloom lived in it. There was a mysterious heartache in the air, so palpable that even a clown would fall into a deep emotional pit and shed tears the minute he entered the room. The shadow lay there, like a corpse in a coffin, staring into the darkness through its deep, empty sockets. His breath was heavy and subtle at different intervals but they were short and hinted breathlessness. This man was a man of riches, a man of solitude and a man of holes. The holes in his life could never be covered up any amount of bills and gold coins. His solitude could never be hidden by the cacophony in the streets of Squatter Town. A mournful sigh dashed the dead silence in the room. The long, thick velvet curtains weren’t as heavy as his heart. He had lost his beautiful, lovely wife to gambling and flings, gained his fortune through traids and his big, coarse hands were stained with crimson red blood screaming for justice. The treacherous road of hell he had embarked on was a never returning one. Along the way, he lost pieces of himself; his morals, his love, his emotions, his life. The ancient rosewood rocking chair swayed to and fro, just as how his life went back and forth in memories. Tick tock, tick tock, the grandfather clocked ticked mercilessly, keeping closely to its motto of ‘Time and tide waits for no man’. The world, including Squatter Town, ticked by, leaving him behind, drowned in his own desolation. The night had passed, overtaken by the warm golden ball that hung in the vast endless sky, sending vices of the night scurrying for shelter. That mysterious dark shadow forced his feeble frame out of bed, slipped on a plain shirt and summoned his assistant.

“Yes,Sir Joe?”

“Breakfast please.”

“Sir, the children are already waiting.”

He swallowed his breakfast with newfound strength and off he went, stroking his long and wispy beard, spreading the mystery of the man in colourful castles built in air.

“Now that I have opened that bottle of memories, they’re pouring out like wine, crimson and bittersweet.”- Ellen Hopkins

The cool waves lapped against the rocky shores. The chilly breeze caressed her petite frame, wrapping its arms around her. The ocean seemed to be reach the ends of the earth. Seagulls circled mindlessly in the cloudless blue sky, calling out incessantly.

It seemed just like yesterday that everything happened. “Humans are crazy creatures! ” She remembered her old political science professor exclaim. Indeed, she had experienced this irrationality firsthand.

The idyllic backdrop was nowhere near the depiction of her feelings. He was her confusion, the stray thoughts during a lecture, the sudden outbursts of giggles and the abrupt pangs of sadness. The sun seemed to have disappeared.

She wondered if he was enjoying himself, if he actually remembered her and if he was hidden among the blanket of twinkling stars. Those memories weren’t memories after all. They don’t stay in her head. She could barely recall his face but her humane, raw heart had a longing so bad that it felt as if it was missing a big part of itself.

Life, somehow, just wasn’t complete.It was him that was missing, but who? His face, his name and his voice had been eaten away by little hungry bugs nibbling on her brain cells. Time was her enemy and still is. Slowly and cautiously, she stepped into the clear waters that seemed to soothe her soul. She closed her eyes, laid down and let every essence of her body ebb away with the rhythm of the ocean.

She knew, for sure, he would be there to receive her with open arms. And she would instinctively know that it was her missing jigsaw puzzle piece.

“It’s hard to feel desire when you don’t feel desirable.”- Christine Feehan

So,Valentine’s day is just round the corner. Many people have started getting excited or gathering ideas for this very special day.

However, something more special has come into my mind. The notion of love, embeds itself so deeply into our lives. Typically, no one can live without love. No one can pat themselves on the chest and say ” I don’t need love”. No matter how independent we all are, at some point of time, we will crave for love.

What is the point then? The point is how do we learn to cope without love? For those without a valentine, for those who have lost faith in relationships, for those who have suffered a divorce or a breakup, where is your love? The answer is simple. YOURSELF. We can always rely on ourselves to treat ourselves the way we want to be treated. We know ourselves best. By loving ourselves, we give our heart a chance to appreciate more things in life; friendship, religion, career etc. Things that go way beyond love.

To treasure ourselves is to allow others to see our self-worth. And that is how long-lasting love will come to us. People always say “Fight for your happiness!” but I would say, ” Love yourself and love will find you.”

Let the self-loving begin!

“My best friend is the one who brings out the best in me.” – Henry Ford

To my bestest and #1 friend of 8 years and still counting, I am so glad that I have you in my life.  I used to think that friendships never last but you proved me wrong. You are my confidence booster, my happiness booster and I cherish this friendship more and more each day.  We have done so many hilarious and crazy things together that it would take many lifetimes for us to count everything out. I am so elated that we are in the same university and CCAs. It is like a bonus to me!  Valentine's day is coming in a week's time and I wanna say I LOVE YOU BESTIE! You never fail to brighten up those gloomy skies, chase the blues away and bring a smile to my face. May our friendship  strengthen over the years and if reincarnation exists, I wanna meet you in every lifetime of mine! ♥

To my bestest and #1 friend of 8 years and still counting, I am so glad that I have you in my life.
I used to think that friendships never last but you proved me wrong. You are my confidence booster, my happiness booster and I cherish this friemdship more and more each day.
We have done so many hilarious and crazy things together that it would take many lifetimes for us to count everything out. I am so elated that we are in the same school and CCAs. It is like a bonus to me!
Valentine’s day is coming in a week’s time and I wanna say I LOVE YOU BESTIE! You never fail to brighten up the gloomy skies, chase the blues away and bring a smile to my face.
May our friendship strengthen over the years and if reincarnation exists, I wanna meet you in every lifetime of mine! ♥

“Once you had p…

“Once you had put the pieces back together, even though you may look intact, you were never quite the same as you’d been before the fall.”
― Jodi Picoult

I am a sunken individual. I have lost my senses, emotions, fears, and clarity. I am brave yet afraid, cold yet hot, alert yet confused. Life spins around me at lightning speed. Fast, faster, fastest. I cannot breathe. I do things I do not understand. I lose myself in a whole new world and bounce between reality and fantasy. I search within only to find emptiness accompanied by bloodied fragments, impossible to be pieced back. Blood concentrated with booze, smoke, darkness, tears, broken kisses and crushed hopes.

There you are, your back towards me. The empty promises you mouthed burst like fragile soap bubbles in the air. Your gaze pierced through my broken soul. Your voice reverberating in my ears. Your touch stinging like a poisonous bite. I cannot reach you. Within arm’s length is only your shadow, so dark and cold. Next to your shadow is another one that is not mine.

I cannot feel the hurt. I cannot feel my heart. A salty river flows from my eyes, my body loses strength, my mind is blank and my spirit has evaporated. The day seems dark and merciless. No voice comes out of my chords. I am caged up once again, this time, by a different him. Through my broken body, an ironic mock emerges. Loud, louder, loudest. 

“We all take di…

“We all take different paths in life, but no matter where we go, we take a little of each other everyhwere.”
― Tim McGraw

They sat in the room,one at each corner of the room. 3 of them. You would think that they were strangers or that they were mere acquaintances with no common interests. But, no. Shocking isn’t it? Admist the cacophony of noisy chatter, there was palpable cold stares and awkward biting of lips.

“Hey, how are you?” A black flat device screen screamed.

“Good.” blurted another black device.

They used to have so much to say, chatting till their throats grew hoarse and the groundwater in their bodies went miserably dry. Some claimed that they even saw the cows came home. Well, that was how much they talked, laughed and cried together. That was approximately 8 seasons ago. The warmth had been replaced by the brutal cold shoulders, similar to the biting cold howling wind just a door away.

“Whatever happened? ” a thought rushed through their minds.

No one could really pinpoint the problem or the culprit. Maybe, time really heals wounds, for they didn’t feel that much contempt towards each other anymore. She would go to the ends of the world for him, if he asked her to. He would be the one who relied on her, who made her feel a responsibility for and to yearn to care for him. Maybe it was unclarity that ruined everything they had. 8 seasons of sweet memories, replaced with 8 seasons of brutal pain. Ironically, 8 was also their favourite number. She never bared her heartfelt feelings for him and he never told her how he felt. Maybe he was unsure about how he really felt.

4 seasons later, she bared. It was swift and quick. So was the rejection. So was the searing, excruciating pain that flooded her soul.

” I’m sorry.” beeped another black device. The third device.

Her cool stare and curt reply was all that he received. The awkwardness intensed. None of them looked up, none of them shed a tear, none of them smiled. It was the end of everything.

Maybe they didn’t realise that they were sitting on triangular shaped chairs in a triangular formation.