Extreme Ways

I had to close down everything
I had to close down my mind
Too many things to cover me
Too much can make me blind
I've seen so much in so many places
So many heartaches, so many faces
So many dirty things
You couldn't believe
extreme ways, moby

that's it.

for the twenty fifth time since this morning 9Am, people have been cavorting at my desk and asking me about the shared computer seating annoyingly besides me. why the sftp? automated jobs? hard disk crashed? why? why? why?

do i have the look of a helpdesk specialist? or a nightingale in my previous life that my karma has followed me to this lifetime that the sufferings need to seek solace or release by wailing to me?

even since i have moved to the new seat, i have this sudden glaring limelight on me everyday signaling to everyone to focus their entire attention on me. work mates and strangers have been craving for my attention ever since, over every single puny issues pertaining to the freaking machine.

i want to hurt somebody. i have a vermin to kill. mutilation has a very good appeal.

one more dear colleague has moved place to another site. the number of endearing smiling faces remaining around has been decreasing like the measly increment given out by my supraliminal tyrants. nowadays when i walked around the office premises, the hello greetings given out has been more of courtesy than heartfelt.

my african violets seem to have stop growing despite the amount of fertilizers i have been drowning them in. damn the manufacturer. and the masses just refused to grow after breathing too much toxic oxygen in the premises. this is a sign from the nature.

too much toxic kills. it is time to move.

last week, i went for a one day trip to the shore opposite this island, and have bought four pairs of shoes which were so cheap, so beautiful, so glamorous on my lovely tiny feet that i simply could not resist. after two hours of catwalking and posing in front of the mirror, endless giggling with my friends, i have brought home my prize possession.

at the rate that i see beautiful accoutrements on me, i will be pirouetting my way to pauperism very soon.

oh, i do have a good excuse for that.

aren't i entitled to do anything this period that will heighten the feeling of joy in me?

say yes please.

i'll give you a kiss if you do so.

Eyes Wide Shut

"the only way for a person to live on is to continue loving him."
-- from the film, the crow (1994) --

"You always give more than you take. you never stop loving people. silly girl." she says.

my whole life revolves around 24 by 7. a technology analyst, daughter, sister, friend, philanthropist, pediatrician, paramedic and a lover. lover, its meshuga existence in my context is one who never stops loving even if an obscene amount of pain or profanity is inflicted repeatedly upon oneself.

sometimes i find myself to be such a cretin. you are crazy. why should you expose yourself through such pain? wakeup wakeup wakeup.

i have subconsciously taken on more roles than i knew existed. the children from the children home were hugging my legs so tightly that day and refused to let go that i almost pee in my pants. two weeks from now, i'll be attending a mooncake making class with a eight months pregnant gal friend and i am already praying that the baby is not overly eager to meet me.

dear child, should you try to be that miscreant brat of nothing more than a bloody plop that interrupted my class paid by my hard earning shillings from my autocratic tyrants at work, i will make sure you learn the meaning of lambaste. your godmother.

My GMTs are all messed up and confused, like the she-male borned in a man's body or the little kitten that hid into a corner when it stepped onto the squeaky rubber duckie. i am permanently on international time. sometimes london, sometimes new york but never the local time zone. pourquoi? damn it.

every time i gazed at my clock, it is always past the sleeping time. my pillows gazed longingly for me to sooth their restlessness, my quilt for my affectionate closeness. even the second hand of my alarm clock is grumbling louder than usual in the past, a reminder echoing in the empty void that has been stuggling for so long.

another exhortative message is being sent to my phone. thank you ladies and gentlemen. thank you. i have forgotten i have so many friends till now. i will remember your teachings by heart and tomorrow recite it a hundred times before i get down to work.

and i just realised i have missed the emmys this year. fuck.

sleeping? maybe.

goodnight dearie. goodnight.

i thank you ladies and gentlemen once again.

and oh, i think i need a hug too.

Realm

i am a destroyer. a natural one. everything turned into ashes and dust when my fingers touched them. even the computer i used for robot firing died a horrible blue death last friday. maybe that was why even love left me and never lingered long enough for me to feel its warmth.

my social calendar has been filled with Xs for the past few weeks. this filled my life with semblance of meaning. three weeks, the last time i checked, it hasn't felt like three weeks. the little fragments of memories seems so distant and sparse now, clinging for its dear life onto the edges of the leaves like freshly formed dew in the dawn, or like the lalang that has been dispersed by the wind. the mysterious brown box of residues still hiding in that dark corner of the room.

i sauntered into the office unapologetically dressed in black from head to toe, mirroring my mood on a dark moody monday morning. even those exorbitantly priced pieces of laces alluring inside is a sinister midnight blue. the only betrayal of that gothic ensemble was my perfectly pedicured nails. a chanel vamp.

another gargantuan load of work was begging for my accomplishment. sometimes i wished i could wave the wand and shout "expelliamus!!". and there they go. up and disappeared into smoke into the thin air.

my brain cells are bleeding dry from all the complexities of the technology that organisations are peddling nowadays. stuck in a crappy nine to five trying to earn that living which is sucking my life out of me. lines of da vinci codes waiting for me to decipher among more error codes. in the hot humid afternoon, i was estranged in a four hours meeting right after lunch, brainstorming with whom i thought were the best democrats ever lived. i saw stars and birds circling above my head when i was out of that prison. i want to go home.

finally after much drag, i have written a cheque for my bloodthirty government to transfer the employment of the maid under my name. a good bloodthirty two hundred grams. in my own realm that i have painstakingly built at home, sometimes i feel like stretching out my arms and point at the new maid. "YOU! GO WASH THE TOILIET!!" to vent all the oppressions that i have felt in the office on my newly appointed slave and have a taste of bossing my subjects around.

i am the queen at home where i can seek solace when i want to and have the ability to order people around. and i shall rule with a bejeweled iron fist.

do not offend me.

or else.

Enemy at the Line

the greatest evil of speech is not vitriol. it is aphasic maladroitness to form eloquent sentences. it desiccates words, rips them of all strident quality, strips them of every acrimonious cynicisms and divests them of any dysphoric distress, that makes. you. feel. so. awkward. reading. it. like. this.

Over the Moon and Back

ONE.

i am sick of finding things that were cheap and looked so good on me. have i ever mentioned that i am a style icon that even coco chanel will be awed if she is still alive?

yesterday i found myself another pair of heels. the sexiest, the sleekest, the shiniest pair of strappy gold stilettos that will ever be allowed in a ballroom.

last week, the lady mighty higher up was again commenting on my dress sense for the hundredth times. i was walking past her during lunch and her eyes shot me up and down and lingered longingly at my pleated peach skirt for the longest time. if she is a man, i'll sue her for outrage of modesty.

later in the afternoon, as expected, she chatted me up intentionally at my desk. exclaiming in her loudest and most enthusiastic voice that i have ever heard in the boardroom, marveling over my skirt. i stared at her incredulously. i being the most junior analyst in the midst of rectifying a time critical problem now, and you the higher of many higher up is talking to me about my skirt?

shoot me in the head please.

so the rumors are all true. my company is a money bin. is this what they have been paid to work everyday?

give me another shot please.

of course, being a personally responsible worker, i pulled all my muscles and put on the brightest smile one will ever see in a beauty pagent. at the end of the knowledge transfer session, half the department would have known where i did all my shopping. privacy intruded.

that night, a gal friend was also complimenting on the same skirt. two days later, a korean lady approached me in the cafe on the fuchia retro dress i was wearing that day. and another woman asked me about the cardigan i was wearing another day.

is this a conspiracy?

the truth was that, i had them at such a good bargain that you would not even noticed that slightest dent in my pocket.

yahoo.

TWO.

the evening smelled of fresh cigar and spices. beautiful, enamored men and women sauntering inside balaclava for a good night out, locking seductive stares once in a while, enjoying the break from a hard day of battles.

i was with a close gal friend and her gorgeous friends, reeling from the evening intoxication of liquor and smoke the whole night. one of the girls was puffing away throughout the evening. a true blue walking chimney of the millenium.

another guy was busily pouring bottles of lambrini into our glasses to the point that i was wondering if he is a bartender in his previous profession, or suffering from some disorders, deriving pleasures from pouring intoxicant into a woman's glass.

it was my fault. i have been managing a lovely smile all night long even though my eyes were shooting darts at my brimful glass for the entire night.

10:30pm. "why aren't you drinking at all?" because every sip i took, you filled a billabong.

10:32pm. "your glass is still so full." didn't i just answer your question?

10: 35pm. "your glass is still so full." are you trying to get me into your bed tonight?

10: 40pm. "your glass is still so full. drink abit more." you are testing my patience, you miscreant man of a misbegot. bark off.

10: 45pm. "your glass is still so full. drink abit more...eh?..eh?..eh?"

tragedy.

10: 50pm. "your glass is still very full. drink half of it. com'on." have you ever watched 'The Great Escapee'? you will see one very soon. me.

at that moment, my girlfriend wanted to move all the girls into the bar. whoopse! i packed my bag in a flash of lightning and ran like i have never run before in my entire life inside the bar. for once, i broke that record.

THREE.

two beautiful women, seating face to face on a red upholstery inside a cafe, connecting across time and space. the void between them closed up like a whirlpool sucking in all the torrential tides into it. the surroundings around them blurred into a kaleidoscope of technicolors. soft jazzy music playing at the background that will put even the most impish infant to his peaceful slumber. the cup of hot coco malt left forgotten on the table, traversing back in time with us.

the cafe seemed especially quiet.

i pressed my face into the pristine soft material of the sofa, and hugged my knees to my bossoms. my mauve ballet flats dangling lazily from my arched tiny feet at the edge of the seat, my pleated skirt covering the rest of my legs.

we talked. about love. lives. career. family.

her gaze was my solace. her voice a balm that soothed the aching heart.

FOUR.

love. i hate love. i hate the sound of it on my lips. bittersweet. a forbidden four letter curse that will bring even the most gallant knight to its knees. i will stamp on it a thousand times using my highest pair of stilettos tonight.

if i should ever see that reprobate boy in his nappies, with a bow and arrows, i will stone him down with my catapult.

FIVE.

nothing is forever. not love. not diamonds. not youth. not you or me.

but there will always be chocolate fordue and blogs.

take heed paris hilton. blog is not a misspelling of log.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high
There's a land that I've heard of, once in a lullaby
Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true
Some day I'll wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me
Where troubles melt like lemon drops
Away above the chimney tops
That's where you'll find me
somewhere over the rainbow, wizard of oz (1939)

my life is eating into my dreams and my dreams are eating into me. i wish my heart is as cold as hilter, then probably my life will be much easier now. because i cannot be any lesser of who i am now, i have shortchanged myself in the process and suffering the aftermath of it.

surprisingly despite of all the ordeals i have been through recently, my skin is still porcelain, spotless and my cheeks are still rosy. many people even commented that how fast and long my hair has grown. i thank my parents' good genes and the academy for that.

it is another mid week but today feels like monday. i always thought i hate mondays the most of all the days that the babylonians have invented, but in fact any day after a holiday is a major dread. it is end of the world. it is just the beginning of the countdown to weekend again. 24 more hours, 1440 minutes before i can happily skipped my way out of the office building when the scaringly slow weekend has crawled its way here.

i squandered time staring at the arrow of my cursor. i hear without listening. i see without looking. at the back of my tiny but brillant encephalon, i have already pictured myself swelling with relaxation under the tuscan sun by the beach enjoying my lovely weekend. savoring the soft breeze with my eyes closed and building those pervy sand sculptures. or ice skiing down the himalayas and singing 'she'll be coming round the mountain' at the same time i am crashing down those magnificant slopes.

at that most glorious moment of those rosy picturesques i have artfully painted in the most secretive places of my mind, my boss chose that exact moment to come over for a short discussion. i must have look like an idiot. undeterred by his unforseen presence, i imagined him doing a pirouette and bowing to the imaginery audiences, with an additional stalk of rose clenched between his lips.

and don't get me started on those roses in his hair.

god forbids.

one should not indulgent in too much chocolate even if it has anti-depressant values. euphoria is another glitch in the body after it has consumed an obscene amount of carbohydrates.

i am not kidding about that.

Yahoo

last evening i accidentally kicked myself while crossing my legs. the pain is indescrible. a new pain eclipsing an old one. to put a full stop to all my endless desultory kvetch once and for all, it is time to go get a brazilian as well. i will throw in an additional epilation session for the rest of my body too, to purge all the inappreciable issues from my life once and for all. masochism has a certain appeal in this case. it is a therapy. not a sickness.

my pair of chopsticks is again stroking that piece of meat tenderly. that scrupulously seasoned and grilled to perfection slab of beef that even Pol Pot will melt at the sight of it. if you are seriously considering a dieting program to shed off those ounces of fats, forget about spending thousands of dollars in those paid to lie to myself programs. try falling out of love. free and results proven.

last week i recieved a letter of long service award from my company. i was over the moon when i first saw it. immaculately wrapped in my company's white envelope and carefully sealed, every inch of a reprehensible act of a deed wrongly done is reasserted. i thought it was a letter of apology from my management to me of those years for demeriting my efforts contributed to the company.

i was so wrong.

anyway, i was scanning through the miserable short list of items i could choose for my reward. there was not a single item titled 'Breasts Enhancement' program in sight. i knew from day one my human resource department has been negligent to the needs and welfares of the employees. now i am sure of it.

fear struck me all of a sudden. mixed with some pangs of anxieties. my heart beats so rapidly as though i have just seen a ghost. my newly bought and deliciously scented lavender oil is burning in the background. isn't it suppose to achieve that 'calming, soothing and relaxing' effect? probably only for my oil burner and the insects. i swear i have just seen an ant frozen in mid-path while crawling up the wall on its way back to its nest.

its label clearly stated: against animal testing.

i will file a report against the company to the world animal society for animal abuse tomorrow.

When the Tears Run Dry

man: is your father a thief?
woman: no. why do you say that?
man: because he has stolen the shiniest diamonds, and put them into your eyes.
- anonymous -

closer. yes. come closer. closer.

you little minx.

closer. closer. closer.

and.... whoosp. got yer. at the rate i am killing the mosquitoes that have ever crosspathed in my life, the al qaeda is going to headhunt me for their next mission in line in london. much to my chagrin, i am not an aspirant woman. well. at least, for now. just give me a day off to patronise that world famous harrods store over at knightsbridge, i will burn every single ounce of my energy in my body to stage another crusade. i will be a war hero and my name will go down in history.

how lovely. if only life is simple like that.

it must be the dejection that desiccates the once glorious life out of my being. i am even focusing on the most trival issues that i will not give a hoot about in old times. sorrow is a glitch in the body after it has too much idling time for consumption. even my xanax is tasting too insipid nowadays which i kept it rolling under my tongue till it dissolves. the uncomfortable constriction in my throat is still there. and the heavy numbing pain on the chest is giving me dyspnea.

it is my fault that his ego has grown out of epic proportions. he is probably hugging his new love and laughing at this schmuck who is still whining at the other end of the globe.

like the novel, another chapter of my life has closed. too soon. and perhaps the ending is expected. the ending has been plotted ages back. sometimes in the back of my mind, i imagine that pen retracing back every single strokes of that aching writing till the pages are blank once more and refilling the pages with new stories. and this time it shall be my ending. the once upon a time, happy after ending that i want.

the new empty pages are waiting for my next chapter to begin. anticipating my new stories. my glass of chai left forgotten on the table, going back through times with me. there isn't much actually. and i left the previous chapter like the way i was asked to throw away my precious teddy bear when i was seven. i hugged it tenderly one last time against my bossom, stroking it dearly once more. rubbing it against my face to remember the feel of its fur against my cheek one last time. talking and cooing to it to tell the lifeless form know that i love it very much but i have not been given a choice to choose, before i gathered up all my courage and flunked it down the rubbish chute. painfully. and with no looking back.

life is a series of moments like that.

you found and lost something precious everyday. sometimes i wonder. if i am to pass away tomorrow, how many friends will bother to turn up at my funeral. will i be the dearly remembered woman like those i always read from the obituary columns of other strangers who have once roamed with us on this mother earth? i am this loony, always imagining myself penning a last note to all my love ones.

dear friends. can you hear me? can you feel me besides you? please don't feel sad. i am not gone completely. i am still besides you. sitting on the chair opposite you, smiling. when you are in the car along the road, i am standing under the trees. i am standing behind the bushes. watching out for you. i will be your guardian angel. helping you. protecting you. guiding you. when you see the sunshine, remember my smile. when you hear the breeze whispering to the leaves on the trees, i am singing to you softly. do not feel sad. can you hear me?

i am reciting the quote every day that i have once came across: i cried because i have no shoes till i saw a man with no feet.

i was the idiot who has sent him packing off to pursue his inspirations. and i was the same idiot who blew up his ego to the size of oz. sometimes an evil thought came into my mind. maybe today i should sent him a bottle of the tears i have shed.

it is time to let go.

Beyond the Invisible

it is time
to break the chains of life
if you follow you will see
what's beyond reality
beyond the invisible, enigma

blinking. i am staring too hard at the cursor. blinking.

i swear i am really staring too hard at the damn blinking object. my hands fervently clicking and closing my explorer window. is this how i am going to squander the next entire hour?

it's already eightish. my stomach is depleting fast of all its resources. my engine is churning out its last few feeble calls.

still waiting for bryan's call. remembering his handsome features, hanzo sharp wits and his fruitless attempts to keep an immaculately clean shaven jaws. he can be my dinner everyday.

the office is getting colder of late. or so it seems. perhaps it is my piteous soul leaving my body. wandering round picking up its broken pieces. or in its whole nameless form, wailing for help to cure those little cancers festering inside me. i used to name it ghost.

there are some lessons that are etched too deeply into our minds, that we cannot force ourselves to unlearn them. when that melancholic tone fades on its trembling note, the saddness does not end with it. it continues to echo in our minds, slapping those wrenching cords in our hearts.

maybe years down the road, when we are no longer holding hands. that when we meet someone new, we will still carry much pain with us. perhaps we will never heal completely. that when you have given every inch of your love to someone else, you realised there is still this lingering pain in between.

we are both walking down the road. carrying a bagful of pain. a loadful of broken dreams. two roads that lead to two different destinations. a road that will never intersect again. whose vow was once to span out an everafter fairytale together, now each writing an epilogic ending of a different story on its own.

live not in the past. a friend once told me. wash away those memories. heal the soul that has been cut so swiftly as if it has been slited by that hanzo sword. fatal and deep. bloodless. and the scar will stay in me for the rest of my life.

or perhaps we are all waiting. for that new opportunity in our lives. for that new love that will cherish us once more. for that new job that is screaming for our attention. we are all waiting. like the homeless man standing by the road waiting for that penny. like the forgotten mother longing for her son to visit her in the old home.

waiting.