Broken.Smile

Truth be told, he is a broken man. Lying crouched in a fetal position. Like that of a broken man. On the cold marble floor, his life ebbs away. Of a man stabbed, with multiple wounds and blood flows freely like a fountain of wine.

Gushing away, like strong undercurrents, contrasted to the energy left in this man.

Someone save me. He says. Though he knows that only he can save himself.

Strange how no physical pain is ever more painful than affairs of the heart. A self inflicted prison that cages the mind. Sapping away life energy.

He turns, and stares at the blank white ceiling, the shadows on his wall waves. He feels his body, nope no wounds. Then why fuck does it hurt so bad. The shadows wave again. Must be going crazy. Might as well say hi. He waves back. Lying flat on his back, he feels the cool cold floor.

Just like his heart.

He could see his life manifest in front of him. The flickering of a light. Gently swaying. To the left and right.

His heart is broken, his soul is broken. He is handicapped and there is no prosthetic for that. He lays there and hopes maybe a beam of white light would take him away. He stares hard. Stares a bit longer. Nope. Not happening.

The hacking is starting again. The lumberjacks. Hacking away at the trees inside his heart. Ravaging. He could hear the chainsaw.

Oh well, he thought. Let them be. He closed his eyes, hoping to dream. Of a sojourn with a glimpse of her.

He smiled. At that thought.

Whispers

{Whispers, ANON}The saddest thing in the world, is loving someone who used to love you. ~~

The Name

What is in the name of a rose that smells just as sweet.

A name is just a name. Or so he thought.

Of the many people with the same name, of the hundreds and thousands out there. This name is just a construct. This particular name of this particular person.

The Name. Of 8 English letters. Or 19 Chinese strokes.

Names. Values that man give. Meaning that is borne out of the scribblings. The time the person is born, the gift of parents to the child. Life is given to the name, when it is spoken. And it represents the person.

A name is still just a name. Or so he thought.

He wonders why, two simple words, could still affect him. The Name

3 times at the dinner. 1 time during training. Mentioned so casually and randomly by others. The intonation and inflection of how The Name came out from their mouths. As sound waves reaching his ears. His brain processes that sound.

With it came emotions, that threatened to flood. Like a dam that threatens to break. Torrents of emotions.

A name is really a name. Or so he thought.

He felt awkward. Slowly the awkwardness turned into inconsolable sadness. Humans are strange creatures!~

How he would give, just to call The Name out again. With affection and fondness.

Just for a brief moment his heart stopped. When he heard The Name

Just for a brief moment, he called out loud. Shouting silently. Echoing in the depths of his heart.

Just for a brief moment, he thought he saw her turn. Though it was just a wistful mirage. Hooks etching into his heart, tore away this haze.

A name is just a name. Or so he thought.

The Name. He may never call it in her face again.

That is what saddens him the most.

Tobaccoss Part One

A nicotine high.

He takes a deep draw from his cigarette. Deep draw, deep breath, long puff out. Whooooooo, the smoke rings and clouds fogging the vision temporarily.

He looks at the half smoked cigarette in disgust.

Truth is he already quit this terrible habit. Excuses! Some might retort. Why are you still smoking?

The not so beautiful reason is he wants to remember her. It brings him back to the times when she tried so much to stop him from smoking. Puts him into contemplative reflective soothingtive mood.

As the vision fogs, the memories slip in. Magic smoke!

Another puff, multiple memories. One cigarette is not enough to relive the memories. He chains another one. FUCK. He shouts. In his mind.

Cussing? For what again? Just another way of expression. Of a feeling? He can't remember much.

One thing is for sure. Cigarettes make him happier. Just a remembrance of a point in time past.

Just let the man have his smokes.

Or memories

Papaya

He was passed 2 slices of papaya by Ma. He looked at it. Staring at it. With some strange feeling. It hit him that this was someone's favorite food.

Not by itself actually. Mixed with milk. A strange concoction that it seems to make bosoms bigger or so they believe.

It would be her poison of choice. Every time after a meal in school. The orange bright mixture with a portion of milk added. The familiar sound of grinding of papaya in the machine. As it drips into the cup like a bright orange gold. The brightness stunningly blinds if all were in monochrome world.

As the orange swirls in the white pureness of milk, the hawker pokes the straw right in. Sipping it happily, she completes her meal. In the hopes of having a fuller bosom.

He sits staring. Images and sound coming and going. 2 pieces of papaya.

He takes a bite, the juices gushes. Sweet and fragrant.

How would this taste with milk?

facebook friend request

And in his drunken stupor, he scrawled on his notepad

".........8 times and all rejected.

Oh well something must be wrong with facebook ! Hahaha.

OR

Something must be wrong. Must be something she heard from some little bird. Should I call her? Should I try to explain?

I don't know. The me in the past would have done it .

The me now is just broken.

The me in the past would do everything, like organise party, send mails, send flowers.

The me now is just broken. Or rather I wish not to disrupt her life. My presence should be a nuisance rather than anything good,

How would you know? Even a friend request. Online facebook friend request is rejected. That can only mean a few things.

I guess I have to reedit this post. Influence of alcohol

......... "

A wedding

I went to J and K solemnisation.

Ah. I nearly cried. It is just a great feeling to see them together.

Like just waiting for them to get together forever. Oh yes more of this later.

Well before, I was at a Indian post wedding party. With R. It was crazy night too.

Costume party with loads of vampires nurses and interesting Mama! R and me were the only chinese there. ahaha. It was loads of fun.

Hey I am not racist and I love my Indian friends! Though if you needed me to dance to bangrah, hmmm, you needed some ALCOHOL ! ~

I arrived at the bungalow Cranwell 3 and was apprehensive. That was the same one that J K got the last time we had a wine galore party. Life is such a coincidence.

I was apprehensive and shy luuhhh. Though the host was so welcoming. " Hey could you help with the system?"

Sure!~ The ever helpful me. What the hell? They had a deejay system and full set mounted speakers. In a chalet !

SOOoooo exaggerating !

shit I am quite tipsy now. Been typing for quite some time

shall continue this again