Here's a toast to myself for an inspirational weekend, and also a challenge to Khairul to take back what he said about my poetry resembling that of Ted Hughes. Four poems, written on a lazy Friday/Sunday afternoon by yours truly. Enjoy, and comments (I don't care if you say "IT SUCKS") please!



Bright Young Things

Watch and gaze the wispy sky now
With silvery glimpses and a learned eye

Pretension of what we do not know
To make the facts and truths less discerning

Than they already are, while the half in indecision
Reason that they should join in the struggle

For everything they were created to be.
Because they know that we warp whatever we deem

Murky, without second thoughts of ramifications
Which do not concern us at all.

Behaviour of such is an oily smear
Tainted on the knowledge that we profess upon

Textbooks. And will be passed on to those
Who yet not know the truth, and thus never will.

But they still shine on.



Streak

the beautiful evening was
interrupted
by a loud kloonk of the sea.

you stood amazed by the magnificence of it all,
wondering how
it could have been more graceful than this

save for the rock of nuisance.
when an impossible dash of vapour
accentuated the brilliant moon.

fast spreading out in symmetrical ovals
the pearl never once
faded or dimmed out or loses power

except to degauss (magnetic rock)
in a way without losing brilliance
nor pull.

for the sea forgets its master
and the rock tries in vain
to snuff the throne.

an accidental stroke by the artist
makes it a worthy
masterpiece.



Triune

Faith is like
A seasoned deckhand.
Firm in the waters,
Steady on land.

Hope is like
A mighty warrior.
Firm in the unknown,
Ready to conquer.

Love is like
A girl with a flower.
Firm in thankfulness,
And full of wonder.



Samantha

She's a ballerina, fully clothed
with her hair tied into an elegant bun, standing
in an olive-green tank top leotard
that bared three-quarters of her
smooth, soft naked back.

White tights that defined her willowy legs
ending in matching green pointe shoes
and a flowing see-through skirt
with bands of blue and red outlining the hem

I held her slender waist in my arms,
bent down
to take off her footwear
and flung them onto a straw floor mat.

Next, I undid the elastic of her floundering skirt
billowing like stage curtains, or veils,
I couldn't care less.

And slipping my fingers into the
straps of her leotard, pulling the synthetic fibre
down her arms, spine, behind and legs,
feeling the elasticity of it wrapping unto her skin;
tossing the lifeless, offending object next to
the pointe shoes.

She wore no undergarments beneath
and looked rather silly
in her leggings and bounded hair,
looking for release from her nudity.

Proceeded to liberate her from the tights
cream-coloured
whiter than her admired legs,
pulling it downwards to part the gulf between
flesh and falsehood,
and her hair net,
letting her soft, fine locks
fall like frolicking angels.

You marvel at her dainty, naked body
child-like innocence on her face
chiseled, perhaps, by fairy carpenters,
a little shy at the puddle of murky water that
used to hide her beautiful body
and feet cold
from the marble floor.

Nonetheless, I caressed her nudeness
exploring her like an adventurer
charting territories through
the hills, grass, valleys and rivers,
parting her self-conscience and confidence
grazing through the fields
smoothing wrinkles of time
touching and feeling her senses of touch.

Samantha
closed her eyes
sighed softly
breathed relaxed
she is a baby needing touch for love.

I pressed her close to me
feeling her pointed breasts on my chest
and her inhales and exhales
against my stomach.

Stripped of pretence,
starked naked
it is then I learnt that
human beings can breathe and fly
grace is a redemption in itself
love is a reason on its own
without a second chance
you can forgive just as quickly as well.


Note: If your name is Samantha, or if you know someone whose name is Samantha, the last poem has nothing to do with you, nor the person you know. Worse still, if you're Samantha or know a Samantha who is a ballerina too, it has nothing to do with you nor the person you know too. All resemblances are purely coincidental!

I'm getting my happiness kicks from the most unlikely of all places: FROGS. One thing that never ever fails to crack me up is watching stupid frogs leaping across a pathway and jumping straight into a huge drain. HAHAHAHA!! Isn't that stupid or what! It's not like I'm purposely disturbing those frogs (or toads, for that matter) just to witness them perform their Geronimo act. I've gotta cross the pathway, don't I? And since frogs are most commonly seen at night than in the day, it also meant that I have much more limited choices for my journey. And so, those froggies, in their momentary stunned state when they first sense me approaching, they react instinctively by escaping in the way that they have been moving all their lives. One hop, two hops, the third one, and they didn't notice the gap in front of them and they jump straight into the drain. HAHAHAHAHA!!

Stupid silly frogs. Then they spend forever trying to get out of that crevice, which, can be quite impossible because we all know that drains are sloped steeply in that way for water to flow into. And I'll be watching with delightful glee because it's such an amusing sight to watch. But still, nothing beats the moment when they hop into the drain.

On another second note, I've cleared all my extra guard duties! Strictly speaking it wasn't really extras, but what the hell I don't care I'm clean from punishments now. Or at least, till my next misdemeanor which I think will be soon, considering that sometimes I'm as stupid as those frogs.

I will put Chaos into fourteen lines

I will put Chaos into fourteen lines
And keep him there; and let him thence escape
If he be lucky; let him twist, and ape
Flood, fire, and demon --- his adroit designs
Will strain to nothing in the strict confines
Of this sweet order, where, in pious rape,
I hold his essence and amorphous shape,
Till he with Order mingles and combines.
Past are the hours, the years of our duress,
His arrogance, our awful servitude:
I have him. He is nothing more nor less
Than something simple not yet understood;
I shall not even force him to confess;
Or answer. I will only make him good.

Edna St. Vincent Millay


Ah hahaha there's always time for a sonnet, and in this case, a Petrarchan one, no less. This has been one of my favourite poems of all time, largely because it contains all the major ingredients for disaster, but encapsulates its themes so well that they complement one another. Imprisonment and escape, male and female empowerment, regularity and irregularity, Order and Chaos, mastery and servitude, appearance and reality, and possibly even more (I haven't got the time to list all the comparatives). The sonnet is one humongous irony in itself. Trying to force Chaos into the realms of Order, coupled with the strict regimes of perfect lyrics required of an extremely ordered sonnet form. Isn't literature all about trying to establish order with the ingenuous use of words?

Which, is also a painful reminder of the world we live in. Would you prefer Chaos or Order, or would you say both, because the sonnet has proved that order and disorder can coexist in the same confines? Or worse, neither? Being the indecisive, sitting-on-the-fence shitty person that I am, this is food for thought to me.

Whoopee-doo. 1am in the morning now. Just came home not too long ago! Was at Clarence's mum's house for Adriel's birthday party. Which was kind of a colossal joke actually, or rather, for me only. You see, a few days ago I promised myself that I shall be a vegetarian for this weekend. No particular reason whatsoever, I just didn't feel like having any meat for my dishes for this two or three days. And guess what?? It was a barbeque, complete with a grilling stove. Which meant that there were also plenty of beef steak and ribs and everything. Cripey. If being vegetarian (even temporarily) wasn't enough, I've got another reason not to go. Clarence's mum's house is like, 200 metres away from Seletar Camp. Going there is like booking in back into camp. I've got a million reasons why I would prefer to stay out of army.

But in the end I still went. It all came down to a matter of resolve. I decided to stick to my vegetarian stand and swore not to be tempted by all the meaty display. I was kinda inspired by the month of Ramadan, and Shaheila's "strong will", and Khairul's "we can't eat if we meet up". Met Yurong at Ang Mo Kio first, bought a Veggie Delite from Subway, took a bus down, met up with Clarissa, then took another bus. It was great, cos I ate huge portions of the salad, and all the potatoes. And my Veggie Delite. And the cake. I never touched the meat! Ahh. Happy birthday to Adriel, and excellent achievement for me.

You know, some things just remain the same even after a long period of time, even though attitudes and feelings may change drastically. I caught myself still captivated with the silliness. Okay but I really don't care now, because it is all replaced with coldness. I remember those sweet moments, and I'm level-headed enough to know what is going on. Right now though, I realise I am truly free from the ties that bind.

And, to cement my pursuit for an idyllic, pastoral nature, I wore a new shirt (okay it's not new, I bought it a long time ago but just haven't wore it before) that said the following words:

Of various thoughts and recollections , strewn together to form something that might seem incoherent but actually extremely lucid. Because I have never felt so alive before.

When you see your whole life flashing by, in a mock mimic of one of those cinematic approaches of "seeing your whole life flashing by". You learn to love your mistakes, hate what you've done right, embrace your regrets and reject your opportunities. You want to kill yourself and die, but you also want to treasure the priceless qualities of life. And, just like it is so often with the benefit of hindsight, you gain more insight and add some life experience points. Almost immediately.

When you stare into the open sea, and your eyes take in every single bit of the vast expanse of the water greedily. You marvel at the horizon and think what is beyond that. You feel infinitely smaller than whatever that is out there, trapped in a airtight bubble in a bigger bubble. You feel like the scum at the bottom of the pond. Microcosm of the universe.

When you look into the same, murky water, seven inches away from the surface of the water, you think a million other things. You start thinking of a cave you have visited before. Velvet curtains of gigantic magnitude. Schools of fish skimming the surface. Dark, ominous premonitions of dread. Beetles scurrying senselessly. Disturbed cesspool. Eddies eroding the riverbed. Then you start thinking which is the best way (and least painful) to drown yourself. Which, in a sense, is ironic because there's only that many ways you can drown yourself.

When you readily volunteer for every single shit there is to do, just because this week is your week. And what disgusts me (apart from others) is how hypocritical and how sanctimonious you get in the process. But that's okay, because you promised yourself never to do so again.

When you reach your limit, and snap like a taut spring at the rustiest point. When nobody around you cares about you, and nobody wants to irritate you just for the fun of it. You realise you want the least bit of attention for yourself, and for no one else. You yearn for release from your lousy predicaments.

When you dream of a crocodile eating a man alive. You think of the morbidity of life. Man versus beasts. You wonder who tames which, and how. You question if a crocodile can even open its mouth so wide. Then you go back to sleep feeling scared.

When you fall hopelessly in love with love itself. And learning that the silliest things triggers love. Furthermore, in that same process you learn that the love is the trigger for silly things too. It's a duality, you find out. You know you are in love when you are stupid.

When you see bright red blood issuing from your very own finger. The pain doesn't quite hit you yet, but the droplets keep flowing out. You feel numb. You feel more alive, when you could have bled to death. You realise fully well that bleeding kills, but bleeding heals too. You feel it running down your hand, warm and moist. You feel it coursing through your veins, and out of your veins. The best thing is, there is no blood stains at all on the knife.

When that same finger disables you from almost everything that you used to find routine, you learn again not to take things for granted. You feel how the skin stretches across where it heals. You feel the numbing sensation as your sense of touch is lost. You try in vain to straighten your finger. You feel the pain. You run your finger across the cut, and amaze yourself with your body's self-repair mechanism. Then you berate yourself that you should have been more careful.

When you feel in control, and everything is going your way. You feel good.

When you thought it ludicrous, but became factual. Like how you think there's no way a horse can weigh two bloody tonnes, and that it's not much different from a normal human. But you quickly learn that you are wrong. And you need to brush up on your weight estimation.

When you learn quickly that lubricant grease comes in the form much like kaya and strawberry jam. You dip your fingers into it and spread it onto your palm. And you have to resist the mad urge to lick it, because it looks temptingly sweet. Your hand is all greasy. Sick, but since it's all guys, you think what the hell and continue anyway.

When you have to pump "strawberry jam" grease into the greasing points shaped like nipples. Conveniently called nipples. You pump the new grease into the point, and the old dirty grease oozes out like hardened jelly.

When you spend more time on maintenance of the vehicle and the respective stores, rather than on training itself. You want to learn more about coupling and deckhand roles and setting ramps, but they tell you to go count the stores or go greasing/washing/pump greasing.

When you don't get enough sleep. This, perhaps, is the worst, because the only thing keeping you awake is your futile attempts to try and keep your eyelids open.

Went for Tammy's choir concert at Esplanade last night! Met up with Aaron and Biru before that to go Marina Square to get sunflowers, got lost over there and was late for the concert subsequently. Ben Ng and Jill and Yurong and Clarence and Cheryl and Sing Hun too. And a new friend Mindy. Ooh the choir group as quite good! I liked the Shinjiru song, but I didn't like the songs which had the clapping parts. Then after that we all went back to Marina Square for KFC, with Dave and Shermin and Clarissa joining us. And then it was home.

Other than that adventure, I stayed home for the rest of the weekend. Sleeping.

I finally took off the bandages for my cut finger. Okay I've been changing the dressing almost daily, but this was the first time I didn't put on a new one since I cut my finger last Monday. It looks yellow from all the proflavine solution that I've been pouring over the wound. And soggy. And slightly swollen at the wound. The worst thing was, I can't feel anything on my fingertips! I think I severed all the nerves in that finger, such that I cannot even straighten the finger too.

Sing Hun says she underwent physiotherapy when she fractured her finger a few years back. Can you believe it physio for your finger! Hahaha I don't suppose I need that for mine right?? But hers was serious she had to put in titanium plates to straighten it, and it took 6 months to heal.

Okay. Gotta go back camp.

It's an accident-prone and terrible week. Monday night, I sliced my finger with my pocket jack knife while trying to fix the Singapore crest to my new beret. Super deep cut, but just a clean, clear laceration. Bled like crazy all over Sherwin's cupboard (although he readily volunteered to clean it up for me, and put too much detergent in the water subsequently), had to be "evacuated" to another company to see the medic, and I'm going back there every night just to change the dressing. Caught a cold last night ago, took a flu pill that Clarence offered me, which, remarkably, I wasn't allergic to. It got better in the morning but now it's a bad blocked nose now. Banged both my knees against the mammoth bloody vehicle that we're training for now, and now I can't walk properly. Fell off the bed while sleeping two nights ago. HOW STUPID IS THAT.

I tried changing the dressing for my finger myself. It looked like I amputated my finger now. And it's difficult trying to type without your left middle finger.

Last night at Changi airport, Khairul decided out of the blue that he wanted to ask me "a personal question". Hahaha so there I was, bracing myself for some onslaught of really intrusive questions about my past, or perhaps forced to reveal some deepest darkest secret that I might be guilty of. And mind you, we were at the viewing gallery with ten or more planes at the docking points, and another few planes landing on the airstrip every minute. Quite a romantic setting huh!

Anyway, he asked me what if one day I were to find out that Shannon's death wasn't exactly factual, that is, what if I found out that she hadn't passed away but was in fact living in the pink of health, then what would I do? Wow. Apparently this cousin of his, whose friend's boyfriend pulled a death stunt and told all his other friends to tell the girl that he was dead. I think he was seeing some other girl or something like that. Well the girl eventually found out the truth, and she was so upset that she just cried and cried and cried.

My first reaction after he asked me that was like, WOAH. It caught me quite unawares, partly because I was expected a different kind of "personal question". But it got me thinking seriously. What if one day I really were to meet Shannon again, not in heaven but on this earth, still very alive? What would I say to her? What would my reactions be? Hmm. It was kind of hard-pressed for me to give an immediate answer, even when I'm like, in the best position to tell it exactly how it feels. What I mean is, it's not some obscure hypothetical question like what would you do if your girlfriend runs away with another girl, or something like that! You get what I mean? Shannon's death was something that truly happened, and even though this is still a hypothetical question, I don't think a lot of people could have been in my shoes.

Given what I went through, I think I would be very upset too. Okay let's just assume that the scenario really became factual. I think I would be in an uproarious behaviour. I think I'll heave whatever I could lay my hands on and flung it at a wall or something, if not her. I'd have felt seriously cheated, hurt, betrayed, and all that. And I would have thought that the entire process of trying to recover from that painful loss would have been in vain; the journey of self-discovery and healing and trying to find peace which still continues up to this very day. Okay I don't think I would have ever gotten over fully with her death.

But for another moment after those turbulent and disturbing thoughts, I'm kinda glad that that will probably remain a hypothetical situation. Although, for all my undue worries, I have never actually seen her die or attended her funeral or anything. All I have for trust is her parents, whom, I'm pretty sure would do nothing of that sort to pull off such a huge conspiracy.

Which makes me wonder even further why I would believe her death and let it affect my life in such a traumatising way, when I've never even seen proof of her death. The last time I saw her in person was when she left for Denmark, which was August 2003. That's like four years exactly. Is four years of absense, and a huge drama about her death on Christmas Eve, enough to make me believe all of that??

Oh crap. Why am I even questioning the validity of her death and stuff like that?? Hahaha blame Khairul. They say seeing is believing, but it is not always the case. I've long since learnt that faith is the way for your belief to sustain you in a way that's different from anything else. And right now, I probably need all the faith I can muster to convince myself that SHANNON IS DEAD.

How ironic, when just a little while ago not too long ago, I was trying to hoodwink myself that she might actually still be alive, and loving me.

Let's see. In camp this week! Continued trainings with the heavy boat, which turned out to be quite fun indeed. Okay I still dislike the water, but overcoming the fear (even on temporary occasions) became rewarding when we got to steer the boat ourselves. Revving up the speed, changing directions, turning in tight circles, bumper boats, and all the freedom in the sea. My only grouse is, it's kinda tough doing the one-man anchorage thingy. I had to "scoop water" and redo that 6 times. Bloody hell tiring. Hahaha! And I've got a bad fungal infection on my feet, so I ended up walking around in sexy running shorts and sandals everywhere for the last 2 days. Felt like I was on chalet. Whoopee.

And today's lunch was with my family at Crystal Jade in J8. Then my parents bought me new shoes! Went down to Expo after that to go to some book fair with Khairul. Four new books for $18! Then we went to get some food at some Malay cultural fair thing. Travelled to Bedok for coffee at some coffeeshop. Went to the library. Then we went to Changi airport for fun, because we felt like doing so. More eating and drinking and a bit of shopping there. And then it was a long long bus journey home.

Here's what I did today. Decided to go exploring at Bukit Timah with Yurong today! It's always like my secret desire to go walk around in the heartlands because I love the interaction with people and it has a more homely feel to it. Hahaha! Okay and there's food too. And Bukit Timah has all the cute and sweet little kids! Girls like Leia!! And all the expatriates that are staying there, so with any luck I might bump into a really hot French girl. You know, something exciting like that.

Anyway, Yurong and I just went around at 6th Avenue, ate beef pie and ham and egg pie at Venezia in Guthrie House, then walked all the way up to Estivo (along Hillcrest Road and Greenwood Ave) for ice cream. That was like, 2 bus stops worth of walking!! Heh we drew the Estivo's logo and pasted it on the whiteboard for them. Then we had iced milo at the nearby coffee shop, got lost around Watten Estate trying to get out, before she left to go corps while I went town to find Khairul.

Had lunch with him at Far East! Okay he ate, I didn't. Then I wanted to buy tee shirts, but they were either too expensive or not my kind. So we decided to go down to Heeren. And we basically spent half our time there shopping, and another half trying to stalk this girl. Blimey she's cute and hot at the same time!! And dressed in pretty pink and with curly hair! I think she was sooo for me la. We walked past her once, she disappeared with her friend, and we spent the next 45 minutes combing the entire Heeren trying to search for her again. HAHAHA!! Of course we didn't manage to.

And oh, I managed to sustain a SMS chat with this total stranger for a whole day today! Okay she's not exactly a stranger; Khairul gave me her number, so she's a friend's friend. Kinda weird, but not bad la it's like a get-to-know-you session. I know her favourite ice cream flavour. Stuff like that.