Moon

So tonight I see your face in the moon

And the moon looks back and says hi

I smile back as I imagine you mouthing those words

I want to keep the conversation going

But not with the moon

I’ll have to wait for you to say hi back

Then something will be started,

The ball will begin to roll

I’ll listen to melodies I never heard before

Tunes from far-off lands

And I get to appreciate your every note

Tomorrow I’ll try again

Moon, lead me to you.

Prom Likit

I recall a time when my family was watching our favorite Thai sitcom over dinner, and they mentioned a peculiar term in Thai. Having limited knowledge of advanced Thai terms, I asked, "What does 'prom likit' mean?"

My late mother said, "'Prom likit' is a belief that is shared within the Thai people. Basically, it suggests that people are all born with one life partner, and, once they come into existence, they begin their journey to search for this one person."

As with many other beliefs, there are many 'reasons' as to why one sometimes does not find his/her life partner.

Although I have never been religious (I don't really believe in reincarnation even though my family is buddhist), this belief has kept me going for a long time. It's given me comfort to know that somewhere, there's someone waiting to walk through the rest of life with me, given all my faults. There's even more comfort in knowing that this isn't limited to heterosexual couples.

When translated, 'prom likit', in English, is 'fate'.

I wonder if one can feel it when they've found the person 'prom likit' destined for them.

For a while now, I've been gushing over someone. This is a completely new experience for me, for I've only interacted with him for a little over four hours on that one day when we first met. Usually, that amount of time is not enough for me to develop feelings so fondly for someone. (My other crushes had at least 1 month of daily/fortnightly interaction before I developed feelings for them.) Never had I ever considered the term 'prom likit' on them, but last night, when I sat alone on the bus, I thought back to this term I heard so many years ago.

I met him at a quaint little card shop in Paya Lebar. It was the Monday of the September Holidays, and I had just gotten a new deck and wanted to try it out. Being my anti-social self, I sorted my deck and looked around for someone to play with. Behind me, a group of boys were playing. Instead of just stoning, I went over to watch the game. And there, I met him.

I remember his name because one of his friends kept calling him. Cleon. Cleon. Cleon.

I found that name completely mesmerising. It's so simple, yet classy. So I remembered. Cleon. Cleon. Cleon. His presence bloomed with so many redeeming qualities. When we played together, I did not get tired, as I did with most other players. I was having fun.

For days I've been trying to get some way to connect with him. (I was dumb enough not to ask for his number back then.) When I found his Facebook profile, I immediately sent him a friend request. And now, I'm still waiting for him to accept it. It's been at least a few days, but I still hope he'll accept the request, or at least I'll get to see him again at the same shop sometime soon.

For once, I might have found the person I am destined to be with.

Say

I'm still wondering
When will I
Ever be able to
Say these words to you

Now that I've said it
There's been no time for regrets
I just have to learn to move on, let go
Please stop hurting, heart, please.

Re: Econs

I saw your exhausted eyes lined with millions of words and sentences all in an absolute jumble for the day after.

I wished my hands were beside you to pat your little head; for comfort, support.

Tonight, I dimmed your lights and made sure you're ready.

Tomorrow, I'll send my regards. You well? Prepared?

Sleep well, my dear. Sweet dreams.

The Dentist

Said the girl who found herself staring at her dentist's cold, dark eyes, "My cavities are not there." Her childhood fears started coming back to haunt her again. The dentist's metal instruments looked murderous. His mask added, all the more, to the eerie feel of the decrepit room.

She stared into the mirror that he held up in protest. Indeed, the microscopic holes in her teeth were there, visible to the naked eye. She noticed her pimples, and thought of how they made her look like the devil to others. Her hair seemed distraught, the ironic opposite of what was portrayed on the cover of her shampoo bottle. Everything was wrong with her eyes, her ears, her nose, her mouth, her skin.

Her soul.

A flush of thoughts rushed through her -- her lonely childhood at the orphanage after her parents' death; her mourning at her dearest's funeral; her running down the school hallways escaping from the bullies.

She tried, to live as any other would. Normal. But she could not succeed.

Maybe the dentist had the solutions. Her eyes flickered to the sharp gleams resting on the counter. One, two, three.

"Say ah," said the dentist.

"Ahhh," the girl complied. Today, she was getting her teeth fixed. Maybe tomorrow, she'd be able to live as another would. A normal life.

Someday, everything will be fixed.

It just depends on how long it'll take that day to come.

You

Sometimes, I wonder how

long this can go on for,

with silence meaning consent

we’re worlds apart yet

I wished our hearts to beat

as one

Synchronised to time strains

the watch would never stop ticking

we can watch it push our time away

but we’ll still be closer together

I feel guilty thinking of you

because I realise everything

is one-directional; one sided

going down the drain but I

still want to imagine

your face, beautiful

amidst the sunrise

your hands, warm and tender

comfort and rested

your eyes, twinkling

like the overseers of god

in the night sky

your words, striking

wonder to my ears

One day I’ll

put my resolution on the line

and tell you of heartaches and

cheesy poems I write when I

think of you

again.

Disconnected

Today, I feel so 

Disconnected.

The petals of emotions

Have been blown away

Shrugged off light by the wind

Feathers lost when molting

Just like how a

Wood carver tosses aside

All the shavings in

A bin full of rubbish

Today, all the electronics

Haunt me with memories

Creeping behind me

Tempting, taunting, enduring

Why did I leave them there?

Refuse

My eyes refuse to close.

My mind wanders off to

find an anchor as the

ship of my feelings drift

off to another land where

every thing is perfect.

My brain refuses to shut down.

In seconds, midnight becomes

morning and I never got a

wink of rest, all the time I

was thinking of what I

should have said to you

back then.

My lungs refuse to bring in a new breath of air.

Dear Mama

Dear Mama

I really miss you. I really do. Sometimes, I wonder where you are, and what you are doing. I long to hear your voice speaking to me once again. At this ungodly hour, as I am typing this letter, I remember the days when you would peek your head in to see if I was asleep whenever you got home. If I was awake, you would call me out to eat something that you brought back from the shop. If I wasn't, you would just smile and then close the door, knowing I would always be there.

Today, I was walking in Bugis+, alone. Remember when it first opened as this shabby new mall called 'Iluma'? You were so excited about it that we immediately went in even though there was practically nothing to buy. I can still picture you holding my hand as we climbed floor after floor, peering into the unfinished shops. At the very top floor, there was a CD shop. I remember that day when I asked you if I could buy a CD set home to watch, of an anime that was not as famous as others. You bought it for me without even much of a thought, and smiled with me on the way home.

As I look up to see the photo on the wall, I see you, Daddy and Kai Wen. The photo was taken at Sentosa during Chinese New Year period, when I was away in Thailand with Papa. Sometimes, I wonder if that would have made the perfect family. Just the mother, the father and the child, all related by blood and happiness.

And then I remember that we had many photos together, just the two of us, tucked away in a drawer I keep under lock and key.

Do you remember that time when we were at Ah Ma's funeral? You were already sick with cancer by then. We were folding hell notes and the family was being cheered up by Si Gu. All of a sudden, the topic shifted to our family. It shifted to, specifically, me.

I didn't know how they felt it, but I remember one of them asking, "Max, are you gay?"

My cousins were so immature they started pretending to be all feminine. I just instinctively said, "No." I had no idea what was going through my subconscious. Perhaps, it was the fact that I could possibly be taunted for being someone different. Maybe it was just because I was too nice to let them know about my true self.

But I saw your face when they asked that question, and I knew that if I told the truth to you, you would probably love me as much as you always had.

Mama, I regret it. I really, really do.

I went out with someone today, you know? Someone who I like. He is a lot like you, actually. Same skin tone; same lips; same eyes. When I hug him, it feels akin to hugging you all over again. He wasn't alone though. He was with his friends. But I wished he was.

Maybe if you were here, things would be a little more different. I could tell you that I have a crush on this boy, and then we would talk about all the failed relationships in your life and how you overcome stupidity within some people. You would tell me all about how Papa and you shared so many wonderful memories together even before you were married.

I cried on the train today on the way back from all of our memories. Maybe I also cried because I couldn't spend any more time with someone I liked, or that I know that I can't tell this someone I like him.

When I was younger, you would take me to beach resorts by evening drives. I remember watching the lights on the street fly by as we sped along the highways of Thailand, with not a care in the world.

Today, it feels like I'm back on the same road, just that the lights are all switched off, and I have no idea where you are, or where we are going.

When I got back, I played a song that you loved from young.

If we hold on together

I know our dreams will never die

Dreams see us through to forever

Where clouds roll by

For you and I

I know you don't read English, but if you can see this, I hope I can see you. At least, in my dreams. I miss you so much.

Love you

Max

Departure

Sometimes I wish we could

Speak freely

Light as a feather

In a beautiful world

Flutter away in winds

Of tide and time again

Who knows when we

Will be torn apart?

Blood will seep through

My clothes and every soul

Who sees that I am just

Nothing but broken

So until then please

Let me enjoy the moments

A priority to stay to the end

And alas, an endless blue.

Mirai

I am still hoping for you to send me a little message. A reminder of some sort that you exist; that you think of me; that there is hope in a future where I would see you often.

Please don't go away. Please don't step out so early, so soon. I'm not ready yet.

Release

Always there exist
A silent wish
Hoping there would be
Close proximity

Mutual understanding
Sometimes I feel
Lost from all
This madness

Would you please
Let me down gently
Just like all the others
And let me go

I'll get over you
Someway or another
But not in this existence
Of in between

I need to stop
Thinking of you in my sleep
Mourning for others who've gone
There it is, again

Known Stranger

I feel like I have
This scar on my face
That activates fear
Pain hurt and anger
When my senses
Pick up the presence
Of a known stranger

No One

Your mind turns blank when he walks around. Your lips utter a stutter of resignation, betraying the thundering heartbeat inside your chest. Control yourself, your inner conscience tells you. Remember that you are a black sheep covered in cloudy white wool.

And no one can see the real color beneath your skin. Not unless you deliberately show them.

Your hands reach out, attempting to touch the other without your brain’s consent. Although you know that the mask will be broken once you break the barriers, you still try. You ache and yearn for the recognition of that special someone, and hopefully… Just, hopefully, he belongs to the 4% of the world’s population that you can show your true colors to. That he’ll accept you for being you.

Mid-way, your hand stops. Your heart accelerates even faster, but now the time has gone to pass. He walks away, not even noticing your presence. You feel downtrodden, defeated, but you lug your heavy feet to your next lesson. Remember, your conscience says. Your life is planned out for you. You’re going to get married to a beautiful girl and have little children who’ll laugh as they run around the playground screaming, “Daddy! Daddy! Look at me!”

Sometimes, you wished you could just slap Conscience in the face for being such a bitch.

As you lay awake beneath the heavenly moonlight, staring at the white ceiling, you imagine a life together with him, with matching tuxedos and ringing bells. You imagine waking up to his smile as he looks at you adoringly. You imagine caressing his lustrous hair in an endearing manner. You imagine. You imagine. And then you begin to dream.

But, as they say, dreams turn into nightmares when you wake up.

In class, you hear sounds of mockery as stormy thoughts brew amongst those who could care less about your kind. You painfully support them, for who else would become friends with you? You’re hurt, but you cannot cry. You’re sad, but you have to fake a laugh.

You wished he was there to make it all better.

Whenever you see him walk by with a girl, there’s something in your heart that tugs at you. It was not fear, nor anger, nor hurt, nor jealousy. Perhaps, it was a combination of all of these emotions, thrown into a bowl to make rojak. And you swallowed it whole.

No one could understand that these emotional qualities are true. No one knows as you hide behind the lockers everyday pretending to be part of the scenery when you were actually trying to follow up on his everyday conversation. No one knows that whenever you were free, you admire the words he uploaded onto his blog.

No one can know. No one.

Loss

On days like this, I often wish you were around. I lounge around on the bed of someone else's, in a state of absolute loss, absolute uncertainty. When I look up at the bland, white ceiling, I see no trace of the memories of my life, only a clean canvas for something beautiful. Yet, as the old monsters from under the bed come back to haunt me, with the dark past, stolen hearts and words of trash, I get scared. It is desperation that drives me to the corner. But then, I notice that the light has gone out, and all around are the rumors of ghosts and ghouls. Tomorrow, they say. Wake up tomorrow, and it'll be another happy day. My mind wills my eyes  shut, but, somehow or the other, the darkness reverberates throughout my inner core. I wait. For eons, I sat and wait as the silence rings in my ears. I had no clock. I knew none of the time. The only thing I knew, was that I felt that a piece of me was missing, lost to the crows that mock my existence. I knew that daybreak wouldn't mend the wounds but merely cover them up. I knew that when daylight shines into the room, it was a signal for me to open my eyes and shut my heart. On days like this, I often wish you were around to hear me breathe, to stop my soul from decaying away, because you are that missing piece. My dear, you don't come from the moon, nor the stars, nor the sun, nor the oxygen that we breathe. You, come from the birds that chirrup happiness into the air. You, come from trees that shelter those who fear the rain. You, come from a myriad of spectacles that life has to offer. Tomorrow, won't be a happy day, but it'll be a day where happiness rings as loud as the bells do. Tomorrow, my canvas will finally be filled with color, and then, your mysterious face will finally shed the light.

Target

Amidst the chatter of the excited, a figure looms behind the wall. He stares at the luminous object in his hand. His heart thumps, as he accepted the reality of his future actions. He understood that failure would mean death. This stark contrast to the joyous atmosphere made his stomach lurch. If he should turn back, he would face the wrath of his heart for everything that the “target” has done. He never wanted to live like that again, ever.

With a courageous yet timid step, he entered the room, sliding his possession into his pockets. No one were to see this, except the two of them. As he put one foot forward after another, journeying to his possible end, he gulped in anticipation.

And there he was, facing the back of the “target”. No turning back now, he thought. It was now or never. Silently, he tapped on the shoulder of the “target”. As the “target” turned around, he whipped out his shiny object…

He saw the fear in the “target”’s dark brown eyes. He knew he had lost. The letter in his hand was rejected without a single word.

People Like Us - Kelly Clarkson

I feel dead.
This song is probably the only thing keeping me alive.

Future

Whence we leave the ground aloft
for far reaching heights
We leave behind a solemn wake
of old, haughty nights

Never let go now
and never let go again
A bird must fly far
lest it begins to rain

Touch and feel
hurt, pain and anger
but don't forget the greatness
that happiness linger

Don't cry, dear child
you'll soon see an explosion
of wonderful memories gone
when you make the Decision

Romance

“Romance”, in the olden days, had a completely different meaning. A romantic poem in the 18th century would never start with “Roses are red, violets are blue”, but rather associated with generic feelings and emotions of oneself. William Wordsworth, a great poet of the time, wrote a poem about remembrance and longing titled “Daffodils”. Indeed, the present-day usage of the word “romantic” has been significantly changed. Yet, it is one of the most widespread terms throughout the globe. Many other languages, such as Chinese and Thai, adopt their own use of the word “romantic” to describe something warm and cozy for a couple to share. However, we all forget the origins of this word, and look for something far beyond our reach.

Sports Day is soon approaching, and with it I harbor, as with the previous years, ill thoughts and emotions relating to the present-day romance. Two years ago, it was the exact same day when I heard the last words ever spoken to me by someone I had adored for a great period of time. The trauma has never stopped, merely receded and popped itself again over different periods of time. It is around this time of year that gets me unusually frightened, lonely and lost in the world. I question the validity of my existence, of my life in Mother Earth’s hands. Still, I never found an answer. To my past self, romance has brought me to a slaughterhouse, tearing apart every single hope and dream for the future. I feel the desolation, and never would it subside.

To my present self, however, romance has been brought back to the Middle Ages. Those experiences has shown me, in vivid and very emotional terms, that my emotions and not my tendencies are the key to a successful romance. I have learnt, so to speak, of how to come out of the shell I had once lived in, grow up in a world where the sky can darken any minute and empathize with others. For once, I feel that I am part of a loved and loving community, and for that I would be eternally grateful.

And yet, the past is holding me back from making any moves.

I had never been one to hide my feelings. It was rudimentary for my expressions to showcase any color my brain and heart exuded. Yet, this time, I’ve been careful to hide everything, for fear of a good friendship gone awry. I want to tell a person whom I fancy the truth, but I am afraid of a repeat of the past, even though I know he is alright with me -- my personality, my nature.

Honestly, I don’t know what to do anymore. It’s like being stuck between a wooden bridge, where the next plank to walk on is not there, while the last plank you’ve walked on has just fallen off.

My friends call these people who I adore my “targets”. I am afraid of doing something that would make me live up to such a trashy judgement.

Tell this poor delusional boy what to do.

Loneliness

I await the sun at night

And wish the moon at day

Water ripples in my wake

A calm is kept at bay

Fishes run amok

And find myself a fiend

Listen as the crows mock

Branches are bones at end

Gold, silver, unearthed at my feet

Yet no animals claim

My existent a natural repellent

No creature knows my name

Today, I still stand waiting

Sun to grin; Moon to shine

The night sky’s clouds vanish

And know this existence is mine

The Story of My First Crush

Everybody has a story to tell. Some stories may be more tragic, more poignant than others. Some stories involve heartwarming moments that make others break out in tears.

This is my story.

The very first boy I fell in love with was in Secondary Two. Naturally I had met him because we were pushed to the same class in Sec One. It was peculiar really. The class was filled with people that had brains. The difference between them is whether they would use these brains in their tests and exams. I was one of the people who competed to be the top of the class. M was one of the people who’d rather just let school life fly by.

Secondary One was a hectic time for me. My mother ran a family business which I was forced to help out in. On weekdays, I would go to school. On weekends, I spent time with my mother at her stall in a hawker centre. Between studies and family, I had no time to think about my social life. My free time was spent either doing more revision or playing one-player games on the computer. My social life revolved around the girls in the class, since I naturally spoke to them as if they were comrades. I shunned away from the boys in an attempt to keep myself sane.

Things changed when my mother was diagnosed with Stage Three cancer in April when I was in Sec Two.

Throughout the time of my mother’s illness, many changes were made. Her shop closed down. Most of the time was spent at home, spending time with my mother. Often, we’d sit around on her bed and talk about life. She knew her days were numbered, yet she would smile every single day. At the time, I took everything for granted.

It was around that time that I realised I had fallen in love with a classmate.

I would not paint a rosy picture of M. He was on the school’s newly formed soccer team. His grades were above sub-par at best. He lied to get out of uncompleted homework. He was temperamental, violent at the peak of his tempers. He had insomnia.

I had no idea what attracted me to him. Somehow or the other, I was able to look past every one of his negative idiosyncrasies and focus on the positive charms he possessed. He had a smile with killer dimples. His steps were strong, confident. He moved with an uncontrolled grace.

Around that time, rehearsals for the Singapore Youth Festival celebrations were up. I found myself standing on the set for my show and dreamily watching M teaching the toy soldiers of the play how to march. Being a teenager, I found myself approaching random girls that talked to him and questioning their moves freakishly.

When SYF was over, I was in a state of calm. My mother had many businesses to attend to as life was about to change.

It was around that time that I discovered the boys in my class was turning to a game for social purposes. League of Legends served as the source of interest between them. Knowing that M was playing, I desperately created an account in order to get closer to him. Perhaps, I thought, if we gamed together, I could talk to him more, feel him more.

Many a times, the school left classroom doors open for us to complete our projects in the classrooms. Without a proper ban on the school server, most of the guys would stay around in the orange classrooms when the last lesson ended to game. Since I had more free time in my life at the time, I found myself staying back when I never had to, to watch M game. I found him all the more adorable while gaming. I specifically remember that he would play a lot of characters that allowed him to control little pets.

There was this one time when I tried to lean on his shoulder from the back while watching the screen. He thought nothing of it, and brushed my hand away.

Of course, gaming with the guys meant that I would further understand them better, while leaving the girls behind. I never really thought about it, but it now feels that I made the right choice.

I adored those few months when I would think about M every single day, and wished that we could be closer.

I loved sending him instant messages while helping him in Physics. I realised then, that he was struggling through his studies simply because of his personality and not his IQ. I would beam whenever he shouted, “I didn’t fail!” whenever he got back his test results, because I knew it was both our hard work that resulted in that simple happiness.

After SYF was over, I had a new instructor for CCA. Her name was Ms C. Once, Ms C brought a little poem to class, and made a junior read it out. It was something really impactful -- “I Do” by Andrea Gibson.

I think it was this poem that gave me the courage to do what I did.

I would recite the lines of the poems to myself very often, mesmerized at the quality of the poet’s words.

And that was what happened. I sent M coded messages in poetry about how I loved him.

At that was when it all came crashing down.

I had never considered the possibility that he would shun away from me after all that. He thought I was insane, an abomination.

He showed every single person in the class my poems. The girls were appalled, especially.

I became self-destructive.

I mourned for a loss, as if M had actually died, because it actually felt that way. M would never speak to me ever again. I refused to do homework, up to the point where grades for Sec Two EOY went down the drain.

No matter what I tried, no matter how hard I tried, M would never speak to me.

I was truly desperate. Bitter. Alone. He had turned all my friends from class against me in one gesture.

And yet, I would still care for him.

My mother fell prey to cancer in December that year. I remembered how I used to write poems in the hospital, thinking of M, watching my mother’s ashen face.

It was a double whammy when she once opened her eyes and could not recognise who I was.

I could say that I was prepared for her death. On the other hand, I knew I wasn’t. When she left, in early Sec Three, I was still mourning for M.

So, I had to mourn for both.

I’ve lost two people in my life. One dead, one alive. I would sometimes wake up to look into my mother’s old picture. Not the ones right before she left, but the ones taken when she was much younger, with a fuller face and rosy red lips.

I’d speak to her. I’d tell her about M, because that was the one secret I kept from her.

And today, I’ve moved on from my mother. Life goes on. Yet, I still think of M. Every single day.

I’m in Sec Four. It’s been almost two years since we last spoke. Whenever I try, he would walk away.

Please. Let me speak to you. Tell you I’m sorry for whatever wrongs I’ve done. Whatever sins I’ve committed in your eyes.

Let me speak to you as if you were that one beacon of light in the sea of hopelessness in the impending doom. Because that was what you were to me.

Please.

Last Soccer Match

There is this strange feeling. There is nothing quite like it.

This feeling stems from longing, hurt, ignorance, yearning, pain and disgust all at once. It feels like a rojak of emotions. And at the very core, my heart is being nibbled on, chewed on, eaten and digested from inside out.

That is why it hurts. I am like a little Gaara.

I long for recognition from a person I admired and devoted myself to.

I am hurt from the lack of recognition from that same person. And the lack of mutual interaction came from from this lack of recognition.

I have ignored many things about his life in my little fantasy. For that I am ashamed.

I am still yearning for that recognition even after 2 years of resolute silence.

It is painful.

And that is why I cannot bear to watch something which triggers an awful lot of memories. I am torn between the side of my little boy, which admires beauty, and my emotional side that could break down any moment from the hurt.

Something inside me is still telling me to continue to watch, and the other side is telling me to avoid the pain.

What do I listen to? It is still a desolate situation, either way.

Narrative: Last Day

I wrote this piece while reflecting on my own life. The story is projected 13 years into the future.

 When I arose, as usual, at 7 am in the morning, I was prepared.
 Today was the day I would die.
 Without hesitation, I picked up my phone, an antique model from decades ago. “I’m taking leave today,” I said blatantly.
 Now, it was settled. It has all gone according to plan. The television was switched on. The recliner was set back.
 I would spend my last day alone in the comfort of a home I had built for the past five years.

 “There is no cure,” she says. Her words were matter-of-fact, with no trace of humor. I knew she was deathly serious. I was too.
 “When will I go?” I ask, trying my hardest to hide the fear, to uphold the image of the strong person I had carved for myself. Pride, as it had been since my birth, was a big issue.
 “April third, 2026. At 10 pm, your entire body will immediately and automatically shut down. You will die right then.” I wondered how it felt to be someone who had to be the bearer of bad news, like this lady over here. You had a job where you have to explain to every single patient infected with the illness that they would die at a specific time. It must be unpleasant.
 “Are you absolutely certain I will not die earlier?”
 “Your body will function normally right until that time.”
 “Good.”
 I stood up, eager to get away from the fact that I was infected with a newly discovered disease.
 Halfway through the door, a question popped into my mind.
 “Will I infect anyone if I come into contact with them?” I asked.
 “No.”
 I left the room.

 There was a knock on the door.
 There had never been a knock on the door for ages. For a while, I thought I imagined it.
 And there it was again. Knock, knock, knock. Three sure knocks. It definitely was not someone who thought he was at the wrong house.
 I was curious, and, at the same time, apprehensive. What if the doctor went back on her word and told someone to arrange a final farewell for me? What if it was my secretary, here to thrash out her anger about her unsatisfactory salary? I never wanted any of those on my last day.
 I strode over to the front door, and, without any further thoughts, flung it open.
 And there, standing before me, was a face I had not seen in a long time.
 He retained his lanky build from school, certainly. But his face showed me that he has aged. Little wrinkles form at the edges of his eyes. His hair, as usual, was filled with gravity-defying gel. Every single strand was styled to perfection. Bright, twinkling eyes looked straight at me, and in them, I saw the boy I had known from thirteen years ago.
 Here was the little diva, in his full glory.
 “Hello,” he casually greeted me.
 Silently, I took his hand and dragged him in. I plopped him at the edge of my lush, leather sofa.
 “It’s been a long time,” I said. “How have you been?”
 “Great.” His posture told me that he was fully relaxed. He was here for a friendly visit.
 Is it because today is my last day?
 “How are you?” he asked back.
 I wanted to tell him everything. Here, before me, was a friend I had for little over two years, someone who knew me as well as I knew him. I wanted to tell him about this stupid disease that only left me ten hours to live. I wanted to tell him all about my idiotic workers.
 I wanted to tell him that I missed him so much.
 But I kept all that in. I don’t know why he appeared on my doorstep yet.
 “Good,” I respond in a manner similar to his.
 For a short while, there was an awkward silence. I was already used to awkward silences. But I could tell he was not. He was fidgeting.
 “How’s your girlfriend?” I asked. I did not like him silent. It reminded me of horrible memories.
 “Don’t have one yet.”
 I laughed out loud, a wholehearted laugh. A guy like him without a girlfriend? Someone so nice, and so beautiful, inside and out, without a girlfriend?
 Heaven should be punished.
 “I see you live alone too.” I see a quirky smile forming on his face. He thought he had me beat. I laughed even harder.
 And then he joined in.

 Since that moment, we began to talk as ourselves again.
 I found out that since we graduated, he went on to pursue a career in the film industry. Though he never made it to Hollywood, he was content that he was able to stay and experience the local culture. It motivated him to create films that showcase the country even more.
 I told him about my work. Sometimes, I hated being the big boss of the company. I hated having to deal with workers who would never set their priorities straight. I hated having to worry day after day about finances and money.
 Throughout the whole conversation, I found that we were rediscovering each other all over again. I had found a friend to confide in; He had found a friend to share his life experiences with.
 But, after all this, a question still harbored my mind. Why was he here today?
 I left that question at the back of my mind as I talked to the boy I had a crush on, way back then. Except that he was older.
 It was six the next time I looked at the clock. Four hours left. I almost ran out of time.
 I had no more time. I had to ask him.
 “Why did you come here today?”
 He was stunned for a moment, and then he smiled. In swift movements, he brought out a neat little box carefully wrapped in crisp, old paper.
 “Happy birthday. Your thirtieth.”
 Now, it was my turn to be stunned. He remembered, after all these years, while I was so busy I had forgotten.
 Today was my thirtieth birthday.
 He came back for my thirtieth birthday. I was moved to tears. I had never broken down in front of anyone in a long time. Today, I leant on his shoulder, a smile plastered on my face as tears of joy rolled down my cheeks.
 His shoulder felt warm. It smelt of him. It was a wonderful place to be.

The night sky was filled with stars. Here, with almost no light pollution coming from buildings, we watched the sky shimmer and sparkle.

It was so beautiful.

I did not regret breaking the rules and coming out of our tent. I did not regret staying up so late even though my body told me to collapse. I did not regret being up here. With him.

I began to write as I listened to his light snore. Poetry was a subtle, powerful form of expression always flowing through me. Under this lively night sky, everything seemed possible.

I wish I could hold you so close

That we will breathe as one

I wish I could take every footsteps

With you, and else none

 Soon, he left.
 When I peeled back the paper of the wrapped present, I discovered two tickets to the latest musical production of “Wicked”, back for another rerun.
 He remembered how much I loved the show.
 It was nine. My time was almost up.
 And now, I had one final task to do.
 I picked up my phone. “Calvin,” I spoke. “Change my will.”
 Calvin hesitated on the other end. But I know I had already made my choice.
 “All of my assets go to Mr Lhu Wen Kai.”
 He took some time to get it done. But at least, he did.
 “Thank you.”

 In my final minutes, I crept onto my bed, and grabbed my bolster. I hugged it to sleep, cuddling it like it was the dearest thing to me.
 Amidst the grim situation of my demise, I could feel.
 I was happy.

Judgement & Stereotypes

I was going home with a friend and his sister one day. Somehow or the other, we began talking about the people who we liked at school. And, when I told her I had a two-year crush on this guy from soccer, she turned her nose away in disgust and rolled her eyes. “Huh. Soccer people.”

I could not help laughing.

Often we are judged by how we look, how we act, and what activities we undertake. That is just one half of this mixture. The other half revolves around the receiving end of the information of a person.

Say, for example, that I told you that there is a girl who is extremely pretty, with the most silky hair and is always adored by every single guy in school as the epitome of the social ladder. At this point, I’m pretty sure an image of a person has already formed in your mind. Now, it depends on how you interpret this image.

If you are someone who has had a bad experience with someone similar, it is very likely that you would be put off by this image and have closed this window.

However, if you are someone who is a close friend with someone like that, you might be more likely to accept her, and talk to her.

It is the same as my friend’s sister. I was pretty sure she had experiences where she knew of homophobic soccer boys. (Thankfully, I have found some really nice soccer people too. But that’s another story for another day.)

Sometimes, we should take a step back and look at these judgements that we have etched in our heads. A poor person who has never done you any wrong could be puzzled at your reactions to his actions because you have always thought of him/her to be a someone unworthy of your attention.

Of course, if this person has irritated and annoyed you countless times with his empty and thoughtless mind, then continue with the lack of attention.

All I’m saying is that you should really think back at the different judgements you have on someone, and perhaps change them. Maybe that’ll make you a better person. ;)