A Rollercoaster life.

I hate it when i allow external factors to take control of my emotions.

I get upset, emotional, angry, disappointed all at once.

I throw things, curse intangible non-living things like my math paper, draw black angry circles on foolscap, cry, start biting my nails, scratching my scalp, throwing pens against the walls, banging the door, stomping like a raging bull around the house, slapping the walls till my hands become sore, attempting to rip apart my blanket, having the urge to shout at my brothers who are enjoying themselves while i wallow in the sea of misery, giving my parents 'the look', being like an anti-social cat by staying at home, missing family suppertime, drifting away from close family members and friends just because everybody's so busy, silently scolding teachers who do not reply to emails from their students, staring at a white wall everyday for 8 hours, sitting at the same spot doing nothing but tests after homework, not exercising for five months and still not feel guilty about it, eating junk food the school provides during breaks, having feelings of self-doubt...

The grey cloud that looms overhead whenever i realise how much i still do not know. The anxiety and paranoia that something might turn out wrong--you forget the math formulae, or your calculator runs out of battery.

It's disgusting you know. How you're turning into somebody you despise.

I am loosing my steam, as i always do. Everytime i manage to find the catalyst to rekindle the flame. But this time, just 14 more days, i'm loosing it again. I know i cannot afford to, but somehow it just happens. why?

I allowed it to.

All of these. They make me upset. it only proves how weak i am in controlling my emotions. (I will not say 'I despise myself' as much as i want to. It just pushes me deeper into the bottomless pit of self-pity and feeling like a worthless pumpkin.)

There are roller-coaster weeks ahead. I need to make sure i do not loose my cool, nor my temper. I've got to hang on there.

Even if it means sitting through 100 three-hundred-sixty degrees turns. Now i'm going to make myself a cup of hot tea that would give me the owl-energy i need to survive a night's studying.

thou shalt not be lazy. In 18 days.
thou shalt give all thou have.
thy hope is thy to secure.

Renewed light

In the face of new difficulties,
you'll look back at older ones
and laugh at their triviality,
realise how insignificant they are now than yester years.

Then you look at the ones approaching,
those huge blocks; menacingly threatening.
Fear and panic sets in.

Turning back,
you'd see how you've surmount and survived similar blocks,
realise that this time;
you can too.

Newer light is shed,
brighter than never before.

Hair cut

I'm finally going for a hair-cut.
finally isn't really a long span of time, it's just 2 months probably.

I am dreading the trip.
not because i cannot bear to part with my hair (that's trival!),
not because of the friction that toothy comb makes with my skin,
but rather,

afraid of not recognising
the person staring back at me.

The grey divide between days and ends

Weekend blues, have you ever heard of them? Thought they only existed on Mondays? Think again.

Saturday and Sundays are supposed to be passed with a deliberate dreaminess. Lower the intensity of weekdays by a notch or two. Slow things down and take time to smell the roses.
Monday to friday flashes by in a blur, things are done hurriedly; little time to breathe. to pause. even for a second of day's dream.

Come weekend. Coffees are supposed to be sipped, biscuits nibbled in slow mouthfuls whilst reading the saturday papers. Mornings should be spent lazily; idly. Afternoon are for seistas and teas or watching recorded television programmes on HBO. Evening comes, and it's time for a family dinner around the table.

But no.

Saturdays and Sundays are just as hectic as Thursdays. They're just as long as Wednesdays. The week's end almost feels like the week's days. Trudging and pulling heavy commitments and endless workload; desperately searching for a point to finally rest the tired limbs and soul.

Where did the weekends I used to know disappear to.

Friday's rambles.

Goodnight world, and i'll sleep now and wake up 6 hours later, and begin my day again.
monotony is something that i have yet to become accustomed to.
but i'm trying hard.

sometimes monotony might be reassuring. Its predictability doesn't catch you by surprise and this might even be something alluring about routines!

Should you feel stifled like me, then, good night. Maybe in dreams we'll have a different story to tell--of adventures, fantasy and knights.
But good morning again, for tomorrow will almost take on the same pattern as today. probably.

New

I've decided to take part in this weekly writing thing called the Sunday Scribblings. (link's up there) Each week they post up a one word topic and lovers of words would write a story, a poem, or anything about it. I took part in it because it sounded interesting and hopefully i'll meet people who also love to write. So this week's topic is "New". I wrote a poem about it. An amateur, I might not be the best but i'll learn :)


3.30.
The sun sleeps in his little house in the West,
purring gently in slow rhythmic breaths.
And so does everything around him,
under the watchful gaze of the moon.

5.00.
The sun prepares to go to work.
He crawls out of bed, goes to the toilet and makes himself a warm cup of coffee.
In between sips, he thinks,
"Which route shall I use today"
"East, like always,"
Routines breeds familarity and he found assurance in it.
And so the sun puts on his coat,
and sets off on his journey.

Meanwhile.
Over the hills, nature shivers with anticipation
as they wait for his arrival.
The cool morning dew begins to form,
On blades of grass, furs of animals and windows of houses.
A condensation of the night's hustle and bustle.
The moon yawns, his eyelids droop down heavily.
"A few more minutes", he told himself.


0559
The sun walked four streets,
past six corners and two junctions
before he finally arrived at the east gate.


The gate.
With reddish brown metallic elements falling off its surface,
still stand erect, tall and magnificient.
It has watched the many suns walk past its doorway,
every dawn, at five, for as long as the planet's birth.

0600.
The sun pushes the gates open.
He takes his first step through,
Walks up the stairways to the sky,
takes the place of the moon,
and shines.

A faint orange glow,
then brighter, brighter
and finally a warm yellow hue.

Spreading across plains,
Through windows of houses,
past canopies of leaves.
Beckoning its occupants awake from their dreams of the night.

The sun shines.
A new day has arrived.

The Journey towards Purpose

The teacher teaches. The doctor treats. The policeman maintains order and the cleaner, cleanliness. Every social hierarchy has its purpose.

Everyone has a purpose in their lives.
Something written in a book,
that is stashed at the top shelf,
of the cobbled cupboard,
in a dilapidated straw hut,
at the furthest parts of the earth.

The journey is only as treacherous as what we tell ourselves. The quest is simple; it is not difficult as what it may seem to be.


All it takes is the courage to discover.

The Wait

Waiting for bus 1000 today,
it dawns on me that we've all been waiting
for something all these while,
isn't it?

(Do not lie)

waiting for duskdawn,
alovelost holidays solacelovefriend themoment.

(I am waiting for something not quite tangible in the form of an envelope.)

the wait time could be in seconds, months, years or decades.
It doesn't matter. (we're would be waiting all our lives anyway)

so long as It arrives eventually, which It will.

(I have faith in you, and in us)

Ramblings #7

when the clock strikes at midnight,
the party ends and the magic looses its effect
and all turns into a shimmer of dust.

Upon realisation,
people drag their weary bodies home
in an orderly procession.
As if waking up from a dream that
never did begin.

Pho,fear

People are afraid,
everyone of us.

Heights, Cats, Rats,
Darkness, Laughter,
or even the number thirteen.

But this is not fear,
for you know where it comes from.

Then again,
some phobias cannot be defined,
this is fear.
for we do not know what are we truly afraid of.
and yet,

we are scared,
everyone of us.


What am I afraid of?
What are You afraid of?
What are we all guarding ourselves against?

Voices.

----

now dual voices speak,
one stronger than the other,
in a roaring tumult within the narrow channels of my ears.

like waves beaching up shore,
lesser the serenity,
greater the discordance-
in disagreements.

i am amazed.
at how a short span of time (3 months)
have the ability to rob away,
passion-
and what used to matter.

this rush of life,
i thought i understood so well.
now turned its back against me,
and flew-

away from my grasp.


(i should be completing my work now.
oh shut up!
i forbid you from speaking.)

Happiness in numbers.

one house,
two occupants,
three meals,
four seasons,
five children (if you don't mind the noise),
six fruit trees (one of each fruit),
seven o'clock dinners.

and thus the heart sighs in content.

love

to understand the true meaning of love,
is to experience it.
that's why there are still wars.

nobody understands love,
the way it is suppose to be understood.