Safe in a crazy world...

Saturday, January 27, 2007

The School Gate

The school gate couldn't understand why

Guarding the school
Was its sole responsibility
And this
It took upon seriously

Everyday it stood
Against the wind and the rains
In solitude at night
And through the bustling and hustling of the day

What couldn't it understand?
It doesn't know why
At 5am each morning
The security guard had unlocked itself
With such viciousness and ruthlessness
In response to its welcoming smile
For finally company was here

Maybe I should smile more
It thought to itself
And it had smiled so that there was a creaking sound
And the guard cursed
For it was time to oil the gate again

It doesn't know why
At 6.30am each morning
When the students and teachers start streaming in
They were dragging their bodies
And slowly trudging along
Like some slime with great inertia

Their faces stoned
Their eyes drooped
Their smiles lost
Replaced with grim frowns
Their laughter absent
Replaced with groans and whims

Yet when the bell rings
Signaling the end of the school
The students and teachers alike
Would fill out of the school
Chattering with excitement
Bubbling with anticipation

It all seemed to the gate
That they were only far too pleased to leave it
Alone all over again

Even as the guard locked up the gate
At the end of the day
At 7pm
He would be whistling to himself
Through his almost toothless gum

All the gate wanted
Was just an acknowledging nod
Or just one more glance
From those he loved and protected

Yet that never came

Not even as the gate was replaced
With the new stainless model from Japan
Resplendent with a new coat of paint
Attracting wows and admiration from students and staff

It was fortunate
that the old gate mistook the milling crowd around the entrance
As students expressing their gratitude
To his service all those years

As it was being delivered
To the disposal grounds
The gate started to miss the kids
Who came to say goodbye.

Saturday, January 20, 2007

Memories

My random thought of the day---
If you ever had some wonderful memories with anyone
And that someone comes to forget it
Then how can you be sure that
Those incidents actually took place?
Or was it just your own hallucination
or day dreams?

Maybe it did happened
Or did it not?

But so what if it really did take place
And you're the only one on this world
who remembers it?

It seems then that maybe
memories are only precious
when they are shared with someone else.

Friday, January 19, 2007

Vienna waits for you...

This song "Vienna", performed by Billy Joel, is one of the songs in "13 Going On 30".
Got this lovely song from a lovely friend, thanks teo=)
Loved the lyrics, hope you love them too.

Vienna

Slow down you crazy child
You're so ambitious for a juvenile
But then if you're so smart tell me why
Are you still so afraid?
Where's the fire, what's the hurry about?
You better cool it off before you burn it out
You got so much to do and only
So many hours in a day

But you know that when the truth is told
That you can get what you want
Or you can just get old
You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through
When will you realize...Vienna waits for you

Slow down you're doing fine
You can't be everything you want to be
Before your time
Although it's so romantic on the borderline tonight (tonight)
Too bad but it's the life you lead
You're so ahead of yourself
That you forgot what you need
Though you can see when you're wrong
You know you can't always see when you're right(you're right)

You got your passion you got your pride
But don't you know that only fools are satisfied?
Dream on but don't imagine they'll all come true
When will you realize
Vienna waits for you

Slow down you crazy child
Take the phone off the hook and disappear for a while
It's alright you can afford to lose a day or two
When will you realize...
Vienna waits for you.

And you know that when the truth is told
That you can get what you want
Or you can just get old
You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through
Why don't you realize...Vienna waits for you
When will you realize...Vienna waits for you

Everyday

As a warning to my friends, you SHOULD NOT read the following entry if you feel your life is screwed up enough for it would make you feel even worse.

Everyday
When I go to bed at 3am in the morning
I dread falling asleep
For I fear waking up
Into a world of nightmares.

Everyday
Each step I take
Seems so heavy
Every breath
So laboured
Every beat of my heart
I can only feel
The slipping away of life
Doing things I hate
Or trying to love the people I hate

Everyday
I wonder when that day would finally end
I start a countdown
From the instant I open my eyes
To the instant when Im deep in sleep enough
To stop hating myself

Everyday
I pray for the day
When everything would be all right
But what is all right?
I dunno truly
But I guess I know it's all right
When I can fall asleep not haunted
by the arrival of next day
And wake up
Taking my first breath of the day
Out of desire
Not by forced will.

Monday, January 15, 2007

Neighbours

The brown spot on the floor
Of the dingy corridors
In the 20 year-old flat
Should be avoided at all costs

It cannot be washed away
Permanently
For it always comes back
Shortly after it was removed

It reeks of blood,
The neighbours whispered.
Of the sin
which happened so many years ago

Did you hear?
Sssshh...
She brought her other man home
And he chanced upon them
when he returned home early
after getting fired by his boss

There the pair of lovers were
Entwined in bed sheets
The ones he bought for Valentine's day
After she complained of how unromantic he was

That was the last anyone saw of the couple
For the next thing they knew
He was standing in the corridor
His blood-stained hands still clenched onto the knife
Dripping into a brown puddle at his feet

Panting and heaving
In his last act of defiance
He had plunged the knife
Fresh with the couple's blood
Into his heart
The one with which he loved his wife so

The blood spurted
And as he spasmed and collapsed
Onto the brown puddle
His last cries of maniacal laughter
Reverbrated throughout the
Long dingy corridors

Now the estate management had sent its cleaners
With their most advanced tools and latest chemicals
To clean the whole block of flats

The brown spot was gone in a flash
And it never came back

The neighbours cursed and swore
They were displeased
They say the spirits may be angered

Still their ears remained pricked up
Their eyes sharp
Their noses sniffing
For any hint of sin
That could be taking shape
Behind the closed doors

Behind the greetings each morning
Behind the small talk in the lift or at the wet market
Behind the sharing of soy sauces and spices
That's what true neighbours are for.

---By (Lia) Leow Hui Ting, first copy right

Saturday, January 13, 2007

The Change

He wasn't happy with his nose
There was a crooked edge to it
Not straight and strong like Leonardo's

He wasn't happy with his chin
It was too short and stumped
Without a sexy cleft like Travolta's

He wasn't happy with his body shape
It was too pugdy
More like a teapot
Far from Schwarzenegger's packed, muscular, build(in the past).

Change them all
He thought
And I would be a changed person
This was the resolute
With which he marched into the plastic surgeon's clinic

Save me doc, he said.
From the mess I was born into
From all my insecurities
From all the contempts of my peers,even my wife.
Whatever it costs,
It doesn't matter.

The plastic surgeon,
Did he hear those words?
Maybe not, maybe he did
Whatever it was,
the stack of cold, hard cash
brought out the resolute in him.
"I vow to help the poor souls,
Who are suffering
Because of their deformities,
Ugliness and monstrosities."

After countless operations,
and all his lifesavings exhausted,
he was indeed,
a changed person.

Excited, he bought a ticket
Back to his hometown
To visit his old mother.
"Mother, Im back to see you,"
He knocked fervently on the eroded wooden door.

"Who are you?"
His mother croaked,peering over the spectacles
hanging on her nose.
"Im Eric, mother. I've returned to see you,"
He answered.

"You're not my son," The old lady shook her head vehemently.
"This is my little baby," She said,slowly opening the locket on her neck.

"This is my Eric, with my nose, and his father's chin."
She smiled lovingly, fingering the locket,looking into the far,
When the son she was missing so,
Was right there at her doorstep.

Friday, January 12, 2007

It could have been...

We were almost in love.

"Almost?" You asked.

"Yes,almost." I replied.

We cared for each other a little more than good friends do.
We were on each other's mind for a little longer than we intended to.
We loved looking at ourselves through each other's eyes a little more than we should.

"Is that proof of love?" You questioned.

"It could have been." I replied.

It could have been.

If we didn't missed each other just when we needed someone the most.
If that someone else hadn't turned up
To comfort me in your place
If we both had cared a little more and been a little braver
To say the words.

We were so close, almost there, just a little more, yet we both gave up, inches before the finishing line.

"Will you remember me?" You wondered.

"I don't know how to," I replied.

"Why not?" You pressed on.

"It wasn't a friendship, it wasn't love." I answered.

"It could have been either. It could have been." You said.



"For of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: 'It could have been!'"
---American Poet and abolitionist John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892)

Reflections

She looked at herself in the mirror.

Tried a smile
Struck a pose
Said, "Good morning"
To her reflection

In the reflection,
poster of star
caught her eye.

A frown emerged
A sigh escaped
"If only,
I was prettier.
Just like her.

Away from her reflection
She turned her head
Too afraid to see
What was there.

With shoulders drooped
confidence stumped
She left the room
Never turning back.

If she had turned back,
she would've seen
her reflection bleeding,
Hurting and sobbing,
"Maybe tomorrow,
She would be proud of me."

---By (Lia) Leow Hui Ting

Love's Lonely Impulses

I know I haven't been blogging as frequently as I should.
My apologies to all, who have been checking put my blog constantly.

What have I been busy with, you may wonder.
Well I'm not about to cook up any excuses.
But I've been reading up on everything I can lay my hands on.
Poems, novels, psychology and starting soon on philosophy.

My favourite one is " Love's Lonely Impulses" by Catherine Lim, one of the most reknowned writer locally.

This book is a collection of poems on her deep and raw insights of the society.

It is a must-read, and a must-have.

The following is one of my favourite poems from the book.

Short, simple, yet impactful.

---To A Young Woman Who Has Had An Abortion By Catherine Lim

It could have been so simple.
I had a bad tooth
I had it pulled out.
I had a stone, size of a pea,
I had it taken out.
But this was different?
I had it washed out clean anyway.
But clean is not
What I feel.

Monday, January 01, 2007

The Tale of Mimosa



http://www.rain-tree.com

There was a girl, aged 12, who lost her parents at an early age.
In the orphanage, she was nicknamed, "Mimosa", after the mimosa plant.
The reason was because Mimosa stopped talking the day she was admitted into the orphanage. And she kept to herself only, resembling the Mimosa plant, which closed up its leaves upon any touch or warmth.

Mimosa had never told anyone, but she had always harboured a dream---to be a performing artiste just like her mother was.
In Mimosa's memory, her mother was always kind and loving towards her, on the stage, her mother would seemed a different person altogether.
Charming, beautiful, full of confidence, and shining like the brightest star on the theatre stage.
Mimosa had watched her mother from behind the stage for every performance.
When they were at home, Mimosa would sing out her mother's lines in a crystal clear voice, especially her mother's favourite song " Somewhere out there".

"Somewhere out there, beneath the pale moonlight
Someone's thinking of me and loving me tonight.

Somewhere out there someone's saying a prayer
That we'll find one another in that big somewhere out there."

Mimosa would croon delightfully,using a bottle as her microphone,twirling around in her cotton frock dress which her mother made.
Her mother, would then give her a standing ovation,cheering,"That's my girl!", just as if Mimosa was already a big star on the stage.

Those were the days.

And those days ended in that fateful accident.

But Mimosa yearned achingly for the lost time. The only way, for her to relive it, Mimosa decided, was to be an outstanding performer as her mother was.

She did not tell anyone of her aspiration, to avoid any mocking scorns.
Secretly, late at night,she would practice singing and the vocal chords warming-up exercises her mother used to do in the backyard of the orphanage.
Soon, Mimosa became known as the Phantom Singer, for the children at the orphange believed there were some angry spirits at work for the singing and humming they heard at midnight.

Mimosa's chance soon came when the theatre in town was holding auditions to scout for a child to star in their biggest musical ever.
She had saw their signs plastered all over the market square while running errands for the orphanage.
Yes, Mimosa knew this was her only chance for a big break.

But she had a very big problem.

She could only sing when she's alone. Not in front of anyone else, much less the intimidating scouts present at the audition.

Day after day, Mimosa would hang around the registration booth for the auditions.
Many times, she almost managed to muster the courage to sign up. But at the last moment, the lurch in her stomach would pull her back to reality and she would walk away, her head hung in disappointment.

One day, a young lad from the troupe approached her.
"Pardon me,lil missy, but would you be interested in signing up for the audition? I've seen you around these few days."
Mimosa's dropped her eyes to her shoes, and shook her head furiously, as her hands clutched and wrung the front rims of her dress so tightly her knuckles turned red.
"Don't be afraid. I'm from the troupe too. Im Pete. Pleasure to meet you." The lad extended out his hands.
To his surprise, Mimosa turned her back at sped off at the speed of light.
Pete, intrigued, stood rooted to the ground for a second, before sprinting after her.

They ran, and ran, and ran.
Soon, Mimosa slowed down and came to a halt when she felt as if her legs were going to give way. Pete stopped too, panting and wheezing like he was having fits.

"Whoa...(pant)..(wheeze)..you're good at running...(inhale,exhale)...so what's your name?" Pete asked.
Mimosa picked up a stick nearby, and wrote her name in the sand.
Pete started to make some clumsy attempts at hand signs.
Mimosa frowned in puzzlement, for she could not get what Pete was trying to say.
Pete did not give up, but this time he voiced out,while repeating the gestures,"I said, I loved your name."
Mimosa's cheeks flushed red,for this was the 1st time someone had complimented her.
Then it dawned upon her, that Pete thought she was mute.
"Im not what you think I am." Mimosa wrote in the sand.
"Oh," Pete hid his hands behind him, embarrassed for his misunderstanding.
"So, would you like to go for the auditions?" Pete continued, trying to change the subject.
"I can't. Im afraid." Mimosa replied in the sand.
"Shall I practice with you? I know a very good place on the hill top. I used to go there myself to rehearse." Pete offered.
Nodding her head briefly, Mimosa turned and ran away, her heart beating like a car engine on super turbo mode.

For the following week, Mimosa and Pete practised singing together on the hill top. Mimosa would sneak out from the orphanage at night, and slipped back in at sunrise.
Initially, Mimosa was so shy and bashful Pete had to hide in the bushes before she would start singing.
Her voice would tear through the silent night, so raw and filled with emotions it shook Pete's heart greatly. Such was the power of Mimosa's voice.
Then, after the first few days, Mimosa became much braver, and more confident. In fact, she seems almost a totally changed person, as the children at the orphanage would tell you.
When she started talking to one of the children, the child was so freaked out he came down with fever that day itself.

Soon, it was the last night before the audition.
And Mimosa was a nervous wreck.
Instead of the usual practice, Pete had arranged to meet Mimosa at one hour before sunrise. The venue was at a different spot on the hill top, further up than they normally practised.

When Mimosa arrived at the hill top, she could barely make out Pete in the darkness.
"What are we doing here?" Mimosa whispered.
Pete guided her to sit down beside her.
"See these? These are mimosa plants." Pete placed his nightlight near the mimosa patch.
"I know," Mimosa replied, not really paying heed to Pete. " Look I don't think this is a good idea, the whole audition thing. Im just going to make a fool of myself."
Pete ignored her and went on," It took me sometime to search out these plants."
"Yes, but," Mimosa wanted to go on.
Pete ignored her words and went on.
"When we touch them or when it's warm, the leaves of the mimosa plant would close." Pete demonstrated.
"But do you know what's the way of opening closed mimosa leaves?"
Mimosa listened intently, shaking her head.
"Sunlight. Mimosa leaves naturally closed themselves at evening. But eventually, they would open at sunrise." Pete explained.
"I know you are the best. I've heard you sing..."He trailed off awkwardly.
" Im not very good at doing this, but I was just hoping, that maybe watching the sunrise with me will cheer you up." Saying, he looked away in embarrassment.

The two of them sat there, as the sun rose and showered the earth with its light.

"Somewhere out there, someone's saying a prayer
That we'll find one another in that big somewhere out there."
Mimosa hummed lightly, stealing glances at Pete every now and then.

The sunrise, opened the leaves of the closed mimosa leaves.
The sunrise, opened her once closed heart.

------Written by (Lia) Leow Hui Ting, Yours Sincerely