Don't Mock Me

Shaky, trying to be
firm.
Lower lip trembling,
and I fail.

Roars of laughter
pierce my gloom,
bringing me back
to this present.

Sinking horror,
oh dear Lord,
they are laughing at
me.

Find mirth in my
tears.
Find jokes in my
choked sobs.

Hidden meanings in my
cry,
Strain your ears to catch
the notes.

With my hands folded,
I plead.
Do you understand my
words.

In a high after your
promise.
I looked forward to your
return.

But the turkey is
done.
My hair is
unraveling.

Efforts were in
vain.
But all I asked was
don't mock me.

It's All Good

I feel better now, and here I am trying again. It has been awhile, and I missed coming here.
Shall we have an update on the library? I finished Seeds of Yesterday by Virginia Andrews and have been somewhat riveted to this book called Mindhunters, written by an ex-FBI agent; John Douglas. I have always been intrigued by stories of serial killers, but more importantly, the motivation behind it. If nobody knew better, they would dub Mr. Douglas a kooky psychic and not believe a word he says, only because of how frighteningly accurate he is, and always turns out to be.
More on him later, I want to tell you about my life these days.
That's right, I, Mil, actually want to talk.

Life is breezy these days. I didn't have to think much about this description, it was just about the only word that came to mind.
I think it's definitely crucial to have holidays.
I do know there should be certain things that I have to keep doing, but it's not just that, I feel good, in general.
I always believed it is easier to be sad than to be happy.
Crazy?
No, not really.
Being sad is so simple. You dwell, you moan, you groan, you sink into folds of depression and continually self-absorb.
Simple, she says. Do you know how hard it is to be lonely and sad?
Granted. It must be hard.
But do you know how hard it is to keep your chin up?
Being happy is a choice.
I've always known that, I just have to keep reminding myself that.
I will have bad days.
I've said all this before haven't I?
Let me tell you about all the fun I've been having.

1. The lit mag reached the desk. (insert enormous sigh of relief)
2. The endless reading I've been doing with the television as background noise.
3. The 4 movies that I've managed to see in the past two weeks
- DOA Dead or Alive (I grew old watching it, I've gotta give Ady a piece of my mind)
- The Wicker Man ( I enjoyed the storyline)
- Pulse (ditto, storyline was quite impressive)
- You, Me and Dupree (entertaining movie with entertaining company)
4. The staying up late to watch old favourites and to see new ones.
5. The unlimited time of bumming, spending time with mom, learning the Art of Being A Good
Sindhi Wife and smsing.
6. Lastly, but I love this the most (aside from no.2)- being able to go out for a drinks whenever
with the knowledge that my mom trusts me.

Friday night was splendid, especially the last hour of it. I got to dance everything away, just the music, my good friend and me. (warning warning- mil starting to sound almost identical to Britney Spears). HAHAHA!

A note to Nim- there is no question, I am will be loving you bery much. (warning warning- mil has overdosed on too many episodes of Mind Your Language).

As always, there is so much to say, I shall keep notes:

a. thoughts on Wicker Man
b. Nimmy and me
c. My experience on Friday (part 1-at Clarins)
d. My Friday (part 2-Bangsar)
e. Hindi film I am liking
f. persistency does not impress me (warning warning- starting to rhyme!)

HAHAHA!
perhaps there is more.
oh yes.
g. my commentary on Seeds of Yesterday. (yes, yes nerdy Mil coming through!)
damn, there was something else that I was reading, I shall get back to you.

Yes, Ma'am.

Back to Basics

After reviewing previous posts, I come to a realization.
I have lost sight of why I started a blog in the first place.
In the very beginning, I had said that I had wanted to write for a benefit.
I don't think that I have been accomplishing this.
I sincerely doubt what I've been writing has benefited anybody.
Then I wonder if this is my true purpose.
More disturbingly I wonder if the posts on this webpage have been at all beneficial.
At all.

No, I am not fishing for a compliment.
Everything could circle back to the fact that I am a private person and tend to censor what I say, even here, sometimes, even to myself.
That certainly isn't beneficial.
So I end up bursting.

Pop.
I have to try to speak up more before the volcano erupts. Before it is too late.
Maybe I will come back here when I am better.
Everything seems inadequate now.

Haha

Any attempt to be funny fails miserably.
Like a planned slapstick.
Like a really bad joke.

Joke, joke.

I've been reading Seeds of Yesterday by Virginia Andrews, a highly dramatized novel, not to mention downright scandalous.

It contains...
*lowers voice to a whisper*

Incestous relationships between Catherine and Chris.

All together now: OH MY.

Haha, you're so funny.
Mmm-hmm.

The Toast

The lights were not too harsh as they winked a few times then stayed. The people floating through mid-afternoon were unaware of what was going on.
Nobody really knows.
Glasses clanked together, as toasts were made, yes, toasts were made even at mid-afternoon, stupid, meaningless toasts, well wishes for a pair of boots.
People dressed as if at a photo shoot, polished as practiced before the mirror.
In the middle, an oasis sat, well-meaning amongst cruel intentions.
Innocent as a boy of six, wise like Mother Theresa, they sat surrounded by blanks.
She looked at him.
He looked at her.
Silently, they raised their glasses in similar conspiracy.
They reeked of drink.

Their eyes spoke of a plea.
A toast to ;
Silence.
Stillness.
Innovation.
Hidden beauty.
Truth in lies.

Life.

Together, they drank.
It will never be the same.

Big Mess

"Have you done anything fun?"

Not really.

"But, what changed?"

I don't know.

"Make sure you do it."

Yea, yea, no problem.

"What a mess. So sick and tired. Everything's bad, man."

Yea.

"Everything."

Yea. Can't you save it?"

"Yea, I can but..."


"I want to do something I want to do."

What do you want to do?

"I don't know."

"I've seen it all happen here. Everything just fell apart."

I'll bet.

Wash

I decided to let it go.

I seek you out,
look at the eyes that beseech you.
Stay, stay.
Why won't you.

It is so late in the day, yet I have done nothing. Confusion adds to the confusion and I am left with insanity. My words are cognizant to my mental state but perhaps it is the other way. I can't be too sure.
I need some help, and I need it fast.
I no longer make sense to myself.
But, no worries, that's not what I need help with.
Haha?

My handwriting, for some reason has become bigger. But that is not something you needed to know.

Here a few fun facts for you that now seem completely useless to me (forgive my pessimism!)

Faulkner wrote a piece of prose called Wash; a very ambiguous story about black men and white men. And what bastards white men can be.
It was so anti-postcolonial. Don't you think.

Faulkner was born on the 25th of September, just three days apart from the girl from Bali. I wonder if this explains why all their productiveness seemed unproductive and why they were continuously absorbed with their feelings and the nature of it. No?

Faulkner was the first born child to Murry and Maud Faulkner and had three other brothers. Of course, there would be no sensationalism in this world if William Cuthbert Faulkner didn't turn out the strangest. Of course, he did.

Faulkner used to be Falkner, as it was for his forefathers. In 1918, he added the 'u' to his last name to adopt a British persona in order to get accepted to Canada for flight-training/war prep.
War prep- that should be a class we have to pass in school.
Bang.

Faulkner's whole life eerily resembled his great-grandfathers' life (who was a legend in Oxford by the way- the town, not the university), it almost seems as if he made it that way.
Yo, lo possibile.

Last fun fact of the day- i think I would be terribly let down if I get a terrible grade for terrorizing Modern Lit, but maybe it would be what I terribly deserve no?

I should go swimming on of these days, maybe it'll help clean my head.
That and I've had an absolute craving to do so. Ah yes, do you know what it feels like to crave chlorine?

Kehna Hai Kya

Today is a day that I can't even begin to explain, not even in English, the language I know best and that knows me best. Words hold no comfort, not even as I write them out.
Asking me what I'm wearing would not be funny right now.
Big news: I was probably a bit late in finding this out- the arcade in Giant Mall has closed down, no more offering some tension-releasing for this girl.

Because I fail you, and I fail myself in English, I turn to a language that is soothing in it's own way.



gumsum gumsum gup-chup
gumsum gum gup-chup
gumsum gumsum gup-chup gumsum gum gup-chup
halchal halchal kho ga'ii terii ho.nTH hai.n tere chup
khalbal khalbal kho ga'ii terii baiTHii hai tuu chup
pyaare pyaare chehare ne par de diya ishaara
dekha terii aa.nkho.n ne hai sapna koii pyaara
hamse gorii na tuu sharmaa kah de hamse zaraa...


kahana hii kya yeh nain ek anjaan se jo mile
chalne lage muhabbat ke jaise ye silsile
armaan naye aise dil me.n khile jinko kabhii mai.n na jaanuu.n
vo hamse ham unse kabhii na mile kaise mile dil na jaanuu.n
ab kya kare.n kya naam le.n kaise unhe.n mai.n pukaaruu.n


pahalii hii nazar me.n kuchh ham kuchh tum ho jaate hai.n yuu.n gum
naino.n se barse rimjhim ham pe pyaar ka saavan
sharm thoRii thoRii hamko aa'e to nazare.n jhuk jaa'e.n
sitam thoRa thoRa ham pe shokh hawaa bhii kar jaa'e
aisii chale aa.nchal uRe dil me.n ek tuufaan uTHe
ham to luT ga'e khaRe hii khaRe


in ho.nTHo.n ne maa.nga sargam sargam tuu aur tera hii pyaar hai
aa.nkh DHuu.nRHe hai jisko hardam hardam tuu aur tera hii pyaar hai
mahafil me.n bhii tanha hai dil aise dil aise
tujhe khona de Darta hai yeh aise yeh aise
aaj milii aisii khushii jhuum uTHii duniya yeh merii
tumko paaya to paayii zi.ndagii

kahna hii kya yeh nain ek anjaan se jo mile
chalne lage muhabbat ke jaise ye silsile
kahna hii kya

To The Beat

Tell myself to let go, not possible with this information overload.
So many words, too many emotions, pitter-patter on my heart,
leaving me half-baked, and I sigh.
I shake with fear, breathing is hard these days.
Staring at the wall, autistic to every call,
of the outside world, feels natural to ignore.
I scream, in vain,
Let me in, let me in.
I pray,
Let me in, let me in.
I forgive,
and I hear you scream.
Let me in, let me in.

Let me go, to the flow, to the beat of all around me.
Let me fly, fly fly fly,
Away.
Away.
and away.

In This Life

"Had she come all the way for this, / To part at last without a kiss?" [The Haystack in the Floods].
-William Morris (1834-1896)
He speaks of confusion, a man's frustration about understanding women, and a lover's anguish of an unfinished goodbye.
If tomorrow never comes, Heaven forbid the first kiss be the last, give me something to remember you by.

"The laughing queen that caught the world's great hands." [The Nile]
-J.H. Leigh Hunt (1784-1859)
An observation of the carefree attitude in the woman, a great one, in the way she dominates the crowd, despite being a woman. Contemptous, but not necessarily in a bad way, drawn to her laughter and longs to be part of her court.

"If you become a nun, dear, / A friar I will be. [The Nun]
-J.H. Leigh Hunt (1784-1859)
Offering the last destitude of being a man; his freedom, willingly reader to part with it and commits to commitment. All in the name of love.

"Men will confess to treason , murder, arson, false teeth, or a wig. How many of them will own up to a lack of humour? [Essays, I]
-Frank Colby (1865-1925)
Speaks of the false armour that men hold up in times of crisis, tension and confrontation. Vital in facing life, they would rather die than be without it, perhaps?
Humour me, all you men.

Pin-prick

Patience is a virtue, and I am not there yet. Forgive me, but I too, have limits.
It hurts, although it shouldn't. Your words are meaningless, yet they shoot. They don't miss.
Somehow I think the goal was acheived. It accomplished it's desired effect, because I have swallowed your insults and they lie in my stomach, not moving not stirring. They stay in the pit, and when they try to stretch, it hurts.

It hurts.

But I know you don't have what I have. And that is, the ability to think before speaking. I feel that perhaps you lost it when you were growing up. Perhaps you lost it in the laundry. Or maybe you never had it at all.
I have heard many things from you, but nothing that makes sense to me, not much of it. I have heard nothing that I would admire, hardly anything.

I commited to a fantasy.
You are the reality.
I was let down.

I made a mistake with you, and for that I will always be sorry for. But I would never regret it. Because I feel that regret is a useless emotion.
But I know, God has mercy.

And I know that you cannot harm me, with your words or otherwise.
No good shall come out of threatening me.
I am not afraid of you, you talk big but you are very small indeed.
I pity you, something I never wanted to do.

Pity is a sad word, like the loneliest dog in the world. Thin, handicapped and wet from the rain.
But still not as bad as you.

I keep your words with me. Against you.
Just. In. Case.

Forgive my bitterness, I needed to let this out. I am alright though, thank you.

I Forgot

You ever experienced visiting an old place, somewhere you haven't been to in years?
Like your old high school, or your former house, or seeing your ex-boyfriend's car.
You ever get that wave of deja-vu and the whoosh of nostalgia?
I should think so.
One thing though, nostalgia, is just nostalgia. But it doens't mean that it's always the good kind. There's the bad kind where you can feel the light bulb blinking on in your head and you silently say to yourself : THIS is what it was like. Ohhhhhh.....

Now I remember.

And with this quiet thought, a million others spill out, below the lightbulb, flashing by you in neon. Some pink, some green. Some even yellow.
This is why I didn't really like this place.
This is why I vowed never to come back.
This is why I never really felt at home.

The worst one hits the last, but it's always the most painful.
"Then what in the world am I doing here?!"

I felt this way, not too long ago.

Someday I will tell you a tale. But not right now.
I think I gotta try again later. I seem to be doing this more often.

My Glass is Half-Full

A productive day, yet it has been.

I paid a visit to the library, eager to finish my literary magazine. Now I do not want it to end. I want to spend endless hours researching on Faulkner and his interesting profile. I want to add a footnote on what an antithesis his work was, in light of feminism.
It was lovely to be in the library. Only had a few hours there, as I had to return home to have a study session for stats with a friend. Which is good, because I so needed that. Nyahaha. That was satisfying too, we covered alot in about four and a half hours. I guess the fact that we had each other gave us that extra push- we hear the crack of the whip. WHIP.

Today Mr. Big Shot's mom thanked me. This gesture melted my heart, if I had not been behind the wheel, knowing me, I would have choked up. What did I do in return to that comment? I let out a nervous laughter while smirking at Big shot himself. Hah. Not the way it was supposed to come out.
But everyone knows this, you heard me say it.
You don't thank family.
I have a really big family. Thats alot of thanks I don't get. Nyahaha. Joke, joke.
I don't expect a thank you, because I believe I don't do much to deserve it. But I am not complaining, it is nice to hear. Politeness, policy, remember?

Received an email from donna dalla' Bali. It was long and painful to read, like an essay on ways to reserve a dam. I replied with an equally painful email, probably.
Do people deserve to know the truth from others? Is it our place to give advise? I really don't know, because I have never been in such a situation, neither have I met anybody like him.
However, instincts tell me that I am not doing anything wrong by voicing out what I'm saying. I believe that I am making sense, but then again, I could be wrong.

Must eat, must sleep, and must read Faulkner.
Must must must.

Three more days til book sale, Syar!
Anticipation? Check.

Special Note to Syar

To Syar:

this post is dedicated to you.

After reading your latest entry in you blog, leaving a comment didn't seem enough.
Even though I am studying psychology, I do not consider myself an expert, so don't worry, you're not about to get a lecture on clinical depression.
I will say something about that though.
I do not mean to make this sound like a stereotypical statement, so forgive me if it comes that way:
I believe, with sufficient knowledge about you, after knowing you for just about 6 years, that you are just not the kind of girl who would go down that road. I think that you are far too smart to literally sit around and do nothing. However, having said that, it is not impossible.
But, looking at you, (besides the fact that you're the most organized teenager I know), I truly admire you because you have that much will-power. Forget the fact that you're systematic, it's the will power, the sheer drive you have that makes me quite sure that you don't have to worry about what you're worrying.

The warehouse sale? I was hoping that you would notice that. I put it up so that you can see that you have ONE thing to look forward too. A whole hall filled with books (fantasy genre, if you like) is just the thing you need, right? We share the same love for reading, so if you're as excited as I am, we can safely say that now you have something to look forward to.

And dear, whatever it is that you are worried about, true it may seem silly to me, or to other people, but it's real and nobody can push it aside.
I know you'll deal with it, but while you are, I and a whole bunch of other people are right here with you.

But you know that already.

Much love,
Mil

Having Said This

Morning, morning,
is coming about.
Let's rise and stir,
scream and shout!

Wee, wee. Excuse me and my rhyming, it is almost 6a.m. and I am barely awake. My lovely procrastination left me here and I am suffering it's wholeness.
My anger from two days ago has left me, but not without an appreciation for decency. Sometimes we tend to take politeness and etiquette for granted, but I see now how all these things are important. They are especially important for us to pass along; to our kids, to our brothers, sisters and so on. I figure it is not so much of etiquette (makes you think of table manners ei?) but rather knowing that there are limits and boundaries which one should not cross.
People have limits. I know I tend to forget this. But that's besides the point, I'm not talking about pushing the patience limit, I'm talking about politeness. To lie is one thing, but to be polite (for the sake of of the other person's feelings) is another. Nobody's asking you to conjure up big lies or make up stories when you know it's not true. No, I am asking you to be nice, to behave. I am asking you to mind your manners.
My knowledge concerning etiquette is limited. Yes, I believe my parents taught me proper table manners when I was 11, but I still have certain manners that are probably not all that acceptable. For example, I tend to talk while I'm eating. I know it's horrible, so I try to keep my mouth shut. Yes that is possible, thank you very much.
But from where I come from, these kind of things matter, and I am starting to learn why. Forgetting etiquette is forgivable, in my opinion. However, on to politeness. As I said, it IS important, and my parents never failed to harp on this. Say please, say thank you. Don't be rude. Yet, how can someone forget all this and do the exact opposite? This still baffles me really.
I know people who do not know how to say thank you, and this has pissed me off before. But again, in my head it is alright. Because in the end, they come to the realization by themselves. It is not my business to tell them.
But it is my business if this person is my brother. He has to know these things. I am proud to say that although he forgets sometimes, he is learning and I know he will turn out alright. He better.
Is it my business if this person is my friend? No, not really. But if this person has offended me in a major way, should I keep this information to myself?
When my judgment was clouded with emotion, I thought that this person should know. Thinking about it, I still feel the same way, however, I could still be affected.
And it wasn't so much about saying please or thank you. It was about crossing that invisible line that everybody knows is there.
You just don't say certain things. You should know by now.
Who is to blame, the parents? The person itself? Or the heat of the moment? In this case, I would say the moment however, it is certainly a poor excuse.
I would like to think better of this person, but these events have made this harder.
But who am I to judge.

Excuse me for the long post.
On a lighter note, Pay Less Books is having a Warehouse Sale and I am going to invade it this Friday. Can not wait. =)

Goodnight all.

Fictionism

After reading so many books, you tend to realize a few things. One thing in particular that stood out to me is how the girl realizes the guy is so right for her. That no matter what, she always gets drawn back to the guy in the end. Psych thrillers, romance novels, horror, anything. Love seems to be a main, if not central theme that runs in the book.

And it makes me wonder, what if he isn't the one? The lady always seems so sure. Instinctually, she seems to know. I'm sure it's been done. Novels where love is explored, analysed, taken apart, yet put back together.

I'm sure there's been a novel where the guy and the girl don't get together. But nobody likes those endings, do they?
Happy endings seem so satisfying, because in real life it's not that simple. So the authors, knowing exactly what to say use this to their advantage.
They give us what we want.

This is certainly a cliche topic but I know now why people always talk about this.
Maybe what should be kept in mind is, that we have not reached the end. So, to have hope is a good thing, no?
We don't know how it's all going to turn out in the end.
Because there's always tomorrow. Almost always anyway.

But, out of curiousity, how might a novel or a short story where the guy and the girl don't re-unite, how would it go?
Perhaps something like this.

Part #1
She listened as he continued to ramble, the unspoken thoughts of a boy, coming of age. Words burst forth, like a volcanic eruption. It seemed like he held back around other people, but let loose with her.
Why?
At times like this she wish he wouldn't. It was all too much to take.
Profanities are bitter and shocking, but perhaps we should be numb to it. Who doesn't swear these days?
He was on the phone, as was she, but her thoughts lead her back to the past.
Their past.

One thing that stood out in her memory was the burning image of their hands entertwined. The silence that often peppered their conversations was not at all uncomfortable. It was soothing, like the breeze from the ocean. The beach where they had spent their time. Looking back, she was foolish to get caught up in the fantasy that they were.
A fantasy that she thought was the reality that was too good to be true.
Too goddamned good to be true.
But the silence was not. She knew him from somewhere. She had met him before, she was certain. Like a childhood memory that shocks you after it comes back to you many years later.
A memory so sweet and so familiar, as he was.
Indeed it was sweet.

Now, she is put off. How can I love you? she asks. Over and over again. How can I love someone like you. I cannot love you blindly, even though love is supposed to be blind.
I cannot love you unconditionally, because I have to think about the future.
But isn't love like that?


That was so unpolished. Continue? Nah.

Wait Please

Piss me off once, I can push it aside.
Piss me off twice, I'll still understand you.
Piss me off thrice, I get annoyed, but still ok.

Piss me off after calling my family names?

Then you're just low.
Neither are you decent, neither are you fit to even talk to me or anybody else for that matter.
Don't think I'll forget this time.

If you think you even have the nerve to try and approach me, just try me.
Make sure you do it while I'm driving so I actually run you over.
People say I'm dangerous in the car.
Not without reason.

Oh boy, you fucked up.
So bad.

I prayed for you. I will still pray for you.
Pray that you burn over some charcoal.

No. I still am me. I could never hate anyone. But you make it so easy.

So right now all I want to do give you my glare.
That is all.
Because there's no way in hell you wouldn't know what that means.
Don't ever mess with my family, you FREAK.
Sorry, I can't hide it. This is how I feel right now. I'll try again later.

You immature insecure piece of crap.

Pres-ant-ashun

Should I mention all the chauvinists?
Or just one.
Wish me luck. I'm going to go all out.
BANG.