Half the class is not here for PE. Whoever's left gathers round,
like yesterday's leftovers brought out to eat grudgingly
I stand and watch as the boys take over, and I become shamefully invisible.
Resentment and jealousy creep their way in and I'm lost in those thoughts.
It's always a what if- what if I had different people, in a different place, in a different time?
Anything better than this, surely?
And- where is everyone?
The noise in the void deck rises to an unbearable level, as if shrieking to be let in.
It gets worse during Chemistry
Just like you knew it would,
especially when you have to see yourself, in the flesh, not understanding
the language of science
just flitting by
I gulp and try not to cry.
1.5 hours of staring blankly at Yeong Pang Kim Buay, and a can of green tea is on the menu for dinner
Because what's worse than going for a performance alone is eating in front of people you know, alone.
But the stage lights are turning on now,
Yiling is there, shining and beautiful in an intricate blue dress,
a dancer if I ever saw one (and trust me I've seen them)
And Liyana! Majestic with a silver headdress bigger than life,
with a familiar conviction that I've grown to know, and love.
Somehow, someway, that makes it all better-
And for the first time today I see a tiny ray of light.
Trapped in a room with people you don't know. Yes, their names, their age, the color of their eyes and hands and hair-
But thoughts? Dreams? Fears? Something that goes deeper than the skin.
Find out what runs in their veins. What fuels their feet to keep moving forward, onward
Skip lightly on those cheekbones and skim what lips have touched there
Crawl through the recesses of these ribs and pry them apart to peer ever so discreetly into a beating heart
Yes, and take what is inside to make it yours.
But that is not what happens when you're a prisoner in a stifled room.
You do not tumble into bodies not meant to know you
Wrapped in their decadence and careless laughter
So instead you shrink. And with it the 4 walls enclose further
Until you are but a whisper in that room full of roaring bodies.
Love to a person who had only lived a decade or so was like swimming without the instructions. Humans had been born to conquer the oceans, but I was a baby who yearned for a heart and didn't mind the drowning process, as if the 70% of water inside of me was crying out its final, last suicide song.
He swam in the pool waters like a siren tricking seafarers to their eventual death. He pulled me in with pale, tired hands, black hair glinting, sunlight shining in the murky depths. He was not a human: rather a liquid, a substance I couldn't keep except to drink in like an alchoholic when the clock struck 12am and there was nothing in my head except the sounds of his name, which grew, an endless flicker beat...
Slowly that sound began to fade.
Slowly, I began to forget.
I learned that to be painfully sober was better to be drunk on the same destructive bliss over, and over again. The process of throwing away his bottle was hard and long and difficult, but over time, his name did not hurt my lips anymore.
I resurfaced the silver waters a stronger human, and the first time I opened my mouth to sing it was so beautiful it should have been put into history books and stopped world war 3 in its tracks.
They say they moment humans discovered fire was the moment the human race was destined to survive.
She could have very well been named Sun, for the way she mimicked that bright blazing star. During the first few days of fine discovery, you reveled in adventure, basked in the warm glow of a precious element. But what the gods didn't tell you was that fire had its limits, and one day the sun would come back to burn you.
Good things come in small packages, but you swallowed fire to spite your own throat. You got too close- and after the initial goodness of warmth, the hear became too much for your fragile bones, and you were left with nothing but a pile of ashes.
You did not realize that you were a shining, luminiscent being with a hazardous label which advised not to be near hot things. She was a first rate arsonist with a Midas touch of flames- and the first thing she touched with her bare hands....was you.
When she left you for good, the destruction was great enough to be named after a hurricane. Because that was the only way you could remember "us", through the wreckage; the burns. Touch isn't something you can keep, and you should have known from the moment she said you'd changed, even when you told her otherwise, and begged for her to stay, to love you again.
But change was just another excuse for you to blaze the path away after you pleaded not guilty to the homicide of me.
We used to be something. But now all we have is ashes to remind us of all the things that happened here, and what would never happen again.
L / 18 / SG / ACJC
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If you get everything you want the minute you want it, what's the point of living?
last updated: 5 september