Summer Day

It is a hot summer day---not simply the kind of heat that causes its patrons to unwittingly scour their vision for umbrage, no. It is the kind of heat you swim in. It is so hot and so humid that you feel smothered, and not by the sweat or humidity, but by the heat itself. It begins to feel as though heat itself were a palpable substance. And it is on such a day that I sit in front of my computer, working on what I think is due on Monday, while glancing out of my window into the vibrant summer imagery that occurs just 20 feet away from my window.

Girls walking about in their floral summer dresses sporting shades, standing next to the cool dude in his bermudas and leaning on his silver car, talking ever so casually amongst themselves, seemingly preparing for a much needed road trip out to where the seas meet the lands in soft embrace as the waves carefully lap upon the shores. Near the tree just outside my window, some students lie about lazily atop their bellies on a makeshift mat upon the soft lush grass, with their books spread in front of them. Just 10 feet away from these studious students were a couple both lying on their backs with their hands beneath their heads, looking upwards at the cloudless sky in a relaxed mood, whispering sweet nothings to each other, far from the earshot of anyone nearby.

And I sit in my room, swimming in the heat, suffering from the migraine that often plagues me when it gets too hot even to think. A most terrible affair, if you ask me, since the effects of the three fans blowing at full power in my general direction have done little to alleviate the obvious discomfort that I was facing. My vision somewhat impaired by both the dripping beads of perspiration that have gathered on my brow and the wavering refraction of the light from the heat, I struggle to work on my homework, whilst trying to fight away the pangs of procrastination. Outside, the activity beckons me, almost like a flirty mistress, wanting me to enjoy the heat out there where the walls do not trap it, where there are grassy fields to expend all that energy, so that I can finally collapse in exhaustion and nap with glee.

But I resist, for the homework is long and unyielding, and there is much to be done. Annoyed at the distractions, I released the rolled up blinds to the windows, and immediately regretted doing that, since the released blinds hid the distractions from me, but trapped all the excessive heat that was already in the room. Cursing under my breath, I rolled up the blinds once again, and managed to snub my toe on a piece of furniture that happened to be in the way. Grimacing from the pain, I finished up the task at hand and hobbled back to my seat behind my desk, and proceeded to work more on my assignment.

By now, a group of people both male and female have taken up position outside my window in that secret garden-field and are enjoying a game of frisbee. Muttering incoherently under by breath, I swore one last time and packed my computer, intending to find somewhere that I could work peacefully without distracting myself so much.

(Originally from X-peri Mental Writings, now defunct. First published 25 Apr 2009 12:57:00)

My Eyes and Yours

I want to talk to you more with my eyes than with my tongue, because my tongue is so confused, so faltering, too human. They told me the eyes are the window to the soul, but I've found that they are the sort of windows with a rusted latch, and I can't quite climb out anymore. That is, till the day that we sat down and gazed deep into each other's eyes. Your deep soulful eyes were like the antirust to the rusted latch of mine, and I found more about myself through your eyes than through my own.

I have to admit it. I have fallen so deeply in love with you. I have looked deep into many people's eyes, and to be honest, yours emitted a strange twinkling and fire that I never truly saw in anyone else's. I can never forget that fire, no matter how far we may be from each other physically. You have unlatched my rusty soul windows, and now they remain open only for you and you alone. Each time that I gaze deep into your eyes, I find that I have lost my usual surly self, and have reached a strange state of calmness and fiery passion, the only kind that you alone can ignite within me.

The words, the words that I never knew how to say, they radiated from my eyes to yours. At least, I think that they did---I can never be too sure, really. But each time I look at you, and into your beautiful green eyes, I find myself there, together with you, with nothing separating us. It is a magical moment that no one else can truly comprehend---it is our little secret meeting place.

Windows with a rusted latch, fixed and opened to the intercourse amongst the lovers. You helped me climb out of my shell, and I have slowly learnt the meaning to love and to be loved.

Ida dear, I love you.

(Originally from X-peri Mental Writings, now defunct. First published 21 Dec 2008 21:37:00)

Monologue

I am considering contracting a horrible disease tomorrow. I was thinking maybe Polio; is Polio contagious? It just won’t work if I don’t actually catch it; it is so unromantic to be afflicted by a disease that has lain dormant in oneself for a long time. It is as if one were hiding something. Truly, a genetic disease seems simply dishonest---but a caught disease, oh there is revelry. And it's so much more attractive, isn't it? The gothic moonlit face of the consumption; the saucy blush of scarlet fever. That is romance. But best---there is a marvelous story in the catching.

But of course, like all marvellous stories, there needs some setting. Indeed a setting of some sort that brings out the intricacies and the romance of it all. Should I catch it from a stranger, or should I catch it from a lover? Oh poor me! All these choices! What ought I to do? Which should I pick? Maybe I should have a most terrific fall, and in the fall, I hit the ground slowly but surely, and scrap myself on a horrible piece of nail which just happened to have the remnants of scarlet fever. No, no, no, these all seems a little too convenient; there has to be something better.

Or I can take a little trip down to one of those Asian countries, maybe like a place in Hong Kong, where they had the recent SARS outbreak. What animal transmitted that again? Oh right, civet cats. Aren't they sweet darlings, those civet cats? No wait, civet cats are not cats; what's wrong with me now? Oh bother, bother me---I'm not longer thinking too straight here.

Could it be, that I'm already having a horrible disease now? But that's hardly fair! I wanted to contract a horrible disease tomorrow, not now, so what's going on? My marbles, where are my marbles? I knew that they were supposed to be here somewhere; where are they now?

(Originally from X-peri Mental Writings, now defunct. First published 14 Jul 2008 04:25:00)

First Love

I stood there leaning against the hard brick wall, alone, in the shadows. The night was overcast, and the wind was no more than a mere breeze. Cool the breeze may be, but I felt none of its therapeutic effects. All I felt deep within was a chilling emptiness that seemed to permeate throughout my body, as though I had taken a dip into the Arctic Ocean in the dead of the night. As I stood there against the breeze, my thoughts began to gravitate towards her.

I remembered the day, the day that I first saw her. She was a student in a normal neighbourhood school, and we met while we were at the community club. Quick-witted, humorous and at times a little chatty, she became a fast friend. As a player of the yangqin, she would do accompaniments with me when we were playing duets. Her skill at the yangqin was formidable. Perhaps there was something mysterious between the two of us, we seemed to be able to connect well. The duets that we played together were harmonious and melodious, and were the envy of many of the orchestra.

The breeze stopped, changed direction, and returned with a new fervour from the opposite direction. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms tighter around myself, with my jacket wrapped ever so tightly around me. My stomach had this strange twirling feeling, as though someone or something was causing an upheaval within the very walls of my body. Shivering slightly, I again refocused my thoughts on her.

She was a little plump, not the fat kind of plump, but rather the nice, healthy look kind of plump. Her skin was fair and smooth to the touch, and she had very magnetic eyes, the more I looked into her eyes, the more I wanted to look some more. Her short hair bobbed up and down her head when she talked spiritedly, and that gave her a form of liveliness that I found simply irresistible. She was warm, always willing to lend a listening ear to me, always eager to share and partake with my victories, my defeats, my happiness and my sorrows. She put up with my teasing, put up with my idiocy, put up with my gloom, and offered sunshine in return. Though the time that I knew her, she was still in secondary school, she exhibited a sophisticated and air of maturity so common among women. In short, she was as much of a reality of the girl of my dreams.

The wind stopped. I glanced towards the sky and saw the moon peeking above the crest of a night cloud. Feeling a little fatigued from standing, I sat down, with my legs huddled close to my body. I turned my eyes from the sky to that of my surroundings. People were coming and going, each of them with another person by their side. I looked on, longingly, wondering whether I would have a different experience from now if I had acted differently.

And then one day, I decided to give her a gift on her birthday. It was a brooch, exquisite looking and yet not outside of my budget. It was the shape of a leaf, with shimmering white stones on it that gave it an air of sophistication, surely something that is worthy enough for the girl who I liked. I bought a card too, a pink one if I was not mistaken. I wrapped the brooch up and stuck it onto the envelope of the card. Painstakingly, I sealed the envelope, making sure that I had not miss out on any parts of the seal. I remembered that I was in Malaysia at that time, in a hotel room, supposedly to rest for the day.

I came back to Singapore, and went to the community club were we met every Saturday for music practice. Hastily and a little shyly, I presented her with the gift. She looked mildly shocked, and was opening the small package that was stuck on top of the envelope. She tipped the package over and the brooch slipped out. She seemed to be astonished, but quickly regained her composure and told me that she couldn't possibly accept it. And being the fool I was, I told her that it took me some time to get the brooch as I didn't have enough money for it at first. After much persuasion from me, she finally took the brooch and the card.

That was the last time that I saw her, for she never did return to the community club again.

I gazed at my watch and realised that the time was pretty late. Painfully, I got up, trying to fight the numbness that had settled in from the long period of inaction. I dusted my pants, and looked up at the sky once more. The moon was now shining through the clouds, her light diffusing and brightening up the place.

I turned away, and started the long walk home.

(Written on 19 Oct 2004, rediscovered today.)