time: 1:13pm
music: one slow dance - rufio
mood: flu-ish
it is high time i confess.
i have fallen prey to the illustrious, beguiling sterile image of the hospital/ medical/ research / science-y world. those fancy thermometers, hot delicious bespectacled male doctors in iron-crisped white lab coats. (yumm-ey!), thick lenses, late nights alone in freaky lab with high tech equipments that might explod n' ooh. those click-delete-data inscribing spiral down endlessness on the SPSS system - hoping, like for everything in life, nothing screws up. in other words, ironically, after all those yrs whinging n' whinning about what a bitch the SPSS has been, i have decided to sway my way towards research designing and analyses; as opposed to counselling n' all the la-di-das, ppl (annoyingly, may i add) presume psych grads are suddenly equipped with. no. we are still not telepathic, so your secrets are still safe from us. we are not qualified to counsel yet. despite three yrs of drilling, we still sometimes (secretly) refer to the ethically termed "mentally challanged" as psychotic freaks (i feel as if i've broken the most sacred of the code of ethics.) and yes.. we can be as much (or even more) psychotic freaks at times. at least, i think i can. or maybe i am..
****
look through my heart.
why couldnt u just tell me the truth?
it shouldnt have blown me away as far. but it did.
i wasnt meant to flinch the slightest bit. but i did.
something's happening n' i dont know what. this is bothering me.
or maybe i do know what is happening. again
its a familiar path; this one i chose...
i am once again, with arms spread wide WIDE open, dangerously balanced on the brink of irrevocable change, steadying my feet before plunging into this,
this anything tt'll sink consciences like quicksand to tell a story when i was.. when i am lost forever. from you n' ur life. just the way you've always wanted, the way you always liked it.
sometimes i think im more trouble than i am really really worth.
and if u were here, i know you wont pretend to convince me otherwise
you'd tell me that too. just like how u used to.
i didnt choose to be where i am now. this pathetic state i have let myself drown in. i cannot help being me. i have decided i'll never get over u, getting over me n' i hate tt feeling; to hate to love to hate y-o-u.
confused much? *laughs*
***
anyyyyyyywayyyyyyyssss.....
on more humdrum, less defensive note...
have u ever? well, do you sometimes, in a crowd, recognize the simplicity of not knowing who is saying which line in a dialogue? - when the writer so casually and deliberately leaves out the 'essentials', almost as if to permit the reader, the listener, seek gratification in being able to interpret n' decipher on the writer's behalf, the subtle significance of what he just said.
the exchange,
the conversation,
the way in which it is written
or spoken..
so complete,
so universal,
so simultaneous
that, ultimately, it just cancels out each other
and your understanding of it comes by default -
u see, i wanna be able to string words and sentences like that, with such natural ease and stop trying. i don't want to try. i just want to ... write. random-write. instead, my words are no longer unadulterated. They have been carefully filtered to satisfy wandering, lazy eyes.
**
last night***
my hand grappled for the cold steel bar as i was pushed, albeit rudely, to the corner; squished n' my eyes compelled to audience the world passing in myriads. on the mrt ride home last night (after having spent a wonderlicious-goofy evening with ruzi, farah and abit of sham n' sabrina), i decided these:
if i were to stand motionless for long enough, my head reels with static. n' i feel like i am falling in a fixed spot. falling. then falling. and more falling through the ceiling, the floor, the ceiling, the ground, the ceiling, and the earth.
if i were to sit still, the earth feels to move to fast, my head hurts n' the throb cuts a piercing prick of a tiny unsterilized needle. feels to sew arteries and veins untidily together, leaving a messy pool of clogged blood. all these, i can see, n' i can feel - the planet's orbit.
if i close my eyes, sit unmoving in this chair, the airlessness engulfs me. i feel my fingers moving above the plastic keys, but movements are slow, sluggish, filtered through the thick perception of time. it is the dream where i walked in air dense as honey and took a dream's forever to reach an end of the room or road or bus or for my case, a train ride.
all these feels too real.
i am much too much alive
it feels like i am in the painting; of metal and blood and chains on the floor. n' there is no way i can ever ever EVER get out of it all. scary ain't it?
when we realise how much alive we truly are.
speaking of which, days of our lives is on now.
yeay* =)
