Archive for December, 2014

As Contained Water

December 15, 2014

There’s something peaceful in watching the puddles. How ripples dance on their mirror surface made of water and how, out of nowhere and someone else’s need to reach a destination, wheels come dissecting the reflected view of the city. And you feel it. You feel the weight of rubber pressing against your gut. You’re no roadkill but still ran over. Because right at this moment, in the presence of clouds forming linings of silver, you’re clear yet stagnant as contained water.

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Truths to My Coffee

December 13, 2014

There are two truths to my coffee: it is cold and it launches a thousand conversations in my brain happening simultaneously, with different persons or just one, and I see myself from these exchanges getting transported to places I’ve been and never been: there I am strolling the same mall, pining for the same material things; that’s me crossing the iconic stripes of Abbey Road; a few more moments and I’m either receiving my diploma back in 7th grade, riding a train to Bugis, or doing a sold-out show in Wembley. My chilled coffee never fails to kickstart these Walter Mitty moments, affirming, with each smooth gulp, how my brain is more talkative than my usually dry mouth.

Like Smoke

December 13, 2014

Today, the proverbial nail in the coffin propels physical pain. There’s heaviness in your chest, which is ironic as the chest has become nothing more but a hole, evident and expanding. (How heavy can a hole be?) It’s like missing the last train, missing the last window of opportunity. It’s like your heart disintegrating into a million pieces and all dry particles descend to your stomach, a vertical void connecting flesh and soil. You are shapeless like smoke.