Littlefoot, 19, [This is the bird hour]

by Charles Wright

19

This is the bird hour, peony blossoms falling bigger than wren hearts
On the cutting border’s railroad ties,
Sparrows and other feathery things
Homing from one hedge to the next,
late May, gnat-floating evening.

Is love stronger than unlove?
Only the unloved know.
And the mockingbird, whose heart is cloned and colorless.

And who’s this tiny chirper,
lost in the loose leaves of the weeping cherry tree?
His song is not more than three feet off the ground, and singular,
And going nowhere.
Listen. It sounds a lot like you, hermane.
It sounds like me.

In the morning.

as quiet as dusk creeping on the edges of the horizon. Cellophane blue. The colour of plastic tumblers in the dishwashing rack, lying quietly like children taking their afternoon naps.

It’s quiet and comfortable. That’s funny. There’s no itch or some worry lodged inbetween my ears. Just a kind of certainty? It feels like a fact rather than some question, burning up like a flame on my back in need of some smothering. Everything is too loud and suddenly music isn’t a salve. It’s an irritation.

I like feeling this quiet.

To Fail. To Err. To Make Mistakes.

I demand the best of me. I had principles to live by. “Had” being the operative word here until things changed and being ‘difficult’ isn’t exactly something that will keep your friends. I want to get them back, parts of who I am that made sense and regaining that sense of control over everything i do.

It’s not enumerated in possessions. I’m not all that impressed with wealth. I’m thrifty with my time. If you pass it up, that’s okay. Someone with a better plan will come along, easy as that. If not, then spending a night at home alone is actually one of the most soothing things to do.

I am becoming less impressed with lack of will or cowardice. Mostly from me. I’m disgusted with woolly language: ambitious phrases that doesn’t come with the appropriate follow through and thus falls short of the ideal.

Because I am that person sometimes.

this isn’t making sense right now I know. it’s not cohesive and I’m not sure if I’m trying to say anything, a manifesto. I’m not but I’m not being honest.

At the end of the day there will always be people around me who will be in it when it’s fun, when it’s good and when I’m happy. It’s infectious. But when I’m down and I am saying absurd little things like “I am an abstract painting” and “I think I’m imploding” and “am I dying?” and “look my eyes are more chinese than yours tonight” late in the night there will only be so very few people who will just sit there with me and hand me an endless stream of tissue, watching your eyes puff up like choux.

It reminds me of those button eyes in Coraline. I had buttons eyes last night for reasons I can’t even explain. I think it’s biological.

So, there it is. In silence, I’ll say I’m fine. Of course there’s nothing wrong. How could anything be possibly wrong?

Lo, there it is. That’s why everything is not right.

I feel like a fraud.

Online traces never really reveal who you are. They’re deceitful. I feel like an abstract painting. My eyes are swollen. My nose feel like skinned elephant trunks, as raw and as large.

Honestly? honesty

I am tired. I am sad. I am tired. I have had enough. I’m not enough. I feel sick. I don’t want. I want. I am small. I am tired. I can’t control. I am hurt. I will laugh. I always do. I cried.

I don’t know if I want to face tomorrow.

but I don’t have much of a choice.

Definitely, Maybe.

Will Hayes: Will you… um… marry me?
April: No. What do you mean, ‘Will you, um, marry me?’ I haven’t seen you in weeks! You don’t look happy or excited about the prospect of our marriage! You’re asking me to give up my – my freedom, my joie de vivre for an institution that fails as often as it succeeds? And why should I marry you anyway? I mean, why do you wanna marry me? Besides some bourgeois desire to fulfill an ideal that society embeds in us from an early age to promote a consumer capitalist agenda?
Will Hayes: Oh! Oh, my God.
April: You should’ve got on your knee.
Will Hayes: Just shut up! Here – I wanna marry you because you’re the first person I wanna look at when I wake up in the morning, and the only one I wanna kiss goodnight. Because the first time that I saw these hands, I couldn’t imagine not being able to hold them. But mainly, when you love someone as much as I love you, getting married is the only thing left to do. So, will you, um, marry me?
April: Definitely. Maybe.

April may not look like me but she does sound like me.

Especially this:

April: You and me, it’d kinda be like cats and dogs.
Will Hayes: Oil and water.
April: Sand paper and bare ass.
Will Hayes: That’s gross.

Will Hayes: You think it’s ridiculous that I want to be a politician, don’t you?
April: [laughing] Yes.
Will Hayes: Thank you.
April: No, no, I get the whole politician thing. It’s easy to like you.
Will Hayes: That’s true, that’s very true.
April: I just wonder if you want people to like you a little too much.
Will Hayes: That’s also true. I should want them to hate me. I’m gonna start working on that right away, you got any tips for me?
April: [laughing] No, you’re off to a great start, I’m hating you already.

Maya Hayes: You’re right, it is complicated, isn’t it? I mean, you’re in love with April, who used to be in love with Lucas, and then she fell in love with you, but you were in love with Summer, who was always really in love with Hampton, and now that you’re in love with April she’s in love with Kevin… and no one’s in love with you. That’s complicated.
Will Hayes: Yep.

Also, Abigail Breslin (as Maya Hayes) in this movie reminds me so much of Priya circa… well circa all the years I’ve known her.

Hufft. I am crushing on a guy. A man in fact. Maybe it’s more than just a crush. It feels weird. I’m acting weird. It’s also set within a very weird circumstance not found in common textbooks about These Kinds of Things. I am an immense social dork around him in ways I didn’t think I would be before. He doesn’t know it. Maybe he does. He probably thinks I’m mean oh but he doesn’t know this is how I am when I’m awkward. Maybe he’s not looking for me. Maybe he’s looking for someone who is ready to be impregnated with three kids until her reproductive years are spent! I, on the other hand, am a little more than deficient in some basic human skills. Like keeping a desk clean. Like laundry. Like sweeping the floor. Like remembering to eat. Like sleeping. I’m still learning to take care of myself first.

I like him though. But he doesn’t seem to get that. Maybe we really do speak in a different language. All I have on my end is a lot of missed phonecalls, unanswered messages and invites that never come through. Of course, in the end because I hear nothing from him, I move on and hang out with my friends. Do I need to be more explicit? He seems to respond better to my parents’ invitations than he does to mine. So… pardon me if I think he’s only ever interested in my parents than he would ever be with me. I’m not as fickle as I seem.

If he’s reading this: well hello you.

Come round soon?

PRODUCTIVITY FTW.

I spent two hours cleaning the junkyard that sat atop my desk. Lo and behold: I have a horizontal flat surface TO WORK ON. Megan looks gorgeous doesn’t she? I think she’s happy in her cleaned up home. My wallpaper looks very much like MSNBC. Yes those are bags hanging off the sides. Yes I have lots but they’re book bags and canvas totes to carry notes in.

Alright. Productivity plan (i’m making one up right now) is set in place.

Time to fix me.

Organisms.

Last night was the appreciation dinner. We weren’t invited since we are youngest child and this was to ‘appreciate’ those events in 2009. Their guest list magically shrank and lo and behold we made it on the list. My friendly veiled threats may have something to do with it.

How To Be Happy

1. Gather 12 of your friends.
2. Fry up some portobello mushrooms, sauté the onions, smoosh them together for a sandwich fit to satisfy 12 hungry conans, heat on a griddle pan, turnover when golden brown.
3. Snarf some lychee vanilla gluten-free cupcakes. Make beards out of cupcake crumbs and mustaches out of buttercream frosting.
4. Whizz vanilla ice cream, smoo milk and oreos. Best served when shared in a plastic cup. Consume immediately.
5. Whizz a can of lychee with ice. Discover enlightenment in a smoothie blender. Imagine the wonderful things you can do to it: add watermelon, slices of lime and tiny springs of mint. Or just drink it. It’s good by itself.
6. Nibble on chips and slices of Navel oranges while watching two boys play Superman and Batman on a PS2. Shout orders at Superman to “Get the lemons!” “Throw that taxi!” “Blow the robot! BLOW! BLOW!” “LASERBEAAAAAMS”. Giggle at the fancy pirouettes Batman is making as he ‘flies’.
7. Take surreptitious photographs of your strange friends. Animate it.
8. Curl up with a lovely blue-eyed kitty.

Or, alternatively.

1. Answer your mails with a nice glass of honey green tea.
2. Take a glorious nap before dinner
3. Talk late into the night with a warm cup of lemon tea with the ones you love.

Easy, peasy huh?

We have our hollows and our heaviness: the unsatisfied songbird, the girl with the chameleon hair, our resplendent hostess and her mending heart, the boy with an army of highlighters, the career woman and the PhD candidate. It doesn’t make me feel small or foolish really. But they’re here with me. They are here to be happy.

That counts for more than a little something.

I feel:

–adjective

1. engrossed; occupied;

2. containing all that can be held;

3. ample and complete in volume or richness of sound;

4. the antonym of empty.

—————————————–

Be Here Now – Ray LaMontagne

Don’t let your soul get lonely child
It’s only time, it will go by
Don’t look for love in faces, places
It’s in you, that’s where you’ll find kindness

Be here now, here now
Be here now, here now

Don’t lose your faith in me
And I will try not to lose faith in you
Don’t put your trust in walls
‘Cause walls will only crush you when they fall

Be here now, here now
Be here now, here now

It’s 3AM.

Enough now let’s just fight through the cloud and sleep.

Now, enough.

A Holiday.

Okay. I think i get it. Before I go insane, I need some resting time at home. That doesn’t make sense for someone who seem to suffer from loneliness. I think I just need to get my act together before it actually shows that I’m breaking at the seams.

I’m Fine.

“So that’s how we live our lives. No matter how deep and fatal the loss, no matter how important the thing that’s stolen from us–that’s snatched right out of our hands–even if we are left completely changed, with only the outer layer of skin from before, we continue to play out our lives this way, in silence. We draw ever nearer to the end of our allotted span of time, bidding it farewell as it trails off behind. Repeating, often adroitly, the endless deeds of the everyday. Leaving behind a feeling of immeasurable emptiness.”

Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart

I’ll pretend it doesn’t move me and paint some brightly coloured life on the exterior. I’m good at that. I’ll complain of having itchy eyes when my eyes are tired from crying. I’ll chalk it up to insomnia and chemical imbalances or something easily remedied. Apologize, recant, evade and hide. No one likes to hear about things like Loneliness, or Sadness, or Pain, or Frustration. They don’t want to see it, let alone hear it.

I’m listening, following orders and doing all the crying somewhere private. It would seem incongruous for a girl like me who has so many things going for her to be this.. Sad.

Just because I’m in a privileged position in many aspects doesn’t mean I’m not entitled to feeling this unpleasant. It feels like large needles are piercing slowly through your bones. That’s how it feels like. I can’t put words to it. I tried but it feels as though I’m painting a new landscape over the undulations just so that it makes sense to feel this….

Be happy.  Be grateful. Those are commands, not comfort.

Ask me how I am and I’ll say:

Satellite Hearts.

“And it came to me then. That we were wonderful traveling companions but in the end no more than lonely lumps of metal in their own separate orbits. From far off they look like beautiful shooting stars, but in reality they’re nothing more than prisons, where each of us is locked up alone, going nowhere. When the orbits of these two satellites of ours happened to cross paths, we could be together. Maybe even open our hearts to each other. But that was only for the briefest moment. In the next instant we’d be in absolute solitude. Until we burned up and became nothing.”
- Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart

Chocolate & Lime.

Today didn’t start out too well. My eyes were giving me problems. My nose was itchy and sore. My head was still not screwed on tight enough. I didn’t feel like meeting human beings.

But off to school we go for class and TA duties.

It was Prof’s 70th birthday so Nat, Elv, Mark and I grabbed a cake from Hotel Rendezvous. It was a cute 500gr cake. Imagine dividing that for 40 students in the class. We each had about two tablespoons of it. It was yummy though.

I was intercepted by Alvin and Jas outside. Alvin’s making big plans with his studio. We’re talking about six-figure sums needed for capital. Crazy stuff. It was a really brief catchup but I got some nice advice from him about rocking the end of the year. HA! We’ll see. Jas was making a bit of a fuss about my make up. Can’t a girl dress up once in a while?

Then I scoot over to Wheelock to meet Neev, Tash, Miel and Gert. We are terrible at picking a place to eat but I suppose when you’ve got a Thai Express biggest fan in the group, she gets veto power amidst the indecisive peeps.

“So our choices are clear: thai food or thai food?”

To Kafir and Lime it is! Tash had the special lime beef salad that the chef got as a child when he did well on his exams. I had a comforting vegetarian green curry which immediately lifted my mood. Neev’s granny chicken was a firestarter. It is a test for sadomasochism, particularly if you try smearing it all over your eyes. I took two bites and about three glasses of water to wash it all down. My sinuses cleared though but I can’t help but feel that my tongue is burnt through. It was fun! I even shared That Busway Molest Incident. We talked and laughed and concluded much to Neev and my great dismay that it’s impossible to have real platonic friendships with guys.

Unless they’re gay.

Or they happen to have extremely high standards, relegating you to the middle rung of The Ladder.

They’re such a fun bunch. Gert was a little quiet though. Steph is leaving on Friday for Boston. I’m pretty sure I’ll see her again. Usually at this time I’d write some sentimental Oh-My-God-Where-Will-You-Be-In-3-Years. I can’t write them anymore though. If anything, we’ve proved that EVERYTHING can happen.

-_-;;

-_-;;

Um. Seriously?
Grab some balls and say what you want to say, hey?

Sans Fards

While I was having lunch today at the parent’s office, we met R who had come back from 4 years in Jakarta. He’s a Singaporean who worked as a delegate for a prominent IGO there. It was fun. R fell in love with Jakarta. He tells us his stories: how he’s now the infamous Indian vegetarian man to all the food purveyors on the upper side of Senayan (PS & Sency). He left his job but he misses Jakarta and vows to return there.

I miss Jakarta too: that inexplicable madness mixed with all the decadence hidden under covers of the night and a warmth emanating from some genial geothermal core. That doesn’t make much sense does it? Neither does love.

Anyways, he was surprised to know that I was in my final year partly because of how I look that day. I didn’t brush my hair or wear make up and I literally wore the first thing i see on the rack.

“You look like a freshie”.

HA! At 17 I could pass off for a 23 year old and now at 20 I look like a 17 year old.
Am I looking younger or merely standing still? Funny i guess.

Never Say Never

I like her cover (=

Some things we don’t talk about,
Rather do without and just hold the smile
Falling in and out of love
Ashamed and proud of, together all the while

You can never say never
While we don’t know when
But time and time again
Younger now than we were before

Don’t let me go.

Corrective Order.

The day started on the right foot, turned a corner, slipped on a pebble, limped for about an hour, shook off the acute pain, hopped, skipped, jumped and flung itself into the night.

I’m noticing a pattern that needs to be rectified.
It starts today, with the dishes.

Wait For Me?

Instead of donning my neatest batik dress to attend a wedding, I spent it with the girls instead. We watched Just So: A Musical to support Miss Kolokolo, Ugly & Kangaroo. We did Honk: The Musical together last year but this time I declined the offer to join in so it’s only fair that I come and support.

Now that I’m on this side of the stage for the first time, it feels funny. I’m looking at the ensemble, thinking I could be there too with a list of what-ifs and could-have-beens. I’m very happy with the choice I’ve made by sticking to Diaspora. I guess in some ways I’m recovering and realising that while I hardly see myself as a professional thespian, it’s already bound together as part of my DNA without me knowing it. I love theatre. The plays, the lights, the costume, the language, the words, what’s in between the words, the music, the dance, the blocking and how difficult it really is to actually put up a decent show.

It’s the effort, the concentration. I often take it up as a distraction and yet still put everything into it, like someone who concentrates on her peripheral vision. That’s pretty dangerous in a way. I like doing it for what it is, not for what it will buy me or for real approval, really. Art for Art’s Sake or Art for My Sake?

It’s the same with Diaspora. I do a fair job with English but I’m still learning so many things. I think of the things I have to battle is that a. I know I am not the most qualified person for the job and B. eh I procrastinate a lot and c. i want so much from myself. Very weird qualities that doesn’t really complement each other huh.

Ugh.. I always ends up talking about Diaspora. I should write more about the things I’ve been reading so that at least there’s some synthesis going on here.

This wasn’t the real reason I wrote.

I wrote because… well Miss Kolokolo sang this song tonight and I suppose it pierced into me:

Wait a Bit

Why are those things you admire most in others the hardest to find in yourself?
What is it about me that seems to determine I’m destined to life on the shelf?
This ‘wait-a-bit’ character waiting to find whatever it is that I lack.
Whenever they ask the real me to step forward, the real me takes a step back.

‘Wait a bit,’ she says.
‘Can’t do it,’ she says.
‘Wait a bit,’ she says, not really knowing what she’s waiting for.
While he’s outgoing, why do I withdraw?
Without conviction and yet somehow sure,
a contradiction that will stay in my mind ’til the day that I find something more.

I’m searching for something they say is within me yet seems to be hidden from sight.
But why should I search when it’s not in my nature to come out and stand in the light?
For my expectations are not all that great – just one dream I had hoped to fulfil
And yet when it came to the moment of truth, I proved to myself I’m a still

Wait-a-bit. Am I
Just not fit to fly?
When I came to try I watched the others as they soared and rose.
It seemed so effortless but then, who knows?
Beneath the surface sometimes torment grows.
I plucked up courage for I knew I should fledge.
So I stood on the edge and I froze…

The flightless bird gets by without the flight.
But still I’m still hoping that someday I might.
He made me feel I could soar.
Now only one thing seems sure,
I’ll have to wait a bit more…

Lifelong Friends.

One thing that makes me proud of you is having you navigate yourself to Smoo without getting lost in Singapore. Being in a PhD program at MIT comes second. I can almost imagine you living you here, but I can’t. You’re right. You’re too whitewashed.

I mean that with love, and all.

I had a really lovely dinner with Steph. We don’t call each other by our nicknames. Have we outgrown Inky, Punkus and Neevil? I appreciate the little time you have here. Each hour seems so real like you’ve never really left me. Not a phantom, just you. Our parallel worlds – yours in Boston, Vancouver, Montreal and my little sphere in Singapore – intersect across floating lights and oily noodley delights. I guess you could say that you and you and you and you and you and you are the very anchors that make up my awkward anglicized asian confection. Oh yeah, a sensation! We speak the same language, the same half liberal quarter conservative and the other quarter subversive views, accepting each other’s awkwardness in a way that doesn’t require much explanation, a certain kind of bluntness that comes without apology and a tacit understanding of what is considered funny.

So, really, I don’t have much to say.

That night could have been a regular with you, Tessa, Alex, Malin, Vinesh, Rohan and Ev. It wasn’t though.
So we say we say we say this is for ever and after that no more.
So we say we say we say that we’ll do this again – a proper reunion when someone gets married.

“But no one gets married!”

I’m not even counting on Malin to seal his deal anymore. He’s as good as married even before the fanfare.

There’s a world that you live in that I won’t comprehend: imaging and tagging cells for six years long? Really? There’s the world that I live in which consists of finding something exciting in hours of boredom which would irk you completely. But we still have this, some common ground, which makes our obsessive worlds a mere subset of something larger, a world where you live too. I like that. It makes me feel less overwhelmed.

I talked to T today and we’re stepping unto a peculiar learning curve:
for you to regain independence,
for her to trust in her love,
and for me to be faithful.

“I miss you a lot sometimes” – T

Me too, in moments when I feel hollow. I miss you.

No One Is That Into You

Dear me,

You cannot read static. Or silence for that matter.

So brush it off and move on, move right along!