Feel better, friend.

Remember me, Nat. Remember me, though I have travelled far Know that I'm with you the only way I can be Remember me. Remember this B, and that B-, and the other C+, and then the joy that every A gave you. Then remember how small everything felt immediately after it felt like it was all too big. Remember your dreams that were dashed time and time and time again, and remember how each sleep brought you to the same dream told a thousand different times. Remember why you are here and remember that you still have no definitive answer hidden at the end of the assessment book. But remember that you once circled growth in JC and now Faith says you are a better writer than who you were. Remember that it's the in the little things that you find life's most important things. Remember not wanting to study for exams but deciding to go watch Coco and meet new friends. --- 2am and I just want you to remember this particular one. Remember that all it takes is a littl

Thank you for your lecture today Dr Yeoh, I could see the effort you put into this week (and all the other weeks actually). I think the word that will stay with me after today's lecture is  Linger . To get the nostalgia out of the way: A famous camp song that I got to sing in my  distant  past is a tidy little song called, well, Linger. It goes like this: Hmmm, I want to linger. Hmmm, A little longer. Hmmm, A little longer, Here with you. Hmmm, It's such a perfect night. Hmmm, It doesn't seem quite right. Hmmm, That this should be, My last with you. Hmmm, And come September, Hmmm, I will remember, Hmmm, Our Scouting days, Of friendships true. Hmmm, And as the years go by, Hmmm, I'll think of you and sigh. Hmmm, This is good night And not good bye. Hmmm I want to linger. Hmmm A little longer. Hmmm A little longer, Here with you. Nostalgia, am I right? On a humid summer night, I was coerced to sing that cliche around a campfire, with all the sw

A dog dies and it doesn't know when. Even if it did, it would have been wagging his tail nonetheless. "I don't have a story to tell." My life isn't sad enough to make something beautiful, because when I finally found my peace and joy, there was nothing left in me to create something special. I'm not special. I'm not special because I, I'm too happy? What now, then? When your back is turned away from the silent void, when you need not hear your echoes for another ear is there to receive it. No longer thrown away into the thrash. I go out now: my bicycle is tied to my art I guess. The more I descend down that tiny hill, wind in my hair, sweat escaping my pores, completely quotidian - free from that backpack that I threw on the parade floor. I'm done with the rat race. I'm done, I told my mum. -- Yesterday, Tango took me by surprised. Two and a half hours, family drama, gays, lesbians, aunties, Hong Lim, and penguins. The bo

https://medium.com/@patlaw/dont-be-me-de0fb8dc25dd#.xny9xp5hm --- Love is a call at 1130pm from the gentle incline underneath Serangoon and a voice that replies "Ok" with barely a moment's hesitation. You put down the phone immediately, but I hear your footsteps fly down the steps anyway. When I drag my heavy bones past the gantry, up the escalator, and see the white of your car by the pavement, my heart rests. I don't need to remind myself to smile. Love is You holding my hand in the morning My eyes barely open, legs tucked beneath the sheets lights seeping through the blinds - Through my small slits I see you praying for me "God.... bless... today...." You speak too quietly, or I am still in the midst of waking up from this dream. these eyes of mine still not aware of your love. This life of mine still taking you for granted. Love is You seating across from me and you are crying because I don't wanna love your god anymo

Quickly now. I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you since you first sat across me. I try so hard for it to stop. I dismissed it first. Then slowly, it gnawed. I allowed it. I allowed my fantasies to run loose - so that my nights could find rest. It was a mistake. It was a lot of mistakes. My eyes closed and I could think of nothing else. It made it so much easier. You made mornings so much easier. So easy to be honest, so easy to be candid, and kind, and funny. But not suitable. No, surely not. Surely not someone for me. Surely. Definitely. Doubts begets doubt begets doubt. Thankful for the chance to feel like this. Like promise, a promise of a new day, a new week, a new routine. An endless well of fun-times and honesty. What more do you want? I want a museum partner. A theatre person? A park goer? A life maker? A frisson seeker? A thrill magnet? A sky diver? Someone to hold when the nights get dark and quiet. Someone to mirror me. Mir

Subway - "what" "uh" "ugh" "can i" "this is so hard" "wah" "cannot la" "aiyah" "fuck it" "i like you" --- when? since the day i first laid eyes on you you tell your mother you cannot eat dinner at home today then you ask me to go out for dinner in my mind i disregard all other friends all other dinner plans (there were none in the end) immediately and i decide to finally do it in a tiny, half-closed-off subway space a schoolboy asks us where the toilet is i change my accent as i always do and direct him you say something about him i want him gone my plan does not include him i am nervous and afraid all the while moving closer and further at the same time treading water, a tango with myself. then slowly, a tango with you. I invite you in, you do not take the bait. you play coy and throw me nothing i keep going since i already began "s

Denial Anger Bargaining D Acceptance --- I line you up I learned you, memorised you at a darker time of my life. That little grey of 2015, trying to find myself. To find solid ground after treading water. DABDA. Oh how relevant the first half of you have become. Horrid. 'Don't do that.' 'Stop.' 'It looks stupid as fuck.' I remember Denial first of course, the simplest to know, to note. Rolls off the tongue, reminds me of my father. I have a blast saying it. Then I remember acceptance. Always acceptance. Ingrained in my mind, I know how it needs to end. It must end with this. Must. Thousands of years and my ancestors have always ended on this - if not by will then by nature. When they fell, the grass accepted their offering - a return back to earth: ash to ash. Black to black. The acceptance of black, of blank, of the big, bad, black, beyond. Of crying out into open voids and awaiting something other than my own echo

"We are richer than we think, each one of us." ---  It's easier, you say,  it's easy to love and be loved -  just look to the empty sky,  that is how much God loves you.  Ah, the sky, the open blue sky.  Beyond, they've found new life.  Planets in about an infinity yonder -  How I wish we found life there,  that would shut you up wouldn't it.  Would it?  I had assume it would, but now I'm not entirely sure.  Some apologist in torn jeans and a t-shirt would probably say,  say into his wireless microphone attached to his face,  say, "Oh the wonder of our God"  " How great and awesome our God truly is for creating this marvellous universe."  "That our God would be so magnificent as to create entire other planets for us to share our love with, and his message of kindness and goodness."  Inter-planetary prophets, all the while forgetting about the time, you know,  whe

Bold and colourful, yet smooth and coordinated - followed his passions, greeted the world with a smile, treated everyone like a friend, and he did it all while refusing to blend in. --- with a crooked smile I go, crooked smiles I love, but I hate my own. I give the world a minimum curve, not unlike a cricket paralympian bowling with a pair of bowls, la. ugh. --- You made me happy so you deserve the best but what I give is crooked and therefore, cannot be. You give it to me and I receive it readily But I cannot bear to part with this disfigured gift. So I hide my teeth, I hide myself, behind this little curve that I hope accurately captures the joy you make me feel. And everyday I hope for braces, and everyday I tell myself I can live with it, and everyday I wake up in the morning and I fail, and I fail and fail and fail again to follow Sager's footsteps. I fail to remember that it is us who are sometimes our own worst critics. And that being f

Pretty but deadly (http://evolution.berkeley.edu/evolibrary/article/0_0_0/biowarfare_02)  To investigate the mystery of the hunters' deaths, Butch began by studying the newts. Rough-skinned newts, like the one found in the coffee pot, live along the west coast of the United States. The newts' brown backs blend into their surroundings; but when disturbed, the newts do something strange: they curl their heads and tails towards each other to show off their bright orange bellies. Why? Well, other brightly colored animals like monarch butterflies and coral snakes are poisonous or venomous. Their bright colors warn predators, "Back off, I'm dangerous!" Perhaps, Butch reasoned, the orange belly of the rough-skinned newt sends a similar message — perhaps the newts are poisonous. --- "Back off, I'm dangerous."  --- Person of interests,  face painted over and over,  not unlike camouflage.  The black in your eyes yell  &qu

Griot The social tasks of a griot (http://www.goethe.de/ins/za/prj/wom/osm/en9606618.htm) Traditionally, griots were a social caste, dedicated to preserving the memory of society. “ Without us, the names of kings would be forgotten, we are the memory of humankind. By the spoken word, we give life to the facts and actions of kings in front of the young generation ”, said griot Mamadou Kouyaté, quoted in Djibril Tamsir Niane’s  Soundjata ou l'épopée mandingue  (English: Soundjata or the Mandinka epos). The exact role of a griot is multi-faceted, but in general, the work is a service, particularly to the richer members of the community and for those who (at least in the traditional sense) are considered to be nobility. While griots can be called upon to work at any moment, their specialty is formal ceremonies. “When there’s a marriage, it’s for us. When there’s a baptism, it’s us. When there’s a funeral, it’s us,” says Bakary. The griot expects a reward for his services as part

"Dolphins are not automatic air-breathers like we are," he explains. "Every breath is a conscious effort. If life becomes too unbearable, the dolphins just take a breath and they sink to the bottom. They don't take the next breath." --- He was spiralling and spiralling and spiralling and.  His body found the bottom, but his mind was still going.  No need for the autonomic -  one wills death.  He invited her over for tea,  and they left together -  cups full and untouched. 

In her ten commandments for vocal health, however, Loeding says one  should never scream , not at a basketball or football game, not even for joy.

The Wannabes usually, be.

How exhilarating it was to march   along the great boulevards  in the sunflash of trumpets  and under all the waving flags—  the flag of ambition, the flag of love.  So many of us streaming along—  all of humanity, really—  moving in perfect step,  yet each lost in the room of a private dream.  How stimulating the scenery of the world,  the rows of roadside trees,  the huge curtain of the sky.  How endless it seemed until we veered  off the broad turnpike  into a pasture of high grass,  headed toward the dizzying cliffs of mortality.  Generation after generation,  we keep shouldering forward  until we step off the lip into space.  And I should not have to remind you  that little time is given here  to rest on a wayside bench,  to stop and bend to the wildflowers,  or to study a bird on a branch—  not when the young  are always shoving from behind,  not when the old keep tugging us forward,  pulling on our arms wit

I fear that I'm not delicate enough to do tragedies My hands too rough to make art The soul too fragile to handle truth These eyes too dry to cry My laughter is less, My smile worth nothing I've not read enough, Written far too little My words are good enough to make you move My voice too soft to be heard Too loud to be truly heard This story I tell is too personal, and that no one would care. No one will care, because why would they? A B for lit and a B for theatre Judged by people who judge for a living Who am I to dispute that? How could I? Too personal again, not watched enough films, can't edit, can't write, improvement? - not enough. Never enough. These, I say, are lies: I carry the lies I learn from others, from my hallowed past. Jesus tells me that I'm good, and that I will be good. I believe him a waste of time, but his message isn't. His message isn't.  Lies I tell Myself. Lies I tell others, right through them,

I fell in love with theatre again. I want every person I know to watch this play. I saw Edith wipe her eyes after it all. She doesnt understand Chinese. So much happened. I laughed, I cried, then I laughed some more. I began not catching much of the chinses: I guess I wasn't sure if I would understand. But the switching from surtitle screen to performer was far too tedious. So I forced myself to listen, going against every Fibre of body, every bad experience I have had with Chinese. But I eventually understood. I understood maybe... 85% of what she said. I checked the screens for the rest. But I understood her because... I still am Chinese.  And I learnt Chinese... once. And I am grateful and jealous at the same time, for being able to be part of that culture - but then again, I felt so much like Edith and the Indian boy next to me. I wanted to laugh only after her joke, but I would have caught a glimpse of the screen before, and the Indian boy and I  would have shar

When truth, justice, harmony – a utopia – are posited to exist in the future, the realization of this utopia located at the “end of history” becomes the sole measure of value, and any means that are thought to contribute to the actualization of it are justified; be it a denial of individual freedom, torture, or even genocide.  “If it is certain that the kingdom will come, what does time matter? Suffering is never provisional for the man who does not believe in the future. But one hundred years of suffering are fleeting in the eyes of the man who prophesies, for the one hundred and first year, the definitive city” (( The Rebel: An Essay on Man in Revolt )" ---- We are like Tantalus, who was condemned for eternity to stand in a pool of water beneath overhanging fruit which receded every time he reached for it. Our deep yearnings for a beyond to justify this earthly existence will forever remain unfulfilled, and beneath the flux of daily existence we will at our core feel like

“Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there-on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam. The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager

I dread the day someone else comes and takes you away and I am unable to move because I refused to choose

"Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety." "Do you understand what made me what I am?... I learned that a woman is nothing in this world that men have made, except in the role that men demand of her. Your life is meaningless, you have no value, except as you are a wife and mother: then be the very devil of a wife and mother... so that husband and son and sister-in-law must all depend on you, so that you control them and keep them in the palm of your hand. So that the Whole World knows your Worth - So that a screaming girl-child, long ago, may be reassured that her life has some significance, that no-one is going to throw her back into the gutter." "It's all over now. It's all past, it can't be changed..." "'How to sell,' I said, 'This is the family house for you all to stay.'" "They sound like voices laughing and talking, echoing in the house." "Enough driving now,

I step into the fray once more  the tainted and bloodied Squared Circle floor  I hear them calling out my name  Here and now, who is to blame  Faces and flashes are all I see as I step to face my mediocrity  To them a jobber I will only be.  But to THEM I am their only son, you see.  The demon and deadman toss me over the ropes  Everyone is smiling and laughing,  except my folks.