I took my sleeves and rubbed it against the window. It's interesting how you start to notice things you were once blind to. Maybe we need to be on the outside to see things clearer. 

Did I choose to be on the outside? No, I was forced out. I was dragged out to the streets against my will. I, once a respected member of the inside, was kicked out by the people I once loved, and spat on by the people I once kissed.

I fiddled with the lighter in my hand, and asked myself, "Will this really be worth it?"

---

The sword on the battlefield does not distinguish between the good and the evil. The victor determines who the heroes and villains are. 

My mouth was feeling parched, and I struggled to breathe. My hands started to bleed from gripping the sword too tightly. Everything in me wanted to give up. And so I fell to my knees and shut my eyes, awaiting the fates to overtake me.

Memories

"How does my wife look?" you ask.

Now that I think about it, I honestly don't know. I know deep down there is some vague image of her.

Hmmm, does she have long hair or short? Are her eyes blue or brown? Is there a birthmark on her face? I don't know for sure.

What is her height? What is her weight? Does she always wear a watch? Are her shoes red or green?

Well, it's not that I have amnesia, or any form of memory loss. Yes I know we've been married 60 years. It's just... I've been looking at her heart so long I haven't been paying attention to her outer appearance anymore.

Royce

Sometimes I talk to myself.

I mean, I've tried. Some days I talk to others.
But no one responds, as though I am non-existent.

Ten years I have haunted this white tower.
Ten years I have overlooked the foggy river.
Ten years I have seen the construction of the bridge to cross the foggy river, and the countless times they have failed. Why do they try so hard? Why do they build a bridge to cross into that which is unknown.

I'd like to tell them that. Actually, I have told them that. But they wouldn't listen.

Or maybe they can't listen to me. Do I even exist?

Ten years, I have sat in this white tower.
With this gift I wrapped ten years ago.
This gift I prepared for the unknown guest beyond the foggy river.

Ten years ago, they celebrated the master plan to build a vertical bridge and to lower it to cross the foggy river. They could only build it vertically, because no one dared to step into the foggy river. Tales were told of the dangers the rivers possessed. They hoped that when they lowered the bridge, the secret of what lied beyond the river would be discovered. But ten years later, bridge after bridge released, and bridge after bridge collapsed. No one knew how long the bridge had to be. Some collapsed because they were too short. Some because the structure was unstable. But ten years later, no one knew what was beyond the fog.

Ten years of building. Ten years unrequited.

Everyone gets a trophy.

I could blame you. I could blame her. I could blame him.
I could blame them all.

But truth be said, I can only blame myself.
In the game of chance, you win some and you lose some.
I won two days ago, and I thought I would win again.
Unfortunately, fates had it otherwise.

Without hope, there can be no disappointment.
It is better to be hated sometimes, than to have never been loved.
It is better to have been disappointed sometimes, then to have never seen your dreams come true.
Without losing, there can be no winners.
Participation trophies are a joke.

I stood at the gates of the gladiator arena.

You could hear the crowd roaring, their cheers deafening. The air was dry and sandy. 

The myths, the legends and stories were aplenty. The story of the warrior who upon stepping out of into the ring having his head chewed clean off. The story of the double-headed beast that breathes fire. The story of the prisoner that fought a legion of soldiers and stood tall on the mountain of dead bodies at dusk.

I wiped the sweat off my forehead and let out a sigh. They say the chemical reaction in your brain for both the feeling of nervousness and excitement is the same. I tried to calm my nerves by faking a half-smile, telling myself that this was mere excitement.

“Are you scared?” asked my fellow prison-mate standing next to me.

“Yes.” I replied.

“Well, then let’s be scared together.”

Reckless dancing

In my youth, I thought myself wise.
In my pride, I danced with folly.
I made gambles that were risky,
Of advices, I heeded none.

In my youth, I thought I knew,
The inner and outer workings of life.
I saw the world as my colouring book,
Thought myself too mature for it.

Step after step, I chased after air,
Running and jumping, but landing on my face.
Never once stopped to consider,
That maybe I haven't figured it out.

I was always chasing perfect moments of grandeur,
Never stopping to smell the roses along the way.
Little did I know that the journey,
The little fragments of moments in between make up the destination.

Now I will never relive those memories,
My hopes can't change reality.
The way they are played out in my head,
They are, but untouchable.

Now that I am older and slightly wiser,
This is my only resolve.
In every step I take till death,
That I think myself none the wiser.

His smile, wider than I remember it to be.
But I know. I read his diary.
The pain he's going through.
The loss he suffered.
The smile isn't real.
It's too perfect to be real.

---

I am tired. I stay awake at night, because I'm afraid of closing my eyes. I tell myself I'll be okay, but then every time I shut my eyes, the images just come back. They are burned into my eyelids. And I cannot unsee what I've seen.

Will I ever find rest or respite from this nightmare?
Maybe I'll just have to learn to sleep with my eyes open.
Resentment I see, maybe subconscious.
Maybe it's conscious, but I just try to deny it.

Maybe I'm just not ready to let it go.

Let go

Holding on to nothing,

It's time to let go.

What you think that was, isn't.

What you wish there is, a mere illusion.

It's time to let go.

The past you created did not exist,

The happiness you wish for has long vanished.

The desperate attempts are merely empty clutches,

Can man really clench wind in their fist?

I wish you bluebirds in the spring,

To give your heart a song to sing,

I wish you health, and more than wealth,

I wish you would go, and never look back.

Behind the door.

I heard a voice the other day,
Coming through the wall.
I heard the voice say,
It's over, no more.

I tried to stand waiting,
With your picture in my hand.
I try to be the man waiting,
The man that can't be moved.

No, light a fire and watch it burn,
Let the bridges turn to ash.
I will walk away and not return.
Strangers, again.

My own pit

I too would like it if I perceived it wrong.
This sort of appearance is unlike you.
My pride and humility,
Constantly at conflict.

What is this charade of civility we play at?
Only to be destroyed brutally by the truth.
You are not wrong,
But my pride will not allow it.

I am my own pit man,
And it's time I let myself out.
My bitterness will hold me in forever.

Be free, be free.
The past is gone, so stop holding on.
To the irrational, to the despicable,
Let go, let go.

Haunted we are, by the shadows of our past.
Darkening our future, changing our paths.
Tinted is everything I see around me,
Haunted I am, by the shadows of my past.

Haunted we are, by the shadows of our past.
Growing ever so long, under the light of the beginning.
Can we ever outrun this shadow, that our future may be free,
Nay, I say, haunted we are still.

Scarred we are, by the memories of our past.
Some of which, we know not of.
Yet these are which, that will dictate our future.
Scarred we are, by the day of yore.

Repeat we will, if we learn not from the past,
Ah yes, that's what they said.
Yet here we are, fumbling without knowing,
Repeat we still do, repeat yet again.

How far will the shadows grow?
How much can we outrun our past?
Or are we shackled,
predestined to walk forever in the shadows of our past?

The Critic

“That is just plain ugly.”

“Can’t you see the lines? It’s amazing. Simplicity at its best.”

“You’re kidding aren’t you? That is just crap. A kid could do better than this. Just because this is in a gallery of masterpieces doesn’t mean it all has to be good. I wonder who’s in charge of this gallery, because this is just crap, and doesn’t deserve to be alongside the greats. I should speak to the owner, and see if he knows anything about art.”

“You two must be from out of town. Yes, this is not very good art. But this was painted by the owner’s son, who died from leukaemia at just three years of age. And to the owner, this one drawing is worth more to him than all the other pieces in this gallery.”

A spider

It just hit me,
That we're complete worlds apart,
I try to reach you,
But the space between us is too great.

I feel like charging in,
But I cannot,
And so I watch on from afar,
Willing you to be safe.

Once a day I look at your face,
The one I keep in my worn-out wallet,
Sometimes more,
Because that's the closest I can get to still being with you.

Do I have to lose you too?

I will let you go,
Not because I don't love you,
But because it's easier for you to hate me,
Than for me to hurt you more.

Home

There they go, tearing down each brick I put up.

When will I find respite, and where?

Will you not pause, and will you not stop?

Until when, when will your resolve end?

Must I be brought to my knees, must my heart give up before all this ends?

There you go, tearing down each brick I put up.

My moat is dry, and I have no defence around you.

I try my best, yet I cannot wall you out.

Until when, when will your temptation end?

My heart, seduced by yours.

Days past and months go by.

What does it feel like to kiss a dying love?

As I hold your hand gently to my heart,

When will this be the last kiss goodbye?

There you go, drifting away.

I knew of this end before it began,

But my foolish hope still clings on,

What it clings on to, I know not of.

Tell me, where does my hope lie?

There are a lot of things that I want to tell you, but I can't.
So I'll just tell them to myself, and imagine what you would say.
I talk to myself a thousand times,
and you have a different reply every time.

Sometimes I'd like to think,
you'd respond the way I imagined it,
Sometimes I think you won't,
I really don't know.

I look into your eyes, and my heart screams a thousand words,
But I smile, and try to show a face of calm.
No one sees the struggle inside,
And brick by brick, the walls just get thicker.

Maybe one day I'll share,
But not today.
It just wouldn't be right.
Not with you, not with me.

thin line

He leaned in, yet her face tilted ever so slightly so that their lips wouldn't lock. She didn't dare. Not when they wouldn't be able to see each other again. She couldn't bear to let her heart free to love a dead end. He held her hand, and proceeded to kiss her fingers. He could still smell the belacan in her fingers, probably from the hours spent grinding that prawn paste in the kitchen with her mom. He loved that smell.

He turned to the other side to sleep, not letting her see the single tear rolling from his eyes. She put her arm around his waist, and he gripped it tightly, knowing that this would be the last.

---

The agreement in 1909 had taken effect, and they were never to see each other again. But he was desperate. He left his shirt from that night unwashed, because it still had the scent of vanilla that she always had in her hair.

"Into the jungles I will go," he thought to himself. "I will cross the border, in the deep bamboo jungles where the patrol guards will not see me."

Off he went, on a journey that would take two months. He lived off the wild tapioca in the jungle, and water from the streams.

And when he finally arrived, he saw her, laying motionless on the ground, cup still in her hand.

What are we, but mere silhouettes of our past?
Beings, altered by the course of time,
Until we are but a new being.

For cells die and cells divide,
cells new again and again,
Can we truly say that we are the same person of yore?

New likes, new dislikes,
Taste and senses numbed by age,
What we once knew, foreign,
and what we once thought was, isn't.

How then can we love?
The person I loved yesterday, today isn't.
The person I am yesterday, today isn't.

Who are we? What are we?

Are we not mere doppelgangers of ourselves,
Hoping to be but never really.
Hoping to stay but moving constantly.

I yearn for the days of old,
the times familiar,
but merely hold on to a stopped watch.

He still mumbles

As the evening sun sets, I watch the shadow of the old tree stretch out. Reminds me of how my thoughts of you never end. Turns out, I never got used to you not being by my side anymore. As I walk back to the city, most of the shops are closed, and all that’s left are the neon lights of pubs flashing in the distance. In the tiny street where I stand, it rains all night. 

He mumbles

It’s been raining every day now since you left. Maybe it’s the rainy season, maybe it isn’t. I want to let go, but I can’t. The rain keeps falling. I try to pretend the past isn’t important, but I can't. It was only after we said goodbye that I realized we can’t see each other again, and I can’t just lose your smile like this. I try to withhold the pain and the tears, and I struggle. You said you’d be with me till we’re old and that we’d go there to find eternity. But for now, even a hug, no, just spending a second with you will do. 

Your smile, your virtues, they constantly dance around in my mind. My hand still holds memories of the warmth I felt while holding your hand. My heart is in pieces now, and I can’t make it beat like it used to. I’m imprisoned by the past and have no strength to run away.

It was only after we said goodbye . . . that I realized . . .we can’t see each other again.

Oh, what I would give to turn back time,
To right the wrongs, to clear the crime,
Now all that's left is a mountain to climb,
And I,
I am too weak to overcome.

My legs burn, and my fingers bleed,
My lungs are giving out, even at this speed,
It would be much easier for me to cede,
I cannot go on,
The pain is too much to bear.

I cannot run forward, yet I cannot run back,
Sixteen days ago was my last snack,
I question if my life is on the wrong track,
Without you,
I no longer know black from white, or day from night.