I did not wish for sadness

But it plagued me

I did not wish for despair

But it enveloped me

I did not wish for pain

But it struck me

I did not wish for loneliness

But it found me

I did not wish for death

But it lived in me


Life is now all about letting go

Letting go of ideals

Letting go of principles

Letting go of sense

Letting go of logic

Letting go of injustice

Letting go of dreams

Letting go of joy

Letting go of desires

Letting go of integrity

Letting go of reasoning

Letting go of ethics

Letting go of self-belief

Letting go of love

Letting go of images

Letting go of possibilities (or even to think about them)

Letting go of trust

Letting go of normality

Letting go of friendships

Letting go of truths

Letting go of words

And. Slowly. Perhaps.

Letting go of myself


It’s ok if you forget. We all forget things from time to time – faces, voices, images, emotions … and words. We even forget the words we speak. No doubt they can be fleeting, but it is dependent on the listener to take them in, if he so chooses.

In my time, I have been the recipient of many words, more spoken than written. Some of them I chose to listen. Others I discard because they either don’t sit well with me or I don’t think they are valid. I’ll let them slide, fade and fleet away into oblivion.

Then there are others I hold dear to my heart.

They exist mostly on cards – things that don’t require much to jolt memories. Well-wishes, birthday wishes, words of encouragement, bits of note, letters – yellowed with time, etc; all kept in a box which I rarely open, except when I have to stuff in more cards. Altogether, the box contained close to two decades of words and could roughly chronicle that same amount of time of my life. The nice thing about growing up in a non-PC age was the fact that most of those words were handwritten – as neat as the author wanted them to be.

Encased in time, those words could mean a lot and shores up my heart on a bad day. I could even well be saving them for a rainy day, when I would open them up – like a child on Christmas morning surrounded by his presents – at my dream home, a cup of tea beside me, soft jazz music and dimmed yellow lights, and then read every word, try to remember every author’s face, and if life permits, smile to myself.

Then again, these words were written at a particular time when friendships have yet to be separated – some more prematurely than others – and lives entwined in thick yarns of those adolescent years of sunshine, rock music, sand and cycling at East Coast Park. Reading them twenty years later would mean little now because they no longer stand the test of time or perhaps they would not be relevant anymore.

Words, how they wreck the sweetness of life!

There are also those spoken words, which can be easily forgotten and tossed to the wind almost carelessly. An indication of how my life has been lately would be how all the words I can remember recently were those that lead me to a downward spiral – to the extent that I could no longer question their validity or if they are objective. Would it be true that life stops once I stop remembering?

Over the weekend I was asked by someone I met (but not conversed) for the first time how I deal with silence if I don’t speak, I don’t share, I don’t reveal and I don’t pour my heart out. I gave a simple reply, either I delve deeper into the meaningless white noise that comes with living in a crowded city or I embrace the silence.

I no longer share as freely because at a young age, I was taught a hard lesson by life about the judgmental nature of humans.

I no longer reveal much about my private life because nothing from it will make the world a better place.

I no longer pour my heart out, even to those deemed close to me, because empathy is like a forty-year-old whore standing with a cigarette in her mouth and touting for businesses from elderly men with huge beer bellies and body odour.

As a friend lay on a hospital bed after a botched suicide attempt – a result of trying hard to derive meaning in her life, I think about words and the meaning they bring to life.



新年就快到了. 有些人覺得過新年很麻煩, 要去拜訪一些自己不想拜訪的親戚. 又有一些不喜歡被追問一些(雖然)跟終生大事有關的無聊問題.

十年前的我, 接近新年的時候, 一聽到新年歌, 就會感受到一陣心酸. 尤其是當小妹吃了幾口團年飯後, 就匆匆忙忙地過去男朋友那兒吃第二道團年飯的時候, 會幻想一下 若和另一半一起過年的話, 年初一, , 這幾天的大日子, 會比較好過嗎?

年到三十三的我, 什麼也不管了. 有就有. 沒有就沒有. 隨緣吧. 盡量過了年初一, 就有幾天的公共假期. 也沒有什麼節目. 那就關(或躲)在家裡, 隨電腦陪伴, 過個清靜的新年.

孤獨了一生, 對生命莫些論點也看化了.

隨著漫長的歲月, 莫些心境也慢慢的雕謝了.

(現在沒什麼期待的除了三月許冠傑的演唱會. 所以不需要問我生活過地好還是不好.)