1. i wonder if you'll ever read this -- and get to know that part of me that lives through words.

2. my foot hurts from shopping. not feet, just my right foot. sometimes it makes me wonder if i'm limping... have you ever seen yourself walk? next time try walking towards a mirror in a shopping mall and watch your gait. might be interesting. :)

3. i'm going to go to studio i''m going to go to studio i'm going to go to studio -- how many times must i tell myself this before i actually find myself in studio?

4. pray.

you know, it's amazing how they make the future great leaders, politicians, lawyers, engineers and architects of tomorrow work on desks the size of matchboxes. it's so bad that i can't place a book on my desk without having to shift my keyboard. sometimes i really do wish that cornell would come to an agreement with our dear benevolent ithacan landlords to provide better studying conditions in apartments -- i mean, how to think big if everything around me is tiny?

anyway, introductions are always besides the point.

point is, i have a huge pile of white rabbit sweets wrappers lying beside my keyboard, with only one of them actually containing a white rabbit. (not that white rabbits are actually supposed to be cuboid, sweet and chewy, with soluble rice paper around them... but yah) why? i don't know. maybe because i'm too lazy to throw them away; maybe because my wastepaper basket is too full; maybe because someone so special gave them to me that i can't find it in my heart to throw them away; maybe because space is there to be occupied; maybe because a messy table is a sign of genius.... ok the list obviously goes on, but what i'm trying to say is that strange things do happen. to the most normal of people.

and this is also the second time i've written this blog cos the first time i wrote it, my itchy fingers had to click on the insert picture button which cleaned off everything on the screen. the sad thing is that my browser actually prompted me with a "are you sure you wanna navigate away from this page you dumbass??" message which i promptly and most regretfully ignored. so there went half an hour of my time and now, being half an hour older and wiser, i've decided that i really need to get lunch. in a while.

watched band of brothers yesterday with meng aun. skipped the medic episode because i watched it before and i knew it was going to be depressing, and so ended up watching the breaking point episode which was equally, if not more depressing. it's funny how i actually expected 1 whole hour of war to be anything less (or more? double negatives can be so confusing) than heartrending. of course, i'm not going to start with this whole tirade of how movies have desensitized us to the atrocities of war, but really... looking at all the luxuries i have around me -- bite sized table, white rabbit sweets, expensive photo frames, messy bed -- and all those soldiers had were cigarettes, which are definitely LOW on my list of luxuries.

ok now that last white rabbit wrapper has lost its white rabbit. to my hungry gaping maw.

I Don't Fear Rain

It's raining now. AGAIN! can't see anything outside my window except for the reflection from the streetlamps off the black tar road that's now an entire flat world of overlapping circles -- shifting, expanding, vanishing -- with every drop of water from the heavens. It sounds like hail from within my room, but it's really peaceful inside here... so different from what i'd hear if i were outside my door. do i like rain? i don't know. Ambivalence at best i guess....


i love the musky smell
after a morning rain
watching droplets carve out
rivers on the window pane
rivers washing away dirt
and grime
and guilt
and bad memories

i love watching windows
those transparent shields
dissolving raging storms
into a muted whisper

yet sometimes i long
for the rain on my shoulders
for the feel of cloth
clinging to warm skin

and sometimes i long
for that low rumbling roar
for the flashes of light
that tear the seamless sky

and sometimes i long
for a warm cup of tea
for the smile on your face
and a soft, gentle kiss

i don't fear rain
or storms for that matter
for once they start
they're bound to be over

wonder how many brave cornell students gave up their lives to this noble cause...

My Little Tune

I'm tempted to count the number of days since I stopped writing, but suffice to say that it has been a long time. Last I remember, it was summer. Now fall is drawing to a close, and the trees on campus are clinging desperately to the last vestiges of their foliage. I'm in my room, safe from the cold outside, headphones clamped to my ears, the voice of Sarah Maclachlan seemingly emanating from the centre of my head. Yes, centre, not center. The mark of inertia, of a stubborn rejection, of a stoic refusal to melt and dissolve into this (still) strange new culture that we've been thrown into. She says, "So, so moving on to love, something I'm very obsessed with..." Yes it's a wonderful thing. To love, to know that somewhere out there there's someone who thinks of you, even if it's not often felt, or even if it sometimes seems too much to handle, too heavy to hold. If there's one thing to be obsessed with, I'd be obsessed with love. It's the one thing that does not ever change, that lifts you up, throws you down, and spins the world around you just like it has done to billions of people before you. I don't ever want to stop loving, I don't ever want to have to remember those throes of passion like they are a thing of a past. :) Why be afraid of love? Why fear that warm touch, that calming kiss, that dizzying sense of soaring....? Why be afraid to tell someone that you love him, or her? Why wait till you find yourself standing outside the concert hall, back in the cold, empty cells of reality before you finally muster enough courage to shout "Encore!" ?

So here I am, in my room, and I'm thinking of all the things I haven't done since. I haven't played my guitar; I haven't written a single song, cos I can't write a song without my guitar. But I've written a poem, about how much I miss music, and about how much I miss someone. Because she made me want to sing, and write, and play. Because thinking of her makes the words rhyme, and makes the notes fall into place. Even though I doubt she'll ever read this blog, well, that's not the point is it? So here it is:

There's a little tune
That floats in the air
It passes through a door
And settles down to where
I'm sitting all alone
Wishing I was home
Hoping that some wind would bear
On silver wings
Me
To where
The silence sings
Me
To where
Those fondest memories lie
Like quivering flames
That are tempted to die

There's a little tune
That rings in my head
Like a crashing wave
On a barren flower bed
Broken I'm cracking,
I'm yearning for water
I'm searching for my voice
Then sand turns to clay and
I'm soaking, I'm breathing
At last
Those notes
Gently floating
To a place I cannot see
To whereI think you'll be.

... someone give me a guitar, so I don't forget what I was (I guess) born to do.