Fear Edition: Being Left Alone/Forgotten

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It’s true. Being left alone is my greatest fear. And this is strange. Because I’m not exactly a people person… So with that in mind, it’s kinda strange that this would be a fear of mine.

But like I said before, it’s true. Here I sit, right now with my friends, writing this. I’m supposed to be paying attention to the movie we’re watching (Face Off), but I can’t be arsed to do so. I’m only here because I want to be with them, and only. I… I don’t know what I’m trying to say here. I don’t wanna be alone and that’s all there is to it. Little did you know, but it’s you guys, yes you guys, who make my life worth living. If my friends (irl) knew this was here, knew that I blogged as much as I do, where I do and about what I do, I wonder how they’d react to it… It’s not as if my pen-name online isn’t known.

Got a problem?

Edit: 2/5/10 – I had written out the rest of this piece before but wordpress decided to be a bitch and not save it… WELL FUCK YOU TOO, WP.  FOUND IT.

p.s…. that’s all there is to this fear.

without water

The Seine river followed beside us; rich-blue like the absorbing sky above, we walked at a snail’s pace enjoying the colour. It was a quiet afternoon in Paris. I had promised two friends an easy day of strolling, namely through the market square I’d stumbled across two nights ago. There I had been met with animated salespeople, bemused tourists, dab-hands and artists crouching on little wooden stools amidst their large canvases. Perhaps not a foreign idea, as one can find a market in any country, but the scene was typically French. Big and small wheels of cheese were being sold – left out in the heat to stink – and bottles of wine lined up on their stands like regiments. A few other attractions included stalls selling old photo prints of the city, and lots of tatty French novels.

We made our way past the stucco and the concrete of many buildings, much of everything being the same sort of view. To my mind, at least at the time, many were rather pleasant. Their bourgeoisie appearance, whilst not always delicate, shone in the sun like proud sandcastles. Long and thin windows stretched through many places, all with soft white frames, some with curving outer rails to lean on. Some places were dank, however, with their sides and faces covered in grey – perhaps from age and traffic – that they lost their regal poise. Even the ones with slight-designed pillars decorating the mounts and boarders; all it took for these sandcastles to look a little hideous was dirt.

Siulun was the loyal friend, questioning my direction but trusting that I could get him to the market. Billy on the other hand, he was lost with the fairies. Unfortunately for Billy, the muggy heat had completely drained him of thought and energy. He spoke very little, dragged his feet and, every once-in-awhile when he could muster up a phrase, complained about the position of the sun.  ‘Look at the fucking sun up there. Why is it so fucking hot? I’m dying of fucking thirst’ he would repeat. ‘You know, we passed plenty of guys selling water bottles along the way’ Siulun and I would counter. ‘I don’t trust them’ he would continue.

After lots of walking it became clear: I had no idea where the market was. I thought that by following the Seine for a short while, then darting into nests of buildings, I’d somehow end up in the right place. Clearly I had overestimated my memory and sense of direction. By this time Billy had grown into a dangerous shade of pale, and he looked poised to collapse unto death. His problem became my advantage, and I suggested that we abandon the market and look for a place to drink. We quickly went in search of a restaurant or café. ‘about fucking time’ Billy pondered.

the smoking man

The man held a cigarette with absorbed concentration. His glasses reflected scenes from across his driveway; that I couldn’t find his eyes, he remained a mystery. A thought in the back of his mind budding or the wisps of smoke escaping his mouth. The man was poised. Matthew and I caught notice of him when we hit a ball over the wall and onto his lawn.

He quickly came to, then we lost sight of him for seconds. Then the man rose from his side and smiled, throwing the ball back, returning to his cigarette.

I visited the house next to the man’s lawn five years later, but never saw him again. I think of him to this day. His ambiguity echoes in his silence; he could always be trusted to throw a wayward ball back.

a fine jacket

It came to be known that William’s leather jacket, derived from a period of war – a world war I imagine – because of its dyed goatskin, cargo pockets and vintage allure, cost the man a fortune. I was ushered by a fellow beer patron at the local pub not surprisingly, to ask William to indulge me on the story. Some ten minutes later and against the sound of loud music under a spectacle of cheap disco lights, I understood that my being in the presence of the jacket was the fault of three hot European girls. That was all the information I needed.

On a related note: the jacket looked good on William. The goat it came from should be proud.

restless feet

My map, now a weathered bit of paper splinted with tape; it has already seen my journey from north to the south along the north-east line. Further adrift and across the shore my botched handwriting leads a line down to Sentonsa Island – much of my time there was out of the way. The views were fine away from the tariffs of buildings. The good company of Cham and Bridgette eased me into sunburn for a good afternoon by the beach before I lost sight of them – on my lone walk to find the bathroom and a place to eat and wipe my forehead.

We met up some time later and swapped our days’ stories over bottles of Tui and through the cloud of our cigerettes, back at the youth hostel, and under light I could see Bridgette’s bare arms covered in a glow of red. Cham had his dopey face on, but happy to see me and to hand me one of his Jamaican-rolled smokes, we again escaped into the comfort of our ventures. Not too exciting are the prospects of Singapore, but how fine it is to let someone know about the quiet little dinner I had on my detour through Orchard Rd, where a food court bustled and hissed with pans and boilers. Where I managed a dessert of evening pork buns and pineapple with a jasmine tea followed with a brisk stroll back to the train station. And how lovely it was to walk under light by a row of trees drunk on humidity whilst an old hand and her husband played old songs along the pavement on their keyboards. That was my pitch for the night, and so the roundtable continued until the day was finally up. - passages taken from my Singapore journal

To move – to migrate – for whatever length of time connotes the fondest moments in my short life thus far. And the moments needn’t be bold, but rather little nothings. A sunset over an anonymous set of shophouses. A cold beer under canopy in the early afternoon. A cigarette in waiting; waiting for a bus to arrive and take me to another part of the city. Trying to find a place on a map that reveals an interesting name and shape.

Even the difficulties become stories to be told with smiles and irony after enough time has passed. The day I walked in the pouring rain in search of a stretch of beach, only to be met with no means of entrance or exit apart from a snake of motorway. I walked a strenuous mile or so but found no foot path. In the end I conceded to find a taxi in the city. ’Why go to the beach in this weather’ shrugged the confused driver. ’It’s on the map’ I said. Tankers littered the distance out to sea and the sand was thin and torrid where grass and weeds had been allowed to thrive. But there was a nice concrete path leading all around the coast; to which I rented out a bicycle and enjoyed the breeze of cold air and the gardens and foliage that passed me by.

In a past life I might well have been a nomad or a vagabond. I have no desire to settle down. My feet want mileage under them, and my mind wants a catalogue of local and foreign verses. To take a walk that may last a month, a year or many years. To track through the crust of countries.

I am not an anarchist. I am lazy, but am inspired and thriving in the thought of wandering. At least I do not want to sit still. To be still is to be restless. Do not clip my wings.

I have danced with America and Singapore in the last two years; hardly a pilgrimage, but a tease in my pursuit of not being still. One must be still to earn capital to see many capitals, and thus is the thorn in my rose. I do not want to be bound to office space.

One day, Henkka, we will tour our feet across Japan and test our souls – and our livers. This much is true: that before we die there will be a date and a time and a place.

Y’all Mofuckas Need Ta Write

I’m going to get straight to the point. Write, you treehousers! K, now for something a little more personal. I’m unable to make another blog on my domain, so I’ll post my emo blog/rant here.

I am lonely. I have no best friends. I have definitely drifted from the online community with my lack of a computer. Joanna has developed a stronger friendship with wu than me. IRL, I mostly communicate with friends at school. I rarely get invites anywhere. No one considers me their best friend and I don’t have anyone I can call that either. I am insignificant to this world. I have made no dents in any lives. I am not suicidal (clarification). I am the conversation starter 90% of the time. No one thinks, “Oh, I wanna talk to Rocky.” I want to talk to people, but damn, it sucks when you always start the convo. I just know that no one would talk to me if I didn’t start the convo. That is the sad, pathetic truth. And what runs through my head as I write that? I imagine some pity convos will be started after you guys read this. I’ll be lucky if you guys even consider it after reading this worthless post. These are the thoughts that go through my mind daily.

I have always imagined outcomes. They are incorrect most of the time, but it’s fun to just see little fantasies that tickle my fancies. I always imagine me being cool or something of the sort. I guess what I am is an attention whore that gets no attention. That’s it!

I’m just going to drop this little tidbit in here. There’s this girl who likes to take things real slow. I think I’m making super, slow progress. I offered to make her boxers (have to make a pair in clothing class). Good thing I remembered from one of those MySpace surveys that she likes purple/green. I got the perfect fabric and this could be the key. Sometimes, I’m such a creepo. I observe often, keeping track of what people like. People probably don’t realize I remember so much of the little things. Anyways, I’m going to keep continuuing my slow progress at this girl. I’m all for taking shit slow (on the toilet too lolol). I was in an online relationship for chrissake. (This was not a little tidbit.)

The Resolutionary War

How are everyone’s New Years resolutions going? This is the first year I actually have specific goals in mind.

First, I am known to have terrible oral hygiene. Ok, maybe not known to, but I know my mouth is dirty. I only brushed once a day up until around a couple months ago. I’m trying to keep consistent and my mouth never felt better. Lol

My other resolution is to eat less and do a bit of exercise every night. I’m not gonna make it a goal to lose weight because I know I’ll get lazy. I’m starting with the little things. So far, I’ve lost 3 pounds just doing about 50 situps a night and not overeating. I’m moving at a snail’s pace, but at least I’m going somewhere.

I’ve actually started doing both of these things before the New Year came. I feel like I’ve got a good habit going on here. By the end of the year, who knows where I’ll be with just 5 minutes of exercise a night and eating right (well, not right, but less).

Oh! I forgot one last thing. I’ve started drinking considerably less soda. I’m not giving up soda forever, I’m just not gonna waste money/take from work on it. I’ve got one of these fancy Nalgene water bottles. Now, I’ll be pissing every 2 hours. >_<

This post was just a filler because ttt looked lonely. I wanted to update y'all on what I've been doing.

death to the television

It began with a fizzle, it continued with a chorus of white noise before ending its life in a zap of light. Then came the sweet scent of burning plastic and frayed wires. My television had had it; after years of faithful service the only thing the on switch would do is make a car indicator noise. Quite like a bomb also, I foresaw an explosion. Some epic house-burning-down explosion with big fires that only well-endowed hotties from across the way could put out. And they do, in bikinis no less. Afterwards they take me to their sex den where we go at it all through the night.

Anyway…

At first I found it hilarious that my television had finally extinguished its life; that I don’t watch regular programming anymore held me in good stead not to care. But I did care. A few minutes later I felt this emptiness inside. I resorted to banging the hunk of junk a few times in the hope – that kind of blind and illogical hope that males execute by banging on broken things – that the screen would start showing images again. It never did. I’ll have you know that some years ago, long before I sprouted pubes in my sweaty areas, that when I murdered my hamster by forgetting to feed it, I felt little guilt or remorse or even sadness. But when my television died, I believe I was in some sort of depression.

Being a slave of the written word I tend to read a lot; often to the sound of sweet, sometimes crass music. I also surf the net for hours in a pointless cycle of not caring but needing to click mouse buttons. During one of these activities there’s little room for television, but then it’s always on in the background on silent. Using up electricity but keeping me company, it’s nice to see people walk on and off screen. So whilst the idea of television and its programming does not serve a proper function for me anymore, it still serves me in other ways.

Still, I’m not about to buy a new box. That would involve money; that of which I am rather lacking. So my friends and sworn enemies, lets bow our heads for a second and send our thoughts to my television. May she find a good scrap yard to pollute the world in.

tin tee is back!

though we weren’t really ever gone. Wu just decided one day to delete all the existing posts and comments and start fresh all over.

want to know something crazy? last week on Christmas Day I actually contemplated asking Wu if I could leave the treehouse. I also thought about closing down jin jee which is on a hiatus-sorta thing right now. ANYWAY in the end I kept my mouth shut and didn’t bring it up until a couple days later when Wu told me about his plans on starting tin tee all over again from scratch.

if he had told me about it on the day I thought about leaving (which would be impossible since he was drunk off his face and busy having fun in a skype Christmas party with Henkka, Murr and Liz) I would have found that as the perfect opportunity to leave. I mean seriously, a fresh start with no traces of me ever existing here. it would’ve been a great time to leave, right?

but no. I stayed. I turned it from a negative thought of mine to something positive. maybe this time around my posts can be much better since I found my old ones terrible and lacking of anything. even when I tried to make long, ’serious’ posts like the one about the boy I liked and my fears.. I find them terrible. but I’ve never called myself a good writer, so hah!

one thing I hope to not do from now on is to post photos of me, which I did in a lot of my older posts (thankfully deleted).

well this post of mine turned out pretty bitter and shit, sorry guys. I’ll make it up to you with this quickly drawn ms-paint picture I made a couple of months ago when I was asked to make a tin tee logo.

I have a feeling I will regret making this post later on so I might end up deleting this or editing out everything I wrote, so yeahhh…

EDIT: BILLY IF YOU’RE READING THIS, MAKE SOME POSTS! TELL US HOW YOU FEEL (ABOUT WU NOT IN YOUR LIFE ANYMORE) AND THE SEXY ADVENTURES YOU TWO USED TO GET UP TO.

Watch Me

Hey, check it out guys, I’m posting from the afterlife. No you aren’t, you’re just posting from your phone. Well fuck, why do you have to ruin everything?!

Oh, hey there. We didn’t see you come in. How have you guys been? We have been fine except for the lack of a computer. Luckily, we have received a new phone with internets. Oh how we have missed the treehouse.

Happy holidays!