20 before 30

Below is a list of twenty things I'd like to do by the time I'm thirty years old.

1. Travel through Europe
2. Go to Japan
3. Learn to speak passable French
4. Buy my own house
5. Get my ATCL diploma in Solo Piano
6. Learn a new musical instrument
7. Buy a good acoustic-electric guitar
8. Decorate my own interiors
9. Master cooking
10. Learn how to knit/crochet
11. Learn how to bake
12. Go to Legoland
13. Visit the home of the EU
14. Be less of a hypocrite
15. Go to 221B Baker Street
16. Roadtrip through the United States
17. Perform a song in public
18. Go to a proper concert
19. Completely stop saying “like” and “um” in every conversation, unless necessary.
20. Be more confident

mushy stuff

"The story details a straight line who falls in love with a dot. The dot,

finding the to be line stiff, dull, and conventional, turns her affections

toward a wild and unkempt squiggle. The line then managed to bend himself,

giving rise to shapes so complex he had to letter his sides and angles to keep

his place. The dot then realized that what she had seen in the squiggle to be

freedom and joy was nothing more than chaos and sloth."-Norton Juster

pages

the oatmeal-coloured confines of the waiting game. Toss me overboard and don't bother rescuing me. When I can't see myself how can you see me?

lurking beneath the surface was your shadow

flip a card, it’s do or die. no more murmurs, the ocean will keep our secrets.

I feel myself growing shallower every second/one day I may sprout legs and speak human/these gills will be replaced by finer things, fingers and nails.

intense

You kept me sane, while the world spun chaotic
When the sky fades into shade of grey, I will still be waiting right here,
When you can’t find the words to say, I will help you find a way.
let me catch you.
We glow brighter with each passing second.

moar drafts

Traffic lights don’t stop blinking
My mind it won’t stop dreaming
Startled by those glazed brown eyes
Too late I realised I was surrounded by a wall of lies

Extinguish those flames
Peel back the smokescreen
Before you turn into game

Nestled in your arms, I thought I knew everything
But now I know better. You were the king, I was the pawn on your board, worth little more than nothing
Blaming my chronic inability to tell left from right
I was blinded by your painted brights

draaaaaaaft

your voice cuts through the silence
the heat that sears my ice
You are what people naturally gravitate towards, like satellites on orbit.

take me with you
on a far-flung journey
fold me into your pockets
until I'm invisible
read between the lines
don't hesitate to edit
maybe you'll find
this noisy city
scrawled on a notebook
sketched with coloured pencils
tangled on your shoestrings.
together we can explore the uncharted landscape
erase the distance in between

scatter me like dust,
allow me to settle on your skin like a fine mesh
envelop this space
pause for a moment

is bouncing off the walls

thoughts on a Friday morning

the shards of glass that penetrate
the fog that we all live in
I find that it's harder to breathe
without fairytales to spin

the remnants of the breakdown collect at my fingertips
waiting to be played
when there are no word left to be said, we should call it a day.

new edition of New New Song

I'm too tired to play charades with a cheat
stale rhymes are junk for a cynic, you see.
they say I have a competitive streak,
so what is it that you see in her you don't see in me?

will she write poems for you?
would she fight and die for you?
I wouldn't either but it won't kill you if you knew

oh darling, darling, you're too sweet
keeping you satisfied is no mean feat
these silly pantomimes aren't very neat
so I say we should strangle this broken beat

don't you think it's time to tidy up this mess
fight less, dream less
because we were bound to break, save your words and confess.

to tell you the truth
between our walls, there's nothing left to prove
say goodbye to the girl you once threw
She's not waiting around to watch the skies turn blue

Better Off as Fools

Verse 1: You had me enchanted for a minute
You had me believing that we could fit

Refrain 1: But then the day grew old
The sun turned cold
We couldn’t see the road home
Never had we been so tired, so alone

*CHORUS*: We were stars that could never be caught
The world’s too fragile to tear us down, or so we thought
As time found us, we became its tools
Better off as fools, we were better off playing fools.

Verse 2: I once knew of a town that was so very hollow
You tell me, pop a smile on your dial, there’ll be tomorrow

Refrain 2: So young we were,
nothing stopped us chasing rainbows.
Learned the hard way,
that it’s far easier to follow

*CHORUS*

Bridge: Listen closely, watch these lines untangle slowly
Their words won’t hurt if we imagine that we’re birds.

*CHORUS*

beautiful song by 深白色

低著頭穿過流動的人群　手在口袋裡　緊握著自己
聽著已經沒電的隨身聽　就算沒聲音　也沒有關係

在這五顏六色城市裡　我是個突兀的剪影
總是一片漆黑　也不擁有任何的表情
自許沒有地方能棲息　我是個孤獨的剪影
在不斷流轉的時空之中　淡去

我看著這座城市的呼吸　紛亂的聲音　交錯的表情
他擁有自己完整的生命　少了我參語　也沒有關係

在這太繽紛的城市裡　我是個突兀的剪影
沒有任何顏色也做不出適當的表情
尋找不到存在的意義　我是個虛無的剪影
在不斷流竄的疑問之中　待續

我停下腳步喊一聲暫停　時間仍繼續　世界還是圓形
人們說著太熟練的言語　我怎麼回應　都不再有關係

在這太清楚的城市裡　我是個突兀的剪影
沒有確定角色　也登不上規定的劇情
連悲傷都找不到根據　我是個荒謬的剪影
累的在無人的角落之中　睡去
在醒來的陽光之前　消聲匿跡

another unfinished story

this was meant to be a version of Alice in Wonderland but I never got around to finishing it :D





And here I was, at a loss for words, for the nth time. A wave of nausea washes over my overheating grey matter as I try to decode the answer to the problem. Usually I embraced maths questions as one might approach the Loch Ness monster or Hannibal Lector. Needless to say, numbers were not my thing. The clock ticks on, valiantly, marking down each second that I am spending on a simple equation as I begin to hear a crescendo of sniggers from the back of the classroom. The clock face morphs into a mask of mockery, laughing at my pathetic attempts. Its clownish face grinned at me without even a slight trace of sympathy
In my desperation I turn my eyes onto my friend who, like me, obviously had no idea what to do. She shrugged and mouthed words I couldn’t distinguish-maybe a prayer in French?, meanwhile making eccentric gestures towards the far side of the room. I turned my irises towards heaven, hoping for some form of divine enlightenment. To my utter surprise none came.
I gave up my futile struggle of trying to make head or tail of the matter. Clicking my heels “Case closed Sir!” I announced proudly at the teacher, who frowned at me, as per usual. The class joker who didn’t have the slightest idea about maths, I swear I could hear him think. In fact, if I were to be completely honest, I think I might be clairvoyant.
Who am I? Take your typical teen and mix it with an overdose of television, a pinch of adolescent rebellion (says my parents, who evidently adore me) and a total deprivation of brain-cells. My friends think I’m the funniest thing that’s happened since Scary Movie 3. My siblings, all older, wiser than me, watch me with distain and avoid speaking directly to me. “Where did the boy go today?”, they would ask my parents if they wanted to know the details of my (largely exciting) days.
A lot of the time I’m just clueless, really. As a child I had trouble with the most basic skills. A teacher would say “run left”, and I would amble, as fast as my small legs would carry me, to the right, then ponder for some time before realising I was on the opposite side of the room, while everyone else laughed at me. I really can’t say much has changed since those days. Sure, my sense of direction has improved by a fraction, but I still have no idea what a fraction actually is.
Apologies, I dwell on trivial information. None of this actually matters in the story I’m about to share with you, readers and innocent bystanders alike.
It was on this predictable note that I started my day on the 4th of November 2001. I finished my normal routine of reluctant teeth-scrubbing, bedmaking and breakfast consumption-Nothing out of the ordinary, no suicide bombers, or anything of that sort-just your average humdrum day in a big city.
On the way out of the front porch I was vaguely greeted by my parents. My sisters didn’t even bother rotating their necks to see me out. As I strolled to school I tried to think of a happy colour, one that would help me get through the day. I didn’t like the look of the sky that day, slightly champagne-tinged with bits of blue shot through the misty atmosphere. Global warming must really be getting to my city.
Even today, I debate with myself what then materialised. Out of the alleyway one block from school, a tiny creature emerged and blinked furiously at me. At a closer glance it was a black hare, which is very peculiar, for these animals usually lived in remote countryside areas-one of the only things I learnt from biology. The hare piqued my curiosity in a very profound manner, so of course I let my curiosity take the lead, and thus began my journey of following the hare. It kept turning around, almost as if making sure I was still pursuing it. For a moment I thought maybe I had let my imagination run too wild, or maybe I was experiencing the effects of noxious exhaust fumes. But alas, no. I looked again for its rabbity ears, and there it was, silently gazing at me with soulful brown eyes, waiting for me to make a move. I had a strong urge to catch the hare and prod it with a stick to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. Being the sensible adolescent I was, I decided against committing such a crime, in fear of upsetting wildlife authorities. You see, I was a good boy, despite what my teachers thought of me.
The rabbit beckoned (yes, beckoned with its ears) me towards a manhole in the patchy foot path, then hopped in casually. I was a bit unsure about putting myself in a sticky situation-spending a school day in the sewers didn’t sound too appealing-but what the heck, I could probably learn something from a field trip in the underground, visiting the despised denizens of the city.
I climbed tentatively down the grimy, slippery metal ladder into the underworld, counting out each rung aloud as I descended. The gaping black hole seemed to be neverending. One hundred-and-fifty, one- hundred-and-fifty-five, one-hundred-and-sixty? I was flabbergasted. I had been climbing down for an age, and I was still no closer to terra firma than I had been half an hour ago, and the hare was nowhere in sight, as far as night vision goes. Fancy that, a fathomless hole! I thought to myself, then realised the dire situation. A sense of doom prevailed upon me. Should I continue to shimmy down in hopes of reaching the depths of the manhole? Or should forget the bravado that would accompany such a feat and escape while I was still given the chance? I had reached the pinnacle of my indecision when the walls of the sewers began to pulse with an eerie, jelly-green light, the kind of radioactive shimmer that you see on cartoons. Gingerly, I reached out and touched the surface with my fingertips. I was startled by the smooth, warm texture. I did not picture a sewage system to be spotless. That’s when I noticed another idiosyncrasy was that I couldn’t smell anything. Not. A. Thing. Sewers are supposed to stink, right?
To say I was frightened at that instant would be an understatement. I was petrified, frozen and had absolutely no idea what might happen next. The only sound I could hear was my respiration echoing off the luminescent wall, and the frantic scrabbling my fingernails made on the cold metal ladder. Where was the stupid hare when you needed it? I started using expletives under my breath, then stopped abruptly as I detected a black object darting nonchalantly amongst the menacing throb of light.
I felt a spiralling sensation in my head and found that I could not remain upright any longer. Then there was blackness. I could not see my finger nor touch my toes. When I awoke from my sudden unconsciousness, the horizon had turned into a dark, bleak line. Someone tapped me lightly on the arm. I turned around to find a small man dressed in entirely in black and white. He sported a ridiculously large moustache that threatened to smother his chin.
“You’re trespassing after curfew hours!’ said he in a singsong voice. This auspicious man clearly was not affected by the puritanical air that hung over the two of us like an ominous cloud on a stormy night, “I could care less, my good monochromatic friend.” I replied sardonically. Prancing around a fairytale land for more than sixteen hours can turn any sane soul sour.
An austere, metallic woman stepped in our derelict line. She was decked out in a red, tarty gown that defeated the ‘less is more’ idiom.
Nearby there were two people squabbling furiously. On one of the foreheads was printed T1 in red ink, while the other had T2 in blue ink scrawled on. I thought maybe I had wandered upon a children’s television set, as the pair were practically doppelgangers for the lovely Banana in Pyjamas I so loved as a toddler. I sidled from the two lunatics quietly.
“How dare you compare me to a lowly caterpillar?” he cried indignantly.
“I am no caterpillar, or anything of the kind.” He paused here for theatrical effect.
“I am a Book-worm!” As if to prove his point, he bent down, all 300 pounds of him, segmented rolls and all, to retrieve one of the paperbound items on the floor. To my alarm and disgust, he began to gnaw on the book that proudly displayed “How to---lose 20 kilos in 10 days”. Before I could protest, the title slowly disappeared from my eyes, then the blurb, leaving the now lonely back cover, which floated gently down to the ground carried by a supernatural breeze. He then proceeded onto removing a tiny toothpick from one of his fatty pads. I lost it then.
“You are by far the most repulsive thing I have ever set my eyes on! How can you eat books? Obviously you’re illiterate or belong to the Republican party!” I screeched.
He appeared to contemplate for half a minute, then replied to my taunting in an agonizingly slow manner.
“So it’s all right for you and your fellow humans to slaughter flesh and blood for so-called ‘nutrition’, but unacceptable for me, (big-boned as I may be) to chew up a relatively small section of a tree? Herbivores have to live, too, you know.”
*stunned silence from my end*---actually, no, I babbled a few incoherent words before hastily shutting my mouth. Another noise behind me almost caused me to jump out of my skin. A little pixie-like girl was sniggering, apparently at what I had said.
I glanced over at my little stalker. At closer inspection (despite the fuzziness of her apparition), I could immediately make out the thin blonde strands of hair that crowned her face like a halo. What struck me as unusual was that her hairstyle seemed a wee bit outdated, as with her outfit---a knee-length blue frock. It resembled something my grandmother wore in her photos. “Back in my day, children were expected to dress properly, none of this ‘crop top’ nonsense,” she had told my sisters.
Curiosity had the best of me again, so I tried talking to her, seeing as she seemed to be the only voice that accompanied a human body. “What’s your name, little girl?” (as you can see, I was not the most tactile person in those days). She ignored me, so I thought perhaps she hadn’t heard me. I repeated my question, raising my voice just a cinch more. She stared back at me blankly with her blue doll-eyes. I was about to ask again when she spoke.
“My name is Alice,” she said in a childish lisp, prolonging her weird stare at me. She began giggling with amusement. I didn’t quite see the humour, but I thought I would entertain her, if only just to get some vital information regarding my whereabouts. “So, Alice, where are your parents?” She breaks into a ditty…I shook my head in despair, it was as if I had entered a musical nightmare, surrounded by a cast hand-picked from the asylum.