To celebrate your years dying in to a brand new age

 

Here I am sitting,

here with fellow friends of mine…

We cook, we drink and also dine…

to celebrate your years dying into a brand new age.

 

I find myself among great men and women…

Of those who had travelled far and long… 

We gambled a little, laughter as wage,

to celebrate your years dying into a brand new age.

 

Long into the night we ate, drink and play,

taking pictures, having fun without delay…

Making merry, engraving memories,

to celebrate your years dying into a brand new age.

 

“David!”, one exclaimed, “you’ve lost your bet!”

“Aye,aye” I replied, “my fellow good mate”…

For every lost bet, for every giggled gained,

to celebrate your years dying into a brand new age.

 

Alas all good time must come to end…

Great meal, great time, great friends…

Till then, when we meet again,

to celebrate others’ years dying into a brand new age.

on life…

I wonder why things I rendered passed,

would return to haunt me fast.

I don’t understand why the things i want,

are often the things out of hand.

Yet I wonder, can broken pieces still be mend?

if, disfigured face returned its glowing tan?

I wonder if a man fell enough,

that he would cease the finish the run?

I would understand if he cries in silenced muff,

forcing himself to believe: There’s nothing more he want.

But if tomorrow would never come,

This may all be a bad bad punt.

Sad it may be, but this is why life’s fun.

 

Indifference

Which is worse? An unrequited love or a forbidden one? Which pain is greater, knowing that she loves you but you two cannot be together, or knowing well you love her, but she does not? In my own naivety and inexperience I could only possibly offer you part of the answer.

Some say “better love (or loved) than never”. Some say “better not loved (or love) ever”. Most of us do know that love brings both pain and joy, to an extend that one cannot stand without the other; these two are two different sides of the same coin.

But even in a coin toss, it is rather quizzical to always getting heads, or tails to some. Even the odds are against my odds. What kind of luck is this? Or fate, to some people. Often I attribute things that I desire yet fail to acquire as simply, “not meant to be”. This seems to be a perfect justification to my failures, or simply, an easy escape from these unhappy turns of event.

Which is worse? To leave a fruitless ponder or enter a hopeful dream? For now, both are the same, both are despairing, to me.

song and words

I envy them. I wish I have their gift. The gift to present oneself sincerely and true. The blessing to tell, to illustrate things hidden within not by the over-emphasized sense of sight. If the eye is the window to the heart, the ear must be the gateway to the soul. If a picture says a thousand words, a song could sing a thousand tales.

Not everybody is given the privilege to present themselves in such a way. Certainly not to those who rely heavily on sight or other senses other than the hearing. The society we know today value paintings, writings more than anything else. To some extent, I agree, words and pictures have their own way of touching people’s heart. But to me nothing comes close than music; one that sings nothing but what is felt, what is believe by he who wields it.

I would say I have only half that gift. Or, I’m blessed, but not quite. Sometimes I resent it, why God made me half of what I can be. I do not claim to be an excellent musician, but I believe I possess sufficient skill to play almost any songs on the piano, or on the saxophone. The flaw remains, on the fact that I do not possess the gift of singing. I am like the mute, an individual that can only rely on body movements, kinesthetic presentation of my music, gestures in my attempt to communicate. I am, in a way, incomplete; deprived of my speech, deprived of my ability to sing.

There are so many songs that I would like to sing aloud to all my heart’s content, messages that I want to send out with all my soul. Serenades that I want to sing to my loved ones. But this just does not seem to be. This absence makes me feel empty and hollow and somewhat incomplete.

I would like to believe that there is a reason to this. I would like to believe that God made me imperfect as I am; just to perfect me one day. I want to believe that God has prepared someone out there, someone who shares my ideal, someone who would sing the words of my song. Someone, who would sing to me, while I play to her. Someone that complements me, and at the same time needs me to complete her. I would want to believe that this is God’s way, God’s grand plan to finish this incomplete creation.

You ask if I believe in soul mate. I do not know my answer to that. But I can tell you that I, am no unlike other musicians, needs nothing but one – an audience, a listener, one that appreciates your music, or the very least, a singer that complements the playing music.

My quest is simple. My longing is clear. Just as every performer wants – to please the audience. But I need, I want something more. Someone that would understand my song, someone to give voice to my music. Would I find her? Would I find the audience that would appreciate what I have to convey, not by words nor speech, but through my song?

Tell me, if you know, would the song finds its voice?

the sum of fear, doubt and joy

“All I wanted is to hear his voice again.” Daphne covers her face with her hands as she utters her seemingly desperate remark to Jonathan who’s sitting right next to her. It is another day like usual, people flocking the streets shopping, then stopping for tea, before continuing the ongoing conquest of donating endless quids to the malls.

“You’re rather foolish, you know. So this is what you ask me out here to talk about? Just that and you’re all hyped.” Jonathan with his bemused facial expression explains it all; this is not the first time he has heard about this from his childhood friend.

“But it’s HIM…it was so long since I’ve heard from him. And I heard from him today! Of all people, of course you know how I feel? You must know.”, while saying that, she checks her phone to see if she gets any text message from him. It’s the seventh time since they sat down at the table.

“Can you stop doing that, it is irritating.” Daphne looks at Jonathan apologetically and puts away the phone. “In case you’ve forgotten, it has been MONTHS since you heard from him. And he never once called you! Why can’t you just let it go?” Jonathan looks out onto the streets. He couldn’t bear to see her getting hurt, his words is true, but also painful to her.

“He might have been busy with his studies you know, MBA, he has placements and stuffs, plus he has just moved to the city not long ago. It’s not surprising that he’ll go “missing” for a couple of months.”, Daphne presents her argument as if she’s trying to win a debate. “Yeah, right. Is it that hard to reply your texts? Or better, actually picking up your calls?”, John retorts without much thought. It starts to get onto his nerve.

Daphne just look into her cup of tea, saying nothing. Deep down she knows that Jonathan has his point. Him picking up her call right at this time means a lot to her. It’s her birthday today. She stayed up late last night as she prayed really hard for her birthday wish; to hear him wishing her happy birthday. In the end she got her wish, despite it was just a simple “hello, how are you”, she was overjoyed.

“Look, Daphne, he HAS a girlfriend right now…”. Before he could finished, Daphne cut in, saying, “But not married”. Jonathan helplessly allows her the luxury to state her point, before continuing, “…don’t you think that it’s best to just leave him as it is?”. “All I want is to be his friend, that’s just it. To listen to him sometimes and him listening to me. I’m not forcing him to be my boyfriend…of course it would be great if this happens, but I just want him to be my friend. Is that too much to ask from me?”

“Don’t you think that a girl pestering a boy all the time would be a bad option for marriage? What kind of girls actually do that?”, says Jonathan while taking another sip from his cup “. “Well why not? Why can’t girls chase boys? I know I like him enough”, Daphne exclaims as her face blushes. “Have you ever come across the thought that he might not like what you’re doing, and thus not answering your calls?” Jonathan knows that he has won the argument, for Daphne is speechless.

Looking into her determined eyes convinces Jonathan that it is futile to ask Daphne to give up on him. “You’re just pathetic, you know? Pathetic. You care so much about a boy who might not cared for you, and distancing yourself from other friends, friends who actually have your best interest at heart, friends who actually stood by you through THICK and THIN. Just a call from him made you feel like you’re on cloud nine. When was the last time you spoke to Natasha, Clover and Mandy? You’re almost a stranger to them already.”

Knowing that Jonathan is unhappy with her, Daphne look down into her hands, interlocking her fingers, reeling from guilt. Indeed, her passionate conquest for love has strained other relationships with her friends. Jonathan has a point, is he worth the trouble?

Feeling that he might have been too harsh on Daphne, Jonathan grabs her hand and bid her to look up. “Daphne, go and catch your dreams if you must. Do what you can to reach the stars. But at times, we have to wake up from dreams, we have to put our feet on the ground. Just remember that if you ever need me, I’ll always be there for you.”. At that very moment Daphne could barely hold her tears, but somehow she manage to.

Then with every single ounce of courage she mutters the words. “All I want is to just hear his voice again.”

Jonathan takes up his cup of coffee and take a sip of it. “I know” is the only reply he could think of. It’s almost the end of summer, fall is coming. As Daphne remains silent, engulfed with a thousand thoughts and emotions, time just slipped by. Summer, as Jonathan says to himself, should have lasted longer.

Brief Remark:*I have a lot in my mind lately, and instead of posting my usual genre of poetry, I thought it might be good write a short story instead. As the title suggests, this is the “Sum of Fears, Doubt and Joy”.*