Nuit Allured

Flat was the straight air; unperturbed inertial

The purr of anticipation struck chancy

Fraying ends and nerves, observed the thermostat

The witchy night babbled its order, no turning around

We marched in, the gust of frost coating our fronts

Heightening the flow of  beads strung behind

The chill ate our crepuscular half-hearts; fuelled molecular rush

Absent thought and brittled desires, we claimed no part of it

If only the night belonged to the night

The insolent heat contended with its upper hemispherical favours

So we could bring with us, as the warmth licked the engines

Nothing more and nothing less

Photo-hunt of a Morning

It was six in the morning when I sprang from my bed. As I stood by the window brushing my teeth, I was treated to the sight of  the pale moon, holding together the navy-blue bandages of night. Very soon, light would cut through the swaddled skies, trumpeting the arrival of a new day. I could not help but feel a little sad at that thought. What about yesterday, when we are all rushing to fulfil the promises of the next minute? The cold touch of my dog’s nose on my ankle made me realised that living time has slipped past while I held out in respectful remembrance for its deceased siblings. Panic rose at the back of my throat. With one hand, I swept stuff into my handbag and with another, drew circles on my lips as if they were mistakes on an assignment. As I opened the front door, the soft light of dawn invited itself into the house, filling every crack, dancing in every nook and corner. For the briefest moment, I had a crazy urge to abandon all plans, strip naked and climb into bed.

It has been more than a year since that morning I first reported for work.

These days I wake up to pacify my wailing iPhone Four, tickling it into silence before letting out a sigh. Time seems to have a taste for speed at night, spending minutes as if they were seconds. I push myself up from bed before arriving at the basin. The skies are as pretty as ever, but they may have lost a fan. Now, my morning attention is required in order to beat the cheating time. I wet my toothbrush’s Mohawk while checking out my zits; trying to decide if they have shrank by 0.0001 millimetre and making mental notes to purchase mouthwash. Oh, and shampoo. Right, dog’s shampoo too. Dog, where is my dog? I clucked for her before finding her curled up on the sofa. Giving her a quick hug, I promised her I will be home early. It never happened. The morning is almost done. I picked up my leather handbag which is the only constant in this magical room of mine; growing stuff I don’t know about while I am away at work, squirt some perfume and stumble out of the house.

It has been more than a year since that morning I felt happiness.

好想

是否要等到一个人的时候, 才知道已往的好?

想起过去的你是否和我一样, 在写着过去的书籍里, 为着同一页的记忆而暗然睙流?

小心翼翼的隐藏, 只为了一个结果.

要知道, 你不谅解的决定也代表着我不确定的将来.

这一夜的我，想起了那一夜的荒唐。

好想。

Who’s Afraid of The Silence?

Ma always has this to say about puberty: “a boy has his tongue shorten the way his skeleton lengthens”. She left me wondering about the extent of her wisdom, when I discovered that Howard’s twelfth birthday wish had been a desire to eradicate speech altogether. There he was, leaning towards the flame-lit cake I had rushed to pick up from the confectionery that day; the sleek arches of his eyelashes reflecting the light from the flame, like halves of the sun placed next to each other. Yes, the sun and that was perhaps all I can remember of my Howard’s grin now. The next few days had been spent trying to cajole him to speak. I tried everything; teased, mocked, pleaded and threatened but nothing melted the frozen moon sunken in the sockets of his previous eyes. Did people think he was strange? Sure they did. Did I think so too? I am uncertain. I think I had digested this peculiarity, telling myself that he was merely stuck in a winding river of dreams and that one day, he would wake from it. But I am not sure anymore. Is it the day? Or has night fallen? How can I be sure when I don’t know when my Howard whose hair weaves white, wakes or sleeps? I’m tired. I’m so tired.

陌路 – 张栋梁

我们都知道感情是盲目
我们都知道永远是虚无
再一步就看见爱迷路
每一次拥抱就换来糊涂
我们都知道拥抱已麻木
我们都知道相爱不能继续宽恕
再服输就让爱情变成荒芜
才发现我们只缺了个地图
也许爱不该让步其实应该很清楚
我们的爱已经走到陌路
就让我们的爱情走到此结束
在一起没有幸福就很迷糊
来时不由自主
陌路 – 张栋梁

如果相信爱是感动的最远处
那时幸福就会满足让爱更清楚
我们都知道相爱不能继续算数
再服输就让爱情变成了荒芜
才发现我们只缺了个地图
就让我们的爱情走到了陌路
我知道你知道不会再不认输
就让我们完成这完美的演出
wu～oh～
那一刻当你说要离开的时候
其实我想要再给你拥抱
oh～
就让我们的过去走到此结束
再一次走到幸福不再迷糊
我会永远在乎
那时幸福就会满足不再让你哭

An Ideal

Dear friend, I am sorry I wasn’t paying you the right share of attention as you poured your heart’s worth of sorrow over dinner that evening. It was drizzling softly, I bet you did not notice as you were doused in the memory of betrayal. It was the those poetic sort of rain that seem to whisper as they fall. Through the choir of playful voices, I heard you said “sacrifice”, “worthwhile” and “lifetime of happiness”. No, but that wasn’t right, you weren’t making a statement, were you sly fellow, you were asking me a question. “Sure it’s worthy”, I heard myself say, but you were dissatisfied. I looked at the vinyl table “cloth” and the deaden sheen of plants behind you, you did not know this, but as you attacked with your beliefs, I saw you sitting in that same position surrounded by magnificent greenery, blue-checkered linen spread on a beautiful wood-ochre tabletop, holding a glass of vintage red, while the sultry puffs from your cigar make love to the light rain out there. After some time, you started to ask if I was alright because tears started to appear in my eyes. I reassured you that it wasn’t your sad plight that had me tearing, but my eyes were just strained from peeling them wide. I was so afraid to blink because then, I’d have to accept the reality that spread before me.

Honesty

There is a Chinese saying: “A man is afraid of getting into the wrong trade while a woman is afraid of getting the wrong husband.” At first glance, there may seem to be much truth in it, but we cannot be more wrong. The key to a woman’s happiness is independent of the perfect husband, but knowing that her happiness has nothing to do with anyone, but herself.

I am taking responsibility for my feelings henceforth.

親人 – 丁噹

別打開 禮物的緞帶
最初充滿期待 最後都腐敗
別打開 午夜的電臺
別讓情歌反覆再愚弄

而愛 並沒有教給我生存
只教我交易虛榮給天真
可是愛 讓我們變成陌生人
卻變不了更高尚的靈魂

不要吻我 只要抱著我
不要愛我 做我的親人
把手借我 一天一分鐘
做我最親密的親人
不是誰的情人 誰的某某某

就算我 全身濕透透
我也不再被誰 牽著鼻子走
如果我 還握住拳頭
可能我怕我的夢飛走

而愛 並不如你想的萬能
不能讓我們不再戰爭
可是愛 連慈悲也沒多慈悲
誰愛越深越容易被犧牲

不要吻我 只要抱著我
不要愛我 做我的親人
把手借我 一天一分鐘
讓我還敢做我的夢
做我夢中偉大的微笑的英雄

1 Year, 4 Months and 2 Days

Glorious.

Sorrowful, but glorious.

Now, I just need to find a place to store all the memories, regrets and love.

Don’t I deserve a shot at happiness?

二十五

二十五岁的女人好累。 不能穿着时尚的服装，像十八岁的辣妹过着无所谓的生活，但也没资格穿起大肚装， 作个幸福快乐的辣妈妈。
辛苦委屈的时候不能哭，疲惫心痛的时候也不能哭。 毕竟都已经二十五了，还哭什么? 直到有一天眼睛惯性收藏睙水，想哭的心情也随着被理智吞没了。
遇到难搞的事只能想象三十二岁的自己会如何面对，慌慌张张地面对。 或许，不只二十五岁的女人会累，而是做女人就注定累， 但此刻的我没办法替天下的女人想。
好累，真的好累。