Do shepherds allow their sheep to wander off? I think the sheep weeps when it wanders away from its master as well. It knows that its master is real and good, but knowledge is different from knowing.
Maybe the sheep just needs time to go off, till it think it’s worthy. Till that little darling is ready to love.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
I keep a rabit inside me
I keep a rabbit inside me; it’s hopping it won’t keep still. I don’t like furs, they make me sneeze. They’re nice to look and good to feel though. Imagine a rabbit without fur. I don’t like soft toys either; they make me feel unlovable and unloving. How I gush over them one minute and discard them the next. Fickle, fickle. What if that one day only happens to girls who love soft toys, not to people like me.
Oh, party girls. Put on your pink dresses, glossy smiles and pretend you could make yourself one of them, if only you try. Give yourself away just to fit in. Stay on the track so that you’ll never get lost. So that you’ll never have to look up one day and wonder why’s everything around you such a blur. You’ll never have to feel like you’ve eaten fear and it’s stuck in your throat as a fishbone. You think you can never get rid of it. You think you’re gonna die.
I’m on a roller coaster. If I keep going on this way i’m gonna be screwed. I’ve got my head in the clouds, with rainbows and stars and birds that can fly far far away.
‘I’m a teenager, I’ve got problems!’ That’s quite funny and poignant in a way. I’m not sure in what way exactly, though.
I run long distance in my mind. It’s so tiresome I wish it’ll stop running. I don’t need to travel so far, I don’t need to escape. I just need a bubble of love and get myself trapped inside. Then all will be good and well. But bubbles burst, and all the good stuff will flow out through diffusion. From a region of higher concentration to one of lower concentration. Maybe we can try active transport. Can we make bubbles partially permeable?
Today I read through implantation. Blastocyst contains a trophoblast and blastocoel. Blastocoels looks a bit wrong to me, the spelling, I’ll go check it up later. From trophobalst an inner mass of cells develops, which eventually becomes the embryo. Endometrium, blood form the maternal arteries spurting into the blood spaces around the capillaries of the baby in the placenta.
I came from that, a ball of cells. Funny funny.
Oh, party girls. Put on your pink dresses, glossy smiles and pretend you could make yourself one of them, if only you try. Give yourself away just to fit in. Stay on the track so that you’ll never get lost. So that you’ll never have to look up one day and wonder why’s everything around you such a blur. You’ll never have to feel like you’ve eaten fear and it’s stuck in your throat as a fishbone. You think you can never get rid of it. You think you’re gonna die.
I’m on a roller coaster. If I keep going on this way i’m gonna be screwed. I’ve got my head in the clouds, with rainbows and stars and birds that can fly far far away.
‘I’m a teenager, I’ve got problems!’ That’s quite funny and poignant in a way. I’m not sure in what way exactly, though.
I run long distance in my mind. It’s so tiresome I wish it’ll stop running. I don’t need to travel so far, I don’t need to escape. I just need a bubble of love and get myself trapped inside. Then all will be good and well. But bubbles burst, and all the good stuff will flow out through diffusion. From a region of higher concentration to one of lower concentration. Maybe we can try active transport. Can we make bubbles partially permeable?
Today I read through implantation. Blastocyst contains a trophoblast and blastocoel. Blastocoels looks a bit wrong to me, the spelling, I’ll go check it up later. From trophobalst an inner mass of cells develops, which eventually becomes the embryo. Endometrium, blood form the maternal arteries spurting into the blood spaces around the capillaries of the baby in the placenta.
I came from that, a ball of cells. Funny funny.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
I like my mind
I like my mind; it’s such a bizarre and elegant place to spend my time in. It’s not exactly too happy a place but it’s okay, there’s so much beauty in it it’s extremely distracting.
I think of prince charming in a galloping white horse and clinking, shiny armour climbing up Eiffel to pick off a star from the night sky for me, just like how naughty boys pick apples off the apple tree in the neighbour’s garden.
I like sitting in a corner, breathing in the silence. Sometimes I’ll use the time to organise, file up, index my time. Sometimes I like to make sense of myself. Sometimes I’ll just wander along the path of pretty imagination, where I can be exactly where I want to be.
Like a bird trapped in a cage of cement/
And you know, it’s perfectly possible to get put off by someone yet still like that person a lot a lot a lot. It happens, and you know ours is a human mind that’s amusingly ironic and chaotic. Sometimes you can change that ‘amusing’ to ‘fustrating’.
I’ll like to flow down a river, sit on a window still without anyone getting all worked up thinking that I’m trying to end my life.
Sometimes I wonder how many things I’m keeping from myself. For a girl who had grown up thinking that random thoughts/ emotions should be restricted rather than celebrated, I’m not doing too badly. I’ve learnt how to take pride in my randomness. And before long, when you start verbalising your feelings/ thoughts you realise you’re not so different from those around you after all. And that’s from a girl whom in primary school, had always felt awkward and out of place. Too tall, not rich enough, doesn’t talk quickly enough, house not pretty enough. We’ve come a long way, haven’t we? But at times when things happen it feels like I’m being brought back to that same, what should we call it, period of growth? I’ll feel small and insignificant. Fear will crept into my heart, what if I’ve ‘de-grown’ and won’t grow back anymore?
Have I told you, anything that brings you high will also bring you low. It’d happened twice and I’m still falling. Too high, too high. Keep from going so high the next time.
We are ungrateful people, we take our treasures for granted.
I think of prince charming in a galloping white horse and clinking, shiny armour climbing up Eiffel to pick off a star from the night sky for me, just like how naughty boys pick apples off the apple tree in the neighbour’s garden.
I like sitting in a corner, breathing in the silence. Sometimes I’ll use the time to organise, file up, index my time. Sometimes I like to make sense of myself. Sometimes I’ll just wander along the path of pretty imagination, where I can be exactly where I want to be.
Like a bird trapped in a cage of cement/
And you know, it’s perfectly possible to get put off by someone yet still like that person a lot a lot a lot. It happens, and you know ours is a human mind that’s amusingly ironic and chaotic. Sometimes you can change that ‘amusing’ to ‘fustrating’.
I’ll like to flow down a river, sit on a window still without anyone getting all worked up thinking that I’m trying to end my life.
Sometimes I wonder how many things I’m keeping from myself. For a girl who had grown up thinking that random thoughts/ emotions should be restricted rather than celebrated, I’m not doing too badly. I’ve learnt how to take pride in my randomness. And before long, when you start verbalising your feelings/ thoughts you realise you’re not so different from those around you after all. And that’s from a girl whom in primary school, had always felt awkward and out of place. Too tall, not rich enough, doesn’t talk quickly enough, house not pretty enough. We’ve come a long way, haven’t we? But at times when things happen it feels like I’m being brought back to that same, what should we call it, period of growth? I’ll feel small and insignificant. Fear will crept into my heart, what if I’ve ‘de-grown’ and won’t grow back anymore?
Have I told you, anything that brings you high will also bring you low. It’d happened twice and I’m still falling. Too high, too high. Keep from going so high the next time.
We are ungrateful people, we take our treasures for granted.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
What did I say, it’s painful to turn your back and walk away, from something you know will be awfully awesome in time to come. But somehow, it’s not for you. It’s that kind of awesomeness that eats you up inside, until you become hollow and empty, like a vase that’s all pretty but simply just for show.
It’s not giving up, it’s changing direction. Or so I say.
I will run away to Paris and stop at Eiffel where I’ll find someone who will climb right up to the top and pluck off a star from the night sky for me.
Some rich Americans, they say, have their ashes put into satellites and brought into space. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to do that. It’s gonna be terribly lonely, you know. That’s why space is called space. It’s just a whole load of space and nothing else. You won’t even be any closer to the stars, to travel to the nearest star you’ll need 30 odd years travelling in the speed of light. No rocket will do that for you. Hmm. You’ll be floating alone, cold and sad. Oh, at least you’ll be in a pretty container, I suppose.
Whimsical and pretty.
“Maybe she’s waiting for someone.”
It’s entirely possible to not know who you are waiting for. It’s called faith. Or maybe it’s because the thought of being alone your entire life is too much to bear, so you convince yourself you won’t be the one drawing that bad lot. There’s gotta to be someone else with worse luck, isn’t it?
Someday I’ll put on wings and fly away, above the city lights and skyscrapers. But I won’t want to do it alone. It’s worse than dumping your ashes in space because well, in this case I happen to be alive. No wonder superheroes are such miserable people. Maybe I’ll ask tiff or ann or syl or lav to come along. But they won’t, it’s much nicer to be grounded, in a way.
So if I should visit the moon
Well, I'll dance on a moonbeam and then
I will make a wish on a star
And I'll wish I was home once again
Though I'd like to look down at the earth from above
I would miss all the places and people I love
So although I may go I'll be coming home soon
'Cause I don't want to live on the moon
No, I don't want to live on the moon
It’s not giving up, it’s changing direction. Or so I say.
I will run away to Paris and stop at Eiffel where I’ll find someone who will climb right up to the top and pluck off a star from the night sky for me.
Some rich Americans, they say, have their ashes put into satellites and brought into space. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to do that. It’s gonna be terribly lonely, you know. That’s why space is called space. It’s just a whole load of space and nothing else. You won’t even be any closer to the stars, to travel to the nearest star you’ll need 30 odd years travelling in the speed of light. No rocket will do that for you. Hmm. You’ll be floating alone, cold and sad. Oh, at least you’ll be in a pretty container, I suppose.
Whimsical and pretty.
“Maybe she’s waiting for someone.”
It’s entirely possible to not know who you are waiting for. It’s called faith. Or maybe it’s because the thought of being alone your entire life is too much to bear, so you convince yourself you won’t be the one drawing that bad lot. There’s gotta to be someone else with worse luck, isn’t it?
Someday I’ll put on wings and fly away, above the city lights and skyscrapers. But I won’t want to do it alone. It’s worse than dumping your ashes in space because well, in this case I happen to be alive. No wonder superheroes are such miserable people. Maybe I’ll ask tiff or ann or syl or lav to come along. But they won’t, it’s much nicer to be grounded, in a way.
So if I should visit the moon
Well, I'll dance on a moonbeam and then
I will make a wish on a star
And I'll wish I was home once again
Though I'd like to look down at the earth from above
I would miss all the places and people I love
So although I may go I'll be coming home soon
'Cause I don't want to live on the moon
No, I don't want to live on the moon
Sunday, April 05, 2009
you you you you you
you you you you you,
i can show you the world, shinning shimmering splendid!
look at the stars, look how they shine for you.
i could be blue, i could be brown, i could be the violet sky.
someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection.
1 2 3 4 tell me that you love me more
too much candy can rot your soul!
your love puts me at the top of the world
npcc first aid duty
npcc first aid duty haha.
reatarded shot one.
retarded shot 2.
uniform shot one.
reatarded shot one.
retarded shot 2.
uniform shot one.i miss vip. given a chance, i would repeat everything again, stress, fustration, fear and ALL.
ohmans, the esplanade underground dancing, the stupid remarks we make.
0908:D:D
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