Chaos.

You tell me you’re willing to give up an opportunity of a lifetime to try to give us another shot, to right your wrongs, to earn my trust again. I should be happy..

You’re sitting on the sofa with your head hanging low. I’m pacing the floor. Funny how a moment ago we were in the opposite position; with me on the sofa, head on knees and you were the one pacing. The sky is gray, like the sweater your wearing. Rufus Wainwright and Sigur Ros songs are playing in the background; but for once neither of us is listening.

I pace because I don’t know what else to do with my body, my limbs. I don’t want to stop and see your face. See the sadness in your eyes. The sadness that I caused. I pace because I don’t want you to know how fragile I am. How easily it actually is to sway me. That all you’d have to do is hold me and I’d take back my decision. The decision that neither of us want, but is what we need.

I have to appear firm with this decision, or else we’d be doomed.

You look away at the balcony, face unreadable and looking at nothing in particular. What are you thinking about? What are you feeling? I can assume, but won’t you just tell me your thoughts my love?

I glance at you. I have a million and one thoughts running through my head and a number of emotions coursing through my body; making me feel ill. Hurting you like this hurts me. Hurts me more than I thought it would.

This silence is heartbreaking.

It wasn’t silent earlier. Earlier we were arguing. It was messy with the sound of our raised voices and music and the sounds of the TV show neither of us were watching. I was telling you about what was going to happen. You were saying it didn’t have to be like this. That there was another way. I was telling you not to be stupid. That sacrificing your future for me wasn’t worth the risk. I told you that you knew this was coming for a while now. You ask me if this past few weeks haven’t been good, that we’d been good together. I look away and say it has; that’s why this is so much more harder to do.

But please, we both knew this was coming eventually. Don’t sit there and expect me to believe that you thought this sense of euphoria, this happiness would last. It’s been so long since we’ve held each other, and laughed at each other and did all those silly things we used to. You were so far away and now your not. It’s been so long, that we decided to ignore the elephant in the room, the cloud that was rolling in, at least for awhile. That’s why we did it. Because, just for a little while, we wanted things to be happy and how they used to be. We both know why. We wanted to enjoy each other before we said goodbye.

We knew it would make things harder in the end, but we didn’t care. I wasn’t thinking about the repercussions of taking that ring and wearing it, of playing tag with you, of letting you hold my hand, letting you kiss me, letting sweep me off my feet all over again. I knew better, but I didn’t care. I regretted it when nightfall came, when I was alone with my thoughts. But that regret was brief. Now I think it will never leave me.

I’m sorry for so many things. I’m sorry I used you. I’m sorry I let things just stay stagnant where there were. I’m sorry I was a big part of why we never moved on when we said we would. I’m sorry I took the ring, gave you hope that we would be okay. I’m sorry it took me this long to let us go, to realise what was right and doing it. I’m sorry what’s right fucking hurts. I’m sorry I have to hurt you this way baby. I’m sorry I’m the bad guy. I’m sorry I’m following my head and what’s rational, instead of following my heart like you do.

But you wear your heart on your sleeve for me. I’m still trying to figure out how to show mine to you.

I can’t take this anymore. I hate seeing you this dejected. I want to hold you, tell you everything is going to be alright. Take back what I’ve just said, the decision I’ve just made. But that’s what got us in this mess in the first place didn’t it. You have no clue the power you have over me. The sway you have. I can’t trust myself around you; around you all my inhibitions fade away which isn’t always a good thing. With you, my steadfast spirit floats away like wisps of smoke.

I stop pacing. I look at you sitting there, head hanging low. I hold on to myself. To stop myself from shaking, from falling apart; maybe I’m trying to keep my decision from breaking apart too. Your hair is long and messy. You kept it that way cause you know I like it like that way. You take off your glasses and put them back on. You look up again, looking at everything and nothing in particular. Not looking at me. I feel my throat getting tight. Shit, I’m such a fool aren’t I. I walk over to you and get down on my knees so I can look up at your face. I push my body between your legs and take your face in my hands. I smile sadly up at you. I hate seeing you this sad. I hate making you this sad. I stroke your hair and say “Maybe there’s another way…”

so much for moving on.

Looking a Little Differently.

Once, I was in a crowded bus. It was packed to the brim with locals and foreigners, all sense of personal space ignored. There I stood, a somewhat arrogant and cheeky smile playing on my face. Strangers stared at me with nowhere else to look; wondering, puzzled about what I was laughing at. Why, you of course. Isn't it obvious? In this packed bus, I laugh at those who have seemed to have lost all sense of manners and decency that our parents instilled in us at tender ages. All manners and decency, lost (or at the very least, momentarily stored away) as they push in and out, all fighting for that empty seat or as they elbow another for more room.

I use my naturally big eyes to search and scan, but most if all to observe. I see the old grandmother hanging on for dear life as the driver makes sharp turns (far too sharp for a vehicle that big) And the teenage boy seated right in front of her, doing his best to avoid her eyes.. And the guilt. I see many wary faces. I see the annoyed man, annoying others by pushing against them. I watch the over-exaggerated facial expressions of people having some sort of worthless conversation about that cute guy that they regularly stalk. I smile at the silliness of it all, how barbaric people become over something as petty as an open seat. What silly folk these people were! I would never do that. Never would I compromise my virtues the way they do.

But still, I liked to watch. It's amusing what people do when they think others aren't watching. Perhaps that is why God gifted me with my big, almond shaped eyes. So I could see the beauty, the truth, the horror or the amusement in the little things. To admire that of which people usually shun and ignore. Perhaps He wanted me to notice. So there I was; observing, seeing, and noticing.

Then my eyes fell upon a man. He was an old man, seated by the window. No one paid him any mind; in fact, most avoided him because of his vagabond appearance. His clothes were faded and tattered, his face dull and hidden behind an untidy, unkept, bushy moustache. He was probably even responsible for one of the many exotic smells wafting throughout the cramped bus. But his eyes were what caught my eye. His eyes had a mischievous twinkle. They were the one youthful thing about him. This roused my curiosity. He too scanned around him, his moustache twitching every time he smiled. He looked around, laughed, muttered to himself. Frankly he looked mad to the rest of the temporary occupants of the evening bus; but I knew different; I recognised that somewhat arrogant, somewhat knowing and cheeky smile, because the same smile was playing across my face.

At one point he noticed me watching, and for the longest moment I have ever experienced, we stared at each other with that same smile, with that same cheeky twinkle in our eyes. That was when I realised something I should have a long time ago. I want to grow old to be that old man; I want to be as observant as I am now, if not more. I want to know that little inside joke. I don’t care if I looked mad; I wanted to be someone who had experienced the world. I wanted to be someone who could sit in a crowded bus and have the RIGHT to mock people’s awful behaviour in my head, to watch them. I want to have eternally youthful eyes. I never want to tire of watching.

His stop came before mine. He had barely gotten up, and already a lady that looked like a ball of jell-o was pushing and shoving to claim the seat for herself. She shoveed the old man out of the way and he shakes his head in annoyance and mutters something sarcastic that makes me laugh. He looks up, sees me watching. And just before he gets off the bus, he takes one last look at me and we enjoy a laugh together. There we were, strangers. But in that crowded bus, we were friends with our own inside joke; because we both saw things others didn’t. We were of same kin.

My First.

I first had the itch to get one abut 5 years ago. I didn't know much about it at all at the time, except for the hideous misconception that people who had them were 'bad'. I wondered if I was bad too, or weird for wanting one.Then I started pondering of what I should get. I asked my dad's permission. He told me to research and pray before I do something I was going to regret, so I did. I researched and fell in love with the art of tattooing. The history, the cultures, the stories mesmerized me. I couldn't get enough. I knew so much about it, made me want one even more. Till today, I say it was my love of tattoos that made me truly appreciate and fall in love with art. I was never an artsy fartsy person. Perhaps it was just cause I hadn't found that one medium that could truly draw me in. But one day I saw this piece on this guys arm; It was fantastic, colourful with that contradictory element which I love so much. Sadistic yet quirky. I wanted to know where he got the inspiration for such a tattoo, and found out it was actually a painting by an artist. I quickly Google-d this artist, started looking at artist like him.. and the rest I guess you could say was history.

The idea definately evolved over the years. It went from being just one word, to having a script. Went from Kanji to Hebrew to Sanskrit till it finally became Tengwar (elvish)

The word was faith. My faith in my fellow men, which was both my strength and my weakness. My strength because I had faith in people when no one else did. I never judged them. I chose to see the best in them, gave them the benefit of the doubt that many of us never receive. But it was truly my weakness because some would abuse that trust I had in them. Knew I would forgive them; so making the same mistake wasn't an issue cause they knew I'd forgive them. It gets harder and harder to have faith when one keeps abusing it so. My Faith in God, Which was my all. My principals and beliefs and my convictions all revolved around His teachings and I thank Him for that. And that is why I KNOW this was not a mistake. I do not regret it. Not now, not ever. It came out beautifully, more amazing than I imagined.

Thank you Tanith, Kirstie, JonJon, and Honey for being there. It meant alot to me.

Now may I present to you:

FAITH

My Strength, My weakness, My all.

(August 4th 2010)