We sing her a song, A song from the bank Of memory that stretches As far as the beginning Of century. The song of wonder And contentment, the song of Endless love. A cliché song, The biggest mistake one Could ever make is composing This song. The lyrics are Too sentimental. It tries Too hard to invite tears That will not appear. Yet, we still sing with Our heart, as though It’s the best song In the world, that depicts Neither our story nor Our hope. Yet, we Sing her this song, seeing Her smile, from the cold Slab of stone staring Right back at us.
Eyes barely recognized Me. Calling me the Wrong name, you Seem to be overjoyed By the girl sitting in Between us. A faint Hope for great-grand Children perhaps, to which I could never give birth.
Her boyfriend, sitting In a car, in a humid Weather, sweating Perhaps, panting, Perhaps, wondering What we would have Said to contradict His belief that Was shaped By thousand Years of practice.
So grandmum smile Smile smile, her Life mission is Almost complete. “Work hard,” she laughed. “Girls need to be treated right.”
The black fly, the Contagious kind, Rested on her nose. With her mutterings, Buzzing my ears. Weak hands waving it away. It flew, circumvented and rested on her arms.
I smiled, thinking of the babies I would never have, of the love she gave and I threw with remorse. I spoke gently. "Alright, alright! I will do it it."
He was dreaming in the car, finding a future that could belong to us.
Counting the sequence of death slowly. Mouth ballooned with hot air that travelled south, crushing the lungs with inexplicable force, squeezing the life out of the vessels until it turns cold. I looked, waited, panted, hyperventilated.
Still quiet, still quiet. Unless there is some love lingering, like a mother staring at her child, sleeping in an innocent pose that brings you to a new birth, there could be no resolution. Eyes closed, fists clenched, minutes dwindled into seconds. Hush now, close your eyes and sleep.
Pregnant with thoughts, I started burping air that escaped from my stomach, a stench that nobody would recognise until they sniffed it, their nose all turned up, wondering if it was the same air that they emitted themselves.
I absorb you anger like a sponge, not because I am new, but rather, I am old, moldy, contagious, unruly, wily, uncontrollably dirty, ready to grow into a witch, with a crack that can be mistaken to be my smile, and let it be, while I absorb half-heartedly, ineptly, failingly, your emotion, which is as fatal as cyanide, slow poisoning my lung, until I grasp the air like a pneumonic patient who finds a tumor growing in two leaves that I would rather leave in alone.
A few friends discussed about the issues revolving life and death over the last few days. Coincidentally, the topic was brought up on two occasions: a gathering with Eme and Angie, as well as discussion with my colleagues today. The topic was “My Funeral”. Yes, you read it correctly – my funeral!
As it may be depressing for someone to discuss funeral, I could proudly declare that I have my funeral all planned out, not out of sheer morbidity but out of undying love for life. I love life, and therefore I fully comprehend the inevitability of death. Since death is inevitable, I might as well have it all planned out for my final exit, instead of depending on some people who might roll out my funeral as what an orthodox would do.
I want my funeral to be laced with Champagne. I want people going to my funeral to laugh. Yes, you can laugh at me, laugh about me, and laugh with me. You will be treated to a champagne fountain, with Mariah as my background music. I want you to dance, because I like to dance. I want you to drink, because I like to drink. I want you to celebrate life, because I celebrate mine. I want you to be happy, because I am happy to have known all of you.
Yes, I might have a few regrets in my life, but it’s not enough to discourage me from living the life that I have and I will. I might have made a few mistakes in my life, and those mistakes make me who I am today, whether you love or hate me. Yes, today, if someone asks me if I would live my life like this all over again, my answer is definitely positive!
I want to die young because I am stupid enough to subscribe to ageism. I can’t see myself growing wrinkled, with white hair on my head. I will go for plastic surgery until scientific discoveries fail to make me look young again. I may be shallow and stupid, but I definitely love my life so much. And I embrace every bit of ups and downs of it.
To all my dear friends: live your life as you would and you want to. And live it fervently until your last breath leaves me. If you do so, perhaps you will understand why I happily plan my funeral, and forbid tears during the process.
Let’s start planning for the inevitable so that you know what limited time you have in this world, and start doing whatever you want to do. Don’t ever die in regrets – because that’s when I really will cry for you.
You should strongly consider majoring (or minoring) in Communication, English, Film, Journalism, Literature, or Writing.
It is possible that the best major for you is your 2nd, 3rd, or even 5th listed category, so be sure to consider ALL majors in your OTHER high scoring categories (below). You may score high in a category you didnt think you would--it is possible that a great major for you is something you once dismissed as not for you. The right major for you will be something 1) you love and enjoy and 2) are really great at it.
Consider adding a minor or double majoring to make yourself standout and to combine your interests. Please post your results in your myspace/blog/journal.
Why must love come with A bouquet of rose, A box of chocolate, And dozens of small But meaningless gifts?
It is after all a trail Of hope and devastation. Who can predict whether We will sleep in each other’s Arm ten years from now?
If then, why love? Why Must we subject to this Torment that consumes Our hopes and our souls, That gives us sleepless Nights, lying awake, Fumbling for comfort In your motionless limps, Finding reassurance from Your snores?
But then again, seated beside You, driving in a slow moving Traffic, I find love has stopped Time from going forward, Trapping us in this eternal youth – That even fifty years from now, I still remember how your hair, black And glimmering under the sunlight, Is ruffled by the cold air, sweat Slightly wetting your forehead, and your Face, with its fierce concentration on the road, Determined to bring me to my favourite Cafeteria, to quench my dying hunger.
Decide to use K, instead of C or L, both of which have been extensively exploited.
Use the first letter of your name to answer each of the following. They have to be real places, names, and things. You CAN'T use your name for the boy/girl name. Nothing made up!
Four words: Know, Kite, Keen, Kibosh State/country: Kuwait Boy Name: Keith Girl Name: Kimberly Occupation: King Something you can wear: Khaki Pants Something found in a kitchen: Knife Something you shout: Knock! Knock! Something you do at school: Kick ball Name of an animal: Koala Bear Name of a drink: Kamikaze Name a holiday: Kosher Day Name a body part: Knee
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erodite's journal
amused
blah
drunk
indifferent
sleepy