Positive influence

I cannot remember the last time I intentionally slept before midnight, before morning. Recess week has culminated to this. A break from reality into another reality that is not really any different, Harrison said over msn the other night. The past week has been a crazy rush, researching for papers, interviewing various people, knocking on the doors of strangers, sitting in the balcony where intimate, personal details were shared at length. Meeting in KFC talking about race, ethnicity, identity, and the state with Daryl, doing readings, and now time has reached a Sunday evening.

There is actually a lot of positivity behind these works done by ex-convicts which I saw sometime during the week. What does rebellion mean in each figurine, what do these faces speak of, what is going to Jurong Birdpark watching the backs of their colourful clothes.

I would say dealing with emotions, getting closer to the self.

I think local films should cover positivity. There has been a lot that has been said and made about people living on the fringes, on urban alienation, on subcultures, and people dealing with pain. When the mass media painted too rosy an image of life, such films captured the other, the alternative that has been neglected and forgotten. Though they were in no way all-encompassing or representative, they seemed real, characters with feelings we can identify with. But it's an overkill. Now, I'm looking for something refreshing, something bright, positively cheerful and most importantly, un-constructed.

No more melodrama

I have washed my hands clean off sticky situations and let me document this in this space as a reminder to myself that I am living by the mantra: yesterday no more. In retrospect, I feel like an overgrown teenager, dealing with petty, immaterial problems and being so overwhelmed by them, so much so that I have lost sight of the bigger picture.

It is a good that that it is recess week, today is a Sunday and it just poured in the morning. There is only one word that is playing through in my mind now and there are all these signs reminding me: Rebirth. I must not over emphasize agony, because it is not something that deserves romanticization. Like these raindrops that come and go, I am awake and far away from distractions. The new week is going to be exciting, I can feel it. There are these projects to be completed that I am genuinely interested in, ploughing through readings that I enjoy and feeling happy that I am stimulated by school.

There will be no more black-and-white moments, wasted tears and excruciating confusion. There will be a renewed appreciation of forgotten things in life, visible and invisible, feeling a breeze evaporating perspiration on my neck, squinting in the sun, stepping into a shop and having a favourite song played, tasting the smell of chlorine on my lips after a swim. In these limitless and personal possessions, there is nothing but comfort.

stream of painful conciousness

It is the time of the semester when running has replaced walking, dashing into cabs, throwing in change, meetings after meetings. There are these deadlines marked out in bold red in square little boxes, to-do lists that extends weekend after weekend.2am and Joni Mitchell singing, “I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now”. Saturday morning rolling over and there is a dizzy feeling, but not light-headed happiness. A compelled need to record this moment down, thoughts that cannot be compartmentalized into labelled ring files. But words that come pouring into this rectangle. And Joni Mitchell still singing and singing, “clouds got in my way”. There is sleep as an option and waking up to decisions unmade. There is staying up with slow songs that comforts into these early mornings, ungodly, peaceful hours that are unbearable.

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