Prose
Life is as plain as you can get. Everything set like food laid on a plate. You know from the order what you want but often times, you can never quite tell what you really get till you sink your teeth in. My life is like an insurance plan. Lots of riders. Lots of preventives. In reality, you lose in terms of dollars and cents.
Daughter dearest and her black humour. You never quite know what to expect either. A happy birthday greeting can turn out all wrong for her. Who would have expected a reply to this heartwarming greeting with a "...(shrug) yeah thanks. A year closer to my death..." So whatever happened? Nothing I figured. I try not to get too worked up. Things are as they are. I am quick to miss stuff and lose time to my shady mind.
Living is hardwork. I find it real hard. I don't know which part of me died but I feel dislodged. Seasonally functioning for the sake of my beloved and those who are living. There are days I want to say it's over. I-am-done kind of way. Is it fair that it gets so gruelling? I see myself aging right before me and I recognize not this thing called my body. Its creases and sets itself apart. My spirit is not in sync with it.
I saw SAVH along the way, Singapore Association for the Visually Handicapped. And I wonder. What about the blind? They aren't the only ones who are handicapped. These constant probings into how ungrateful one can get and blah, blah, blah. I NEVER asked to be born. Never! Am I being unGRATEful if I say now with full knowledge of what living forth entails with seeing others going, going, GONE? This feels so pathetic and most certainly ludicrous. Almost absurd. I do not say life is unimportant nor am I debating it being precious. Choice is missing. Whosoever said ignorance is bliss is a prick and a dud. It doesn't take long for one to figure through all these distractions and worthless material possessions. Man cannot live on forever. That is pretty sad. Living with the awareness one is dying is not a choice. It's the ultimatum thrown at your doorstep with mud print all over my front rug.
I try to fall asleep. It is an escape I don't often get when my clockwork mind refuses to relent. Nobody can replace the lives of loved ones lost, ever. Living on is treacherously painful and forbidding. The stab wounds just never heal. They don't. At most, the work keeps them bandaged for dusk fall...
Daughter dearest and her black humour. You never quite know what to expect either. A happy birthday greeting can turn out all wrong for her. Who would have expected a reply to this heartwarming greeting with a "...(shrug) yeah thanks. A year closer to my death..." So whatever happened? Nothing I figured. I try not to get too worked up. Things are as they are. I am quick to miss stuff and lose time to my shady mind.
Living is hardwork. I find it real hard. I don't know which part of me died but I feel dislodged. Seasonally functioning for the sake of my beloved and those who are living. There are days I want to say it's over. I-am-done kind of way. Is it fair that it gets so gruelling? I see myself aging right before me and I recognize not this thing called my body. Its creases and sets itself apart. My spirit is not in sync with it.
I saw SAVH along the way, Singapore Association for the Visually Handicapped. And I wonder. What about the blind? They aren't the only ones who are handicapped. These constant probings into how ungrateful one can get and blah, blah, blah. I NEVER asked to be born. Never! Am I being unGRATEful if I say now with full knowledge of what living forth entails with seeing others going, going, GONE? This feels so pathetic and most certainly ludicrous. Almost absurd. I do not say life is unimportant nor am I debating it being precious. Choice is missing. Whosoever said ignorance is bliss is a prick and a dud. It doesn't take long for one to figure through all these distractions and worthless material possessions. Man cannot live on forever. That is pretty sad. Living with the awareness one is dying is not a choice. It's the ultimatum thrown at your doorstep with mud print all over my front rug.
I try to fall asleep. It is an escape I don't often get when my clockwork mind refuses to relent. Nobody can replace the lives of loved ones lost, ever. Living on is treacherously painful and forbidding. The stab wounds just never heal. They don't. At most, the work keeps them bandaged for dusk fall...
I just wait. What a blessed morning this is. No migraine. No unhappiness. No residue from the night of strain. So it has to be good. Small things get in the way. I have been lying here thinking about thinking and if I should try stuff.
Vincent walked on. The streets were never like this. The awareness kills him. Why did he not acknowledge her? Surely what they shared for two years meant something? But circumstances forebade. He needed her to let him go. They were not meant to have met. If he had in someway stepped forward, Mindy would be hurt all over again. Love is blind? Love unkind. Beauty is skin deep. Keep it at bay.
Days just fly by. I am truly grateful, I am. I arise each day before light breaks and retire before the clock chimes for me to return before Sleep turns his back on me. A threat so real.
Read more: A walk goes a long way
Each living moment reminds me of her. Her smile. Her jokes. I miss Mum a lot more than I ever understood.
Read more: When the light fades
