Therapy, sort of.

I supposed its for the upcoming 2006,
or maybe its just because my mother has been nagging endlessly, months on end.

I shoved all my CDs, of all sorts, onto my bed.
( They were an unsightly pile anyway, heaping on the desks, and perched pecariously on the shelf, some were even flung carelessly into the niches of my room. )

I was in a foul mood, having an outing cancelled by a close friend, due to family obligations. And the weather was a bitch, the kind that gets on people's nerves. Hot and sticky, heavy and stifling. Accompanied by the recent dread ( or fear, i wasnt so sure ) for the 1st three trial months in IJC that was looming ever so omniously, nearer and nearer, yep, I was slipping into a fuckedup bitch mode, rapidly.

Clatter and crash, the discs were treated with indifference and unintended vengeance.

Sort and slot. Clatter and crash.

As the categorizing proceed, I threw away many unwanted/spoilt/useless discs. My pile of discs eventually grew lighter, and neater.

So did my deposition.

With every disc I tossed in the discard pile, I felt the tight knot in my heart loosening, the clatter and crash gradually got gentler, till it finally settled to a subtle click and clack.

I reckoned I heard a shudder of relief issuing from the pile of discs that had yet to be sorted.


The chore was then done. I stood up and surveyed my work. Discs slotted neatly into their respective compartments, a compact stack was tucked away in a corner. My room became unbelivably neat again.
(However, we all know that it will soon return to resembling something the pigs slept in once the month was over. )



Surprisingly, I was alright too. No, not cheerful, not yet. But I was no longer in an awful mood.

I lugged the big bag of discards into the rubbish chute. Tipping it over and closing the chute, I heard the consecutive clunks, bangs and a final satisfying crash.
My heart felt lighter too.


Afterwhich, with almost frightening timing, the sky opened up and heavy rain pour forth. dispelling the sticky heat.


I smiled.





For those who doubt, try clearing and sorting your impossibly messy paraphernaila on a bad day. Therapy, and its free. (:

Instead of sulking, try sorting. ( Terribly lame, I know. )
But maybe you'll feel better.

Not Just Face Deep.

Remember when we were small? And we would peer into the artificial (magical then) blue abyss of the public pool with mixture of curiosity, fear and that tantalizing flicker of the precious knowledge that we are attempting stuffs of which the consequences are unknown?

Dangle a (sacrificial) foot into the egnimatic depths and swish it in the cool water, shrieking in delight, for we have found a new source of amusement.

Emboldened and bolstered with this newfound knowledge, we would plunge into the pool, so certain, so sure, the floor was just beneath, a scant few metres below of said dangling feet.
Only to realize, a horrifying second too late, the floor is within the standing capability of our chubby appendages after all.

Sputtering and sobbing, we splished and splashed to the surface, crying to our over-anxious mothers, the newfound source of amusement morphing, ever so suddenly, into a newfound fear, another dreaded reason for those nightmares when we go to sleep at night again.

Ah, all you people taking physics would say, but the depth of the pool isn't based on the naked eye, but on refraction and all that shit. (Pardon the lady's uncouth language.)


But ah, put away your physics ladden mind and use your heart to think for a moment, anyone has a sense of deja vu?

How often, would you encounter such situations?

To feel, you understand someone or a certain situation, and find out, that the cut goes deeper, much deeper?

I feel suitably chastened, to be ashamed that I would dare to assume so much of something or someone.To pour my truckloads of petty problems onto her, but not return the favor. To not know, everybody has skeletons in their closets, and had not bothered to find out or help out, because I assumed she was alright. Because I assumed she was fine.

Because I accepted her surface and her polished exterior.

If I were a true & good friend, I would have probed deeper, find out more, and maybe did something to lessen her sufferings, her burdens.

To this, I'm sorry.
You know who you are.

Santa, thats my only wish this year.

Santa-

what I really want for Christmas this year is:

-Hungry kids not to be hungry anymore.
-World peace. (HAHA)
-Blessings for Victims of disasters and terrorists' attacks
-A new medical discovery to aid the sick.
-Cure for immortality.
-New Funds for the Handicapped kids.



and most of all...





...and a gleaming silver Jaguar wrapped up in a big red bow.
And oh, the keys are in a Tiffany box sent to me through FedEx, or UPS. I dont really give a hoot.
Oh yeah, I'll just let my dad drive it first.
I can wait till Im like 18 or something.




WHAT? Stop looking at me like that.