Happiness is such a funny little thing... the more you try to make a grab for it, the more it eludes you. But when you finally give up and you're breathless and tired and stand still crying, it comes to you.

Remember that everyone.

On Sunday, a senior in the third year died when he was playing frisbee in an IVP at Bishan Park, because of a heart attack. My friend Linda came in, her mood and expression painted with soft sadness. He was a friend of a close friend's, she told me.

Life, oh life, you cruel, beautiful, fragile creature

I did not know Fu Ying Jie, but his death still touches me. I salute him, as a comrade in arms. Your life was filled with people who love you, I am sure.

Anyone who knows me and knows myself will tell you I love my two sisters so much, and how much of my choices in life and my aspirations is because of them. This one is for them.

For Wynne and Letitia

Girls I write this for you on this Monday morning, 0039hrs, listening to Piano Theme from FF11, off the top of my head, my logic running havoc. I think fondly of you always, and this day, 15th March 2004, 3 days past Wynne’s birthday, I stand dreaming, hoping I can do something for you.

I watch the world that has passed,
and the world now
and the world that is to come
Light thoughts running across my head,
as my light fingers run across the piano
Hitting the dreams of black and white
across the grey reality.
The bittersweet tune tearing at my heart so fiercely
then fading
and my stubborn heart
sobbing in its wake.

I think about this wicked world
which I leave you,
when I leave you.
Generous with its hope
Startling in its reality
Careless with its beauty.
With these foolish mortals,
wonderful mortals
with smiles that belittle their
cruel intentions.

I advise you,
Do not touch,
and do not trust,
but that is all.

I cannot change the world that has passed,
but I try to change the world now, so that
I will not weep,
my heart charged with the heaviness of guilt.
For I am poor,
and all which I leave you,
when I leave you
Is this world to come.

This is an old poem I wrote, one and a half years ago, at my favourite cafe when I was with Zhong. Honey this is for you.

Café (Wandering Conversation)
Sitting with you at our usual café,
i sometimes drift off into the night
out on the streets, those
cold painted streets
that glisten a million colours from
industrial light

don’t for a minute think I’m going off on a
road trip into the desert of my mind
I’ve traversed those lonely roads and
The greatness overcomes me…
But I did not mean to leave you behind.

The space between us, before us
About us
Engulfs us but that
Is of no consequence to me.
But the time between this time, next time, last time
Your time, my time
the twist in the ending we never foresee.

The events that happen are
A comedy of errors
The more I think back it seems strange,
Some mocking script
And somehow there’s always a soundtrack
Booming from the stereos on the sidewalks,
In this café,
Pulling the guitar strings of my heart
The world’s a stage, we’re merely players.

I’d tell you not to be too sentimental
Maybe we read too much into it
But probably you’d tell me not to be too practical

So practical I give up thinking and lose myself to the bewildered night,
To the smell of cigarettes, musty and low
Against the faded glory of the world
I smell coffee and food and perfume
And think of the cold, rainy roads glistening,
Uncaring in that Technicolor light.

As I was browsing through Zhong's page, and remembering Nic's excellent page and work... I started wondering about my lost artistic side, a side I have neglected for so long.
This page is a selfish devotion to my artistry and reckless observations.
As someone once sang "Hello, hello."