Time

I find myself in the same predicament as before. I have so many things that I want to blog about but time does not permit me to really write, to pour out my thoughts and feelings. Not only is time an issue but inspiration seems to have deserted me as well.

I took the day off today to get some stuff done and managed to do several of the things I planned yet I feel as if my day was wasted. I should have woken up earlier and completed more things. It is weird how previously I could just squander away my days and not feel guilty about it and now I think about how I could have done more instead of waking up at some ungodly hour and just lazing in bed with a book. But as always, we can’t undo what’s been done.

As the Punjabi saying goes, wakt noon hath naen phar-da. There is no hand to catch time.

I would like to do a more meticulous update about what’s been going on with me but I reckon it would have to wait. I want to write more poetry and get my scrapbooks going… but that too will have to wait until inspiration decides to visit me again.

The new financial year is tomorrow as well; I hope that it will be a fantastic one.

Have a good week everyone. *God bless*

*grin*

Frontera on the Weekend

So here I am sitting at the bar at Frontera...
I am supposed to be at home, sleeping perhaps... but here I am once again... drinking with me mates...
:) Sweet

~ Ramblings of a slightly happy dreamweaver who realises that the weekend is almsot at its end

Hey You...

It’s 11:14am.
I just realized how difficult it is to pretend that I don’t know you.

~*~*~*~

It’s amazing how my heart raced with anticipation knowing that I had free tickets to a fancy dinner and movie that I have been anticipating, for I had thought that my heart would have forgotten such lovely childish delights such as these.
I thought excitedly of how perhaps I could ask you along for this excursion of sorts as I used to do not so very long ago…
It’s astonishing how my hand automatically reached for my hand phone and how my fingers nimbly found your name in the address book and hastily typed out a message to you.
It’s equally astounding that my mind screams at me at the same time my fingers dance on the keypad, telling me… screaming at me to NOT press the send button, to not call you, to not speak to you… to go on pretending that you don’t exist… to go on playing this game of charades… for this is what you want is it not?

~*~*~*~

But soon with the passing of time, I fear that my heart will not race with the exhilaration I once felt when I think of you and how it felt to just hangout with you, eating and drinking, talking and sighing. I shall miss that feeling…
And should similar offers come my way, or should a weekend or night drag on before me, my hands will as they always do, reach for my hand phone… but my fingers will be idle on the keypad and my thoughts will be drawn to the boy I once knew, the one I could call or SMS without reservation or doubt at all hours of the day, the one who strangely gave pretty decent advice and listened to my strange thoughts without judgment, the one who sighed with me and 'layaned' my ramblings… and perhaps then I will sport a grin when I think of him and the moments we shared.

~*~*~*~

Hey you,
I can’t help but wish it didn’t have to be this way…
I miss your friendship.

~*~*~*~

about...

I was just telling B (who I incidentally don't love in "that" way) this evening

as we drove home that I was so excited

to be able to go on home and blog about the things that have been happening...

...about the books that lured me with their magical song,
about the supplier who thought I had 2 children,
about the boss who spent half of my WIP meeting talking to me about pimple/acne creams,
about the boy who broke my heart,
about the dreams that I have been having,
about the vomiting and nausea I feel almost daily,
about the photos I took,
about the urge to up and leave,
about the voices in my head that have come back,
about the champion night when I puked nine times without the aid of alcohol,
about the new stuff I bought,

about grinning on my on accord,

about the “re-awakening”,
about praising God and feeling parts of the old happiness and peace return,
about the party that wasn't quite like a party,
about growing up and growing old,
about a boy who thinks I am in love with him,
about the bookshelves and cupboards and SB room and heaps of other stuff that I want,
about the emo songs I love and try to sing along to...

about singing with a passion that comes from some unknown place in me,
about what I have learnt in this short time about love and relationships,
about the wedding that might not have been,
about learning to let go,
about learning to plant your own flowers without waiting for someone to give them to you,
about the banking summit,

about the dangers of pretending to be someone else,

about telling the truth although the truth hurts painfully,

about advising your friends when you know your decision could

change their lives forever,

about smiling eventhough your heart is breaking,
about the bar where almost everyone knows your name,
about eating too much salmon and its effects on you,
about my cool family,
about the big boss who seems almost human at times,
about my insecurities,
about JT and how he writes awesomely crappy emails,
about the man who occupies my daydreams,
about my new passion,

about saying 'I am sorry' and actually meaning it,

about drinking apple juice in a Hello Kitty container and not cringing,

about dropping chocolate cake with a "SPLAT" in front of your big boss

and pretending that nothing happened,
about learning to be happy for your own sake rather than anyone else’s,
and about everything else that has happened since...

But the words fail me tonight.

The books have been luring me once more but I can't read...
Piles of books stacked up, one on top of the other bid me warm welcomes

and entice me with their stories of which I can only imagine

as I hastily tiptoe pass them to get to my warm slightly cramped bed.

I reckon I need sleep more than anything else... (I can’t believe I just said that!) It is lovely in my dreams more often than not... Everything is less complicating with more happy endings and in my dreams, I am able to say the things I really want to say out loud *smile*
So to bed I shall go...
perhaps I will be able to write tomorrow.

~*~*~*~

In Your Hands

I have done the best that I can...

It's all in Your hands now

The Barrel

I read in the Economist today while waiting for B in the car that...

"At the end of the barrel is Hope"...

How apt a saying for today...

a day where Hope was playing hide and seek with me.

A month has gone by so quickly.

I would have liked to change the way things turned out this past month...

but like a game of Texas Hold'em you get what the dealer doles out to you

and you can't quite change your cards for better ones...

you gotta just make do with what you have, lie about it to make it seem really realy great

or you can fold and cut your losses.

One part of me tells me that I should have not gambled

and cut my losses at the very start of the game

... but its a little too late for that.

You can't quite erase memories or perfect moments

from your mind or your heart...

I have lost quite a far bit in month... but its okay.

I have done the best that can be done with the hand that has been dealt

and its not too late...

...cos at the end of the barell is Hope.

The Phone Call of Salvation

The clock read 11:39am and she was uncharacteristically restless as she stared at the bright white monitor in front of her. Words like ‘Integrated Financial Portal’, ‘Total Cost of Ownership’ and ‘Services Oriented Architecture’ start to blur and whirl in front of her eyes while the blinking line on her word document mocked her repeatedly, waiting for her to type out yet another word which would invariably lead to the creation of several sentences and then a paragraph and then another and another which would finally result in one of her boring documents that would be read in the papers in about two weeks time.

It’s at times like this that she wonders about her choice of profession and if this is really right for her. The telephone rings and she listens to the voice ramble on while she flips stoically through the pile of documents that have accumulated seemingly overnight on her already overflowing desk. She pushes aside several documents distractedly and realizes that the person on the line is requesting once more for her email address. That would make it a grand total of seven this morning she thinks to herself and wishes that more interesting people would ask for her email address rather than people who needed her company’s money. As it is her job and she is the gatekeeper of the sponsorship money, she repeats her rather long email address to the man whose name and organization she has already forgotten and cringes when he makes her repeat her email address over and over again.

“Its P and M. P for Penang . M for Malaysia ,” she says twice for the benefit of the man on the end of the line. “NO! Not B. its P. P for Penang , Perak and Pahang,” she adds for emphasis when the man fails to hear her correctly. “NO! NO! NO! Not D. It’s P. P for Penang ! Penang ! Penang !” She exhales loudly out of frustration and annoyance at the deafness of the man and inhales two deep breaths and begins again. “Its P and M. P for Penang . M for Malaysia . Got it?” He mumbles that he will email her the sponsorship letter and promptly hangs up. A string of grumbles that the common mind would not be able to discern flows from her lips and several of her colleagues look up from their workstations and grin at her sympathetically for she gets calls like this pretty often. She wishes not for the firs time that she could also get more interesting calls instead of boring work ones.

Another 29 minutes till lunch time she muses while glancing at the little numbers on the bottom right corner of her monitor. She clicks into her inbox, professionally ignoring the word document that remains disturbingly unfinished and clicks on several new emails she has received over the past few minutes and laughs rather manically when she reads that she has been nominated by the head honcho a.k.a Big Boss to attend a BM professional writing class for three miserable days. Dread plagues her heart and she shudders involuntarily as she imagines the three devastating days ahead of her.

She can’t remember the last time she wrote in her national language and tries to string a sentence together out loud. Her attempt at knitting a sentence catches the ears of a colleague sitting nearby and a chuckle escapes his lips. She reaches for the nearest object, ah a stapler. She grips the blue and silver object and calmly tells herself that she should not throw it at the annoying chuckler for fear of hitting someone else in the process. “I am sorry but were you speaking in BM or some kind of alien language” he asks in a voice that provokes her to seriously consider throwing the stapler at him. Too weary to reply she just glares at him and then stares back at her computer screen, only two miserable minutes have passed. She sighs inwardly and wishes that time would just fly by now so that she can waltz all the way to Kinokuniya and be amongst her hard covered and paperback friends.

The hi-fi which is located behind her takes the opportune moment to spew the theme song to Greys Anatomy and her thoughts whir to a collage of different scenes that brings up unwanted emotions. She shrugs them off and gets up from her seat to turn off the hi-fi which she knows will belt out more sappy loves. SNAP. Silence once more punctuated by the tap tapping of the keyboard and clicks of the mouse. Seeing as there are several minutes more to go to midday salvation, she half heartedly goes through the pile of documents on her right and realizes that she does have quite a bit of work to do. Feeling a mixture of panic at the prospect of not being able to meet deadlines and yet a feeling of nonchalance, she decides to make a list of the things that needs to be done.

Grabbing several sheets of recycled A4 paper, her trusty purple mechanical pencil and her plastic bendy ruler, she makes a clearing on her cluttered desk and draws several lines on the crisp whiteness. She stops and surveys her handiwork. “Crap”, she says out loud as she realizes that the lines are all slightly crooked saved for the first line which is perfectly straight. She takes her rather mangy eraser and erases the awful lines. The marks though don’t come off and leave faint indents on the pristine whiteness. “Crap”, she says for the second time and snatches the tainted page and crumples it in her fist and promptly tosses the crumples ball into the black Ikea dustbin underneath her desk.

Her frustration mounts as she realizes that she has still not perfected the art of drawing straight lines with a ruler. Another one of her defects that she can’t seem to overcome. Once more time, she thinks to herself. I will try just one more time… So she picks up another recycled A4 paper, her trusty purple mechanical pencil and her plastic bendy ruler and draws several lines but they look identical to her first attempt, perhaps even a little bit more crooked than before. The phone shrills again and she picks up the phone. The voice on the other end of the line brings salvation. “Lunchtime meet you downstairs, k?” “OK!” she choruses and hastily keeps her stationary and places the recycled paper back into the recycled tray. Salvation in the form of a phone call has never been sweeter