Imaginary Friends

more to come..

Swan Song

Everything was strange at first. But after a while, the feeling of strangeness wore off as things stopped revolving around a particular point.

……………

Time wore on.

……………

Whether you like it or not, it’s part of this vicious circle, sometimes you’ve got to give vent to your emotion in formality—a tear here, a smile there, a smirk in between.

Nobody is a victim of circumstance. It’s just an act.

An act or one little mischief.

Life has gone too far. Time has gone too far. Humor in existence has gone too far. It is getting more and more than I can bear.

My patience has become so exhausted.

I no longer want to be in this circle.

……………

At one instance, I was in the Colorado River. You couldn’t imagine how cold the water was. Icy cold. Water coming from those frozen mountains.

And it’s getting dark. I could say that because I noticed the sun and the moon being together, almost touching each other, not really, but almost, you know what I mean?

And all that I could think of was the fishes in the River. Fishes might or might not be swimming with the tide across pebbles. Fishes whose eyes were as wide as my own eyes when they got a glimpse of what’s going on around them in this world. Fishes with no fins. Fishes with broken fins. Fishes with some sort of self-preservation. Fishes eating fishes. Fishes making out with fishes. Fishes just being and wanting to be fishes.

All of a sudden, something nudged me in my back. Oh, it might as well be a fish.

I longed for you. So much.

……………

You.

You are a thorn in my side. You are also the one I can fall back upon at any time.

You and I must reckon with everything that would undo us. You and I must press for fair play. You and I must stop trifling with our feelings.

Don’t I say that enough?

……………

I don’t care.

As long as I live, I don’t care why Gregor Samsa transformed into an enormous bug when he awoke from troubled dreams one morning. I wake up from troubled dreams every morning and I find myself limping towards the face of a new day, without a slight sign of metamorphosis.

This is poison to me. Too much of Kafka is poison to me. Too much of this and that has worn me out in a way that I’ve become my own swan song. I don’t need that last breath.

Just let me go. Just let me go. Just let me go.

……………

Sonnet 16

Long have I long’d to see my love againe,

Still have I wisht, but never could obtaine it;

Rather than all the world (if I might gaine it)

Would I desire my love’s sweet precious gaine.

Yet in my soule I see him everie day,

See him, and see his still sterne countenaunce,

But (ah) what is of long continuance,

Where majestie and beautie beares the sway?

Sometimes, when I imagine that I see him,

(As love is full of foolish fantasies)

Weening to kisse his lips, as my love’s fees,

I feele but aire: nothing but aire to bee him.

Thus with Ixion, kisse I clouds in vaine:

Thus with Ixion, feele I endles paine.

--Richard Barnfield (1595)

……………

In every sense, you are me.

……………

Arigatoo ne.

……………

Momiji, Raymond Carver and JK Cafe

...Once my body turned into a forest.. A forest filled with Maple trees. I transformed into Momiji and you touched me gently.
...
...
...

Every time I recite the words of Raymond Carver, I remember how you make me become one of his characters. I intend to be isolated. I intend to be alone. I intend to be living marginal. I intend to be in terror and loss and despair. I intend to be ordinary. I intend to end everything I am not and start everything I am. Perhaps, I am one of his characters.

..
..
..
Momiji are still my favorite.. they don't live long. ..
but they always come back..
when they come back, make sure to touch them gently...please..
..

Jet Lag

“..with a feeling like jet lag—an odd sensation of fragility, of being there and not here, somehow distant from my surroundings.” Roberto Bolano, Sensini.


It’s funny and sad, in a weirdest way….
During the recent journey, I’ve seen so many skies—sky with scores of faces and colors, sky with outrageous mood, sky whose voice calms me down, sky pretending to be sky, sky with or without evenings, and sky who steals my last morning with Asia.

Those skies.. follow me to my deepest unconsciousness.

..when I woke up, it’s in the middle of night.. Then I choked up with nausea in my head..
Seemingly asleep the rest of the world was, or at least my surroundings, I had this numbness, because I tried not to think.. or feel..

Hey.. it’s not a feeling like jet lag, it is a jet lag..
but then I know exactly neither is true..

Who suffers more? The leaver or leavee? I or Asia?
She doesn’t seem to care; it’s morning over there anyway.

I, now, continue to drag my tired body to the familiar arena of seclusion... till the dawn comes..
with its soothing warmth, my soul rests, while my eyes are still open, searching for things that I cannot have.

..

breaking up with Thibaw

-->

what would I do..

if there were no more stars?

everyday can't be as muted as it is now..

I am in “the Glass Palace”

its mirrors reflecting thousands of images

some near some far

past is now the only witness

inside all these walls

we look around and around..

Nothing left..

one more time and

Nothing exists.

as if there were no as if..

Kipling shouting out “Mandalay”

I keep on looking for the stars..

He, Thibaw, the last King of Burma, the Greatness

with those binoculars..

Searching for the stars that never went home..

What would you do

If there were no more stars?

-->

To Err Is Human

I stepped onto someone's spectacles..
why did he place them on my way?
didn't he know that I was going that way?
..on the ground..who would put glasses on the ground?
was it a trick?
was it an act?
..now they were under my shoes... they were not supposed to be under my shoes.
the owner of the spectacles was from China...I pretended that I didn't know Chinese..
I compensated him with $100.. that's all I had, my friend.
He kept on murmuring in Chinese, holding the broken glasses..I kept on pretending, looking at the red sky bringing in the storm...

it's not easy to be erroneous.
one has to be very careless and unobservant..
perhaps, I am too human..

...I am too human to not look for the things where they are not supposed to be..
..I am too human to not think that there are other human beings just like me who are ready to make errors..
...I am too human to not expect things coming into my way and only to realize it's too late after tripping..
..
..way too human..
..

I am back from 1999 to 2009..
just like ten years ago, through the clouds..
I could see the mountains, the ocean, the fields, buildings, rivers, trees, all the landscape from the sky.. and darkness and sunlight
there were tears on the little pillow..soaking wet.

just now I was looking at the wrinkled faces..theirs..his..hers and mine..
it was just now..
just now..
gazing upon the moon and not being able to distinguish it was a star or some other object next to it..I sang loudly and merrily.
there came raindrops onto my face when I was sound asleep..
after suddenly opening my eyes, I beheld the city night lights from the hill top, remembering all the lights that I had seen in my life.
it was just now--laughters, sobs, hugs, kisses, loud arguments--all around me..

now a plane's carrying my physical self to a place totally new to me..
it's just like ten years ago.

I remember there were
lots of planes..lots of trains..
lots of familiar faces, lots of unfamiliar faces..
lots of movements, lots of stillness..

I can't believe I am here now, just in a blink of an eye..
wasn't I there just now..?
How can I go back to those times?
How can I go back to those seconds?
How can I go back to those minutes?
How can I go back to those hours?
How can I go back to those days?

please tell me, how can I go back to those years?

where is the noodle soup? where is that warm blanket? where is that voice telling me to brush my teeth? where's that hiking trail? where are the city lights? where are the fishes? where is that snoring sound? where is that smiling moon? where is that little teddy bear? where are the noises from the playground? where is the small soft voice? where is the music? where is the coffee shop? where are the street lights? where are those faces?

where are they? where are they? where are they?

Now, there are only shadows around me..when I look around, there are only clouds!
How can I tell it was not a dream? too fast..just slipping away..
How can I tell I am not merely a dream?
yes, it's all a dream now..
I don't believe in Descartes anymore...
I think...but I am not there..
where is 1999?
how could everyone leave behind 1999?
how could I have forgotten 1999?
why could I never go back there anymore?
please tell me...
and please take me there again...

..
..

Train

One train passed by me, and then another..
the station was packed.. the huge crowd was waiting for the train which would carry them to their destinations ...
everyone had their own destination..

I had my own.. the smart-dressed business man had his own.. a group of giggly junior high school girls had theirs .. the teenager in trendy outfit playing with his mobile phone had his.. the middle-aged ladies each holding a bag with department store logo on it had their own...

I got on a “Limited Express” train along with the collapsing crowd.
The automatic door closed just behind me and the station seemed too far away now.

------------

.....It was dark in the room..I could see the light from the corridor of my apartment..
and there came a train blowing its whistle…
long, nostalgic whistle...

I looked at the ceiling fan quietly turning..
It seemed everywhere I went, there’s always train ..
I’ve learned to like the melancholy sound of a train at night and it normally brought back a lot of memories…

-------------

…the twinkling lights were here and there as we were approaching residential area…

I was only 10, holding my backpack and eating plums from a bag that my mother bought for me..
Under my feet was a lunch box .. that morning, my mother got up even before dawn to prepare it for me.
I was on my way back to Rangoon on a train after the summer vacation spent with my parents..
Alone…. Yes…. Alone by myself..

It was okay for me to travel alone.. I was not extra brave nor were my parents incautious.
It was okay then on condition that they knew the person who was sitting next to me..

Looking into the starless sky and darkness of the night, I immediately knew that the lights were from small huts or houses of the village ..
I felt very peaceful … the calmest moment, the happiest moment, the unflustered moment..

------------

Whenever I closed my eyes now, I could go back to that moment, remembering the night without stars, but the lights from the small village…
It felt like home..
…a lot like home…
The only thing was that I could never be 10 again…

------------

Excerpt: If you miss the train I'm on, You will know that I am gone. You can hear the whistle blow a hundred miles, A hundred miles, two hundred miles, three hundred miles, four hundred miles, You can hear the whistle blow five hundred miles.

(from "Five Hundred Miles")

..

Rangoon

Blood-stained city
drifting souls on its streets...

doors are shut
eyes are shut
ears are shut
mouths are shut

Muted lights from the candles
a touch here.. a tad there..

Devils everywhere all over...
shadowing, watching, following, scrutinizing

its children... children.... children...
every heart is howling
every soul in ruins
every psyche depleted
....families into pieces....

where is tomorrow...?
where is brightness...?
where is hope....?


Where is Rangoon now...?