Story: Imaginations are Monsters

Imaginations are horrid.

I’ve got a hyper-sensitive hearing, and it doesn’t help when every story I hear, my mind forms into vivid moving images.

You’re telling me about the mysterious whispering winds at your curtains.
You’re recounting the day when you fell and broke your wrist.
You’re conveying the tale about how the pillars cracked and the structure nearly impaling you.

I’m terrified by these descriptives; I no longer dare to see the dentist; or face the winds by the windows; or even switch on the TV to hear the news.

These monsters are running wild; and they are scary. I can hear their feet running across the keyboard now. Type, type, type …

Story: Those tears in his eyes

Those tears in his eyes
and we wonder why.

His boy had cancer, at the age of six.
The days were ending, and no money could save.

Another son’s mind has gone awry.
Some say it’s a result of his undivided attention for his youngest dying child.

He hasn’t seen his eldest in ages.
Who knows if he is still alive.

Dysfunctional; neglect; dejection.

And those tears in his eyes – those that you thought was just a show –
Do we still wonder why?

Story: Love-Hate Relationship

It’s a love-hate relationship, I’ll tell you.

I’d began to realise how I couldn’t stop staring at her. I struggled to keep myself from striking a conversation; yet if she’d started a chat, I would’ve been weak in the knees. It was a strange, stupid feeling.

She knew how I’d felt – seeing my difficulties in breathing when she was near; but always found a way to have me regret any attempts to express my feelings.

Do you know what the advent of technology has done? It has kept me looking out for her “Last Online” hours. It has allowed me to type my less-than-intelligent lines into a smartphone, only to delete them for fear of breaking this sacred relationship – where I could keep my dignity while observing from a distance.

She knew how I’d felt – suggesting that I should meet these friends of hers; and I would obligingly attend these matchmaking sessions while my mind wandered if I could wrap my arms around her instead.

Those nights, I would have had these tunes on loop, listening to my pains in the lyrics of unknown songs. My heart took extra effort to beat as images of her formed in my mind – her face, thin and sharp; her eyes, deep with thoughts; her hands, gentle yet strong.

Years have passed. Nothing has changed, except, the feelings have started to fade. I wonder why I had ever wished she was mine; why I had fallen head over heels. The music was tainted with memories of her. I couldn’t believe how stupid and vulnerable I had been to her manipulations. I wondered if I hated her, or the pathetic image of myself tormented by her beauty.

It’s a love-hate relationship; I’ll tell you.

Story: “Why do you even try?” I asked myself.

“Why do you even try?” I asked myself as I kicked the legs of the table. The table stood still, unmoved by my angst.

It wasn’t worth it to be a hardworking individual. You had to know the right people to get the right opportunities; make the right friends, say the right things. Diligence would be rewarded with endless tasks. And in the hours of burning midnight oil to complete these work, others were out socialising and making friends – with the right friends, saying the right things.

As I sat down to nurse my bruised toe, I began working on the files that had just sprang in height on my desk.

Why do you even try, I asked myself.

Story: “You’re Depressed,” she said

“You’re depressed,” she said.
Only, I was sure, I wasn’t.

“You’re not listening anymore. You’re keeping everyone at bay. You’re ignoring your friends. You’re rejecting my help,” she lamented.
I wasn’t sure if I’d let out a snigger. What friends; what help? She probably hadn’t realised the times I had been brushed off when I’d begged for help, short of getting on my knees.

“You’re probably thinking no-one is there for you. But you’ve never said you needed help! You’ve always been settling all of it on your own!”
Funny situation, how I would’ve known they needed something fixed; but no-one else cared to ask or listen to the unspoken cries.

Such was a circular, useless argument that could go on for hours.

I finally broke my silence, and said, “I’m not ok. I’ve been asking for help but everyone is just too busy with their own business. Not a single person can fix my problems for me, while I’ve continued to solve all of your issues.

As she turned away to answer the phone, she conveyed the message to a friend, “Yes, he says he is ok and everyone should be busy with their own business. Not a single problem has not been fixed by him, and he can continue to help us solve our issues. All is good!”

Not a depressing situation, I guess..

What’s left to write?

It’s been a long, long time since I’ve logged in.

I have lost heart in writing – my brains have dried.
I have lost faith in life – my hands are tied.

Type. Delete. Type. Delete.

I felt a need to express my thoughts and let my stories tell themselves; but each time I read the words, I felt compelled to erase them off the screen.

A new life? A new environment?

Perhaps, perhaps; I’m in need of a new mind.

Almost a month into 2015?

It’s been almost a month into 2015. Happy New Year everyone.

I’ve been slipping on writing – inspirations seeping away to god-knows-where.
So much has happened within the short span of 3 weeks – I’ve fallen ill thrice; been in accidents; chasing up on work, and finally today I take a break from all these.

Here’s wishing the year will only get better …