Monday, 26 December 2016

Drama and Reality

If it makes me question myself, then there's some possibility to it. Would I be OK with falling in love with an Ajjusshi in real life? Shocking. But if the Ajjusshi was to act like a 20-year-old and still has his innocence about him, then I cannot see why I would not be attracted to him.


Korean dramas make even the most average looking Ajjusshi appear dashing. Dangerously so. After this, I wonder how many of us would fantasise a love life with an Ajjusshi.

I love the drama, mind you, or else I wouldn't be here thinking about the leading male character and the bubbly leading female. Despite the pleasure it brings me, certain themes and conventions are not what I can agree with. But what to do? People seem to like gobbling them up as they are, questioning nothing, even wishing a life like that for themselves. I'm not going to pretend that I don't want a tall, handsome Korean Oppa to pat my head and love me, but I'm not going to pretend that their every portrayal is fine either.

People like to dismiss me by saying "bah, it's just a show!" and I would like to ask them how is it that their brains could be so appallingly unreceptive, but I never because they're too proud. I suppose ignorance makes life as perfect as it is supposed to be.

Dramas do make my girlish heart flutter but my imagination has been dulled by my very real lover. He's all too realistic, sadly, and I love him dearly. I can no longer imagine myself with another Oppa because he'll always be there for me, like a huge tree looming over my existence. Not that I have anything to complain about. He's as sweet as any of them; taller too-- very much taller.

Sunday, 25 December 2016

A Little Optimism

University life is not that bad, even for a passionless subject such as myself. To think of the suffering that I go through each day battling my own mediation, it's all just too much thought. In reality, the only true hours of labour that I bother to clock in during my academic life is the week before an essay is due. Other times I spend rebelling the system to no avail while crying to my counselor.

After the storm, there is a fine thread of optimism that always shines through. At such moments, I can actually feel contented with what I have and think that my life is wonderful. Not often this happens, not often at all. When it does, I like to enjoy its brief happiness.

Many others are probably going through this phase of their lives without direction, forcefully, propelled by the expectations of both their families and societal norms. There are also those who, like a handful that I know of, are realising their dreams at university, venturing into fields they have a deep passion for. Perhaps I envy them, for having solid goals. They thrive on the will to succeed while I mostly just stay alive, unremarkably. I wonder if it is a sin to have no dreams of material possession? For that is what drives people nowadays to succeed. If it is not for wealth, then it is for nothing. Have I found out too soon that happiness does not depend on what you possess but who loves you? Mah. Coming from a family where my expenses are disposable, the economic superiority that allows a non-working lump of fat to attain whatever it fancies doesn't make me happy. Wealth makes life convenient, but never genuinely happy. Each time I shop, I feel gratified for 5 minutes, then the weight of negativity comes crashing down on me again.

I find it primitive when people think "how can she kill herself when she had such a good life?" regarding suicides of young, affluent females. Knock, knock, how many times does it need to be retold that wealth does not equal to happiness? Sure, she had a pretty face too, and you wanted that bag she carried-- it would have made you happy to be able to own such possessions, you think. Let us be honest, when you do own such an item, it'll just be in its dustbag in the depths of your closet.

This post is supposed to have a little optimism in it, yes...

On the peak of the rainbow's curve, I sit immersing myself into the foreign languages and cultures I am learning. They seem to be the only components of life I find worthwhile. My writing isn't all that bad either, is it? Hah.

Friday, 23 December 2016

Undisturbed Festivities

Festive season, is it? The croaks and chrips I hear each night remain neutral, lights are plain as any other season. If there is one difference, I suppose it is the frozen stagnation of life here now that everybody has gone home. Hours of the day curve before the valley, passing, glinting before my glazed eyes, leaving behind those who are congealed in the resin of perceived time.

Bells are singing jingles in my head and I think of red noses, brown antlers, and a home with a furnace surrounded by a flurry of winter air. If I listen close enough, I can hear the splintered logs burning out. All the hearty celebration yet what I yearn for is to hear nothing. It is supposed to be a silent night, is it not? 

That is past.

Now I want to share the warmth by the fire when it's freezing outside, but I wouldn't mind if you go with me to walk the dogs.

Time never stops those who revisit their memories. Maybe it should, for a more productive outcome.

In 10 years, I will tell you that wishes do come true, but for now, it is my reality that they do not. Only in retrospect can they be fulfilled.

Merry Christmas.

Monday, 19 December 2016

Desert Flame

An abundant desert, your tongue a parched patch of spent minerals. Dry, shrivelled and brittle, it stays suspended upon nothing of value, roots dissolving in a well of what was once worthwhile.

To burn what is already devoid of life is to set fire to the air, where only its flames, in all its glory, acknowledges itself.

Wednesday, 14 December 2016


この名前が大嫌い。六、どうして七と八が嫌いじゃありませか。それはあの女の名前ですから、大嫌い。あなたの友達ですか... 「と・も・だ・ち」だけ。可笑しいですね。



Haben Sie noch einen Wunsch?

Ja, geht. GEHT. 

Saturday, 10 December 2016

A Sweet and Sour Lunch

Of being in a committed relationship, I find that it dulls one's years as a blooming Spring flower-- not that I detest this stagnation of the crawling climax of my possibly long life, since the stability of mind of my significant other provides me with the rationality that I do not possess. But, excitement, is non-existent; at least in terms of raging adrenaline triggered by new experiences of interaction, or hanging off the edge of a cliff.

I saw a Schattig at lunch, the kind of demure male human I would want as a houseboy. Even his laugh echoed with the tremulous melody of a maiden, without the obnoxious snorts that prevail in hearty male laughter. I forget the details of his face because I'm not one to stare, but I remember nothing prominent, only the flowing outline of a bubble. His stature, unassuming; legs, undeniably thin, a faint resemblance to Pico, ぼくのピコ.

Would I have liked to have lunch with him, if he was alone. But as I separated my chicken from its thick bowl of sweet and sour sauce, I concluded that it would not have mattered if he was alone, for I am not a wild flower basking in the light, but one growing in a pot, carefully nurtured. The vinegar stung my senses but the sugar propelled me into a state of confusion-- is it sweet and sour or is it sour and sweet or is it more sour than it is sweet or is it more sweet than it is sour? But it doesn't matter, it was not meant to linger.

Now, I remember the conversation I had with Jor two days ago about why people cheat. He said it's about greed, but I think it is about the lack of fulfillment in one's relationship. In the end, it all boils down to the fact that we all just want what we do not and cannot have. So is it greed, or is it a lack of fulfillment?


As I watched him float towards his friends, I told myself: he's too cute to be straight anyway.

I continue to pick the meat out of the pool of sauce, with much distaste.

Thursday, 1 December 2016

A Headache and My Neck Hurts

Instead of being welcomed by the light, I only felt the veins in my head throb as my grip tightened. I was pretty sure I would explode.

But I didn't.

Instead, I have now a terrible headache and an aching neck, stiff. Who would think that a delicate ribbon could present itself to be a bringer of death? Maybe, I should try slurping it along with noodle soup.

On a day as hot and as bright, it just seems inappropriate to die. The tune of the birds doesn't harmonise with the scream from within, and the light outside cannot even begin to encroach upon the sacred darkness of enslavement. As bright and yellow and lime the interior of my cubicle is, I am colour-blind anyway.

That is why we should never attempt suicide, unless we know it is going to be a true success. Ah, but even being asleep for months in the hospital is better than staying awake in reality. Eventually, unconsciously, you won't even notice when you stop breathing. 

But if I were to be alive in my sleep and suffer the same fate, then how am I to know that the life I am living now is not a dream? And that I have already died, over and over, living in dreams among dreams among dreams. It hurts but I cannot wake up because I am already dead. I shall be reincarnated in my next dream.