Twenty four oceans Twenty four skies, Twenty four failures Twenty four tries
Twenty four finds me In twenty-fourth place, Twenty four drop outs At the end of the day.
Life is not what I thought it was Twenty four hours ago, Still I'm singing, Spirit, take me up in arms with You. And I'm not who I thought I was twenty four hours ago, Still I'm singing, Spirit, take me up in arms with You.
Twenty four reasons to admit that I'm wrong, With all my excuses still twenty four strong.
See I'm not copping out,
Not copping out,
Not copping out When You're raising the dead in me. Oh, oh I am the second man, Oh, oh I am the second man now, Oh, oh I am the second man now.
And You're raising these twenty four voices, With twenty four hearts, With all of my symphonies In twenty four parts.
But I want to be one today, Centered and true, I'm singing, Spirit, take me up in arms with You, You're raising the dead in me.
Oh, oh I am the second man, Oh, oh I am the second man now Oh, oh I am the second man now, And You're raising the dead in me.
I want to see miracles, To see the world change; Wrestled the angel, For more than a name For more than a feeling, For more than a cause.
I'm singing, Spirit, take me up in arms with You, And You're raising the dead in me.
Twenty four voices, With twenty four hearts, With all of my symphonies In twenty four parts.
Life is not what I thought it was Twenty four hours ago, Still I'm singing, Spirit, take me up in arms
See, I'm not copping out, Not copping out. Not copping out.
the rest is silence;
Chem 6A.
Monday, March 30, 2009
at 11:00 PM;
Nothing but a chemical in my head
It's nothing but laziness
Cause I don't wanna read the book
I'll watch the movie
Cause it's not me
I'm just like everybody else my age
I think I'd rather play around
And I think I'd rather watch TV
Cause I don't wanna face my fears
I'll watch the movie
Cause it's not me
I'm just like everybody else
I'm just like everybody else
Because I don't wanna be here
I don't wanna see this now
It's all wrong but it's alright
And I don't wanna be here
And I don't wanna study now
It's all wrong but it's alright
I don't know what love is
I don't know who I am
And if I ever want to find out
I'll watch the movie
Cause it's not me
I'm just like everybody else my age
I don't wanna change the world
And I don't wanna be someone
I don't wanna write the book
I'll make the movie
Cause it's not me
I'm just like everybody else
I'm just like everybody else
I don't wanna be here
I don't wanna see this now
It's all wrong but it's alright
And I don't wanna be here
And I don't wanna study now
It's all wrong but it's alright
the rest is silence;
In which choon is not your mother. Revisited.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
at 10:26 PM;
Actually, choon is your mother.
Or part thereof.
Saturday marked the best, most fulfilling frisbee training I have ever had.
Make that the most fulfilling training I have ever had.
We met as usual for Saturday trainings at Harborfront. Got on 55 to meet Zhefei, Guangyu, Puhwai and Dng at Ang Mo Kio, then ran into Zhefei when I passed his stop. Anyway, ran into Cheng and Shailesh after a series of unfortunate events one got on the train while the other didn't, before we reached Harborfront, met everyone and got to West Coast.
I popped down to Macs to buy breakfast, put on my boots, and went to throw for a while. Was slightly miffed because my forehand suddenly became wobbly, but I managed to get that down after a bit of warmup with HP and Cheng. Well, I blame CTs myself for not practicing enough and focusing too much on weird throws. Actually, on second thought, I do blame CTs. XD
Turns out actual training wasn't what was in store, and with an internal scrimmage in the works, Puhwai and Guangyu became captains and were taking turns to choose teams. Anyway, in the end the teams ended up rather unbalanced or so it seemed. As it were, my team chose to name ourselves Anata no Haha, which colloquially translates into Japanese for Your Mother.
I was already kinda stressed before the thing, because I was chosen last (sorry I'm kinda touchy that way, but hey, tell me you don't feel any different if you're chosen last ), and also because Guangyu, in his pre-game pep talk, mentioned not to throw any high throws the whole of Saturday, saying that he'd rather we screwed up while trying to break force than to throw high throws.
No prizes for guessing who that was meant for. But I'm glad he said it, cause it turned out to be a really fulfilling challenge later on. Besides, I've been getting back into the habit of using high release for every situation from playing amphitheatre games, and it really was a much-needed wakeup call to get my act together and do some proper throws, which I've practically thrown in a corner to die for the past few months.
Anyway, the apparent team imbalance became evident when we started playing, with the score gap quickly widening to 7-0. Was already flustered when the thing started, and it didn't help when the opposing team threw a cup on us, which totally killed my clarity of mind. As it was, I couldn't think properly, and had an almost 0% pass completion rate. In fact, I was actually just throwing the frisbee into the ground half the time.
Well, to cut things short, I went to take a break and pull myself back together, and finally remembered just what it was I play frisbee for. The exhilaration when you manage to get that throw through the small gap between the defenders, when you see the frustration on your mark's face as they find that they can't cut, when you turn around and see your teammate sprinting deep, you make that huck and, boy oh boy, does it curl neatly into his hand as you burst forward to continue the flow.
But most importantly, it's about the man/woman next to you, and how seven people from such different backgrounds, each with their own unique and distinct personality, can work together and how even with a 'weaker' team, it is the effort that makes the difference.
That said, I didn't play that well, but man, I loved every single moment of it, right down to my random block of Shailesh when he decided to dump the disc and I just reached behind him and smacked the disc down, not half a meter from his teammate.
Wheeeeeeejadotjg8has3QW459eg34GT%#QEREJG#$*()GG#$)*T*)$#Q. Choon is gushing.
Back to a semblance of half-logical, barely grammatically correct broken sentences with excessive adjective padding coherency.
Anyway, I don't remember much of what happened, it was all an awesome rush of sight and sound and movement, so I shall speak of spicy chicken instead.
Spicy chicken is awesome. Unfortunately, spicy chicken, is, as you may have guessed, spicy. Even more unfortunately, the spicy chicken I ate afterwards was dosed with liberal amounts of chili oil, the keyword being oil.
We went to JustAcia at Dhoby Ghaut afterwards, since Macs is enhanced fat with HGH-laced unnamed bits of chicken that they can't really use anyway so they mash it and pack it into bite-sized chunks and call it 'nuggets', as in 'gold nuggets' not kosher.
Well, I ate the spicy chicken set, and the salmon teriyaki set because I was stupid and didn't check to see how large their servings were before deciding that I could finish two sets was really hungry. Changed the second free flow drink and ice cream to two servings of chawanmushi. Well, in the end I finished everything except for half a bowl of rice, because it was really really dry, and the chili oil was making my stomach feel just a little on this side of weird.
Went home after that with the proverbial couple who are probably together but don't want to admit it because they are modest or simply because they don't want other people to feel awkward around them even though they already know they're being dian4 deng1 pao4 Kenneth and Michelle. Quickly showered, rushed down to church (I wasn't late though I got home at 4, yay!) After church went to eat at Tampines Mall, and Nick Yeo, the awesome dude that he is, sent Nicky, Li Qi and I home.
Got up late today, realised I was on duty for 7.45 service, got to church just in time for service. Sis Lau preached. It's quite interesting, every time she preaches she can put so much in her sermon and yet finish in a much shorter time than most other preachers.
Anyway, went for lunch twice (and realised that while Josh Tan can't carry 20kg of weights in a cardboard box, Lyanna can, which explains why she smacks people so hard [not that she usually has a valid reason to], and which also speaks a lot for the little exercise that Josh Tan does), came home, took a long long nap to catch up on sleep which didn't work, and read Wikipedia for almost 2 hours.
Then blogged.
Phew. Long weekend.
Wow. I just went to the toilet, and found it still really warm from my shower, more than 2 hours ago.
Anyway. Wrote this last year, but it seems relevant now.
ultimate
nobody thought that
a glorified dinner plate
could carry hopes and dreams
eyes unfocused, watching
peripheral movement,
a glimpse of flying plastic
and you sprint off
arms open, feet flitting;
you gasp numbers,
then a flick
and slap as the game changes direction
the familiar 'ftt'
as the weight of the disc
leaves
your muddied hand
stamp and kick;
g forces and
tunnel vision,
as you break free of your shadow
legs burning, your foot
springs off; you push
the ground away
for a moment of flight
a flash of white
through the afternoon glare,
then a rim slowing
between your fingers
roaring; a rush
of emotion
as you feel the firm shape
of the frisbee
in your grasp,
in the endzone.
the rest is silence;
as your words plug holes in the downbeat
Thursday, March 26, 2009
at 8:42 PM;
I cycled out to Kovan to eat dinner, instead of facing my parents over the table. I've forgotten how long it's been since I've talked to them properly. How I missed the feeling of not being scrutinized, just sitting outside at the empty taxi-stand, watching faces pass by; faces in cars, in buses.
Just a stranger.
Passed by a funeral eulogy on the way back. I'm not sure why I stayed to listen. Funny how they say so many good things about you when you die.
I really don't understand why I felt so jealous of someone I don't know.
broken by the rain
I am broken by the rain,
leaves telling on the fall,
poems I have missed
when I refused to rise up
to the dreaming in their call.
I am broken by the rain,
silence taking to the streets,
the falter and linger
that did not matter once
till my past learned to speak;
neither iron nor names
hewn to the bone,
but the losses I cut
when I know it's due
to call a stone a stone.
why can't I smile for real anymore?
am I just a lie?
or have I allowed myself to become this faux face
the rest is silence;
In which the cup is only potentially 2/5 full.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
at 10:56 PM;
I don't want to fail any more.
Father, I am bereft
and coming undone.
I need to unlearn,
I need to be dumb.
For I have nothing left
On my tongue.
as good as it gets;
and yet
the rest is silence;
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
at 8:21 PM;
simon says
Then they led him away to be crucified. On their way out they met a man from Cyrene, Simon by name, and pressed him into service to carry his cross.
- Matthew 27:32.
Talk about being
at the wrong place,
at the wrong time.
One moment, I was
one voice with the mob,
egging on the Son of God
and the next,
I assumed His silence
beneath the cross.
I would say I am man
enough to bear any job
but still, it was a long haul,
a road made all the more painful
by the spit and spite I endured
all the miles up Golgotha.
I shall not forget how
something inside me broke
like a wound that afternoon,
when He heaved the cross
from my shoulders and smiled,
as though every breath on earth
shone through His spirit.
-felix cheong
Missing
He go to school.
Never come back.
I make police report.
Newspapers, Crime Watch.
They even put his picture,
He and the other boy,
On poster, with reward
From fast-food restaurant.
I ask from the RC man:
Can I have it from the
Lift lobby noticeboard.
He give me and also say sorry.
I have it in my bedroom.
Every morning with half-
Open eyes I remind myself
My son: the one on the left.
Got calls come in once.
Say they saw him in
Penang, selling videos.
Or in Bangkok, begging.
Child prostitute they say.
Sometimes no voice at all.
Hello? Hello? Who is this?
I am your son. Then hang up.
So many things to remember.
His school is still there.
I walk to it sometimes;
Pretend I am him.
Praying come kidnap me
Take me away now.
Got one artist try to draw
My son's grown-up face.
I ask him draw one
For every year. He say cannot.
Got one time I was on TV.
Crying, with schoolbag on my lap.
Keep saying, good boy, always help me
Do housework. Now I say let me
Do the housework. Let me wake up
To the mess he left behind.
-alfian sa'at
the rest is silence;
am i really
at 7:15 PM;
Stärker: German, stronger {adjective}.
Old High German: starc.
Yeah, right.
the rest is silence;
just a face in the crowd
at 7:05 PM;
I wish I wasn't just another person.
At least not to you, at any rate.
the rest is silence;
at 6:41 AM;
the rest is silence;
i want to fall in love with you.
Monday, March 23, 2009
at 8:56 PM;
If you listen,
You can hear the city call.
In the night lights
You will find love.
Tall steel towers,
Standing, watching over you,
In the darkness,
They cast their lights.
In the night time,
You can hear the city call.
Hear the voices
Coming through these paper walls.
Hear the river
As it runs right through your halls.
You can feel it.
You can feel it.
In these moments,
With the streetlights in your eyes,
Dreaming secrets
That we can't keep.
-------
We are all here.
Looking for some peace of mind.
Choices unclear;
We search for what peace we can find.
Someone to have;
Someone to have and to hold.
Someone to share;
To share all your silver and gold.
-------
And I've made myself the fool;
Who's fallen for you.
So let me down softly this time and
I won't have to come back crying.
-------
Clouds, they write the words;
The wind sings the song. But without you, These lines don’t make a tune. I hope somehow,
This song of you, Through the lonely night, it’ll be the one that brings me
Through the night,
That never ever shines, Through the tears that well up in my eyes, Till the daybreak comes, won’t you be someone To sit beside and fill this sorrow.
the rest is silence;
habeas corpus?
Sunday, March 22, 2009
at 8:18 PM;
Monday: General Paper
Tuesday: Economics
Wednesday: History
Thursday: Mathematics, Literature
Twelve hours.
Here goes.
the rest is silence;
Love is the movement.
Friday, March 20, 2009
at 8:30 PM;
the rest is silence;
staring blank at the ceiling wall.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
at 9:00 PM;
Through the night
That never ever shines,
Through the tears that well up in my eyes,
Through the depths
Won't you be someone
To sit beside and fill this sorrow heart.
reflect
I am a writer.
I see the world in words;
varying shades of nuance blending into dog-eared notebook-film.
I speak in anecdotes and metaphors and hastily corrected grammar;
my swirling maelstrom of penmanship coalescing into verse and form.
I think in paratheses; disjointed words derailing my train of thought.
Then I go to school, just another teenager.
I sit in freezing rooms with flickering lights, forced to listen,
forced to answer by someone I do not know; the interrogation
of my childish mind, for a cause I understand but wish to escape.
I watch the news. I watch the news. I watch the news.
My fight is the fight for that infernal resumé,
that infamous first letter, before (B)oy,
before (C)haracter, before (F)amily, (V)alues and definitely (L)ove.
I am constantly plagued by the fear of whether those students in the back
are dreaming up the next big hit on Comedy Central
or simply laughing at me.
My second language baffles me; symbols and strokes and lines in words,
fighting their horizontal arrangement in a kaleidioscope of black on white.
Or maybe I just suck.
Then I lose myself in introspection, I recall, I retell.
I paint out the souls of mice and men in letters;
sculpting things just as they seem - and more.
I am a gatekeeper of the unbounded.
I am a writer.
oh, for the freedom to fly;
this liberty with wings.
the rest is silence;
and it all comes back
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
at 11:24 PM;
I'm tired.
I'm tired of pretending to be strong.
I'm tired of being treated more and more like a patient, and less and less like a friend.
I don't really care if you're trying to cheer me up or not. It's not about whether you make me happier in the end. It's about why you're trying to do so. I don't want people giving me fake warm words and smiles, only to find that they're just doing so because it's, oh, apparently their duty. That's really poor. How different are you from a Pharisee, anyway?
And you. After so long, you suddenly decide my friendship's not worth losing and try to pick up the pieces. But, it seems, there's not much to pick up. What happened? Have you really gone and taken that left turn? I don't know. Somehow, I don't want to say it, because that would be admitting that it has happened, but you've just let slip everything. Everything we ever laughed, and loved, and cried about. No compromise, I remember us saying. Never.
Well, seems people do change, after all.
I miss the times when people hadn't yet decided that I wasn't quite worth all that much to them.
I'm afraid. I don't want to fail any more.
And, yet, somehow, I find myself falling in love
the rest is silence;
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
at 11:44 PM;
A Hundred Ways To Say Your Name
I avoid speaking your name in conversation, throwing it to the air as if it were nothing more than an assumption of you; it is my last mode of defence. The last item of clothing to discard before I realise I’m naked in public.
Because they can hear it in my voice. I know. Even in that one short syllable that means everything and nothing; your name is as common as you are rare. As easy as you are not. As simple as love should be, but never is.
But when I’m alone, I tie my tongue softly round the familiar sound, as if pronouncing with conviction the phonetics of desire will cause time to pause just long enough for the earth to hear my naming my loss.
Through the night