Posts filed under 'Martian Invasion'
there are so many things i wanna say. yet i dunno how to say it. mostly things about what i feel inside but also things that happened. i wanna talk about that moment. that moment which is now a blank just before it happened. i don’t remember that moment. it’s a blank flash of white light which i could only circumvent but not get into. this is the moment before su ann gives me the scrapbook. nature has its way of clasping us to autopilot so that we are not overwhelmed by a big event that is about to envelop us. which explains this amnesia. it’s restricted. it’s not a glitch in the system, it’s for some reason just a delibrately disallowed, faint, concrete wall of unathorised access.
i realise now it is entitled “one year of everything”. i realise now the hole of the g’s on the pasted “hong kong” are coloured by black ink and not cut out, perhaps in a short fit of playfulness/rush the g-holes have eyes atop them. i now can connect that little bit of clue delivered to me by her giggly laughs on the junkboat, that “i once drew that building”, referring to I.M Pei’s iconic bank of china building, to the actual drawing in the scrapbook, bigger to me than the actual building itself, and on the same page also a drawing of the said junkboat, sailing from beneath where we stood back on to the scrapbook. there is a big cutout of a bowl of cendol complete with representations of brown sugar and shaved ice and lovely writings of sweet nothings so apt in its place. i saw the next day, as i returned to read it, that she wasn’t supposed to write on the blue cendol bowl. how could i have committed the sin of not laughing, with her beside me, at something which to me is so funny. now that moment is gone.
how did i feel before she gave it to me? how did i feel as she brought it out? as i held it in my hand? did i see her disappear and re-appear again with that scrapbook, which seems to feel like something life-saving? has she sussed out everything about this my frequent lapse into and snapping out of blurness? i’m gonna treasure this all my life and im gonna employ the oft-used cliche that words are beyond me. but i wish i had that moment back. of realising something big was about to happen, to cherish it just 2 seconds longer than however long it lasted.
happy anniversary, su ann. i love u. here’s to many many many many many many many many manyyyyyyyyyyy more crazy & love-filled years together.
July 9th, 2007
Did I hear a genie calling?
I have this place I go to where if I looked up, I see something egg-shaped. It’s a furry egg-shaped thing. It’s a white furry egg-shaped thing. It’s a white furry egg-shaped thing with the most beautiful big eyes. It’s a white, furry, egg-shaped thing with the most beautiful eyes and a smile that melts me. It’s a white, furry, egg-shaped thing with the most beautiful eyes, a smile that melts me and a scent that totally intoxicates me. Ok maybe “furry” isn’t the right word (occassionaly “fury” is), but “hair” just doesn’t quite describe something that’s on a cute and, er, furry animal. Anyway for reasons of poetic justice or whatever that’s left of it, I shall refer to it as hair, but you know what I mean.
I’m not trying to emulate lyrics from the 12 days of Christmas, you know, the one that starts with a patridge in a pear tree, but there’s no other way to describe it because this is like my playground. I blissfully move from one thing to another without letting go of the previous sensation but the next sensation is always unexpected. Always ecstatically amorphous- a smile that is evolving or fading; a scent that is playing hide and seek.
January 15th, 2007
My report card for cool is out. It doesn’t look good. I considered many times bribing the person doing my assessment (myself) but I was at the same time too fierce and too timid to accept and give bribes respectively. Needless to say, I didn’t get very good grades and it’s official that I’m not cool. It’s hard to be cool with someone like her.
I’m a hirsute lion king in my territory on the grassy Savannah plains; female lionesses scattered all around for my mating disposal. I would stand tall and give occasional sturdy growls when warranted to calm the situation. And the lionesses would go back to their hunting and gossiping, er chatting, and the cubs their playing. But I get scratched by playful cubs. And I start crying. Tears slowly form a creek down my cheeks and tributaries in my oh-so-manly mane and my whiskers start to wilt from the weight of dewlike droplets. They’re all giving me the kind of nonplused look that only beasts of the wild can give. Do you blame them – who the fuck has seen a lion cry?
Ok the visualisation is stupid but we’re allowed to be once in a while .
Su Ann says a BIG hello to everyone. Her return tomorrow will put things back to normal We will return to our usual long conversations again (free of those wicked secret agents) where she at once brews curiosity, anxiety and wonderment in me. And she ALWAYS remembers to give tender moments. In a few days I would lock my fingers in hers. And you would have back your regular refrain of cutes. This experience has been nothing less than surrealistic for me…to be blogging in a house of pink.
December 19th, 2006
Do you remember how as kids we always (the more annoying among us anyway) asked why-questions? Mommy, what is that dog doing on top of another dog? Er…they are making friends. Why? Coz everybody needs friends. Why? Coz we need to talk to someone and feel belonged. Why? Coz we don’t really wanna end up in the abyss of loneliness. Why? Coz we will spend a lot of money on prozac to make us feel good again. Why? Coz we desire it.
More recently, moving into more adult environs, I discover the reason why why-questions arise is because adults are deliberately vague. Sentences beg further elaboration. It’s very much a verbal version of penny wise, pound foolish that compromises the virtues of clarity and word economy. You must invest in this company because it has tremendous growth. Why? Because they are selling phones that make perfect half-boiled eggs. Why do people want that? Because it’s healthy and cool. Why do people want health and coolness? Somehow they just do.
The tipping point of why-questioning is when objectivity moves into subjectivity. When dependency moves into in-dependency. When effect moves into cause. At the tipping point, reason becomes a free agent, further questioning becomes either futile or academic or both. The tipping point is the place of desires, choice and instinct. The tipping-point can be reached right away by injecting economy into the opening sentence: this company is investible because they sell cool Boilr phones that promote health. Or: We make love to feel happy.
Why do I love you? I just do.
December 16th, 2006
Hi everybody. This is Martian. I’ve been given the colossal task of guest-blogging for Su Ann. I’m not even going to pretend that I can fill the role of titillating your senses the way she does so I’m going to very perfunctorily entertain you with fillers that invite totally obvious comparisons of how my blogs suck big time compared to those of the Luscious Pink Goddess. I also have the tendency to wander off into long sentences. So bear with me.
First some history of why I’m a Martian. And why Hong Kong is dangerously close to stripping the 2nd rock of its planetary status after Pluto, which I hasten to respond: every discipline has a ritual that’s totally anal in nature. Sorry Pluto, you have to clear the neighbourhood around your orbit. Take the Japanese Tea Ceremony. I browsed through Paulo Coelho’s essay collection on that subject who expressed the view that if daily routine stuff like drinking tea were done in a ritualistic way, we would enjoy our life a lot more. Okayyy, I’m really really looking forward to brushing my teeth tomorrow. Anal everybody, you gotta be it. I think Su Ann’s has this shower ritual that lasts for hours, but that’s a story for another day. Anyway, back to the question. Why am I a Martian?
Consider the picture below. Compare it to previous pics you’ve seen of me, do I look like him? Do I have a green helmet on my head that tries to pass off a broom as that furry thing on a centurion’s helmet? Do I match a red tee, green skirt and red tights with white sneakers? Do I do that on other days than Wednesdays? Do I wear white gloves? Am I always pissed off? Do I have all that angst that I pented up as a teen when I was really nice and smiley? Do I have a self-imposed anger management policy on myself? That thing that they ask you to do..count from one to ten, take a deep breath, does it really work? Yes, it does. Is my name Marvin?
December 14th, 2006
