Every Tomorrow

to the best of my memory, it felt like i was trapped in my skin and bones, screaming his name over and over in hopeless panic as we were both pulled further apart from each other, across sand and gravel which i could not feel but could hear the rushing scratchy heat of. as my mind slipped into a quieter state i wondered if this was representative of a subliminal state, and if so, what was it really wanting? i could not stop tears from welling up under my eyelids — they just kept coming, and welling, and falling, down my cheeks, but my fingers felt too heavy to brush anything away. and some part of my consciousness was aware of a growing dissatisfaction around me, which made me feel worse, but then i wasn’t sure if that was real too. it’s funny, but it’s possible to feel acutely alone in the midst of many people. what was i really wanting? if i close my eyes i can feel it, the sounds of the slithering sand go away and i can feel — his hand across mine, as he sleeps lightly breathing next to me, easily awakened and always full of fantastical stories from the edges of his dreams. my heart feels like it might burst from joy at the proximity and the possibility of this thought. is this love or is it a dependency, or are the two not separable? i am grateful today for technology and grace of being. i have the sun on my back now and it feels nice. i content myself with the knowledge that at least one of us is asleep and safe from cruelties, even if just for a short while.

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i fell into a tunnel. and not unlike the tunnel to wonderland, it is either very deep or i am falling very slowly. the transit time gives me the opportunity to revisit the far past and also to consider if i had thought about how i was going to get out. i suppose i haven’t, because here i am, not knowing where i’m going to end up or if there is even a way out of wherever i find myself. maybe despite any form of rationalization this is still what i am all about — the journey and not the destination. but it is easy to say that, just as it is easy to escape. it is easy to feel fortuitous and push my luck. it is, unbelievably enough, so easy to love. but i am alone now, with nothing but my own thoughts, music and a book i chose, with no tangible mementos except the fleeting, flitting stardust in my porous mind. perhaps this is how i deserve to be — by myself and grasping at golden threads as i fall.


january usually feels like a period of awakening. i keep urging myself to put place-markers along the path on which i am stumbling, to remind myself of how i felt at pivotal moments, or the decisions that i find i’ve dreamed myself into, lest i end up changing my mind or forgetting key events. this place-marking is critical. when i was very young, i cried easily whenever chastised or hit by grown-ups. very often they would scream at me to stop crying. this was something i could never understand — how can adults hurt another person and scream at them to stop crying? i always wanted to scream back, it is not easy to stop crying when you’ve started crying! especially when you are in pain! it is altogether some mix of stopping yourself from breathing, swallowing hiccups and quelling your very anxious heart — it is just not possible. and so i promised myself that when i am older and have to deal with crying children, i must never forget that it is not possible for someone who has started crying to stop themselves from crying instantly, and that i should not make them feel sorry or terrible for not being able to do so. adults are forgetful and as they grow older they think they know everything because they have the benefit of hindsight and experience. but this thing about the crying: it is something my 6 year old self knows is true and important and will carry forever into the future. my only wish for this cold but hopeful january is that my 25 year old self can be as strong, steadfast and clear-minded.

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Storms Before the Calm

i am a field mouse once again, with the world swirling around me and a heart with open seams down the middle. selfridges feels like a lifetime ago, even further away from the bus in penang and the ashes of 12 sultan ismail. but here i am in another raging December snowstorm, as all the other Decembers conflate to reveal to me my true self, who i really am. it’s funny how much time has passed since i was last a field mouse, but the same old questions still run through my mind – what does it really mean to be on the same team? what does it mean to love? what does Radiohead’s song really mean?

in these snowstorms i like to think of the times in my life that have been pure, idyllic, and right. i move from the latte in coffee bean mt kiara to the stone bench at columbia, and then from under the teacher’s table in sri garden to the dusky rivers of pahang. these memories calm me and i feel real again — real enough to understand why it’s so important to keep my heart open to people and the small but special moments that they bring with them. i do see that the more wretched things one encounters — be they part of the world or part of oneself — the harder it becomes to remain open. but in so many ways there is something invigorating about the pain. it’s like a workout. it wrings you dry and stretches you, and suddenly there is just so much more skin to feel with. pain feels even more painful, but then the most wonderful things also expand and bloom to cover the entire sky, as far as the eye can see.



whenever i find myself on the cusp of doing something emotionally risky, i tell myself to sleep on it. inevitably when i wake up i no longer see the urgency and i pat myself on the back for being patient and making the safer choice. but in my dreams i find myself asking what if? what if something big, crucial and incredibly magical happened because i took the risk? but i guess i will never know



it occurred to me yesterday that a full day had passed, in which i did not think about her. it troubled me. had i forgotten her? was this the slow beginning of a spiral into the ether where people left secret smiles on the faces of their beloved and then disappeared? but then i remembered that death can be a good thing. i tried to be very happy for her that she had finally found release and slipped free from all the pain that had caged her into herself for so long. but the truth is that i miss her very deeply, and that she had also slipped free from me, so quietly away into the evening humidity. i have now not known her for as many years as i have known her — her real, full, true, beautiful self who walked and talked, and sometimes laughed, and twice cried. this thing about the years is a fact that i find quite unfair. it is quite like art class in primary school, when we would paint half of an art block and fold the paper in two, to make a butterfly print: is the second half of the whole butterfly even real? did i only get twelve years or did i get twenty four? also, my memory is fading and sometimes i can’t remember if i’d held her left or right hand as we crossed the street to go to the market. and sometimes i feel that she went through so much suffering that there can’t possibly be anymore of it left in this world. i do wish she was here with me to experience this world without suffering… she is the only person i have ever met whom i have loved unconditionally. i can only hope that when she passed, she remembered me, my name and my face.


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