Tuesday, April 05, 2011

“I'm feeling like I'm famous, the talk of the town. They say I've gone mad. Yeah, I've gone mad.” – Bruno Mars

Time is never linear.
It travels in circles.

A good few years ago, I was down and out for the count. I could imagine the referee’s fingers counting to ten and right before my blurry eyes. The cheers of friends and family echoed in my ears. Then, by sheer will (pun, fully intended), I got up.

Now, a few thousand days later, once again, I stand face to face with Life, himself. And I’m being bashed – left, right, and center. My career progression is at a stand still and I feel like Aron Ralston – Yes, the same guy who was featured in the biographical film, 127 Hours. Yes, I’m trapped and I’ve gone mad.

The last career stint was wrapped in a veil of beautiful promises. While time and time again, I got disappointed by the lack of leadership, mentorship and ethics. It’s a great product, and I still stand by its strong and noble intentions. But it’s dying for a great leader to steer the ship.

“I'm feeling like I'm famous, the talk of the town. They say I've gone mad. Yeah, I've gone mad.” – Bruno Mars

Amidst a cacophony of sirens, yells, and the cracking flames of burning houses, I staggered into the welcoming darkness of the night. I draped a cloak around me and made haste out of the village. As the mayhem drifts further away, I journeyed on, wanting to take refuge deep into the nearest forest. Soon, I succumbed to fatigue and took a breather under a colossal tree-like structure. The view of the sky was obstructed by the dense canopy and I was engulfed in darkness.

A faint light from the burning village allowed me to catch a glimpse of my surrounding. “Well… What do we have here?” a strange creature appeared from the lush leaves of the nearby bush. “My name is Wik, and I am a Witte Wieven of the Enition Forest.” The creature grinned and offered a handshake. I stretched out my hand with extreme caution.

According to folklore, Witte Wievens are Witches from the Netherlands whose spirits remained on earth and became living spirits (or elven beings) that either helped or hindered people who encountered them. They tend to reside in the burial grounds or other sacred areas.

The ground around me started rumbling and wooden spikes began to emerge and forming a cage around me. I rolled my eyes in exasperation and uttered to myself,“I just got out of this damn thing.”

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

“I wanna rock and roll; I wanna give my soul; I'm wanting to believe; I'm not too old.” - Matthew Perryman Jones

It has been a while since I posted something here - 976 days to be exact. Many things have happened. I have since left the government drone cycle, after 30 months of struggle, had a short stint at a small firm with no business ethics, and joined a large telecommunications giant. Allow me to recount the triumphs and defeats that I’ve experienced. Here’s where we left off.

The Dark Force swarmed the Bucaady townsfolk, and the elite forces from the Kingdom of Will were barely able hold them back. This was not what we signed up for. One by one, I witnessed my comrades fall; but Lekkin still held his own. The Chief of Bucaady, fought gallantly with his shovel in hand, taking down a couple of Dark Warlords on his own. However, with a single swoop, the leading Dark Lord pierced Lekkin from behind, ending the battle in the process. The townsfolk dropped their picks and forks one at a time, and all the clattering and clanging signaled their inevitable surrender.

A crimson blanket bore evidence to the bloodbath that took place just moments earlier, and all that’s left standing were few townsfolk and me. In my heart, I took a moment of silence to utter a prayer for my fallen comrades and the gallant Lekkin.

The journey back to Bucaady was bounded in silence. Grim, cold faces told the horror and sadness they were shown. We were welcomed by the wails and cries of newfound orphans and widows; only a handful ran towards the survivors and presented them a teary hug.

A voice boomed across the village, breaking the air of despair, “Bow to your new ruler. Kneel and pay your respects to The Dark Ice Queen – Jophina.” The skies turned artic and raw at her presence; and the new Ice Queen was greeted by cold silence.

I was spared death and banished into the dungeons in fear that the townsfolk would stage a coup. The people buried their loved ones and carried on their daily lives as usual. And as day turn into night, days turn into weeks, and months into years, I finally chanced upon my route for freedom...

Go figure.

Monday, May 19, 2008

"Girl, don't you know you can't escape me. cos you know that you'll always be my baby." – David Cook

A dead rat welcomed me at the very start of the working week. The air is still as you enter the premises. There is an audible silence. Treading into unchartered waters has been my forte since the beginning of my professional employment. I humbly foray into marketing; or so I thought.

Enchanted molecules dissipated into the surrounding skies as my mind spiraled into nothingness. Every ounce of my dreams and ambition has wilted into nonexistence. Everything that was taught in every institution I've attended has been erroneous.

As I resisting temptations to morph into a clock-watching, order-taking, mindless drone, I have to blend myself into this atrocious culture.

Everyone is bending backwards (read: spineless) for the bosses.

Is this supposed to be the Singapore way?
Is this supposed to be "World Class"?

"Girl, don't you know you can't escape me. cos you know that you'll always be my baby." – David Cook

The land of Bucaady is encompassed with serenity and peace. Many warlords have also been eyeing the land for its abundance in resources. My men have informed me that a Dark Force is enroute to devour villages and cities – Bucaady is one of them.

The agreement was made for the Elite Forces from the Kingdom of Will, Virex, to defend the stronghold. Knowing Virex can only provide a few veterans of war and strategists, the Chief of Bucaady, Lekkin, assembled his men of farmers and craftsmen into the front yard.

"Today… We fight!" He declared.
“With what sire?” a townsfolk asked.
“With our picks and forks.”

Everyone stood there motionless as the Dark Force emerged from the dense forestation out into the open.

I was watching the waves as a crimson tail teetered above the waters…
She was with another...

Go figure

we were as one babe
for a moment in time
and it seemed everlasting
that you would always be mine

now you want to be free
so I'm letting you fly
cause i know in my heart babe
our love will never die,no!

you'll always be a part of me
i'm a part of you indefinitely
girl don't you know you can't escape me
ooh darling cause you'll always be my baby
and we'll linger on time can't erase a feeling this strong
no way you're never gonna shake me
ooh darling cause you'll always be my baby

Monday, January 21, 2008

”It's too late to apologize… It's too late…” – One Republic

Wonder what car does Father Time drive?
I guess it has to be a twin engine, supped up, turbo-charged Ferrari.
Nah, not the F1 model, it probably has to be one of the F450s or Enzos – he has an image to upkeep.

It’s been two entire months since I posted an entry here.
I guess the readers (or lack thereof) have dwindled to a mere 3 countable ones – Me, Myself and I.

Oh well, life’s always been tough. It’s never been smooth sailing.
Whoever came up with that phrase must not have been a sailor.
Who the fuck said that sailing wasn’t tough?
It is one of the all rounded sports in competitive history – physically and mentally.

Being at the brunt of shout spasms is what I have to endure till this very moment.
Someone even mentioned that I lack the eye for design.

Well… technically, that’s correct. I am not design trained. However true that may be, aesthetics are not to be measured.

There is no wrong in design.
There’s only intent in its communication.

Here, I’ll turn the page and carry forth with the next chapter.

"It's too late to apologize… It's too late…" – One Republic
The seas were raging as a storm was imminent.
I have been trapped in this urn, this demonic excuse of a sarcophagus cast by Jade.
For I know not day or night, for I can’t tell the ticking of time.
For what it has seemed like an eternity.

Swaying amongst the distinctive sounds of the sea, I can only crave death.
Time seemed to stand still, ever so still, as the waves smacked against my cocoon in rhythmic fashion. Then, the sounds seemed different, the waves – distant.
Have I hit shore, have I…?

Light flowed into the urn. I can see the sky again.
A little voice whispered, “hey there. I’m Aurelia.”

I turned and glanced at its direction and I saw a sight that was to behold.
Complete with a tail of crimson scales and hair as shiny as the Arabian night.
I’ve only heard it in stories told by fishermen and sailors. Hence I deemed it folklore.
I thought they were only mythical beings. But now, standing before me was a mermaid.

Just another figment of my imagination...