28 Jul 2013


Maybe I'm too tired of sameness. Perhaps even sick of sameness.

I never really liked being in any kind of uniform, not even in primary school. It felt like I was treated as a non-human property of the school. Well I guess there are rational reasons for implementing the wearing of uniforms, but I still didn't like being in a uniform. The uniform I wore often came attached with so many unfair negative assumptions about the wearer, it became close to a real physical burden to wear them.

When I listen to music, I don't stick to the same radio station all the time. I always shuffled around, sometimes going for non-English songs, sometimes going for less mainstream music, sometimes even just listening to random online streams. Somehow I can't get myself to be exposed to a single genre of music for too long. I can never have one favourite music artiste or one favourite genre at all.

21 Jul 2013

Sunday Night

Sunday nights are really one of the worst parts of the week.

Well they used to be alright for me, because I'd watch the Sunday night movies on TV with my family, at home or over at my grandfather's house. It was a nice little time to get together and enjoy each other's company, temporarily postponing the thought of Monday's creeping arrival. If we were coming back home from my grandfather's house, reality would sink back in, and the returning heavy feeling inside me reminded me that I'd have to be in school the next morning. The slow emotional songs on the car radio didn't help much, and seeing the orange glow of the passing street lights seemed to amplify the music's effects.

Now, Sunday nights seem to feel even bitterer than before.

14 Jul 2013


He is in a cashmere bathrobe, reclining in a comfortable leather couch, reading an autobiography as he rests near the crackling fireplace. The mansion is safely shielding him from the icy cold winds outside.

He is back on his bed in his pyjamas.

He is in an art museum, surveying the works hung on the bare white walls. Some speak to him from the heart with tender words. Some fail to communicate to him.

He is back on his bed in his pyjamas.

He is looking around for some cereal, rummaging through the cabinets.

He is back on his bed in his pyjamas.

7 Jul 2013


There once were two twins, born as mirror images of each other.

They shared the same interests, played the same games together, and laughed at the same jokes. Every day they would run up to the hill to have some fun. The hill was easily identifiable, as there was a large apple tree at the top. The boys would sometimes lie underneath the tree to rest from their games, pointing at the clouds that flew by, trying to decipher the shapes.

One day, one of the boys said to the other: "I won't be able to play as much with you any more. Mother and Father say I will have to start schooling."

The other boy replied: "That's fine! We can always play afterwards, when you've come back and done your homework!"

The first boy smiled. "You're lucky you don't have to go to school, you know."

"Really? I think you're luckier. You get to make new friends in school and have fun with them."

"Don't worry, I'll bring them back some day, and we'll ALL have fun together!"

The second boy smiled.