it's been a week.

and I still find myself searching for you on FB. Thank you for the concern yesterday night though. And yes, because good things will happen eventually.

Please reply my email with a positive answer. Oh my. I want my $15 )): Please please please )):

thank you for friends.

I know I woke up crying. Because I did not do it, but everyone's accusing me of being the culprit. Even those closest to me. Never have I felt so alone and maligned in my entire life. It felt so, so real.
a
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PS. Edited Greg. Straightened the nose a bit and added in his lip piercing (:
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what's wrong?

the whole picture.

Something about dying the hair and two great danes. No matter how I dye it, the colour refuses to stay. And then the two great danes. The female leading the male by his tail, causing the male to lose his balance and making a mess out of the house. Oh my what am I dreaming about?

g

Because first it was the full impact of the words, and then the delusions along with the denials followed.

and I will draw.

Don't know how long I will take. 2 weeks? Months? But I'll draw. Somehow, drawing always brings me to another place. And maybe when I'm finally alright, I'll have a portfolio to submit.

Because there was a long line leading to the church. Because there was hurt everywhere and no faith. Because it was War. And all the men left, leaving the women, children and the old behind. And there was fire everywhere. Whenever and wherever the bombs were dropped.

I'll be fine.

hokkien karaoke.

Similar dream again last night. When everything was still like before. Fishballs? And policeman.

oldies are loves.

The kitten. It was our pet. It liked to sleep on my lap. Yellow cat. Grew up to be quite mischievous. I thought we wanted dogs that time. Big one for me and small one for you. And what about the others. Dreams.

And we went out on a date. Like nothing happened. Buying Japanese. We were both aware, just that we tried to not mention it. Like nothing happened. It was hard. And I could not remember anymore. But everything was still alright in the dream.

I tried, but I'm sorry I failed. Will try again. Thank you.

1545 or somewhere there.

Puffy. Checked.
Red. Checked.
A red puffy penguin?

365. Perhaps one-third? Or maybe even lesser. But it was 2 years.

Bed. Bed bugs. No matter how I have prepared for it, it always hits me. Smack. This is a smashed banana.

"I am going to be the strongest girl you guys will ever know." Checked? Bloody hell.
A ukulele.

Take care.

And thank you for everything.

So here comes the stalker. The balcony divided into your space and mine. Museum curator with your art pieces. Day dreaming again.

Dragonfly. One hour of rock concert. Good luck.

-----
They were all the same. But one is different. I got it. Or did it choose me?

Sometimes.

You just cannot change things no matter how you try. But at least you have tried. So now you know. At least you will never need to think about the what ifs or the should haves.

grandfather's house.

Hamster. Or mouse. Tail skin, detached. Left paw, injured. Big cage, pink cover. Vet.

Granddad's house.

"Is it open to the public today?"

"No. I don't know."

Roses. Red. Man and woman. Separated by the window railings. They arrived, but the roses were gone. So were the couple. More people came. To granddad's house.

"Oh, he's the old man that drives the van."

Drove the van.

"Where is he now?"

"Well..."

"Does his granddaughter know?"

"She will know soon, but not now. Now is still not the time to tell."

Because Granddad's house is always open.

Unless.

a good night's sleep.

Eye infection. Hair was growing out of my left eye, while my right eye was bleeding non-stop. Sleep. I need to sleep. Maybe when I wake up, the bleeding will stop?

And I woke up. But he got sick. We helped him check-in to a recuperation home. Keys. He got the room at the top of the stairs. The single room at the top of the building. I remembered feeling paralyzed while I climbed the stairs. The room does not feel right. One queen sized bed with beige bedsheets, a coffee table in the middle of the room. And a television. Or was it a painting? But there was a toilet to the right side of the room. Yes, I remembered the toilet.

He was staying there for a while now already, but he never seemed to get better. More time passed by. We went back to visit him. Went up to the room again. The stairs. Still doesn't feel right. Door, I opened it. The bed was made nicely, he wasn't there. There was a stack of cards on the coffee table. I picked it up. And there was the scream. Someone saw something? No, just a red haired lady with heavy makeup. Did you do something guilty? She asked.

We were all on the stage. They said the room doesn't feel right to them as well. So it's not just me. Apologised to whoever was there, something or someone, and promised to return the cards tonight.

Someone else checked into the room. A lady. Long hair, fair, a kind face, but weak. Night came and he appeared. Not more than 20 centimetres tall. He talked. And he persuaded. He wanted to perform the ritual, but the stack of cards was not there. He needed her to help him do something. Revenge? Perhaps. Green light.

The others were afraid. Truly petrified. But he managed to escape. So could the others. They needed to go into the toilet with their eyes closed. For as long as it took to shoot the bullet. To shoot the bullet right through him. They needed to cleanse themselves. So that he would leave them alone. But they were just so frightened. Shivering. Even when they know things would be okay.

Time to sleep. It has ended. Time to get a good night's sleep.

it's still waiting.

We were climbing up the hill. They were playing basketball on the tilted court. You were throwing the balls at us. I kicked it back down, but you kept throwing it at us. Some got stuck and I have to give them an extra push down the slope. But you just kept throwing. And she continued climbing, oblivious, since it was clear she was not the target.

Back there, we received your letter. Why didn't you play with the others? You chose to stand alone, at the top, throwing the balls that soon became rocks. Why didn't the others play with you? You apologised. You were just lonely.

Into the museum we go. There, in the centre, was the piano. I played. But no one listened. I stopped. The pathway was darker than the others, but I chose to enter. Paintings were on the walls. No.., they became books. Children's stories. Remember when you used to read books with cut out cardboard animals that greeted you when you opened the cover? They were on the walls. Stuck onto the walls. An exhibition? But they shouldn't have been on the walls, because the shelves were empty. Where did the paintings disappear to?

And there was the staircase, if I remembered correctly. There was the cart at the end of the stairs. I made my purchase and ran up the stairs, or did I run down the stairs to make my purchase? But I know someone was waiting for me at the end. One of the ends. Like always.


Someone is always waiting. And watching.

bee rides round the carousel.

All things end and begin somewhere. The place was dark and cold but it seems alive, even though all ended thousands of years ago. That is what I like about the museums. A platform for us to go back to the past. They are there, preserved. However, some things pass and never return. Some things just get forgotten. Are we leaving it behind, or are they leaving us behind? What we can do is cherish. Besides, we don't get many bee rides round the carousel in a lifetime.

fight it or let it die.

After the fireworks were gone, her eyes hurt. Did not know that tears can be so bitter. There was not much use talking her way through and breaking down that wall. As much as she wants it, the wall just would not budge. Perhaps she did not yearn for it badly enough? What lies over at the other side remains unattainable. The Last Lecture taught her much. This is going to be a new beginning. Maybe sell some and earn some.