Dream: Trapped


and in my dream I was sad
so sad
forever-sad kind of sad
will-never-be-happy sad
life-is-not-worth-living sad

met her, briefly, and parted.
went to meet K for food
sat outside this interesting cafe for cats, or something
I kept looking at it, wondering about it, and thinking–

we get up to… pay or something
I wandered into the building for a while
fake ‘skating’ on the smooth floor
I go back out where I thought I came from
but it’s different and K’s not there
I must have used the wrong door
I go back in and exit through another door
this is wrong too

I’m lost, and I can’t find K
the layout of everything is familiar, and similar
but yet completely different
we’re somewhere near nus
and the layout is of NUS but also not
I know where I am and where I’m going
but also not.
I’m lost

the place morphs and morphs
all the time familiar but not
I open doors and enter and exit
trying to find my way, but i’m still lost
it’s a canteen, or a hawker centre– huge
familiar but– it’s wrong, wrong.
I open a door and inside it’s a maze of corridors.
I’m getting scared and panicky
I open the door that I came in from but–
but what? I can’t remember.

Scared, I know it’s a dream.
I tell myself, okay, just think of what you want to see when you open the door
think of something happy
escape this dark mood
I close my eyes, in the dream
and try to think
I think of a beach
okay
when we open this door, it’s going to be a happy beach on the other side.
okay

I open my eyes and it’s not
and I’m struggling
to what? I don’t remember
open the door? close the door?
more maze-y dark corridors
I can feel nylon strings against me as I try to open the door
and I’m terrified
that pushing on those strings is going to trigger something
it’s a trap and

I force myself to wake up
pull myself from the dream
wake up wake up wake up
the sticky heaviness, clinging on
struggling to move a limb, open an eye– WAKE UP
okay.

at some point
I can’t remember when
I think about going to meet her
was that reality or dream?
but what would I say to her?
There’s nothing to say.
there’s no point.

another dream
I have a desk.
it’s at the edge of like a balcony
but no barriers, like an infinity pool

it’s dangerous and I keep thinking Mittens is going to fall as she sits at the edge
so I keep chasing her off my table

but I like the openness

it’s night and there are stars
twinkling and twinkling
I call my sis in to look at something
there’s a building far away in the distance
with a cool/pretty design.
then I see it’s a church

suddenly I notice something different
they are raising the wall!
or they raised the wall?
with the new wall, I’d have hardly any view! I wouldn’t be able to see siht!

new wall? oh no wait. it’s windows, they’re gonna build windows
That’s not so bad

from going to build
suddenly is there, the windows
except that it’s mostly wall

the lights turn on and oh! i see new things on my shelf– cool white animal figurines

I call my sis again, to look at this
but she snaps at me

The windows are mostly wall
wall– everything is walled up.
I’m struggling– climbing up my table
trying to peer out the tiny bits of window high up
the sky is wonky it was night but now it’s day?
no no, it should be night
turn it back to night
trying to peer out the tiny window
to catch a glimpse again
of those beautiful twinkling stars
i saw just now

to no avail
can’t see shit out of this tiny tiny window.
can’t see

Perspective and Reality


Sometimes

it feels like three steps forward two steps back
or perhaps the other way around.

Sometimes

it feels just impossible.
totally impossible.
utterly and truly impossible.

Sometimes

it feels like standing on a spot
you think you’re moving
the scenery’s changing
but in fact you’re just spinning round.

Sometimes

amazingly delightful
overwhelming unbearable

Sometimes

you really have to wonder
if reality is out there
or if it is only
in our
heads.

My Gay Lifestyle (the Debunking of)


It is perhaps a shame that my reaction to anger, to provocation, is to turn away.

To tell myself to ignore it, to tell myself that I shouldn’t waste my energy getting worked up over other people’s ridiculous ideas.

It is also perhaps a shame that my reaction to scandals and things blown out of proportion is to shut up. Because I always feel that adding my own two cents to the already saturated pile of self-important opinions can’t possibly add any value to the discussion. Besides, anything I wanted to say has surely been put across more succinctly and in a more powerful manner by someone else with better writing skills, someone else who has lived though more reality than I have.

Yet there are some thing worth getting angry about.
There are some things worth shouting about.
There are some things worth repeating.

I “came out” on facebook today. Well, no, not exactly. I’d define coming out on facebook as posting a status or notes essentially saying just this, “Hi guys, I’m gay. kthanxbai.” While I’ve considered that before, the thought (after it’s initial flippancy) usually fills me with enough fear and apprehension for me to change my mind.

Perhaps a better description would be that I was “dragged out”, in the course of a ‘discussion’ with a friend.

I posted something, and she and another friend made some comments which I didn’t get involved with.

Then, she made this comment, “In any case, I’ve heard a lot about the LGBT lifestyle, and I don’t like what I’m hearing. They claim they are a peaceful group, but I don’t see that…”

That really got me mad. I couldn’t let it go. What the fuck is a LGBT lifestyle?

Last time I checked, I am a part of the LGBT community because I am female and I’m attracted to females. By definition, then I must lead this mysterious gay lifestyle. Well, this is my “lifestyle”, on average:

Wake up. wash up. go to work. Survive work. Head for home. Perhaps meet with friends for dinner. Surf the net/facebook. Read news articles, read science articles, read human rights articles, read funny articles. Watch some videos. Write some blog entries. Read a book. Pack my room. Time to sleep, good night.

Call it a monotonous lifestyle, call it boring, call it sedentary, call it antisocial, but please, highlight for me exactly which part of that can be considered as an “LGBT lifestyle”??

If you have a problem with, say, a clubbing lifestyle, then please fucking say so.
If you have a problem with, say, a promiscuous lifestyle, then please fucking say so.
If you have a problem with, say, a drugs and booze lifestyle, then please fucking say so.
If you have a problem with, say, a sex-obsessed lifestyle, then please fucking say so.

But none of those are synonymous, exclusive or inherently linked to LGBT. All of these can be found in any and all kinds of people across time, cultures, genders and sexualities.

This friend is an incredibly nice person. Yet, even having known her general stand on the matter, her reply to my question shocked me– things about promiscuity, pedophilia; it being a choice and proven as unnatural; proven that it can be walked away from; violence, death threats, militant-like behaviour and arrogance from the LGBT camp…

You can honestly say those things about promiscuously and pedophilia to my face? And the rest– do we even live in the same reality? Another friend commented, wow, the amount of propaganda they receive…

The other friend who was also commenting started going on a comment posting rampage on Lawrence Khong’s facebook page— a Pastor of a mega church in Singapore (in)famous for his vocally anti-gay stands (2:36 -onwards). The most recent incident has to do with the Singapore’s Health Promotion Board’s surprisingly pro-gay FAQs on sexuality. LK started a petition for the FAQs to be removes– albeit anonymously under the name ‘Aaron’. Then, he evidently circulated a guide amongst his flock on how to make their voices heard without revealing their Christian identity.

I try to read his page but I can’t quite do it, and I can’t find any motivation to want to reply comments there. It’s not merely about being offended of depressed about comments which flat out contradict my beliefs and reality, it’s also all the typically ugly internet comments– why do people always stoop to personal insults and sarcasm? Why do adults sound like immature kids?

More than that, it’s that I can’t shake my own fatalistic feelings about such discussions– while I rationally acknowledge that they can help or that it’s better than nothing, I can’t stop feeling that it’s just pointless. No one is going to change their minds. The people I’m ‘arguing’ with are faceless and can walk away or ignore what I’m saying anytime. They’re not going to listen to me.

Replying my friend was different though– she’s real. She might not change her mind, but hopefully what I say, because I am more real to her too, will give her pause and thought.

I consider writing a piece of my own– just putting my opinion out there. But I don’t know where to start. There can be so much to say. What do I focus on, what should I assume of my readers? Opinions and backgrounds are too varied.

Replying to accusations thus makes it easier to focus your argument– there’s to much to say otherwise. Although at the same time, because I’m focussing on convincing this one person, what I say doesn’t necessarily reflect my personal views exactly. I’m trying to look at things from her perspective and using what I think will be the most comprehensible to her. I mean, no point in differentiating the nuances between gender expression, sexual orientation and physical sex or sexual orientations besides gay and bi or even the gay and trans and so on when I’m just trying to convince her that none of these are inherently immoral. And of course I wouldn’t mention that I think polygamous relationships could be permissible and healthy in certain situations– that would just cause her to stop listening to me entirely.

Throughout the discussion I have to wonder– is there a point?

It there a point in me writing all this stuff to her?
Is there a point in my friend’s commenting on LK’s facebook page?
Is there a point if I write a blog entry about my beliefs and send it out into the net?

Does it change anything?

Two sides of a city


The night.
Its cover of darkness, the comfort of a well worn duvet.
Its quite stillness and calm, a welcome to respite to the heat and bustle of the day.

I want to sit, in the moment; walk, alone with thoughts; smile, with the wind; and just be.

Instead, because it is late, I head for the train. I want to linger, but I should just go home.

Too bright, too hard, too shiny, too plastic and too choke full of people. Garish. It repulsed me so much, but I stepped into the crush anyway.

Which is reality, and can’t I choose?

When the world turns dark


I realize I imagine it still– slitting my wrists. No, not exactly; not so much that action of slitting as the sensation of having your wrist slit. A numbing, tingling sensation and hands going cold, limp and weak.

I’m so angry– angry at the world, angry at everyone for being such a disappointment. But most of all, angry at myself, and thats’s the worst of all, the one that makes everything else crumble.

What is the point of it?

Too often, it is. The number of times I wish to disappear. Too often, to not exist. Too often, that there’s no point. Feeling too helpless, useless and trapped.

Carried by the wind, dissolved into darkness


Carried by the wind, dissolved into darkness.

The coolness licks and sweeps
past your skin
taking the first layer
of you into the sky

Another gust
tickling and swirling–
there you go, playfully
round and through the leaves

Gentle, softly
lifted, lightly
floating, gradually
higher, higher

A whistle
shooting you past
pastpastpast
everything

The biggest howl
all enveloping
lovingly embraces
sweeping the rest of you off the ground

And there’s nothing left
you’re everywhere and nowhere
permeating the world
and the dark of the night.

Yearn


and we yearn

to be thought of
to be cared for
to be loved
to matter

we yearn

to make a difference
to have some significance
to have meaning
to be real

we yearn

for so much
but actually, really, the simplest of things

which are the hardest to achieve .

Just one person, just one. To make it real.
Suddenly, it seems the saddest thing to know
That no one is thinking of you at this moment.

How can you be so silly?

Always yearning for more
more than most can give
When?

Life as a Series of Distractions


We hear, without listening.
Speak, without talking.
Interaction, without connection.

Life can be so depressing sometimes, with its bleak realities.
Perhaps that’s why we need to partake in other things
to distract ourselves from the drudgery?

Then life becomes one big game of distraction, to pass the time?

I can’t buy that.

Bored, restless, frustration and dissatisfied.
How do I find and achieve my reality?

For something I’d listen with all my heart to.
For words that aren’t hollow and empty.
For a connection, oh that elusive connection.

With another person, with myself, with the world, with life.

A life worth living.