Doppelganger

A man in his 20s
Was found dead in the rivers of Clarke Quay
Is that me
Is that him
As I stare into that visage
As it takes on my mug
Who is it then, who is typing out the words here
Who is it then, who is lying so dead over there
And where is here
And where is there
As we continue
To stare
Time stops

Children's Day

I refused to be looked down upon. As I see the scurrying and the floundering, the flashing and the blasting of heat and sound, I refuse to succumb to the mundanity that is required of me. I am not the average worker. Despite my ordinary intelligence, my inanely unhandsome looks, I refuse to succumb. Swimming, swimming upstream against the lifeworks of destiny, claiming a ledge for myself, I struggle, I weep against fate, for my life has been a work of struggle ever since I took my first breath of this tortured existence that few know about.

I will not reside in this confounded and mind-boggling mesolect that pervades the corners of the institution. I am tired, ridiculously tired yet struggle still, with my might, my energy. I will fulfill the resolution and the quaser, until I expire, which will be welcoming in the face of this dreary life.

In flames

And that is the end of the life that I thought I knew well, and as softly as it came, as softly did it go. The anguish and the torment would have been finally over for him, and as I looked into the picture of serene repose, I cannot but help if wonder if his life was a fruitful one? Was he satisfied with his life till the very end?

All the troubles that came with that woman he called his wife, the foreign girl that he would be inclined to label his 'daughter'. To what extent was the relationship a cemented one? Relationships are not limited to blood alone. Yet, would the airy connections that pass for a relation suffice?

The anguish seems all the more poignant when the house burned. Everything that he treasured, his possessions, all in a flurry of heat and light, all gone in seconds. The troubles that come with marriage.

Conversations between the Mage and the Fanatic

Fanatic: We cannot take too many things for granted...Imagine [that] if light was never given to us, then we [would] have to live in darkness for eternity, or rather, imagine this, if the next morning you wake up and light has [been robbed] from us forever and [we are in] total darkness, how would you feel? Won't you be afraid?...are you sure that you can leave the world with no regrets? Won't you feel it will be too late by then? Won't you feel any regrets?

Mage: I don't hope, I will it. You are JP, yet you willingly succumb to the wheels. That, I believe, is how you have changed. Do you still even question anything, old friend? I am not sure what comes after death, I can only say that if really there is life after death, life is even more miserable than I thought possible. You keep on saying that you want to spend eternity in heaven. To me, that is worse than the human life I am living. Life is precious and beautiful simply because of its transcience. But you fail to grasp that. To you, eternity seems to be everything.

You keep saying that you are afraid of being an animal after you die. Can I know what is so fearful about that? An animal is not sentient and in many ways, that is a blessing. It doesn't know boredom, not the futility of the world. Every day is just another day.

Wanting to do good to evade the reincarnation into a beast. How selfish the aims are then. Others help simply because they want to help without due consideration of the rewards. That is the truest form of morality. And how can you be sure that the goodness that you have done would tip the scales in your favor?

All quiet at the front

Everyday, I am reminded of A, that I am not to stagnate, to linger in that comfort zone that promotes no growth, but a degenerate state of being. I look at F, and promise myself that I must improve in all fronts, intellectually and physically, he constantly in a state of improvement. And between these extremes, L is the impetus, that to avoid being looked down upon, I must fight.

I dont understand human beings, why they are beings capable of so much love and cruelty at the same time.

Anniversary of 'Lif'e's a b(itch/each)'

All these years of being cast the disdainful eye, the aghast look that spurs me, that convinces me that I do not belong to that group of human beings, that I am the paradox, the enigma that escapes definition, escapes understanding psychologically. My cadaver is no longer my cadaver, with chemicals oozing out from every pore, I am just a walking husk.

Where is my mind? Floating aimlessly across the aether in search of eternal peace, that is, extinction. All 30 years of existential porings are brought down unto me on this very day that marks the beginning of damnation and bittersweet sorrows and memories. Let things not be rewritten, but erased completely such that entropy reigns. This is the teleological principle.

Quipped

Life is all the more beautiful when you know that it is transcient, fleeting, and one pursues desperately for activities that bestow meaning, and the only true meaning comes from you alone. What is your meaning?