Roadkill

There was something familiar in his eyes - I have seen that look before, in another. Eyes that do not realise how hard and long they have been looking. Eyes that cannot help themselves.

He would come by to talk about work, but his eyes always gave him away. Some nights ago, in the midst of yet another star-gazing session on the pretext of work, I started to wonder about the "deer in headlights" syndrome. I suppose what I did next (in a somewhat detached manner) was the equivalent of "high-beaming" - a combination of widening my eyes and smiling with them. As the veil slipped from around his helpless eyes, he forgot what he was going to say next, while I continued to hold on to his eyes, and face, in increasing bemusement. A while later, he had to break eye contact, dropping his head back, searching for the forgotten words. Heh. Heh. Heh.

Now, that was fun.


Born on the Day of Fire

These days, I often feel like I am burning up from inside.

I wonder what will be left when the flames finally die.

If you only knew

SF asked if I remembered SH from University. She wondered about "the signs" that she had missed along the way, like the many times he would appear at the pool when we were there and keep talking to her. He was pleasant company AND not bad looking AND tall AND reasonably built. But, in retrospect, she figured that even if she had known back then, she would not have done anything about it.

Some of us are constantly re-living moments in our life, re-tracing the steps we took so long ago, looking harder (or daring to) for the signs (and warnings) that might have been missed (or ignored) previously. I would like to think it is about being older and hopefully wiser, to have the perspective to see the bigger picture that a less introspective self might not have understood or appreciated; or the good things that a younger person with a less developed sense of self-worth would not have dared to believe possible, much less make the most of. It is also about constantly learning from our experiences and understanding our choices (or lack thereof).

It is strange how things always seem so much clearer on hindsight; though, sometimes, so much later that we wonder if there is any point to it. With age and experience, there might be less of such temporal displacements. But, perhaps, that is not the point of re-living some of our experiences. Sometimes, the moment is simply not enough to hold and savour every look, every word, every thought, and every realisation.

Do you ever feel as if you are living your past, present and future all at once?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As we started to recall our other "close encounters", I found myself suppressing a few memories. Especially the ones that I never really figured out or came to terms with.


Something about you

He: "Search for the fleeting joy of a moment's dream, of a love glimpsed for a minute and forgotten in the next. This and only this way shall true love be yours. It is only in accepting the inevitable loss and only desiring it as long as it lasts that we can find a potion for our broken hearts. Search for the joy of a love that lasts a moment and hope not that it should last."

She: "And then?"

He: "Another love you seek. And convince yourself that this is what your heart desires. I would be thy lord if thine fair lady would take me."

She: "One who travels the forgotten lands with hearts in your many velvet folds?"

He: "Hearts I have none. For even mine I have lost. And none have I collected."

She: "Then one heart you cannot give me."

He: "Not since it has already been given to you, my lady."

She: "......??”

Last night, reading my ancient handwritten diary and the dusty dot matrix printouts of our emails, I realised that I had forgotten so many things, and that we emailed as long as two years after what had happened. I had even forgotten how funny, and devastatingly – for me – charming he was over emails; while I spewed fluff like a snow-making machine! (How strangely familiar the way he wrote; how it has actually “become” me over the years. Or have I always had it in me too?) He was actually quite chatty when it was just the two of us – which was whenever my unreliable lamp post felt like it was time for my “swimming” lessons, and in shark-infested waters no less. Hmmpfff. I guess it is hard to reconcile all these with the visual memory of his stern face and intensely private self. I cannot remember why the emails stopped sometime in 1995, but it probably had to do with graduation and getting caught up with working life.

"The day we met again
It must have been comical
To see us take a step forward
(Almost meeting)
And back
(Unmeeting)
Pulled back by destiny
To our made places"

When I called out to him that morning a few years ago and then literally turned my back abruptly on him (I changed my mind about talking), I figured, what the hell, that was for messing with my head so many years ago. But it was really because I was still confused about what had happened – or not?

I remember being puzzled that he would seek out the company of two younger and less established members of the online community. I never thought we were particularly "happening" or interesting. (Ok, ok, I shall speak for just myself. I can hear indignant protests from a certain Macintosh user in Tanjong Pagar. Heh.) We were only freshmen... erm, who he wanted to get fresh with? Laugh. He often asked us / me for afternoon tea in between classes / studying, and the occasional outing. Sometimes though, when he would just sit there quietly – I wondered why he bothered being around us. And he had this strange thing about keeping it small – he would not come along if there was someone else.

Looking back, SF thought he also hung around us because he knew we were not like the others, as he, too, was not. He exuded the aura of The Loner even when he was kidding around with his peers. He was not like them. He was different.

I suppose people like us will always be strangers in the crowd, reaching out for other strangers like ourselves, looking for that something that makes them stand out from the crowd; something that is in us too; something we learn to recognise and seek the more we come to terms with ourselves.

And in touching, even for a fleeting moment, we would forget the frequent loneliness that comes of being different.