Fragmentations

Currently I find myself chatting with a rather reflective and contemplative hamster while having my cousin behind my back.

I don't really find any words to speak. I don't really know if she's staring this way either. Occasionally I wonder what exactly goes on in her mind and what exactly she thinks of me, but I suppose it goes the other way round as well. And on a larger scale, that's not a very unique feeling; it's something that applies to everybody anyway.

She just went up. By that reaction I can't tell whether she was staring this way or not, but I can find out. The only thing keeping me from doing so is that such an action caused a lot of foolishness on my part three years ago. Perhaps I should continue even then?

If she were here I would have found out whether she was staring this way by the end of that paragraph.

The feeling of how others view you is generally reflective of how comfortable you are with the person, at least from the way I see it. I do not really consider much on the impression I make on the friends and acquaintances around me, yet I do moreso for my family.

There's another person I consider much of, a friend I consider myself; yet I've been making an effort to ensure that I get along well with myself.

There're those whose personalities feel consistent with their outward self. There're those whose personalities are to an extent farcical and need their true colours to be revealed. And then there're those whose true personalities only exist towards themselves or perhaps only to the Wired, Lain-like and unlike at the same time.

Am I selfish? Am I doing this correctly? Am I doing this wrong? Am I going to get blamed for this? Am I currently being stared at by someone for whatever reason? Atypical questions really, and the fact that I might have considered myself to be unique for such reasons can count towards a sin, one of the ego and a rather guilt-inducing one at that.

I write stories to get a message, convey a meaning, and so on. Yet all this has a target audience in mind, be it a group or an individual. Yet all my target audiences lie within my mind now. What's a child to do?

Family

8pm. I stare at the fountain just outside Belt 18 and 19. Staring. Various thoughts run through my mind staring at the fountain, yet none of them really make much of an impact, rather lingering around more like a mere afterthought rather than something I focused on.

My mind keeps drifting back to an individual - a particularly recent fragment of my past. Somehow my mind stays on the individual despite the clear lack of reason for it to. Thinking too much about it begins to hurt. Yet the sound of water calms me down, just enough for me to keep my cool.

8.30. I move back to Belt 16 where they're supposed to appear. My mind still drifts back to her. Occasionally it goes back to the matter at hand. How should I greet them? What do they look like now? How're they? What should I do? It feels uneasy remaining on this subject, yet whatever my mind drifted to wasn't much of a better choice.

8.46. The plane lands. I glance at the passageway where everyone comes down the flight of steps, waving at anyone past the glass wall whom they recognize. The few that come out are either flight attendants or people I don't recognize.

5 children hug the glass wall, all looking intently past it and hoping to see the face of someone they have been away from for a period of time, long or short. Families and friends around me look up, anxious to see anyone they recognize. Compared to the laid-back person leaning against the railings and staring half-heartedly past the glass, they really must miss whoever it is they're looking for.

9.10. The baggage starts unloading. One of the 5 children, a girl of around 9, starts waving. For once my line of sight with the passageway is blocked. Yet I feel nothing for or against her enthusiasm. She has something to be enthusiastic about, and she's sincere about it. What about me? Slowly but surely I feel more confused. More questions start floating around my mind. And yet my mind still finds time to drift towards her.

9.15. The girl runs towards the entrance to greet her sibling or friend. Soon enough I see the two I was waiting for. All the questions start coming up in my head. Then I saw something.

For a moment, I suddenly saw them act like the way they were, 3 years ago. Right there, I nearly laughed, but kept it to a smile. That's right. They were still them. And I was still myself. Just say what I would say. Just do the things I would do.

9.30. The three of us are on the car. The two of them talk to each other for a while. I keep silent. A few hours back Mom was commenting on how she missed Godwin when he went to Brunei for NS. I decided to butt in, saying that I didn't really miss him and all and got used to his absence pretty quickly.

It takes loss for you to suddenly realize what it was you had gained, and how easy it was to lose it. It takes other people for you to suddenly realize what it was that you had lost in the first place.

Did I talk like that with my brother? Was it really like that?

And that moment I realized that I actually did lose something 8 months back, when he left.

And that moment I realized that blood may very well be thicker than water.

And yet, despite all that,

my mind still drifts back.

Sorry in Advannce

What words does one have for another he will no longer speak to?

What words does one expect to hear when he cannot offer to listen?

How can one wait for time when time waits for none?

Wise men say only fools rush in. Were their children on the verge of death?

Yet of the three descriptions for the last statement, only one would apply to me. I'm not on the verge of death (At least the way I see and hope it to be) and sadly neither is my father a very wise one. All that can be said that is true of me is that I'm a child.

Mom says I think alot. Really, it's just been in the recent 113 days. Just about twenty past a point where I decided to act out of my own personality. A point where I realized that justification for a foolish action had no bearing on the extent of its foolishness.

Yet after over a hundred days of thought, I suddenly find myself running foolishly again. Perhaps it's just in my nature to be an idiot. But really, I do hope that this is the last stupid thing I do for a while.

The things one does to stay alive, huh.

Life's Company

Personally, I hardly have any idea as to why I threw away 3 weeks of my holiday to work.

Is it because a good number of friends are going overseas as a reward for a long mark in their education? Because I may actually be one of the only few who's staying in Singapore?

Is it because I could use the money to cover my personal expenses? Because there's stuff I might want to buy, things I might want to do, games I might want to play, and the like?

Is it because I've nothing else better to do? Because staring meaninglessly at the world around me could very well be replaced with far more meaningful things?

I don't know, really. My sis told me to treasure these last few holidays since, as she rightly pointed out, they were the last few holidays. This one, the next one, the one after that. And then everyone around reading this will be more or less pretty much on their way to being a grown up adult.

A more random question. Do you consider yourself to be a city-side person or a countryside person? There're those that clearly seem to be more city-side, and though more rare, there're those that seem to be more country-side as well.

There're those who love the group, living and walking down crowded streets. Cheering and laughing together, working with one another, a rather fun lifestyle. There're those who keep to themselves, seeing and just appreciating everything they have their sights on. One whose best company is more his own thoughts than anything.

In either case, likely there's a particular shared feeling by either sort of party if placed in a situation they dislike. A feeling of being dead, of not being alive, I suppose. The kind of feeling that some people consider akin to a meaningless existence.

The feeling of being alive. Of being more than just a breathing entity. Be it emotion, ideology, religion or routine, it's this feeling that keeps people from changing and doing other stuff. A profession or line of sorts where they truly belong.

For some this particular black and white area doesn't exist. The kind of people who can't live on eternally socialising, eternally writing, eternally working. Something new just entertains them for a while, and when it finally stops they move on to something else.

An acquaintance commented that working on your own accord was to a certain extent a sign of having nothing better to do. I kind of understand him now.

Anything to stay alive, I guess.

A Mother-Son Conversation

A few months back I talked to my mom about a bunch of stuff. Life, depression, love, moving on, not letting setbacks push you down, and the like. She talked about how she was perfectly fine with facing cancer since being sad or angry wouldn't have changed the situation in any way whatsoever, and how that attitude helped her face it better than other relatives who went into slight depression upon finding out that they had cancer.

My mom has always been a rather strong person. Dealing with cancer, an elder son who failed his A's, a younger son who did nothing but fight in his childhood, a pair of two who really seemed like a pair of loner siblings in the world, a child which makes her even wonder whether said son viewed her as a liability or not, yet she still does everything with a smile. A strong attitude that I rarely see in people, save a teacher I know who probably faces an even worse situation medically but still stands so firmly.

All this goes in contrast to my dad. My elder siblings both had issues with him, and really, shouts and screams did fly by around in the house every once in a while. When my sis married and moved out of the house just before secondary school life, the house became more quiet, but it was always so often that I heard my brother complain to me about my dad's attitude, and so on.

Did my dad do anything wrong? Not really. He's pretty much a stereotypical Asian father - strict, seemingly uncaring, and breadwinner. He also makes a fuss rather often and complains a fair bit, a trait my brother and I can't seem to adapt to. But because of that we never really got along.

In my conversation with my mom she talked about how men really were from Mars and women from Venus. How their mindsets differ, and so on. Stereotyping in a gender-equal society, perhaps, but I hardly disagreed with her thoughts. So, she remarked, that's why there're those women out there who are successful in everything but just ended up falling in love with the wrong guy. And that's why everything goes downhill.

It was a queer feeling I had, that there was something slightly more to that statement than she said. But such things weren't really meant to be spoken out, and I just replied with a 'mm'.

A friend of mine later on had a conversation with me about family. She asked me if I ever asked my parents why they married. I replied no, and she just asked why, saying that she did. I answered that it wasn't something that I should ask her about since it wouldn't change my opinion of her in any way. But I kept that thought in mind.

A few days ago, a couple of friends wanted to stay over at my house. I informed my mom, but forgot to do likewise for my dad. Suddenly realizing that, I called over to my mom in the living room about that while making something for myself in the kitchen. She commented that it would be fine as long as my friends remember to greet my dad when he comes around. After all, she said, my dad was a rather simple person who just required other people to respect him (Personally, that's a very uphill task for me but I do my best not to make that obvious).

Suddenly the opportunity just presented itself and I remembered about my friend's lingering question. Almost insensitively joking, I decided to ask her about it.

"那么Mummy啊,你为什么会嫁给这么样的人呢?"
"只能算是生活的错误吧."

It was a reply that induced guilt and depression, if anything. For a moment I felt very stupid for asking that question and for expecting an answer that would surprise me. From the kitchen, that voice seemed just like a few months ago when she talked to me. A very casual comment. I didn't get to see her facial expression. Was she serious? Was she joking? Was she crying inside?

Without my mom I'm rather sure that the entire family would break apart, given how my sis and bro get along better with my mom than with my dad (Undeniably, me too). I might actually extend it further and daresay that I might've just went ahead and committed suicide long ago if not for my mom constantly being there.

Was she revealing her weaker side to her youngest son, the only one left in the household while one is married and living elsewhere and one is overseas serving his two years? I honestly don't know. And likely the opportunity will never present itself again. Really, I feel like a fool for asking in the first place.

I sincerely wish, that if my mom was serious, that I do not end up an emotional liability to others. But I'm rather afraid that it's too late to make such a wish.