Grief.

Everything with her was larger than life itself. When she was happy, her face glowed, her big, big smile shone with all her teeth. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes were round, and she jumped, she laughed, she sang, she danced. When she was angry her brows would knit together, her lips would purse, her nostrils flare. The blood rushed to her face, her eyes narrowed, and her voice crescendoed. She waved her arms wildly in the air, she screamed. And when she was sad, she became so small, arms and legs retracted, but bawling. Wailing and crying and lamenting, like she was being torn apart by pain. Shaking and rocking backwards and forwards, gasping for breath.

She was slouching on a chair, and for all anyone knew there was nothing wrong. She wasn't saying much, but then again everyone was speaking at the same time, they would hardly have noticed. She wasn't moving, and her eyes were fixed on one single point in front of her. When she talked about it she spoke without feeling. Her sentences were matter of fact, her voice at normal volume. But everything about her was so lifeless - as if she was dying in solidarity.

Layouts and thingsss

Searching for a new layout - this current brown sludgy crap is doing my eyes in....

Ms Charmaine asked me about World Book contributions the other day -

PSYCHED PSYCHED PSYCHED.

Current music:

The Fear - Lily Allen listen to the lyrics especially

Rich Girls - The Virgins

Valerie - The Zutons

Do The Whirlwind - Architecture in Helsinki fun beat

Stay - Sugarland her voice is amazing

Smack My Derb - Alpha Twins Melb shuffle track, totally infectious beat

Beautiful Day - U2 classic.

Glass

do not look through me

I am Flesh and I am Blood

bundle of pulsing veins, beating heart

throbbing muscles.

do not close your ears to me

I am Whole

I am Real

full of thought, bursting with emotion

overflowing with passion.

I exude Life - if I do Exist indeed

I am Tangible and I Breathe

the air that you breathe

I feel the heat of the sun on my skin

sinking into my bloodstream

and firing my core

I Feel, and I Love,

And I admit that I Hate.

yet the gaze of others runs straight through me

uninterrupted as if through glass

eyes looking not  seeing

but I am Flesh

and I am Blood

and I demand that I am Seen.

 

Nora.

I wrote this a week or so ago. Here's the first bit of it.

My great-aunt and my grandfather did actually have to live up in the caves in Pangasinan at the time of the American-Japanese war in the Philippines.

----------------------------

Nora remembers. She remembers the horrible sucking sounds of the mud as they ran, the whine of Japanese planes at their backs. They ran over the fields, up the hills, into the cages. Far, far away from the sound of approaching Death. But in the silence of the cave, cradled in her mother's arms, she still heard the insistent noise of the plane, Nora remembers, she remembers it all.

The children play at Nora's feet, on a hardwood floor, with shiny plastic toys. No stone floors. Nora told her husband, no stone. It reminded her too much of the caves they slept in, of the absolute darkness of every night.

Her grand-nieces and grand-nephews are so soft, skin pink and pliable. At their age Nora's hands were covered with callouses, her heels were dirty and hard. She looks at herself now, hands dotted with liver spots, skin wrinkled with age. The callouses are gone and her skin is clean. No marks remain from the war, except the small shrapnel scar behind her left ear. Nobody knows of it except her elder brother - her perfectly coiffed hair hides her scar expertly.

And where is Alex now?

Grandpa! Grandpa!

The elated cries of her grand-nephew. Ah, here is Alex, the proud grandfather of seventeen, smiling at his grandchildren. The little ones throw themselves at him, Alex Jr. is hanging off his shoulder. Nora sees her brother wince with pain, but the children don't notice how his face is twisted, the veins in his neck bulging. The expression on his face is so familiar to her; the soundless agony of his pain. After all these years, the scar still hurt him.

Citizens of the World

An intro to some short story ideas I have. Draft #1

You've probably lost track of the number of airplanes you've flown, or how many hours of your life have been spent in airports. You fly home at Christmas, maybe during the summer. Maybe once a year, maybe twice a year. You've been on a delayed flight before, you've been stuck on tarmac. You've been through a cloud before. You have a passport, your own personal suitcase, and a specific way that you like to sleep on an airplane. You may love or hate the way your stomach floats upwards when a plane gets off the ground, or the exhilirating rush you get when the pilot lands the plane, taxing down the runway at high speed.

How many schools have you been to? A few? A dozen? Maybe more depending on how many times you've moved. And when you talk about moving, you mean crossing the Atlantic, the Pacific, giant bodies of water that divide the world. You don't mean hopping in a car and driving for a day or two. You mean packing your house into a container that gets shipped to your new house by sea. You mean living in an apartment before you find a house to live in. You know what it's like to start over, and what it's like to have to line up at immigration, fight through customs, just to visit all the things you've left behind.

You know about the world, and you care. You know the names of countries that some people may not have heard of, you know the names of major world leaders, and you know who's fighting who, and who seems to be winning. Global, political issues, you talk about them with your friends, your parents, your teachers. 

You like experiencing new things and seeing new places. You've been inside a cathedral, a mosque, a temple. You know about religions, and you've probably met someone from all the ones that you know of. You've been at school when kids fasted during Ramadan, gave up meat and chocolate at Lent, celebrated light at Diwali. You know why your Sikh friend is wearing a turban, you know why people are celebrating the Lunar New Year.

 You have friends who are so completely different from you - from different nations, cultures and upbringings - but they are just like you, and when you talk about your life, they understand. You know the pain of Goodbye - you've had to say it more than once to many people, but eventually you realised that you really meant "see you again." You know how small the world really is, because you have friends everywhere. The girl who just moved to your school used to go to school in Kuala Lumpur, and your best friend just moved there. The new boy in your Biology class knows the captain of the football team because they went to school together when they lived in Mumbai. 

Often, people ask where you're from. Maybe you have a confident answer to give, and maybe you don't. But it's always an interesting question, always a topic for discussion. You're British? But you've lived in Guangzhou for five years? What was that like? You've been asked questions that to you seem hilarious, but to others seem plausible. You lived in Vietnam, is it safe, are you scared? You lived in Egypt, did you ride a camel to school? 

Your global upbringing has made you who you are. You may have questioned your nationality, your identity, your culture, your religion. Your beliefs, superstitions and customs have been challenged, your opinions influenced by multicultural individuals like yourself. You have seen things and done things you never would have at home. You know a lot about the world, but you understand that there is so much more to know. You have interesting things to say, good stories to tell. You have high expectations, big dreams and strong ambitions. You will do great things in life, and you plan to succeed.

That is because You, my friend, are a citizen of the world.

All the lonely people where do they all belong...

In a small corner of a dark and deserted street he waits. The chill of the night has soaked into every crevice of his body, sliding smoothly around the joints in his fingers, his kneecaps, his ankles. The sound of a passing car jolts him out of his statuesque pose, he hears a car door slam, footsteps crunching on gravel, and looks up. Maybe, just maybe they would turn in his direction, walk towards his dank little corner, and make him an offering. Some warm food, a blanket, maybe even a little money.

In his mind a little scene plays out. He is shivering, and a kind, benevolent face peers down at him. Wordlessly a blanket drops around his shoulders, a plate of food is presented from the folds of the kind stranger's coat. Somehow the stranger has a lot of leftover change and gives it to him. The stranger even offers to take him anywhere he wants to go in their car. Somewhere warmer, perhaps? The stranger smiles, and reaches out to grasp his hand.

The sounds of crunching gravel fade off into the distance. No one is coming down this pathetic street tonight. No one ever does. The man huddles closer into the corner, legs folding inwards, hands balled into fists and thrust close to his chest. He looks like a child. An innocent little child. 

As he drifts off into sleep, the man wonders if this winter will finally be his last. Wonders if all of his lonely life will only ever amount to this. Huddling in a street corner, teeth chattering from the cold, and alone. So utterly alone.

Music for my soul.

http://imahippie.deviantart.com (c) Mai Vo

No time for a long post. Just got back from my xmas break - went back home to the Philippines, it was beautiful.

I want to post about this very poignant book I read, and re-draft+post a poem I wrote which was inspired by the city of Cebu...but that will have to come later.

For now, this week's playlist:

Santeria, Sublime

Cath..., Death Cab for Cutie

With or Without You, Keane (U2 Cover)

Smash Your Head, Girl Talk

Technicolor Girls, Death Cab for Cutie

Use Somebody, Kings of Leon

Momentum, The Hush Sound

The Falls, The French Kicks

Nineteen, Tegan & Sara

Great DJ, The Tings Tings

The photo up top ^^ was taken by another very talented person from my school =]