Impassive
Although it's getting late and we're forgetting our duties we can't help the morbid curiosity as we stared into the screen. Flicking through my connections.
We know each other too well.
None of us want to perform our duties.
Even with the orange light and the screen of the laptop illuminating the room. It's still bright enough to see clearly.
We settle back into our positions.
His in front of the laptop reading important information. And myself lying on the bed looking very much like a corpse.
Unstated things hang in the air. Something from my end and his end. It makes the silence seem filled yet all encompassing.
"I need to write a note. You'll be seeing her tomorrow so you can pass it to her for me?"
"No problem."
I prepare him paper and pen.
The pen hovers over the paper. Hesitating. Thinking. Wording in his head.
Then he writes firmly and fluidly.
All I see is a could of grey around him. I cannot fathom his thoughts.
-----------------------------------
He turns down the volume.
Pulls out his laptop and hooks up the external hard drive.
He plays an old song.
There's no sound apart from the car's engine and the music emanating from his computer. The only light is from his screen, the LED indicating his external hard disk is active and the pools of light from the lamp posts.
He's bobbing his head to the rhythm of the music.
It's a good song. Actually it's an excellent song. And the lyrics are meaningful.
But why did he pick it for this time of the night?
It's past 12. We're just grabbing a bite. But why did he pick that song? I'd never pick a song so strong.
I yank the handbrake at the red light.
And I glance at him. He's still a grey cloud. But I can see a red discolouration. He's playing it to cope with the hurt and the pain.
-------------------------------------
He takes the note from me. He's gone to edit it.
I'm just merely a courier for the note. He trusts me to do it. Because we're that close. And he's seen me take care of one of God's daughters.
He hands the note back to me.
Because he knows I'll never read it.
Because Kingtons have more respect than curiosity.
============================================================================
Blood lined mask
============================================================================
He sees me staring at the high ceilings. Singing "Say" and just walking ahead of him in the unusual high speed.
Too energetic. Too fast. Gait too closed up.
He knows it. I should be too chewed to be able to sing. My throat wasn't able to produce any noise earlier too. My legs were too shot. The knees failed to work.
But I'm walking rapidly. Singing in a high octave. With another voice.
The other 2 do not notice anything.
But he knows not to speak or ask.
Because I just need my time alone.
With the rain pouring from the sky. Falling on every bit of my body. Washing me anew.
He knows.
What happens beneath the blood lined mask.
--------------------------------------------------------------
"I'm sorry about yesterday. I was pretty emo."
"Yeah I could tell. That's why I didn't say anything."
And I engage the gears of my car. And I do what she's supposed to be paying me for.
She knew it. I did my best to just look sleepy. But I guess I can't hide anything from her if I gave her the best form of resistance against me.
"I'm still quite emo actually."
"I know. A bit more than yesterday."
I really can't hide anything from her. And I was actually smiling when I was apologising.
How sharp her keen eye probes my stance. How instinctively she understands the aura I project.
To the world. I've mastered it. The stance looks right. The aura looks cheerful. Like a colourful cloud.
But she sees the dominant colour. This friend of mine.
===================================================================
It's a mess of things.
"Why you so sad 1?"
"I'm trying to figure out the menu. I don't see why toast costs as much as ordinary bread."
He shrugs.
"Oh, it's steamed bread."
"Why are you so sad today?"
"I've been having problems sleeping recently. I think it's the bed."
He stares at me after putting down his spoon and fork.
"Why do you happen to be so sad today?"
"I'm just having problems alright. It's just getting embarrassing."
"Tell me."
"It's nothing lah. I'm just trying not to let it get to me. I told Bird that it's only sad if I let it get to me."
I try not to look him in the eye. I don't hear him picking up the cutlery. I look at him.
It's concern.
Not a warning. Not a rebuke. It's just concern. Concern for me. Not concern that I won't be able to perform my duty to serve.
Pure concern for my well-being.
I look away again.
I feel him trying to probe me. I block and swing a false gesture into the air. He knows it's fake. He gives up knowing that I'm not going to say anymore.
He picks up his cutlery.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Behind the blood lined mask. He's seen it fall off.
He's seen me be impassive.
He knows I've hardly even been stirred at all for a very long time.
But he's seen something other than blood and sweat roll off my face.
He's seen my full capacity for emotion.
And he knows the only thing that forces the tears flow.
But I know why he's so impassive.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Prepare for a part 2.
I can't freaking sleep past 4 am anymore. I keep waking up.
YER! BEH TAHAN WEI! SNIFF!
Suh Ming. If you read this. You super lame wei!
We know each other too well.
None of us want to perform our duties.
Even with the orange light and the screen of the laptop illuminating the room. It's still bright enough to see clearly.
We settle back into our positions.
His in front of the laptop reading important information. And myself lying on the bed looking very much like a corpse.
Unstated things hang in the air. Something from my end and his end. It makes the silence seem filled yet all encompassing.
"I need to write a note. You'll be seeing her tomorrow so you can pass it to her for me?"
"No problem."
I prepare him paper and pen.
The pen hovers over the paper. Hesitating. Thinking. Wording in his head.
Then he writes firmly and fluidly.
All I see is a could of grey around him. I cannot fathom his thoughts.
-----------------------------------
He turns down the volume.
Pulls out his laptop and hooks up the external hard drive.
He plays an old song.
There's no sound apart from the car's engine and the music emanating from his computer. The only light is from his screen, the LED indicating his external hard disk is active and the pools of light from the lamp posts.
He's bobbing his head to the rhythm of the music.
It's a good song. Actually it's an excellent song. And the lyrics are meaningful.
But why did he pick it for this time of the night?
It's past 12. We're just grabbing a bite. But why did he pick that song? I'd never pick a song so strong.
I yank the handbrake at the red light.
And I glance at him. He's still a grey cloud. But I can see a red discolouration. He's playing it to cope with the hurt and the pain.
-------------------------------------
He takes the note from me. He's gone to edit it.
I'm just merely a courier for the note. He trusts me to do it. Because we're that close. And he's seen me take care of one of God's daughters.
He hands the note back to me.
Because he knows I'll never read it.
Because Kingtons have more respect than curiosity.
============================================================================
Blood lined mask
============================================================================
He sees me staring at the high ceilings. Singing "Say" and just walking ahead of him in the unusual high speed.
Too energetic. Too fast. Gait too closed up.
He knows it. I should be too chewed to be able to sing. My throat wasn't able to produce any noise earlier too. My legs were too shot. The knees failed to work.
But I'm walking rapidly. Singing in a high octave. With another voice.
The other 2 do not notice anything.
But he knows not to speak or ask.
Because I just need my time alone.
With the rain pouring from the sky. Falling on every bit of my body. Washing me anew.
He knows.
What happens beneath the blood lined mask.
--------------------------------------------------------------
"I'm sorry about yesterday. I was pretty emo."
"Yeah I could tell. That's why I didn't say anything."
And I engage the gears of my car. And I do what she's supposed to be paying me for.
She knew it. I did my best to just look sleepy. But I guess I can't hide anything from her if I gave her the best form of resistance against me.
"I'm still quite emo actually."
"I know. A bit more than yesterday."
I really can't hide anything from her. And I was actually smiling when I was apologising.
How sharp her keen eye probes my stance. How instinctively she understands the aura I project.
To the world. I've mastered it. The stance looks right. The aura looks cheerful. Like a colourful cloud.
But she sees the dominant colour. This friend of mine.
===================================================================
It's a mess of things.
"Why you so sad 1?"
"I'm trying to figure out the menu. I don't see why toast costs as much as ordinary bread."
He shrugs.
"Oh, it's steamed bread."
"Why are you so sad today?"
"I've been having problems sleeping recently. I think it's the bed."
He stares at me after putting down his spoon and fork.
"Why do you happen to be so sad today?"
"I'm just having problems alright. It's just getting embarrassing."
"Tell me."
"It's nothing lah. I'm just trying not to let it get to me. I told Bird that it's only sad if I let it get to me."
I try not to look him in the eye. I don't hear him picking up the cutlery. I look at him.
It's concern.
Not a warning. Not a rebuke. It's just concern. Concern for me. Not concern that I won't be able to perform my duty to serve.
Pure concern for my well-being.
I look away again.
I feel him trying to probe me. I block and swing a false gesture into the air. He knows it's fake. He gives up knowing that I'm not going to say anymore.
He picks up his cutlery.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Behind the blood lined mask. He's seen it fall off.
He's seen me be impassive.
He knows I've hardly even been stirred at all for a very long time.
But he's seen something other than blood and sweat roll off my face.
He's seen my full capacity for emotion.
And he knows the only thing that forces the tears flow.
But I know why he's so impassive.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Prepare for a part 2.
I can't freaking sleep past 4 am anymore. I keep waking up.
YER! BEH TAHAN WEI! SNIFF!
Suh Ming. If you read this. You super lame wei!
