darklooming

Get Involved

2009-02-11T23:10:00.001+08:00

Little Ben is joining a field trip organised by his form teacher. Guess what? They are short of volunteers to keep an eye on the children during the trip as the participation is rather high. Iris assured me that it will be a wonderful experience when I asked her for opinion. She once volunteered for her cousin’s school expedition. It was an unexpectedly enjoyable one, according to her. I checked the marked calendar, it said I’ll be on holiday anyway. Plus it has been more than a decade since I last visited the zoo. So I thought, why not? With regard to this, Ben’s mother has invited me over for dinner. She called earlier today, saying it’s the least she could do to repay me. I’m all ready to bring my empty stomach next door. I step on its doorstep, ringing the bell. The door opens before long and a cheery face looks up to me. “Good to see you, fussy old man!”, he playfully hollers.

The Warmth

2009-02-10T14:49:00.001+08:00

Preciously, I lay it on top of the stack of letters in the desk drawer. Impressive how a handmade card can mean so much to me. We have gotten really close over the past eight months, although we have never actually met each other. We share a unique bond filled with trust and honesty. She may be the closest friend I ever had, and the best thing that has ever happened to me. She’s turning every shade of grey into colours, as her name connotes. I appreciate every consolation, encouragement and motivation received. Inspired by her, I’m pretty much an optimist at present. I start to view things from a different perspective. However lightly, it helps to control my obsessive-compulsive disorder. What’s more, I now spare some time doing stuff I have never done before. My life is gradually gaining substance. Someday, when the time is right, I would love to meet her in person.

Disclosure

2009-02-02T22:54:00.000+08:00

Why am I so hyped up over a name? I find it hard to suppress this infantile behaviour from surfacing. But still, I hold my breath and read on, until I finally come across the name. It sounds so pure and delicate. Naturally I tend to relate it to the flower which shares the same name, rather than referring it to the circular, pigmented curtain of the eye. Besides, it reminds me of a painting by Vincent van Gogh, which he painted in the asylum before his death. Having fulfilled my inquisitive mind, I prepare myself to leave. On second thought, I have a borrowed book to return. Therefore I move towards the rack where visitors put their belongings. I get ahold of the book from my backpack and head for the counter. “Are things going well, sonny?”, the librarian shows her concern. “Fairly well, ma’am. I think I should take the initiative to drop the formality in my eventual correspondence with her.”, I tell her in response.

The Cancerian

2009-02-01T11:27:00.001+08:00

It’s a quarter past twelve. Perched on the chair at the carrel, I unfold the long awaited piece of letter. The thought of discovering her name sends me aflutter. In the silence, I read through every word on the blue-lined, white surface. The letter begins with a formal greeting; subsequently stating her curiosity that Mrs. Regina addressed her as Ms. Tuesday. She asked her what’s the story behind it? It’s funny that she was given a smirk instead of an answer. As I have thought, she is indeed a cancerian; I got the gist through the sensitivity of her reply. It was pretty bright of her to have guessed it right that I’m the only child in the family. Apart from that, she apologises for not introducing herself previously. Here comes the moment of truth, I hear myself saying. My heart pounds like a locomotive, knowing her name lies in the following line.

A Weekend

2009-01-23T11:23:00.001+08:00

“How many tickets, sir?”, she asks from the other side of the counter. “Just one please.”, I throw a quick reply. I manage to steal a glance at her name tag when she is processing the ticket. I make the payment shortly after receiving the ticket from her. She appears to be very enthusiastic about her job, making me happy for her somehow. Checking the time on my phone, I find out that I have approximately half an hour to spare. There are two reasonable options available for me; I can either go grab a drink of my choice at a café, or spend the remaining time reading a browsing copy of an interesting title at a bookstore. The latter is certainly a better choice if I’m taking frugality into account, but I insist on going for the first option just for a change. Thus, I direct my feet to the intended place and settle on a table for two. Quite a crowd here I notice.

Good Read

2009-01-17T19:14:00.003+08:00

Yesterday’s visit was a letdown, unfortunately. Since I was already there, I brought a book home with me nonetheless, presuming it could be a pleasing distraction for me. I’m like over halfway through the book now. Right until this point, I can confidently say it serves its purpose. A very liberal and somewhat erotic fiction, explicitly exposing the ugly face of modern youth in the land of the rising sun. Engrossed and losing sense of time, I am. My stomach is growling from within, dragging me out of the fictional world. How about a delivery meal? I suppose it’s alright to indulge in such convenience once in a while. Picking up the house phone which I hardly use, I dial the numbers accordingly and make my order. The dial tone sounds nostalgic, or should I say obsolete? With that taken care of, I’m off to the other world. I think it’s probable to finish two chapters before the bell rings.

The Gift

2009-01-16T21:21:00.002+08:00

There went Thursday for being under the weather. It sure feels good to be in the pink again after the reasonably long rest. I come to remember that the generous gift from my neighbour is still in its box. I decide to take them out to see the sun today, so I try to put them on. They fit my feet nicely, which then raises my suspicion. She must have ascertained my shoe size on the sly beforehand. Moving a couple of steps ahead from the building in the new pair of sneakers, I tramp the pavement under the delicate morning sun. The traffic is rather light at this hour, resulting in fresher air to breathe and lesser noise pollution. I catch a glimpse of a passenger reading in a moving bus, and the library comes to mind. Maybe I should make a visit to check if Ms. Tuesday has left me a reply letter. In actual fact, it is more likely an excuse for my impatience that is kicking in.

Unwell

2009-01-11T09:48:00.001+08:00

My head throbs and my eyes are growing weary. Half-consciously, I lug myself to the bathroom. I turn the tap at the sink and wet my entire face to be given a pinch of rejuvenation. I guess my body temperature has significantly risen, this would elucidate why the water is freezing cold. I don’t think I can last much longer under this condition. Before I possibly get worse, I figure I should get a glass of warm water and drink it whole. After the last gulp, I slip into something more comfortable and lie straight on the bed, covering myself from neck to toe. Since I’m not a fan of paracetamol, I have to bear with the headache for now. I try to keep my mind void of thoughts and concentrate only on breathing, hoping this meditative state can benumb me from the discomfort and eventually put me to sleep.

Requital

2009-01-09T12:20:00.000+08:00

A package shows up at my doorstep out of the blue. There is no sign of postal stamps on it, not even a name or the sender’s address. I flip it around just to make sure, find nothing on the crumpled brown surfaces. Getting the urge to open it up, I carry it into the room and rest it on the table. While sitting on my chair, I unwrap the package. What lies underneath the wrapping paper is a solid blue box. I slit it open with a stationery knife and lift off its cover. As I’m about to take a peek inside, a phone call interrupts. Hurriedly, I reach for my phone which I left in the living room and answer the call. Apparently it’s from Ben’s mother. “I dropped by earlier but you were out. I hope you don’t mind that I put it at your doorstep. It’s just a little something for you as a token of appreciation.”, she sounds rather warm. I express my gratitude on the phone and wish her good health.

Little Ben

2009-01-06T09:52:00.000+08:00

“A fully customised ship and all spirit gems collected. No kidding?”, I ask in disbelief. “You bet! Are you looking down on me?”, he replies with a proud smirk on his face. However, he adds that one of the heart containers is selfishly tucked away in the Old Wayfarer’s pocket because he didn’t bother fishing. But I’m still impressed, it was three days ago when I lent him the handheld and he has finished the game. “Where’s your mom?”, I try to change the topic. “Oh, she went grocery shopping. She said she wouldn’t want to trouble you that much.”, he explains. I tell him I don’t mind helping every now and then. “Has your dad ever come visit?”, I dare myself to raise the question. His eyes are checking the door. Then he answers in a soft tone, “Yes, he has. Please keep this between you and me and the cat’s whiskers.”. He extends his little finger and we pinky swear to seal the promise.

A Visit

2009-01-05T12:17:00.005+08:00

This is somewhere you don’t want to step into unless you are obliged to do so. The lobby is as cold as the air, there is hardly anyone in sight. I take the elevator and it makes its stop at level five. The first thing I see when the elevator door opens is a sign that reads “Pediatric Ward”. There are more signs at both ends, indicating the range of ward rooms and their respective directions. A hand sanitiser is placed at every room interval, not leaving out the counter too. So here I’m, right in front of the door to Room 516. I slide the door open, carrying his favourite comic books on one hand. He is sitting upright on the bed, with pillows supporting his back. His eyes are fixed on the screens, alternating between each. The very sight of it leaves me beaming. “Saving Princess Zelda?”, I interrupt. “I’m kicking Bellum’s butt!”, he exclaims without looking away from the screens. See how a handheld can keep a kid tied up?

The Decision

2009-01-02T13:05:00.001+08:00

I turn up the piece of note and enclose it between the pages. My nous wanders. What’s her name? Could she be the one I encountered back at the reunion? I can easily field these questions if I cut to the chase and meet her here tomorrow. But no, I shouldn’t. This is just me being delirious, I could ruin the whole thing. Getting it through my head, I regain myself and tear another page off the daybook. Consequently, I begin writing. A name would suffice for now, I reckon. I want to get it from her herself though, not from Mrs. Regina, as it seems improper. Writing with the pen, I drop a few more lines and settle for a barely two quarter page length. I split the piece in two and slip the lower half into the daybook. The librarian becomes the bridge, yet again.

Solace

2009-01-01T22:03:00.003+08:00

I fathom your pain since I have waded through the desert of unrequited love. It was beyond a doubt a bitter pill to swallow. Dwelling on the ordeal led me nowhere but to an endless cycle of anguish and disappointment. Hence, I tried to endure the bitterness, hoping it would make me a stronger person. Then I came to realise that I should open up my heart and accept the fact that it happened, that it was just another phase of my life. Likewise, you had better free your soul from the torment. Leave the dejection behind and let bygones be bygones. Embrace your inner faith as you have got your whole life ahead of you. Appreciate your senses and make good use of them. I look forward to knowing you better.

---

For once, I’m not alone. Her words touch my heart with utmost sincerity that I can almost feel her soul. I will not forget this solace, never.

The Note

2008-12-31T11:56:00.001+08:00

What’s with the weather? Disappointment strikes me as I was looking ahead to a brisk sky. Don’t get it wrong though, I’m not yielding to superstition, it’s nothing but my concern over the pair of pure white sneakers. Nevertheless, I make it to the destination I have in mind, slightly drenched by the drizzle. This place still reeks of musty old books to some degree, still it isn’t too much a bother by any means. “Morning, Mrs. Regina.”, I bid her informally. She looks calm as ever. With a hint of grin creasing her face, she responds, “Good day, sonny. Here’s the piece from Ms. Tuesday.” The note is now in my hands. What’s this feeling I’m getting? I’m lost for words to describe. “Thanks again ma’am, I guess I’ll stay for a while.”. “Should I wait for the right moment to read this?”, my inner self questions.

A Favour

2008-12-30T16:08:00.001+08:00

Me doing grocery shopping? How unlikely. As a matter of fact, I’m lending a hand to my neighbour next door. Starting from the top of the list, butter. I push the cart to the dairy products section. I’m looking for the SCS sign from the assortment of butters on the display fridge. Grabbing two low-fat yogurts along the way, I turn at the junction and stop right at the rack full of condiments. Let’s see, one bottle of mayonnaise and chocolate syrup, preferably Hershey’s. The cart is slowly filling up as I go through the list. Trying to be in line at the shortest queue, I stumble across Mrs. Regina. We greet each other. “She left you a note.”, I hear her saying. “It’s a little earlier than expected, I thought she ought to be there only on this coming Tuesday.”, I reply and notify her that I will drop by tomorrow.

Soundcrafters

2008-12-29T12:08:00.001+08:00

It’s simply awe-inspiring to learn what people can produce with a few pieces of instruments and vocals. The creativity is limitless, making it so full of potential. Since we are born in such diversity, there will always be an audience, even if the work is outright unorthodox. It’s a matter of choice, whether you are in it solely for the money or for something intangible that is far superior. I look up to those musicians who complacently stick to their ideas and identity like a barnacle despite travelling away from the crosswise street. They are inspirational and they send a message. A message that reads, “Always be true to yourself”. Whenever I’m struggling to succeed in any endeavour, I remind myself not to stray from my path. I hope there will be more true artists in existence.

---

I close the daybook and raise from my chair. At that instant, I reach for the player and recover the compact disc. Heedfully, I place it back into its jewel case.

The Reunion

2008-12-26T21:52:00.000+08:00

I’m sitting alongside my former associates in this eatery where many would have to patiently wait just to grab a table. The interior is fairly ostentatious, accompanied by the low lights and lounge music playing in the background. At our table for ten, they prate on how they have changed in appearances and the trivial yada yada that you can expect for a reunion alike. I can’t find the words to utter so I just listen loosely to them while sipping the drink from my glass. A little carried away, I find myself attracted to a certain individual at the opposite table. Similarly, she seems isolated from her gathering. I notice the glass in front of her. To my astonishment, it is just what I ordered for a night like this. Surrounded by indistinct chatters, we exchange glances.

Jaunt

2008-12-25T13:49:00.001+08:00

The leaves are reflecting the rays of the sun, looking crystal-like. I rove barefooted in the green, feeling the grass. The breeze gently brushes through, my arms spreading widely in return. I’m soaring. The mild friction brings me closer to nature. I make a beeline for a shady tree a few paces away. Under it I repose and gaze into the distance, savouring the lush greenery before my eyes. What an ideal paradise, I think to myself. The pleasant moment with nature reminds me to be appreciative of life. I compassionate the blind for not being able to take delight in such wonder, the very essense of nature’s exquisiteness. I feel a sudden rush of contentment.

The Reply

2008-12-24T11:43:00.001+08:00

I bear a wound, a long inflicted one. All these while I’m trying to suppress the pain. Time heals they say, but I’m afraid it penetrated so deep into my emotional flesh that I can’t help to wonder if it is ever mendable. I was naive, and awfully frail. There was no turning back to begin with. I fell completely for her, genuinely. Everything else faded, she was the only glow. I was merely building sandcastles, taking pleasure in the transient beauty. How I wished the waves never came, but they did. My soul was wailing in the realm of melancholy. Now that I’m out of the realm, the throbbing scars remain with me. Would you treat this lacerated soul of mine?

---

As I reminisce, I share my woe in words. My left hand, assiduously imprinting them on the torn paper with the pen. I’m sure she is bright enough to recognise the paper or the handwriting. I fold it and deliver it to the librarian. “Do you mind giving this to Ms. Tuesday?”, I ask for a favour. “That wouldn’t be a problem”, she replies with a smile.

Discovery

2008-12-23T12:23:00.000+08:00

Clouded by bewildering thoughts, I discard my initial intention. Once more, I find myself approaching the librarian. “Did anyone leave this to you?”, I wave the clenched daybook. She nods and clarifies, “A young lady kindly returned it yesterday, in the morning I believe.”. My heart just stops a beat, brimming with exuberance. This entails a change to my mundane life at the very least. “Does she come here regularly?”, I enquire. I’m told that she usually visits on Tuesdays. “Thank you ma’am, that was helpful.”, I express my gratefulness. Before knowing her in person, I have the notion of corresponding with her through written messages, just to keep the mystery intact. With patience at heart, I return to the carrel. Laying on the chair with my head leaning against its back, I set my eyes on the ceiling. I revel in the song of silence, just for a brief moment.

Retrieval

2008-12-22T10:19:00.004+08:00

Pacing through the sidewalk, I inhale so deeply that I can feel the nippy air filling my lungs. Without a doubt, a walk in the morning is verily exhilarating. It’s been a while, I should do this more often. Steadily hastening my pace, I see the humble building two blocks away. A gentle push on the door, I make my way to the counter. In a polite manner, I inquire about the daybook which I assumably left here. “This must be yours.”, she hands it to me. Indeed it is. I thank her in gratitude. As always, my usual spot is unoccupied. Opening the daybook, my fingers run through the pages and halt to a stop. With the pen firmly on grip, I’m about to start expressing yesterday’s musing when something peculiar on the previous entry catches my eye. A brief line of seven words at the end, obviously not my handwriting.

The Day Before

2008-12-21T09:48:00.005+08:00

I stare into the naked sky through an open window from the corner of the room. It is almost identical to the shades of blue on a polaroid. The world is a massive canvas covered with a myriad of animated paintings, as if the creator is a connoisseur of beaux arts. Every distinct piece holds a different story, modestly waiting to unfold its discreet meaning. How can one find the time to interpret all of them? Like a daydreamer lost in reverie, I envisage to my heart’s content. My hand slips into the backpack, feeling for the familiar texture. It is not here. The page remains unwritten. In this very room, I find bliss in my solitude.

Inception

2008-12-20T13:41:00.004+08:00

Everytime I see a couple holding hands, I can’t help to wonder how it feels like. Perhaps there is more to it besides the warm sensation that you get. The chemistry that works between two human beings really intrigues me. How does this driving force of affinity stimulate such great motivation and at some point strip off the sense of rationality from people? If it is ephemeral then what causes it to wither? I do hope to find out, albeit knowing the fact that there is very little possibility of me experiencing it myself. If I were to obtain these answers from others, I doubt it will be satisfactory.

“I would love to find out too.”

---

Slightly startled by the line, I rest my pen down. Who would actually drop me a postscript? I’m partly excited and partly put at unease. The curiosity, it is suffocating me.