Saturday, March 19
if i can think of just one happy moment this past.. well.. month or so.. one that comes to mind is of the few minutes we spent lying on our backs, with our heads touching on the parade ground.. now i know what orion's belt looks like.. and how vast and velvety the sky is.. how touchable.. and far away..
there is no where to run, i have no place to go.. i feel so two faced sometimes. i go to church, but i'm madly infatuated with that girl and i'm not doing anything about it simply cos it's too fun. i don't know what i believe in anymore. sure there's a God. and all i've learnt tells me that he cares about us, takes care of us, is always there etc. that our sins hurt him. but my heart's all cold and empty.. and my mind is angry and cynical. i just want to lash out. i don't know what i'm mad at - that the past has become the past, or that the present is never good enough.
i hate hc. i despise it. loathe it. detest it. sure it's airier. bigger. airconditioned. filled with smart asses. but i just can't stand it! and i can't explain why i feel this way. i just
do. maybe it's bringing out a part of me i supressed previously. i don't know. i've never been a happy-go-lucky kinda kid. always that element of darkness. i don't know what i'm angry at. that i'm me, mostly. i guess. if i were someone else.. a better, smarter, happier person.. people tell me not to think too much. i don't think a lot. just enough to get by. i've let over sixteen years slip by. and nothing achieved. i am nothing. i have always been nothing. and will continue to be nothing forevermore. i am nothing. just. this person. breathing. existing. sinning.
once upon a time, in a land far far away, there lived a little glass bottle. it had a motherly mother who never stopped chattering away, and a fatherly father who was distant but kind. now this glass bottle looked like any other bottle. but it grew up in plasticland and slowly it began to wonder if being glass was abnormal. it saw how the plastic bottles pushed each other around playfully during games, and how they never broke. but mama bottle told it never ever to allow itself to be touched, because the plastics didn't know how to handle glass, and it might break. the little glass bottle was afraid of breaking, and thus never took part in any of the rougher games. this led to the plastic bottles making fun of it. they would surround it and taunt it when it refused to join in the games. when the little glass bottle got a little older, it decided that it had had enough of being glass. it went to see the bottle maker in the capital of the country, travelling far and wide to search out the master. ' sir, i want to be plastic. unbreakable like the rest of my townsmen. plastic.' the master looked the little glass bottle straight in the eye and replied, ' not everyone can be unbreakable. those plastic bottles paid a high price to achieve it. they used to be glass, but like you they came to me and i transformed them.' the little glass bottle grasped at that straw. ' then sir, please, i would do anything.. to be plastic.' the master smiled at it sadly, then took it into his laboratory. hours later, the little glass bottle emerged, thoroughly shaken but triumphant. the little plastic bottle [for now we must call it plastic] ran headlong into a tree. it did not shatter. but when it went into the garden, it discovered something rather odd. it had lost all its senses. no smell or taste or hearing or touch or sight. it had become plastic.
there's something missing in my heart.. show me the meaning of being lonely.
it must've been love.
12:40 am
xoxo
