Drabble #6

Exterior-wise, he didn’t show much projections of his anxiety and unrest that brewed inside. He was born with that unfortunate, wretched tendency to be easily bothered and minded much of meticulous details.

Overthinking. That’s whay they call it. He preferred conscious. Though neither of them were a better connotation of the other.

For one, there was something about the way he grappled with staring at people. While walking, on the road, on the stairs, on the train, on anything really, he didn’t quite know where to place his eyes, or what to do with his face. He was fond of civility, so thought of giving these fleeting passerby a smile, every time an eye contact of recognition was made. But that would have meant a neverending pull of facial muscles and eventually tire him out–or worse–appear creepy. He thought of staring blankly ahead, looking at people but not really seeing them, except that never went so long as he preferred noticing details. And finally, he tried to let his eyes be, allowing his gaze to linger or be fixed, hoping the other person would look away on their own. This too, failed, as they also held their gaze, and he was easily so unnerved by the locked stares that went on too long for comfort that he pulled away and unwillingly repeated the whole cycle once again. So he was in a standstill among all the options, calculating whether to smile, perhaps nod, or maybe to ignore, stare faraway.

He liked to blink very slowly, testing the passage of time, which appeared in events pre-blink and post-blink, reminding him what he was seeing was true and according to the laws of nature. He liked to see the instant flashes of black as he blinked, that for a moment he could have the power to shut everything out.

His mind. Always switching, oscillating back and forth between thinking about the most particular details or being aware of the present. Fluttering and flipping between being everywhere and nowhere. Schrodinger would have pat.

He reckoned he would have looked very funny and odd if there had been a mirror reflecting his every moment behavior beside him everyday. It was only until his eyebrows hurt one day that he realized he variated many expressions in a millisecond. Depending on his inner state and what he was seeing, his eyes flickered up down left and right simultaneously widening and narrowing, eyebrows shot up then down to a frown, lips would purse then part a little bit or puckered then bitten. Expressions contorting not really ever having a default mode.


Drabble #5

While his thought processes seemed to be much more free-flowing, like the stream running down the mountain, in the moments the words expelled from his mouth, they sounded lagged as though bulky, jumbled blocks of wood were being ejected instead. So when he attempted to describe his feelings for the moment, it came out as nonsensical paradoxes that made people want to pretend to understand.

When someone once encroached him on the subject of love, and prodded him to articulate his thoughts on it, he had said,’Love makes me want to end love,’ which statement felt much more sensible in his mind, pre-uttered. He deemed it was best they stay that way, in his mind comprehended without form.

He scanned through his memory today, flipping the moments like going through pages of books with a hand, to note of any details that particularly stood out over the course of the day. On the train, he remembered the chubby young man who had round black glasses on, and a gigantic and ponderous box in front of him which had taken half of the standing space. His first initial impression had been a Chinese tourist or student moving his belongings to somewhere new, which could be guessed from the sharp tone and distinct accentuations unique to the language.

Walking up the stairs, there had been a couple whose hands were clasped in a way that each fingers were intertwined, locked together. He vaguely recollected the feeling of warmth and blissful security that came with this gesture, and remembered fondly of a time when he had felt its comfort.

For some memories he didnt know why they had stayed, and he wondered why those insignificant scenarios had remained prominent in his mind. He thought about the feelings that could have been associated with the moment or tried to search for its hidden importance but was clueless. He didnt understand how the Chinese young man had been relevant at all to his life and yet he rememed the smallest details of the scene vividly. In this regard, the brain seemed unreliable; what if the brain had forgotten what it should have remembered if it remembered what it shouldnt have?

Drabble #4

He established himself as an atheist, and yet on occasional moments he glanced at the sky, he could not help thinking that the glorious way the white puffs, hiding behind the sun spreading its rays in all directions like strands of needles, could only be the work of an intelligent artist. It was much too beautiful, detailed, and…intentional to be Coincidence.

If it was the work of nature, he wished Chaos would strike him as much. He wanted to be beautiful, detailed and intentional too.

A small bug crossing underneath him was almost squashed. He wondered what the world would look like in the eyes of the bug. Then thought about a giant, thousand times his size, walking on top of him and shuddered at the imagination. He supposed the streets and roads must have looked like an ant’s colony trails from the giant’s perspective.

He thanked the God (he did not believe in) that he was part of the biggest intelligent living species.

Other random thoughts included bodily functions. More specifically, his stomach. He often wondered how much of the food he ate had been digested in the stomach. He didnt like to contain any more if his stomach still felt full, even though he was hungry.  He liked the way the digestive system worked linearly. It was never much philosophy or hassle with the singular way substances came in and out of the body. The body understood life more than he did.

Apart from these, his head was empty most of the time. He learned to stop thinking of questions. He didnt want to run out of new ones when he looked at the same objects again and again, in his redundant life. His life had long been on replay, and he could only dare to see some tiny corner of it differently each time.

[Drabble 3]

He was overflowing with addiction. In this state, he could not think, but only act. He could not pause, but only go. He could not slow, but only speed up. He reduced to a state of impulsive and yielded to his greatest instinctive desires. He had effectively reduced the state to Animal, a level in which all humans have the privilege of possessing and more importantly, choosing.

This animal threw the faculties of reason and optimized the use of its senses, which were already overused, like the kitchen rag festering with mold and bacteria.

Every pause was torture. Every thought was torture. He could only allow himself to the basics of feeling, breathing, smelling, seeing, and munching away at the precious time that was assigned to him, wasting the present for the future.

At the back of his mind, he knew he was to regret. That was the last hope and saving grace his Reason weakly offered him. A futile attempt to stop himself of the Overdrive. But the shred of Regret-the knowledge of it-only fueled his desire to ruin himself more and willingly plunge deeper into the abyss of Addiction.

After all, Addiction was stronger in the last remaining moments of turning back, as though giving you all the more expectation that its benefit will be worth the loss.

[Drabble 2]

Gradually, he tried to condition himself to becoming Normal. The very word had left a feeling of distaste in his mouth before, but now he willingly embraced it.

He finally realized there was not much difference between normality and sanity. Normal wasnt an absence of sanity, it was a wholly essential constituent of it. He finally realized normality composed of insanity. Without being insane, you couldnt be normal and that was the breaking point to his rebellion against Normal-ness.

Now, he did not quite have to swat of the flies of Delirium as it approached and swarmed about him. They were normal components of Life.

Now, when the familiar chaos set in apprehensively in his heart, he no longer latched onto the first thing that served as a tool for distraction to escape from it. It was normal, everything was normal.

He could feel losing himself to normality, and that just made him all the more insane.



Supreme beings of earth, behold
Carry on endlessly with your meaningful lives
Oh God save our souls, you shout
Rising from the physical realm, you believe in Him that
Can somehow hold you from falling in
Hell where you fear
Eternal fire and torture and true


Life Recorded

Today, I bought my first violin.

When people say love at first sight, they most probably dont mean objects. But as I was walking by the instrumental stores, I can only describe it as.. it was there, in all its string carved wooden glory suspended on a pale wall and somehow, I ended up with a new friend that was completely clueless as I was with its art.

At first it was awkward. We were trying to get used to each other’s differences. Occasionally we stumbled and fumbled, trying to get each other to become familiar. Not quite there yet but somehow, we’re growing on each other.

Today is day one with this auburn friend of mine, soon to be an extended piece of my body.

Happy Birthday violin! This moment of my life has been recorded for future memories to store away.