Choir

Hmm. I'm quite looking forward to the exchange with NJ choir. It's a rare chance to see who's better, and of course get to learn from each other. But till then, we've got to practise more. Hmm.

I'm also looking forward to the performance we'll be having at Chijmes Hall in September, I'm expecting quite a lot from myself. And of course from the rest of the section. And needless to say from the whole choir.

And of course there is someone I just feel like slapping. Right on his face.

Reflection

When we were still young then, when we were still in primary school, when given essay topics like "Lost", we would probably have written a crappy story about how once upon a time a little kid (yourself) was walking around in the neighbourhood and then got lost. Or that sort of thing. Seems to me that things have changed. Utterly.

Today, more often than not, when we say "lost" we mean not the physical sense of lost, but rather in a more intangible sort of way. For example a lost person doesn't know his direction or purpose in life. Many of us don't realise this, but we indeed have lost the innocence and naiveness we used to have as a child.

Childhood was a time when everything seemed right. Or at least that was true most of the time. Suddenly, we find ourselves stuck in this damned world that does not, at all, give a shit about who you are and what role you play, or might play in society. Nothing seems to fit anymore.

Maybe when I re-read this entry a year later, my ideas would have all changed again. Who knows?

Memories

They never seem to be all good or bad, they can make you laugh, giggle, grin, cry, sob or sigh. They seem to have an almost distinct mind of their own, acting of their own accord, and surfacing at the most inappropriate or unexpectable times. Some may gradually fade away, some remain clear till our deaths, but all of it lies out there, floating and drifting around, never settling down. Like phantoms, they can haunt you, but their dual-sided nature also brings forth an angel from beneath the darkness. They provide a constant source of inspirations for our dreams, yet we never ever quite grasp the idea of them.

Ever elusive and enigmatic, they are constantly in hiding, kept from public scrutiny, locked away in the wuthering depths of our minds; they are the very essence of our being. We are who we are only because of them.

Leaking

There's a puncture in
My heart, a hole
My soul leaks through,
Into the hell outside to be
Smouldered by perdition flames that
Burn and scorch and burn some more;
My soul—
Vaporised,
Floating
Drifting
Fading away;
A
Mist that bears no sign of
Life— it seeks to detach itself from me.

There's something in
The world I love
To hate.
There's a vortex, a hole, and
I leak through it,
Squirming past millions into
A place fresh and
Full of death.

Madness

I fear the day when I will go mad. Absolutely. LIKE THIS!!! I really do... I don't even know who I am anymore... griever? Or just a simple kid who can't be bothered with the intricasies of the perplex human consciousness? Who am I? CAN SOMEBODY TELL ME?

I've been in an absolutely bad mood the past week. I've shouted. I've scolded and I've cried. I have. Madness seems to be the only instigator.

I'm losing control.

I am.

Tears of Fire

Sometimes, people cry because they are sad. They are sad because they have lost something, something dear to them, something that really meant a lot to them. People also cry because they have gained something, like for example when they are experiencing extreme happiness. Sometimes, people just cry, for a reason that needs no explanation. But the fact is, people cry.

We talk about "crocodile tears", putting up a show just to gain sympathy, we talk about how "big boys don't cry", and the idea is, crying is just so part of human conciousness. We cry when we need to. There's no need to hold back the tears, cause if you ever do, chances are they don't just disappear behind your eyelids. They merely wait, waiting for the day when the build-up becomes so dangerous that no amount of willpower would be able to stop them from flooding our dear eyes. And when that happens, we cry. We sob, we may laugh in the process, but essentially, we cry.

When we are sad, each drop of tear falling from the eyes contains that bit of the whole pool of pain we have been wallowing in for ages. Crying is a natural thing, we cry because we need to. Everybody cries at times; infants are born crying, and as we grow older we cry lesser, yet that does not mean we have grown stronger. We become more perceptive to the tragic realities of life, and we become so insecure that we hide the tears to prevent the whole world from knowing. But when each and every member of this earth is hiding tears from the other, what is there to really hide anymore?

Solid

Physics defines a solid as a phase/state of matter (possessing mass) in which the molecules (particles formed by atoms, the simplest unit of matter) are tightly packed together. As such a solid exhibit characteristics such as high density, etc.

However, solid is also used as a figure of speech when we refer to something that is very tough or steady. For example, when we say the sound of this choir is very solid we mean the choir produces a very steady and perhaps heavy sound. In this case the word presents itself to have positive connotations.

Yet, when one's heart is solid, one is cold, and maybe merciless as well. A heart of a person is one thing you never want solid.

Sadly, mine is.

Frosted Eyes

The teacher
Had eyes of ice;
They were so cold they burnt,
And he couldn't see anything past
His freezing pupils.

The whole world seemed so cold to him,
Even his students ignored him,
Looked past him,
Disliked him.

He saw the world thru' his frosted eyes,
And his students saw only his
Cold, icy glare.