Psychic Theft

An unnatural chill descends over me as I finally realise what has been taken from me without my knowledge or consent. Parts of my self are scattered across my room, in a thousand different things, sheet music on my table, scribbles that reflect my thoughts and mortal emotions in the boxes under the table, my secretly cherished wallet, the many books that I have collected, and so on and so forth. Seized with a sudden desire to check that everything is where it should be (there is a certain order within the chaos of my room that only I can see) I begun taking a mental inventory. And the fact that I am missing several highly important pieces of my self came to light. There are very few suspects in my mind, and when the sun burns bright in the sky I shall search for these crucial items in my life thus far. I know where they are. A curious fact about myself is that I usually know instinctively where all the things that I need will be, or where their current location is. Now my blades slide silently out of their sheaths, and I am contemplating what to do with this latest transgression. As I stood in the centre of the room, feeling my body temperature fall with each passing second, I called up a dark wave of fire to sustain me through this latest battle. I am highly protective of my privacy, and extremely fierce when the invisible lines I place to mark my territories both mental and physical are crossed. Even as the fire sweeps through me, I feel chilled knowing that someone has peeked into my world without me having realised it sooner. This is a sign that I have allowed my defenses to fall into disuse. It is shocking. How did this happen? I know the items were removed a few months prior, but the fact that I only realised it tonight after such a long time worries me. Time was I'd have known it only hours after it was removed. Have I grown so used to frolicking in sunshine and green meadows that I forget to defend myself against unwanted intrusions? Have I grown so carefree that I have become an open book for all and sundry? I am still frozen, but within the ice a hint of fire flickers, and when the sun rises today I shall reclaim what was taken from me. I may be too late to prove the theft of my personal items, but I do not care. I shall defend to the death my right to privacy, and I shall reiterate once more that I guard my mind and heart with fierce brutality. The affection I feel for those around me softens the blow on most occasions, and for that they ought to be thankful. When my wrath has been incurred, all hell breaks loose. I do not care. I will keep my illusions of placid calm and sweet ignorance in place, until I have reclaimed these extensions of my self that have been taken. Once I do, I'll wait until a spark ignites the firestorm I've been suppressing within me. This terrible act is akin to stealing pieces of my soul, and my eyes darken as I plan my next step. It is my nature to be highly secretive, even for the most mundane things, and the items that have been taken contain within them portions of the secrets that I have been guarding for years. My eyes are bloodshot as I count down the hours to sunrise. When the time comes, I will harness all the heat and rage within my heart to scorch this thief who has been stealing quietly from me for so long. Until then, I must work just as quietly to regain the lost fragments of my world.
For every intrusion, you will weep a thousand nights; I am the cruellest demon when my privacy has been invaded. Heed my silent warnings, or suffer the consequences.

Psychic Hunter

I am tired of dancing around in circles. How can I hunt your demons down when you refuse to name them? For you alone, I would face a thousand of them; entire legions that will fall before my might when I fight for you, when I think of you as my blades reveal themselves. You imbue me with magnificent strength when all seems lost. But it is not enough to whisper my name, for a hundred people need me in a hundred different ways. For you I am only a weapon against the darkness that stalks purity such as yourself. You're fighting fire with fire, because you think the magnitude of my darkness can overshadow all others. You fail to grasp the full extent of my capabilities. If I had not caught you as you fell, if I had stepped back from you...would you have had the ability to overcome such adversity on your own? Why do you think I can save you? What do you expect from me? Do you want me to unsheath my blades and rip your inner demons to pieces for you everytime you send my name out on the winds? I can't do that. You don't trust me enough to tell me the nature of your demons, although I can hazard a guess. I cannot destroy what I do not know. Tonight I feel invincible, a far cry from the pale shadow I was a few months ago. But matter how great I become, I will never be able to help you unless you trust me. Name your demons, and I promise I will hunt them down for you. Trust me enough to open your heart and mind up for me, and I'll do the rest. This is my golden promise, one I will never break, have never broken before. I know you're in pain. But I also know you treasure your independence as much as I treasure my privacy. So I'll bow out of this hunt, for now. I have matters of greater importance to attend to, and you will continue fighting a losing battle. You have, unfortunately, been bumped down on my list of things to do. But you're free to call on me anytime when you need me to step in and shield you from your own demons. I'm not at all sorry I wasn't able to come immediately to your aid, for something strange has happened over these past few days. My needs overwhelm everything else (and everyone else's) for once, and I've spent a happy twelve hours in deep hibernation. The weeks are drifting by, and soon it will be time for me to put my blades and illusions away, in favour of a rifle and pure brute strength. Before that time comes, however, I am perfectly content to sit in my high tower where the winds are always cool and strong. Still, I am not entirely heartless. For anyone who needs me, scream my name to the winds and I'll come. Just don't expect me to be all nice and warm and comforting, if you are the one who brought your own demons to life. I'll destroy them for you, at a price, but there is a good chance I'll end up hurting you too for being so foolish. So think twice before you awaken me from my slumber, because now as my time runs out, I grow sharper and colder. I have no patience for mortal stupidity. I have destroyed a few of my own painful demons over the weekend. The legal mess has been cleared up, I've spoken to my fathers, my mum and my aunt over a few issues that needed to be sorted out, and I've given R a flailing with the rough edge of my tongue. I am calm, in sharp contrast to the gusts that swirl around my cold room, and I offer once more my golden promise. I will hunt down and destroy all the demons that you name. In exchange, I require your absolute trust.
What darkness is greater than my own? In the same vein, what do I have to fear? The night is mine once more.

Psychic Memories

Dawn is a breath away, and I greet the cool Friday morning with a heart as full as the moon that floats high above me, my companion throughout the dark and quiet night. The many problems that plague me have been brushed aside for a few days, and I chose instead to immerse myself in happy thoughts and sunshine as long as I could hold out. Now as darkness floods my room, the many problems rise from every nook and cranny that I've shoved them into, and together they seem unbeatable. I am expected to be everything I'm not. I'm tired of the lies, I'm tired of lying, I'm tired of all these things that pierce me unseen. R has cut me off from his life; for him we've said our goodbyes. I don't quite know what I've done to incur his wrath, and that makes it worse. I would like to flush out the memories that are filled with J. Remove them completely. Ignorance, as they say, is bliss. He is light itself, the complete opposite to my natural element. Therefore the attraction remains strong, something that both time and distance cannot dull. Perhaps he has found his wings at long last, and if he flies away again, then the tears of blood shall flow once more. I am tired, but I know if I close my eyes now, the nightmares will come galloping throughout my mind and ravage my soul. Not that it isn't already ravaged and broken, but then again...
I don't know why Angel has been so cold to me as well. I'm so afraid my past might be catching up with me, and I'm terrified of what I might remember next. I don't want to remember, I don't want to know anything about my younger years. I am who I am now, and that should be enough. Why is my mind tormenting me this way? Why can't I just forget every horrifying vision, every terrible memory, every painful experience? The few that have surfaced still frighten me in ways I cannot truly understand. A few have been faced down and confronted completely, but there are so many that lurk unseen in the corridors of my mind. I wonder vaguely if it is possible to completely forget. I'm listening to Foolish Games by Jewel now, and my fingers are already subconsciously moving in tune to the piano keys. Mr Lim has offered to move my old piano for free, together with Yammy, so I can have two pianos. I cannot bear to part with my old Challen. We've been through all my ups and downs, and my mum told me three days ago that she would always wake with a light heart in the mornings whenever she heard me play on the piano. And I remember. I remember creeping down to my piano at six in the morning when I thought my head would explode.
I don't want to be this way anymore. I'm happy with who I am now. I don't want my past to catch up with me. All that pain should just stay in my history, entire libraries that should never be explored. Yet it does, when I least expect it. The oddest things trigger my memories. A familiar scent; Esther's perfume. A playground, where I used to sit and wonder detachedly at why people smiled, why families could laugh and talk and connect, why people looked so happy.. My fear, my pain. Hiding away from everyone and everything, pretending to be sick so I could skip school and stay home to spend all day with my piano. Everything comes at me at the strangest times, for even stranger reasons. I cannot remember much, but what I do remember pains me badly. There were people who tried to reach me, of course there were. But back then, I trusted people even less than I do now. The realisation that I was an extremely cold child hits me full force, you know? Emotion was weakness. You never ever said how you feel, because you weren't allowed to. You weren't whole. My thoughts, my pen, paper and piano were all I had. I didn't want anything else, I didn't have anything else. I didn't fit in because I wasn't...like everyone else. I'm not just talking about the gay issue. I wondered about many things. I wondered about religion when my peers were talking about the latest music bands and stuff. I wondered about my purpose in life when my classmates were frantically studying for their examinations. I sat under a warm sturdy tree at the far end of a mostly abandoned field in school when everyone else took a break from studying. I brought along a tiny notebook and a pen with me at all times, everywhere I went. Everything I felt, everything I thought went into it. I must have had a hundred notebooks in those two years alone. Scribblings went on for pages. Odd, disjointed thoughts that came to me as I sat in silence. Always, even in school, I felt alone until I went home and sat at my piano. I was fiercely protective of my piano, and my privacy. Everything else could be taken from me, but these two things were highly prized.
*pained* I went out occasionally, to sit in gardens and wonder why I felt so empty. I snapped and growled and snarled at everyone who attempted to reach me, and finally they sent me to Esther. I don't remember why. The first time I met her, I was frigid. I remember that. Only after a few sessions did I warm up to her quiet, gentle character. I couldn't tell her, though. Why I felt so alone and cut off from everyone else. I read extensively, trying to find answers to questions I couldn't quite formulate myself. I gave her one or two of my journals, written in French. She cried when she read them, although I didn't understand why at the time. I told her about the recurring nightmare I had when I was younger. I used to dream that my parents were wolves who were going to eat me. I think I was five or six when the dreams first started. Eventually I refused to go to sleep, only surrendering when I was too exhausted to fight my own body. I didn't know why at the time. There were many things I didn't know back then.
Love was alien to me, I couldn't give or receive emotion at all. Sure, there was anger. And plenty of fights. With classmates, with family, with lovers. A big chunk of my memory is missing, and I only remember that when my parents moved us to another place, I was transferred to a new school. I skipped classes completely, embittered by my continued emptiness and desperate to find peace in my own self-imposed solitude. I was in pain, and I didn't know why. My parents eventually found out, and during the first year in my new school, I was a complete zombie. I'm sure most of my friends will remember. Back then I still carried my miniature notebook around. It was battered and worn down to the spine, with pages and pages of scribbles, with loose pages everywhere. Thoughts and theories, my vague wonder at the atmosphere of my new school, where everyone seemed to know everyone else.
That first year, I got my heart and soul broken when I trusted the wrong guy. I was beginning to feel emotion, something which surprised me. I'd never felt that way, when he lay in my arms after I played Canon in D for him. He was in tears, and I felt my heart melt as the broken boy wept silently in my arms. Still I retained vestiges of coldness, especially towards everyone else. But he taught me how to love, and more importantly, how to trust. The fact that he ran out on me doesn't matter, because it taught me how to deal with heartbreak, something which I'd never experienced before, even with Alex. It took me a year and many fights with everyone involved before I finally healed. That in itself was an eyeopening experience. The first instance where I loved someone, and got my heart smashed. I realised then that there was so much I'd missed out on. Friendship, for one.
During my second year, I made some friends, and clicked instantly with some people. I learned why some people disliked each other on sight, I learned that people in general could be mean for a hundred different petty reasons. I learned that friendship could go so deep the completion of each other's sentences came easily. I learned that friends defend one another without being asked, as when Kelly overheard some schoolmates gossiping about my sexuality. I learned many things that weren't included in our curriculum. Gradually I changed. I didn't realise it at first, but then the teachers started stopping me in corridors and commenting on how different I was. "You smile now" , "You're looking happier". Sometimes I'd look in the mirror and wonder who I really was. I'd wonder if I was real, if I was really feeling these things that I'd only ever read about before. I didn't know, but I was addicted to these emotions. I'd never felt them before, and I was curious. Happiness was almost a daily occurence, as was the emotion depression, and euphoria. I learned also to resent, to hate, to observe the emotions of others, to label all these emotions that I'd never felt before.
In my notebook, I'd written down all the words to describe feelings and list down all those that I thought I'd experienced. I had deep discussions with Seif about the existence of God and our positions in the universe, and I felt alive. I could talk about everything and anything I wanted to, and he would listen gravely, and give me his opinions without disregarding what I said. For a year, I adjusted to all these strange experiences that other people take for granted. By the second year, I'd already begun eating regularly, although sleep still eluded me on some nights. School suddenly became an adventure where I could answer almost all of my questions. My friends were divided on the topic of God and religion, but they accepted each other's faith without hesitation or prejudice. Right off the bat, they knew that I loved my piano to bits, and that I wasn't exactly the snobbish airhead everyone else assumed I was. That kind of acceptance was new to me, and my integration into social circles in general was laughable at best, and completely humiliating at worst. Often, I would say things that were painfully direct. Sufian in particular suffered from my lack of experience and restraint. Seif didn't like him, because he tried too hard to fit in with everyone. I didn't like him because he didn't like me.
There was one particular incident that sticks in my mind. Space in our Malay class was limited, so usually everyone just sat in their own cliques and left the others to find a space for themselves. I think back then Seif was new to the school, so he was still trying to find someone to connect with, and Sufian had already begun to annoy him (and everyone else in the Malay clique). Sufian tried to push me out of my seat next to Seif and make me sit alone, when I snapped at him, "No one wants you here. Why don't you just go and sit by yourself?" He reeled away from me, and I remember wondering vaguely why he looked like I'd smacked him when I hadn't moved an inch. That was my first lesson on the power of words. Seif was silent, although he looked mildly amused at my outburst. I think a connection firmed itself between us after that.
We started hanging out more often, and I was surprised to find that he had similar thoughts and ideas. We had both drawn cartoon sketches of a character called Tempest who had supernatural abilities, although his controlled time and mine controlled the weather. Small stuff like that amused me because they evoked a strong emotion in me.
If only the good would outweigh the bad. *sigh* That was a lengthy post, even for me. I've ranted and raved, and now the sun is rising. I think the darkness has been held off for at least another day. The day will come when all the suppressed memories will rise as one and attempt to drive me insane. Will I be strong enough? Will I still have people who won't run from the demons that stalk me through the pages of time, through the corridors of my mind? I pray I do. But in case I don't, my piano is all I need to survive an onslaught from my own mind.
Don't leave me, guys.

Psychic Upswing

The night is nice tonight, and the half moon is like a cheshire cat's grin against the velvet skies. The ice in my bottle tinkles softly as it melts, and I marvel once more at the unpredictability of my emotions. Two days ago I was hurt badly by two men I love deeply. It didn't matter that one was full of hugs and affection after three years of stony silence; it still hurt to know that he was in pain. It doesn't matter now, either. You chose to walk away, so it's fly or die, J. You weren't there for me when I needed you, so don't expect me to halt the world for you. I'm sorry if that sounds cold and cruel, but we both have separate lives now. I think it's better this way too. My replies were short and brief, to almost everyone for the better part of the day. I didn't have time to reply to J's message, though. Sorry. Anyway, I went down to see the piano I've been mooning over with my parents. Surprise, surprise, I wowed everyone when I sat down before my new obsession. I swear my dad's eyes grew as round as saucers. Granted, I haven't exactly given my best performances when I'm at home, mostly because the hammer action for my Challen has deteriorated badly. I'm not a big fan of Challen, to be honest. But my dad kept dragging me over to the Challen grand piano tucked away at the back of the showroom. I was still dead set on my upright Yamaha, though. Impressed some family who had come to purchase a piano for their young son. I was a bit shaken when I saw the way my dad looked at me. There was obvious pride and affection in his eyes as he watched me play. Of course, I kept my thoughts to myself. The other family came over too, and started twittering away with my mum. I was asked to play on different pianos so they could hear the various tones of the pianos in the showroom. I obliged only on my mum's gentle nudging, although I kept my eye on my piano. The other family had their eye on MY piano too! I hurriedly claimed that one, and they pulled me over to another piano they wanted. A high-end 5k piano which I honestly think is a waste of money. *shrugs* But then again...it's theirs to spend. So I'm trading in my Challen for the Yamaha. *drools* My parents had to drag me away from my new darling. I think I'll name it Yammy. I don't care where it goes, as long as I can play. I played the most complex pieces I could remember off the top of my head, and it sounded bloody marvellous. The notes flowed together well, and the touch and tone of the piano really appeals to me. Goodbye, Esplanade!
Also, this way my students can come to my house instead of me having to travel all the way down to Lakeside, which is like on the other end of the island. My mum whispered to me, "Make sure you put this piano to good use." Of course Mum! I can hardly wait until I get to run my fingers over the cool ivories again. Oh! Mrs Lim was hilarious. She wanted me to work for them, as a pianist for the people who come over to purchase pianos, to let them see which piano sound suits them best. My mum and I rolled our eyes when my dad enthusiastically agreed. I think my dad was a big factor in cheering me up yesterday. It was nice to see that all the harsh words he said to me out of anger earlier this year were untrue, at least in his mind. He's really proud of me, and that helped to elevate my mood tremendously. I think it is every child's major fear, that their parents think they are failures. Anyway, I want to have a piano party! I think I'm seriously in love with my new piano. I was in love with the old one until I moved out and had to leave it behind. Never mind. I have a new one, a better one, and I will cherish this latest addition to my room. There are very few things I can't live without. *grins* My writings, J's writings, my birthday cards from all my friends, the presents from this year's bash, my blue blanket (replaced with a white billowy sheet) and now...Yammy! I know that when Yammy arrives, his position will be permanent, so I'm still figuring out the wheres and hows. *gleeful* Goodbye horrendous monstrosity called the Casio keyboard! I'm throwing you into storage! I think I'll place Yammy in the middle of my room, where I can play and feel completely uncramped. Hmmm. I'll have to sleep on it. Yammyyammyyammy! Pianos are love. When I grow up, I'll have one piano for every floor in my oceanfront mansion in California. The cats will live in the attic, and I'll have plenty of room for everyone I care about. =)
J, it is almost three years to the day when the first cracks showed. I still love you as much, if not more. But sometimes I wonder if it's worth it to keep loving you.

Psychic Cutoff

Go away and leave me to tend to my wounds in lonely silence. J bridges the distance that much more with each day, and my piano will arrive this week. Still I hurt, and I weep bloody tears for everything that R has put me through. It was too much to ask for. I have given away much of what holds meaning for me, but I still keep J's writings and his bears. That is enough. I have had enough, and I am closing myself off. The silence I can break with my music, and my wounds will heal with time. But for now...leave me be where I am myself in the darkness. There is nothing to stop the tears from falling, nothing to contain the pain. I am myself as I weep for J's pain, for his longing for so much more, for the return of R as he used to be.
And the silent scream goes on.

Psychic Iciness

I have half a mind to vanish completely from everyone who seeks me out. Four bottles surround me; they were full an hour ago. Now I'm left with one and a half bottles, and I'm starting to feel sleepy. But as usual, my nocturnal nature has asserted itself and I have been reading for the past few hours, ignoring the pain that zings through my entire body. Mostly it centers around my heart and fingers, but I have managed to dim my consciousness of said pain. It barely registers in my mind anymore. Heavy works. I can see now why so many thinkers were thought to be oddly eccentric, insane even. I understand their concepts, but somehow...tonight I have trouble believing that there exists in our universe realms beyond our comprehension. Tonight, I am low on faith. It makes me laugh softly, that familiar phrase. J's favourite singer. "Running low on faith and gasoline." *shakes head* Maybe I'm a fool, but even with my limitless folly I cannot understand why he would agree to go out with me again. J, I will not begrudge you in the least should you decide to turn me down. *sigh* The winds are soft and wistful tonight, and my regrets are many. Perhaps this is my contribution to the night, silvery crystal drops that fall from my eyes. Ornaments to an indifferent Goddess. His words have chilled me, more than I can bring myself to admit out loud, but as long as I have breath, I know the fire within me will burn. Perhaps that should be enough, and I should stop hoping for things that everyone keeps saying is out of my reach. Ice threatens to seal my heart off, and I have to remember to stop and breathe. I am no longer afraid. I have called out visions that have previously terrified me, faced them down and smashed each horrifying memory to bits. It leaves me feeling slightly light-headed. Maybe I'm finally regaining my memory, the parts that I lost through pain. I don't know. Memories are unreliable. I'm not in much pain, truth be told. Just feeling slightly numb, and cold. In my mind's eye, a rippling wave of frost radiates outwards from my self, freezing everything in the immediate vicinity. Only two people can melt me right now. The moon is a thin sliver in the night sky, a pale shadow of her usual glory. Seeing her, I feel a stab of pity that almost instantly freezes and shatters into dust. The dance of the sun and moon is at times a glorious one, and at times...a heart-breaking one. Each chases the other without ever meeting. Night and day. The sun with his light and heat, and the moon with her beauty and sparkling stars. If ever they do meet, our world will cease to exist. Perhaps we can draw parallels from their doomed lovestory, J. I'm tired of waiting, tired of loving, tired of crying for you. But tonight, you are only a fraction of what threatens to besiege me. You are no longer my foremost thought. X has been pressing me repeatedly, and suddenly I feel a wave of resentment for him. R is still busy with his work, and I...have had my wings clipped. I tried to play the piano yesterday. Nearly cried from the raw, physical pain. I can't type very well either, which is why tonight's post is taking me so long to complete. I can do light tasks with my fingers, but taxing ones like playing complex pieces or even tying my shoelaces quickly have become major battles. I've never appreciated my fingers more, actually. Huh. Look at that. I found a silver lining in the cesspool of my life. *sigh* It doesn't matter, really. Come morning, the sun will rise and force me into the deepest corner of my room and then the sandman shall come and claim my soul. I met X's older brother. They are very cold to each other as siblings, but X quietly urged me to resume my former position as a teacher. He wants me to give his brother's kids music lessons. If the place wasn't so far away from my current residence, I'd have agreed in a heartbeat. X grew sullen after we left his brother's house, and I quietly left the house the following day. *sigh* No matter how hard I try to distract myself, my thoughts always flit back to J. I swear I'm going to go crazy these few days. I can't play my piano, I can barely type, and my brain feels like mush. Ice surrounds me unseen, but those close enough to me know its sharp bite well enough. Maybe they ought to give me a wide berth until I thaw out. J's words helped to defrost my icy walls slightly. He actually made me laugh, and then wistfulness and a longing to hear his voice caused the ice to reform. Let's just say I won't be feeling very warm and trusting these few days. I'll just hole myself up and tend to my wounds before leaving this castle of dark memories, where the very walls breathe his name. I'll be leaving Bedok sometime soon. Probably going to reside in the Punggol or Sengkang area. I don't really care either way, where I end up as long as I have my essentials with me. The three Ps. Pen, paper, and a piano.
J, save me from myself.

Psychic Illusionist

There are a few people, very rare, but they do exist, who can see through the layers of illusions I place around myself as safeguards. I am extremely uncomfortable in social situations when these people are present, because I know that regardless of what I do, they can see right through me. Three such men came to our family's first day of Hari Raya, and with all the people milling about, it should have been easy for me to melt seamlessly into the crowd. But these three men kept a close eye on me, silently scrutinizing my every move, and sometimes outrightly attempting to draw me out of my multi-hued shell. X was one of them, he came with his family and kept me on edge for the rest of the afternoon. The other two were my cousin and his dad. They weren't being obviously accusatory, but they were slipping in comments that left me with no choice but to engage them in conversation. I drew away as soon as it was polite for me to do so, and retreated into the relative safety of the kitchen. In almost any circumstance, the kitchen is always off-limits to the casual guest. Tonight, it was my shelter from the human storm that attacked the house. I don't mind guests, if the heat is not on me to entertain them in any way. Nor do I like being judged by men who can see through any smokescreen I put up. *irritated* And to think I used to have a crush on him. He was nice, gentle with me, but somewhat stern, and I didn't like the sensation of guilt I got when I looked at him. His dad smirked at me, and I got this sudden overwhelming urge to punch them in the face. Suppressing the suicidal desire, I held my breath and counted to 7, walking back into the kitchen. I'd rather take the heat of the kitchen than the heat of a few dozen critical relatives. I don't mind the oblivious ones, those who know nothing about me, because that's the way I prefer things to be. But for those who know about the very messy things I've done, and those who seem to know me at a glance...they're trouble for me. *shakes head* It seems as though I've exhausted my energy deflecting probing questions and screwing my face up into alien smiles. Still...it wasn't a total bust. I reconnected with lost cousins, and I've had my fill of cute guy cousins. I have managed to keep myself under the radar for the night, with only a few weird scenes. *comatose* I'm so tired I think I can't think anymore. Piano room tomorrow, and a nightmarish mental schedule to adhere to. Relatives coming over to Bedok, and I'm expected in a billion places elsewhere all at the same time. I'm going to sleep on it, and hope things will fall into place as they usually do for me. I was initially going to post some long, windy theory about dimensions and how I suspect that when I drift off, I peek into other dimensions...but then I don't feel like being deep and philosophically mindboggling tonight. Right. First day of Hari Raya=>Successfully completed. Round 2 begins when I wake up tomorrow. *crosses fingers* I hope I won't meet any more illusion-busting relatives who appear to do more than read minds.
Don't try to unravel the mystery of me. Some things you just were never meant to see.

Psychic Prayer II

Night descends. Darkness falls. And I pray. I pray for the strength to resist the temptation to rush everything, I pray for the presence of mind to turn my back on the very things that will destroy me. If I am a moth, then he is my flame, and I pray for the willpower to break the spell he weaves over me. I pray for patience. I pray that things will be as they used to be. I pray for a miracle. But mostly...I pray for him.
I waited 3 years. A few more days is nothing.

Psychic Goals

A fiery burst of emotion exploded through me the instant I woke up this morning, and I have spent most of the day in front of my keyboard, getting my fingers into shape. I am determined to learn this most difficult piece, and Terence's words have helped to bring my fires to full blaze. It is nice to know that someone believes in you and regards you as an equal, regardless of your credentials, or lack thereof. Yet once again, I curse my worn down keyboard. I'm going back home tomorrow, to play on a real full-sized piano. With 88 fully functioning keys, thankfully. Two more days, and I will be able to play the pieces straight from memory. I have recently nurtured a growing dislike for my reliance on sheet music. Of course, a few pieces I have already committed to memory, but most of the time I am forced to lug around huge files of sheet music whenever I practice on my piano. My goal is to master and memorise the pieces by this Sunday, because that's when I play on the piano that has recently begun to haunt my dreams. I have been playing like a man possessed today, hardly stopping to draw breath, finally taking a break to eat when my aunt came back home at 7pm. My efforts have paid off, and I have memorised the piece that brought me to tears due to its complexity and difficulty. BUT...I am not quite ready to throw the sheets into storage yet. Tomorrow I will be going home in the morning, and leaving at night. I will not, I cannot leave my piano until I have accomplished the goals that I have set for myself. It strikes me suddenly, how very strange that six sheets of paper can have me weeping over my own perceived inadequacies. *shakes head* Never mind. Terence has been a great source of comfort to me, and now the only thing left for me to do is practice. On a sidenote, my mum has hinted that she will not be taking the piano with them when they move away from our sunny little island. Which means...what? I hardly dare to believe that I will have my piano with me in this room soon, but my aunt remains a great obstacle, and the warmth of my musical instrument can hardly ease the pain of watching even more people move away. I have already prepared myself mentally for Auntie Gigie's departure. Canada seems so far away from Singapore. Worlds apart, seemingly. *wistful* Well...I have rested enough. Back to my musical world, where the only things I need concern myself with are my fingers, the notes that float before my eyes and the music that fills my soul. My aunt is coming over at 10pm, and I have been designated as the delivery boy. *sighs*

Psychic Resurgence

3 years of pain, of loneliness, of solitude...all melt away in the space of an afternoon. His words have helped to heal some of the pain, and I am in my element once more. His words, sweet and gentle, brought tears to my eyes, but this time...the tears weren't bitter. I don't know why he chose to bridge the gap today, but I am truly thankful. At the very least, we're talking once again...not just cold words that disguise the affections, but words of warmth and comfort. I have a million questions for him, but I've already asked the most important. Why did you drift away? His apology soothes the wounds he inflicted on me, and suddenly I remember why I fell for him. When he spoke, that same feeling blossomed within my heart, spreading out to fill my entire self. It was golden, and warm, and even now...hours later, I am still grinning like an idiot. I suppose it was very dramatic just now, with a huge thunderstorm outside my window and my heart breaking into a million pieces, and I was seated in front of the worn down keyboard, playing sad lovelorn songs. It was very fitting too, because as our conversation advanced, and my pain began to recede in the light of his affection, the sun peeked out over the dark clouds, dispelling the gloom. I will protect him from the pain that I know will dog him, and I won't allow darkness to mar his light. The night flows around me, the soft velvet cloak that will always be mine. When morning comes, I will see what I can do, what lies within my power to help this boy who has blossomed beautifully into a strong young man. For now, I am content to close my eyes and give thanks to The Powers That Be, for bringing him back. The garden that once held two has begun to flower once more, the withered blooms springing back into life. I only hope that I can have faith that this is real, and not just another illusion that will shatter at the slightest pressure. If it is just another illusion, it is a most beautiful one. And I am whole once more.
Thanks for trusting me enough, J.

Psychic Faith

When we fall, what brings us back up? In dark times, that elusive ray of light sometimes blossoms within our mortal hearts to lend us some hope and restore our fighting spirit. Faith. Yet another word I used to mock, alongside it's cousins Love and Hope. *shakes head* The folly of youth. I nearly lost my only passport to safety tonight, and for a few breathless hours, I thought I would live again in constant fear. Deep in my heart, I knew where my protections lay. Instinct guided my steps, and I found it lying on the floor, glinting on the dirt and grass. There were a few other things that happened too, but as I walked home with my old pendant around my neck and the silver symbol in my pocket, the wind picked up and ruffled my hair. I stopped for a second, and right there under the grove of trees, I cried. I don't expect total comprehension when I type these things on my blog; for me, they express what I feel and say when in reality my physical self is cold and silent. But look closer behind the illusions I weave, look into my eyes and you will see a glimmer of what I put up on this public blog. I cried for those who exist without hope, without love, without faith. She visited me in my dreams again, and this time, before she killed me, I spoke to her. I can't quite remember the exact words, but I said something about her child. And she started to weep, tears of blood that stained her stark white gown. This dream haunts me more than my experiences and past dreams, because I know now, her concern for her child is real. And if I, as a mortal man, can help to ease her pain, then I vow that I will do so to the best of my ability. I cannot turn my back on a soul in pain, how can anyone? It is unthinkable. When you see a fellow creature in pain, suffering, I think anyone's first instinct would be to help. Gender, race, colour, size...all the boundaries that we draw to define social and racial differences melt away because in the end, we are still fellow human beings. And sometimes, we all need help, regardless of who we are or what we are capable of. These thoughts flew through my mind at the speed of light, tumbling and crashing into one another, as I stood at midnight under the whispering trees. Will she hurt me? Will her sisters harm me, and my friends as they did that night? It still pains me to learn that she used me to hurt my friends on the night I nearly died. Can I help her? Will she allow me to talk to her? The leaves rustled softly as these thoughts flitted through my mind, and as I walked through the dark and empty carpark, the wind grew stronger. Tonight, I sit yet again in tears, afraid to sleep, yet ashamed at my reluctance to right this wrong on my own. Am I incapable of fighting my own battles? Yet I know this is no longer a battle. It is not my life she seeks, it is redemption. I am no expert on the ways of the world, and I don't know if she will ever be granted the peace she has tried so desperately to wring out of me. I'm just a 19 year old kid. But the image of the red tears she shed sticks in my mind. And it inspires faith in me, faith that I can help her, even if I am just a young kid. Everyone deserves a shot at salvation, and her concern for her child is a mother's pain searing her soul. *shakes head* I don't know if anyone else will understand my need to help her, but I must. No one deserves that kind of torment, and I wish to talk to her of faith, of hope, of love...all the things that every man, woman and child should have to be whole.
Light.

Psychic Collector

With so much time on my hands, I find myself turning into an avid collector of all sorts of knowledge. Martial arts, the occult, languages, music, poetry, philosophy...I have amassed a vast library that encompasses my broad interests. I have organised my various tomes neatly, and I think I am slowly rebuilding my depleted library. My parents' house had a bad case of termite infestation that spread out from our wooden garden gate to under the foundation of the house, and eventually into my library. Most of my books had to be discarded after we exterminated the destructive colony. It is amazing what time and willpower can do to restore what has been lost. *muses* Still, it is not enough. My library will never be complete, because there is just so much that I need to know and read about. Even after having selected my favourite topics, it is still an uphill task, and perhaps that is why I treasure my collection so much. I have a book on Jeet Kune Do, signed by Bruce Lee. My favourite martial arts books remain the traditional manuals on the art of fighting, written by Grandmasters in each specialty. A few modern writings by recent fighting enthusiasts like Marc MacYoung spice up my martial arts section. Of course, the occult section of my library takes up the most space. The Greater and Lesser Keys, the Liber Juratus, The Grand Grimoire, and the jewel of my collection: the Malleus Maleficarum, or the Hammer of Witches. My sheet music takes up a considerable amount of space too, although most of them are not as steeped in history as my other collections. One of the more important books in my library is my Latin-English dictionary for when I'm trying to decipher a difficult phrase in Latin, and there we come to my third favourite section: languages. Latin, French, Spanish, Italian. Recently I've added Greek to my list, but it isn't as easy to learn as the four above. At least the Romance languages share a common root. Then there is the poetry section. I'm extremely partial to works by Omar Khayyam, Shakespeare (a staple in any library), Abu Nuwas (one of the greatest classical Arabic poets) and the late great Allen Ginsberg. Even among them, I have my favourites. I leave you now with a beautiful poem.
Some think the love of boys is wicked in the world, forlorn
Character corrupting, worthy mankind's scorn
Or eyes that weep and breasts that ache for lovely youth
Have no mouth to speak for mankind's general truth
Nor hands to work manhood's fullest delight
Nor hearts to make old women smile day and night
Nor arms to warm young girls to dream of love
Nor thighs to satisfy thighs, nor breath men can approve
Yet think back to the time our epic world was new
When Gilgamesh followed the shade of his friend Enkidu
Into Limbo's dust to talk love man to man
So younger David enamored of young Jonathan
Wrote songs that women and men still chant for calm
Century after century under evergreen or palm
A love writ so sacred on our bible leaf
That heartfire warms cold milennial grief.
Same time Akilleos won the war at Troy
Grieving Patroklos' body, his dead warrior boy
(One nation won the world by reading Greek for this
And fell when Wilde was gaoled for his Bellboy's kiss)
Marvellous Zeus himself took lightning eagle shape
Down-cheeked Ganymede enjoyed God's thick-winged rape
And lived a youth forever, forever as can be,
Serving his nectar to the bearded deity
The whole world knew the story, the whole world laughed in awe
That such love could be the Thunder of immortal Law.
When Socrates climbed his ladder of love's degrees
He put his foot in silence on rough Alcibiades
Wise men still read Plato, whoever they are,
Plato whose love-lad Aster was his morning star
Plato whose love-lad was in death his star of Night
Which Shelly once witnessed as eternal light.
Catullus and tough Horace were slaves to glad young men
Loved them, cursed them, always fell in love again
Caesar conquered the world, top Emperor Power
Lay soft on the breast of his soldier of the hour
Even Jesus Christ loved his young John most
Later he showed him the whole Heavenly Host
Old Rome approved a beautiful bodied youth
Antinus Hadrian worshipped with Imperial Truth
Told in the calm gaze of his hundred stone
Statues standing fig-leafed in the Vatican.
Michelangelo lifted his young hand to smooth
the belly of his Bacchus, a sixteen-year youth
Whose prick stands up he's drunk, his eyes gaze side-
Ways to his right hand held up shoulder high
Waving a cup of grape, smart kid, his nose is sharp,
His lips are new, slightly opened as if parted to take a sip of purple nakedness,
Taste Michelangelo's mortal-bearded kiss,
Or if a hair-hooved horny Satyr happens to pass
Fall to the ground on his strong litle marble ass.
Michelangelo loved him! What young stud
Stood without trousers or shirt, maybe even did
What the creator wanted him to in bed
Lay still with the sculptor's hand cupped on his head
Feeling up his muscles, feeling down his bones
Palm down his back and thighs, touching his soft stones
What kind of men were the Slaves he tied to his bed?
And who stood still for David naked foot to head?
But men love the muscles of David's abdomen
And come with their women to see him again and again.
Enough, I've stayed up all night with these boys
And all my life enjoyed their handsome joys
I came with many companions to this Dawn
Now I am tired and must set my pen down
Reader, Hearer, this time understand
How kind it is for man to love a man,
Old love and Present, future love the same
Hear and Read what love is without shame.
I want people to understand! They can! They can! They can!
So open your ears and hear the voice of the classical Band.
-Allen Ginsberg