...you, my friend, are an unsung melody,
stuck in my stomach, struggling to breathe...

back.

it has been a long weekend.
i look different now.
i think i am a shade darker now.
doesn't matter, really.
i'm supposed to be dark.

train journeys excite me.
my mum and i are still those li'l stupid kids who jump at the sight of a train.
even if it is another train passing by the one we are in.
and also, the upper berth on two-tiered compartments is one of the best places to read a book.

but i am deviating from what i wanted to say.
again.
no, i realised that no matter how much i try escaping labels, i actually do fit a stereotype.
this is where train journeys again prove to be immensely educating.
propped up against my pillow, book in hand, i kept laughing to myself and rolling my eyes every time i heard my co-passengers from the next berth.
the brat of a babushona kept messing something up and babushona's mother kept cajoling him.
and it continued.
and then it dawned upon me.
i have never been a mamoni.
my mum was too busy doing everything else to bother wasting time over mamoni's-mother behaviour.
and that is why, i grew up to become what i am now.
bongo mayer ingo shontan.
i sit there, frowning at them for making such a hue and cry out of everything.
i stand there, frowning at the coolie spitting on the platform.
i walk by, frowning at the kid who comes up to me with a leaking nose.
that is what i am.
i realise that things will be like this.
things are supposed to be like this.
i just keep wishing that things were not like this.
thus, to the anonymous observer, i am this proud and vain little thing who keeps frowning at the world around her and keeps "ewww"ing in her head.

i wish it was different.
or, maybe not.
i think i prefer it this way.
at least, this way, i have a choice.
to choose for myself a better world.
and i think i am going to take it.

i missed a lot this weekend.
and i wished i hadn't.

but then again, i got to see dolphins.

i am not running.
the ground below my feet is zipping past.

new clothes.

pick up your fantasies and stitch them together.
up goes the needle,
and down again.
the thread is like a magical silver robe
which eases the senses
and erases the pain.

--------------------------

the rainbow hides behind the evil gray cloud
waiting for the little drop of sunshine to filter in
and then it peeks out silently,
and paints that smile on your face
as I see that bright spark stealthily
escape the rough exterior of a girl
who hides herself behind the silk and the lace.

--------------------------

the dew spun a web last night.
the spider is not home
to see that you made it your abode of joy.
to you, this world is just a purple ping-pong ball
and life, a wonderful toy.

--------------------------

you are the babe that dreams are made of,
a little Thumbelina made
to cast away the mundane problems
of metropolitan life
which chose the apple God forbade.

--------------------------

maybe my rhymes make no sense at all.
forced, they are and oh-so-obvious.
but I only write so that you laugh
and shout
and giggle
throwing your hands about
even if it means that I sound incredulous.

--------------------------

believe me when I say
that it is what worries you
I want to do away with,
only because you waste precious time
and sweat and chime,
about a life that goes by
and you end up asking why-oh-why.
questions! questions!
do away with them.
fly like a bird
to where you want to be.
stitch your wings and unfold them,
one-two-three.