Greyed

As every second stealthily passes by, a part of me is trapped within that second that will never be released. That second even bears the risk of not being remembered at all, by anyone, forever. Is it necessary then, to know that every second spent had served a good purpose?

At the end of my days, how many seconds of my moments are being captured? Do I really want someone to remember me, whether I am dead or alive?

There are many ways to be remembered. The pictures taken, the words spoken and written, the lingering scent.

Does it then matter if the person who remembers me dies? Where would all the pictures finally end up in? Would it be trapped in the facebook eternally?

Would my thoughts be safely guarded or buried in this virtual dimension? Would my words here be read and be understood? Would it be interpreted in the same way as I thought it would be?

Are there things that one is willing to share but not told?

Are there things that one is willing to tell but not shared?

If all of the above does not matter, then it makes sense why some man prefers to be alone.

If being alone does not matter, then it makes sense why some man choose not to be a part of this world.

All that I perceive now comes from a world where I live in.

Will I then get to see the world from the perspective of a world without me in it?

In a world without me, will I get a better idea of how things should be if I am placed back in?

Ticking

It wasn't until last night when I was reminded of the impending crisis that could explode in years to come.

I had merely hid the time bomb under my bed so that the muffled ticking sound could not reach me.

Last night, I went under my bed and picked up the time bomb. I stared right into the face of it and yet remained clueless to how I can disarm it.

Looking back the past one year, I seemed to staged a feat that few others can achieve. I have attained my major short term goals in life, and I am brimming with pride. But, when I silently gather my thoughts once again, I hear the muffled ticking of the time bomb in my head and it feels as if I have never left my starting point.

As much as I push myself to craft the ideal life ahead, I am compelled to always look back.

Shall I chuck it back under my bed?

Emotions

It is the distinction of a man from a beast.

It is perhaps what makes a life worth living and, to some others, not worth living on.

At times I thought how nice it would be if I could be rid of it indefinitely,

But then again what would it mean to live a life of no emotions?

Bottle

Upon my exit from the hall, I closed another chapter in life. The steps taken became light instantaneously, the air evaporated of its staleness, even the puffs were sweet. The journey home felt like I was returning from a long enduring war. I rang my comrades who understands it all, and I rang the monkeys to share my joy of home-coming. I tried ringing her too.

Soon I was home, the same gloom greeted me from the moment I opened the creaking wooden door. Shadows engulfed the light as the door slammed shut behind me. As I ascended the unlit stairway and entered my room, the air grew stale once again. The translucent curtains allowed dim sunset rays to seep through, suffice to soothe the uneasiness in me. Unchanged, I laid on my bed, not out of weariness. Instead, I seemed to be beaten by a surge of emptiness. Although the mental racking period was finally over, the taste of sweetness did not last.

I realised I could not find the proper outlet to relieve myself of my joy. It striked me further that, indeed, much like stress, my joy needs to be discharged as well. Bottled up joy could turn stale really fast. The bottle of joy must be delivered right after it is created. Because stale joy gradually vanishes.

The seeping sun rays retreated and I was left alone with darkness. By then, the stale joy had already evaporated into nothingness. So be it. What is coming up next? I thought I had it all planned out. I merely need to execute it, but it just don't feel right. I have lost the connection, the touch that I longed for. When did it drift away, could I ever see it again? Out in the open sea, would the bottle of nothingness finally drift to its receiver one day?

I feel lost today.

Ironically, I now wish for this exam period to not have ended so soon.

Quote

Sucess is the result of good judegement.
Good judgement is the result of experience.
Experience is the result of bad judgement.

- Anthony Robbins

The Salesman

Donned in a striking brown/white striped top with a black tie, I heaved a tensed breath as I laid back onto the seat. I took out the clear file from my bag and laid it on the table. With my eyes closed,the next breath I took in transformed me into what I was half a year ago - the salesman.

The file contained the tools required for my sales presentation; the sales speech was drafted in point forms inside my head. This sales transaction would impact directly how I spend my next one year - a $20,000 deal! So I waited patiently before I hear my customer's heels' echoing drawing nearer from outside the door. I stood anticipating the handshake. I was prepared to present the product.

And so the customer started with a few enquiries before I took the lead in guiding her throughout our transaction. Looking straight into her eyes, I noticed how I had established the rapport with how I presented the product. I got her engaged with a few laughs in the process until I finished my planned presentation. It was almost perfect to what I had planned to say. The product is totally new to this market, and with no prior records of qualifications, I could only assure the customer that the product is of superior quality such that no matter in which market it is launched in, it would stand out of the rest as a result of its toughness and versatile nature.

The lady had few questions for me. Guess I had talked too much. Like most other rational buyers, she told me she would think about it, while she look at other products from her list. She promised to give me an answer very soon.

Indeed, on the very same day later, her assistant rang me during my lecture. I have sealed the deal.

Mission

I picked the same bag that I had brought the school on the previous day. Perhaps studying could take things off the mind. On the way out, I thought the library would be a great destination, for I had planned for ages to get some investment related book off their shelves. But when I faced the entrance of the library, I finally convince myself to put an end to the miserable deception.

Perhaps I need to embark on my mission. And so I headed six levels up the building instead, one storey beneath the rooftop. I exit the lift and turned into the small corridor. It was 7pm. The echoes were faint. I pushed open the glass door and two ladies greeted me. "How many of you?" asked the lady in black coat. "Erm... only one, myself." Even though I had set out to spend, I still took the cheaper option of the seat in the hall. As I picked up the wireless mic, I finally felt good.

And there at the Party World I ran a marathon of solo singing for 5 hours and 15 minutes almost non-stop. I started with a raw voice, to a opened up one, to a sore one, and finally to a point I could sing nicely without going through too much at the throat. It really felt great, especially when passerbys occaionally stood behind me until I finish that very song they were appreciating. Some clapped, some stood around to watch quietly after their toilet visit, some stayed a while before leaving the lounge, some took the seat opposite mine, and some asked me the title of the song that I have sung. At the end of the 5 hours, I realised my body to be trembling from weariness. But the experience was simply fantastic. I have heard of how A*mei collapsed from weariness after a complete exertion of energy at the end of the encore in her concert. I learnt that it could be so true.

12.15am, I walked out onto the same street in the opposite direction that I came from, only this time it was dark and the path stood hardly any but a few souls. Like an effect of a medication that wore off, the unwelcomed mood struck me yet again. I heaved a deep heavy sigh, which so obviously declared my throat a sored one.