Youngest kid of six with an inferiority and black sheep complex, but determined that God saves not just his soul to heaven but the remainder of his manic-depressive life, so others won't say he became a Christian and remained a jerk.
i won't be transparent before i'm opaque. and you'll get to know me starting from the small things: who my favourite bands are. what kind of movies i like. who are my heroes.
I’m convinced that when confronted with sincere, real love, the Jesus factor will become obvious. But let’s not plant the cross before we carry it. I’m not trying to con you.
Some dreams are meant to be achieved. I know that. But maybe other dreams are meant to drive us, privately. Never known to anyone but ourselves.
It is a sadness that, when choosing between crying and sighing, will choose sighing. I'd almost say that melancholy is being sad about sadness itself.
On memory and nostalgia
It saddens me when life moves forward and people decide that certain things are worth forgetting.
I've learnt that the word irregardless is filed as a non-standard word in the English language. That's a lexicographer's way of saying it's not a real word.
Crowds are fickle things. So when we stand in the thousands and cry against the present government, do we know who we're actually crying for?
People always want the best for themselves. But I want to sometimes take second or third or fourth best, just so that the loser down the road doesn't always have to come in last. It must feel like shit to always come in last.
On growing old
Leasehold property make me feel sad. It doesn't matter how old the family photos are that you put on your wall. It's your family but it's not really your wall.
I ask you, if God loves everyone, and if God is also incapable of loving evil, how can there be such a thing as an evil man?
On a daily basis
One line quips, like this.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
THE ONSET OF NIGHT
"It's sad to fall asleep. You have to... separate. They say "sleep together", but it's not true"
- Patricia Franchini, A bout de souffle.
Streetlamps. headlights. neon signboards and lit condominium windows. nothing captures the bleak isolation of loneliness better than the onset of night.
the sun falls away and the dramatic evening sky too quicky expires from yellow to orange to blue and then black. the long and short of it falls inside the parameters of about one hour. and then, it begins.
that slow crawl between eight and eight, when functional people retire to their television armchairs, families and pyjamas. the less functional crawl out into their subcultures to worship the god of nocturnal activity. and all this while, the lonely stare out of rain-stained windows, looking at both the city's celebration of after-hours and the suburb's comfort of steady domestic habitation.
when i look at the highway, i see all the lonely cars, each carrying one person. there are so many of them, but they're not together. they drive right next to each other, but they are protected from one another, safe within the four walls of autolock, power windows and bizarre prog-techno car alarms. when they pull up at traffic lights, nobody looks sideways. and while we accept these things at midday in the name of a busy working populace, the same separation feels less deserved, and harder to breach, when it happens when it's dark.
there is something about the onset of night - the arrival of crushed-out shadows and weird lamp glows - that colours every mundane thing with a tint of sadness. maybe it's because nighttime is when the whole world go back into their homes, their safe places, and indulge in the comfort of warmth, love and security. for the lonely, the disparate men and women who at some point rejected a life of warmth, love and security, the night reminds them of the price they're paying for living a life of separation.
like what miss franchini said. nocturnal separation. the time to look inward and be private people until the sunrise compels us to look out again.
Labels: loneliness, melancholy
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