Birthdays.

Happy Birthday Audrey.

One after Another, they Wished.

I'm Disappointed, 

That the One who matters,

Forgets.

Almost

I was many things to You.

But I wasn't Everything.

The Lover, remains Dead.

The Top of the Hand

I saw a Man who kissed the top part of his companion's hand.

Repeatedly. Over a short period of time.

I do not know how.

But I'm very sure he Loves her.

Very Much.

Most Definitely.

Double Chocolate Chip

Famous Amos cookies, we tend to be generous about it. 200g of No Nuts, and you, another 200g of Double Chocolate Chips. Really dark brown in colour, almost like night, with flavour as soothing as sunshine on a cold day.

I've never been a fan of those Double Chocolate Chip variety though, only until now.

Recently, if I were to buy a bag of them sumptuous cookies, I'd invariably choose the latter. It tastes much better than No Nuts. 

Arigato Gozaimasu

I used to speak perfect Japanese,

That made You Laugh.

You did a perfect rendition of Jay Leno,

That made Me Laugh.

We were Happy. Were.

Samuel

Samuel.

You don't know us.

But you made us laugh aplenty.

I wonder if we'll ever see U again.

Just to smile.

Planespotting

I remembered vividly the day I taught you how to Plane-spot.

East Coast Park, under a Lonely shady tree.

You doubted me at first, 

but I can still picture the neon glow in your eyes,

 when the planes kept on coming.

Definitely one of those Memories I Treasure most.

We sat upon a Transformers towel,

Under a shady Lonely tree.

A Different Kind of Candy

I'd be lying if I said I didn't allow my mind to wander back across past pastures. I have no control. Im just too lonely. Sometimes I can afford a weak smile. Sometimes, the Rain comes for me.

Dwelling in the past is slowly killing me. I can feel its strength. Yet I allowed it to tug at me. Why? No one knows. Yet I find myself again wandering to places we've been.

11 April 2011, 7.30pm. We were outside Candylicious, Resorts World Sentosa. I had in one hand a chocolate popsicle. And I had on both cheeks, chocolate stains. You said I eat it like a small boy. But I was fine because I was with you. And nothing else did matter.

17 November 2013, 3.00am. I just looked from afar at the Candylicious store. The seats that we used to sit at were no longer there. It was replaced with some others though. And there was a young couple. The girl, seemed like she was squeezing a zit out of her lover's cheeks. Like how only you would do for me. They are happy.


We...



We were happy too. Once before.


Caramel, You leave a special stain in my heart.

Every Single Day

Every Single Day,

I'll call out your Name.

And All I Hear is Echoes.

Still, You are Remembered,

In All my Prayers.

Every Single Day.

Torn. I'm All Out of Faith.

Natalie Imbruglia plus additional 10Kgs,

No one can replace U.

Still the best. By Miles.

May God grant me Safe Passage.

Sweetest Downfall

You are my Sweetest Downfall.

I Loved you First. I Loved You First.

-Regina Spektor, Samson

Sang Nila Utama

Sang Nila Utama walks funny. 

Saw him once, by the foot of the Singapore River. 

With smiles and laughters, one of the best days of my life. 

Surely.

Abandoned Breverage

Dear Caramel Frappe, 

I often wonder if I've been missed. 

I still remember you, 

With extra Drizzle...

As I Had my Heart Set on You.

Honey I'm Home...

Of all things past,

 the Flinstones I miss most.

 When Fred says, 

'Honeyyyy...I'm Hommmmme'. 

Because nobody else probably knows what it actually means.

The Empty

An Emptiness echoes deep within.

Like a Minute of Decay.

Please pour some Sugar in my bowl.

Recluse

Loneliness,

Is a solitary mess.

Like a wilting flower on Autumn's dawn,

Just a slow Burn.

Heavy Chains

The weight of the world on ones shoulders. 

Is heavy indeed. 

One is burdened, not by mere Sadness, 

but disintegration of a heart that once bathed in Sunshine.

May A Passage Be Dug.

Despicable Me

Despicable Me was such a brilliant movie that was not watched alone.

And then it became impossible to watch Despicable Me 2. Unless. But no, its not meant to be. And shall not be watched.

Despicable Me.

Warmth of the Heart

One of the most vivid memories I had of my recently deceased grandmother was circa 1990. I was about 8 years old, and I looked forward to going to school in the morning session...not the educational aspect, but more so for the solitary few moments grandmother and grandson had between arising from my coma, till the moment I board the pasty white school bus.

I'd usually be the second in the household to arise, when I was attending morning school. Grandma was first. As I wrapped myself in the comfort of my towel, and grabbed my toiletries housed in a cheap blue pail, between half sleep and consciousness, I'd trudge down the stairs, to the rear of the kampung house, for my bath. The wooden house, greeted mornings with a cool silent air about it, on the verge of chilly.

I'd stop just before the bathroom entrance, peer at the water heater switch, just to ensure that Grandma has switched it on earlier. It was one of the primitive water heaters, that needed at least 15 minutes to heat the water up to an acceptable heat. As usual, Grandma would be busy in the kitchen just outside the bathrooms, preparing breakfast. She'd always ask me what I wanted. I was pretty mechanical in my choice. It was either cornflakes with chocolate milk, or white Chinese bread (the soft fluffy ones that is shaped like a keyhole) with peanut butter.

My routine was fixed. Bathe. Dress up. Lug my bag to the front entrance. And as I was putting on my shoes, I'd usually take a few inquisitive moments to awe and gasp at the vast, dark sky, littered with stars. I still remember how deeply intrigued I was at the North Star (I only knew it was the North Star when I was in my late teens). Larger than the rest, it seemed to draw my gaze with forceful magnetic charm.

I'd then take a short walk via the garden to the backyard where the kitchen was and sit quietly consuming my breakfast. Grandma would be busy preparing breakfast for the rest of the household, and she went about her tasks briskly, without a word.

Once done, Grandma would walk with me toward the front gate. We'll sit down on the stone bench, and wait for the bus. In these few moments, we'll have a decent conversation. From school, to exams, to friends, to comforting advice, these moments now gone, I treasure most, for I felt warmth in the heart.

On days where she had extra pocket money, she'd try to shove it in my pocket or school bag but I'd usually decline. I usually won in that duel. There was once though, if I remembered correctly, that I really wanted to purchase some extra Flag erasers and succumbed.

It was a dollar. An old blue one-dollar note. Which is not in circulation anymore. Somehow, I wasn't sure why or what crossed my mind, but I never got to spending that dollar. It wasn't conscious on my part to preserve that note, but today, I choose to believe that perhaps a mystical force was at work.

It was only recently that I realised, nestling within my jar of loose change, rests that same one-dollar note. Still half crisp, with minimal decolourisation. As I am writing this, the night remains still. The sky painted black, adorned with the glitter of stars. And I still am intrigued by the thought of gazing into a dark open sky, searching for the North Star. Sadly though tonight, it chose to abandon my gaze.

I switched my focus back toward the dollar note in the jar, and I felt that familiar warmth in my heart.

The Man In The Shadow

My first impressions of Uncle Alfred was formless. I was only about 18, working part time at a pool side bistro. I have to admit, I didn't care about the world back then. Just needed the money to fuel some foolish chase. It was a motley crew that worked Summer House that one year or so I was there.

John and Choon Hong were aspiring but crazy chefs. Rachel, Jessie, and two other equally aloof teenage girls provided much comic relief while being reliably efficient at waiting tables. Nizam, Christopher and Man worked the bar and knew every concoction like their alphabets. Lily was a door bitch. Period. Desmond and myself were just the washing and replenishment dudes. Then there was Uncle Alfred, the man in the shadows, whose job was basically supporting the chefs in the kitchen. It was a small family, that cooked up a pretty colourful history of my life.

I remembered Uncle Alfred was a man of very limited words. He was in his fifties, but pretty sturdy and strong for a man his age. He has a couple of diminishing tattoos that must have meant dearly to him, though we could not decipher the beauty of his chosen design. But he set about his job with few words, his facial expression, and constant empty stares, seemed to want to voice out, yet remained hesitant.

I remembered one particular night as we were done with closing, most of the guys had already hit the showers. Choon Hong, the younger chef decided to not waste the scraps of whatever ingredients we had left over and was busy preparing a simple dish.

I was sitting on the stainless steel kitchen top, looking on. Uncle Alfred was in the corner, as usual, sharpening the kitchen knives upon the slab of sharpening stone. He was it for a good ten minutes or so, just that single knife. It was a common sight, and we were immune to it. Dedicated we thought, that 60 year old man.

"Aiya Alfred, you play play play the stone knife wont get sharper la bro", Choon Hong poked fun at him. Alfred just smiled wryly. "You see I just do this this this a few times....can already!", Choon Hong continued as he proceeded to chop some carrots. But deep down, Choon Hong knew that that old man probably had some kind of magic or secret skill that he mastered over the years sharpening knives. Choon Hong did mention to me before, there was a difference using the knives sharpened by Uncle Alfred. No matter how many times Alfred tried to teach those two chefs, they still couldn't get it as sharp as he did. The tailor always has the better suit I guess.

What did I know I thought as I munched on whatever Choon Hong conjured in his kitchen. Choon Hong whistled as he brought the entire pan to the bar to share with the bar boys.

I decided to stay around with Uncle Alfred that night. The sleek sound of "schick...schick...schick" filled the kitchen as Uncle Alfred was deep in concentration, hardly battling an eyelid as he went through in perfect gliding motion, like silk on ice. It was almost...comforting.

Slowly, Uncle Alfred raised his head and looked toward me. "You young people, what do you guys know. Never tasted hardship in life.Whole life got people doing things for you", Alfred lamented. There was a long pause before he continued.

"You want to know Uncle's secret anot boy?", Alfred spoke in hush tones. "You know when you are sharpening knives, the stroke, angle, repetitions...all these are important...but not everything. Anybody can follow the motion man!", Alfred continued. "But they can never get it razor", Alfred moved on. "Something is missing my friend. You know what?", Alfred stopped abruptly as he gazed upon me from the shadows. I jerked my head slightly to signal him to continue.

Alfred sighed as he continued with the incessant sharpening. "If you want your knife to be the sharpest, put some soul into it. You got to imagine what you want to do with this knife. Imagine you are going to kill and slice your enemy with this knife. There. That's the key", Alfred finished his sentence as his placed all the knives neatly on the towel and walked out, leaving me speechless.

I was bewildered. I honestly thought the guy was loco. Until today. A good ten years on since I last set foot in Summer House with the motley bunch. I opened the local newspapers and was struck dumb when I saw Uncle Alfred plastered across the home page. Murder of the highest degree. With no intention to run or hide, the police found him there, by the lifeless victim, a fellow man in his sixties. Probed further, Alfred admitted his motive had always been revenge. He just wanted to kill the man that stole his Margaret from him in 1965.

My mind rolled back again to that particular night when Alfred talked to me. I didn't really grasp what he was trying to say then. But then it strikes me now, as I read between the lines. It wasn't entirely hatred and revenge that fueled Alfred into a master craftsman of sorts. It was sheer Patience, Perseverance, and brutal Ambition.