Tag Archives: beauty

114. i can tell you know

i’ve changed so much under your guidance, but one thing has remained the same – give me a challenge, a living breathing red-blooded challenge, and i will take it.
veni, vidi, vici.
like yesterday.

a stranger fell in love, yesterday.
you could see it, the way he gathered the smiles and attentions as if they were diamonds falling from the sky – before anyone else could see them to steal them.

it was worth it, you know, the month of not eating, the lonely walks and hunger pangs, when you were dans la France. i, again, get the reaction i used to be so accustomed to: the sleek appreciation of men. for beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, but as a rule, these days, less is more. and you should know, a woman needs no cambridge degree to attract a man with it in his possession. we can safely learn from history that the meek and mild do inherit the earth, just as the bible says.
sharp tongue cuts nothing but your chances of success.

not quite sure why, but i rather liked him. call me crazy, but i think it was his degree. his singing wasn’t bad either, but i’m not the sort to fall for that.
he’s not you, granted, but times like there, my inner hunter wakes from slumber. rich, clever, funny: why not make the most of the spoils?

no, i don’t mean that.

i can tell you know.

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111. traveler at heart

the night was gloomy yesterday, moon acquiescing to the smattering of grey overbearing clouds. we didn’t go anywhere and i wished we had.  i didn’t feel like reading, the longing for the impalpable weight of your breath on my skin so overbearing. the long stretch of time loosened memories, it made me heavy with anticipation of our holiday next week – hiking up mount snowdon, just the two of us.

going to university (feels so long ago now!) made me realise how little of britain i have really seen. there were people there, from china, singapore, malaysia, who flittered their summers away on lancashire plains, up and down landmarks, around scotland and wales and i felt like i hadn’t seen britain at all. psychologically, i think, we always long to see another culture, another way of life because we think it will shock us, inspire us, change us. what we fail to realise is that our own culture is just as beautiful and just as unique. so i’m digging up my old walking trousers (if they still fit) and going up spending three nights where, granted, people still speak english, but where the way of life is not what we’re accustomed to in London – it’s quieter, peacefuller, more at one with nature.

i love the hustle and bustle of life here, the dip and pull of waves of people rushing places, but sometimes it’s nice to be in the multitude of green with the feeling of life at a standstill, catching a breath. our last trip to wales (july the eighth twenty twelve?) reaffirmed my love of london – llandudno was smaller than expected and everything shut at five, giving its evenings an eerie, cold feel. but the beauty of the surrounding was irrefutable – i longed to take the blue skies and green hills with me upon return.

so i’m excited, definitely excited. i think i’m a traveler at heart.

85. cherry soda loves

there was a line in streetcar named desire that i remember. it said it’s touching to notice them making their first discovery of love! As if nobody had ever known it before.  it resonates, for now the time has come for the bud to be broken and flowers to bloom in the late-spring night air.

the risk is nothing. nothing, really. there are only the long sprawling afternoons this side of summer, when paper is scrunched up into tiny little balls and burnt with a magnifying glass or matches. whichever, the result is all that matters. words are nothing: this air requires action! 
and there are trees, so beautiful this time of year. they remind me of walking to school in the summer and inhaling the scent of apple tree blossom with T. those were the days, eh?

but now, no now, those buds will open and blossom will scatter into the hands of a handsome young man that we choose. for me, this sweltering summer, it’ll be you. and, god willing (an expression i borrowed from an altogether more believing friend of mine), next summer also. for T (if we were boys, she’d be a brother from another mother) it will be someone else. Her new beau (a rather lovely Tenessee expression!). her very first. amazing stength and will and beauty.

so here we are, and isn’t it queer to think we shall be here always? in the arms of another, in the throes of spring, the coming summer alighting hopes in every single one of us, as if petards were thrown at the pavement before us, at our feet, at our willing young hearts?

and we can’t help this feeling hopeful. and we can’t pretend we didn’t want this life.
so every year, like clockwork, we will be discoving those cherry soda loves and shedding blossom in each other’s arms.

enough

yes: cut the tension with blue zircon,
or sparkling, glittering blue ice
and the rain may stop falling,
slowly dripping on us |

know: truth is no more than beauty,
one slow and amorous affair
of which artistes have softly spoken
with many tongues and their right hands |

still, love is here: a polished topaz
resembling one slowly falling sky,
created aimlessly – exception to the rule,
where rules and promises are one | 

and here am i: nor love nor truth nor beauty,
a sudden stop
in pauses of this life.
you see me now.
it that enough?

63. within these four walls

home is my prison, beating heart trapped within these four walls.

whole life spent in affirmation of having seen beauty, but how? i can’t even see beyond the metal bars of this cage. trapped in an illusion of golden locks and impurity of pure white snow.

yes, this is convention.
i didn’t need anyone’s help to lace me into this corset. i didn’t make you wait to take me to the ball. no carriages will carry me in this world.

there’s always time, —-
that’s what you say, calling me by my name, every syllable grounding me further into this quicksand. truth is, there isn’t time. all there is is this yearning need to –cease. then, colours stop swirling and coloured lights hush with their bright song of desire.

i am a fire.
i burn in this empty shell. you know it well. and i flash instead of them coloured lights, where every day is christmas, where sun burns red with passion of one’s life.

kiss me now.
tomorrow it will be too late.
tomorrow we will celebrate.

38. it’s the little things that get us most

you made history yesterday.
you may never be mentioned in history books for it, but you did. the first boy to give me flowers for no reason at all whatsoever.
just because
you said, as i shushed you with kisses of passion i never knew resided in me. and i know now that it wasnt the flowers, though they were beautiful – hot pink carnations excusitely wrapped in light-blue paper the colour of the aquamarine sky i saw behind you as I opened the door, subdued, expecting nothing but your hot gaze to land upon my pale body clad in jeans and a t-shirt, casual style – it was the beauty of the gesture.

it’s the little things that get us most, some say. they must be right.

14. we all have dreams that won’t come true

so you’ve come back.
i’ve seen you with my own eyes today, the unruly curls of your hair falling on your face just slightly.
never a fan of curly hair, i don’t know why i’m meant to find you attractive. thought, you know, there is a delicate beauty in the sharpness of the contours of your face, the cheekbones protruding outwards, upwards, making a clean sweep. 

but you know, a concept of beauty was always alien to me. say what you will, but i can barely look at X and he’s your typical handsome guy, your typical ain’t-he-a-good-looking-boy. 

if i think about it, i’ve never seen a man who i could not find a bad feature in, physically or otherwise. 

i ask for too much.
i ask for the impossible. and oddly, sometimes i get it.

i told myself that this year i’d expect a little less. that i wouldn’t ask for what i can’t give back, but i now realise that was always the case. i never took without giving, no matter how little i was given. and yet, there was always just one thing i knew i’d never give wholly – myself. i could give a part of myself without a problem, but to give the whole of oneself – the dreams, the pain, the hopes and fears, the memories and future, the past and present… no, that i would not give.

i’m sure i could if i tried.
anything, with a little bit of determination and skill, is possible.

but i’m my own woman.
you wouldn’t want me if i wasn’t, so that’s ok. nor would Y or X or Z. the whole of my entourage seems to love me because i seem invincible.
you know that.
i know that. 
we both know that, really, you’re in love with an idea of an independent woman and i’m in love with the idea of a man making me dependent, tying me down in such a way that i don’t even know he’s doing it until it was too late.

we all have dreams.

we all have dreams that won’t come true.