Chapter Thirty-two: Says the Reed to the Shell, and likewise.

Said the reed to the shell
You look nothing like me

Get away for a spell

Till you’ve changed completely

Said the shell to the reed

What do you know of substance

When you won’t look inside

At my brains for instance

Said the reed to the duck

Why have you an appetite

For mollusks of the sort

It doesn’t look right

Said the duck to the reed

That you wouldn’t know

Cause you’re you anyway

With your opinions so low

Said the shell to the reed

Here I opened myself wide

But what did you do

You threw sand inside

Said the duck to the shell

It will be alright

Give it some time

And then together we’ll fight

Said the shell to the duck

Don’t know if I can

My shell is fragile

How much can it stand

Said the duck to the shell

You must try anyway

I’ll broaden my wings

And you sandpaper away

Said the shell to the duck

I’ll try for your sake

Let’s hope we won’t lose

Everything that’s at stake.

Intermission IX: Says the Reed to the (Conch) Shell Through the Duck.

you there, born like a reed. 

have you ever imagined how it would be like to be someone other than yourself? (or maybe you do, but not the way i'm thinking).  

tell me, do you know what it's like to have a shell like mine?  

you don't.   i hoped that it'd be like what i've witnessed so often, and secretly dreamed to have. (but i forget, those people were reeds too. not conch shells).  

you found it so easy to judge my shell as unworthy, when you haven't even sampled the contents.  

so easily did you take to it a sledgehammer, not even thinking of what damage you may cause not to just the shell, but what the shell is part of (but you'd like that to happen, wouldn't you).  

How do you think it'd feel like, if i were you, and you me? would you feel as you've made me feel?  

but then, you know don't know the meaning of empathy, i don't doubt. (i simply wonder why it took you so long to blow your whistle. after all, you've seen me at least a dozen times, knowing what i am. but you let me believe it would be alright?) 
 

i suppose i must say a bitter thank you for helping me to finalize a self-fulfilling prophesy, although i doubt i did anything to contribute to it's culmination, apart from growing my shell. 
 

it pays to be a cynic, you know. because if you'd turned out another way, i would be an optimist for a while, and tell myself 'see, what were you worried for? things turned out all right' and maybe get shot at sometime in the future. 

it hurts more when one isn't prepared to be pot-shot at.

so think about cynicism as a shield of sorts.  

and  now, when things turn out like this, being a pessimist, i can congratulate myself on being right all along, and tell myself, i told me so.  

a cynic at 22, i feel faith in good things slipping out of my fingers, like flour through a sieve (everytime you shake it, a little more falls out). 
 

because deep down inside, even as i prayed for it to be alright, somewhere inside, a little doubting Thomas whispered not to get hopes up, 'just in case'.  

(and now i'm paying the price for that folly).

eli, eli, lama sabathani?  

Father almighty, the ever-living God... is this a warning to the little thomas living inside me? (but Lord, you appeared to the other Thomas to dispel his doubts...) 
 

Happy those do not see and yet believe. i guess this means i'm one of the 'unhappy'.    

P.S to the other famous and wealthy reeds out there, if you complain another word about you having an extra millimetre somewhere on those cheese-pared stalks of yours, i'm going to pot-shoot your photos (that have been sandpapered anyway).  
 

because you don't have the right to talk about your oh-so-imperfect reed stalks, or talk about how its all about inner-beauty (when people go crazy over your reed stalk and cares a whit about your inner-beauty... wait, i hear an echo somewhere... oops, reeds are hollow, right?), not when you don't know what it's like to be a conch shell. 

P.S.S Once upon a time, a reed looked into a mirror and saw carrots for legs, a turnip for a belly, and wailed and moaned to the shell. Methinks that one ought to see Dr H, for such is a symptom of horrid self-image distortion.

Intermission VIII: Another Week, Another Friend Gone. To Q, and the Memories of 2007.

When I wrote the tribute to a schoolmate who'd passed away last week, I'd never in my wildest nightmare imagined that I'd be doing the same for you today, someone I'd been thinking of only last night. Life, how could you?

Some of my fondest memories from Form 6 were because of you, you know that? Like hearing you joke with Kulow, giggling over, well, you know who we caught in the room with her boyfriend, and you pole dancing on a dare. Or of you chasing the little kambing around threatening to bbq him. How can I hear the words 小羊 without thinking of you?

I didn't tell you how grateful I was to have your company during the convention, did I? Or that you'd covered me with your own blanket in the middle of the night?

I'll never forget how cheerfully you dismissed what would have sent other girls wailing, and simply said that you were grateful to even be how you were. Did you know I was thinking about you just last night, not knowing you were struggling for your life? and now I'll never get to see you again. 

Rest in peace, Q. And know that we'll be missing you.

Intermission VII: To KS, Whom No One Thought Would Have Left So Soon.

How many people that i personally know have passed from this world? People who attended school with me, people so young and vibrant in life that you'd never imagine they'd be gone so much earlier before myself.


'Out, out, brief candle.'


If someone'd told us, back when we were 13 and believed ourselves invincible, that you'd be be gone before you were even 30... do you suppose we'd have believed? No! We would have laughed it off as a terribly funny joke. Young, and full of promise; who'd ever have thought about death and dying?


Why oh why do we believe ourselves invincible? Infallible? Untouchable?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sun threaded through the lacy fronds of life, that slowly, slowly it's weaving.


Slowly it crept; sometimes it slept, backwards in time receding.


Often time stops, one's burden does drop, and there a soul goes leaving.


But for those who stay, weep as we may, soon, yea, we'll follow your leading.


Rest in peace. I only hope you enjoyed your short life in every way you could.

Intermission VI: 26.07.10. This is my Talent, I Will Wield It Like a Weapon.

Fear is a cage

That traps me within

A new book, new chapter

I daren't turn the page.

CBT, come to me, purge my mind with thoughts of thee.

Time to sweep fear under the dirty carpet. (where it should belong). 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There. Two done.

I realize as an editor, my name will never appear as a byline, and that some other person will take credit for my editing (at least that's how it is in the country of ones). 

BUt then i guess... the satisfaction from making something *ahem* better is fulfillment enough for me.

Intermission V: Pausing the Poetry for Prose.

i need to start writing in prose again. and heaven forbid, not in assignment format.

 it does get rather irritating when i'm needing to do assignments, but only have paired words and rhymes floating in my head.  i wonder if this's what dr M means by spontaneity? higher level cognitive processing? he may think it a competency (mind you, i do consider it a gift), but i dont suppose dr G'd find it amusing if i tried writing my finals essay in rhyme. not that i could *snort*.

sigh. i really dont know how to describe the tangled rush of emotions while hearing dr M lecture... fear, shock, interest, fascination, confusion? and the sense that time's running out, that i'm moving backwards even as i try to make my way up.

seriously, who after seeing pranaf's insane inventions can not feel woefully intimidated or like an intellectual ant? i do look forward to having one of those contraptions around my neck (since it practically makes any other contraption redundant), but well... i guess this's the first time i've ever seen that sort of mind in action. simply... mad.

aigoo (sorry, have been watching Personal Preference: sang jun/young seon's favourite exclamation)... tell me how to study for I/O, someone? bad enough its dr G, i have completely no idea how to incorporate dr M's stuff into the I/O mindset... and thanks to S, i've been watching Personal Preference, and thus, havent studied a bit. and now, character le jin ho keeps floating in my mind. =.=. sorry, jester. looking at it from the angle of a romance reader. characters're hard to resist, especially when packaged into such a nice parcel, but you know that already. (so dont you dare imply i'm a fangirl again or i'll conk your head. =.=)

am bloody tempted to watch another series, but i think i shall resist. will now return to crafting a timeline for the training, oops, talent management program. =.=

Chapter Thirty-one: Muddling in the Middling Crowd.

I disdain to do usual
Desire to break the mould
And yet the damndest thing is
Can't do without being told

 I've been taught to settle
Also yet to reflect
But methinks I dissemble
In displaying true intellect

Here I hear about sprinting ahead
But how does one apply?
Another talks about brilliance instead
But what does that signify?

I'll not call myself stupid
No need to go that far
BUt it eats at me like acid
'How much do you think you are...?'

 O tell me why we talk so much
Of the best pick of the cream?
Why when they're so out of touch
High up on the extreme?

Where will the crop be
Those of the middling crowd
Who're neither brilliant nor silly
But not like the cream endowed?

Chapter Thirty: Untangling.

Blinks an eye
Sitting on the horizon
By nothing but newness freshened
And at the panorama, widened


Listens the ear
A powerful tune resonate
From another's head donate
Breathlessly more await


Thinks the mind
Twisted pathways burning fire
Tangled thoughts aspire
Stoking up the need to rewire


Feels the heart
The strands of love inside
The fear that grips as time I bide
Courage, do you yet still hide?

Chapter Twenty-nine: Whited Sepulchre, Cast Not Your Stones.

You preach with your front and judge with your back
For others' reputations, you cut them no slack
You condemn such actions, reacting posthaste
And yet to these others, you give the same taste

Oh Hypocrite should be thy name indeed
In intention, in mind and also in deed
Such airs you put on, all holier-than-thou
And nary a slip for others' conduct you allow

How different are you, from those you denounce?
For like them, on such hurtful things do you pounce
Such accurate labels, such delicious dirt
And such snide judgements of people do you assert

'Tis ashamed I am, of people like you
Who talk of God, while doing what you do
Walk the talk, if you're going to preach
Else can the moral lessons; you ain't fit to teach.

Chapter Twenty-eight: Prayer.

Oh Lord, lead my feet 
For i know not where to go
Where the ends will meet
Where rich green pastures grow

Oh Lord, fill my heart
For i am as yet weak
When i am torn apart
Your strength do i seek

Oh Lord, walk with me
For i am always afraid
Tremblings of a nature
That i for myself made

Lord, give me succour
When i cannot go on
In Your arms will i be secure
Fear and anxiety begone

Lord, hear me pray
As i now write this verse
My fears, will You allay
As with You i converse

Almighty Lord, be my light
As in the dark i grope
Through the dangers of the night
Towards Your immaculate ray of hope.