The Flight of the Rocketman

Nothing really matters, love is all you need... -- Nothing Really Matters, Madonna

I'll be gone for the better part of the Holy Week. Will be out of town, amongst friends (friends I haven't hung around for quite a long time) and far away from work and stress and people that have caused me much anguish. And it's about time too. I read past entries in this blog and discover a lapse in eloquence, style, literary grace... I'm tired. My mind is tired, my body is tired, even my aura is tired. I've been cranky. I've been mean. I need to re-charge. I won't last if I continue doing this. I need to regroup. Have fun again. Just unwind. Let it all out. Or not let it out but shove it aside and put "me" in the forefront. A chance to remember what it was like to smile.

I've been so busy I haven't even written in my tangible journal, my little black book where all my secrets, my feelings, the truth is hidden away. There are four to five days in-between entries. That's bad. Considering that I used to write everyday, sometimes even more than twice a day. But then again, I was inspired...

Yesterday, I indulged myself. I know I can't sing. If this world depended on me singing, well, suffice to say, this world is completely and utterly doomed. Yup! It would be doomed. Because I cannot sing a note. I can't even carry a tune. But I didn't care. Yesterday, I indulged myself in Red Box, a family videoke bar and my good friends Jaypee and Berna (later joined by John and MJ) and I sang our hearts content. And Jaypee quickly ran out of energy (he's been on his feet with only three hours of sleep for the past week) and Berna was too embarrassed to use the microphone. So, probably eighty percent of the time, I was singing with the microphone and it felt great. I sang so many songs: Al Green's "Let's Stay Together," Edwin McCain's "I'll Be," Madonna's "Ray of Light," Duncan Sheik's "I'm on a High," and so many more... I can't seem to remember.

It's so great to just let go and cut loose. To sing and sing and sing. And no one telling you that you sound bad and asking you to stop. It was just about having fun and being ourselves and letting go. And that was a nice little entry into a week vacation that will just let me be myself. Coalesce. I need to coalesce.

To a particular someone: You've come back in my mind. I text and you never reply. "I will always be your friend," you said. "I will never say good bye to you, Wanggo," you said. "I'll always be here for you," you said. All the things you said doesn't mean a thing. Three weeks. I have not heard from you in three weeks. We could have just let it lie when we both said good bye. But you had to call me back and tell me these things. You said that you have never spoken to someone the way you've spoken to me; with me. You trusted me. I earned it. And you let it go. You let me go. And I'm trying to return the favour. But when something is important to me, it isn't so easy to just say good bye. I had one week reprieve but the anguish returns. I am longing once more to hear the sound of your voice again...

"Never is a promise and you can't afford to lie" -- Never Is A Promise, Fiona Apple

Hope is a double edged sword. It keeps you going when all seems lost. It is a driving force, it is fuel that keeps us moving ever forward to that destination that seems so faraway; sometimes, you can't even see it. But it also keeps you on the path that maybe you shouldn't tread on. Hope. A double-edged sword. It keeps you moving forward and forward to a place that may no longer be as fertile as you remember it to be or you have imagined it to be.

I wrote a poem before. It was about hoping and wishing for love. It is about how people would wish on stars, not realising that they are wishing on the resonance of these stars. After all, a million light years away, the star could be long dead and gone but we wouldn't know it. We only see what remains, the light that keeps shining through... We may be wishing on a star that is no longer there. Isn't that how love can sometimes be?