Carpe Diem.

There is not much you get to keep in life. There is not much that you can really call yours.

But it’s those few things that you do, in fact get to keep, that maintain your hold on them ever so strong, your grip ever so tight, and your will to never let go, ever so focused.

Yet as time passes, you start to ponder, if even those keep-able things can ever really be yours: if they’re worth keeping after all. Because as the clock hands make their daily rounds in such casual airs, you come to realize that maybe you keep nothing.

Maybe all you do is borrow, and it becomes a temporary ‘keep’.


Yes, that must be it.
It would explain why things go, why others stay.

Maybe life is a sign out sheet.
I sign you out.
I sign it out.

Then at the due date, we all return to our places in the shelf, until something else comes along; until someone else comes along:

And it becomes the start of a new temporary keeping...

- Can I ask you something?
- Ask away.
- Why?
- I don’t know.
- How?
- I have no clue.
- When?
- Never.
- Where?
- No where.
- I don’t like this.
- What?
- Nothing.
- Evasive are we?
- Maybe.
- Such shrewish behavior.
- I do beg you pardon?
- You asked.
- You failed to reply.
- Oh, but I did reply.
- No you didn’t.
- I’m sure that mono-syllabic jumble is hardly considered a reply.
- I see, replies have standards.
- Of course they do.
- A reply is an answer to a question, last I checked.
- Yes, but a proper reply to a question.
- Proper by whose terms?
- The person asking the question.
- That makes utterly no sense.
- Oh, and in your backwards world, it is the person answering who deems a reply proper?
- Obviously. You ask, so I answer with whatever way I deem proper.
- Rubbish.
- You sound a tab bit British for my taste.
- You have trashy written all over you from where I’m standing.
- Touche. Still, you’re digressing.
- I was doing no such thing.
- I refuse to be belittled to saying ‘was to’.
- In the same manner I refuse to say ‘was not’.
- The end?
- No.
- That’s quite the monosyllabic answer you’ve got there.
- Yes, but you asked.
- And you answered.
- Does it leave you satisfied?
- Ah, that’s an entirely different matter.
- From whose stance?
- I believe the person answering the question.
- So then, you agree there is a proper answer.
- No.
- Then?
- There is a satisfactory answer.
- Yes, the proper answer.
- No, the more appealing answer to your individual is the satisfactory answer.
- And that would make it the proper answer.
- On the contrary, that would simply make it the most satisfactory.
- A proper answer is hardly a satisfactory answer.
- A proper answer is categorized by it’s degree of providing satisfaction.
- Am I dead?
- …No.
- Is that the proper answer.
- Yes.
- Is that the most satisfying answer, to you?
- No.
- You’d rather I was dead?
- From where I’m standing, oh very much so.
- Why you ungrateful piece of ish.
- I’d choose my words more carefully, say since I’m not making any attempts on your life.
- As if you could.
- My tongue is scissor sharp.
- Sadly, that is not a weapon.
- By whose principles?
- Mine.
- And since when are those of any importance?
- You see, there is your fatal flaw.
- In your eyes.
- Of course. I vouch for only this pair of eyes.
- Such perceptive eyes they are.
- How you flatter me.
- Just tell me what my fatal flaw is.
- You’re eyeless.
- You’re looking at my eyes right now.
- Don’t be obtuse.
- Do I add a tally to the “How Many Times I’ve Been Insulted” count?
- You have one?
- I deem that question not worth an answer.
- I rather thought you did myself, but fine, we shall leave you bathing in denial as of yet.
- You’re digressing.
- Eyeless.
- Elaborate.
- Your feeling won’t get hurt?
- I’m looking for something very sharp.
- What about that tongue of yours?
- I need something slightly sharper for what I have in mind.
- I shiver.
- I don’t like this banter.
- Ah, but I think you do.
- What happened to not vouching for anyone but yourself.
- I said I vouch for what I see. And I see that you are enjoying this.
- Now, you are proving to be quite eyeless.
- See, it did hurt your feelings.
- I don’t give you that kind of hold on my feelings.
- I see.
- You do?
- Yes, quite.
- So why is it then that I’m eyeless?
- Because you think a proper answer is a satisfactory one.
- That hardly supports your empty claim.
- A proper answer is seldom a satisfactory one. At a time where they are one and the same – it’s a rare joyous time. Sometimes the proper answers that we seek we’ve heard a hundred and one times over. Yet it is our reluctance to accept them, that keeps us repeatedly asking, and always wondering in circles, loops and cycles.
- Imparting wisdom are we?
- You asked away.
- I did.
- Why?
- I don’t know.
- How?
- I have no clue.
- When?
- Never.
- Where?
- No where.

Being the last day of 2009, and whatnot, I thought I should write something. Just so that it would show up on my archives.

And you know...
Just to sort of make it look like I am an ever fervent blogger. *Rolls eyes*. As if.

And I really really want to say something meaningful.
But meaningful seems so hard right now.

Nevertheless, I shall try.

So 365 days passed, just like that.
Just like last year this time, another set of 365 days passed.
And it seems every year we re-sit this scenario, and we feel burdened by the weight of all those days.

To be honest?
I don’t feel in the least burdened.
I just want to sleep.
Pounding headache.
Too bad sleep is ever elusive these days.

Anyway, as I sit here, typing ever so meticulously, I can’t help but noticed the soreness of my fingers from replying to the overflow of “Happy New Year” messages, and wait for it: the phone calls =/

Ahh, now that that’s all dispensed with… I feel my inner calm resurfacing.


So where was I?
Yes, 365 days...
Can you imagine?
Three hundred and sixty five days.
300 + 60 + 5

That’s like … a lot of days.

Yet, we’ve managed to plow through them, in hopes of plowing through a new set of 365 days.
So, honestly? I think 2009, and I come up blank.
And then I think 2009 again, and small things come into focus.
Those small things that make it ever so defined in its commonness.
It’s funny how I find myself at a different predicament than the one I predicted I would be in. Not better, not worse, just different.
And I guess that’s what makes reality much different from our most analytic predictions.

Here’s to new predictions.
Here’s to new joy.
Here’s to new despair.
Here’s to new events.
Here’s to new ice cream flavors.
Here’s to new awesome people that we'll meet.
Here’s to new inspiration.

Here’s to a new year....2010.

P.S I’m so going to have such a hard time writing the date. I can see it clearly: ‘Girl attacks paper: 2010, not so easy to write.’

"A sour Skittle for your thoughts?" he asked.

"I don't like sour Skittles", she replied.

"They're quite amazing you know," he countered.

"I find them vile, and evil".

He arched his right brow, demanding an explanation.

"They're sour, yet sweet, thought bittersweet would be the wrong word to use, and the minute they enter your mouth, you escape your own shell for minute, and focus all your energy on getting over that sour paralysis they seem to ignite," she explained.

"Wow, sour Skittles analysis?" he murmured.

"And you want in on my thoughts".

"Please, by all means share those. I will not judge", he bargained.

"It wouldn't matter if you did, and I think you know that, just as well", she uttered with a smirk.

"Sadly, that is true. Still, on a more serious note...those thoughts?"






"The many words unsaid", she stated at last.

"What about them?"


"There's the said.
Selectively constructed verbalizations.
And then, there's the unsaid.
A disparaging mess."

She paused.
And he sucked on another Skittle.
She looked at him - so very unaffected by the its tangy taste.

"Do go on... a disparaging mess?"

"Within every person, resides the said and the unsaid.
The said at times brings much relief, for it frees and rescues the soul, in a timely, yet miniscule manner.
The unsaid, is a constantly-procreating particle of lead. And one day, it becomes a sheet of lead, and then a block of lead ...

Now, hypothetically speaking, if there was an 'unsaid words' collector - he would be the most engaged man* around.
Every minute, he would transport buckets of unsaid words to his small corner, and start fitting the interconnecting parts; start penetrating the thick layers of enigma obstructing the bigger picture.

He would see what she can't see.
He would see what you can't see.
He would see what they can't see.


He would finally understand - make sense of the jumbles, and the odds and ends.

And within his reach, would lay the key to everything. To everyone's souls.
Now, that's ultimate power."


He looked at her in masked awe.

She silently implored him to reply.

He ignored that urge.

There was too much unsaid.
There was too much to unchain.

Better keep the way it is, held by bare threads - yet held all the same.

She laughed sardonically. "Look at us, having a heart-to-heart about the 'unsaid words' collected, when he's no more real than Tinker Bell herself. It's okay, I wasn't really expecting much of a reply anyway. It seems the fruitless 'said', is all we have. I'd explain more, but you wouldn't begin to grasp the gist of it."

With that, she selected a green Skittle from his packet, popped it in her mouth, and let its sour-numbing effect take over - and in that little while she didn't think, for she didn't have to.


He started to say something, and then stopped. He stared at her walking way, becoming more and more distant.

'I understand' he wanted to say.

Many a day when he would dream of being that very same man.
Yet the much unsaid outweighed his understanding, and so he said nothing.
Nothing at all.

*Note: 'man' here is derived from mankind, and not the other constituents of the population.

I don’t need to constantly speak of my greatness. My essence whispers it loud and clear.

I don’t constantly need to huddle in large crowds. My presence is all I need.

I don't feel the need to make myself apparent. I'm a kaleidoscope of a being, all on my own.

I simply stand out.

And you don’t.

While that may kill you -

It makes me smile in return.

And when you see that smile.

A part of you dies.

But I’m still smiling.

Because you’re no one.

While, me: I’m my own light, my own darkness and everything in between.