May 15, 2013
Emoticle: Killing Time.
by; Izzati Idrus
15th May 2013
As loneliness embraces me so tightly it is suffocating, the voice of my mind calls out to Time;
“Hey, I wish you would be of no relevance.”
Feeling dejected, I am just about to willingly succumb to emptiness for what I have become - which is nothing - makes me feel tremendously helpless. I have nothing to show the world, nothing left to give. I am trashed and ignored for being unnecessary yet approached by vultures who want nothing more but to feed on me. With the last bit of strength I have left, I desperately try to cast shadow upon Time instead, to make me feel better.
Who would have thought that Time would shine on its own, blinding me until the darkness that has been clouding me all the while would thicken to the point that I am wrapped by nothing but the coldness, the stillness, the nothingness of the void of… life?
“Just so you could feel belonged?”
Time whispers. And yet it is the loudest sound I have ever heard in my life. It truly feels like my eardrums burst and blood trickles out of my ears. But none can comprehend the kind of pain those words causes to my heart. For the longest second of my life, it feels like my soul has been taken away, and my breath is no longer.
My emotions are in turmoil and my mind races madly until almost every inch of me becomes numb. It is impossible to accurately articulate what I feel and think, but one thing is for certain: it is the sinister that drives me to look at the face of the clock, in search for the meaning behind those words.
1:50. The hands of the clock point out.
Yes. It appears the retort was indeed in jester, for upon the face of the clock there is an apparent smile. Instinctively, my hand reaches out to the clock and pushes it off the table. There is a crashing sound as the clock meets the floor after its fall. And yet…
Tick tock. Tick tock.
As if it is taunting me, “I am still moving. Are you?”
That ends my numbness. Now fuelled by anger, I crouch down, grab the clock and take the batteries out. After which, I smash it to the floor over and over again until all energy is sapped of me, all the while shouting countless times;
“YOU ARE NOT!”
Finally, there is silence, except for my heavy breathing. There are noticeable scratches and small dent on the floor. There are pieces of the now non-functional clock, or what remains of it. And there is my blood; some on the floor, some on the shards of the broken pieces of the clock but mostly in my own palms.
Only when the blood begins to dry that tears start to well up in my eyes before falling generously down my pale cheeks. Because it is then that I greatly wish in vain that I was not taught to be able to tell time and that I have no knowledge that Time will always move forward even if I were to burn all clocks in the world.
Because it is then that I begin to accept the truths in the words of Time, even though the talking Time really is simply a pigment of my own imagination, my brief alter-ego.
Apr 1, 2013
Sometimes it's just not okay to feel happy, because just soon after, you'll be met with despair. Maybe it is just the case with someone like me.
It doesn't help that in the healing process from being depressed that circumstances would have it that one was feel so lonely, and to add to that, there was an odd absence of the very people one wanted so much to talk to. There was no one for one to open up one's heart and let it all pour out. In fact, it was needed of one to stand strong to be able to hold the hands of others so that they would not feel lonely or be alone.
Even if all you wanted to do is to simply run away, you just could not. No. You are staying. You need to carry out these obligations, with no cracks upon your face so that others will not shatter when they see you. You need to lend strength to others, even if you yourself have none.
With the hope that over-playing this song would assist to lend strength, I have to thank James Morrison, for singing those beautiful lyrics that seem to embrace me right now.
Mar 22, 2013
“The best work in literature is always done by those who do not depend on it for their daily bread and the highest form of literature, Poetry, brings no wealth to the singer.”
- Oscar Wilde
Mar 21, 2013
Love Sonnet XVII
by; Pablo Neruda
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body. I love you with knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
Mar 19, 2013
I understand that you don't understand.
So please stop pretending like you do.
Even if you genuinely think you do, pretend like you don't.
Because the truth is, you really don't.
And that's okay, because I understand that you just don't understand.
It's hard enough for me to understand that.
I wish you'd try to understand that you just don't understand.