The colours in your life @ Friday, Oct. 20, 2006 * 11:20 pm

Part 3...

here goes Part 3,4 and if still possible lastly 5... May the world be awash with colours and drenched with the emotions of life....

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If tday was the last day u would be able to open your eyes, to allow the shower of sunlight to bathe in the liquid of your eyeball, to visualize the beautiful world that is around you, wat would you choose to see?

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There lived once a little boy, who, despite his normality, led a fruitful, though sadly fleeting life. There lay once a fragile soul, which, despite its spiritual failures, found a permanent home in a little boy. There existed once a modest paintbrush, which, despite its malfunctions, had a niche in the painting of souls. This little story, though a figment of imagination and fantasy, is strangely real, and close to heart; it might both be a celebration and a lament of human thought and will.

The little boy used to wake up every morning, sleepy eyes blinking, taking in his first golden, radiant rays of sunlight for the brand new day, polarized slightly by the dusty atmosphere. He used to fumble, blindly, across the brownish, mahogany dress table, feeble hands feeling for a cold metallic touch that was the frames of his spectacles. As he placed those glasses ever so tenderly behind his ears, he would then take a long, longing glance towards the face of the alarm clock beside his bed, wishing time to slow down in its eternal sprint.

Without those glasses, to him, life’s a blur, a disgusting jumble of colours, incoherent and bizarrely frightening. Through the looking glass, he perceived the natural tints in all its perfect glory, free from the blemishes that his flawed eyesight would have otherwise effected. His pair of glasses was his other half, or so he thought. Only when he is wearing them, only when he’s sure they are safely nestled on the bridge of his nose, the soothing arms of the spectacles wrapped around the sides of his forehead in a silent embrace, did he feel comfortable, at ease with his surroundings, and life.

As time passed slowly and surely, so did the boy age slowly but surely. His affection for the pair of spectacles that gave him vision, joy and life became no more, as worldly desires took its toll. The young boy used to wake up every morning, weary eyes rubbed awake by impatient fists. No longer feeling around desperately for the glasses, for years of routine has mechanized his arms into reaching out to the exact same position, the young boy then focused his attentions onto the myriad of colours around him.

In the dark recesses of the night, black predominates, and the boy was afraid of the dark, for he was afraid of the monsters that resided under his bed, of the things that hid in his wardrobe, of his utter lack of perception and vision as he lay helplessly on his bed, vulnerable and blind. In the bright lights of the day, the boy thrived, for he was addicted to the colours that fill his eyes, to the incandescent sunlight, to the bright yellow tinge of flowers, to the azure green glow of leaves, to the pale blue shade of skies. He soon fell in love with the mystifying array of colours enveloping his world, or so he thought. Only among the rejuvenating aura of the coloured world, only by plucking a rainbow with all its exciting vigour and draping it across the back of his frail body, feeling energy and enthusiasm simmer inside him, did he feel enlivened, ready to face the challenges of life.

What if one day, he would be unable to perceive the colours that he so adored? What if one day, the very essence of life that he depended on, was taken away, robbed from him, cruelly and unflinchingly, by the twist of fate? What if one day, he would open his eyes, only to find himself drowning in an endless abyss of murky darkness, never to surface?

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Colours Part 2 @ Monday, Oct. 16, 2006 * 11:03 pm

Was goin home in a chugging 961 along the strangely brown and grey track of Bukit Timah and Old Woodlands Road. Its all surreal, especially when about 12 years ago, the landscape was so much different. (for a start NJ was THE onli school opposite NYPS) Maybe its the fact that come 26th Jan next year, i wouldnt be on the same routine that ive been on for 12years, down the same old stretch of road in a bus service 961 that is still as ancient a service as it was when i was barely 1.3m. But maybe im just living in a different world.

I was, and am still convinced that im still dreaming, since K1. I am convinced that while i was sleeping on fine afternoon on the bed that fateful day, instead of waking up in a jolt of pain after realising id rolled off the edge of the bed, ive merely woken into a dream that lasts all the way till now. I am convinced i am still stuck in some timecapsule at K1, and mebe if i can find a way out of this dreamland, ill finally commence with my life proper. It dosent matter if im some average kid... at least there wasnt any potential to begin with and there wont be disappointments...

So Finding how to escape tis dreamland has been an objective for me, jus as tat the colours of that incident still remain fresh as ever... Perhaps if death was reversible, or merely some portal into another dimension (like a wormhole) it would have been a viable option....

But b4 i get affected by the Algernon syndrome (still rmb flowers of algernon that we read in P4? =)), its better to empty more gems and crap alike b4 i no longer have a chance to do so.

N since ive been painting a picture with extremely morose colours so far, its time for a change, or issit? =D I might save brighter, lighter-hearted stuff to part 3

anyway to qualify tis as part2 i must stop rambling on and link the post back to my initial theme of colours.

What happens then, when a painter intentionally tips his palette over?

Depression, despair, desolation, disconsolation, dejection, distress, death.

What do they have in common? Issit the fact that they all begin with D? Issit the kind of emotions evolved? Issit the kind of colours that these very words conjure in ur minds, of an endless black abyss? of the darkest hues of blue? of the clear translucent glimmer of teardrops?

To me everyting is meaningless essentially; since one's existence is to give meaning to things.

Everyting
from the randomly constructed words that ur reading now,
to the haphazardly notes and tunes pieced together into melodies,
to the experiences we have,
to the colours we perceive
to the anger we display
to the depression we conceal
to the emotions we feel
Even the life we live.

are meaningless,
if they arent translated into things, values that are important, valuable, precious to one...

things ranging
from the lessons we learn
to the things we understand
to the hate we douse
to the love we foster
to the memories we keep
Even the life we live

Some definitely wont agree, but would u argue against the notion that our lives are but a motion picture? By the time uve stopped to tink over this sentence, u have in fact consigned a little part of ur "present life" into the dark recesses of history and time. The "present" is everchanging, while memories are the constant in our lives. Again, does this then necessarily encourage us to live in the penumbra of our pasts, to be wary of the bright penetrating lights of the future?

Our reality is a quantitative one: numbers, scales rule our world. BEhind the scenes, the alternate reality is a qualitative one. Things such as intelligence, beauty, relationships, emotions have long eluded the grasps of our number-loving society. Mebe one day, when our world is ready to embrace grey areas as what they realli symbolise, can we move a little closer to understanding all these phenomena. Until then, the closest we get to love in science is pheromones n hormone chemistry, to beauty is the matching of brainwave functions to our "natural frequency", to intelligence is a deeply flawed IQ system.

Perhaps if society becomes less materialistic, less quantitatively inclined, we can learn to appreciate them better. Well im deeply rooted in the romantic fatalist camp (others say im delusional)

colours (part 1) @ Friday, Oct. 13, 2006 * 11:18 pm

tis will prolly be the first part in wat i hope would be a series of my final posts on the class blog...
Tis part deals with my opinions abt colours and how our (or mebe jus mine) lives are affected by them...

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Part 1: introduction to colours

We perceive colours through the cones in our retina, the visual purple pigment that renders our biological monitors, allowing us to view in its full glory, one of nature's biggest creations. Perhaps the importance of colours in our lives are being overshadowed, by the other more intangible aspects of life. Perhaps we have been taking for granted the presence of colours that we see, when we open our eyes.

Shakespeare once alluded to the world being a stage, and man merely actors on them. Similarly, through his unique mastery of the language, he had painted the actors with the proverbial paintbrush, allowing them to flourish in their characters, their roles in the play, their significance to the overall plot. A stage can then be compared with life; in a loose manner, we are all actors and actresses, playing impromptu roles. Where den, do we find our characters, our personalities, our strengths, weaknesses, loves, hates... etc etc....

Each and everyone are painters in our own right, not jus Da vinci, Michangelo, van gowh. In each and everyone of us holds a painting palette, someting wich we hold sacred to ourselves. When we are born, the palette is pristine white. What we experience as we chart our own path through life would then be reflected as a change in the colours of the palette that we hold dearly within us. As we proceed through the different stages in life, different colours will be added, mixed, blended on the palette, wich we den use to express ourselves and our thoughts.

For example, a person whos jus fallen in love might not realise his/her palette has suddenly been added with a tinge of rose-red, another whos pet dog jus passed away would have noticed certain blue colours appearing in his/hers. Our painting palettes are constantly changing as we become richer in experience, in knowledge, in self-awareness.

However, that is not to say that past experiences become obsolete. Colours that are added to the palette do not come off easily, and the greater the intensity of the colours added, the greater the effect it would have on the palette. That is, our past experiences will forever stick with us in memory, and time is the main diluting factor that serves to reduce the intensity of these memories.

Events that affect us greatly, such as the first kiss, the first breakup, the first failure, the first funeral uve been to, all leave an indelible mark on us. Much like the sudden blob of paint squished out from the painttube, these experiences add a new dimension to our paint palettes, and after many years, after many other colours are added to the mix, the final colour still contains part of the original colours. Much like the addition of black, no matter in watever concentration, will cause the darkening of any colours that are added to the mix after black has been.

Thereafter, we seek to express ourselves through the strokes of the paintbrush and the colours on our paint palette. Through our interaction with people, we inadvertantly flaunt our paintbrushes, and colour our surroundings with the colours we have.

(end of part 1)

Autumn falls @ Thursday, Oct. 05, 2006 * 11:12 pm

Autumn is:

a lightly falling leaf with a heavy heart,
a warm river flow with a slightly chilly undercurrent,
a warm smile with an inaudible lament,
a goodbye kiss with a bittersweet aftertaste

a season; touch stimulates
a sensation; senses initiate
a change; cycle harbours
a separation, a union

It is a lie, that Singapore does not experience autumn. Despite the equatorial climate, does one feel the change in the climate? The silent, surreptitious descent of the cold across our worlds is a harbringer of a barren white winter.

It is a fallacy to believe that someting can be evergreen. Is youth evergreen? One's transcendence into maturity and age is ultimately followed with another life entering youth. It is perhaps a seamless transition. Is time evergreen? One's wait is inevitably ended when time runs out. Some pple wait forever, their whole lives; others wilt in autumn. Is love evergreen? One's slow drawing of a full circle, is finally completed when one finds a part of oneself hidden in another life. It's perhaps nature's best way of concealing the most important tings that we hold sacred, all the while bidding time for the most appropriate revealing.

It is a Story, that fragile tings break during autumn, and take the whole of winter to mend.

Autumn is before winter, after summer. It can be seen in the changing of tone, of landscape, of mood.

Every autumn,
Do you feel the same?
If u dun, wat i gotta do to make u see?
Can I wait forever?

chEezy~ @ Monday, Oct. 02, 2006 * 2:40 pm

NEW MONTH
new page. lala

argggh prelim results suck =C