The Gravity of My Situation

The sun rises and sets, 

The world rotates around itself,

The birds migrate to the south,

Of that I have no doubt.

When it's dark, the lights will come on,

The rain pours whenever it pleases,

People sleep from dust to dawn,

Except those with excuses.

The grass grows, the clouds form,

Waves crash, all that is norm.

The fated die, the lucky live,

The takers take and the givers give,

Lives will go on, blissfully unaware,

With their passive or aggressive stance,

And not a soul could notice or care

Of my feeble and impact-less existence.

I can't go on.

Knight In Shining Armour

Darkness. The low whistle of the wind. Flickering lights.

It was supposed to be another quite, peaceful night. Not a leaf moves, the stillness reflects the tiredness of my soul.

I am drained out. I have fought long and hard, I have been victorious, but none of that matters. Now, I could use nothing more than some well-earned rest.

I hear a little disturbance, but it can’t be for me. I turn over. I need rest.

Knock knock!

It’s a hoard of villagers. “What is it now?”
“The Tower of Terror! Please, you must save us!!”

My head aches. I am worn from a recent battle. “Who sent you?” I ask, hoping to postpone, if not pass on this task. “The King himself!” cries the crowd.

“It can not be. I have just served him and our country in a long and cruel battle, not too long ago”
“True! But to serve you people is to serve your King!”
“Isn’t there anyone else who can do this?”
“None as good as you”
“Can I rest for today and march to it tomorrow?”
No.
They readily nod and leave, but my tranquility has gone with them.
“’Tis not fair!” I argue, but no one’s there to listen.

Tired, the anguish and guilt have kept me up. My fellow comrades are in the local Inn, singing away the night. Tomorrow they plan a quest over The Forbidden Mountain.

I’d like to go there one day. Not with them. But one day. If the King were to allow me.

“Fair Knight!” they call me. “It is time!”

My performance, I am assured, will not be of any influence to the King. I question myself, why am I doing this? Why have I not put myself up for promotion, to escape, to be free?

I gather my tools. Instruments and weapons they tell me won’t work for anyone else. They don’t listen when I say that one only has to try. They think I am special, that I have some unknown power to control these devices. I do not, I try to explain. It only requires the will to learn.

My voice is drowned by their demands. “Be done with the Tower” they tell me. Every week they have a new problem. Do they not see a trend? “Fast and quickly!” the order. Do they not see, Knight as I may be, I too am human? I too face fears, pain, troubles and decisions of my own?

“Hurry, we have been sleep deprived for two days!” one yells. I know the feeling, I want t yell back. I’ve been sleep deprived for decades. War after war, battle after combat, fighting enemies and fears, despite my so-called rest period.

The fights get harder, the demons are bigger and I am weaker as time passes. A nimble dodge there, a quick suppression here… there! That should quell the beast for at least a few more weeks. I hope to be stronger then. If the King were to recognize my work and my worth, perhaps I would be of much greater service.

The again, I guess it is my fault. But I was raised not to sing praises of myself. I’m not like the others. I just want to do my duty and live my life.

The demon wounds me, I am bleeding heavily. “M’lady! There is no one as brave as you!” What good is it, if a housekeeper tells my worth? I am like all other Knights to her, or perhaps like none other. She has not met many of us Knights, we are rare indeed.
I need to recover.

It has been a week. The good doctor tells me I need at least two more before I can call myself fit. But I am visited by more villagers. The demon has escaped again.

I vanquish it, only to be told the main one has escaped… for now. But then what of the one I have killed? “M’lady! It was smart move. That particular one could have cost you if it had escaped”
Yes but my biggest nemesis has escaped. I am slightly wounded, I recover in a day.

Then, I am called for battle. I hear how my fellow companions have spent their free time, and I am envious. But they are not Knights like me. They do not yearn for that independence as I do. They want the fame, and they shall all have it long before I do.

The battle is nasty. I am tired of it now. I want to retire from this, but I know I cannot. I am pledged to the King. He shall decide for me. And in the meanwhile, I have them demons to slay.

How long before retribution?

A Ring!

This beautiful creation I wear on my finger, a mere substitute till I get a real one...

Let this be a mark, let it indicate the lack of absence of warmth in my life.

Let it be the light at the end of my tunnels.

Shine on.

Mr. Hyde

Yes, I'm angry.

I'm allowed to be. I've been a good girl and done everything that is expected of me. I am very forgiving and very agreeable- but doesn't mean I don't get angry.

Or that I don't get hurt.

I am angry. Deal with it.

And Action!

The blowing wind.
The semi-darkness.
A single red blossom.
Higher altitude but closer to the ground.
Bounded but not claustrophobic.

An eVening to reminisce over, in perpetuum.

Ma, Pa and Me

I'm three, holding my parents hands and walking in the carnival. Mom brushed my hair till it's shining, and I'm wearing my favourite blue clip. I'm a big girl today. Mommy pinned a big white napkin to my yellow-and-red frock, which means I get to wipe my hands rather than wash, like a grown up.

I'm hungry. I look up with my big brown eyes, pleading for a lollipop. "Jus one?" I put out a plump fore-finger to stress my point. My red lower lip quivers. Dad's softer than mom, within a minute I'm happily sucking on a bright red lolly.

Oooh, urgent problem. I pull on my mom's dress and say I need to go. Now. I hear her sigh but I'm too pressurized to care. I happily follow mommy, licking on the saccharine sweetness as if my life depends on it. In many way, for a three-year-old me, it does.

I'm observing my pretty lacy socks, swinging my legs rhythmically. I don't need to go any more, but I like this little cubical, and I like the song in my head. I see my mom's shoes under the door, but I don't understand the impatience.

"Sweety, come home when you're done!"
Suddenly mom's gone. I panic, and try to hurriedly follow after her. The lock is too high, its too tight. The footsteps are echoing now. In a rush of adrenaline, I manage to throw the door open and shout after her.

"Mommy?!"

But the place is deserted. I frantically check all the stalls and corners. I'm alone. The panic swells. I lean against the wall for a while.

Am I a bad girl? No, mommy says I'm a very good girl. Do I cause trouble? Rarely, daddy says he's very proud of me.

Obviously they wouldn't have left me. They couldn't have. Maybe they're waiting outside?
Frantically, I run out. "Mommy!!" But there's no one there. "Dad?" I ask, half heartedly, my voice a mere whisper now.

Maybe I was misunderstanding the situation. Every night mommy and daddy told me how much they loved me, before they tucked me in.

Every night, that is, until recently. I've become a big girl now, when I come back from the playground nowadays I am too tired to wait for them or hear a story. I tell myself, they still love me. They must be testing me, trusting me. They think I'm old enough to come home alone.

I'm a big girl now, I swell up with pride and tell myself I'll make them proud. I will come home all on my own.
I look down at my hands. They are brown and dirty. I don't want to go home like this. When mummy hugs me, I don't want to dirty her dress or daddy's shirt, though I know they won't mind. But I'm a big girl now. I can do things, like clean my hand.

I turn back inside. I'd rather wash my hands than dirty my beautiful, white napkin. My hair gets in the way and I push it back. I use lots of soap.

My confounded hair. I reach for the wipes and look into the mirror. I'm seventeen years older. My napkin has become my name tag, but aside from that, nothing much has changed. Except, I've grown up now.

Now when mommy and daddy reach for my hand, I barely notice. Mommy had been there, just a little further from the bathroom, waiting for me. But I never lost my independence.

Seventeen years I've been walking alone. And now, when I need support, I don't know how to use it.

I grew up too fast. Mom and Dad were always there for me, are always there for me. Why can't I seem to reach out?

I stare at my reflection. Things are bad. I need someone to talk to. Scratch that, I already have someone to talk to. I need guidance, and who better to give it to me than my parents?

Yet why do I feel, that it's expected of me to manage on my own? Ever since I can remember I've been looking after myself. Not doing a very good job, but still going wherever I went, all on my own.

I've grown up, but I need to grow down. I need warm, freshly baked cookies, a loud our-of-tune song, two heavenly smiles and the best group hug I've ever experienced. I need my parents, I need parental love and I need guidance. I need an arm I can crawl into and lick my wounds. I need a shield and a protector. I need a shoulder to cry on, to lie on.

I need you, mom and dad.

I love you, mom and dad.

The Circle Of Liz

It's always the same.

In the beginning, I sound so cool, so dangerous, so different, that one person who's always been the underdog is instantly attracted by the lifestyle I seem to project.

I buy their lies, I believe they may really be like me.

Then one day they figure out, there is nothing cool about me at all, I just am different, and they are not.
Suddenly I'm alone and friendless again, and my soul is ripped to bits.

All I taught them, all my signature traits they adopt and publicize as their own... Like I've been caught naked on camera and the worst part is my face was photoshopped over by someone else. I don't care if no one will know that it's not me, all I know is my privates are on display for everybody to see and criticize. I don't know whats worse, a (false)praise for the girl who's face is stuck on mine, or an insult. I can't stand either.

I'm not the way I am by choice, I just am they way I am. I didn't pick it up from everybody and my personality doesn't change in a crowd. I get painfully lonely a lot and I'll never be popular. Why does no one get this?

I listen to english music because English is the only language I am fluent in. The same reason why I speak the language and watch English movies. My attitude and mannerism then is completely based on books I've read, Hollywood movies I see and the English channels I watch, because I pretty much don't understand anything else. I don't do it because it's "cool", it's in fact, a weakness of mine.

I dress the way I do because I grew up beside my sister - and the number of guys that fell for her are endless enough that I developed an inferiority complex. I mean I look nothing like her, so clearly I'm not that good looking. Very soon, I accepted this and eased the fact into my life. I really did NOT care about my looks, despite what everyone thought!

If I don't talk to you, it's not because I'm arrogant, it's just that I'm painfully shy and I don't want anyone to notice my weakness. I get mortified to talk to strangers, mortified when I'm among acquaintances and I'd rather die than be in the spotlight.

My life is not at all what everyone thinks it is. It is not one bit glamorous, nor flamboyant, it's not even very interesting! I am a twenty-something girl who is too shy to talk to strangers, has serious doubts about herself every single day and takes life rather seriously.

I hate it when someone I trust so much suddenly into the very thing I am the opposite off. One minute the two of us are talking in the back seat about something or the other, the next minute I'm alone in a corner, watching my ex-friend who's at the center of attention - spot-light and all.

It feels like a back-stab. I can't explain how or why, but it does. And it worries me. I have maybe two friends who haven't turned out that way... But is that it?! I keep falling into this hole and nothing I do ever gets me out.

Everyone says be yourself. I always am. And that brings me nothing but misery.