Don't take her away from me.

Leave me the warmth of her hand in my hand,

and allow me the simple pleasure of warming her hand when cold.

Don't take her away from me.

Leave me the soft feel of her fine hair in my hand,

the flowery smell that envelop me every time her hair gently sways in the wind,

and allow me the simple pleasure of burying myself in that intoxicating smell.

Don't take her away from me.

Leave me the two almond-shaped eyes that hold more feelings that I ever will,

the two deep wells that I fall into every time,

two gems that I cannot find the right words to describe,

two beautiful crescents arched upwards every time she smiles.

and allow me the simple pleasure of kissing those eyes

Don't take her away from me.

I am a jealous soul, and also desperate.

What can I say, when I have not much left but her to keep me alive in this world?

Some may say I have everything that I need, everything that one could desire.

But to me I am lost without her; it's when she is next to me I can live, she's addictive.

If you want my limbs, then it's yours.

If you want my eyes, then it's yours.

If you want my heart, then it's also yours.

If you want my breath, even that I can give.

Just don't take her away from me.

2:30 AM

You're the sound of devil whispering in my ears

You're the smell of thieves' footsteps in the darkness

You're the words of a devil's adovcate

You're the burning crisps of paper on cigarette

You're the calling of a drug syringe to an addict

You're the yellowed cigarette filter after a long draught

You're the most roaring fire that's engulfing a household

You destroy you seduce you attract

A succubus? shall we say,

but there's a side of you so beautiful so attractive,

like the wicked innocence of a baby unknowingly decapitating an insect.

so let's dance, dance

on the blade of a knife

ever quicker becomes our strife

foot falls faster our hands interlock,

the weight of our sin will be shed in blood

Chasing Dreams

Needless to say the conversation was like walking on thin ice; or hold I say minefield in the middle of hot summer, because i was sweating professedly despite the bitingly chilly weather. Every dialogue I threw at her she deflected, and every jab I made at her defenses she blocked and repelled, as if she didn't want to be saved, almost.
As if she enjoyed dwelling in her misery. Not that I had any right to know her that deep inside... I saw her that night, just as a poor musician entertaining the gorgeous lady that she was, of noble birth and power and wealth equal to her status. What could I hope for? What WAS I hoping for?

I dunno what song I had played - I was stuck in my past, sucking me away, shackling me, confining me to the bottom part of the hourglass - where the sand sinks and stays there, where the passed time stays - in our memories, confined - loud whistles, loud claps, and call for my name - I was back, I climbed back to the top of te hourglass.

I sat dazed, even as the last note and the clap died away into the smoky atmosphere. I blinked a couple of times, trying to pull myself out of the flow of sand, threatening me to pull me back to the bottom. I tried desperately to drag myself out of the limbo of past and present, but to no avail. My lips reluctantly opened, letting the present access me, flowing into my mouth, circulating around my body - I wasn't breathing - was I hoping to bury myself in the sands of time, dwell in the boulevard of misery and bittersweet happiness? I felt confused. What was I hoping for?

"Thank you thank you... Hope that wasn't too heavy for beginning. Anybody who want a dance here is one for you"

I knotted my fingers together and stretched. They screamed in protest; they were stiff and resented me for not using them for so long. A short tune of jazz entertained my ears. When did I play that last? The memory continue to elude me. As if we were very close, only separated from my vision and my senses by a thin veil of time. It felt so close - only an arm's reach away - yet it did not show itself to me. Sighing, I started playing from the beginning. Uplifting melody rare to jazz started, and a fanfare by the rest of the band(who jumped up to the stage even as I started playing) brought some of the people off their chairs.

As the high from the music and a delicious mix of alcohol and smoke hit me I started to smile. My fingers only protested from lack of exercise but they still danced up and down the keyboard just the same. It felt good.... But higher you go the bigger the fall. Perhaps it was because of such elevated state I was in that I remembered-or was it the memories being cruel to me? The thin veil I started to forget ripped, the corrosive grips of my memories pulled me down again, back where I belong... The lights got brighter and brighter, the pleasant mixture of sound merging into one horrendous cacophony, my body repelled present again, jumping back into the sweet suffocating sludge of past. I was back.

Global Concern

“Alright, thank you everyone and see you guys next week, same time.” I said with dread pitting at the bottom of my stomach. As if on cue, the members of the Korea Without Borders Global Concern(GC) kicked back their chairs and sprinted for the door, their bags and books already packed away 20 minutes ago. I heard one or two swearing that they’d never come back again.

Something had to be done. For the past two months since this Global Concern project was set up I have been trying desperately to make a change that I had so longed to make. If only people will listen! How is helping the foreign workers who suffer from discrimination and lack of health care worthless? Why don’t people give my cause the attention and devotion that it obviously deserves? Isn’t upholding the Universal Declaration of Human rights a worthwhile cause? A couple of weeks more like this and the Global Concerns Executive will intervene, and this project would be shut down. It was now or never.

Then it hit me. They may have feigned interest in my cause, but they were really in it because of the things they could gain from joining my GC, and I can tell you it wasn’t the fulfillment when you help others. They aren’t heartless; they knew that the cause was important. The problem was, my cause wasn’t their cause. It was something you’d look at every day and just pass by thinking ‘oh that’s too bad’. As a leader I had only been asserting my views, expecting others to think the same way I did, without considering other people’s interests. That was a poor example of leadership.

I started to see things from their perspective. I knew they all had traits that made them valuable to our team one way or another. Motivation was the key word here. The inspiration could come later. I analyzed their strengths and weaknesses, then it really came together clearly how to make them work cohesively as a team. I would give the artists jobs for publicity and awareness. I would give the musicians a concert sponsored under our GC. I would give the outspoken ones positions to lead small groups.

Things finally kicked into motion. We held our first fundraiser in January at the school community fair. We raised 300 dollars. It was a start.

A leader, then I came to realize, is not a renaissance man who can make things happen by himself and cause a following with godlike achievements. He’s just a man by himself. He stands out in the crowd because he holds a vision, the big picture in his mind that he will devote his life in order to make that big picture a reality. In most cases these visions are worthwhile, such is the case with my project, but what makes that vision come to reality, is the connection that the leader makes with his vision and the followers. His job is to give the crowd of people a ‘push’ in the right direction to start a movement that will snowball and cause the change that he had hoped to make. I will be that change.

This is actually going to be my university application essay haha. But this sums my experience up nicely.

Believe.

What we believe is what we become. I can't recall who actually said that nor can I remember who told me that. But looking back I know that's true. The image of whatever we believe, whether it be religion, a certain person, a certain model of life or society, will latch onto our minds, our soul, our body and steer us in ways unimaginable, subtly, controlling our subconsciousness and also consciousness to become whatever is that we believe.

Only I realized that too late. No, I realized it yet I didn't do anything about it.

I don't really have a role model. Not a real one anyway. I only have this image of myself that I want to be. A fictional character who, in the future, hopefully become me. A character with a broad spectrum of freinds and who is able to communicate and associate with the whole spectrum of the society. In other words, he has to be the renaissance man; he must be all rounded, multi-talented, and most of all, standing at the center of the society.

I must say it was painful to have that image rendered impossible. I only realized now that to become this character is possible, yet I have failed. The darker side(yes I could not come up with a better name) of life has drawn me in, pulled me captive until I could not wrestle myself free from them.

At the same time I know that there was no such thing as 'identity' for me. My identity was erratic; it wasn't fixed. There was this core 'dark' me that did not change much and yet most of me still swung like pendulum across the range of things that a person could become. It was fortunate that the pendulum didn't swing too far into horrible consequences. And I have to say, it was only due to some people, and one person in particular in my life recently that stopped me from swinging too far into the darkness, until the pendulum breaks and my life lost forever.

And now I must swing it back, to the light and let it swing in the light, not in the darkness.

I see the problem clearly yet I am afraid to face it. To be in the light will be to change who I am completely, give up the ways of life that I have pursued before until my life's worth of identity built lost. I will be lost, to be reforged to become someone different.

Someone unrecognizable even by myself.

It scares me. There is no doubt that I should change. But when I change the thigns will be completely different. I passed many points of no return, only to realize that they are all nothing, except the one I stand now. There is no further to go, except a cliff. To fall down it is to lose myself completely without even the slightest hope of return.

To turn back and go back is to walk through fields of glass and thorns, then claw my way through muck and shit and dirt and all disgusting things, and finally whip myself like the repentants did in the middle ages. I am afraid. Who would not be when faced with killing your current self completely in order to be reborn?

And one most desperate question persists in my mind; what would happen to us?

One person who helped me by maintaining the link between the light and darkness, one person who left me that slight chance to come back, and one person who did bring me back, although not completely. She will be facing someone completely different, if this is to go right. She would be looking at a stranger, even. How would she see me then? Would she be disappointed, approving, loving or scared, can she accept it?

I have no choice but to think best of situations and believe. The situation is more dire than ever, though it sounds very melodramatic. I must persist. I must persevere and pull through.

And I must believe that everything work out in the end.

But you see, for a person who's never had faith in anything else but himself, that is very hard.

God never looked so tempting. To believe in a higher order and being and to rest your soul on that is indeed a tantalizing option.

Can I do that?

Revealed.

First and foremost,

I'm a liar. A damned good one. I can weave words together into sentences that let me get anything that I want. Persuade, coax, tempt, tell...everything. I have built this elaborate world of lies around the closest people. It lifts me up, up from the place that I'm supposed to be around to make me look better, to shroud them in lies that mask my true self, true, disgusting, low, self. The mask, this fake facet that I made just crashed around me. Destroyed in every manner imaginable, destroyed in such a fiery spectacle that it will never, ever hope to be reconstructed.

All that's left behind is ashes and ruins. In a way, it's nice that it all ended. Now it's nothing. No more. It all went out with a bang. And I probably won't be able to build that again. I don't want to return. As feeble as it sounds, I don't want to continue this life of lies anymore. I need to rebuild my lies. It won't work like this again. It can't work like this again. I want a normal relationship with my parents. I need to get everything out of my life. I need to throw away everything unnecessary, evil, dirty, disgusting, bad, everything. At least until I become adults, I need to learn what's right and what's wrong. Not on rulebooks and law codes, but using morals and ethics that I never knew that I lacked so badly in my life. Until now.

How foolish was I to imagine that I was a whole, proper human being? I lacked so many things that humans are meant to have. The worst thing is that everybody was locked in my lies, including myself, nobody could see the true menace that I am. How dare I call myself someone worthy of love? worthy of human? worthy of life? Before I was confident, to the point of being arrogant. Now I am afraid to give myself even the smallest credit. I can't.

I need to restart. I need to rebuild my world. Not a world of lies but a world of truth. I have once built for myself an identity of masks and an identity of lies and superficial greatness to others. That needs to stop now. My identity needs to be straight as arrow and pierce the whole of my very core - it needs to show others as I am and it needs to show myself as I am. The darkness within me is building up too much - it feels as if it's consuming me. It feels as if it's leaking out of the masks that I have built, I have made... I can't continue this. I can't keep this up.

I was too foolish, too cocky to think even for once that I could be on the both sides of the fence. No humans can. Once you enter the darker side of life you can't turn back. But I need to. I feel as if I've already passed the point of no return. But I need to stop now. I need to turn around, come across the fence and stay there. Stay in the light.

I'm afraid to show my true self....I dunno how people do that. People say that to show your true self and to do so without being so afraid I must be proud and not embarassed of myself.

The very fact that I am afraid shows that I have something to hide I guess.

But some things....just some things seem as if it's not bad.....

Is it me too desensitized by the darker side or is it because i've been too westernized?

I need to change....and I wish I could see the world as my mother did.

I really do.....

Endure.

I feel like I'm being ripped apart. Time passes like a bullet when you are having fun, they say right? That ain't wrong. It's actually damn true.

It feels so bad for me to think about all this when I have so much commitments and workloads to juggle around the whole time, and I have two more weeks to keep that juggling going, then I'm off, then at least I'll have only one thing to focus on, though that IFP conference isn't going to be easy.

Right now all I can care about is you. I can't think about anything else. And it sucks that I can't spend a damn weekend with you. I'm sure you are the one who is having a hard time right now, but hon, I have to say it hasn't been exactly easy for me either. It's hard to keep up with what I want and what I have to do and most of all, parents.

I go against everything in the world these days.... I have to keep up with work and my parents which are tiring. The only support I get is you.....as sad as that sounds haha.

as time goes by you are like a drug. I need you more.

And I just learned in chemistry, you build the tolerance for the desired effects of the drug so you must take more every time, but the actual tolerance for the side effects do not increase.

I guess that's what's happening. I need more of you to survive but the withdrawal symptoms or side effects greater and greater....till I overdose lol.

What can I do? Nothing other than endure I guess.

So I will.

Choices.

As cliche as it sounds, everything is made up of choices that we make every moment. Choices can be about trivial things, like how we can choose between cereal and toast for breakfast, and also heavy choices must be made, matter of life and death, crossing the point of no return.

And I passed that point of no return. Now I am headed for a really unhappy ending or really unlikely happy ending. To which one I would go, I have no idea.

I try to tell myself that there's grim hope that the ending may not be so to the extreme; perhaps there's a 'middle path' that I may be able to follow, choose. But I know more than enough by now that this middle path is virtually nothing but an imaginary choice that we like to think that we have.

Thus the fact that I do not like to take up responsibility especially when it comes to love, the reason is quite obvious; as cowardly as it may sound, I am afraid of being hurt. That is the same with other things; the position of responsibility and power is attractive; but the higher you go, the longer the fall. So this time i decided to keep out of it, to stay off it until i'm sure.

To be honest I'm not sure whether I have given this enough thought.

But one thing's definitely sure though:

I am now committed to choice, and I'm going to uphold that. If it hurts, and at the end of all this I can already foresee a broken pieces of hearts on the floor, then so be it.

I just wish the times that we have left before are worth all that pain. Only if we had more time.

Priorities

We all have to juggle so much stuff in our lives.

That we definitely do.

We are forever dancing to and fro

between studies, friends, parents, activities,

and love.

Doesn't it hurt to know,

when your life is heading up,

with your love kindled in your heart,

that it will all go to end

to go down in a fiery crash,

all down to a storm in a teacup.

I prioritized you...

I know I know people told me

I should prioritize other things,

that feelings that come by during these years, are nothing more than transitory,

that they will all come to pass,

that they are unnecessary burdens that blind your judgment.

People call me a hopeless romantic,

a head-over-heel guy,

an idiot who cannot think straight.

I prioritized you.

I can't do anything else than but so.

I am what I am that cannot change.

As much as I would like to change that,

perhaps I should.

But I don't want to.

I prioritized you.

Sometimes I hope all the things I do are worth the effort.

Sometimes I wonder if all the things I go through are worth the whole thing....

Sometimes I wonder if I'm putting in too much effort....

am I? I don't know.....

but I do feel for you. only if things were better....

Waiting.

Warning: this was inspired during a really really overreacting situation.

Now that i look back this is complete nonsense.

I wait.

Sat on my desk,

staring at my phone,

refreshing my email,

staring at my internet page,

I wait.

I wait.

It's been 10 minutes.

She said she'll come online.

Oh wait she has tuition it's probably ending late.

I guess I'll just do more homework.

I wait.

I wait.

It's been 30 minutes.

There is no word from her.

No text message to tell me any news.

I guess she is just busy with her homework.

What if....nah.

I wait.

I wait.

It's been 1 hour.

Nothing yet.

I talk to my friends, wondering the whole time,

where could she be?

What if....no that didn't happen.

I'm overreacting.

I wait.

I wait.

It's been 2 hours.

Nothing still.

Where could she be?

She could be out with her friends...

true that.

But what if her mom found out?

That probably didn't happen.

But what if....

I wait.

I wait.

A call out to her.

The phone is in use.

Oh god. what now.

She wouldn't be using that phone to call anyone.

What could it be?

I panic.

My heart feels as if it was being gripped by someone.

Wait, a message!

She is ok. Thank god.

We are safe for another day....

when can we stop worrying?

We are hiding from the world to be together....

I am not the best boyfriend,

nor am i the best person you could ever know.

But we certainly do not deserve this.

It's time for us to unfurl our wings....

Lest it be broken or degenerate from years of neglect.

A job like mine, you will have no trouble talking to people. Or should I say it other way around? To get a job like mine, you need to talk to a lot of people. Whatever, whether the trait came naturally or it was acquired, it didn't matter then. Not then. It was as if there was a thin veil between us. We were sharing the same atmosphere, breathing the same, smoke laden air and drinking in the same sound, the buzz and the murmur that people create in the background. It was soon pushed out, as if someone turned the sound control knob slowly. Sound faded away, like that of an audience who falls into a respectful silence, waiting for the show-perhaps the most grand-to start. All I could hear was my (suddenly) hoarse breathing and my heartbeat. It wasn't those times when I could just confidently walk up to a girl and start up a conversation, just like that. It wasn't like that. It just wasn't.

Most people were on the dance floor now. It's funny how people just pair up, or at least stay on the dance floor once the music starts - and I bet these people are not even close. I never turned down a drink nor do I hate it, but I always held contempt for people who cannot learn to appreciate the taste or control themselves well enough to stay dignified, as their clothes suggested. Wonders of alcohol. It can really do many things, can't it?

Perhaps alcohol was what pushed me onwards that night. What can I say? I must have fallen into that degrading category myself. At the same time, an air of rejection pushed me away, drawing an invisible line across the space between me and that Sophia or whatever she was. She was hospitable enough, as any host should, answering her friends and politely turning down proposals to dance(that came with much lavish bravado and flowery words that almost brought bile up to my mouth), but what as I silently watched her with a glass of water I noticed something different that others didn't seem to notice. She was fragile.

She was like glass, even with all her bravado and jokes that could make a room full of senile old people fill with laughter, she kept to herself, silently nursing her wound-or should I say 'crack'?- willing it to heal, so that she could become whole again. To be that beauty once again. She wasn't the world's most stunning beauty, but under that smoky lighting, humdrums of the bar and glints of light bouncing off the shiny glasses polished again and again by Jacques she looked beautiful. Not the beauty of a finished sculpture or a magnificent building that took centuries to build, but the fragile beauty of an injured princess, in distress - like the beauty of a broken glass shattered across a red velvet. Perhaps it evoked the cave man instinct in me - the cavalier spirit which brings a man to protect a girl in distress - it propelled me to push against her invisible boundaries and go through.

"This is your party isn't it? I'm guessing you are the hostess."

Slipping off my seat and casually walking towards her I could see her wince and tense, like an wounded animal deciding on flight or fight instinct. Standing behind her, diagonal away from her view as she purposefully moved her eyes away from me once she noticed me coming, nobody will ever know how hard it was to bring up those two sentences to my mouth. She turned around, looking at me she just answered curtly.

"Yes, and you are the singer."

If you look from outside, then you'll know that she is pushing me away. But inside, she looked like someone who needs help. Someone to protect her. Except that she's been hurt, and she's been down that alley before - she was too afraid to make the same mistake. The look on her face betrayed her actions, her intentions. I almost reached out to her, to hold her hand, touch her cheek, gently caress her hair and tell her it's okay -

- but we all know that if I were to do that, then I'd just be a pervert yes? I held my hand back, waiting, just waiting...for something, some word, some action to let me speak and know her a bit more. To find out why she wears that broken expression.....and perhaps, just perhaps, to repair her.

I miss you.

I miss you so much, my love, my dear, my heart.

Although I know that I am being grossly cheesy, those are the right words for now.

I cannot overemphasize that I miss you in my bed every night.

Perhaps project week has only made things worse.

Doomed us to eternal pains in our heart as we have tasted pleasures that will most likely never be permitted.

Dull ache grips me in my heart tonight love.

Not your fault, do not fret.

Only my soul resonates sadly tonight longing for you,

but perhaps that is asking for too much.

I miss your hands,

how they feel in my hand as we walked along many streets,

how it used to make me feel so proud and happy in my heart,

filling it up with desires to shout out to the world

'this is my girlfriend'

I miss your eyes,

how they look at you with understandings that

even the oldest friend sometimes cannot offer,

how they arch down slightly on the sides as they express happiness,

how your eyes shine as I looked at your closed and open eyes while we are kissing.

I miss your voice,

it is not husky yet it is not high and melodious

if i were to comment on it,

I would have to say you have a very boyish voice

Your voice brings life to meanings that words spoken normally do not have.

I miss your hugs,

how your hands will softly trail up my neck,

how your arms firmly held me close to you,

you try to hug me tighter than I, but that doesn't work,

But you hug me with passion that surpasses anything,

seeping though the cold mask of a queen.

I miss your kisses,

when we shared one secretly so that we may not disturb other people and

cherish every second of it,

they are brief, sometimes no more than a peck,

a brush of your lips against my own,

moistening the cracked lips like mother nature does drought-stricken land.

sometimes they may be slightly longer,

passionate discoveries as we delve deeper into each other,

as we almost merge ourselves together, joined at various points of our body.

We ourselves stay in secret,

our secret dance hidden in a ballroom as large as the world yet no one can see,

we precariously dance; I am fire and you are gunpowder,

or I am fire and you are water,

or I may even be a heart and you the knife,

dancing precariously close;

we know our dances will end in possible tragedies.

Yet your kisses are too irresistible,

lips too good to ignore;

and to see your hand is for me to grab them in both hands and kiss it,

to see you turning your back to me means I am strongly urged to hug you from behind, cradling you to my chest.

We are dancing; some times so close that we touch,

yet we pull away again,

exerting tremendous self controls.

Perhaps one day we will not have to fear anything but us.

But love, that is already very risky.

Don't fret, I am here; the risk will be gone by then.

The gunpowder then would be too wet to actually explode,

the knife rusted,

and fire hot enough to stay lit,

like magnesium does underwater.

Don't fret dear, I am here.

One day.

That requires time I'm afraid, and the time we may or may not have.

We do not need to fear;

the time brings with it its promised gift to all;

the end.

but it also brings with it its hectic promises;

twists in fate,

changes in destinies,

and most importantly,

the opportunity and the ability to change our future.

So please my dearest

open your heart to me.

If only you knew how desperately

I wanted to hold you,

comfort you,

offer you my shirt to wipe your tears,

and shoulder or chest to lean against.

Don't fret dear, I am here.

First song is "Kiss the Rain" by Yiruma. Tranquil melody played at higher range gently waved over to the audience. The gentle hubbub of chatter slowly died down to listen to the soft music I was playing. It grows slowly to left hand chords, imitating the gentle melody of rain against the window, with the 'kisses' spread over the whole songs.

Then it grows with passion, the music slowly continues and repeats the ascending and descending melody. Singing out to the audience with its gentle voice, caressing all those who have at once felt in love, reminding us of those bittersweet times.

It's a good song. It touches those people who have felt love before. Under the influence of alcohol, memories come back quicker and stronger. It's good for nights like this. Tonight, we are holding a party for these people. It's some kind of a company dinner, then extended to a small party, for the rich and the powerful, I guess.

The ending returns to the quiet, soft arpeggio....an impromptu by me. I was generously received - lots of claps, a couple whistles, for a song which does not require much techniques nor skills. It's all about choosing the right song, not playing the most difficult song.

* * * * * * * * *

I cannot remember how long it's been, but it must have been over an hour I've been playing the piano. The rest of the band arrived shortly after the first song and played with me. Tonight's theme is jazz, as requested by the host of this party. Quiet harmony of double bass, saxophone, guitar, piano and drums blended into the atmosphere, intricately weaving a fabric which covered everyone so finely, unnoticeable yet the change is so blindingly obvious for the spectators.

Retreating to the bar for a rest and a drink, I was asked to mingle with the customers. A group of curious ladies came and asked me questions. I looked too young - the dress shirt and thin ribbon-tie still did not make me older. After accepting a drink graciously from one of the older ladies, I answered.

"I'm eighteen this year. Why else would I be working here?"

"Eighteen! You are far too young to stay here young man. Shouldn't you go to school?"

"I do ma'am. If anything I work hard, and this is just a bit of extra cash for me. After all, I am legal, and I need a lot more money than before for entertainment, y'know what I mean?"

That remark accompanied with a playful wink did the trick. A soft laughter smudged out from the ladies. A few more jokes and comments on how lovely all the ladies looked tonight came out of me, like an automatic answering machines. Then, I spotted her. She was towards the back of the bar, listening in to the conversation away from the main circle of ladies who surrounded me. I couldn't remember what I was saying.

"Then uh....."I trailed off.

"Then?"

"Uh....sorry. Where was I? I forgot."

"Your story about the foreign countries."

"Oh right. My bad. So I was saying..."

The transition was smooth. While the customers stood up to enjoy their drinks and socialize, some of the tables in the front was pushed to the side walls to open a small dance floor. It was subtle, not very noticeable unless one was paying hard attention to the bars' workers, who are also very discreet. In an atmosphere like this, it was hard to keep track of such things. Now, my job was done, I excused myself and jumped up to the small platform that served as a stage. The general chatter died down as I prepared to invite the host to the stage.

"Is everybody having fun tonight?"

A general murmur of yes, some shouts of agreement from drunk men, some even women. It was all the same, drunk people. They all act the same. It's very easy to entertain them and leave them a strong, memorable impression so that they come back here - you just had to stay less drunk than them.

"Well, I know you guys are from an assortment of rich and powerful companies. Most of the places you people work at are so well known here. Whoever hosted this party must be just as powerful and rich, or even richer - and that man must be happy to have you ladies and gents to celebrate his birthday! Give it up for our host Mr. Wei please!"

A short, pot-bellied man jumped up to the stage. He was in his 50s, no doubt; however he possessed that energy probably equivalent to businessmen in their 30s. He made a short speech(wise man...he didn't bore anyone at all.) and just a short announcement that the party will continue at the mansion for the adults, and the younger people will stay here, in about another hour or two, depending on everyone's condition - more laughter and hoots of challenges to that - I just saw a chance looming up. Instead of being doggedly chased around by some parents, I was probably free to go about and do whatever....ideas certainly started to form in my minds.

With that I returned to the stage... and after some songs, mostly suited to older generation, some old hits, including 'Yesterday' by Beatles as a small joke to the birthday (old)boy, the adults slowly started to move out, probably being transported the mansion - wherever that is - by chaffered cars and limousines. Then the young people, a fair mix of boys and girls of similar age(probably older than me) were left behind a slightly empty bar. Mr. Wei reminded us to keep them entertained for another couple of hours, with specific instruction to stop the drinks if they are too...inebriated.

A different assortment of songs then.

"Alright....well, seeing as I played songs non-stop, except the drinks break, I am out of ideas. Any suggestions, dedications, shout-outs....I am ready to accept them! I will be playing some soft music, until anybody approaches me."

With that, I finished my drink(A small B-52) and chucked the glass to Jacques, who was manning the bar at the time. I could feel glare and I can still swear today that he was cursing. I launched straight into a jazz impromptu, playing a medley of songs which switched whenever I felt like, or whenever I remembered any old songs. One of the older boys approached me to ask whether I could play a slow-dance song. We agreed upon the band playing "Man's first love goes till death", by F.T. Island, accompanied by a dedication to a certain Ms. Sophia.

With no piano part, I was meant to sing. I stood up to take the microphone. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Jacques taking orders from a couple more earnest boys, probably aiming to grab a girl tonight. I'll probably hand it over to the almighty iPod-plug in after this song. I can't sing all songs nor do I know all songs.

"Right," a shush descended down to the crowd.

"Our first song for tonight is 'Man's first love goes till death' by F.T. Island" I hear shouts from girls, as one of the best boy bands in Korean music charts, girls would probably love them.

"Dedicated to a certain....Ms. Sofia." Shouts died down. A curious hush now, the boys and girls looked around, trying to look for the brave boy. One at the back shouted out "Who is it?" and everybody broke the silence, asking who it could be, guessing names, laughter at ridiculous guesses and jokes suddenly filled the room......then died down.

"Should I say the name?" a loud YES filled the room.

"No no no I didn't ask you....-small laughter- I'm asking the brave knight. Should I say the name? Just say yes, and everybody know who you are."

A gruff yes, and then the crowd made way for the boy. He walked out confidently, to Sophia, I guess....I was looking at the whole situation with a slight bemused expression....and 5 seconds later I was burning up with jealousy. It was her. With tremendous self control, I had to keep my face smiling. Later I found out, I was contorting my face into a grotesque expression, nearly. I just decided to stay expressionless. I turned and with a signal to the band, the guitarist started the song. I did not want to see what was going to happen at the moment.

Turning around, I started to sing slowly. Light beat and rhythmical guitar blended to make a mellow atmosphere.

"I don't need to tell you,

I don't need to say I love you all of a sudden for you to know -"

I saw Sophia and the guy dancing slowly. When they turned, I saw Sophia's face; not altogether happy. Could it be that she was asking me to rescue her from that leech? I couldn't leave yet, the song was not finished. My heart started beating faster, this time not from jealousy but because of hope.

"I said it like several hundred times, must I say it?

Why do I have to say it for you to know -"

Our eyes met. Her eyes are a mixture of confusion, fear, sadness....happiness? Her hazel eyes expressed much. I don't know if she was communicating with me, but I'd like to believe that so. I almost lost my rhythm. Hastily catching up, I continued, wishing that the song will be over.

After 3 minutes of what felt like an hour, I was finally liberated. I jumped down, perhaps a little too eagerly. Politely accepting thanks and compliments and smartly evading any dances with "Perhaps in a little while." and "I am not fit to dance with you", I was able to arrive at the bar.

She was sat a couple seats down from me.

As the small digital clock hit 6:00 pm, Pierre walked into the bar. At 5 feet 8 and face like a school boy, he almost looks younger than me. Only tufts of premature white hair stick out at the back of his deep brown hair to tell the real age.

I could be taken for his guardian. To think that he is past thirty years old never fails to amaze me. Looking at the distorted reflection of me on a wine glass that I was wiping, I look a lot worse that Pierre does.

He's our cook. For occasions, we have to prepare finger food for a party or guests. It falls to him then, to prepare all the right stuff. All sorts of Hors d'oeuvre seem to flow out of his fingers to the customers. If anything, he makes hors d'oeuvre appetizing enough for everyone; people come to The Hourglass for the famous range of hor d'oeuvre by Pierre.

Once he has prepared the shrimps, the chips, thin slices of bread and glazed figs, it's sometime around 8. The earliest customers will come in soon. Filling myself with more of the 17 year old beauty and some sandwich made by Pierre(yes, working at a bar does have some of its pleasures) We sat down to wait for our customers for the night. One question passed over my brain like electric shock.

"Uh Jacques...what day is it today?"

Well.... it's Wednesday." he answered casually, as if he was answering an easy question.

"WHAT!"

I forgot to mention. Wednesdays are music nights. We have guest musicians from different parts of the city, the country even, and the customers will have an enjoyable night of music and alcohol, and the musicians will enjoy free flow of drinks that night, provided that they play good music and behave themselves on a reasonable level.

I am a 'fixed' musician. I play every week. One of the reasons Jacques hired an amateur kid in the first place. I should have known when he let me in tonight. I be he didn't have many guest musicians coming in tonight. I bet he was desperate. My face did not change the slightest, but my mind was racing through a 10 km track in 2 seconds.

"I haven't practiced."

"I know."

"You don't want shitty music"
"'Course not."

"I haven't prepared new songs."

"And?"

"My voice is gone."

"Lies. I can hear it still there."

".....please?"

"Nope."

"After all that's happened Jacques?"

"Nope."

"Why?"

"Because, I am your boss. You still have some time. Good luck."

All this time my voice was turning for the worse. I was pale, getting paler, I was almost about to turn sickly blue. But that did not happen. My emotion did not emerge so well to the surface. Not anymore. Once a fruit full of juice, now it has just....dried up. Concentrated sugar and residues of water left here and there, in a wrinkly sack that once was a beautiful, enticing fruit.

I'd like to believe that it is just as sweet as it is then.

But nobody can tell. Not anymore. Pushing the dread aside, I sat down on the small stool prepared for the grand piano. The red velvet cover is draped over its cruel, curvy body. Its black body seems to be waiting, to drag me back into the darkness that once I had mistaken for light.

The life is not kind to me tonight.

To live, to earn that extra dollars to pay the rent and buy myself another canned soup, I'm going to have to play this tonight. Perhaps I could quit this job and find some job elsewhere. Maybe a clerk? I could work as a part time bartender. Or even a teacher for kids.

But that means I disconnect myself from this place. I hate that even more. Why does it have to be me? I did not prepare anything. This is going to be a disaster....and then I'll probably get fired. Never to return here again.

No.

That can't happen.

The velvet slithered over the piano then finally flew up, covering my sight with deep blood red then revealing the work of art inside. It's black, except for the gold letters that etched in "Steinway" across it's front, and the pedals are brass color, giving off the dull shiny light under the glaring lights for the stage.

Mike is lowered in front of me, then a smattering of applause, and then I will start the evening.

This is when The Hourglass starts to flow.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, young and ancient, new and old.

For those of you who didn't know, this is The Hourglass;

For those who wants the time to stop, then hopefully tonight feels longer

For those who wants the time to flow faster, then hopefully tonight feels faster

For the latter I hope it's not because of the fact that you are here.(A slight spread of laughter)

For those of you who wants to know my name may have to buy me a drink(A louder laughter)

No I'm kidding about that.

You may call me as Ikarus. Let's start with an old favorite tonight. Anybody who guesses the song,

You'll get a drink. On me! So try hard ladies and gents."

It's hard to see the audience unless they are sitting right at the front row. The light is blinding, especially when you are getting the spotlight. The Hourglass is not big, like some sort of music hall, but it does still have some basic lightings.

One person did stand out though.

Her face struck me like thunder.

I was all of a sudden all too well aware of myself.

What if I make a mistake? Will she get disappointed?

Will she not come here again and tell her friends never to come here?

If I do this one good, then she will become a regular at here I hope.

Time flies fast when you reenter the mainstream society. Things are going fast as usual. Once you set foot in that rapid, your whole body is swept away by the violent undercurrent. In contrast to my lazy lifestyle before, now I am busying myself. As an assistant bartender, your jobs are numerous; you clear away the chair and stack some in the corner. You'll set the tables back in proper places and places reserved for couples will have a candle on them soon. Jacques is onto rimming the glasses. Like all professional bartenders, he does this with utmost precision yet with speed. He manages to crust the edges with whatever thin and even. Normally it's my job to do those. Tonight highballs will be my job, most likely. They are the easiest to make. And straights, but each liquor calls for different care, like different ladies with different preferences. Missing to satisfy those preferences will likely end up in a disaster; customers are very sensitive about their drinks.

By the time I had cleared the store for business, rimmed the glass with Jacques and finally set up the stage for tonight's visitor, it was dusk. I still haven't bothered checking my phone yet. Jacques watch said it's 5:24.

I haven't had lunch yet. In fact, I haven't eaten anything yet. Going back to rimming the glasses and freezing them, Jacques was now rummaging through the storeroom to find the open bottle of scotch and bring out a couple of bottles of Belvedere. He opened the scotch bottle and took a long swig. When the bottle rim finally came off his lip, the bottle was almost empty. Not that there was much to begin with, but Jacques' drinking habits often surprise me. He closed the cap. then chucked it to me.

"Finish it. I think you need it more than me"

"Thanks. 17s? Leftover from last night?"

"A customer left it behind. Present for us I guess."

"Well, if he can afford a 17 and leave it behind, then he must be rich."

"Well. Does it matter?"

To be honest, this is not some high class bar that attracts the socialites. Rather, we aim to be a little bit more inconspicuous. The Hourglass wants to be a getaway from the society.

Where time flows down like sand in the hourglass slowly, where it tickles down bit by bit, until the sand has all come down.

Where time then finally stops. Where we don't need to worry about deadlines, loan installments, jobs...whatever that nags us at the back of our heads constantly.

Where we break the strong undercurrent that catches us unaware and send us to our time's end. We wanted to do that. Jacques only knew too well that before you knew it during high school you will be applying for university. Before you knew what University is you already had a job, trying to survive in ever difficult situations. If time started jogging in your teenage years, your time starts running in your 20s, then by 30s, your time starts flying. After that, your heydays are over. You will be then a middle-aged man, or a woman, desperately trying to support a family or feeling desolate in your loneliness. Very generalized, I realize that.

I'm just a 19 year old boy. To comprehend what Jacques went through, I would have to experience all that. I still need some time to understand it. But, I still agree that we should all take a break from the society sometimes.

That's why I came to know this place to begin with, anyway.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Did you ever had the feeling that you want to just freeze the time?

Either in eternal happiness that you feel as if you will never experience, or in heart shattering pain that will progressively eat away at you as time goes by, like cancer in terminal stages. You feel as if you want to just hit the pause button. Most people choose the first option. Perhaps it's their shining moment in life. Maybe they proposed and their love just said yes. Maybe they just won a Nobel Price for something, anything.

People say that pain grows as time passes, but then it also goes after a certain period of time.

What if you don't want it to go away? What if you want to wallow in your sadness, because that's the best you have in your life? What if, after all the happiness experienced and pain, the memories are too strong, so that you don't want to lose your connection with the past long gone by?

What if you want to hit the pause button because you want to stay in the past?

With a shaking hand I accepted a smoke from Jacques.

I needed this.

After running back inside several times to grab things I needed to deal with society, I was finally able to walk out the front door of my flat. First thing I noticed was the air. Fresh and cold to the extent that the air runs down my throat with savage fury, it feels as if it is shredding my lung to bits. After getting used to the lukewarm, musky air of my flat, it is indeed fresh, different taste, with traces of society in it.

Definitely tastier, and more painful, than my dusty flat.

Walking down the staircase. The familiar creaks of the wooden boards and badly polished wood splintering under my weight greets me. Once I hated all this. The detestable condition, cracked walls, dirt and mould everywhere...

but now they are just familiar like old creaky chair is after years of use to its owner.

Walking past an old, dirty mirror on the way out of the building, I looked at myself. A shabby man with hunched shoulders and neck leaning forward, I don't look like 19.

With a messy beard covering my face, with tear streaks down my face, with dirty bits of cigarette and food and wine stains over my cloths, I could be 30 and without a job and people would believe me.

From the fresh high school graduate sonny boy that I was,

I've come a long way.

* * * * * * * * * *

Down the 25th street, walk from my flat about two blocks, and then turn to 26th street, then walk another block and a half. You'll find my workplace there. Don't be surprised when you see what it is though. It's not like you didn't expect it. After all, I'm only a high school graduate right?

The place I work at is an oxymoron. Old and new mingle. It's ugly, it's old, it's shabby yet it gives off a rich taste and atmosphere like a middle aged man. What's the word? It's mellow. It's a place I've come to love. It's a place I've come to loathe. Even my feelings of this place is juxtaposition. The variety of music being played here is also a mix of contemporary and classic, mainly jazz, but also others. What we deal with here is also a mixture of new and old. Or should I say young and old?

For those who still hasn't guessed where I work at. Let me enlighten you;

I work at a bar. I'm the assistant bartender, a performer, an entertainer. I am now making my way to "The Hourglass". My watch stopped working a while back. I have not bothered to check my handphone. Time does sort of stop, when you are alone, isolated from the world. A huge stream called society seems to just break part against my isolation and flow by, like a giant body of water parts when there is a rock. What it creates is a rapid - the time around you runs faster than you expect. I don't know how many days it has been, nor the time of the day. It must be sometime just past noon.

Time to take a deep breath. I could have been fired. I'll put up with that. Although that will make a very desperate situation out of me. I pushed the back door as quietly as I can. No need. The door groaned loudly as I gave it a gentle push. Boss will know that I am here now. I am the earliest here all the time. Nobody comes before me. Except my boss, who lives in the flat above. The lights are on. I can hear footsteps, chair protesting against being dragged ungracefully across the floor, and soft mumbles of conversation flowing out.

As are all bars, it is dark in here. It is slightly underground, with just necessary windows for air circulation. chairs, tables are strewn all over the floor. Messy, as usual. Another successful night of full house, I bet. I must have been standing in the doorway for quite some time, as memory overwhelm me. I walked straight into a stationary object. I look up. I see my boss staring down at me with a bemused smile.

"Er.....hey." I managed to choke out.

He still stares with that bemused smile. He just turns and walks away. Did I just catch that sad expression on his face? Just an imagination, most likely.

"The whole place needs some cleaning up. I haven't gotten to freezing cups. Oh, and we got a new set of glasses. Some are flutes, some are shots, some are highballs. Treat them, and freeze some with our usual. You know what to do. Fruits will be arriving at 4. Pierre is arriving at 6." He softly spat out a string of orders and went back to wiping cups. I called out to him.

"Hey Jacques"

"Yea?"

"I'm sorry." There. I said it. Maybe he was holding it all in. I'm his employee after all. How can he not be?

"I expect you to work harder from now on. Your customers missed you."

"So I'm still in?"

"If not, I won't ask you to work here."

So matter-of-fact. At least that saved me by a mile.

It is nothing but a drowsy afternoon. Sun is shining in lazily through a half-shaded window. The curtain's been drawn back for light. Dust particles in the air clearly visible. The air is so thick with dust that to breathe in, you are drinking in a drought of dust.

I haven't opened the window in a while. The sun stings once you open the window.

You'll need the shaded window to stand the sun in this country.

That is not the only thing that stings. The temperature outside is cold. It's 10 degrees celsius.

To open the window now is to be stung by sun and the chilly wind which blows all afternoon.

Laying siege to my house relentless through the night, through the day.

There's a trail of smoke lazily climbing up my wall. It drifts up like a cobra lured by a flute, then dissipates as it nears the ceiling, sucked out by a fan which has lost its ability to purify air, with dust clinging to the fan and the filter like wet wool. I haven't been out in a while. I am running low on groceries. I finished my last can of soup and the last bottle of soju last night.

I should really get up. If anything, I should start heading out. I have forgotten how many hours I've spent on my couch. I sleep, read, watch TV, eat and god knows what else on this second hand, worn piece of synthetic leather and dirty fillings.

I had to sell the bed a couple of weeks back. I couldn't stand it anymore.

All of a sudden my left index finger starts to burn as if a hot iron has been pressed to it. My cigarette has already burned itself down to the filter. I throw it onto the ashtray which lost is function a while back. It's full. I need to empty it, but I don't know where.

I reached to cigarette case on the table. It clicks open, revealing its empty innards.

"Damn it."

I should really start heading out. Staying in this place won't do me any good. I'll only rot here.

My bones crack as I get off the couch. I lost track of time. What time is it? What day is it? How long have I spent locked up here?

As I was walking out, I knocked over the ashtray. It's quite an expensive work, made of crystal. ash and butts fly all over the place. paste made from ash and spit and whatever is splattered across the floor.

I'll clean that up when I come back.

Last good night, Last good bye.

This is my last good night, last good bye.

We all knew we built a castle out of sand.

It was foolish for me to continue, fooling myself

this is a castle out of rock, a castle that is impenetrable, unbreakable.

Stupid illusion that set like engraving into flesh,

Etched into my brain, into my bones.

When an illusion breaks comes the disenchantment of the world around you

Everything looked happy didn't it back then?

Our laughter, our eyes, smallest caress to kisses we shared when we thought no one was looking.

Back then we could smile even in the gravest of situations.

Did you ever realize,

all we did was to cover the problems, cracks showing reality with more paints of illusion?

When darkness shone through the cracks,

We should have accepted it, embraced it, held it.

Use it like Theseus used his ball of wool to get in and out of labrynth

Lead us to the reality that we refused to recognize

We thought we could endlessly paint beautiful drawing where

no contrasts exists

no photo negatives

no darkness

no worries

endlessly repaint and repaint until nothing but our world existed.

All canvas has to be changed after a certain amount of painting has been applied.

You can't redraw things on it forever.

By repainting we have done nothing but ruin our first dream.

Now darkness shines.

Ever larger, ever brighter, ever stronger, ever tauntingly.

Forget our dreams. They held us back long enough.

It's time to set sail again in the styx.

We need to find our way back.

Now darkness shines, ever glorious.

This is my last good night, last good bye.

We all knew we built a castle out of sand.

I need to move away from you.

It's time to set sail again in the styx.

Yet I'd gladly fall asleep in your arms.

This is my last good night, last good bye.

Close your eyes...

Sleep till the dawn...

When you awake I probably won't be here.

It's time to set sail again in the styx,

This is my last good night, last good bye.

Project Week - First impressions

Basically, in the school I go to,(United World College of South East Asia, or UWCSEA) has a program called the Project week for Grade 11s. We have to make our own groups of 3-5 students and plan a trip for a school week to a country of our choice to do something creative, active or social service. It all has to be under the budget of 800 dollars per person, which is the challange.

The teachers do not tell us what the Project Week is about. They only tell us it's compulsory and we have to do it. That being said, I think it's good that they don't tell us what we are supposed to get out of Project Week. The amount of experience you get out of project week is, to say the least, abundant.

Our group of four people decided to go to Xiamen, a small city in the southern parts of China. It is in fact across the sea from Taiwan. A small, typically Chinese city, full of small(by city standards) concrete buildings with tight metal bars for security on each window. some so ridiculously extended out like a giant birdcage. The whole city covers a small hill which is also dotted with numerous brick and concrete buildings of various age and there would be a couple new condominiums(the dream buildings, or their 'new thing') equivalent to our HDBs.

I have to confess, the impression I had of China before I actually went to Xiamen was, well, the least to say, unpleasant. I expected the air to be tainted with heavy smoke from abundant number of still-burning cigarettes and butts, car exhaust fumes from poorly engineered cars and god-knows-what from the factories nearby. However, contrary to this unpleasant image, the Xiamen I saw was quite the contrary. It was foggy, and it scared me for a moment, me thinking that "Oh shit, that's smog, and that's not gonna be good. We'll be coughing our way through the project week.". I don't know how bad the pollution is near the industrial areas or the airport in Xiamen. One thing I do know is that although the cars may lack the catalytic converters(which magically turns exhaust fumes into less toxic gas, such as carbon dioxide, and water) and there are millions of cigarettes out in the street, the air is surprisingly clean. It feels so clean in the hillside, that I thought the air was cleaner than Singapore.

Then we took a cab to our hostel, which was situated in a obscure corner of a road which disconnects itself and continues on the other side of the hill, and various other random places( there are about 3-4 strips of 'nan hua lu', and our hostel is at 42 nan hua lu). Although the cab ride was about 30 minutes long, they charged less than 50 yuan, which is less than 10 Singapore dollars.

A franchise of "International Youth Hostel", our Hostel is a comfortable, if frugal, place complete with a decent lounge, a TV, gorgeous garden and tables for reading and a pretty comprehensive bar. Completely contrary to our expectations, the beds were clean, and the windows had a nice view. When we heard our scout(Lovely's aunt) report that the place looks kinda 'dark' I was expecting a pretty shady place with a bit of dark deals going on in the sides and an unfriendly looking thug at the counter. Instead, we had a very cozy place, and we had a couple of nice ladies at the counter, and plenty of space for relaxation.

My brain fails me here. Will post more tonight, or sometime later.

Questions

It's been about 5 months since the last break up. It's been 3 months since I had a big fight with my parents. No wait. It's been about 2 months. It's been about 1 month since I had a good time with my friends. It's been about 24 hours since I came back down to this place(Singapore) to enter reality and life again from the most memorable time I had with my friends. It's been about 20 hours since I had my last cigarette. It's been about 5 hours since I last kissed my girlfriend. And my heart's been aching for the last 2 hours. I don't know why. A pent up, dull pain holding my heart with a dull grip. is it because I just read a tragedy? Is it because I feel jealous that I can't be what the other could be? Is it because, I can't define what love is yet I still tell myself I fell in it?

What is it? where do we come from and go to? When do we come and go and change? what do we become in the end? I'm afraid. It scares me that in the end, it will all come to nothing but a midsummer night's dream. What do i do now?

I guess, I am to answer these questions so that I am to grow up yes?

That's what they all said.

I wish I could be Holden from The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger and just leave the society for a while.