Chronicles of the Lost.

Down this well worn path we tread.
Monstrous antiquities of stone, spying from ancient ruins that stretch endlessly into the horizon.
Silent sentinels that observe in stony disapproval, their grotesque grimaces scant encouragement to the tired traveller.

The weary seek solace in familiarity, that the path most trodden must be the best indeed.
They scry the path ahead, for signs the long departed have left, for portents of things to come.
Examining the notches in the sunken paving stones, deciphering their groans, envisaging ghostly manifestations of heroes long gone.

And these schemes they bedeck with great import, the ritual of their days, solemn and severe.
Eyes never wavering from the path ahead as they continue their endless scrutiny.

But my vision is not so privileged and all I see,
is an endless sea of grey and the bones in ghostly motion.
The bones who are the slaves and they weave your every scheme,
with every stride you take.

Intermezzo.

Solitude is a strange paradox.
In it you find solace, yet because of it you are painfully reminded of the sharp stab of loneliness.
No one to wake up beside to, no one to share a heartfelt laugh with, no one to snuggle up to.

But my heart died that day, barely a fortnight past, and with it the ability to love, the urge to care and the need to elucidate along with any attendant feelings of tenderness. I could probably knife someone who annoys me without batting an eyelid right now.

Funny how the end of an intimate albeit tumultous at times six year plus relationship should evoke emotions no greater than jaded resignation and detatched contemplation. But the memories remain.

And no matter how I resist or turn, in my mind they continue to burn. Forgetfulness is not a balm for the heartless for the cold of heart neither forgive nor forget. But I do not seek convenient amnesia or its fickle embrace for to remember is to live, a silent penance I shall pay for the rest of my life

A testament to love found and lost, of laughs and tears, a folly six years in the making.

Chinese New Year.

With each passing year, the festive mood diminishes for the usual festive holidays. Chinese New Year, unlike Christmas and inspite of all the garish commercial klutz, never failed to get me to get me into that festive mood as I looked forward to a few days of unbridled pigging out and racous interaction with the cousins and relatives. The key word being 'used', cause unfortunately for some reason or the other I'm totally devoid of any festive joviality for this year's lunar new year.

I blame it on work. It kind of puts a damper on anything remotely festive, or perhaps it's just a lack of what aileen so aptly calls it, 'dong dong chiang' music. We'll see, my dad always plays his ancient Chinese New Year tape without fail, during the yearly last minute frenzied spring-cleaning session on the eve. I doubt so.

And yet it's rather weird that I'm in so fey a mood, this artificial high and lightness in the spirit probably induced by the prospect of the upcoming long weekend and the ability to go berzerk with no reservations at the annual gastronomical reunion dinner. After all not everyone gets steamboat with DIY barbeque as well as a whole host of other cooked dishes to choose and pig out from at their reunion dinner. Granny as always is such a chum for being able to feed her ravenous brood of kids and grandchildren. Ooo and the booze!! Ha ha.

About time to pack up and call it quits till monday. With this, my dear readers, I leave you to your devices. Enjoy the drunken revelry and gastronomical debauchery which so oft precedes the eve of a festive holiday especially one as mammoth as Chinese New Year. And for what it's worth, Happy Chinese New Year.

To the celebrants, food, drink and the astronomical chance of sex (for most people seem to want to do some celebratory 'loving' on the eves of festive days) await, so enjoy. Adieu.

For Play

Play wasn't bad, the music was decent, the company good. Even if I didn't booze up half as much as I would have liked to (1 Gin tonic, 1 Black Russian and some champagne - meant I remained woefully sober), I still enjoyed myself. But that's not what I'm blogging about. The night would have been a lot better if not for someone. That someone being my ex, W.

I'd lost touch with W. some years back. Not that I was particularly sorry. As I've mentioned in my earlier entry, during the short time I was together with W., my impression of him was always of an intensely passionate but brash, flirtatious and downright egoistical chap. Which obviously proved to be a toxic cocktail for any relationship.

So anyway, we were just getting started on the drinks when I noticed W. walking by and talking to a friend (whom he later disclosed nonchalantly was just a passing fling) so like what any normal person would do to someone (who isn't a hated individual) whom they haven't met for a long while, I tapped his shoulder and called out his name.

Upon which he turned around and calling out my name, proceeded to get all touchy feely with startling alcarity. One would have thought we were newly attached lovebirds and not distant exes from the way he groped. So naturally, I pushed him away. After all, what kind of guy just goes up to an ex he hasn't seen for what 2-3 years and goes all physical and expects him to accept such advances without batting an eyelid.

But he was obviously high and would not be deterred, going on in that brash obnoxious way of his. Ranting on how about how he missed me yada yada yada. On hindsight, a tight slap would have been in good order. Though that would have pretty much ruined the mood for the rest of the night. The dancing was nice but that was about it. And caving in to his constant badgering to share a cab back with him was probably the stupidest decision I've ever made this past year.

Whatever. Just talking about him makes me ill. I've always been a very physical person myself, I thrive off physical contact. Being touched by and touching a person one finds attractive is always to me an incredible turn on. Yet it's strange how totally turned off one can be upon receiving the aforementioned physical contact and advances from the wrong person.

There's a good reason why exes remain exes after all. And that night at Play, just reminded me why nine years ago, I ended the relationship with W. Brash, shamelessly flirtatious, over-confident, egoistical, obnoxious. Bye bye W.

My Favourite Poison.

I must agree with J. , this quiz is surprisingly accurate.... Never liked lychee martinis, though between a martini and a Black Russian, I'll usually go for the latter first. Yum. Still rather partial to my gin & tonic though. At least I get to slake my thirst this weekend, haha. Play, anyone? ^^

You Are A Martini

You are the kind of drinker who appreciates a nice hard drink. And for you, only quality alcohol. You don't waste your time on the cheap stuff.Obviously, you're usually found with a martini in your hand. But sometimes you mix it up with a gin and tonic.And you'd never, ever consider one of those flavored martinis. They're hardly a drink!

What Alcoholic Drink Are You?