by A.

my heart flutters
to hear her again
to see her again
but it is resolved
this is not a love song
my heart flutters
to meet her again
to speak to her again
but it is resolved
this is not a love song

i'm from the other side
a side no one truly belongs
because it is my side.

someone like this.













it's not very good to be so jaded at 25.
but it's a very uplifting sensation whenever I stare at the ground.
I see more when I look down.

the perfect song for now is...

I wish you blue bird...
in the spring
to give your heart, a song to sing
and then a kiss but more than this...
I wish you love~
I wish you bluebirds in the spring
And in july a lemonade
To cool you in some leafy glade
I wish you health
But more than wealth
I wish you love
My breaking heart and I agree
That you and I could never be

in the occasion of meetings,
it's weird how one comes and goes
how it repeats continuously or ends permanently
how do I feel as the unchanging person (I am still L. E. H. Alvin)
but each day I grow older
and my heart grows colder
but these externalities come back to surround you
so the unchanging me has to face them, and give some semblance of change
believe me, i come to conclude that innately, I am who I was, a year old or 25 years old. and I will be who I will be. the only changing person is the responsible or social creature that I am. A responsible, responsive person having to deal with alterity. (even non-response is a response, and probably a rude gesture!)

*song fades*

the unchanging person is neither happy nor sad. it just needs attention (self or external)
Da-da or a loud wail.
a soft smile or a giggle, amused by the clown face of an adult.
yes. life is completely captured by the first audible/recognisable aural sign: DADA.

it's amazing how far (and weird) I can go with my self-psychoanalysis.
after all, now it is a period of anxious interludes (maybe too many) but absolutely necessary.

remember the carousel you used to admire from a distance?
and finally when you got your dollar from your parents, you rode on those stationary horses, you pretended that you were moving (or flying), as if to some fantastical land, riding these perpetually smiling horses.
then as you grow up, at some point you realise (not very consciously thought out though) these brilliant creatures have not only been domesticated, they have been plasticised, and firmly stuck to the rotating wheel, when you move in circles, merry and going round and round. you get the idea.
and in case you didn't know, they were first used to train horsed combatants.
how apt.

life has its mischievous moments to remind you how we both like to domesticate and destroy nature and its inhabitants, but also in turn how we domesticate and destroy ourselves by going in circles on mindless machines and repetitions.
i usually laugh whenever I think of this.

but of course, the old school carousel has already been effectually phased out by modern games: e.g. F1.

they have a time and a price for us to pay for that moment of thrill and joy. but soon, they leave...leaving just memories...sometimes we remember them fondly, sometimes grudgingly...but we always response to them some way or another.

i am grumpy because i love to be.
it's a stable state to be: not happy, not sad...and a grumpiness that has no reason.
just skeptical and opinionated over...opinions. evaluation of evaluations.

what does it mean to like someone?
to acknowledge an ideal love and continuously strive for that ideal?
lack of commitment to love?

no...it's:















they come and go because to like does not require an absolute eternal duty.
a responsibility, even ethical, to that someone but mostly to the emotional (maybe even rational!) self who likes first without return (or return). and it's always a chase. chasing those falling pearls from a string. and you don't quite remember how many pearls were there in the first place. in this case, they are wooden horses, dismantled from the moving mechanism, leaving to some other town for a fun fair meant for a different group of folks. THEY MOVE ON, without a choice. And you can't catch up. so you move on too. to like is such a fleeting sensation. a movement and not a rest, unlike to love.

I can't help but notice the surtitles: (Engine starts).
any movement, arrivals or departures have a locomotive force. something or someone who drives it.

my engine starts. my mediations are edifying, for as long as they last. so to depart or to arrive, it is an interpretation. I enjoy being emotional now because they motivate writings. and they do well to build up my future discourses and narratives. There is a difference now. I am mastering it for a cause.

K.(s) ! I'm coming after you.

---
by A.