Come on baby we're gonna live forever

Let me show you all the things that we could do
-----------------

all the world(:

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February's end

It's been a long, long week.

Everything from Tuesday on became a drawn out string of Soap Opera episodes. Soap Opera in that, there were a lot of things where I found myself just going through the motions. Getting from point A to point B to point C.
And not in anyway that helped to take my mind off things actually.
But plans had been made from a while back. And for some things, it's easier to use the spin of the world to take you away instead of stopping to sit down and let it wash over you.

That being said, I must point out that there were things this week that I enjoyed immensely.
Erika-Charis Day, on a Wednesday afternoon for one. Not just because we got to spend time but because I like how we often spend time together lazing about and not doing or even saying anything. It's important to me, being able to do things like that with someone.
And we do.
Further strengthening our belief that we both can't have jobs.
Dinner with her Boys and their girls with Zouk that followed was a lot of fun. They're a fun bunch to hang out with, in all honesty.
Okay, I could've done without walking all over the place for the sake of super cheap booze that I barely touched. Or sitting around near a bridge with like, an immense amount of people looking grotesque and drunk and peasant-like.
But all in all it was fun(:

Another thing I enjoyed immensely was my Thursday with Vicky. We went for The Final Showing at La Salle, which was three hours of scenes and excerpts, sections of bad singing, moments of stupifyingly horrific warbling but mostly, this huge awareness that
I really miss acting. I miss acting and performing and thinking about absolutely nothing else besides throwing myself completely into a world that I, that we have created.

So yes, that was my Thursday, ending off with dinner. And I always do love our dinners together.
We were talking about it and we realized,
"Bloody hell, we'll have known each other for almost half our lives soon!"
I like how it is with us.

(:

Uhm.
The weekend came, but it sorta didn't, really. And I didn't get an early night or a late morning.
Honestly, I'm struck by how tired I am. How this <em>is</em> taking a bit of a toll on me. As much as I hate to admit it.

It's startling, how quick your weekend passes when you've only got one day of it. And trust me, it's a thought most distressing on both Fridays and Mondays.

My Sunday morning was nice-
Horse-time, green field-time. Church-time, family-time (both hers and mine). And that was nice.

Everything from tomorrow onwards promises to be hectic, tiring, draining, stressful, scary, fun, exciting, new, overwhelming.
I don't know if I'll know how to do it. But I'll keep my fingers crossed and hope things work out.

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The sound of an ache

No, I don't think it seemed it very often-

that I loved you.

I dissed you, pushed you away. I called you stupid, in all affection, but a lot of times, not.

I got annoyed by you, loved you, irritated by you, infuriated sometimes, found one who wanted to cuddle when Buttons didn't.

No, no, it didn't seem it very often, that I loved you.

And I'm sorry.

I am so, so sorry.

I picked you up, I took you home.

But then I picked the moments I'd stay for your affection, the moments I'd give in to your need.

And I'm sorry.

I lost you.

I lost you less than a week ago.

And then you came back.

I talked to you, hung out, spent time and thought, "at least now I can fix it."

And as I found myself pushing you out of my room yet again I caught myself saying, "In just a bit okay?" Except, I never would get back to you.

I'll see you, I always do anyways.

Two days, you were home. Two days.

I've lost you.

And now you won't come back.

And I talked to you, held you, and thought, "now I can't fix it."

I'm sorry, Fishbone, I am.

The biggest part of this ache is filled with the knowing of all that I should've, could've done.

Now the only thing I've got left to hold on to is the tiny comfort of a thought that, at least I held you before you left.

That at least you went, while we held you.

I'm sorry, I really am.

You deserved so much more than I ever gave you and I'm sorry for that.

I'll see you, I always do anyways.

Right?

When I hadn't yet gotten used to your return

I held him first.

So tiny and full of fight.

Picked him up and lost him as he tried to be.

Picked him up again and said, "You're safe now." And I wanted him to be safe, I wanted him to be safe with me.

I say now that I shouldn't have. That maybe I was all wrong in doing so.

But then, he needed me. He needed me then, and I needed him to need me.

I held him first.

Bigger, and losing his fight.

Warm.

Picked him up.

Picked him up and lost him, as he tried to be.

Picked him up and said,

"Mommy's here now."

The way I should've more often. The way I hate myself now for not doing when I could.

The way I wonder why I didn't.

I held him first.

Picked him up.

Picked him up and lost him as he tried to be.

Picked him up and wished for him to believe, "You're safe now."

And I wanted him to be safe, I wanted him to be safe with me.

Don't you make me spin

I don't say this enough but-

I like how we talk. How we get each other. How I can lie beside you on a random grass patch.

I like how, when our words come out, they find each other. Sorta like little people running into each other and going, "Hey dude! We're wearing matching outfits!"

I like how different we are, but how we have similar takes and opinions. How we take in each other's perspectives, how we're able to see.

How we try. I like that, I like how we try. And how we want to.

It often takes me aback but, I like how I want to.

I like how we don't talk. How we sit. How we find swings or sand or water.

Trace words on each other's back and whisper things we don't always catch.

I like the way you are with me. The way I find I believe you, the way I trust, the way I'm allowed to be.

I like the way we are, and how we've found ourselves.

And uh,

I kinda like you

(:

It's constant

This battle.

And most of the time, it's against yourself

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The only thing in the world

I want to hold you. Hold you, promise you, keep you.
Exactly the way you manage to keep me.

And there are so many words I have heard, fit for this place we're in. Except those words were used like knives, like bullets, like bits of myself breaking apart and thrown back at me.

Sometimes when I find a word, a word I'd like to wrap up and give you,
Shadows catch me by the wrist, twisting my arm behind me. And I am falling-
Pushed to the ground by the sheer weight of all the double-meanings lined in all these words.

How do I say words that I wouldn't believe if someone told them to me?
Then I run myself into a brick wall until I can't distinguish one type of pain from the other.
Still. I'm left with words and what I want them to mean. And what I want them to mean to you.

And what I don't want them to stop meaning to me.

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I hate being scared

"What's wrong?" He asked. Was that genuine concern I saw in his eyes? "Why're you scared? Am I scaring you?"

Except I was too scared to be honest.

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Joke of The Day

Here's something funny-

I want to destroy myself. Go up in smoke.
But I don't think it'd be nice for little children to come to a teacher who's not there.

Isn't that funny?
I think it is.

I actually think it's hilarious.

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Dear whoever you are

Why does it feel like this? Like everything's going wrong.
Like I can't hold on to anything

Like I'm falling apart?

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Rabbit Hole

Becca's lines make sense
I need to find Becca's lines
Need to

A bit at a time, Charis.
But I don't always know how to come back to things.

When I open boxes, I take a while to sort out its contents.

I scare myself
Play games against me that I can't win. And I know this. That there's no winning. That losing on both ends doesn't make sense.
But I've always taken sides against myself.

So I write and talk about everything except.
Not because I can't deal with it (or so I tell myself), but because I know that when I open boxes, there's a kip waiting for me to go back to.
And all I do

Is
Run

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Open and shut

boxes. these boxes.

my boxes.

I don't know how to deal.

And I don't know if I will learn to.

I don't know what it takes and what it will take out of me.

So I shut the lid before I get in too deep, shove that fucking box back into its quiet, dusty corner,

pull the covers up,

and turn myself away from the burn marks like branding, like scars, like dirt,

right underneath every single fucking bit of my skin.

Find me

Stop, start. Start again

Like pens kicking, like cars screeching to a halt.
Trains picking up, like they'd never stopped on those tracks.

I'm here, and then I'm not. And I come back.
Sometimes I'm bothered, sometimes I try to scratch things out from under my skin,
And sometimes, words wash over me leaving me unfazed.

I like what we've got.
And if only it was easier for those on the fringes to understand.

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It's Sunday

I'm always a little bit daunted when I think about the Monday that will come, and the days that will follow Monday.

Not because I don't like what I do, everyone knows how in love I am with my job. It's just that Mondays always feel tiring, even before they've rolled around.

My weeks though, they whirr past me in a blur, and more often than not, before I know it, I'm looking at Christmas lights and going shopping.

Alexis has signed up for BootCamp II's June intake.

I don't know what to do with myself.

Yes, for right now I'm focused and I know exactly what's happening.

There is SYF, there are my kids and I love them to bits. When I just finished Actors' Boot Camp 1, I sorta thought, well it's so film-based that I could do without it.

And I can.

In the long run, I don't suppose I need it.

But I think what I get out of it is being chucked right into something. Watching myself find my footing, watching other people find theirs. Sussing things out, growing, finding yourself and watching others find themselves too.

I'm not in LA.

and no, I don't think I'd want to break into the LA market. But there are things that I miss and that I have been missing.

I haven't been acting for such a while, it gets to me. I watch my kids, day in and day out. I watch them, I make them watch me and I'm thinking-

I could do this.

Give me something small, let me play with it. Let me sit down with my character, dissect expound and expand. Let me give her depth. Let me do it.

Let me bring her to life.

It's not for a lack of opportunities. It's just that. I sorta really don't have the time.

Not for me.

Feels like I've been on the freeway this last four years. And damn right, it's the right one. But different exits keep coming up and I'm refusing to let myself be distracted or side-tracked. And at the beginning, that was a good thing.

Now I'm old and I'm still going eighty and I'm thinking-

"I thought my life was supposed to be made up of all these things I'd find when I take random exits."

Except I just didn't after a while because it's easier to keep to the road you're on and give yourself excuses to not go off for a bit.

Two months ago was my last Sunday in LA. Three months ago was a Sunday I spent recovering and baking and walking about. At least I think that was it.

I came back here, to Singapore, after a while away. Just sorta chucked my suitcase in a corner, rolled up my sleeves and jumped right back in.

I haven't given myself time to miss what I left behind, have actively refused to sit down and think about what'll come up after May.

Sometimes, all I realize-

I don't know. I don't know anymore.

That makes me a tad insecure. But more than that, it kinda makes me a bit sad.

We be your new clubbers

So we went to Zouk.
I don't mind Trance, to be honest, but reaaaally, not so early on. And definitely not like the entire night.

It ended up being one of those nights where I'm sober as a stone and Vicky's jumping around going, "You're not drunk enoooooough."
No, I'm not a dancer but I do, sometimes, depending on the music. And I just can't if ALL that's playing is Trance.

For the first time ever though, I did not spend most of the 23dollar night outside smoking because I happened to be in the company of an equally undrunk and non-dancey Erika. And that was actually quite nice because I am, more often than not, the bane of Vicky's crazy-dance-nights, with my fedup looks and constant smoke breaks. Hahahaha.

Soooo. After deciding not to rub up with slimy people in Phuture, Erika picked my last drink (for a non-drinker, I'm amazed at the concoction I was introduced to^^ ). And then, we went home(:


with the taste of redbull-contreau left on her lips

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My everything

My sanity, my smile, my happy pill.

The one thing that calms me, holds me (even when you're not right here).

One who has me believing, trusting, re-thinking. Who has me talking about things I'm pretty sure no one wants to hear.

Who's enough, who knows exactly what to do. My word, knowing just what it takes to make things better.

Oh, you have to know,

you're absolutely everything

"You don't quit. You just stop for a while."

Today, different alarms started going off after 5:15am, at random intervals.

I was up by 5:43am, and have not stopped since.

The two hour in-between classes, I spent working. The hour and a half I had between my last class and CCA, I travelled and then spent leftover time working some more.

My last class started at 3pm.

I gave them a five minute breather in between, during which I continued on the other script I've been working on.

My last class ran over by over half an hour.

But my day, it was good. It went fantastic, especially compared to yesterday.

My classes were smooth, sure my voice will go, but things were where I needed them to be.

By the end of the day though, my brain sort of wasn't.

Dazed, I crawled into a cab. Fighting the urge to open up Maxine.

We had dinner, the family and I. We got home early.

And the little creature and I, we laughed and spazzed and things were sort of okay.

I'm tired too.

Of holding myself back from things, of holding up walls, of pushing things forward.

I'm tired too, you know.

I'm tired too.

and after that single hour, that single hour in ages that I sat down and properly watched telly with The Little Creature, that single hour I allowed myself to breathe,

I'm back here doing work.

Don't. Okay?

Don't.

Don't walk in and throw accusations at me when you do not, and I say this with absolute certainty, do not, have the slightest inkling of the deadlines that I'm up against. Of the things I need to do in order to meet those deadlines.

I'm sorry that you're tired, and I'm sorry that I don't help out very much.

But I'm struggling to keep my own walls up and to keep my own floor from caving.

I'm sorry that there is, and has, and will always be just that little bit more that I could've done. That I could do or that I can do and that I don't.

I'm sorry that there is absolutely nothing I can do that might possibly be enough for you.

I'm sorry, okay?

Now, I would sit here and be a little bit more upset except here's the thing-

I've got a deadline to meet and I simply do not have the time. Not for this, not to feel like this, and not to sort out these feelings.

I don't have time because, just like in between classes and in between schools and in the five minutes break within a class,

I.have.work.to.do.

The last day

Always comes a bit sooner than we're prepared for
Is painful
Is real
Feels like you're leaving a part of yourself behind.
And you are.

Full rounds and goodbyes-

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This

isn't working.

Shit, I miss you.

Crème brûlée & Jello

New additions that come in the form of eight minute stories.

The first person who I said it aloud to was curled against me as we picked out the font by means of elimination.

I smiled when she got it, when she understood.

I guess sometimes I get to a point where I'm afraid I just sound like I'm justifying the ink I want to get. Or like, my reasons don't seem enough (to other people) to warrant making it permanent.

It's prettier than I imagined it.

And there's so much behind this piece.

Is love!

Happy 2011 y'all(:

Chinks for Chinks 101

"So when are you going to spend time with her family?" Mommy says to me over lunch.

Mommy amuses me and makes me smile(:

We're chilling out before we do the crazy run-about and packing up.

I love my family. Everyday I love how much I love them.

And it's just us. And that's nice.

Even though my mommy can get irate and frazzled during seasons like the one we're in now. I suppose it's sorta like a peek into the future. Figure I'll end up being quite like that too.

I had a very interesting chat with the cabbie on my way to work today.

But I'm supposed to be chilling out now.

And chilling out doesn't involve being on Maxine for an hour.

Miaow.

Things falling into place

The way I sketch out set designs on your bed while you shower,
how you hang up the laundry while I adapt scripts,
Writing while you draw out cross-poles and design lesson plans,
Folding laundry while you play with your lego.

Long bus rides to random spots on the map. Plugged in, blocked out from the world but still tuned to the other.
Notes scrawled and left, collections of polaroids and ticket stubs to places we've been.

I don't know how we got here, but it's nice.

Where you're there to hold my hand through the screaming self-doubt, and where I give you enough reason to want.
Where we both look back at what we've had with others before and try to figure how it is that all this can be new.

Quiet, over dinner. the taking out of boxes, while lying on random grass patches.
Pizzas that find themselves whole instead of missing a piece.
And oh,
the sound of your smile on a rainy afternoon as you stare out at the road.

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Meanwhile, On The Other Side Of Town

She's looking out at the downpour and smiling.

Foil stuck in her hair as she picks out locks to highlight, and a hair clip holding random strands and locks together.

The blanket is warm, the room cold, and she is snuggled tight against another.

Their fingers laced, their legs tangled, their breathing even.

They wake, to sleepy hellos and half woken words tripping out of their mouths.

Breaths caught between lips, invisible words written on skin and the secrets of rainy days whispered into each other's ears.

They're all there is;

an entire world, a collection of stories, boxes of pictures, fistfuls of scars.

Rainy days and Mondays(:

Meanwhile, on the other side of town.