Youth

They didn't warn me
when I was running wild
the dragons breathing fire
in the backyard at night

we live in circles
and its so hard to breath

maybe the same old fears what have we here
don't bring me down with you

now I'm just chasing time
with a thousand dreams I'm holding heavy
and as we cross the line these fading beats have all been severed
don't tell me our youth is running out
Its only just begun

If I asked you for good news
would you smile and turn away
its like a bad dream that is too afraid to wake

there are many among us
and we're changing all the time
maybe the same old fears what have we here
don't bring me down with you

now I'm just chasing time
with a thousand dreams I'm holding heavy
and as we cross the line these fading beats have all been severed
don't tell me our youth is running out

Its only just begun

 

The Quantifiable Absence

Loss is quantifiable. 

The absence of the stimuli for a loss is quantifiable. 

Because if the stimuli to be lost is inherent, thereafter the presence of the absence denotes a loss even if the stimuli was never present.

*and when I say quantifiable, I mean it in the loosest sense possible. Obviously certain losses cannot be expressed in numerical terms, pffft. You know that, silly*

I went back to Malaysia a few months ago. Apparently it takes me six months and an 'Ah ha!' moment (ala Oprah) in the shower at 1 in the morning to actually make head or tails of my emotional experience. 

Growing up, I've always felt a sadness within me, and I couldn't explain it which made it even worse, because it meant that I couldn't fix whatever was bothering me. 

It was depressing. My teenage years were a cacophony vortex of hormones and tears. Well, mostly tears - the hormones didn't do much of a job and I'm still stuck in a 5'6'' gangly frame and probably will be for the rest of my life. Wa-hay to me! Knowing Malaysia, the heat made it unbearable. At times I felt like the humidity was the force propping up the four walls that held me captive. 

Blood dotted my bedsheets as claustrophobia crept up and I'd itch to free myself. Maybe my body thought that shedding physical skin would offer respite to the psychological strangulation I was experiencing. Anyhow it just made the nights longer, drearier, scarier - as shadows danced against the backlit walls, leaving me with the heaviness of my thoughts. 

Sleep eluded me for the most part.

After coming to the UK things started looking up. That's when I realised, I could never go back. If I did, it would kill me inside.

See, returning to Malaysia gave me a damning reality check. As much as I love and miss my parents, my family, my friends, the hurt I've always felt stemmed from a loss that I never even had, let alone lost:

Freedom.

Not just the relinquish of parental control, but more of absolute freedom. I was physically disabled to a car. I did not have the option of just packing and going. Even then, where would I go? Nowhere appealed to me. 

Mired in solitude. 

It scares me. I remember lying in my old bed staring at the ceiling - and it felt like nothing has changed at all. It felt like the past three years in a foreign land was just a wishful dream. 

And that feeling was even worse.

A man born blind will always be missing the piece within himself of never seeing the gloriousness of a rainbow. Turn a man blind and he will pine for that missing piece - for the rest of his life. 

"What greater torture there is than that which was once held but now forever gone?"