Do you see the light?

It is just so easy to slide back in the world of muck. Just be a complete pig and there you have it. I have vowed, haven't I? I intend to stick to it. I may forge alliances, some new , some jaded but I shall not wallow in the world of mud/muck. I aspire to a different breath of ideas and concepts not conventions and tedium. Some people tend to conform to a set of tradition set by the ruling majority and expects the community to follow rigorously. I beg to differ. Give me something new, something that knocks the senses, an idea that I can train my shifty mind on, a whole new aspect of enlightenment and intellectuality. Something thought provoking. Kafka-esque, Jung-ism, spiritualism, divine intervention. Just give me - I'm game.

So bite me...

It has been almost five and a half years since that fateful day when I was diagnosed as having dengue and admitted to the GH. As of now, H1N1 has taken its toll and currently on the rise and so the threat of dengue has somewhat taken a backstage. Bitten by an infected mosquitoe, one should never underestimate the power of the tiny, helpless insect. I was plagued with diarrhea and having projectile vomiting, not to mention those weird fever that lasted for a week. No matter how many aspirins I swallowed, it just wouldnt pipe down. Feeling weak and feverish and hopelessly shivering at times, I seriously thought that I had contracted AIDS or STD for that matter (there is always a first time). Couldnt move a muscle let alone shift my arse to the kitchen to prepare those daily meals. I still went to work at that time, thinking that paperwork and meeting students would ease this malaise. I was wrong.

Back at the workplace, my colleagues commented on how pale I looked like and lifeless. Generally I was chirpy and full of zest (so they claimed)..yeah, I wasnt feeling randy at that time anyway. My joints ached and it took such will power not to puke at people. The doctor gave me a one-day MC and decided to run a bloodtest on me. I went back hoping that it was just a silly fever, or something that I ate which did not totally agree with my guts. The I got a call from my GP saying that my platelet count was 35 and that it spelled danger and confirmed dengue. Holy-schmoly. I called Hon. and related to him my clear and present danger and luckily he agreed to send me to the hospital. On the way there, I ranted and raved and told him how I had decided to declare war against all types of mosquitoes, culex included.

I have always hated hospitals, of the way each nook and corner smelled of imminent death and antiseptic. That night I found that First Class ward was full, thus denying my privilege as its occupant. Instead the nurse on duty ushered me to the Third Class Ward and lo and behold I became its seemingly-patient resident for the next 6 days to come. I couldnt even begin to portray the situation in ward, beds are put close side by side, bored patients wandered aimlessly, nurses on call hovering to and fro, doctors making round calls - they looking so sterile and know all, ignoring the lesser types of human being, that is me. I huffed and puffed at my misery but then again beggars cant be choosers. They took my blood, hooked the IV drip and thus denied me of my freedom and mobility...I was therefore a prisoner, tied to the pristine white bed (how many have died on this same exact bed I wonder?). I had never felt so lonely and forlorn in my whole life. Hon. left a message that he would bring some spare clothes and undies the next day. My depressive mode told me that I should be left alone to suffer and die a slow horrible death. I couldnt sleep a wink that night, the ward was alive with people scurrying to and fro. Sheesh, bed time was not a priority here I guessed. I automatically reached to turn off the night lamp and suddenly realised that I was in the hospital. I cursed my nocturnal routine for catching me unawares.

The next day I was subjected to yet another blood test. I cringed and I contorted my face and cursed silently for I didnt mind needles but the sight of blood, so sanguine and fluid turned me rabid. The doctor tapped my right arm and smiled complacently. I wished to show her my fangs (filed to sharp points) so she would quit taking my blood again. All in all during my stay there, I was under the mercy of the needle as many as 12 times. Yes, thats the number of times they took my blood, oh those bloodsuckers who came to me disguised as doctors in white. For all I knew, they could be Grim reapers or Count Vlad's minions. Breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner were served unceremoniously in Ward 3. No feeding from the silver spoons or anything fancy like that. Instead they came to us and practically banged down the food trays and seemed to threaten me with their fiery eyes: "Eat or perish". Being left helpless and without any armours to defend my frail predicament, I willingly wolfed down every single victual that they served me. No complaints no nothing, only wishing that they would do a major facelift to the menu. Renovate the fish, designate the vegetables or restructure the chicken. In my mind I wanted to hold a self-made banner that proclaimed: YOUR FOOD SUCKS, SO SUE ME!! I swallowed the devilish image and continued smiling and shovelled the food religiously, after all...beggars cant be choosers. My mantra that kept me sane for the whole duration of my surreal stay.

Hon. paid a visit on the third day bringing me MCDonalds, yeyyy!! Sustenance and relief. I couldnt thank him enough. I nearly wept, nearly... with extreme joy. I ate like there was no tomorrow. He brought along some fresh clothes and commented on how au naturel I appeared to him. Oh please, I looked like I had been shipwrecked, dishevelled, crumpled, grumpy from my ordeal with the mosquitoe. I hadnt had a decent bath for the past three days and I must have stank to high heaven. I couldnt bath because of the miserable IV drip plus I hate to drag it to the toilet and share my shower moments with the IV drip keeping vigil. No way Jose. Ironically enough, I hadnt a single zit on me all the while I was there. I didnt use any gommage on me or facial wash. My face looked like a beacon for those cataract-rheumy eyed oldies in the ward, the facial oil was amazing, not to mention the shine. I winced again at the thought of losing myself in the crowded ward.

My siblings paid a visit bringing bottles of 100 PLUS isotonic drinks. "Drink it up, it should help you to wash away those toxin"...I thanked them for their concern. My parents came too, eyeing me warily. My mum whispered to me that I should atone for my sins, that the plague was one sign from God for me to repent, repent and repent. I smiled weakly at her (minus the fangs now, you must have respect for the elders) and promised that I would turn a new leaf. My colleagues dropped by and stayed away from touching me (haha) for fearing that I would transmit the disease to them. Silly them! But I understood their fears and willingly restrained from placing my dengue-riddened hand on their puerile sterile sans dengue bodies.

On the fifth day I was feeling a whole lot better, been moving alot and making contacts with fellow dengue patients. My platelet count had risen to 110 but I was asked to stay for another day. I sighed and whined and cajoled the doctor in charge but unfortunately, her heart being carved from stone and all that, my request to escape from the prisonlike walls was denied ungraciously. At this point of time I was screaming bloody murder and vowed to run amok and practically annihilate all the patients. I returned to the bed and took up reading Stephen King "Carrie". My senses were jolted abruptly when from the far corner of the room, a wailing issued forth. Somebody had died, an old woman it seemed. The cries of the family members escalated to a sad, ululating mournful cries of anguish. They were hysterical and I couldnt help but wander if I were to die at that moment, would my family cry as loud as them? I tried to concentrate on the book but found my aspirations had gone astray. During my stay there, there were as many as three deaths altogether. All of old age, so I reckoned I might get lucky (fingers crossed). Suddenly, there was a tap on my left arm. "Ambik darah ye dik"..sheesh, these bloodsuckers never rest. I shoved to the doctor the much desirable arm and willed for the prickly sensation to go away.

On the sixth day, my reports came through and I was given consent to go back. Oh what joy oh what bliss! I could almost have written a sonnet there and then for the sheer pleasure of being free. I waited for Hon. to fetch me and whiled my time away by observing the people in the ward. So thankful was I for my newly found health. "Dah boleh balik dah ke ari ni?" the lady beside me asked tentatively and I nodded, too happy to answer her. Words would only belittle the state of epiphany that I was in. Hon came and together we walked out from the ward. I could almost swear that Nessum Dorma was playing in the background. Giving a sidelong glance at the entrance of the hospital, I breathed a sigh of relief, my steps bouncy and there was actually a song in the air. I celebrated my condition and thanked God that I was allowed to live till today.

One Liners

One liners that need revising when ur dating...

One liners, come-get-me expressions or come hither gabs are super if only they are executed well given at the right time and place. Would any of you girls/ladies fall for any of these liners? Some are just so deadly banal, some are witty and comical. PICK-UP EXPRESSIONS:- 1. "Hey, you'd better get away from the bar, you're melting the ice.

2. Finish your drink...you're taking me home.

3. You are the hottest thing since sunburn.

4. What's a nice girl like you doing in a filthy mind like mine?

5. Do you believe in love at first sight, or shall I walk past you again?

6. Are you wearing space pants? Because your arse is out of sight.

7. Aren't you tired? Because you've been running through my mind all night.

8. Is your daddy a terrorist? Because you're a bomb, baby.

9. Excuse me, is that a mirror in your pocket? Because I can see myself in your pants.

10. Mum always told me to hold the hand of the nearest stranger if I got lost. Can I stay with you till she gets back?

11. Excuse me, is that a ladder in your stocking or a stairway to heaven?

12. Wanna come back to my house for coffee and sex? (guy gets slapped). What, you dont like coffee? Owh, man..the last one totally cracks me up. But now and then, I dont mind guys asking me that, I wouldnt slap for sure but I would be deadly amused...hoho!

To You : A Dedication

I want you to miss me

There could be fog
Or maybe just a mist
And inexplicably I'll fade to white
Vanish, and be gone

Or it could be night
And I'll be darkly dressed,
Evading easy definition
And as your eye's distracted
By a falling leaf
I'll merge with restless shadows
And be gone

Then you will discover
What emptiness is
A space so hollow
Even its own walls are swallowed up
A quality of missing
So intense
A lack, a lack

Each hour more bottomless than the last
Until your heart cries out,
A howl of forfeiture
But it will be nothing
Ashen silence where I used to sing
And deafness

The howl must strike the right resonant frequency
A wail that echoes all to the ends of time
To fill the gaping void in whole, looping wavelengths
From the well of your soul, such loneliness
To make Siberian wolves hang heads for shame
In their convivial packs

Then, only then
Might you detect my footprints, indistinct
Marking the morning dew fall
Perhaps glimpse a puff of breathin the cold, dawn air
You must utter
A howl so desolate, it
Jerks you from your sleep
To find me warm beside you on your pillow

* I found this poem laying on the floor of 5G and so amazed was I to read it and find it was poetry in motion*

SHE

The lines are from Greek by Stephen Berkoff:-

I love her hair and her neck
I love the way she walks across the kitchen to put the kettle on
in that lazy familiar way
I love her when she opens her eyes in the morning
I love her baby soft skin
I love her voice
I love her smaller hands than mine
I love lying on her and her on me
I love her soft breasts
I love her eyelashes and her nose
her teeth and her shoulders
and her desperate passion and her liquids and her breath
against mine in the night
and her snores
and her legs across mine and her feet in the morning
and I love her belly and thighs and
the way each part fits into mine…..

Get Moving!

Today is 'impatient day'. I rushed out from the school practically flying on my 2 1/2 inch heels.

Needed to get them babies before 1 pm and do a bit of grocery. I was running on automaton energy: select items off the rack, dispose into basket, pay at the till. It's that simple for me but the cashier who happened to be a newbie seemed to take forever with the billing. First, she separated the cans and the ones in plastic packaging. Then, slowly oh ever so carefully, ran the scanner and then with loving touches, redolent with TLC, put them in the carrier bags. All the time, my eyes were rolling backwards and upwards in their sockets. From time to time, I stole glances at my watch hoping that she would get the hint and speed things a little. But nooooo, she was up and running for 'Meticulous Employee of the Month' and so every movement was belaboured. Unbelievable!! And all the while, I cursed and cursed.

It was the end of the PMS phase for me, I wasn't high on caffeine, nor did I sniff weed. Mayhap I was ovulating but that didnt count for the urgent need to seek and destroy. Then I realised it, I was being bipolar. I need to go out and run down some kittens tonight.

Rue Du Lac et moi

It's just another night on the Rue Du Lac.

You quickly left soon after that
leaving me your Kundera
and AquaRacer behind.
As tokens, as raison d' etre
to come back and visit me again.

I hung your silver Ungaro
in the oak lined closet,
Creased heavily from last night.
Your Eternity scent lingers,
restless and undefined.

This is just another unlit Gauloise and
my piece of creme brulee.
Another billet deux left untold,
Another memory craves to unfold.

On every other night on Rue Du Lac
Many other faces fade to black.