Time in Cerulean Skies

Modest?

2007-12-30T18:01:00.000-08:00

Women who do not cover themselves up modestly are have tendencies of being immorality, or are in some way responsible for sexual assault in religion's eyes.

Even is I decide to wear shorts or a miniskirt one swelterigly hot day, does that mean I'm immoral? Sure, you don't prance around in a bikini and G-string barely covering the essential bits, but that's obvious. But think of it this way -- Even women who dress modestly get molested. They were just minding their own business when some itchy-fingered man sprayed foam into their faces and did the deed. It's in the newspapers, you can go check it out. What explanation do you have for that?

Outrage, I tell you.

And another issue. Why do men and women have to be seperated? Ok, maybe it's to prevent lust and etc aftereffects, and the reason is obvious enough in baths, but I don't see why it is so in pubilc places. (Not brothels, un idiota pervert)

FEMINISM! SUPPORT IT!

Or I'll sue you until you hath not a cent left.

Love

2007-12-12T05:58:00.000-08:00

Light touches and fervent kisses
Secret smiles and sunshine sweetness
The scene is painted, the sunset detailed
The pools in your eyes within emotions sailed

-------------------------------------------------

Gelid snow reduces fires to wisps
Harsh winds dragging the lingering smoke
Ashes buried, greying the tips
Hands clutch at what was, nothing to hold…

Love is but momentary obsession
Physical lust, temporary distraction
Weakening resolves, eating us whole
Turning favours, driving holes

Words, actions, movies on screen
Are fantasized lies, from what we’ve seen
Heartbreak is just a step away
Divorce rates inflating, we have no say

It’s hiding behind the façade of familiarity
A chemical reaction in you and me
We twist our desires to accommodate ourselves
Blinding us by forcing sight through veils

Promises made are unfeeling words
Thrown carelessly without effort
The naïve believe, they take it to heart
Weeping inconsolably when it blew them apart.

Love isn’t as great as you perceive
A filter, separating through sieve
Love cannot conquer all
It’ll be too late when you fall…

Author's comment:
The reason why the first stanza was seperated from the others was that the first stanza just pints us a picture of 'love'--the picture we dream about.

Okay, the second stanza, the 'fire' is obviously pointing to love. Basically, it means, that love is nothing, it can be gone easily, and everything can be smoothed back until there's no sign that it ever has been there...

Last stanza, the line about the sieve. I'm trying to imply that love is like a filter, only allowing wanted emotions in. It blinds us to the faults of the other party.

It's up to you how you interpret this, it'll be fairly interesting. Do comment.

Dear fastidious pointless diary

2007-12-11T01:01:00.001-08:00

Dear fastidious pointless diary,

I have no idea what induced me to write this whatsoever. I mean, I'm not bored, I'm pretty well-entertained by Tokyo Juliet and fanfiction, but it's just something's nagging at the back of my mind.

Do you know how it feels like when a hidden inspirations sneaks up stealthily like a ninja, and although you can't see it, you suspect it's lingering somewhere? Like perfume, I suppose. Well, I have this feeling, but I haven't tried doing anything about it. Write a poem? Ha. No one commented on the last poem I posted up on my blog, nor the song I wrote.

Do you know how hard it is to have a discussion of philosophy with others? Like is there really a God that exists, the possibilities of deities, debates, etc.? It's because most people don't know how to adequately express their views. Either that, or they don't know what you're talking about, or what to think. A bit of a pity, as I happen to like to reflect on these....

Several times in our lives, amongst the many events that occur, some events, however insignificant, might just leave a tiny imprint behind.When asked the question, "What do you treasure most", some will reply that it is their memories. Memories are all but lingering traces of the big things that happen.

Reflection is another thing. In your primary school days, you've walked through familiar aged hallways, looked out of the window during lessons, slipped on the uniform in the morning when you prepare to go to school--these things are insignificant perhaps, part of our daily lives. But yet, as we leave these places, we feel a subtle lack in us, but are never able to pinpoint it.

Perhaps you've never smelt the aroma of curry puffs baking an hour before recess, felt the cool wind stirring against plastic panes, felt the sensation of starched polyester against your skin, seen the rain in tiny crystal beads falling in a ribboned fashion from roofs, you probably have, but in essays or compositions, these things fade into the background, only making way for the more important portions--the time when you marched along the parade square under the hot sun for punishment, perhaps. Often the subtle has to make way for the bold, but in the end, only a precious few realise how the subtle is so important....

Everyday brings us something to reflect upon. The skies, the rain, the sunshine, everything.

Maybe it's in one's character to reflect, maybe it's not. It's in my character, though. Mostly about what I should or shouldn't have done, though now I understand regret is but looking back at the past wistfully, and that no amount would make me feel any better.

I hereby conclude this diary entry.

Signed,
CHANEl

UNDERMAJORREPAIRS

2007-01-08T05:35:00.000-08:00

Misc.

adopt your own virtual pet!

For fun.

Follow your heart

2006-11-27T20:57:00.000-08:00

Follow your heart

If only we can reverse time
Trading the dark, gloomy sky for the bright sunshine
If only we had made up our minds
This wouldn't have happened from time to time

Battle of wills, logic and wishes
Tears ad tandrums, venomous kisses
We listen to others, take their advice
Regretting it later when we can't pay the price

The key to happiness lies in our hands alone
Living in our hearts, each our very own
How, I ask, will one be happy,
When their lives, their decisions, are made by others?

Alas, too late, it is now done
All our learning amount to none
Sometimes we ought to trust ourselves
Instead of blind faith that brings us no happiness.