woman alpha
it’s the “ex” relationship. get what i mean?
there are awesome memories one can reminisce.
but there’s also the horrible “getting over” part that one distinctly remembers.
so one wouldn’t really succumb to the marginal left-over feelings.
what’s done is done. what’s over is over.
goodbye mate. 

woman bravo
at times one feel like he knows this person completely.
many a time he gets bewildered by his own feelings.
the inherent trust for her is often mistaken for romantic feelings.
skeptics just call it raging hormones.
but i think that this part is rather ineluctable.
especially since they understand each other wholly
just when he thinks he found his hypothetical soul mate,
the “best friend” clause barricades any further reaction; probably backlash.
and here comes the streaming awkward and queasy feelings.
this is why heterosexual people of the opposite sex cannot be BFF
goodbye mate.

woman charlie
the classic definition for infatuation: a foolish, unreasoning, or extravagant passion or attraction.
now that’s a statement.
all she had to do was to walk past a hormone-raging lad
and that’s it.
he intrinsically tails her like some love-struck zombie
or to be exact; the love-struck frankenstein.
his pulchritude was no match for the gorgeous damsel’s.
what happens eventually.
the fool gets shunned while the virgin proceeds on to stop the rest of the traffic.
what’s he got to say?
goodbye mate.

woman delta
it’s the classic brother-sister kinship
denoted by the abstruse concern and frequent tirades.
he knows her rather well,
from her provocative body language to her devious thoughts
prolonged bickering in vulgarities that held no offense
the thing about siblings is that no matter how much they might hate each other,
they’re still tight always.
and even though they might not be related even by a single strand of DNA,
he is certain that she’s got his back.
even so, there’s this code between siblings that usually go: “get your own friends, prick.”
hence, there’s this inherent social impediment between them.
and most of the time, all the lad has to say is:
goodbye mate

woman echo
it’s the step-siblings relationship.
you know how when two teenagers are forcefully made to cohabit and establish an affinity
there’s always this inherent distrust between them. 
but however, as along as they’re minors; their freedom of human rights is locked away.
They decide to put aside their differences and actually learn to like each other; in a platonic way.
otherwise it’s just incest.
time goes by, and maybe she likes the idea of a brother.
they decide to do things like real siblings, but then again 
everything could be a facade.
goodbye mate

woman foxtrot
the woman much awaited for, at least for me.
she’s more of the reserved pragmatist.
the relationship between him and her is a little more complicated.
their friends; but not like the other women.
she’s more of the backdrop in every scenario.
she avoids the spotlight due to self-esteem issues, perhaps
but the thing is when you try to stay inconspicuous, you tend to stand out
in his eyes maybe.
his analogy: when everyone else glows except you; his eyes singles you out.
she may not
. share memories with him like alpha
. understand him like bravo
. make him skip a heartbeat with her pulchritude like charlie
. be foreign to him like delta
. come to like being around him unlike echo

but even so,
there’s something about her anonymity, her sincerity
that draws him to her.
maybe due to the unexpected amusement from him
when she dolled up; when she voiced out
& when she remembered significant specifics about him

she has always been there.
but that idiot guy was being a jerk to even notice.
it’s time he notices! mofo!
it’s time he clambers up the bean stalk for her
it’s time he proclaim;
“hello juliet.”

The boy was peering right back at me.
His chiselled face was clouded with dirt.
His puffy eyes, encircled by dark rings, told a melancholic story.
I continued to scrutinize his features.
I lifted my fingers and moved them closer to his cheeks.
They seemed blushed with cosmetics, but in fact, it was mere dirt.
I gently brushed my fingers across his ruddy cheeks.
My fingers retreated instantaneously with a jerk.
The cold mirror surface sent shivers down my spine.
Within a split second, the moment i experienced diminished and faded away.
Still fiddling with the broken piece of mirror, I tilted it to take in the surroundings.
The dark and gloomy mine was lit with spots of kerosene lamps.
With the aid of the limited light source,
I was able to notice my manager beckoning.

Another person who is of great significance to me would be Jodi Lynn Picoult, a veteran in the Literature World. Fortunately, with the help of this scintillating novelist, I am able to escape into a parallel universe frequently. I own all 16 of her novels and have read and digested 6 of them. Her words had kept me on the edge of my seat like no other. Many a time, my innards have been churned by the wicked twists in the plot. I have got to admit that I had sworn a couple of times, sub-consciously. It is definitely through Picoult that I am able to to keep my flame for reading alive. One of my favourite quotes from her would be: “It was possible that a miracle was not something that happened to you, but rather something that didn’t.” This quote kicked sense into me almost instantaneously; and for this, I love her. However, I have to say, I am completely platonic in this admiration. My approbation for her work is further substantiated by the fact that her novels had debuted at #1 on the New York Times Best Seller List. Furthermore, Picoult has also been awarded the ‘New England Bookseller Award’. Her novels ‘The Pact’, ‘Plain Truth’, ‘The Tenth Circle’ and ‘My Sister’s Keeper’ had been adapted into films. This further substantiates Picoult’s stature.

Women are complicated pieces of work.
almost mosaic

I am sick of meeting these sick girls.
all they care about is themselves and how they look.
they go for style and dont consider substance.

I guess it’s time men take their revenge.
It’s time we boycott them.
i guess its best that all men turn homosexual
and leave these sub-species at solitude.

call me male-chauvinist
i dont give a flying shit.

From being the Monitor of a Kindergarten class to the President of a School.
From getting what I want to demanding what I want.
This power is not only sumptuous but also addictive.

But today and right now, I have a certain type of power in my hands.
A type of supremacy I pray I do not have.
But something inside of me is dying for more of this power; the control to change one’s life.

What I have now, can effortlessly drive this person insane.
It can even force him to take the jump.
This power is pulling me over to the dark side.
I am resisting it with all my might; even though it is not only revitalizing but seductive.

I need to polish my rusty halo.
I need to command reverence.
I need to stop screwing with his life.
I need to end this perplexing and lucifugal entry.

Look at the brighter side of it.
I get to correct my mistakes.
My clone shall not commit the same mistakes I did.
I get a second chance damn it.
I get a second chance to be a better person.
And the best part: I achieve divinity.

///

“I don’t have a Ten-Year-Plan. I have a RIGHT-NOW-Plan!”
- Dr Bailey from Grey’s Anatomy Season 3.

So, should I live in the present?
Or the future that I am constantly trying to paint?

I guess I’d go with the former.

Inspired by:
Aeon Flux, the Movie
&
Grey’s Anatomy Season 3

How hard could it be to just find the place?
The restaurant, which she was waiting in, was inconspicuous amongst the various shop houses.
I was nearly an hour late.

How could this happen to me on this day?
What kind of first impression will I cast on her father?

“Turn right at the next junction. Go straight and make a left turn at Bali Lane. You should be able to see the restaurant on your left.”

I wasn’t even sure if I had locked my car.
I elbowed my way through the crowd and yelled, “I’ve got reservations!”

“This way, please.”

I spotted her; even though she was barely visible in the dusk of the room.
Her eyes glistened as she looked up towards me.
I registered the words her eyes were screaming out:

‘Too Little, Too Late’

“I’ve been dying to ask you some questions;

1: how does it feel like to be the home wrecker?
2: have you ever considered the feelings of your two grown sons?
3: have you ever thought that maybe, we might not be receptive of your presence?

If your answer to the third question is no, then go screw yourself.
You might be screwing that cheap bastard,
But, I’m not keen on knowing another whore.
So dont you dare come and pretend that i’d care for you. “

//

While sitting at the bus stop, she told me the reason for the divorce.
Something we had in common.
She shared something no one would want to hear; something too personal to be told.
Her sombre words might have been crushing, but she did not cry.
I always revered her for that audaciousness.

//

For the third time in my life, i was exposed to someone else’s melancholy.
She sat diagonally across me, spitting out words she had withheld for too long.
This time, I was not a mere listener
Because I opened…
I vocalised my story, the one that i had retained far too long myself.

But at the end of the day,
I don’t know you, like you do
&
You don’t know me, like I do.

We love to be hopeful.
Some even say that it is just human nature.
However, I feel that hope is just an excuse for us to become stale.
It is a mere excuse for us to not move on and face the worst that could happen.
Is hope that good after all?