Apple Peel

Oh your thin skin
I peel you back. expose
some parts
brown and bruised indicative
of a journey
same like mine but different
the more i uncover
delight fills my eyes and the
heart congested with emotions
stomach all twisted
i am undecided
it's just skin, uncovered

maybe i shouldn't have.
put it back
tuck it in the edges
better the unknown than this
raw and tender i see
its networks and inner workings
i stare, can't tear these eyes away
recalling the times when it
was perfect
skin, so thin.
right before I peeled you back.

Petal P. Rose

An Affair

My love affair started as young as when I was about 3 or 4. Oh, love affair with words, that is. My parents used to read me all the time back then. Already the cracks appeared but I was too young to understand. Anyway.....

My parents are not highly educated but they somehow knew the power of words and doggedly read me every night till I was old enough to do it for myself. I had books from the likes Brothers Grimm and Hans. Simple stories like Puss In Boots and the Gingerbreadman. I remember being so annoyed with the pig in the Gingerbreadman. He was so greedy!! Also being a Muslim then, it was drilled into our heads that pigs are the worst things on earth. Armed with this bias, I got very annoyed at how the pig was chasing after the gingerbreadman and finally got a chunk of him (I think). I wanted the Gingerbreadman to be whole and uneaten, undefiled. The page that showed the pig - I crushed and even tore it out. I was that upset! I think I was a bit more than annoyed, you think? I wish now that I had kept the book but I threw it out along with my childhood.

It didn't matter to me that we didn't have money to buy me new books every now and then. The few I had, I read from cover to cover, over and over. I joined the public library service and they had mobile libraries that I used to go to. Yep, I am a mobile library kid. I fell in love with the princesses of 1001 Arabian Nights with its handsome princes and running along with Laura, Mary and Carrie, I lived in the Indian Territory, feeding and caring for Pet and Patty.

I fell in love with the voluptuous sounds of "o", and "teen" sounded mean; it was only much later that I know how it was like being a teen and why it sounded mean. The sound "tarp" makes, music to my ears, like raindrops falling on attap roofs.

These words swirl in my head, floating and greeting each other as they go past. That's how sentences are made. Sometimes it comes out garbled but it's all sorted by the time it hits the funnel that is the mouth. That is why I love to write - I think I'd go mad if I don't. All these words, in my head, filling it up and clogging it. Writing - a cathartic release. A quiet time for me and me alone.

Petal P. Rose

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go....

My friend was going on a flight out from Singapore to Bangkok yesterday evening. My handy-dandy N70 rings. "Hello, I just wanted to say goodbye."said he. I said, "Oh, right....have a good one home, take care and I'll see you again soon." "Tell me something........why the hell did they take away my 3/4 full cans of shaving cream and deodorant?" he asked.

Now - I know my friend pretty well. Of course, he's not asking a stupid question or being anal (this time, anyway). There was more to it.....

"Umm...it's part of the regulations now after the bombing thing....it's liquid-ish..." "Right....so they took away my shaving cream and deodorant but didn't take away my knife. How the hell am I now going to hijack the plane without those two essential items?!"

I was in the office, it was mostly silent....I tried so hard to suppress it....but I burst out laughing loudly. For those who know me personally, you know how silent I can be when I laugh. Not! I was in a spasm.

"I was going to take the shaving cream and stick it right under the pilots' collar and say - stop this plane or I'll cream you. See this deodorant? Well...now now...who is in control.." he added with a sinister cackle.

Turned out that he didn't know he had a knife on him too. He grabbed the bag from the office to stuff some of the documents he had and found it accidentally in there, AFTER he was checked in and had his shaving cream and deodorant confisticated.

It was all related to me in a very comical manner but once the laughter subsided it is an issue. If he had meant harm, really, the passengers of that flight would be dead by now. How could they have missed a knife? It's not just a human error - we have metal detectors at the airports, don't we? So how now, brown cow? Should we start worrying?

Petal P. Rose

Raising a stink

I failed to get a seat – again,
too many people on the train.
We're stuck in a tunnel;
everybody's sighing;
we're not moving.
I breathe in –
'Let me know your peace and grace.
'I breathe out –
'And help me share it with the people here.'
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
For the sake of my sanity.
For the sake of your kingdom.
Amen

- Author Unknown

And so I stepped onto the train. As usual, it was crowded. I stood at my usual spot, at the centre of where one carriage connects to the other, just by that door that will lead me out with no trouble, where the other door of another train awaits me as I switched trains, every mundane morning of my working life. I was plugged into my Creative MP3 player (though, I need an IPod...) whilst trying to also look like an intelligent monkey with the thick novel in my right hand. I flipped to the page that was dog-eared. Blissfully unaware of my surrounding, I leapt into the pretend world (for me, unfortunately not for others) of violence, corruption, sex and drama - exactly how a book set in India should be....but was rudely awakened by the stink that was so violently thrusted into my brain, jarring it out of it's semi-fantasy mode. "W-T-F!", I cursed, almost silently but not silent enough for those packed in tightly with me. I looked around for the possible criminal. Everyone looked like "oh, nothing is bothering me...it sure smells nice in here..wonder where I can buy that scent!" whilst I was almost gagging and reaching for the oxygen mask I wished I had.

What is it with these people?! Do they not know the existence of things such as deodorants, parfums, body spray, etc etc? How about toothbrushes and toothpastes? Come on, we are in Singapore - we can afford to take a shower in the morning before heading out the door, can't we? Does personal hygiene exist for these people? What was that? You need to look it up? www.dictionary.com, folks! I have been on trains where apart from the bedroom smell, there's also the smell of ammonia, amongst other things....It's also quite amusing to note the expressions of other commuters when someone lands a stink bomb. Most of them pretend that nothing is wrong and me? If alone, I make faces and exaggerated gestures of disgust....if in company, "Whooooaaaa...Who the fuck did that!" accompanied by more exaggerated gestures of disgust. I know we are "living" in a tight space whilst commuting to our final destinations, but please, spare a thought for others.

Perhaps one of the lessons to be taught by the Government when they do the campaign for a gracious society is this - personal hygiene. I can see the big banners "Personal Hygiene - Towards a More Gracious Society". Watsons or Guardian Pharmacy can jump on the bandwagon and provide free samples. P&G can give away their oh-so-cool new Gillette razors, OralB, hey hey, toothpastes, toothbrushes, floss....The different medical and dental clinics can take part and educate the public of the health risks of not keeping good personal hygiene, we can have demonstrations and roadshows...'Strip' and 'Browhaus' will provide free waxing services...another area would have an Ayuverdic clinic set up to clean from the inside out....The cosmetic companies can come in and promote their new perfumes....So much potential!!

Funny that being gracious has to be taught by a body rather than at home. Shame shame...

Petal P. Rose

I swallow

Too much food on my plate

oh, this buffet of conflicting choices

heaped on by well-meaning people

alright, so greed got the better of me

still, too much food on my plate

variety to suit my palate

sweet, salty, juicy, sour

tidbits and some just desserts

it's just too much food on my plate

like a cow, i graze the field

pushed it round with my fork

but the amount stays the same!
still, to much food on my plate!

pausing momentarily to pick

a morsel i nibble

i spit it out, revolted by the taste

sour bile rise now in my throat

darn, this food on my plate!

sweet water i pour

quelling the rise of indignation

i swallow it because

it's my fault, i've got too much food on my plate

Petal P. Rose

Ching ching ching bling bling blink

Caught betweeen a stone and a hard rock, she walks in circles seeking refuge. Her head was in chaos. There's so much she doesn't understand. No, take that back. She understands things - just that she doesn't understand how something SO simple takes alot to be understood by others; especially him. She doesn't think she's ultra smart - in fact, she still has a long way to go in that aspect and no doubt, it will not complete even at death. The only thing conclusive and certain in this world is death.

She dreads going "home". She thinks skeptically, the person who came up with "home sweet home" and "home is where the heart is" obviously had a rose tinted pair of glasses or perhaps her dark glasses on. She listens to the sounds of the neighbours getting ready for their evening. She imagines the mother in the kitchen, warming up her food, getting it ready for her husband and children. Smells of fresh soap wafted by. She inhales till her lungs feel as though it would burst, in the hopes of reliving a memory that was so long ago. Mother would always warn her that her father's on the way home and would make her take a shower to present herself, clean, to greet the bacon carrier. Shaking her head clear, she flits from one apartment block to another.

Is it difficult to prioritise? "I am too young to be parenting", she thinks. "Yet, I have to take the reigns. No one else would or could for that matter." For every 3 steps she takes forward, it ends with her taking 10 steps back. Contrary to most situations of being trapped in a corner, she feels trapped in the centre, with the corners pointing straight at her, with no way to dodge it. Damn if you do, damn if you don't. "I think it's called "checkmate" in chess?"

Trudging home, she hopes the newspaperman has been to collect his dues. She told him to call at 7.30pm today. Her stomach rumbles. Her resolve for diet melts away..."how am I going to lose weight at this rate?!!" "Is there anything that will go my way this year - AT ALL?!" "What about some ching ching ching....what about some bling bling bling...." she sings to herself.....

Petal P. Rose

Chimera?

bulging bloodshot
slanty suspicions
beady scrutinization
follows
everywhere they roam
myopic views
past and present
does it matter
hanging
immortalised in the past
to present show
captured anguish
delirium parade
deathly silence
echoes

Marathon

I’ve been running
much like she
going somewhere
yet getting nowhere
I sight a pot of gold
yonder horizon
I paused just for abit
but it gets farther
the landscapes change
orange to brown to green
my feet they stay still
I stretch my fingers
I never win

Petal P. Rose

Plucking fluff off the week past

Thursday, 23 August

Was at work till late – pitching in preparation for an event the next day. Person in charge went home early and there were a few unhappy folks. It wasn’t even my event directly but being in the same section, I had to do my bit.

Friday, 24 August

Early in the day
Day of actual event – again, got roped in where I wasn’t supposed to be. Crisis management called for hands on approach. Carrying chairs from one level to the next is not a joke as is being an overseer of things. Heavy. Perspiration. Hoarse from exhaustion. Lack of sleep, I mirror the eye on a perfect potato.

After the event
I scooted off fast as my legs could carry me off to WOMAD and into the arms of civility and Asian Dub Foundation. Uninhabited, I threw off the veil of goodness and worked my way through the acts. Leaving all cares and fuck-nots.

Saturday, 25 August

Didn’t feel too clever this morning as a consequence of leaving all cares and fuck-nots. Unfortunately, the brain recognises the lack of sleep and there was a massive traffic jam blocking my train of coherent thoughts. Not helpful when one has to sit through a serious discussion of the ASEAN draft charter. Unable to contribute constructively, I excused myself to the book fair beckoning seductively out for my utmost immediate attention. Coming back to witness flames being thrown by certain someones that shall remain nameless. I ducked out onto the streets, glad for respite from the heat. My shades, they shield me.

Sunday, 26 August

One movie screening, one campaign launch, plenty of Filipinos and Indonesians and a smattering of locals. Makes for an interesting mix – all confined into The Theatre of The Substation. United in their stand of “Domestic work is work, not slavery”, red hot push for recognition. Charismatically lead by their leader, they cheered. A stark contrast to the sniffling I witnessed after when they watched the movie. A tad simplistic for my liking but hey, it does the job if you are plunging into this cause cold. Needless to say, being the cold bitch that some have said that I am, it hardly tugged at my heartstrings. Am I too unfeeling?

Monday, 27 August

Work work work…hardly could wait till end of the day where 2 mystery men await me. It wasn’t quite like “that”. I was excited, yes, but not in a sexual way, silly. Excited as to what these meetings could spell out for the future. Both meeting was time well invested and now I have more on my plate than ever to push around abit. Then start putting it into my mouth, curiously chewing it for taste as my senses explode as they chase up to cope with the unexpected.

Tuesday – Thursday, 28 – 30 August

Shall not take you through these mundane days. It was absolute torture – don’t want to pain you too. No worries, it was just work – it IS torturous. To know that my very existence depends on my job is bloody painful. Moving along….

Friday, 31 August

My brother Nikkhil didn’t happen as anticipated. What an anticlimax. Pah * sticks tongue out * Hung out with the Rani herself over vegetarian tom yum and kopi, exchanging world views and activist angst as per our habit.

…and so I met her last night. I have heard stories about her. I was in an anticipative mood after all. I wanted to see if she is a representation of her. She, who is always hopeful that the next man would provide her security and love. She kindly offered to drop me off at Arab Street. It was a short ride with her, her new love and her son but I learned some things off them. Hearing the stories and hardships that she has gone through – I hope she finds her solace, warm in the new embrace.

Arab Street with him and them. A spanking hot Lamborghini pulls up. Driver, not hot and no, I don’t want to spank him. My wrist might just break. Sniggering behind his back, he is blissfully unaware of the attention he’s, I mean, his car, has drawn. Sitting there, inhaling second hand smoke, I drift away, lulled by the easy breeze off into my own personal womb.

Saturday, 1 September

Brunch with him late. Supposed to be brunch but with my precise late timing, I deferred the appointment to 1pm…further pushing it to 1.30pm…pushing the boundaries?

Off to Literati as I read 3 of my poems. Fingers frozen, almost numb, the sheet trembled like a leaf but being the professional, I read, nonchalant, hey, I’m cool and I’m in control. * wink *

Arab Street again to witness a punk gig, hung out with 3 other roses and a thorn. (sorry, you, didn’t mean it as if you were a pain) The punk gig was L O U D, my heart thudded with each crash of hot sweaty bodies. My only prayer,: don’t let any of them fall on me.

Sunday, 2 September

Had an open house at Migrant Voices. It rained and that sucked. I made tea and did I mention that in the midst of all these, I baked 2 cakes – vegetarian ones, in fact, no eggs! A certain someone would be so proud. I radiate happiness as I beam under his benevolent smile.

Off to a preview at The Necessary Stage. A forum theatre piece, I could identify with all that was put out. I was too knackered to add on - it was too close to home. I didn’t want to touch myself. I needed to be okay for Monday pounces soon, much too soon…

Present day

As someone once asked me, “Do you sleep??” Seems like I don’t.

Petal P. Rose