Petal P. Rose

2010-09-19T09:19:00.004+08:00

There they sat, still in their clatter

silence in their defiance, they mock me:

"You are not our master, we are waiting for him to come home."

I whip them into motion with my bare hands

I poured hot insults onto their cool, smug surfaces

With frustration, I flung them

into the fiery furnace - burn, baby, burn

Who is your master now?

I dug deep into their core, till they throw up onto the counter

And I, exhausted, served them up on the

etched pretty platter.

I smiled.

Love,

Petal P. Rose

Today.

2010-08-29T13:43:00.002+08:00

Today I spent the afternoon sitting in my backyard, amongst the lemon tree, grass, leaves, grape vines, lavender bushes and not to mention the ants and bugs.

I watched the butterflies flitting and flirting with each other against the blue crowded sky. White on white on white, marred only by the shine of the brilliant Mr Sun. The ants worked extra hard climbing over the mounts of my wrinkled mat, over my skin and toes, scurrying hurriedly with some place to go, with no place to be but here. I listened to the gossip of the neighbours, the extra unannounced guest - smirking as they laugh, sharing their jokes but yet not quite sharing. The wind, it blows to offer abit of respite against harsh Mr Sun, sending the flitting, flirting butterflies off their determined course into an unknown one. It blows as though embarrassed to disturb the intrusion of the scene yet it carresses my back like a well known lover. Made bold by the sigh of contentment from me, the flowers and older leaves, they surrender to fall willingly onto earth, some onto my face as though blessing me with their approval of the sun and the carresses of the wind.

And I think - this is life. This is what makes me happy.

I'm back - ish....

2009-12-21T15:18:00.002+08:00

It's been a couple of months since I last wrote, I know. It's been a crazy time till now - I can't wait to see what 2010 will bring. I've decided that for Y2010, that I leave on time, everyday from work and get back on track with my food and fitness. It's always easier said than done.

I don't know why it was that years ago, I could fit it all in and be oh so, disciplined. Okay, so perhaps I had more time on my hand, lesser worries and responsibilities but I refuse to believe that it is the reason. I'm not giving myself room for excuses, I think - which is good....?

I've put some personal projects on hold, aside from the lack of discipline for a fitness routine and diet. There are so many things to focus on - I like to put in 110% effort in all the things that I take up but more and more, I feel like 110% multiplied by X number of "projects" taken on, leaves me with a deficit of 800%. Not good at all, folks, I agree....

If only things run like clockwork and are bang on - but it's too idealistic to even dream of it. Oh well, I'll leave some of these things for the inevitable January 2010...in the meantime, I'm on a well-deserved break down under and may decide to write again before the year is out...or not.

Love,
Petal P. Rose

Dark

2009-09-28T21:44:00.003+08:00

I trail my fingers
softly softly by the seams
I close my eyes - I've not seen
yet I believe

Dark and large
Very comfortable, said he....

Is it as dark as liquorice
and warm like chocolate?
Will it taste pleasant in my mouth?

Petal

Lullaby

2009-09-15T22:31:00.006+08:00

I want to sleep beside you
tucked into bed by midnight
every night
for as long as forever

steal into my window
blend into the humidity of the dark
a wisp of love
tucked behind my ear

rise and fall in rhythm
like the patterned sheets
harmonising
a duet

I want to sleep beside you
awakened by dawn
for as long as we can
forever's not too long

Love,
Petal P. Rose

The phone

2009-06-26T13:58:00.002+08:00

The phone sits muted
by the bedside table
harbinger of news
don't like it when it rings
leave! it's the weekend - i dive under my pillows

i'd rather read the papers
the magazines, the internet
at my own pace
my eyes carress the rounded curves
i put it away to be mulled over

later
later

Petal P. Rose

In your head...

2009-06-20T12:20:00.007+08:00

"I am not of this world." "We are not in the same world"

I thrashed my head - side to side

adamant
"I don't believe it! Don't!"
Not for one bit

Hah - not possible, just in your head

Not of this world, not of the universe?

the pieces that don't fit

in your head - - somewhere..

nowhere

but your head.

Petal P. Rose

Obsession

2009-05-12T21:58:00.003+08:00

I wonder what it is with all of us. Gone are the days without mobile phones, laptops, PCs and the internet. We are all so connected that the world has indeed become smaller and there is nowhere in the world now to hide.

Worse now that we have Twitter, Facebook and whathaveyous. Every minute of the day, every second is traceable. I admit that I have fallen victim to the modern ways. I no longer can live without the convenience of a mobile phone and the internet. I can put my hands up and say, "Yes, I am addicted to being connected." In fact, so connected that certain phones can't be simply switched off - like the Blackberry and the IPhone for example.

So much so that on my retreat to Samui, I had to force myself to switch my Iphone to the plane mode so I cannot get calls. I was very happy having landed, picked up at the airport, checked in and was given the welcome drink. It was a welcome most refreshing. The resort was silent, not many guests and the stretch where I was - cricket quiet. I could hear myself think and with every turn, the crick of my neck. I was smiling happily away, thinking, bliss....till I got shown my room. Door swings open and greeting me was a bloody PC - sitting docile and obedient. The porter showed me the room, even proudly announced the PC with the internet and proceeded to switch it on. He, of course, didn't know that that was the very thing I was trying to avoid - to avoid being in touch and connected! But I was proud to say that I only connected to Facebook and my email accounts once a day whilst I was there. It was a hard push, not feeding my addiction. I survived but not quite rehabilitated as 5 days is much too short to lapse into inconnectivity.

Why do we have this urge to proclaim every single insignificant move we make on our Facebook or Twitter accounts? Why do we have blogs and autobiographies?

I have a Facebook account; at times, I want to let certain people know how I feel, without really letting on that the status update was targeted at a particular person. Sometimes, I play off someone else's status updates or just want a one-up to beat one of my friends' status updates. It's childish and mindless but hey, it is something that we all do.

I write a blog because I want to record what I think/see/do. I unleash my anger and disappointment here; I liken it to throwing glass or splashing paint at the wall. It is also a creative outlet for me as it is easier than painting where you don't have to set up the easel, paints, etc, etc. My tools would just be the internet, the computer and my inspiration (yes, I am lazy) AND I can be anywhere in the world. No, I don't get anxiety attacks if I don't log into my Facebook accounts or read my email. Neither do I feel like there's something missing in the day if I don't blog (though I must write, so a pad and pencil is the substitute).

Truth is, I think, people blog/write autobiographies/update status on Facebook or Twitter because they are narcisstic. That's the simplest of explanations. Do you really think that your friends are bothered to be kept updated with your every thought or what you are doing? In a(n) (ab)normal world without the internet, a Facebook/Twitter/autobiography would be just someone standing in the middle of the room and telling others in the room know what they are thinking/doing. If your voice is louder, then, I suppose the people in the next few rooms can hear you. Even if its photographs that you put up, it is still a way of telling or bragging.

Hmmm....I don't have exact figures as to how many subscribers there are for Facebook/Twitter, but imagine that number of people, standing side by side, just telling, telling, telling, every single second. Do you realise how much noise we are making, just Facebooking/Twittering - even if we sit in silence in our lonely room? And how silent we have become in real as Facebook / Twitter/internet/mobile phones take over the real talking? Why talk when we can sms, email or Facebook/Twitter? Hmmph...such a twist...

Petal P. Rose

"A little narcissim exists in all of us since birth"

Human Nature

2009-05-03T21:26:00.006+08:00

she strides past me
with her head held up high
not even glancing to see me

she doesn't speak to me
my only fault - being alone
here

I come to escape such pettiness
I live it everyday
yet this place offers me no respite
none I see anyway.

her husband sniffs around me
like a beast, circling

his quick flash of smiles
much like the leash that the wife keeps-
short.

"hello, how you doing?"
"doing well - and yourself?"
he prattles on - like I really cared

the wife doesn't know he says hello to me
it's clandestine, this affair

all I'm thinking is,
go back to your cocoon
I don't want your "hello, how you doing"
I prefer to be alone, thanks

i don't want to talk
i don't lack or want company
leave me alone
leave me be

the reason I left
is found(yet again) here
never can escape
this human nature

Petal P. Rose - chilled out in Samui

2009-03-18T22:56:00.000+08:00

There are times when I feel that you are so far away. There exists a chasm that I can’t leap to, no matter how hard I try to fill it. I can feel it when you withdraw. I know then that you are thinking of her – the one before me. You won’t admit it, I just wish you would. The words you say to me, at times, it feels that you are saying it to convince yourself. I don’t know how much of it is something you truly feel and mean.

You drift away into your melancholy solitude leaving me in the shadow. Perhaps you still feel a certain betrayal to her in being with me and feeling happy. You wonder if she’s happy or if she’s alright. You want a good person for her; you want her to be taken care, like she should. You need to let it go, let it go, darling, before it destroys the good we have.

Petal P. Rose

Loss

2009-03-08T11:49:00.002+08:00

One Art - Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem fiolled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster;
plances, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

-Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look (Write it!) like disaster.

Time goes by...not quite that slowly...tick..tock..schtick...schmock

2009-02-14T13:11:00.006+08:00

"I've always been a drifter. I like to see the world. I have no ties, no commitments, no permanent base. I go wherever the wind blows me."

I can't even begin to imagine what that must feel like. My life is a layer-upon-layer of commitment, confinement, duty. I live by timetables, schedules, appointments, mortgage payments.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Those are words lifted from a short story by Carole Matthews. I pondered on it. The book was meant to be a light-hearted read...yet it struck a chord within me.

I wonder what we would do without the timetables, schedules, appointments. Alot of things will fall apart - train/plane/buses are already not on time (blame it on the weather, the accidents, the crowd, etc) - everything will be totally out of whack. Chain reaction....so you don't get to work on time, you won't be prepared for that 9a.m. meeting, won't be in time to answer the email queries, will work through your lunch hour and wonder why it is your stomach's grumbling, missing deadlines, missing the bus/train because you stayed late at work, missing the kids as they were tucked into bed....missing missing missing all the time....it's the clock that ticks keeping you and everyone in line...but...the clock also dictates that you should reflect on life the past year and declare a new way of doing things (New Year's Day and resolutions), it tells you that you should appreciate the person you care about and to let them know (birthdays), to send your special ones gifts of chocolates, flowers, diamonds and take them out for an expensive dinner and so on so forth - you know the deal by now.

Why do you need those special days to tell you how to behave? That's like having the law to stop you from looting and shooting. I appreciate that you need timetables, schedules, blackberries, Palms to keep time for you. But outside of work, why do you need it? Do you need something to tell you that you should spend time with your loved ones? To let them know that you appreciate them only on special occasions/days? Buy chocolates, flowers and all that commercial shite to proclaim your love? That is utter rubbish. How about letting them know each and everyday that they are special and that they matter? Imagine, waiting a full year to say "I love you and you mean alot to me" only to have the person die on you before the year is up. As for reflection - you can always do it anytime, anywhere and decide to be better at any point in time - you don't need a New Year's Day for it. Fuck that.

The moments that count are those impromptu ones. Those are the more precious moments - when you least expect it. I reckon you always get a better camera shot when people are caught unawares and I think it's sometimes like that in life. *Beep beep beep* Sorry, folks, according to my iPhone calendar, times' up with blogging – gotta go.

Love,

Petal P. Rose

A gentle breeze, she strokes my fever hot cheeks and forehead to soothe.

2009-01-14T22:53:00.011+08:00

I was in a conversation with Himself, sharing abit of how it was like growing up. There is very little memory of being happy. I can only just about recall the bad ones, being terrified and being as quiet as a mouse. One of the "happy" times was when we had house parties. I recall my father with long hair and my mother with long, flowy dresses to match her tresses. Preparations would start early with mom getting all the glasses, crockery, cutlery, what-have-yous ready. I can't remember what I would do. I just remember being amongst adult and being cute. *shrug* what's a kid to do?

Himself asked to bring photos recording the moments and I told mom. She took out my album. We each have our own albums. Mine was the biggest, with picture of a girl, carrying ducks in a wheelbarrow on the cover. There were so many photos smiling photos that I can't remember. Mom started going through one by one, telling me the stories behind each photo - who bought or made my clothes, whose place it was, what had happened, etc. She could remember so much. Her stories were peppered with "do you remember...." "you don't remember,.....".

Pictures of their friends - I wonder what's happened with them all. I assume they all got married and have their own kids, etc - I never did see them again - or if I did, it seems to be lost in my labyrinth of memories. Mom even remembers my friends. The only person I've kept up with is my best friend - the rest, I'm not interested in. I do think of how so and so is doing but there's really nothing to anchor me to the past of that memory. They left me with a bitter taste in my mouth and I honestly wish that they get a taste of their own medicine that I was forced to swallow.

Mom says that she keeps the photographs so that she can one day show our kids how we were like growing up. "I keep them so you can show your kids", says she. But who will tell the stories behind them? I can't remember and most of what is recorded in my memory is the harshness of those times. Do I really want to tell my kids my memories? Or should I record her words and play it back? The ghost of happier times.

Today is her birthday. Today she is a year older. There will come a point when she will stop being a year older as her breath becomes still and the deep freeze will never have a chance to thaw.

Happy birthday, Mom.

Petal P. Rose

Never

2009-01-01T22:36:00.003+08:00

Never shall I forget that night, the first night in camp, that turned

my life into one long night seven times sealed.

Never shall I forget that smoke.

Never shall I forget the small faces of the children whose

bodies I saw transformed into smoke under a silent sky.

Never shall I forget those flames that consumed my faith for-

ever.

Never shall I forget the nocturnal silence that deprived me

for all eternity of the desire to live.

Never shall I forget those moments that murdered my God

and my soul and turned my dreams to ashes.

Never shall I forget those things, even where I condemned to

live as long as God Himself.

Never.

- extracted from "Night" by Elie Wiesel

In memory.

Petal P. Rose

Secret

2008-12-29T18:06:00.005+08:00

I have a secret
It's kept in my pocket
nestled comfortably,
amongst the fluffy lint,
next to the fallen star.

I put my hand in
my pocket and rummaged
my fingers were pricked
but the secret,
it's determined not to be found

It will live,
next to the fallen star,
forgotten for awhile, till...
I next remember the secret,
in my pocket,
that's yet to be found.

Petal P. Rose

Uncertainty

2008-11-23T19:13:00.008+08:00

Will you remember the words exchanged, ten years from now? Keep it forever in your memory, never to lapse, like it was just yesterday. I can’t guarantee that I can, honestly. At times I forget what I had for lunch last Tuesday. Ten years – is it too long? When things go rough, will you remind me of our good times? We never know what the future will bring. Or will I only know the worst of times – sitting on the ledge of the cracks of happiness.

Can I trust you not to twist the knife when it’s already sticking out at the ribs? I trust you won’t do that – stick your foot and leave me clutching my empty stomach. The feelings I have are so intense, it hurts, just right there, when I take a breath or to sigh. I am punched out of air, withholding my all, tentative and waiting for the next strike.

Am I meant to be here? Are we meant to be? Am I entitled to it or will I get cheated of even this tentative happiness? I ponder on it a lot, wearing the cold hard cement of my mind with the constant scurrying of extreme thoughts. At times it feels as though I will succumb to it, I want so much to throw out the white flag and surrender…ah, sweet surrender.

I don’t have anything but myself to serve you on a humble thali platter. Will you take me in? I promise in turn to love and cherish you. That’s all I’ve got – you can have it all.

Petal P. Rose

Another year, another year.

2008-10-18T20:34:00.005+08:00

Sunrise, sunset

a beginning and the end

it feels like I'm a dog chasing my own tail

wearing down the cobbled stones

of the many before me

I turned 31 a week ago. It has indeed been another year of change for me - very significant changes. Significant but the earth didn't feel like it moved at all. It was a gradual change - God was sneaking up on me. As some of you know, I switched jobs - back to the corporate world. I love my job. I started out as a Personal Assistant, looking after the incorporation of the Australian offices but 2.5 months into my job, there were some corporate changes and I am now a regional coordinator, with 1 staff unofficially reporting in to me. I got sent to Perth for a week to hand over stuff and leading up to that, so many things happened that told me things were meant to be this way.

I am also together with the love of my life. We were friends for about 3/4 years and the puzzle finally showed itself and it is all now crystal clear. I knew I liked him but didn't think it was possible. It only really dawned on me just a few months back - I could have hit myself on the head because I didn't see it coming at all. He is the most wonderful of all men I've ever met. He truly is a gem and I'm definitely hanging on to him.

I also just spent the last 2 weeks with him in Indonesia. It was quite an experience doing Indonesia with him. He was sick most of the trip but he did his best, I know. I've always known him by instinct and the trip was just a confirmation of my instinct - I was also getting to know him more in-depth.

My best friend got married too! Knowing them, there'll be a new addition to the family not too far in the future and I'm an "aunty" or perhaps "Godma"! *shock, shock, shudder, shudder* It was a simple affair, only attended by both families and me. I signed their marriage paper as one of the witnesses and that REALLLLLY made me feel oh-so-grown-up! I never envisioned that she'll be married before me, given our personalities but there you go, a twist in every story.

What's next for me is that I'll be enrolling in a course next year and I also plan to squeeze in more travelling in between the classes and work. I want to go back to my gamelan and writing but that will be the extra curricular, not focus. I'm taking abit of down time now to prepare for what I have to tackle next. Although I do enjoy the arts, it's also very draining for me when there's only 24 hours in a day and 7 days in a week! I am also starting to save up - the mister and I plan to have a family in 5/6 years if things go alright between us. If it goes pear-shaped, I'll still have my savings. I know I haven't written on this blog for awhile now - no excuses, just being plain lazy but I do promise to write again. I also will be working on a personal project - more writing - and will share as I go along....but not too much because it's very close to the heart.

I'm looking for a spash of rainbow

through the keyhole of your soul

Love,

Petal P. Rose

p/s: this formatting thing with Blogspot sucks!

2008-08-18T23:11:00.004+08:00

When I zipped my luggage

on my way to you - I packed with me

not only warm clothes but I take with me

hope.

I unpacked it and drapped it all on the cold

steel, set on your carpet. I aired out my warmth,

shook out the love and hugged hope.

and when I packed my luggage home

it was with a heavy heart - bubble-wrapped in mirth

and eyes that wouldn't bleed tears.

I've left it all behind - the warmth, love and hope

tucked quietly in the extra creases

between your sheets

I've left it for you to rediscover at

your own time - the essesence of me.

Petal P. Rose

2008-07-16T01:50:00.001+08:00

I was waiting for the train to come. Fuck! 8 minutes till the next one! I stood, observing the throng of human wave who were on the escalator. My thoughts went forward to the eventuality of a goodbye. Goodbye to someone who has taught me precious lessons.

The most distinct feature is his mad amazon hair, framing eyes who have seen yet continue to open wide in wonder and surprise. He will be leaving our fair shores in a months' time but I already miss him. I figure that if I start missing him now, that I'll get a headstart and when that eventuality comes, it won't hurt so bad. Perhaps. I don't know if I'll ever see him again.

He has taught me to push that invisible barricade that we all set up. He's attitude, try, you never know. I remember that he used to annoy the hell out of me. I was complacent, happy to take whatever is dished out to me, never to question if the portion is enough. He is generous of spirit, nurturing and encouraging. He would give the clothes off his back if he has to. He never asks - doesn't demand anything of his friends.

His troubles, he keeps private. I tried asking but you know, it's not easy to ask when he never does really ask about anything private. The doors are shut in certain parts of his life. I saw pictures of his childhood and those of his children. He has seen and been through so much yet it never deters him to carry on to see what's next.

=======================================

The note above was written about 1.5 months before he left. It just sat as a draft and I never went back to it till now...Now that he's gone. The escalator was the catalyst to the note above. With an escalator, you know that there's a chance that you will see the same person if you are there, at that moment on a certain day. It's a human buffett conveyor belt that recycles people, day in, day out. In life, you may not meet a person again. Especially one who is a gem such as he. I miss him sorely, my buddy who never questions.

I've lost quite a number of people these past few months - through departures, not death!! (Thank God!!) and I know that it's part and parcel of life but still, it stings. I'm counting them off my fingers and I hope I don't have to move on to my toes.

Petal P. Rose

That Girl

2008-06-21T21:19:00.002+08:00

What kind of a girl runs out
breathless, shoeless out of a bar
just to answer that one call
that happens every night (for a week now)
always close to midnight

What kind of a girl uses
all her money (okay, some of it)
on her mobile phone
checking messages online with it
every couple of hours - at times every 15 minutes

What kind of girl whose heart
feels like it's on hot pins and needles
with every mention of another
in Russia, Hong Kong, Singapore -
it didn't matter

What kind of a girl buys
flowers and leaves notes strewn
hidden in the house
to remind him of her presence
even if it's only the lingering traces
of her eyes on his pillow

What kind of a girl lies
in her bed with mascara
making unhappy tracks down her freckled skin
pressed up tight against her bolster
late, oh so late

She's the kind of girl
who's in love with you
She always has been
She is waiting
for you.

And that girl?
She is me.

Petal P. Rose

Sshhhh......

2008-06-14T13:53:00.003+08:00

It is there, can you hear it?

No, I am not imagining it - go ahead

Strain your ears,

hear me out, please!

the sound of silence

trickles and drips yellow blood

it is unabashed and unshelled

in this silence it exists

louder than any sound that you have ever heard

silent yet powerful.

Petal P. Rose

What better way to commemorate the Great Singapore Sale by going shopping?

2008-06-07T21:16:00.005+08:00

So I got paid and I went shopping. Shopping for me is never planned and I am not a girlie shopper. Translated, that means that I don't take hours mulling over a pair of shoes or that pretty red number sitting on the shelf. I go in there, see something I like, take it off the rack/shelf, try it on if I have to (which by the way, I hate), if it flatters, buy it, otherwise, dump it. I don't think, "Oh, if I just lose a bit here and another bit there....I can fit it................someday in the near future..." Girls, don't waste your brain space thinking that. By the time that "someday" happens, you are outdated.

Cut the long short, I got myself: 1 dress, 1 skirt, 1 cardi-ish top, 1 pair of shoes, 4 lacey numbers and some toiletries. Grand total: S$293.43. That is not cheap - not when you are supposedly buying sale items!!!

I was looking for bras. Now, whereas I'm not double D big, neither am I a minus A but I am happy with my buddies. I went 'round to the bras section and EVERY SINGLE bra was a padded one! I was going around poking all the bras with my forefinger - "oh, this one's got a nice bounce to it." "nice...feels like the real thing.." - pity about the colours. Why would you lie about size? I mean, you have to take it off in the normal ritual of sex. How would you hide then? Shadow trickery? Okay, even if you blindfold the guy, he's gonna grab you - do you give him cushions to grab on to in place of your breasts? Obviously, this is a national obsession.

This is not the first time where I walk in to look for bras and most of what they have are gel/foam/jello/cushion/water-filled bras. There are normal, well-adjusted and confident ladies out there who are happy with their buddies and normal, lacey sexy UNPADDED/UNSTUFFED would suffice. I don't want to wear a pair of stuffed toys on my chest, thank you very much, I prefer my own breasts.

I do wonder, though, how it would be brought out in public display. A national obsession with the declining birth rate has manisfested itself in Clarke Quay with major dick installations. When a girl stubbles out drunk and falls on her back, she opens her eyes, sees the giant dicks, she must be thinking, "I want cock right now." I think we must be fair to the blokes. Are we going to add breasts to that? When a bloke stubbles out drunk and falls on his back, he opens his eyes, sees the giant breasts, he thinks, "I want breasts right now."

They turn their heads, over glazed, bleary eyes, across the cobbled stones of Clarke Quay, their eyes meet. They got onto their feet (not an easy feat) and stumbled unsteadily towards each other. Their mouths, open greedily like chicks to a mother, hers smudged dark lavender, his stinking of the chicken rice dinner. She wanted cock and he wanted breasts. He saw that hers was ample. He grabs her. PPPPpppffffffffffftttttttttttt.....

Truly yours,

Petal P. Rose

2008-05-24T16:08:00.006+08:00

I am awake in my sleep. Through my closed lids, I see tiny, tiny, hot dots. They throb white and red, at times in unison but mostly random.

My mind is in smithereens of a crashed crytal flower. Clear, absorbing the colours around and reflecting for all to see and admire.

I am lucid but fervently wish for insanity. I want to ramble and mumble incoherently. Act and react innocently as I please. At least the reactions and actions of my person will not be analysed and taken seriously. They can put it all down to madness or genius?

I describe things in abstraction, draw parallels that only my eyes and heart see. My humour, dark at times and my wit dry. Twisted, that's a fact.

I have been called an enigma. I am not a riddle for you to figure out. I am someone you can't box in. I refuse. I have come this far and I never look back. I never want to go back there. Don't take me back there.

Petal P. Rose

Taking flight

2008-05-21T23:13:00.004+08:00

Winged ant do not take flight

stay awhile and let me enjoy

you

tracing your path, scurry in panic

and going against what

you

already know, your desired paths

stay still, stay, while i examine

you

in the sunlight, pretty veins

that control you. I want to dissect

you

to peel away the folds, the betrayal

of your soul. Just plain, old,

you.

Petal P. Rose

One regret.

2008-04-07T16:25:00.002+08:00

I am such a dickhead.

I was checking through one of my email accounts, looking for my missing e-ticket for my trip to KL sometime last February when I came across some of the email my ex-boyfriend wrote me.

You know how it is when people say, you never know until you’ve lost something? That’s the exact feeling I had and still have. I regret it and I wish that time can go back but it’s impossible. It wasn't a perfect relationship and it was a mutual parting. I nursed the hurt for about 2 years. I do miss him at times - I miss not having to explain myself and be 100% comfortable and relaxed. I'm over him - he's happy in another relationship and I'm looking for that elusive someone, still. :-) So don't be shy, write me. Hahahaha...

Wistfully,

Petal P. Rose
================================================================
Hi Petal, my love,

Just want to drop you a last mail before I go on the long trip home.Wow, its really a long journey, takes my days to come back to Singapore. Tomorrow, I will hit the road very early and I will not log on again. Ahh...you never know what happens during such an extreme long flight.Flying is not as safe as it use to be. I just want to say bye-bye and that I really love you ...just in case something happens. No harm donesaying this if I arrive safely in Singapore and nothing happens . Looking forward to see you Tuesday around noon and every other following day.

:-) Love X

Slow waltzing.

2008-03-25T10:16:00.002+08:00

..suddenly feels too tight. I can feel the restrain that is fighting to be free. Like a fish out of water, I thrash about within myself, trying hard not to fall prey to her. Her hot breath stayed on, singeing my ear, right where she had planted her precious bud of lips.

"Rudi....I...." she paused..now bringing the feather down from my neck and trailing it along the mountainous of ridges of my shoulders. "I've always liked you, you know?" She coyly smiles.

I walked under a bus....I got hit by a train...

2008-03-23T14:10:00.012+08:00

Is there such a thing as privacy these days? The answer, in my opinion - NO. Even my own space at home is invaded by my mother. The only house phone is in my room. Yay! Yippeee!! I can yak till the cows jump over the moon and pigs fly - but given the type of hours I keep - it's not exactly a joy. Not over the weekend. I am not thrilled to bits hearing the phone ring at an insane hour with the voice of my aunty, "Ohh...sorry, sorry, did I wake you? Where's your mother?" Really - are you sorry? I don't think soooooo....

I step out onto the streets and what do I get? Young punks blasting music from their handphones. It's fine to appreciate music but to play it out loud is not on, fuckers. I used to have a (relatively) peaceful bus ride home. Forget that now. As soon as I step on the bus, not only am I assaulted by the chatter and laughter of people, which is alright, I guess, but also by the "mobile TV". A particular bus company for some reason, decided that it is a fantastic idea to install a TV unit on each bus. Yes, it keeps us entertained for that long bus ride 'round wee Singapore, but sometimes, it's just nice to sit in the silence of the chatter of the public and at times, if you are REALLY lucky, your own company.

A train ride on the MRT is not a pleasure at all. On normal work days, it's crammed to the hilt with bodies. Yes, I do wish they were all dead at least I can't complain much but no, they are all stinking alive - literally. I did write about this some blogs ago - so, not only are you invaded in terms of noise, but also I wish at times my sense of smell wasn't so keen. On the streets, advertisements are yelling their heads off at you, discounts, new products, buy 1-get-1-free - just about everywhere. Even the shade of my sunglasses do not offer me respite. It's just bloody rude. I am not allowed the process of decision making anymore. I am stunted in my growth into adulthood!

But I do have to confess that I'm not so innocent myself. I do have a tracker here on this blog. It's not hidden - it's on the right hand side of the blog if you would just scroll down.....yeah, that's it. No, I'm not trying to be big brother but I'm curious to see who reads the stuff I have on here. Of course, it doesn't tell me names but from the IP addresses, one can deduce that Person A from Malaysia comes by pretty often. Those who do visit on a regular basis whom I know personally are not likely going to tell me that they check every now and then. It also communicates to me that these regulars do think of me enough to see what Petal is up to or what she's going to say next.

I also want to see how far my blog "travels". It's harmless, really, I don't do anything with the information the tracker provides me. It's just for my own knowledge. I mean, this blog is not that popular as to attract sponsors with advertisement banners.

The blog is just a little peek into my world, how I think and what goes on. It is just a tool I use to express myself, a memory recorder, if you can call it that. I do read past entries and there are moments when I think "Oh my God! Did I write THAT?!" but I'm not going to delete it to save face. I was a pretty private person and of course, there are things that stay private but there are things that I choose to disclose because it helps me to offload. I choose the stuff I write here. There are many edited versions before these nuggets get posted up. To top it off, I enjoy writing, to me, it doesn't matter if I suck at it or get into trouble because of it. I enjoy it.

See it as you will as an invasion of privacy or space - but just remember that there are worst ways that the information one gets from tracking are being used. So knowing this, some may not come back and read my posts and I respect that decision but I do hope that you will keep reading - you are more than welcome to send me comments via email or here too.

So, personal space and privacy are gone. Up next, dignity?

"...And it felt so good, I want to do it again..."
Petal P. Rose

2008-03-12T20:23:00.004+08:00

I hate being cold. Well, especially when it's meant to be hot. I don't mind if it's meant to be cold. Singapore has been raining for 2-3 days now and I absolutely HATE it. I suffer from allergies that swing with the weather so I am very much affected when the weather here swings from one extreme to the other. Of course, my bosses don't believe me when I tell them that. They look at me with incredulous eyes, "Really?!" YES, REALLY. It's also become worst as the years go by what with level of stress going up.

So now I'm home, doing nothing much but reading very voraciously as if my life depended on what happens to Ugwu next. I'm bored to bits but would not admit it or to go take a walk. I turned my phone off as it only brings me news from the outside world that frankly, I don't give a fuck about at this moment. I turn it on though, about twice, to check my messages. I only respond to the ones I deem are important. The rest can wait. I'm contemplating flying without wings and I need the quiet to rationalise within myself my decision.

Have you eaten, felt full yet empty? Because that's what I'm feeling now. I can feel that my stomach is full yet I feel that it's empty - that I should eat more. I'm not sure what it is. I am listless and tired. There are things to get excited about, things to do but I feel catatonic, staring into the distance, seeing yet not, alive yet dead. Is this what stress does to one?

I need time away. I'm contemplating taking the whole month of June to regroup. I'm already going to the Philippines for about a week so why not take the whole month off too? I'm contemplating Australia but I think I'll most likely end up in different parts of Indonesia. Indonesia, anybody??

Petal P. Rose

Slow waltzing.

2008-03-07T23:08:00.002+08:00

I breathed out slowly, there, on the right side of his neck. I could feel his breath quicken, his pulse, pounding through to my chest. My heart, the mortar to his pestle, ringing with each strike.

I withdrew my hand from his vibrant hair, holding between my tapered fine fingers, a white feather. How significant.

I held the feather between my finger and thumb, maintaining eye contact with him as I smiled flirtatiously and showed it to him.

“Here - it is a sign. What do you think this means?”

I did not move away from the closeness of his chest. I tickled him with the feather. The ears, travelling to his lids, that closed in expectation of ecstasy down to his lips and there it stayed…lingering…as I bring my other hand to his….

To all the girls I've loved before

2008-03-06T10:46:00.008+08:00

It's no use pulling that hair, dear girl,

it will never curl,

the way you want it, though it's been processed.

Me? Never that problem, I was born with

luxuriant curls. They flow down like honey

glistening as they catch the sun's eye.

No amount of blusher is going to bring out

those cheeks, dear girl.

You are about as flat as flowers,

pressed closely between 2 heaving

books. You'll only look like a dowdy clown,

the one we laugh at when she frowns - though I guess

it takes skills to choose the right blusher tone

to match your troubled skin's glow.

Petal P. Rose (giggling)

I'm always a phonecall away (part 2)

2008-02-24T13:43:00.000+08:00

My phone vibrated – text incoming.

“Good pm how are you ” I answered, “Hi, I’m good. Hope you are doing well.”

Next one:

“I want met to you. I wate for your met today can?” I didn’t know how to answer so I left it.

17:39hrs – The phone rang.

I ignored it.

17:57hrs – I returned the call.

“Hello.”

“Hallo – where are you? I want meet you now. Today”

“Today cannot. I’m busy.”

“Why cannot? Okay, we meet today. You tell me your address. I come now.”

“No, I have something on today. Cannot meet.”

“What you something on? Okay, tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow also cannot. Busy – this week very busy.”

“What you busy busy. You tell me where you , I come now.”

“No need to, you will see me on Saturday.”

“I only want to see you. I have to see you today.”

“No, I can’t.”

“What you do today? “

“I’m visiting a friend who is sick in the hospital.”

“Today cannot ah? I have to see you today. Okay, tomorrow.”

It’s a joy to be wanted. Sigh…

Harrrruuumphhh...

2008-02-20T15:56:00.003+08:00

I didn’t know that I was in a relationship. I’m one half of a “platonic lover” it seems. I didn’t understand exactly what was meant by that. Well, I have a vague idea but still, I needed to confirm it. I did a google and true enough, as I had thought – it means being in a deep, non-sexual relationship. It is not gender specific, this relationship – meaning, I can be in a platonic love relationship with someone of the same gender.

Hmm…I didn’t know what to make of it. I mean, at least he loves me – love is love, whatever the form may be. It only becomes a problem when one of the pair doesn’t feel the same way. When one wants to hug and kiss him fiercely. When the heart beats faster that it should, leaping at every morsel he gives out. That’s what I see when I look into his intelligent, naturally lined eyes with those soft brown eyes. But I have had to refrain – afraid that it would ruin whatever good we have so far. Then I would be left with no love and no platonic relationship.

We always have a great time together and we hardly do anything much. We mostly sit and chat or he does his work while I watch the TV. It is a warm, comfortable silence that exists and I relax whenever we are together, instinctively knowing that I am safe and I will be looked after. Every sentence spoken is a tease that begets a quick rebuff from the other one, with just the slightest of a smile and lots of mirth reflected in both our eyes. It is difficult to read him at times, though. I know that beneath that smiling face and witty jokes, there’s more. He covers it up pretty darn well but I instinctively know what he needs for that moment.

“It’s nice to have company sometimes.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t know…Instinct.”

As the elevator door opens, the moment dissipates, carried away by the gentle breeze of the morning, beginning to be warmed by the glorious sun.

He makes me smile.

Petal P. Rose

It really puzzles me.

2008-02-12T22:39:00.000+08:00

How women can allow themselves to be abused - in whichever way, be it verbal, emotional, mental or physical. The sad thing is that I can't say that these women are stupid. They are intelligent and they are living their seemingly normal lives amongst you and me.

Before you tell me to get off my high horse – fuck off because I have been through some of it. It may not an extreme case as some but enough. And it stopped only because I said so.

As far back as I can remember, I’ve always been terrified of father’s anger. When I was a child, they used to fight all the time. I was too young to understand what it was about and even though he never hit mother, he used to storm out of the house, bags packed. I remember being afraid that he would go but not sure if I cried. Maybe I was in two minds – peace and no more terror but that I would miss him because he’s father.

He reared birds and kept them in cages. My joy as a child was when he would close all the windows and let them fly free around the house. In a fit of anger during one of these temper tantrums, he let all the birds free – I remember I was heartbroken.

We were a young family starting out and my guess is that the pressure of themselves being young and having a child, of course, puts extra pressure on them to be and to give the best of themselves. Father used to also fly into a jealous rage if he caught other men speaking to mother. She is attractive. Fair skinned with white pearls. He took a parang to the coffeeshop and hunted down the guy who spoke to mother once. I must have only been about 4 or so.

I was sickly as a child. Every other week was a trip down to the doctor and/or specialist. I was draining them of their resources. Mother used to slap me whenever I threw up the medication or when I was being difficult. My lip would split from the force, trickling anger down my chin – to be soothed later with cold butter. I never saw when the next slap would come flying at me. I was a child. I was supposed to have been in trusted company.

I learnt to be mute around the house. No noise as far as it’s not necessary. He didn’t want to hear it. Even the sound of mother nagging is torture to him and I would bear the brunt of it. I was living in fear that he would either hit mother or me. I would rather him hit me – if it was mother he hit, what would I do?

I started hanging around “bad” company. Not that I was doing anything wrong. I was a teenager and wanted to be part of the inner circle. I literally only hung out with them – I didn’t get into fights or stole or even smoked (even though they did it all and more)!

I was reminiscing the other day when mother told me to buy a loaf of bread on the way home. The loaf was so nice and squishy, yielding to your grasp, making itself comfortable and moulding itself to suit the pressure. But given the force that the loaf was travelling at when it greeted my face one fateful day…I was the nail and the loaf, a hammer.

When my ex-boyfriend and I made a mutual decision to break up, it hurt for 2 years and I wasn’t even in an abusive relationship, just a difficult one. It has been…hmm…about 4/5 years now, I won’t be surprised if it’s more, and it still does hurt at times. I wanted to recreate the same, safe, known relationship that I had with him with different men after but I realised that there can never be another one quite like it. It wasn’t fair to the men who came after so I stopped doing it and just let things flow freely.

What more if you are breaking up with your spouse or your father – even though he’s been abusive, in your eyes, he’s been the “best” there is for you and no matter how you rationalise it and how someone else points it out to you, “he” will always be the best. In the case of a father, it will be an undoing of self. Your whole being is in jeopardy.

It will be (extremely) painful and picking up shreds’ easier said than done (yada yada yada…) but the pain goes away with each footstep forward or at least given a chance for the pain to go away. At times it is for love that you break up. Love for yourself and for the other person.

What will it take for a woman to stand up to a man? All she has to do is to decide that she’s had enough and walk away. Will it be at the cost of a life or worst, someone else’s (a child’s) life? Why does it have to escalate till too late? Why can’t these women love themselves? It is a joy to be alive, why choose to die?

I’ve been told that I will never understand but I understand this much: I love and respect myself. I would NEVER allow ANYONE to tear that down. Not even father.

What more do you want from me?

Is it not enough?

the fantastic sights you’ve been privileged to peek?

Would you like a magnifying glass

to bring you closer?

Or perhaps a microscope to bring you into the deep black

depths of the crevices

It never existed, those fantastic sights,

only fantastic sighs. We were never princesses,

always slaves – not quite the wonderful fairy tale

It only all exists in your head.

There never was a psychedelic rainbow splash, darling babe.

All there ever was -

icky wet earth and bits of charcoal lumped with ashen grey

Petal P. Rose

*cartoon courtesy of: http://onthepatio.typepad.com

I'm always a phonecall away (Part 1)

2008-02-05T11:27:00.000+08:00

“Hello, who are you?”

“I am Petal – remember? From Migrant Voices? I went to the shelter last week?

“Who are you? What’s your name?”

“Petal? Remember? SBM, shelter…”

“Why you want meet me?”

“For the creative writing – remember?”

“Where we meet?”

“Lavender Street, the shelter.”

“Lavender shopping?”

“No no. Not Lavender shopping. Lavender Street SHELTER!”

“Huh? Lavender Shopping Centre?”

“ Nooo! We are NOT going shopping. I will see you at the Lavender Street SHELTER. Okay, I have to go now.”

“Where are you from?”

“Singapore lah.”

“No, no…I know you in Singapore but where you come from?”

“I come from Singapore, like SBM.”

“Ha…you tell me. You not Singapore. Indonesia? Philippines?”

“No – I’m Singaporean. Okay, I have to go. My boss calling me.”

“Where you working?”

“At the university.”

“Oh...teaching, ah?”

“Umm…no – but can. Okay, so I see you on Saturday, 8pm at the Lavender Street Shelter.”

“Ha you bluff me.”

“Okay, see you. Bye!”

CLICK

Petal P Rose

Their story, their words.....

2008-02-03T20:25:00.000+08:00

“I’ve got something else for you,” she said and hands me a VCD. “It’s called “Freedom Writers. It’s related to what you are doing so I thought you should watch it.”

I’ve heard of the movie. I wasn’t in a hurry to watch it when the movie came out in the theatres here. “Pah, it’s the same as ‘Dangerous Minds’. Nothing new.” This was the thought that went through my mind when I read the synopsis of the movie.

But I felt obligated to watch it since it was handed to me on a silver platter. I watched it and drew parallel sights into the movie and my present. I also gleaned some lessons off it.

I am running a creative writing workshop with a men’s shelter with a few volunteers. It’s only been 2 runs so far – not counting the ice-breaker session I ran. The idea was for me to not be part of the workshops directly. The volunteers are to come in, rotating, week by week, and give updates, share experiences and observances via a blog. This, I suspect, may not be the case – not for at least a month or so, if I’m lucky.

It is an uphill task every time to start something new – we all know this. But imagine if this uphill task involved one other person. Then imagine having this uphill task involving hmm…I don’t know – just about between 10-15 men and just for fun, let’s mix it with language and cultural issues. Oh, and I forget, trust issues.

Every step is such a drag. I have to send a text message to each and every one of these men reminding them of the workshop. Then I have to ensure that they turn up as consistently as they can. We took to calling them last night when not a single one turned up. My volunteer took a taxi down to us and he was sick. A thousand and one excuses later, I made a decision. “If Mohammed won’t go to the mountain, the mountain will go to Mohammed.” We imposed on them and made our way to their hang out.

I am not being a martyr or do this to feel good about myself. I do it because I want to and I love doing it. It isn’t about being tired and yes, I feel like quitting at times but seeing the dedication from my volunteers and also the support I’m receiving, I can’t let them down. They keep me greased and push me forward. When I accompany my volunteers I see the delight on their faces when a simple exercise worked and got through to the men. I love the faces of the men when they reminisce about home, the lives they’ve left behind. Some were happy, some melancholy, some happy but mostly I see the longing in their eyes to be back home and be with their loved ones.

They take me to places I’ve never been and think of things I didn’t have to think about. They also never fail to make me laugh and teach me a new term or two. I learnt the slang ‘oil’ last night. To ‘oil’ is to tell lies. In a sentence, it can be used like this, “He’s oiling you. He always Ali-baba talking. Rana is Master oil.” ‘Ali-baba’ talking is also another term that I learnt recently.

It is more than creative writing. It is space for them to breathe and be themselves and be children if they so deign to and forget their troubles. It is where all walls come down and trust is built. In an ideal world, there’d be no sadness, no heartbreaks and no longing.

“Sister, why you take so many photos?” one of them asked. “You last week take, before also take. Where my photos?” Yes, I’ve been trigger happy. Unfortunately, these photos and stories will not be available for public viewing for now.

I can’t tell you how much I’ve taken back with me since these workshops started. Whatever effort I’ve put in seems pittance to what I’ve gained from all of them. All that I’ve heard, experienced and seen humbles me.

Hugs,

Petal P. Rose

Okay, here comes a(nother) rant.

2008-02-01T15:29:00.000+08:00

One of my pet peeves’ – is someone deciding my time for me. I absolutely HATE it when someone decides to offload their “to do stuff” on me without asking. I hate it when my mother does it so for those who fall below her in terms of importance – well….

I am anal about time because I have so little of it. A huge chunk is spent at the office, like most people. I am not complaining about that. The time has been set aside for this purpose. I am, however, very particular when it comes to the time after office hours and time during the weekend. It is essential that people keep their appointments with me. If they can’t, they should let me know in advance, if they can help it. They don’t need to know the nitty-gritty details of what goes on in my head when I make a decision to meet them. I think it’s just bleddy good manners that you shouldn’t take another person’s time for granted. I get upset, of course, if they can’t let me know in advance – but if there’s a valid reason, fine. That time I set aside for that particular meeting could have been given to someone else or I could have met the next person on my schedule earlier or I could have a break – do I need to go into details??

My time is the worst on weekends. I try to not fill it up (so I can have a weekend too!) but at times, this can’t be helped. I then operate like a zombie, going for one meeting after another. I collect my thoughts whilst travelling or while waiting for the next appointment. Sometimes, there’s an overlap – one will overrun or the other will be early and I have to refocus quickly.

Every single minute counts during the weekend. I work far out into the boon docks and end officially only at 1815hrs (if I end on time, that is). By the time I wait for the bus to even get out of here, I take about an hour to reach whichever destination I’m supposed to be at -yes, even home. I can’t zip in and out of the office during my lunch hour to run errands, like I could previously when I was in the main shopping area. I have to wait for the weekend.

I particularly did not appreciate that I was given the task of buying a prezzie for someone who I don’t even care to think about. It wasn’t a choice – it was meted out to me. I won’t go into it here as to why I didn’t protest, blah blah blah – you want to know more, ask. When I did protest, this was the answer: “Aiyah…you’ll be in town anyway, so you can buy after that lahh…”

I had a very good mind to slap this person. My time is tied for 8a.m right till 6.30pm. I have another appointment at 8pm. In between, I scheduled a 7.30pm appointment. All this before I was meted out my “special assignment”. Then my fecking handphone conked out. I got it to the service centre and collection date is all on the same day as all these other things happening on top of it. He doesn't have to know all of this -but before assigning me the task, bloody well ASK! Hmm…so let’s prioritise as a responsible person:

1. 0800hrs – 1830hrs (work)
2. 1830hrs – 1930hrs (collect HP)
3. 1930hrs – 2000hrs (meeting)
4. 2000hrs – 2200hrs (meeting)

As you can see – there is absolutely no time to get a present for even myself, much less for someone whom I’m not bothered about!

What I would like to do ideally:
1. Collect HP – 1100hrs – 1200hrs
2. 1930hrs – 2000hrs (meeting) 1400hrs – 1500hrs
3. 1500hrs – 1600hrs – FREE TIME = any other errands that I need to run
4. 2000hrs – 2200hrs (meeting) – I have a personal interest in this, so I will make it a point to be there.
5. 0800hrs – 1830hrs - don't give a shit about
6. Present - don’t give a shit about

Ahhh…fuck it. It should be this way:

1. Collect HP – 1100HRS – 1200hrs
2. After testing out that it works, promptly switch it off, get on a plane and bugger off for a long weekend at some resort.

Love,
Petal P. Rose

An encounter with foreign talents.

2008-01-29T21:42:00.000+08:00

“How do you say ‘shut up’ in Mandarin?” he asks, eager to know. I wouldn’t tell him. “I know it’s ‘ba’ something….” I remained mum.

“Once I’ve learnt how to say ‘shut up’ in Mandarin, I’ll tell the Singaporeans to shut up and cross the road in anyway they want.**” This, over dried, red chilli frogs’ legs in claypot and rice.

**There’s another story linked to this.

He’s a newish “foreign talent” in Singapore so it’s right that he’s thirsting to know more about Singapore and Singaporeans in general.

Earlier in the day, we were heading out from his apartment. I pushed him aside as we walked, crossing across the entrance of his condominium, right onto the driveway. “Why did you push me?” I explained that it was the driveway and that cars are coming in. “Yes, but they should either slow down or give me space – they can’t knock me down. I’m a pedestrian.” I argued saying that sure, they can slow down but that’s a risk you are taking. He said that the pedestrian has a right of way as no drivers should knock a pedestrian down. It’s true what he said but I wouldn’t leave it to fate.

True enough, when we went back to take his Ezylink farecard (that he had forgotten), he had a close encounter. He crossed the driveway while 2 cars were turning in. One went very close to him, almost running into him. The driver turned in and got out of his car. He was German. He was very upset and accused my foreign talent of having hit the rooftop of his car. He further said that my foreign talent should not have crossed the driveway. “It’s for cars to turn in!”

“But you could have slowed down or given me some space. There was no need for you to come so close to me. There was plenty of space for your car to move.”

“It’s a driveway, cars turn in there. Driveways are for cars.”

“But there’s no other way to get out – except by crossing the driveway and cars should slow down.”

“Then you can go to the road and see if the cars slow down.”

“Ahh…but that’s the road and this is a driveway.”

Foreign talent argued and said that he hit the side of the car, not the rooftop.

As for me, I stood aside and watched the drama unfold. I couldn’t defend or take any sides as I didn’t see what really happened. All I knew was that my foreign talent did not hit the rooftop of the German guy. I would have seen it otherwise because he would have had to lift his hand above his shoulders to do that. They went back and forth.

I can’t even remember how it came about but this came out - “Where do you come from?” German said, Germany. My foreign talent then said that in Germany, he wouldn’t dare do such a thing because he would either have slowed down or given the pedestrian space to walk. German than asked “Where are you from?” “U.S.A” “No...cannot be. You are not from the U.S.”

So this is it. Does the U.S have different laws pertaining to the road? Is it alright to knock down a pedestrian in any country? Or is it because my friend didn’t sound American or is not the correct colour? Would it have been different if he looked or sounded American? From his reaction, one could tell that he had a preconceived idea of where my foreign talent came from. In his tone of disbelief, he's indirectly accusing of him of lying. As far as I could see – it was more than crossing the driveway. It didn’t have to be more but it came down to being a certain nationality and (the right) colour.

German was red in the face but backed down when he realised that foreign talent had a point. But he did say, “Next time, I will not give you a chance. I will hit you.”

Threatening someone in front of a witness…Ahhh…stupidity does transcend all nationalities, colours, etc etc.... In Mandarin, we call it “ben dan”. Kalau Bahasa Melayu, “bodoh” dan Bahasa Indonesia, “goblok”.

So, foreign talent – I do agree with you, up to a certain point. I will not bi zhui – I abhor being silent and staying oppressed. I have a voice but I choose my battles wisely. I will not cross the road willy-nilly, silly. I don’t want to leave it to fate. I have more to give than what I have given and I need to stay alive for this.

Hugs,
Petal P.Rose

"Stressed out people need luxuries!"

2008-01-18T09:21:00.000+08:00

he proclaimed, at a corner of the Borders bookstore last night. He was chubby, with geeky glasses and dressed in a nondescript pair of bermudas and a polo t-shirt. I went past him and heard him. He was holding his handphone in hand and I thought he was on the phone though it wasn't put to his ear. Ah, you know how it is these days - bluetooth this and wired that and I didn't think too much about it - just that he was a bit loud. He repeated himself a couple more times and that was when I turned back and took a closer look.

He wasn't on the handphone. He was declaring it. He had alot of confused looks from the others who were walking past - I had to react. I went over to him, put 2 thumbs up and yelled back "I hear ya! Right on! I agree with ya!" Only then did I notice his bag. He was holding on to a "Dior" paperbag. I was tempted to carry on and ask "How about a spa package then? I'm stressed out. Or better yet - a whole 2 weeks, sequestered away in a nice villa in Thailand - without you.?"

I don't know if it was a social experiment he was doing or if he was part of a theatre group and he was researching a role - who knows? Or perhaps feeling guilty over his recent purchase, he was seeking redress and approval, but from the public? Hmm....He didn't even look like your typical loony. For one, he was Chinese, simply but well-dressed and well spoken. Some of you may say that now I am the one boxing someone in - but it's true. If you had seen him, you would think the same.

Or is it truly that with the level of stress he's burst the dam? How will he or people like him be dealt with? Will he be picked up and locked away somewhere - I mean, we don't want people like him to impede the progress of our gracious society, would we? Like the rest of Singapore, all is nice and green. People are smiley. Stepford Wives, Asian version 1.1...there was something pleasant about that place.....

Much love,

Petal P. Rose

The woman with the glass eye

2008-01-11T13:00:00.000+08:00

She goes around with a magnifying glass
In hand she takes it
about her daily life
peering at documents over the counter
I wonder what she sees -
does it bring things closer,
more than she wants to see?
change it perversely to suit her dull heart?
or let it end
there, over the counter,
right where there is a full stop.

Petal P. Rose

Discoursed discord

2008-01-06T22:47:00.000+08:00

I was reading an essay from Judith Ortiz Cofer, drawn from her collection, The Latin Deli” Prose and Poetry (1993). It is titled “The Myth of the Latin Woman”. This can be found in the third edition of “One World, Many Cultures”, a compilation of works by internationally recognised writers, exploring cultural difference and displacement in relation to race, class, gender, region and nation. This book, although first published in 1992, still is relevant and rings through to the present, unfortunately.

I picked on Ms Cofer’s essay in particular because I could identify with it. In her essay, she talked about how she’s stereotyped as the help because she is a Latina in America. She related how she inspired men to bend their wretched knees and burst into “Maria” from West Side story, “La Bamba” and “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina”. Though I have not inspired men as such, I have had encounters similar to that – here, in Singapore. Not surprising to me as I view the people here as “technologically advanced, business savvy but culturally ignorant, not to mention tactless”.

I am brown-skinned. You can see that in my picture here. I have always attracted curious morons who do not think twice to ask the origins of my ethnicity – if I am asked, that is. But most often, it is assumed. This comes out in their body language and speech when they interact with me. Most assume that I am the help. I am divided on my reaction to this. I want to feel insulted – but there is nothing wrong with being “the help”. I mostly laugh it off but at the back of my mind, I am not happy with it yet I cannot go on a crusade and make it my battle to correct these idiots.

I had a western boyfriend. We, along with a friend of mine, who is of mixed parentage, went to Carrefour to get some groceries in preparation for a barbeque at his place later in the evening. As we stood at the checkout counter, waiting for the groceries to be tallied and totalled up, I instructed my boyfriend and my friend on how to pack the groceries and who should carry what. “Ding!” She, the checkout lady, rang up the total and I was taking out my purse to hand her the cash. “Tell sir, if he just add S$3 he can get 1 extra lucky draw coupon.” I was stunned. I asked her, “What do you mean?” and she repeated herself. I then put on my most Singlish accent and told her, “No need, we are not interested”. I thought that would put an end to it but noooooo…she insisted that I “ask sir if he wants to add S$3 – eh, why not, extra 1 coupon, extra 1 chance, you know.” Two of them were oblivious to this exchange as they were busy discussing the barbeque and packing the groceries. I practically shoved the cash into her hand, “No need, don’t want”. Never mind that I was instructing “sir” and “mam”. Never mind that I was dressed nicely.

Later in the evening, during the barbeque, I was also treated as “the help”. The crowd was a mix of locals and expats, but mostly expats. I had people talk down to me, ordering me about, thinking also that I was “the help”. I was treated like a bloody waitress, right there in my own home. Yes, I am the co-host and must be gracious, warm and all those things, I understand that. But there is a difference between asking and commanding. I have never been so out of place in my own home.

I was also at Daiso a couple of weeks back with the same friend of mixed parentage. It was our day off, so we dressed simply, t-shirt, shorts, flip flops. The same thing happened at the checkout counter (what is it with me and checkout ladies?!). “Ah, you can ask Mam to help you stick the sticker.” So aside from being “the help”, I am also stupid. Nice.

I am sick and tired of being stereotyped and honestly, also being asked “what are you?” I am human, just like you, with feelings. It does not matter where I come from. I have no problems, like I said, being asked about my ethnicity but a little tact would be nice.

The presumptuous attitude of Singaporeans at large is appalling. They consider themselves Lords and Kings because Singapore is very much advanced in many ways. It is a fact but we do not need to push the dirt into the faces of “the help”. “The help” who has helped and who are still helping, you to clean the house, bring up the children, build homes and offices. “The help” know that they are poor and their economic situation is not quite like Singapore – far from it. That is the reason why they are working here, neglecting their own families to care for yours. Ironic, isn’t it?

I sat in the back of the cab. He glanced in the rear view mirror. “Oh, from Indonesia. You just finish work is it? Wah...Orchard ah, this time….ya lah…nowadays must work very hard to get money.” He had picked me up from Orchard Hotel, near the infamous Orchard Towers. With that gleam in his eyes, I could see where this conversation was going – down south where I did not go. He continued as he carried me along the scared road towards home. I tuned out, gazing out of the window, hoping that he will just bloody shut up. He didn’t get the hint and continued on his monologue. As we neared my place, “Wahh…you in Singapore, so lucky. Live in a block. Indonesia all kampung kampung. Ah, S$23, miss. Good night, ah.” Need I say more?

So to end it (for now, at least) I am a second generation Indonesian, born and raised, here in Lion City. As I tick that box under “Race” in all my application forms, I nod in agreement of that coffin that is prepared for all inhabitants of this sunny island. I nod in agreement of the lid closing in and of the nails that are slowly knocked in, securing me, in my place, right here, sunny island, Lion City.

Petal P. Rose

Wooohoooo!!! Happy New Year!!!

2008-01-01T23:29:00.000+08:00

There's about 30 minutes left to the first day of new year. Have you made a resolution? I am done with resolutions as well as masak-masak friends. I am deleting contact numbers and email addresses of these so-called friends. You can call it purging - they are shit anyway. :-)

It has always been the norm for me to send out a text message each Christmas and New Year to people on my phonebook list. This year I decided not to - and also not reply. The ones I didn't reply to, it means that I will call - in the next few days or I just can't be bothered to. Why wish someone Merry Christmas and a good year ahead when "you" are not there anyway? Are you there when I take a mis-step or worst, a fall? Are you there to laugh with me and share the pains I go through? NOPE. ABSENT.

The thing is, I'm not one to confront it and get all upset, etc. But I do have a problem when these "friends" get all huffy-puffy when I don't have their numbers stored in my phone because I lost my handphone. Whatever the fuck for? I mean, it's not like they call me. I try and keep up with them, on msn, I start the conversations, mostly. As a recent meet-up confirms my gut-feel, I am now freeing up space on my handphone for real friends - who matter to me and me to them. Why should I get myself into ridiculous yoga poses for these masak-masak ones?

So for the new year, I had my handphone off and was surrounded by people who DO matter. I had a call on the eve from a friend whom I know is a very busy person, another, all the way from Sweden and yet another from the group I worked with on a forum theatre piece. I appreciate it all. I never expected them to call but they did. Those who didn't call or wish, no worries - I know your worth to me and so should you.

So long fuckers, it's good that you can sleep at night.

Petal P. Rose

Dream a little dream of me

2007-12-26T19:05:00.000+08:00

I intended the last post to be the last post for the year but I had a dream - 2, to be exact but recording one here:

He was always the one behind the camera, trigger happy, freezing all in their glorious moments. We met at some sort of a park and he asked me to capture him. Odd, I thought, he never asked that I took him...still puzzled but not wanting to ask, I took the camera off him. As I focused, I realised that it wasn't just him that I was taking, I realised then that there were the others. I can't exactly remember now how they looked like, damnit, I should have written it soon as I was awake but...anyway, the first word that popped into my head was "schizophrenia". Not sure why...Of course, we all know that everyone is made up of parts. Just that most keep it together and remained glued with the toss and turns of life. Others, disintegrate.

I know he is a whole person but divided at times. More so now with the situation he is in. I saw the one who was the cad, the one who stepped in in times of crises and the gentle one with soothing words. I've met some of them, not all but I'm sure I'll meet them all soon enough. I didn't understand it at that point of time - I blinked back, making sure I wasn't just seeing things but they were there, waiting, to be captured in their glorious moment, an acknowledgement of existence.

Petal P. Rose

The End........ALMOST

2007-12-21T10:46:00.000+08:00

Last weekend marked a few things for me. It was the end of my art therapy course and also the “beginning” of Migrant Voices.

Part I – Art Therapy

We ended the course with each a presentation. There were a few angles with which one can do the presentation. I sat through a few the weekend before and it was my turn last weekend. I didn’t want to have to go through all the notes and be factual, regurgitating notes that we already know and I didn’t have time to do research and gain more in-depth views. I didn’t want to quote anyone infamous on the topic – I have always liked sharing things that people don’t know about. As I’m certainly no expert in this course, I shared myself. I let pieces of me be shredded much like tissue paper in nervous hands. My hands were Icelandic cold and at times I felt myself tearing. My voice, it broke, hoarse at certain points as I choke back the lumps. I could see the empathy and understanding in their eyes. I also wrote an impromptu poem when one of my course mates was presenting. I closed off the presentation with it. It is not the exact one I wrote then but you’ll get the gist of it:

Lines

squiggly, straight, thick, wavy
lines connecting
Red - it outlines boundaries
excitement “do not enter”
celebratory?
dashed lines
Yellow,
pause
A wait –
I guess that’s where I am
stomach in, containing.

Part II – Migrant Voices, The Beginning

I underwent training for a forum theatre piece that we were putting up as part of our International Migrants’ Day celebration. He wrote the script and was the director. I was his shadow, the co-director. We only had about 2 months to work on this, putting a lot of stress on the actors who are not professional actors. It put me under strain too because I’m not a trained theatre practitioner. But I can’t tell you how proud I am of the outcome of the whole thing. Everyone was there in full force, supporting and helping where they could. It was heartwarming to see everyone band together to make it a success. We have always partnered up with organizations such as DramaBox and SDEA to produce a drama piece. I am proud to say that this is the first Migrant Voices production that we weren’t partnered with such organizations. True, we had help with the script and directing but all the rest were entirely stamped with Migrant Voices’ mark. It showed me how far we have come from day one. I will always be grateful for the endless creative talents who are willing to work with us and the support from the arts’ community as well as the general public. It makes it all worthwhile.

Fast forwarding to Year 2008, I’ve already met up with some volunteers who will be running creative writing workshops. That’s about to take off in late January/early February. It has been on hold since October so it’s about ready to hit the ground running. I hope to also recruit more volunteers to run certain programmes that do not require too much off them. Hmm…plans plans plans….

I bought a digital camera recently and have already started taking pictures. This blog will be updated with some pictures taken. Be patient. I am thinking of starting a photo blog too. Look out for that.

Oh yes, I will be starting a beginner’s course in Javanese gamelan – that should be fun…Will update as I go along on that progress.

Till then, have yourself a good Christmas with your nearest and dearest and see you again sometime in January.

Hugs & Kissies,
Petal P. Rose

p/s: FINALLY! Year 2008 is only 2 weeks shy – can’t wait for it to begin. I’m impatient as to what it brings.

"Parting, ah, such sweet sorrow."

2007-11-20T18:16:00.000+08:00

"Bye Love."

Like the precious petals strewn on a promising wedding march, carried by the slightest of draft, those words rang through the quiet of the night. It dissipated quickly but enough to unsettle me. I turned back and flashed my cynical smile. It's becoming a daily affair,this cynical flash. I don't like it.

I walked, not turning back to see if he was watching. I wanted the dark to engulf me and make us one. I exhaled a big sigh, a tired one. It is not fair that women feel so much more than men, carry a 9-month burden before the joy and yet are caretakers of their egos.

I looked out for him. I guess I was setting myself up for disappointment. I should have known better. But I felt for him - one could say, I love him, my sweet Valentine. I thought I was a superwoman, immune to the petty pangs of envy. I was his human shield - I thought I could withstand the battle and come out unscathed. It didn't matter - we were in it together. Little did I know that I was setting myself up for defeat because the enemy was not the others - it was himself.

So with grace only bestowed upon me by my Maker, I admit defeat, I lay my sword in surrender at his feet. I am only human, I cannot carry this on my shoulder, battling him and the others.

take up my sword left
at your feet, Lover
scar yourself if you must
someday
the sword may also part
the disappointment, that is now
in my heart

Petal P. Rose

Let's connect!

2007-11-20T17:57:00.000+08:00

I signed myself up for an online dating service. Well, I’m not going to be coy about it – even an attractive girl like me, needs help.

Ok ok….this is something that’s not recent. I signed up years back, plotting revenge on an ex-boyfriend who had signed up there. Sorry, A – now you know. I did it out of spite, never intending to actually go out with any of the men off there. But I did – a few times.

For those of you who are totally not into this, this is the process:

1. Sign yourself up

Fill in the blanks. Age, stats, likes/dislikes, what sort of a person you want, etc, blah, blah, blah.

2. Submit a photo and an introduction of yourself plus what you want out of the guy, in detail.

These need to be approved by the site. In case you put up some pornographic pictures or some private information that is not allowed, though I think pornography will bring all the boys to the yard….

3. And then you wait.

I didn’t put up a picture then – of course not, I’m plotting revenge, remember? Before long I saw that some men were looking at my profile but no one sent me messages. It was cold out there in cyberspace. Then I thought, “Hmm…let’s put up a picture..” I did and that was when requests to chat starting coming in.

I chatted with a few of them. We got along well online so I decided to take the next plunge and meet some of them. Turned out to be TOTALLY anti-climatic. The men were like pieces of limp, dirty rags, with real personalities of nothingness. Most of them wanted to jump into bed, some too big for their own shoes (talking of ships when they are and will stay, mere sampans) and others, just plain, ugh!

I remember going to MOS with one of my dates. He was supposed to pick me up from my place. Michael, his name. He got lost and arrived an hour late. I saw his car and my heart sank immediately. It was a white, pseudo sports car – YUCK. I hate white cars and wannabes. But being of a generous soul, I bit back my instinct and swallowed the bile threatening to creep up my oesophagus. In the car, conversation was all about me! Me! ME! Not me, me. Him, him. My eyes watered and glazed over – he, no doubt, thought my shining eyes and attentive listening, signalled interest. I was more like, “What the fuck was I thinking?! I should have switched my mobile off and ran towards freedom!”

He knew the bartender at MOS and without asking my preference, ordered drinks for us. Some wussy mixer drink that was made extra strong, I suspect (at that time), to impress me. I wanted to move on to the dance floor but he insisted on another drink. Same wussy drink, down the hole. I had 2 drink coupons from the paid entry; I used one of it and started towards Smoove. It was crowded there, as I knew it would be. Holding the drink in my hand, I started moving to the beat. He excused himself to the toilet. I waited, enjoying myself, listening to the music. Seconds ticked by, then minutes, then more than 10 minutes. Concerned, I started ringing Michael’s number. It rang but he didn’t answer. Waited for a bit and rang. Again, no answer. Oh well, shit happens. So yes, I got “dumped” in the middle of the date. No big deal, I moved to the Main Area. Got myself another drink and brought it to the dance floor where I met 2 gorgissss Puerto Rican Melbournites, where we grooved the night away.

So it worked out in my favour. Michael sent me an sms the next day, saying that he went back to the car to rest and fell asleep. I suspect that his bravado drinking was to get me drunk – well, honey, I hold my drink well – can’t say the same about you, babe.

I am still subscribed to this online dating service. I’m just intrigued as to what drives these men to be “here”, wearing their hearts on their sleeves. I’ve since taken my photo off and changed the introduction bit. I don’t go out with strange men anymore – I can’t really be bothered to pretend to be interested. I do get the weekly updates of men who may be of interest to me but really, with their boring introductions of ** “I’m just a simple man looking…”, “shy when you first know me but chatty when I’m comfortable..” and “I’m kind, caring, understanding…” why would I bother? Which moron would go online saying that they are horny bastards? But really, how about something more than the ordinary? Tell us things we do not already know.

Petal P. Rose

**believe it or not, these are actual self introductions – totally not made up!

Disconnected...

2007-11-05T23:52:00.000+08:00

I just started an art therapy course at LaSalle on Saturday afternoons - I'm the student, not the "teacher". Had my first lesson last Saturday. Highly awesome! Go do it!

We chose our own papers and choice of "tools". There were charcoal sticks, glitter, pastels, crayons, acrylic, etc etc. We each had our one minute of fame - we left a mark on each other's piece of paper. I felt like a naughty child. I could take whatever I wanted and deface that perfect piece of white. No one would know which mark I made, we were anonymous. Some of them felt a bit of stress because they felt that they needed to conform and follow the pattern. I, for one, didn't want to conform on purpose. I felt free. I could feel my heart racing, fingers numbed from the excitement of this unexpected naughtiness. Exhilarating!

Another exercise took us on a walk with our crayons and whatnots. Music played in the background. Eyes closed, fist curled around my white crayon. I followed the voice. I walk in the park, breathe in, breathe out. Everything is green, watch out! Rock in the path and a dog running through your path, excitedly chasing a duck. Smell the air, freshly cut from dawn. Cool air resting awhile before flitting away with the pretty, pretty butterflies. We opened our eyes and looked at the random walk we took. Next task - "see" a picture in the random walk and draw it out. Time: 10 minutes.

Alot of them started working on their piece almost immediately. I was stuck. I couldn't see my picture. I started turning the paper, this way and that...I finally saw a man standing there. I started to fill in the details. I was surprised at the end product. I had pulled up a memory from a long time ago, when I was about 11 or 12 years old...

I visited an uncle of mine in a drug rehabilitation centre when I was about that age. I was allowed to because I didn't have an IC yet and mom could go because they are siblings. It never struck me that I would remember it. I thought that I was drawing out my mother visiting but it turned out to be an observation I didn't know I had. These "prisoners" are only allowed visits from family members once a month and their wives would tart themselves up to appear all well and good for their husbands. I also had a name for it - "The Great Partition". Picture will be up soon. It is also for sale so holler if you are interested ;-)

In the evening, I was at the Arab Association for an event. I watched various middle eastern string and drums performances and basically danced the night away. Ladies who were there, I thank you for your warmth, generousity and the Dzaffin steps. It was a lovely evening and I do feel priviledged to have been allowed that precious peek.

I am not going to write in detail about the evening but will leave you these words, recorded then:

traditional, swaying, plucking oh so skillful, string instrument from Turkey
cameras annoy my eyes with their bright lights
my emotions run, trickling at times, accompanying the quieter notes
escalating, shut eyes backpaddling me to when I was a muslim.
Do I miss it? eyes fixed, lullled and lost but dark kohl-lined eyes watch me, hypnotic
light-footed horse warriors, they twirl, I see only white, flashes of those dark eyes again
the earth shifts as they hold hands, hop and skip,
always graceful, they never slip
fingers touched heels, bending down, celebratory yet humbled
ululation proclaiming devotion and love
heel to earth, bow down muslims, keep yourselves grounded
evoke loyalty to the One royalty
toes curled upwards, heels strike the ground

ku sangka dinda,
tapi dia pusaka
membuka jendela dan
membelai hatiku yang gusang

Petal P. Rose

Happy, happy, joy, joy

2007-10-25T14:16:00.000+08:00

" I didn't see it coming. I hoped for it but thought that there was no way that it is ever going to happen.

Then it did. I wasn't prepared for it. I mean, I am happy that it happened and happy that it happened the way it did. It came as a greater (welcome) surprise. I had the expected reaction....My heart raced fast, limited by my rib cage or I'm sure it would have strained to free itself from the flesh that holds it in. My fingers were cold as a dead carcass, head was swimming with a thousand and one questions.

But I lived for the moment and absolutely LOVED it. What's next, boy? I think I am ready for it so come on, make haste!!"

Petal P. Rose

Bedside tramp

2007-10-20T14:36:00.000+08:00

she comes to him during his days
him to her, the dark
illuminated by the bedside lamp
they entwine in a breach
of trust that wasn't there to begin with
a glimpse of disillusionment
she allows, indulgent
to her wants, needs neglected
preferring the dark
when he comes to her
illuminated by the bedside lamp
locked in a tight embrace
of reality and insanity
tempestuous affair rocking
their lives together yet apart
cocooned in their virtual net
she feels undisturbed,
him smoothening her furrows
when he comes to her, borrowed,
illuminated by the bedside lamp

Petal P. Rose

A posting from a 30 year old.

2007-10-09T23:43:00.000+08:00

So, I turn 3-0 in the next couple of minutes (and by the time I am done with this, I AM 3-0 [shit! shit! shit!!]). I look at myself in the mirror, looking hard for visible effects of the big uh oh. Nothing that I haven't seen, noticed or been pointed out to before.

But:
1. skin now becomes problematic - more oily and pimple prone.
2. it also lacks it's youthful glow
3. not so smooth anymore
4. I have panda eyes
5. eyes seem more discerning (but that could be just me squinting)
6. let's not talk about the other parts of the body.....

The change I most feel is inside. Like the blind who longed for sight, I now am the seeing who longs for the dark. I see so many things that just makes my heart bleed. How ungrateful humans are - I'm not talking just about the ones in general but those who are close to me. It's appalling at how selfish and uncaring these people whom I hold dear are. They are no different from the enemy.

More and more, I realise how like she I am. She, who would sacrifice her every single cent, give her clothes off her back and work her fingers to the bone for her love of those around her. She, who would bend double for her sons, going so far as shielding her daughter from the wretched knife. She has lead a hard life from the get-go. It's something I hear from her often to remind us of her humble beginnings. I've seen how she goes without. She. who is taken for granted by the chauvinistic pig, cast aside by the pig's pride. Even so, she chides me when I utter bad words after the pig. Her way is gentle and humble - I am unworthy standing beside her. Whenever I grouse about things, I stop short remembering her.

My heart bleeds for him when he struggles so hard to break the chains that bind him. I can feel the disappointment reflected in his eyes yet he is too big a boy to weep. 'Take it like a man', a phrase oft quoted but really, is anyone too grown up to weep in disappointment, despair and anger? I can almost hear the unspoken "why?" and the gut-wrenching sadness that sets in after. He didn't do anything wrong, as far as I can see. Yet he is treated like an outcast, callously forgotten in the display. Discarded for now - a liability.

I don't know how people who make others miserable pray or look at themselves in the mirror every single day or be able to sleep without fear of being killed. I know I'm not in the wrong but yet, I am ashamed to face the wrong-doer. I don't know how to be gentle and humble (yet) like her and look into those eyes and forgive. I don't think I ever can. Himself can go to the grave knowing that he was never forgiven.

I am not rich and I have given up the idea that I will ever be (but doesn't stop me from trying). I have accepted that I will be following in her footsteps - just a harder, no-nonsense and streetsmarter version of her. I would love to give her the big house, the money to throw but I don't know if I would be able to in her lifetime. But in her lifetime I know, I will try my earnest best to give the best that I can afford to be it materialistically or otherwise.

So when most would celebrate their 3-0 with a big party, my heart is heavy with sorrow for all these things and more unmentioned. Happy birthday, Petal.

'bagaikan padi yang tunduk
lagi berisi lagilah rendah
murnilah namanya
insan yang di gelar emak"

Petal P. Rose

Enmeshed purple, red, blue

2007-10-08T16:53:00.000+08:00

I wonder why the need for speed
is it wind in the hair or desire to bleed
hastening your arrival, meet the Maker
estimated time, past tea, early supper

what would you say then to your Maker
"how do you do? time for dinner?"
I do imagine He may say - "not for you - your arrival undue,
see, I only had the table set for two"

with that rejection, he faces away
heart is laden with dismay
distant beeps and soft murmurs
took him out of deep, dark slumber

"wha...who..." his first words said
his eyes saw needles, pain in his head
no ‘get well soon’ or cheerful flowers
he wanted to feel just like the others

a darting pain, an aching heart
he spiralled into deafening silence
his only company, dejection
he sucked in the air thick with disappointment

in his nightmares
he would pummel the air -
"all the rosaries that i prayed, hours of mass,
didn't it count - how can you let it all pass?!

resentment of decades
hopes unpaid
while in the shadows waiting in glee,
the infamous red cloak wants to end this melee

"come my poppet, sit with me"
applying balm to soothe his knees
but behind his cloak, hidden dagger
with one swift flick, it is all over.

it wasn't for the thrill of wind in the hair
that he made the pact at the villain's lair
more because he was shouldering hurt
of rebuff from love he once covert

Petal P. Rose

Turning 3-0 (and counting...)

2007-10-06T23:01:00.000+08:00

Looking through my fingers
My eyes are squeezed shut

Fast approaching
uh-oh
‘round the corner
big three-oh

Not too tight
Careful the crow feet
cos

Fast approaching
uh-oh
‘round the corner
big three-oh

Things don't sit well no more
I'm not talking about just clothes,
nah-uh

Fast approaching
uh-oh
‘round the corner
big three-oh

Can't slam them brakes
Shit! I'm careening out of control
oh no!

Can't stop, will crash
uh-oh
'round the cornder
big three-oh

Petal P. Rose

Apple Peel

2007-09-25T01:06:00.001+08:00

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

2007-09-24T23:33:00.000+08:00

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....

2007-09-19T17:04:00.000+08:00

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

2007-09-19T16:12:00.000+08:00

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

2007-09-15T11:17:00.000+08:00

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

2007-09-13T20:07:00.000+08:00

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?

2007-09-06T11:39:00.000+08:00

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

2007-09-03T23:58:00.000+08:00

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

2007-09-03T23:52:00.000+08:00

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

Angel

2007-08-23T02:04:00.000+08:00

what are you hiding, Spanish eyes?
false pretences,
behind those lush eyelashes.

I asked you once,
nay, twice
lips mum
stop the worms from crawling out

you've already told me
about your trauma
your abusive Father
like a tele-novella

what of your wife?
you love her so much
why do you wince in pain
when I mentioned her name?

is it the distance
that is driving you insane?
or is it desire
of lust unattained?

I asked you again
we danced to lull the pain
I brandish a sword
pretend Lancelot

nimble on your feet
eyes do not betray
I'm not swayed by your avoidance
just stop this maddening game!

let it bare
stand naked
let me in don't leave me here standing in the wind

Update:

Just a piece of news...I've decided to go to Boracay for my break. Tickets paid for. Counting down to it. Leaving on a jet plane........

Petal P. Rose

A place to belong

2007-08-15T09:41:00.000+08:00

The refrigerator
Broken down
The washing machine
Broken down
The cooker hood
Broken down
Communication within the family
Broken down
My family
only held thinly
by an invisible threat
already taut
will break eventually.
This is home, truly.

Petal P. Rose

Where do I go?!

2007-08-13T23:05:00.000+08:00

I am itching to get out of Singapore....for a break, that is (first...). I am dying here - I need a fresh perspective on life and its offerings. I can't decide where to go but one thing for sure is that I want to roast myself brown on a beach. A week of absolute quiet..

I was thinking of somewhere in Bali - stay cheap at a losmen and go off to Hyatt towards the end my stay...The other place in mind is at one of the islands of Thailand.....or perhaps somewhere in the Philippines - Cebu or Boracay...Hmmm...choices choices....

Petal P. Rose

My "usual" Sunday posting(s)

2007-08-13T00:30:00.000+08:00

Unmasked

Thankless, I toil
on this foreign soil
I call my home

I feel entombed

Drenched under the hot sun

I am one in a million

not so rare

fast forgotten

I am faceless
I feed the blank stares
of a nation that is taught graciousness

Unpretty

chipped, hot fuchsia
nonchalant imperfection
reflection of a failing?
or one who is flailing?

glazed eyes do not see
shielded by sunny daze
the dark comfort
my darkglasses bring

Petal P. Rose

2007-08-10T00:47:00.000+08:00

Double posting from me tonight. Woohooo....I just needed to keep some things on record. This entry may not make sense to most of you but this blog is to serve my purpose, not yours anyway. If it were for your purpose, then I should be paid. B-) I wish it was possible for me to keep every memory "alive" and recorded - this is but a poor snippet....but nonetheless, still valuable so that I can look back and think "What drug was I on when I wrote that entry?!"

materialistic party animal
enjoys drinking and dancing
street fight over a car accident
24 hours imprisonment
mountains natural surroundings
change 26 butterfly
in pursuit of happiness
loves ice-cream chocolate
within but surroundings affect that
searching still
calm introspective passionate
in touch but not too much in control
gecko agile
letting nature chart its course
in love maybe
with whom
yet to determine
pitter patter
midnight cries
digesting
still together? was ever together?
discussions solutions
question marks
no answers yet

Petal P. Rose

Something to chew on.....

2007-08-10T00:40:00.000+08:00

As is my custom, I am reading a couple of books at the same time. How I do it, I honestly don’t know. Yes, of course, it’s easy if all the books do not have the same type of topics but ……anyway…. I happened to be in the poetry/literature part of the library during my last visit and I’ve borrowed books along those lines.

I started out looking for “Conference of the Birds”. I’ve been told about this book a couple of times and I did pick it up about 3/4 visits ago but put it back down, hoping to learn more on Sufism before I read it. One of the books I picked up this particular visit was a book of poems by an Albanian man, Visar Zhiti. Imprisoned at the peak of his prime of 27, for 8 years. Imagine being locked up in a dark, dank room, with nothing accept the clothes off your back and your mind. No glimpse of the outside world or even contact with other prisoners whom you know are within the other walls. No sun, no moon, no comfort of any kind. Nothing to lose except for your mind. Even the simple pleasure of writing was not allowed. I think if it were me, I would have been long dead – probably of insanity.

Visar kept his sanity intact by “writing” and memorising his poems. Reading through the first few pages of his book, I am struck by how he keeps things “alive” in his mind by reminiscing and remembering the outside world. Simple things like “the verdant branches of a cherry tree” or the shoeshine boy. He employs Greek mythology and Shakespeare in his poems, bringing in the likes of Romeo, Juliet, Prometheus and Ulysses to describe his feelings and his thoughts. He writes about how he remembers the outside world – not just through rose-tinted glasses but the brutality of war and the longing for loved ones. I don’t know how to describe his works – my words cannot tell you enough. You must read it to know it. I leave you with two of his poems:

The Condemned Apple

The day gapes open
Like a endless chasm under my feet.
How can I fill it to enter the next day?
Hundreds of times have I heaved myself into it,
trodden upon myself.

Descent into solitude!
I have been left without the comfort of human voices
as if without fire.

Barefoot day after day
I walk back and forth
With nowhere to go.
There is no road under my feet,
No one here to say ‘good morning,’
They hurl a broom at me
And make me sweep the floor
of my misfortune

And I, gone mad, scream in silence:
Hi there, world!
You may have forgotten me,
but not I, you.

The Little Things

Only with a leaf
Can I talk of the forest,

Only a star
Can ensure you are not alone.

An abandoned shoe,
Rouses endless roads.

Light a cigarette
From Prometheus’ pack.

Infinite Feeling

2007-08-07T00:17:00.000+08:00

I will love you
fat or skinny
ridiculous and ninny
if that's part of you
it's the way you were meant to be

love you when you are down and out
even if we go without
life without love is a starvation
worst than famine and drought

that's what makes the world go round
a merry carnival
a kid's laughter in a crowd

I will love you
even if you bore me
or wear me out
I love you without a doubt

Petal P. Rose

Addiction

2007-08-04T16:40:00.000+08:00

I had a thought
Didn’t find it from the ground
I’ve gotta, gotta write it down
Urgency most profound

Do you know where it’s found?
Do you know where I got it from?

The thoughts came from my head,
Got it from my head
From my head

I had a dream
That I was running wild and fast
Down by the meadows
Weeks slipping past
Way past the shadows

Dreams came from my head,
Got it from my head
From my head

I found snakes slithering, swords afencing
Pretty rainbows, my own pot of gold
Private seductions, ignored instructions
Passions uninvited

All from my head
Got it from my head
From my head

Petal P. Rose
*inspired by a song from Diana Schuur and Elmo (yes, Elmo from Sesame Street)
Yes, I do watch Sesame Street

About a girl

2007-08-01T11:38:00.000+08:00

Strong tea

darkly acerbic

how sweet

take a sip

devil's chalice

beware, it scalds

Deceiving

tongue numb

bitten now dumb

Petal P. Rose

Conflicted....

2007-07-29T22:48:00.000+08:00

"I don't know what to say or how to react. Emotions escape me as do words. Numb. Correct. That is the word. Numb. I anticipated bad news but not of this nature. Like chocolate, it was bittersweet. Sweet for him. Bitter, me.

I can't blame him for what's happened. It was before me. A consequence of a previous chapter in his life. I am the current chapter - it's still being written. Like a child who has lost interest, the book remains open with a pen thrown carelessly at its side. It is up to me to weave the next line. The happily ever after."

Maybe.

Petal P. Rose

Shadows

2007-07-26T18:22:00.000+08:00

I can't sleep at night
the people, the people
all black and blank
I can't see their faces
but I feel
my heart pounds, panic arising
choke back the scream
swallow it
they are grabbing me
Don't! Stop it!
I don't want to fall
I can't stumble
they are chasing me, chasing!
Hail Mary full of grace,
the Lord is with you,
Blessed are you among women,
and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus.
Faster, faster, they are gaining!
Pant, gasp, pant for air
Holy Mary Mother of God,
pray for us sinners,
now and at the hour of our death, Amen.
I expel the last line
I can't rest yet
they are still there
there, lurking, anticipating
I am tired but
I can't sleep at night

Petal P. Rose

Tasty!!!

2007-07-24T21:38:00.000+08:00

I went to watch the Dim Sum Dollies with a colleague a few weeks ago. For those of you who don't know what that is, surf by here: http://www.dimsumdollies.com/ to have a bite of them tasty morsels. It was a last minute decision - tickets were very limited - all the good seats, gone (much like good men) and the ones left, single (I wish this was the case with good men). I recall watching them when they first started out. It was in a small, intimate setting. Most of the audience were women. This production has grown from strength to strength and I'm proud to be able to see it develop at almost every step of the way.

We got there just on time and managed to inhale dinner - woohooo....It was a sold out night. There were even school kids there! They were probably about 14/15 years old - hard to miss them...they were in their school uniforms, chattering in that high pitched voices of theirs, no doubt, filled with excitement and expectations of their, most probably, first "adult" show. I was in 2 minds about their presence - not that I'm being a prude (and almost all of Singapore's productions are MILD) - but I didn't think that the content would be suitable for them. But then again with such widespread usage of the internet and the wild wow west, what is it that the kids not know these days? On the other hand because of the messages behind the hardy-har-har, it is good to create a social awareness in them...At this age, they are still impressionable; yet able to already form their own ideas about things. I hope they were able to identify the social issues within the skits....they can't be all that dim-witted???! Give me hope, give me hope....

I thoroughly enjoyed the show. It was a laugh-a-minute. They were taking big digs at most of the current issues. They even took a dig at MM Lee. Singapore sure has come a long way. If it was 10-15 years ago - no way is such a show possible. I think the only "on the edge" public show that was "approved" back then was the Boom Boom Room, with Kumar, the resident drag star throwing out wicked lines. Boom Boom Room is sadly non-existent but Kumar still does his act at Play (http://www.playclub.com.sg/) fortnightly on Wednesdays. The queen is back! Yay!

The one issue that did not get a mention was education. This playback process in my mind was triggered by a comment that a friend made, "8 years old and they can't even spell "playground" or "exciting"...something so simple and they can't construct a simple, proper sentence. Aiyah! These kids are hopeless - basket cases!" I was pretty annoyed at his comment. I retorted, "What do you expect when kids nowadays are stuck in front of the box all hours?" They don't read, parents are too caught up in their work, providing a comfortable life for these kids. The kids are stuck in front of a box to keep them entertained. Where is there interaction and learning anymore?

Life is not as simple as before where mothers have the luxury of staying at home and keeping an eye on the kids. Back then Singapore was trying to get on her feet and being very much dependent on human labour, education is one of the ways out. I remember the government encouraging all to read. They had mobile libraries and incentives at school for reading the most number of books. Kids are not rubbish to be discarded carelessly into some basket. These kids could also be with a learning disorder. Whereas it's not a disease, it does need to be looked into. Only now is the government realising that there are kids who can't learn the conventional way and are addressing the issue.

I take special offence to this because I was one of those kids. Though I excelled in the English language at school (I was a mobile libary kid), I was terrible at Math and Science. It was a struggle for me. Only now that I realise I learn very well hands-on and I manage it. I fail miserably when it comes to theory lessons. I guess I can't relate to actual situations with just theory. I would rather do it, fail and learn then to just learn something in theory, thinking I'm prepared but hah, this is life, who am I kidding?! But to each his own. Some learn theory and also do well when they are faced with a real situation. *shrug*

These kids are our future - it's not in our interest to discard them like used tissue paper into the basket. It is our job to unlock their potential and nurture them. Imagine if it was you in their position or if it was your kid that was talked about in that way. Not pretty is it?

Oh yes, and I know some of you who are reading this are not from Singapore - welcome, stay with me as I ramble on.

Petal P. Rose

Another Dedication

2007-07-19T10:45:00.000+08:00

This is for you LSD - with recent events in mind....

He is the Hulk with no bulk

green and mean, he is not

furry and friendly,

bright as canary

please, don't fret and sulk (you know it's all in jest)

He is the Hulk with no bulk

teheeheehee...

Petal P. Rose

The End

2007-07-13T10:07:00.000+08:00

Binggung kepala berpusing
risau tak bermakna
dunia pusing sementara
Akhirat kemungkinan ternyata

Petal P. Rose

Singaporeans - high on life?

2007-07-12T11:53:00.000+08:00

They have to be. They can’t walk straight. Haven’t you noticed that? They love to walk in a zigzag manner at the malls, on the street and just about everywhere. I can’t find any good reason for it except that perhaps they are intoxicated. Well, they can’t be intoxicated with alcohol – it happens even in the bloody morning. Come on, we are an Asian society, still largely with Asian practices (and so called values) so – no drinking before sundown mostly. How boring, you think? It’s bad enough that they can’t walk straight intoxicated on life, with alcohol, disaster! It can’t be drugs, come on people, repeat after me “Singapore does not have drugs.” Very good. What about those people who shuffle ever so s l o w l y? They must be out on a stroll, smelling the roses, noses high up in the air that they can’t see these lowly subjects who are trying their best to go past them and so to move on with their zigzag prowl.

I wonder, with Singapore who prides itself on efficiency and being number ones in a few things, why do the Singaporeans walk the way they do. I think the pace of most countries usually affect the way their citizens walk. In Singapore’s case…hmm…what do I conclude ….

Petal P. Rose

S L A M!!!!!!

2007-07-11T22:18:00.000+08:00

Okay folks, a double posting for today. This slam was done via sms when I was at my most stressed (read: creative) earlier in the year. Quite a number of my friends were alarmed at the tune of the poems, most thinking that I was going to commit suicide and called to ask after me. I thank you for your concern. and for the one who got into trouble with wifey - I sincerely apologise again. There were 3 poems and they were sent at different times of the day. One sometime in the early afternoon, one about tea time and the last, close to dinner. Here are the responses I got and my replies to them:

Petal (1st poem to all):
Madness reigns my day
chaos, my mind
peaceful not my sleep
I long a good night

SN:
Nights black and dark
sleep on my lover's side I seek

AC:
My shoes are white,
don't like cocacola,
give me chocolate

RB:
Recalcitrents rule my day,
Pipiet by night
indolence my current desire
my past haunts my case

Petal to SN:
Whisper, dear beloved maid,
your hearts' desire
whose yearning wait

SN:
Soft as velvet, slow as breeze
this night leaves me yearning,
that darky one.

Petal (2nd poem to all):
Night becomes day
day rules the night.
dawn brings bad memories
flight of night

ChasB:
This heart full of sorrow
desires only to comfort you
reverse that dreadful state
what ails you?

AC:
tomato, give me your plump
tonight,
there is a bill without paying,
I want spirit.

Petal to ChasB:
Sorry, why, my beloved friend?
what ails me is to no end
life is such I have no holds
pray, oh tell, what sorrow you hold.

Petal (3rd poem to all)
Worry not my beloved ones
What ails me will have no end
such is life I cannot bear,
the sorrow, oh pain, we run not far.

AC:
bride, speak, tomato, potato,
boss, rose, mini, banili

N:
Flowers coloured my screen
within the screen lie my secret
secret, holding wilting petals of your past.

Petal to N:
The past may wilt
regret not I.
The flowers colour our very lives
leaf no secrets, no petals belie

N to Petal:
Closed eyes wept roses
closed heart spat freedom
closed door barfed love
I went on painting my rainbow

Petal P. Rose

2007-07-11T12:10:00.000+08:00

I have been meaning to post these sketches up (sorry, crappy quality but you get the gist) for awhile now but yeah, never got round to it. What with my insane schedule in these past and coming weeks/months, I have managed to squeeze in basic sketching lessons – I am impressed with myself, even, that I managed to not miss class (even though I do come in about 15 to 30 minutes late…). As my art instructor says, “Lateness is a virtue…” and I would add, “of the creative mind.” Great minds think and do alike!!

Okay, so it’s once a week but really, extra time is a luxury for me at the moment. With things moving at autobahn speed all the time, I tend to move in a sloth-like fashion when I have no appointments or commitments with no particular direction. Hey, I’m allowed to! The only “rest” time I have currently is on Saturdays after my sketching class. If I wasn’t taking the class, I don’t think I’d be motivated enough to get out of bed, honestly. Bones, these bones, they are achy breaky lazy bones…So now that I have class on Saturdays, I tend to pack all I need to do around town on this one day. After class you’ll see me zip me round town, in haste, trying to do all these

millionandonethingsIcan’tdointheweekbecausei’mstuckwaywayoffwestofSingaporeit’snotfunny,

I c a n t a k e m y t i m e a t t h e l i b r a r i e s – 2 different libraries because one is where I go for my DVDs, which has only arts related books and then off to another branch because that’s where I get my novels from. AND zip off again quickly home to beat the mad homebound Singaporean rush and to watch my DVDs. Ahhh…absolute BLISS….

The first sketch we had to do was of oranges. Does it look like oranges to you? I did art in school for 8 years but I have not picked up a pencil since. First lesson is to sketch and shade the oranges. It was difficult for me. I couldn’t find a comfortable position to sit with the paper, holding the pencil is a pain, yada, yada, yada... I had to relearn these things. Most people are right handed and being someone left handed is sometimes a challenge. All things are demonstrated with the right handed ones in mind – it’s rare that someone can demonstrate left AND right. Aside from these things, I am also someone who pressurizes herself. I, of course, did not expect to draw wonderfully after a first lesson but I did not expect it to be difficult either. I had problems getting physically comfortable and translating the greys onto the paper. I could see it but I couldn’t translate it. It was frustrating. I was concentrating on it so much that I was left brain drained at the end of it. Talk about leisure pursuit….But I have to say, on the second lesson, the sketching with the pot, lid and ladle – it was better. I got into “art” mode fairly quickly and it wasn’t as taxing.

I didn’t have class last week but I practiced at home. I showed my 2 sketches to mom and I could tell that she was proud of me. Not that I could draw – but more because I am taking the lessons and making an extra effort on it. She started in on my younger brother on how she didn’t need to nag me about reading when I was growing up. It was something I picked up naturally and it continues to be my favouritest thing to do. The fact that mom and dad used to read me to sleep nightly when I was growing up is of course, a big push towards that. Reading for me lets me float away to foreign lands, an escapism if you will. I’ve visited and grown up in different countries. Sometimes I’m a young Irish lad and at times I’m a young lady, growing up against the grain in a closed up society. Most importantly to me, I learn. Some say knowledge is power but at times, I would say it’s painful.

If you are wondering why, if I complain, that I have no rest time, that I take on so many things at one time, let me tell you. It’s simple, really. I feel like I’ve had a late start in life – I just want to be greedy and gobble it up before it’s time to go home.

“papercuts ouch – songs loop in my head – can’t get it out – my mind – off my chest”

Petal P. Rose

Modern Day Slavery

2007-07-05T10:09:00.000+08:00

Take these shackles off, dear Mother
Do not enchain me
I am already enslaved
By society

The pressures’ building up
Day by day by day
I can’t accomplish these crosses
Yours and mine

Do not live through me
Your fears and heartbreaks
I can’t hold my head up
It’s heavy, dear Mother

I stumble with each step
In this ill-lighted alley
Of which breeds contempt and negativity

I struggle within myself
To find the light, carry on
Sometimes the gloom scores effortlessly
Most times a pinhole of ray guides me

I am soap on a string
Diminishing with frequent use
I’m hanging on tight
But it’s slippery

I am weary
Like a caged up canary
I fight shadows in my sleep
The only rest enforced me

Petal P. Rose

Ahad

2007-06-24T17:46:00.000+08:00

heavy heart. big sighs. eyes red. seeing not feeling. the world continues to spin. restless restless restless. dizzy craving. gimme gimme gimme. arms outstreched and begging. shiny it cuts and slices through the artery. blood spurting painting and colouring white. how pretty the forced circle circle dots dots splat splatter. borrowed artistry. disgust. ego takes a big whack. wounded and in pain, fleeing into the deep cavern. maddened by sanity pushed into the crevices of vice. music...my love is on the line, my love is on the line. hips swaying sought after innocent seduction.....

"It's as if he's stuck a dagger in me, plunging it straight through without hesitation or mercy and twisting it to affirm his assault. It takes guts to stab someone, especially if it's someone whom you claim to love but it takes more to stand up and confront it head on. I would have respected him more for it, even if I don't personally agree. In sticking that dagger into me, he's taken away my options. How dare you! Do you think that you are too clever in reading my next move? You're so vain. Tu, the one who made me question myself. Tu, who I'm to trust. Tu, who professed your love. Tu, who I shared my visions with. I hope you are proud of yourself.

I am weary and wary. I will lay down now and drift into a gamelan infused sleep. Tomorrow is another day. I pray the Lord, wipe my slate clean. I leave it in Your hands Lord. I offer up my hurt and sorrows for those who are fighting their own personal demons. Amen."

Petal P. Rose

As the rose grows...

2007-06-20T00:38:00.000+08:00

You, yes, you.
traveller of the world
What do you seek?

May I take a peek
delve into your world
humor me, won't you?

Why do you search?
Is it not there?
There - right under your feet?

“Pardon me, my beloved, it is never my intention to burden you. Tell me, what is this I feel…my heart’s aflutter and it sings a song. An aria so sweet, a complicated sonata.” I recognise the feeling. It is one of sureness yet with faltering steps. That was three years ago. Now it is happening again. Has my heart forgotten the hurt and forgiven the memories? I am the brightest candle in a sun-filled room when I hear his voice – “Hi honey..” He, with the Spanish accent and warm brown eyes so expressive. I can smell him...mm...even though he’s miles away. I miss him dearly. I think about him all the time. It almost drives me insane. This especially so when it’s night and quiet. I lay in bed listening to the sounds of the gloom after laying down my book. The radio plays, softly, almost a whisper, in the background. I think over our telephone conversations. I always plan to tell him about what has happened since we last spoke but whoosh…these go out of the window whenever I hear his voice echoing down the line. I become the giggly, shy, person that I never was and swear to never be. Yes, he has that effect on me. We talk about things that just happened but it’s never enough. There are too many things to say so much would have happened since we last spoke. We share our dreams in that short time, building castles in the air – yet at the same time hoping that those castles become real. Him, a knight, me, the princess to be rescued.

Hahaha....funny how the mind jumps to the future without addressing the past and present. Is it really important? He wasn’t there in the past, he is present and the future, well, we remain hopeful that he wants to be part of it. Or is that something that’s lopsided and only wishful thinking on my part? I don’t know, I don’t know. I am ready to move forward and forget the hurt but is he? Does he want to be on the same track or am I just disillusioning myself? I trust him. It was difficult but I do so want to – very much. I want to trust someone again. To be safe like a baby sleeping, cradled with love in her mother’s arms and be loved unconditionally. Are you the one whom I can trust and rely on to be there for me? Are you strong enough to bear my weight? He would rather love and lose then not know love. Am I ready to take that risk?

Petal P. Rose

A Dedication

2007-06-17T23:47:00.000+08:00

a longing love
for a genial poetic soul
reminise his touch
gentle firm reassuring guiding
his skin wrinkles
mirth creasing warm brown
skin matching mine
warm tongue caress mine
tasting him tasting me
searching searching my love
unsatiated wanton desire
windows of his soul
blatantly staring boring into my every pore
i feel it permeates
deep deep deep
rolling waves of emotions
roars onto the shore
shattering serenity and beauty
a culmination of all that is forbidden
i scream my love for all to witness
but neglected i fear love forsaken
bleed me dry
i prostrate myself
hopeless vulnerable naked
i shiver in trepidation
embrace me tightly i plead
of you my master
take me whole I am precious

Petal P. Rose

Whistling as she blogs away......

2007-06-12T22:39:00.000+08:00

I directed a friend to this blog. He says that he likes the first part of my writings and he commented that I must have a lot of time on my hand. I have taken offence. If only he knew how packed my days are – especially over the weekends. Most times, I feel like there’s not enough time in a day.

Just because I have a blog – I’m deemed to have too much time. How small minded is that? Has he thought that perhaps I like keeping a blog and it’s just one of those things that if you enjoy doing, you WOULD make time for it, no matter how busy you get. Also before things get posted up on my blog, believe it or not, some thought and drafts go into it. I do write stuff off the cuff – but I like thinking through what I write first.

Blogging is a way for me to record an extraction of my thoughts. So many thoughts go through in a day – the ones here are ones I choose to talk about. Yeah, this is in case, again, some people choose to be stupid and think only this posting is the only thing in my mind throughout the day. Moving along…..

I like what I do. The job does not leave me exhausted. If I have no appointments in the evening, I’m home, feeding myself knowledge – be it reading, listening to something or surfing online. The things I do are many and varied. I don’t like to stay still. I can pack a lot of things to do in a day.

I live for the weekends. It’s when I catch up on sleep and perhaps with some friends. Attending openings, watching movies, theatre works, the list goes on and on. Sundays’ usually dedicated to my arts society and if there’s time in the evening, I can squeeze in another appointment or happy to just mooch around the library.

It’s not a matter of how much time one has. It’s how it’s being used that counts. Come on, you don’t need me to tell you that. It’s a known fact.

Go on, get out there, get a life. If it bites you in the arse, it’ll heal. No worries, mate! Happiness is moving along to the beat of your own drum.

Petal P. Rose

Painting the town red

2007-06-11T21:25:00.000+08:00

Today was not a good day for me. My throat has been sore since last Friday and my nose, one minute was running and now is all bunged up. I swear, I'm not a happy camper.

I woke up reluctantly for work this morning. I threw on a no-brainer dress. No lipstick, bare faced beauty - albeit a grumpy one. I didn't want to speak with anyone, mainly because my throat was hurting. Thank God there wasn't an incident on the way to work. My fuse was short and I was a hungry lionness, pacing in the shadows, hoping for a prey to pounce on - assuage me, just a bit.

I was all quiet at work, busy for a few hours in the morning. I was calm-ish but that's because I kept my head down. I was hoping no one would provoke me or say something stupid. I would have no qualms telling the person how stupid I think he or she is - very explicitly. So the phone rings and the other person had the unfortunate fortune of having me at the end of the line :-). He had called about something that I couldn't answer. The people who would be able to help were not at their desks. I sucked it up and explained nicely (which was quite a huge effort on my part) the situation. He insisted that I answer his question. "Please, I'm calling from overseas..." "Okay, perhaps you can leave me your name and number and I'll ask them to call you back." You cheap bastard.

And so the day passes in boredom. Ho hummm....I went straight home and I got worked up again when I stepped into the house. The computer was on and no one was using it. God knows how long it had been on for. I started in on it. I mean, these things cost money and I'm not even the one paying for it. I'm the only one in the house who goes about flicking switches off when things are not in use. I wasn't born rich so it has been ingrained in me not to waste. So it's a habit - a good one. If you had an asshole for a father where things can be unpredictable, I never take things for granted. I've just had it, I think, with the lot of them in the house. I won't say that I'm the perfect daughter, but I do try my best not to cause anyone harm, always considerate and mindful of my actions. Apparently the road only travels in one direction - theirs. I am fighting a fucking losing battle - I wonder why at times I even bother

Oh, I know why - because I am better than that.

One of them days,

Petal P. Rose

2007-06-01T01:14:00.000+08:00

Arrogance

Only if I can find the words
To say how I see
But unarticulated
I remain mute

A ghost child’s cry
Resonating through the empty halls
Abandoned, unwanted
I remain deaf

Poverty and hunger
Walk hand in hand
A friend’s deceit
I remain blind

I recoil at his touch
Disgust envelops me
Try hard to see beyond the lesions
He is the untouchable

Bitterness stayed on my tongue
Coupled with the sweet melancholy of my past
Lips part to take in new senses
I am not bland

Daughter - don’t leave me
Son – I am your mother
Forgive me my sins
Forget my indulgences

Senses transferred onto you
Biased, prejudiced, jaundiced
I am She who is the blind
She who is mute and deaf

Forgive me because I am now the undesired
Look past my blisters into my hooded eyes
Tongue heavy, hindered by thousand and ones
I close my eyes, I exhale, I am released.

2007-05-31T23:43:00.000+08:00

Emptiness – part I

House of stone
Silence surrounds
No pitter patter
No laughter

House empty
Curtains down
Much like the end of a stage play
Audience, sans applause

Sun shines on,
The house it seeks
Infiltrate its warmth
Basking

Wind moves the clouds
Gusts pushing the emptiness
Of that, the House of stone

Will it succumb?

Exhausted, collapsed under pressure?

Bollywood saved my life

2007-05-31T22:26:00.000+08:00

Contrary to what one of my friends' wrote about Bollywood(http://poemsbysha.blogspot.com/2006/10/bollywood-destroyed-my-life.html), I think Bollywood saves lives. Well, mine was anyway. See, I was at a Bhangra party last night or should I say, very, very early this morning….It was crowded – I’ve never seen so many beautiful and handsome people all at the same place at one time, old and young.

As the men and women put their inhibitions aside and dance themselves into frenzy, I sat back and observed more. The place was jammed packed with mostly Indians and there I was, one of the aliens. There again, I was a minority. In Singapore where the predominant race is Chinese, I am used to being unseen, unnoticed. The difference in this case is that I didn’t feel left out. It was a very relaxed atmosphere – none of that “I’m more gorgeous than you” attitude. I was thrown uninitiated and was accepted for my difference. Eyes wondered my presence. I smiled as I gamely imitated their dance moves. I didn’t understand the words accompanying the music. All I understood was the language of the beat of the music. Thumping, pulsating into the sense of my being. Teenage kids accompanied by their parents, danced side by side, the parent and child lines erased. For one evening, they became people, they became friends.

The things that would matter in the normalcy of life - all left at the door of the club. Much like laying down of arms. We were at the temple, worshipping Music. That's the power of music. It brings people together, no matter the place, station in life or the time. It wasn't about me, about us or them. It was sweet surrender. If that wasn't a salvation of some sort, you tell me.

Petal P. Rose

Stark, raving....

2007-05-27T03:09:00.000+08:00

Nudity. It's been bugging me and been in my face for the last couple of months. I have had separate conversations with people who are not at all connected to each other (so I can't say that it's a conspiracy of some sort..) about this.

So - what about it? I am Asian and the way I've been brought up - conservative. I have nothing against nudity, I know I was born naked and I do get naked but within the privacy of four walls. I am sure, however, that if I do go to a nudist beach that you'd have to stitch my mouth to stop my jaw from dropping or to stop my giggles. I'm not physically perfect, so who am I to snigger but still.....

My friend, GK, puts it perfectly - we are all pervs. We all want to see another person naked. We want to stare, mentally compare hers to yours, his to your lovers' and vice versa. I know I would. I've had conversations where people have confided and said that they would be perfectly happy to go without clothes. I am open to trying new things out - but I don't think I can be persuaded to go starkers. I've been told that there are nudist communities who wander around villages in the buff to shop, etc. Well then, Gap, Emporio, Chanel and company would be making a loss there then. No shit, Sherlock.

It was all Eve's fault, isn't it? Goading Adam to eat that apple. We would otherwise have not known shame and have the need to cover up. More importantly, clothes shroud the flaws of personality and character. We hide behind our clothes. I know I do, trickery of the senses. Hypocrisy at its finest. It is such a perfected craft that I doubt we even notice it. In a such fast paced, modern world, sadly, it is the norm to lie and cheat. Integrity - what's that?! Don't get me wrong. There are people out there who still know what integrity means - just that the numbers are getting fewer and fewer. But for those who have already lost it or have never known it - I fear for the future.

Petal P. Rose

Thunder bolts of lightning.......

2007-05-23T22:13:00.000+08:00

Very very frightening......I forgot what I was doing at 5/10/15/20/25 years old!! *gasp* *shock* *horror!!* See, I was part of a drama workshop and we were supposed to act out the things we did when we were at those different ages and I realised that I couldn't for the life of me, fucking, remember! The childhood songs, the childish games, the old wives tales told to scare......poof!

I went through the rest of the exercises in a daze as panic slowly settled in to my being. Oh God, what did I do at those ages?! For most part, I think my mind blocked out alot of the happier times or could it be that there were just too few to make a dent in my memory? As I slowly try to trace my memories, some have resurfaced...but they are so distant and so blurred - I hesitate to even acknowledge that it happened at all. Was it just me wanting to believe that it happened out of desperation of a memory?

Well, I remembered being the only child for awhile, surrounded by boy cousins (who bullied me to no end)...of going to the zoo, being the chaperone to my then dating aunties, of rollercoaster rides and oh, wrestling and being the goalkeeper while my cousins gleefully either cheat for their goals or hit me with the soccer ball. I had memories of visits to the kampung and picnics at Sentosa. It helped that I have colleagues who are older than I am - I wove this memory thing into our lunch conversation today - they were reminiscing their childhood pasts and helped me in reminiscing mine. I remembered that I used to be able to draw - still lifes, poster projects....whereas I am not quite the artist, I was at least able to and I enjoyed it. Where has it all gone??!

I don't want "me" to be wiped out as time goes on. I want to live on and take those memories with me. It may not be all the good ones but they were all a part of me. The building blocks of me. I want to remember the songs sung to me by my mother as she sings me to sleep...the stories read to me...how my mother and father looked...the cries of my baby brothers....the voices raised in anger....the sounds of the birds we kept in cages....

Hush now...be still and at peace

Petal P. Rose

2007-05-22T12:34:00.001+08:00

Shattered

What are you doing with your life?
You say you are sorting things out – really?
Are you just digging a deeper hole
To bury yourself in
Or could it be for the hatchet?

All lines are blurred
I don’t know you anymore
The person I knew – a figment of a memory
Seems as if from another time

Get away from me – the stranger you!
Get away from me – leave me!
Get away from me – let me be with my memories.

Alone.

Dizzy

2007-05-20T23:21:00.000+08:00

Round and round we go.
one Karma ends
begins Another

Dizzying

altered states
Faces, Places
recycled Gods
wrought Emotions
Interwoven
intricate Lacework

bound together
Endlessly
lifes' Insane ring of roses

Round and round we go.

I am dizzy

Urban Jungle

2007-05-16T21:25:00.000+08:00

Some of you may know that I was at the zoo over the weekend. I don't know if it was a case of being unfortunate or not. It was hot and bloody humid as it always is in Singabore. It didn't help that it was extremely crowded - NTUC was having their May Day celebrations there - so free tickets given out, blah blah blah...I leave the rest to your imaginations.

I watched a few performances put up by different embassies to commemorate this NTUC thing. I enjoyed their performances - all were unique in their own ways. I was almost falling out of my chair laughing when I caught the performance by the zoo itself. It featured 5 men and a woman, all dressed in some Tarzan and Jane getups. 2 of the men were beating their drums and the rest of the group were doing various jungle-like-as-depicted-by-them dances and using some long thing to shoot and burst (PINK!!!) balloons. What the hell were they thinking??!! Brings to mind the tagline: "Uniquely Singapore". Oh bloody yawn!

But really, what IS unique about Singabore? I think there's nothing particularly unique about it at all. Everything I see is copied. So selling "Uniquely Singapore" is actually selling lie, a mirage. Or perhaps it does exist - in the minds of it's Creators.

Do you see what I see.....

Smiling faces greet you everywhere

Do you see what I see.....

while They poke and snarl behind your back

"Welcome to..." "Thank you" "Please"

Put on manners ensnare them unawares

Put on Their clothes, shoes, manners, smiles

Ready - Lights! Camera! Action!!!

Petal P. Rose

Aspirations, Perspirations

2007-05-08T00:49:00.000+08:00

I was chatting with someone and I told him that I have a blog. He took a peek and told me that he wants more of “me” in it. I told him, “Babe, it’s all me – who do you think wrote all those stuff??”. He wanted to see my hopes, dreams, aspirations and things like that. I told him that a blog is not ever going to be a stand-in for me – you need to meet me, have a conversation and learn about me – the old-fashioned way…

But just briefly, I want to do it ALL in life. Sounds ambitious, huh? I’m not your typical go-getter gal. In fact, I would wait for opportunities to come swimming by me and grab it…or maybe not. I am, however, stubborn and when I set my mind to it, I can get what I want. I want to travel the world – my favourite line to all travellers, “Pack me in your suitcase” and I’m bloody serious too. I am working towards that – I’m not sure if I will make it but there’s nothing like trying. If it’s successful, YAY!! Otherwise, back to the drawing board. I feel like Pinky and the Brain, always dreaming up schemes to conquer the world… MMWahahahaha!! Short term goals for me for the moment: Get that scooba-dooba diving/kayaking licence and I NEED A VACATION! Sponsors, anyone?

I’ve started back on track, (and I hope to stay on it – Devils and Temptations, Away!! Shoo!) running, doing my weights and tomorrow, I start swimming again. My goal since last year was to do the marathon. In fact, there was a triathlon that we wanted to do as a corporate but with all the bloody deadlines, it just got shelved. And now, I’m no longer in that firm so may have to round up the cows at the new one but I think it’s a hard sell….Another goal to add on to the list.

I did achieve some things over the past year though: I volunteered for an arts’ fringe festival and am one of the founding members of an arts society targeted at providing a platform for migrant workers to express themselves artistically (http://www.migrantvoices.org/). I met tons of people through it and various other channels. I took my Star 1 kayaking certification…hmm…but really, grew as a person. I’m not done growing up and when I grow up, I want to be someone who may not be famous worldwide but someone who lived her life, did all the things she wanted to do, in turn touch others in her journey and who will die happy, with her loved ones beside her, knowing all these things.

Dedicated to E.,

Petal P. Rose

Lack of shleep - we go awandering

2007-04-29T01:13:00.000+08:00

I was reading a compilation of essays and one in particular caught my eye. The author had put it across that being tactful left the people he spoke with, reading between the lines and having to decipher what it was that he was trying to say. It went further to insinuate that being tactful also made people question his sincerity.

I don't know....I thought tact is a good thing...I was appalled that being tactful meant these things. Worse still - this was written by a young adult. How are our youths being brought up - it is worrying considering that they ARE the future. For me, tact is to carefully choose your words while delivering some news that may not be nice. Am I on the wrong track here or is my English so screwed that I got it all wrong? Or perhaps this young adult should take up a course in "Effective Communications 101 - How to Make Yourself Not be Misunderstood".

Since I am a woman and NEVER wrong - it has got to be the latter.

"A morning encounter with it"

2007-04-29T00:45:00.000+08:00

It doesn't love
it doesn't know love
to say it does
is to defile
An emotion most pure

the lowest of lows,
Bad excuse for an existence
oh die, I pray! the most torturest of deaths
I would champion the cause

Ta dahhh!!!

2007-04-24T22:00:00.000+08:00

Well, well, here I am - I have finally succumbed to the evils of blogging (cackle, cackle). Been thinking about it, dreamt about it, had visions of people having nightmares after reading my bad writings...And hey, why the hell not?! Sure beats writing in a normal diary - so what if it's published for the whole wide world to see - I'm still anonymous......hmm or maybe not....1984...

I will write more, in between my work, when bored or just when the fancy takes me. More to come,

Petal P. Rose