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

Obsession

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"

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

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

Uncertainty

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