Taking flight

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.

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.

..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...

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

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.

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

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)