The phone

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...

"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

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

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

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

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

"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