New things.

Have you ever wonder why we’re always excited about the new things?

The new breath lingering on her neck tonight;
the new dress for the summer collection;
the new toy that little girl just picked up;
the new boy in the school;
the new club in town.
Something new, unpredictable, remains mysterious.
The adrenaline rush, the feeling caught you and me off guard.

This gloomy afternoon, I spent my hour watching Private Practice.
An episode about something new.
A new person in her life.
How excited she was, dressing up for dates, hot saucy sex on the couch.
Reminiscing much about new breath, new dining place.

Last night, I subconsciously stared at her.
She is new in the picture.
Each time he smiles, I glared.
Each time she held on his arms, my heart twitched.

Angels Cry by Mariah Carey and Ne Yo
We were so good together
How come we could not weather
This storm and just do better
Why did we say goodbye

Finding someone new is easy,
finding something real is easy.
keeping it new and real is not.

I dreamed you now every night,
in my mind is where we meet,
and when I’m awake
staring at pictures of you asleep.

Touching your face,
invading you space.

They’re a part of the list.
Things that I miss.
Things like your funny little laugh,
the way you smile or the way we kiss.

Several nights I slept on this couch,
I no longer dream of misfortunes,
but I wake up every morning
wishing you would left me a message.

Some nights,
I was awaken by the desperate melody,
accompanied by lyrics that looped constantly in my unconscious mind,
Wishing you’d come sweeping in the way you did before
And I wonder if I ever cross your mind
For me it happens all the time.

A deal was made yesterday in the midst of a hungry dim sum lover meeting Sunday morning. A harsh judge of taste on those little metal plates, I demand for another Sunday morning dim sum.

An invitation to new faces, self-doubting exploration: a karaoke session. One Sunday afternoon in a filtered room, strangers were introduced, lights were dimmed, 4 microphones in good performance state, eight years of anti-karaoke was diminished. This afternoon, there I was in room no. 3, holding onto the microphone, SINGING. Fast paced seconds ticked, unsatisfied; we pulled a scheme – extension. Feeling at cloud 9, my skin was stripped apart. Tingling sensation on my throat, ecstasy fickle each time my voice transfused into my impaired ear.

Sing-along with the crappy lovesick songs, 90′s boybands, Chinese characters admiration, Malay/Indon classics, screaming rock & roll stars, Friday club hits and Korean Wonder Girls, I infested myself with excessive crappy music videos. Hot blonde wears a see-through dress on a beautiful beach, flicking her hair, smiling, giggling, jumping on the waves, she’s all wet; rolling her body on the white fine sand and slowly the camera zooms to her feet moving towards her neckline emphasizing her cleavage. Repelled, I was. Nevertheless, these are some of my favourites today:

1. Lagenda by Sheila Majid

2. All I Want is You by 911

3. I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing by Aerosmith

4. Kau Ilhamku by Man Bai

5. Empire State of Mind by Jay-Z and Alicia Keys

At the spur of self-entertaining, FM sang Justin Bieber’s Baby and cracked the best joke of the day. Laughters from the broken heart vibrate ridiculously sinful. A fearful afternoon melted the rays of strangers glare in a prolonged desirable six hours of hostile voice projection. I smiled and waved goodbye to the strangers, now friends.

Dinner table was set in the heart of the city lights. The loud percussion instruments with Turkish vocal intrudes the sweet scent coming from the hookah pipes, miserably tranquillizing. Two females in a Yemeni restaurant dining, story-telling. She spoke about her past, her childhood stories, her relationships. I admire her humbleness, her naiveness. Her hospitableness astonish me immensely. Despite it all, I still have my armour on, protecting my beating flimsy heart.

My first weekend in August.

Yesterday, I avoided screeches by the window cleaner and landed my pathetic soul in the horoscope department inside Border’s. I picked a book and started flipping around, pages to pages in seconds. Month of July, multiple obstacles. Month of August, lack of love. Month of September, overflow with financial abundance.

July was an interesting month. I flipped, I frown, I flee.

I still dream of the happy joyous moment. Just not soon. I jumped too soon, flee too soon. Above the sky too soon, under the sheets too soon. I never learn, not soon. The dream of holding on to little fingers and smell of fresh puke will put on hold now.

“Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worse kind of suffering.” ~ Paulo Coelho

Now Playing : To Build A Home by The Cinema Orchestra
This is a place where I don’t feel alone
This is a place where i feel at home

And I built a home
For you
For me

Tonight, I’ve joined the troop. I gained faith and belief behind the plot. Tonight, I felt someone played God and messed with my head. Days ago, I tweeted, “At times, reality feels like fantasy. Vice versa.” I’ve always been a dreamer. I love to dream. Lucid dreaming is probably one of my favourite past times. I’ve experienced dream in dream, I’ve experienced dejavu. Tonight, Christopher Nolan brought me somewhere I’ve been before. He brought me to a place that grasp my reality and faith to dream again.

Current song playing : This Love by Craig Armstrong
This Love
It hasn’t have to feel love
It hasn’t need to be love
It hasn’t mean a thing