MediBiotics

Spin, sipn, psin.

Detach, detach, detach ed.

Of Classes of Life Forms.

(My eyes sting from the lack of sleep they should have been accustomed to by now.)

"I appreciate you."
This was what Datou told Dongua on the basketball court one fine day in our year as fifteen year olds. This year we're twenty.
This memory randomly surfaced in my head the other day.

I took a quiet pilgrimage around town today. There was no interference from the mobile phone and music player, it was a journey for the senses. My ears took in the sounds, sounds of bus engines, of people murmuring, of babies crying, of bad ringtones, of music blaring from the shops, of footsteps shuffling, and of leaves rustling in the wind. My eyes took in the sights, sights of people's faces, of vehicles on the roads, of mismatched clothes, of sun rays, of intricate actions, of people stealing glances at other people, of clouds, and of grass swaying in the wind. My nose took in the smells, smells of exhaust, of light fragrance from flowers, of cut grass, of pungent body odour, of fried garlic, and of nature carried forth by the wind. My skin took in the sensations, sensations of skin brushing skin, of static in air conditioned malls, of prickly bus seats fabric, of sweat, of rough brick walls, of mist on the face, of hair accidentally grabbed, and of wind blowing.
My tongue however, could taste only nothing.

I sat on the curb and looked at the cars go by and wonder why
They all only looked straight ahead.

We were the four gargoyles sitting atop the gantry. One of us threw paper at the oncoming cars. One of us was thinking about the future. One of us was leaving this place the next day. One of us was hypnotised by the headlights. We were (almost like) the unseen guardians of the roads. The wind was blowing from the back, like it was trying to blow us off the ledge.
One thing I learnt that night,
is that the wind it blows
Perpetually.

This morning I dreamt that I saw Rachel off at the airport. I dreamt that I met her auntie and saw her baby sister. In the dream her sister was all but five years old, and she was already only ten centimetres shorter than me. I held Rachel's hand and only when it was time for me to go home did I let it go.
And then I woke up and it was already 11.30, and Rachel had already left on the plane.

You Must Be Me, Me In Mirrorland.

Time buries steadily. He furiously digs, uncovering piles and piles of seconds, minutes and hours, in vain attempt to salvage what matters. He picks up bits and pieces of Past, and sticks them in the pages of a scrapbook lying on the ground beside him.

The next moment he knows, the bits of Past on the pages have dissolved into sand. And he really couldn't do anything, and he really couldn't help but cry.

He knew the Past was important, that recalling it helped him remember how he used to be. But he also knew that the Past wasn't something he should live in.

What had that man on the corner of the street said to him?
What exactly?

"You're a big boy now, let's not talk about love."

To which he'd bizzarely replied, "When did your heart go missing?"

And then again, for the seventh time in three days, he filled the bath with hot water, and lay submerged till the bath overflowed with the excess volume of his tears.