Thursday, June 22, 2006
Monday, June 19, 2006
Early in the morning, i put breakfast at your table 一夜都没睡但我 不曾如此清醒 我早餐准备了你 爱吃的东西 这次换我等你被咖啡 的香味叫醒 想要找回每天早晨 对我微笑著的你 还能够 做些什麼代替我的歉意 总是望著我 小心翼翼顺著我呼吸 而我竟然理所当然 让你精疲力尽 You were my superwoman 安静的在身边 无条件给我 梦寐以求的温柔 but i am only human 我怎麼不懂你多寂寞 残忍的犯了错 不能失去你 ooh—babe--- You fought your way through the rush hour try to make it home just for me 月光下静静靠著彼此 只求夜长一点 有多久没有好好看你 只是认定了我 无论在什麼时候回头 都有你的笑容 是我忽略了你也会有 想要哭的感觉 没有一种付出应该永远心甘情愿 再给被宠坏的男人最後一次机会 换我忍耐换我等待 不要真的弃权 (---baby)是我把爱想得太简单 以为只要我存在就能让你取暖 心裏唯一的superwoman没有人能代替 不能想像更不能原谅这样让爱化成 灰烬
I want to be a superwoman, 让你无论在什麼时候回头，都有会我的笑容。
But I am only human, and I can’t help letting the tears fall, just as I try to stop yours.
I want to be a superwoman, 让你无论在什麼时候回头，都有会我的笑容。
But I am only human, and I can’t help letting the tears fall, just as I try to stop yours.
Alone.
I wish brazil would score. (Shit. Just as I was typing this, they did. Talk about lousy timing.)
You would probably have watched this with me, if you hadn’t had to wake up at the ungodly hour of 6am tomorrow. I don’t know why I’m staying up late alone to watch men kicking a stupid ball. I don’t even LIKE watching football as an alternative to advertisements most of the time. But I guess watching it reminds me of the times you were there at the other end of the line, giving your expert commentary using terms I only pretend to understand. The exhilaration we get at every goal - your exhilaration as a fan, and my exhilaration as your mood gets progressively better, indicating a nice goodbye at the end of the day.
I wish you were here to explain why Australia makes more shots on goal than Brazil, what kind of game tactic each side was using. Never mind that I wouldn’t have understood half of it, or that your explanation would probably have been interrupted by times when the game picks up speed. I don’t understand soccer, not without you. But it’s become almost a habit, I can’t sleep before two, and I still wait, almost as if you’ll call this time as usual to bet on the score line, and to laugh at this pseudo-soccer fan.
I am grateful for the world cup. Watching this match has been a comfort, somewhat. Perhaps it’s just because I’m too good at deluding myself. Perhaps it’s because the football field is a vat containing too many good memories of quiet and not too quiet nights of soccer indulgence. Even pretend indulgence. However far away, your presence lingers on in the noise and excitement that is football, noise that fills the unbearable silence which comes after my half-hearted cheers give no echo.
Final score: Brazil –Australia 2-0.
You missed a good game.
So did I.
You would probably have watched this with me, if you hadn’t had to wake up at the ungodly hour of 6am tomorrow. I don’t know why I’m staying up late alone to watch men kicking a stupid ball. I don’t even LIKE watching football as an alternative to advertisements most of the time. But I guess watching it reminds me of the times you were there at the other end of the line, giving your expert commentary using terms I only pretend to understand. The exhilaration we get at every goal - your exhilaration as a fan, and my exhilaration as your mood gets progressively better, indicating a nice goodbye at the end of the day.
I wish you were here to explain why Australia makes more shots on goal than Brazil, what kind of game tactic each side was using. Never mind that I wouldn’t have understood half of it, or that your explanation would probably have been interrupted by times when the game picks up speed. I don’t understand soccer, not without you. But it’s become almost a habit, I can’t sleep before two, and I still wait, almost as if you’ll call this time as usual to bet on the score line, and to laugh at this pseudo-soccer fan.
I am grateful for the world cup. Watching this match has been a comfort, somewhat. Perhaps it’s just because I’m too good at deluding myself. Perhaps it’s because the football field is a vat containing too many good memories of quiet and not too quiet nights of soccer indulgence. Even pretend indulgence. However far away, your presence lingers on in the noise and excitement that is football, noise that fills the unbearable silence which comes after my half-hearted cheers give no echo.
Final score: Brazil –Australia 2-0.
You missed a good game.
So did I.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Playground
Love is so fatalistic, the familiar ‘I would DIE without you’ proves that.
How everything goes into the hyperbole just because. The logic of love is like the way the narcotics bureau nabs ‘offenders’. ‘Want a drug? No? You sure? YOU SURE? I know you want it!’ *stuffs packet of ecstasy into person’s hands**flashes CNB id* ‘We’ve caught you red handed! Hee hee hee.’ It sounds just like, ‘Look at that girl! She’s pretty right? Hot right? You think she’s pretty right? You were ogling at her right!’ *burst into tears* ‘You ALWAYS look at other girls!’
It’s almost like going fishing using but yourself as a bait. The logic is so horribly warped it would look ridiculous anywhere but in the context of love. I guess a relationship is a safety bubble where seemingly normal people can do crazy things just because. Its like a playground for a society too long immersed in decorum and etiquette. No wonder hwa chong is called a love nest; too many Monday morning assemblies have resulted in a repressed student body begging for release.
I guess there won’t ever be a happy medium. But why are mediums happy anyway? Why does simplicity have to be bliss? Simplicity would only reduce life’s range of experiences. A whitewashing of life’s canvas to cover up flaws in artistry. But I find that I am as partial to sorrow as to joy, as reverent to folly as to virtue. Perhaps it is only in extremities do we find the vein that life throbs in, strong rhythmic pulses unyielding in their anguish and pathos.
Oh well. Just because!
How everything goes into the hyperbole just because. The logic of love is like the way the narcotics bureau nabs ‘offenders’. ‘Want a drug? No? You sure? YOU SURE? I know you want it!’ *stuffs packet of ecstasy into person’s hands**flashes CNB id* ‘We’ve caught you red handed! Hee hee hee.’ It sounds just like, ‘Look at that girl! She’s pretty right? Hot right? You think she’s pretty right? You were ogling at her right!’ *burst into tears* ‘You ALWAYS look at other girls!’
It’s almost like going fishing using but yourself as a bait. The logic is so horribly warped it would look ridiculous anywhere but in the context of love. I guess a relationship is a safety bubble where seemingly normal people can do crazy things just because. Its like a playground for a society too long immersed in decorum and etiquette. No wonder hwa chong is called a love nest; too many Monday morning assemblies have resulted in a repressed student body begging for release.
I guess there won’t ever be a happy medium. But why are mediums happy anyway? Why does simplicity have to be bliss? Simplicity would only reduce life’s range of experiences. A whitewashing of life’s canvas to cover up flaws in artistry. But I find that I am as partial to sorrow as to joy, as reverent to folly as to virtue. Perhaps it is only in extremities do we find the vein that life throbs in, strong rhythmic pulses unyielding in their anguish and pathos.
Oh well. Just because!
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