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let me record these moments 

as I lay on your lap, perusing a novel

as you watch a drama with

my peripheral eye

on the protrusions of your face;


as I stand behind in silent awe

struck by your unexpected robustness and

watching your shoulders flex and

the sweat caressing your papery neck;


as I walk beside you

with hands intertwined,

I picture you

fading into nothingness:


like a washed-out photograph,

a millennium-old oil painting

with a blurred layer of grime

missing its most crucial

subject.


Oh, it is agony to wait,

I’d almost wish you gone already

but what I cannot bear more

is a reality of your ephemerality.

Personal: Text

deep dark fears 

some

I have:


that in the middle of the night


I’d open

my palms

leave it

outstretched

someone would take it

pull me

into another universe.


or that in the brightest of days


bright stars

pull you

like moth to flame

I’d watch

helpless

watch you leave me.


I’d lose you indefinitely.

Personal: Text

Excuse me, exactly why am I in this position? 

I detest you

saying that we are

duplicates.


We’re not the same – 


smoking cigarettes,

sniggering at poor women,

throwing ignominy and condescension,

exchanging them for three tissue packets.


I do not.


Overbearing arriviste,

a man with

an arrogance of

five-foot-nine.


I am not, period.


Yet I find myself in

the unfortunate position –


overly, rashly, merely

vixenly,

I am.


Maleficent pales in comparison.


I breathe

a postulation

only to choke as I try

to formulate air into sound.

Personal: Text

Nanyang Technological University's

Hall Olympiad Closing Ceremony (HOCC) 2019 | Natsukashii

Sometimes all it takes is a smell, a sound, a photograph perhaps, to bring us back to good times of unadulterated celebration and cheer; where a posse of ladies flitter and flap around the dressing room, primping in front of vanity mirrors as their diamonds sparkle and gowns shimmer. Meanwhile, their impatient male chaperones with sleek hairdos and spiffy suits josh around. 

The air swells with anticipation and expectations of bootlegging and promiscuity as the hotsy-totsy rhythms of the music seizes one's attention. Don't look away. Ride along, feast your eyes on them as they welcome you to the Roaring Twenties. 

Personal: Video
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