Thursday, 29 August 2013

Day 21: Manipulation, Isolation, Apologies

The snake slithered down my neck, teeth clashing, bones shaking, tiptoes ringing the hallways in the dark. The lack of sleep and rest weakened my senses waiting for the moment that she'd wake up and rise to the call -- whatever. My libido was all that mattered to me, the snake said, when it crawled down to my heart. Hisssssssssssssss, it did, and hissssssssssssssssss, it beckoned. My heart tasted bittersweet with the essence of its venom rising through my neurosensory networks. Death awaits you, it whispered. No escape.

I looked towards my side. My muscles aren't half as bad as they think it is. Three bottles of urine greeted my sight. I turn away in disgust. I rise again to watch my whispers coming. Whispers of she, whispers of a familiar time I long to return. It's over, the snake whispered again.

Is this like a breakup? I voiced to the whispers.

The snake replied, even when not spoken to. Do you wish it was?

No, no, no, not at all, that's what I said. My being was stuck in its candour. I didn't mean it, even when I was mad.

And the snake said, I wish it was.

I fell down to my knees, squirmed to a ball, and I begged the pain to go away. Please. Not the first time I begged in my life, not the first time in that month, and certainly not the first time during that week.

I begged like a fool and I begged under three full moons. This was not a future that I had envisioned. It was all slipping away. All because of my libido. My libido made all the difference. My sexual urges destroyed my direction in life. The whispers were running away, into the deep mist, flying over the sky like a diamond in a bridge.

Three weeks of madness. This was only the beginning.

My hearse was empty and waiting. The snake has died, but its venom remained.

The snake died and I retained its being.

There is no end to the folly of pain.

Tuesday, 20 August 2013

The Drama of Truth

The bed was all unkempt when Christian woke up. He'd have been staying naked in bed for an entire week after she left him, trying to struggle going back to reality and basic everyday life. His eyes were all blackened and bagged by severe lack of sleep. Four filled one-litre bottles sit in a table next to the bed, some used plates and scattered kitchen utensils here and there, and cigarette butts making an unsightly view. The laptop connected to a flatscreen LED television had been running for as long as anyone knew. But for all these things dirtying up the room, Christian's Moleskines can be found stacked neatly on a corner, with a red Cath Kidston one noticeably dangling out signifying frequent use.

The first thing Christian does whenever he wakes up is to check the web for news updates, both for himself and the world around him, so that despite his voluntary solitary confinement he wouldn't feel left out from the world outside. He opens up his Facebook to check for messages and random updates from his circle of friends. Unfortunately, he receives a message just once or twice in probably a week, sometimes coming from the same person or a stranger spamming their very own scam-filled contents. Afterwards, he then proceeds to open up either Quora or io9, to fill up his cravings for any and every scientific knowledge shared in those websites. Sometimes he provides his very own amateur perspective, giving tidbits and personal experiences about things that may concern others or not. He had had received a Top Writer award from Quora for this accomplishment, and he seldomly wears it as a badge of honour, despite the fact that there are only a subset of people in the city who is aware of the website's existence and relevance. This niche turns advantageous at most times and rather hipster with some, and Christian wallows at the audiences of both preferences.

He normally spends more than three or four hours in one session after waking, and still staying in bed. The only times he find himself pulling out of the bed is when there is an urge to use the toilet and/or the irresistibility of hunger. He knows how to utilise the kitchen well enough for its intended goal but hardly maximises its potential. The simplest ones often leave him with enough nourishment to last the entire day and another half a day's marathon in the web before passing out. The repetition of his everyday routine goes on and on.

Christian is twenty and six years of age by the time of this writing. He loves writing, reading, watching films and television, walking, eating, hiking, and many other activities a normal boy would. For all the things that he is, he also has his own negative sides and personal problems; he has no close attachment to/with his family. His father is a principled man who retired early from a stable job as an accountant at the age of fifty that ended up dooming the family relations by the time he reached sixty, His mother is a bricoleur and a housewife. She became the breadwinner of the family after their business had gone to shambles following several bankruptcies and lawsuits. She and her husband never get along well since probably forever, but reiterates that they maintain ties for the futures of their children. His sister is on her last year of teenage years. Freakishly likeable, popular, talented, and pretty. Totally different and opposite from Christian, who, despite his deep wit and immaculate humour, continues to struggle finding that audience to which best fits his overall personality and whim.

Together they form a terribly unified family struggling to make ends meet at their own respective leisures. 

After Christian consumed the two eggs he fried earlier, he resumed his normal business. There are no other pleasures available to him except surfing the web for all kinds of content. Well, strictly speaking, he can always go out and enjoy the outdoor activities with which London prides itself with, But Christian prefers to remain indoors and spend his precious time diving into productive nothingness. His financial status does not allow him the privilege to enjoy the finer things in life. He would rather save it all for a more worthy cause. When she left him -- she being his lover -- he swore to follow her to the ends of the earth to find and reclaim her. Christian has an unbelievable love story you see, and that story converges itself to the present.

His story is that of fallibility and misery. A man's storm that no one of the opposite gender can calm easily.

I hope to share his stories as the day pass, hoping to shed light to the mystery with which Christian finds himself drawn upon. My intention is to share and not preach, not judge, nor discriminate. It's a real-life struggle for an everyman's journey in life. The drama of truth, the sin of the concept of love.

Saturday, 17 August 2013

Day 8: Slow Burn

Hikikomori. The first hours back into civilisation was fatal to my morale. There was nothing for me out there, only distractions. My mind was full of blank desolation, and my wallet too. One week. It's like a coal parasite starting to profuse the flame, conducive to heat, slowly inching its way to my heart clutching it like nothing else can. Two, three hours gone, I go mental. Every absence of response I begin doubting everything.

After meeting old faces I could not hope to contain my depression. They completely ignored me when they personally asked me to come. I did ignore them first though, just because I could not swallow the defeat. After a couple of hours I went back home immediately, nothing in hand but solitude. The flat was brimming with sadness. I belong here, whether I like it or not.

Thursday, 15 August 2013

Day 7: Fail at coping

Fourth day spent wallowed in self-pity. I miss my Mioseon tremendously, I could break heads of people passing by who just happens to even look at me the wrong way. It's been a week since then and it already felt like months, years. It's funny how time flies so fast, my scalp itches from the lack of proper hygiene. My mood swung back and forth this past couple of days not even my parents could understand what's really going on. Nutshell: That's me. I wouldn't have done all the things that I've done if I knew this day would come. So many regrets, so little time, and coping up is really moving slow.

We've been talking a lot over Facebook since her arrival in Busan. I've been doing my own studies to pass my time, learning Hangul and whatnot. It's very difficult to sport a smile on my face, it's weird. I went to work three days and it somehow helped keep my mind off of things. But still, when the painful images of the last hours we spent together come rushing back, I wish to god I didn't have to experience that and end it quickly as it should have. It was cruel and unnecessary, but I guess it cannot be helped. Love is the most unsanitary human condition I've ever felt. It is a legal insanity, a force to be reckoned with, and a high better than any narcotics can give.

When she had her abortion last April on her own accord, it was equally devastating. The tremors of that falling out can still be felt. Yet my feeling for her prevailed, and forgiveness still presented itself, but then I cannot understand this.

There's plenty of fear, confusion, rage, scorn, etc. inside me, it's unhealthy. I need an outlet of desire. So I met a Polish woman at work named Weronika. She introduced me to a practice of Buddhism that she herself practices. She told me how it would help bring me bliss, to myself and to others. My due response was, "I could really use some of that." The funnier thing is that I was displacing all these pent-up emotions to sexual desires and she was the obvious target. I wanted vengeance for the misery, the pain, the sadness. Then I had a change of heart. Perhaps what she offers was something I needed more than the temporary desires of my lust. It wasn't really lust I had, it was malice. A very strong force building up inside of me and was about to burst out when last week's event transpired. Deep in the dark recesses of my mind I could still hear some voices telling me to do this and that, "You deserve a payback for everything." Why do I have to be like this? Is this the real persona of mine hiding beneath? Or am I just that sore of a loser to not being able to accept a simple fact of life? People have their priorities. Mioseon chose hers. I chose Mioseon, but she decided enough of this life for a bit.

But then I think about the future and what it holds. The day our paths cross once again. Would it be the same? Whatever the answer, will she still love me? Can I still forgive her despite everything? If she accepts me back, can she promise never to leave me again? Can I suffer another defeat?

Can I move on?

My life has never been experienced normalcy ever since. It always bends according to unplan. Nutshell: That's just me. I hope to live one day to see it all crash and burn. The day when my heart no longer burns every single time I breathe. I hope to linger in this place to find meaning to this all. I hope to live through the darkness and be reborn as light, and hope to die in the loving arms of the one person who truly loves me.

Friday, 9 August 2013

Day One: Hello, Sadness

I only had twenty-four hours to see Mioseon and only six hours to discover that she was leaving me to go back home to South Korea. Somehow I wasn't surprised by her abrupt decision. I kind of expected it but I didn't want to believe it. Remorseful, regretful, sure, but not surprised. When she told me, I could still manage to breathe. When she slowly started running, that was the end of me. The next six hours was painful beyond words and feelings. I did not deserve to be dealt with that just yet. Not by her. Couldn't be.

It took me what little of what's left in my pride to beg her to stay. Think it over; think it through; handle this together; promise I'll do anything; whatever you want; I love you; have mercy; I'm dying. My desperation was reeking and my laughter slowly faded out. One by one, the person began to fade away as well. Only in my wildest dreams could I possibly imagine that such a moment like this would come. Exactly a year ago I began this journey not knowing what to expect or the consequences involved were I thought minimal. I don't give a fucking shit about everything right now; I feel like I want to see world bleed.

None was left to shatter at the end of the day.

My body was limp and broken; my mind completely shut down. No sorrow had to be more painful, more visceral, and no rage could be more pure, raw, and volatile. I will never, ever forget this moment and shake off the feeling. Perhaps I will treasure this as a reminder and one day allow vindication to take over. We haven't officially broken off our relationship, me and her, but I don't think I will be able to love again the same way, maybe even more. Her or anybody else. We've been through a lot together. We've suffered, we've persevered, we've pulled through, and we've wasted enough time just to find ourselves once more. I thought I was already way past the soul-searching days. My fantasy brought me to a special place where I thought me and Mioseon would handle things together. Everything together. Always together. A promise very true to my heart, but very light to hers. I don't I can forgive, either. It was the harshest verdict I've ever received, moreso than anything else beyond our relationship. This one's the most personal, because it destroyed the good in me.

I did not deserve this. I would be the first to know if I did. But I don't. This was a premeditated plan, by whom was supposed to be my fiancée, to crush me coldheartedly. Nobody asked me for my opinion, or how I would feel, or how wrong and unnecessary this struggle was. For that I don't know how to look forward. For that I badly need a friend.

It's over

Thursday turned out to be the shittiest day of my life ever. Nothing will ever be the same. Nothing will ever be forgiven.

Tuesday, 6 August 2013

Vel: Draft One

Still rough around the edges, needs proofreading and geographical critique. For now this is the first continent. I also have the draft for the second and third, but this one's just about good to go.

Throwback Thursday

I'm dying in anticipation for what's coming on Thursday. It's going to be special.

The flat is ready, my body is ready, -- my wallet isn't but what the hey -- and my mind's ready.

Saturday, 3 August 2013

Move along

I finished eating a can of fish. Now I stink so bad, my fingers stink harder, no matter how much cranberry juice I drink. The fish leftovers are still beside me stinking as well, ironically, beside my cologne.


I've never had a panic attack. I had a panic attack. Now the panic attack is gone, and thank god I'm still alive.

One day of work; without Mioseon, everything seems more smooth. I never let the exterior burn me inside out, though. I still need her; she's just somewhere else right now doing what's necessary. Sometimes I wonder if this was all such a good idea to begin with, you know. So I work and spend less money, what of it? My happiness and sadness is her. That's the point. She makes me feel all these things. Life, my dear Watson.

Now I'm just a cage of emotions waiting for her to release it.

The weather is nice. Good grief. Now I need to travel sooner than later.

Thursday, 1 August 2013

Figuring out if I am cut out for this show business a year after everything in my minutiae existence changed for something else much surreal than I imagined it to be

What a rush. It's been a year now. Times have changed dramatically since then. Too much to ponder and the memories are slowing fading. Green grass, Victoria station, my bags were topsy-turvy and barely made a modicum of sense, having chips in a middle of nowhere, thinking my death was inevitable, and finally Edinburgh.

It's another month for the Edinburgh Fringe. It was where it all began last year. I just finished my studies in LISPA, this and that, prior to leaving the flat. It was heartbreaking. My father was telling me how everything was monumentally fucked up and he couldn't save it for the both of us. I clenched my fist, the Olympics was coming, Chiara and Gianmaria gave me enough money to leave, and that was that. I left without any intention to come back. Fuck the visa, I said. Fuck it all.

I got to the coach station in Victoria and had zero idea what was in store. I had with me very few supplies to last a month. I had booked a flat a couple of days ago in advance for £100 a week, and I initially opted to stay for only a week. The trip was one of those quiet moments of peace and release. That was the first time I had left London on my own, and with little money, surviving was the biggest worry. There were only a handful of people inside the coach, including me. For eight long hours we rode, and I barely slept the night before. I probably even didn't. It was daunting before, during, and after I arrived in Edinburgh. Spending what little of money I have was difficult. Even finding the flat where I booked from Gumtree was educational. Observing the streets and architecture of the town made me feel new and alive. It felt like a wave crashing down on me and all that cliché. Heads were rolling with all kinds of stories to tell. The Fringe was in full gear and my journalist persona was there. I had with me the lomo camera that I hesitated to buy from Liverpool Street. It was a rainbow mini fisheye, and it cost me £50 for a camera that size. Not to mention the 110 films are expensive as fuck, and developing it was next to impossible anywhere in Scotland. I didn't have any laptop, only my about-to-give-up iPhone and a spare Blackberry, my very important journal, and 24 shots of film. Perfect. That leaves me so dramatically incomplete.

I had to put on face to watch my former colleagues perform their gig. Those same wide-eyed people with their fake smiles and troubling politeness. I was there for my integrity as a faux-journalist, so I find to make some action and make every second count. What I discovered was less than stellar, ultimately rubbish and nonsensical.

I've been meaning to put a show myself since graduating, but there were not many interests in my skill, particularly because I gave everyone a hard time at the final moments of our glorious camaraderie. Figured I could probably pull out some characters, and some invites, and then a wee bit of stand-up comedy perhaps. Not long, just enough that I will entertain myself. I forgot which night it was but I saw one free act in front of Hunter Square. I loved free acts. It was the only time I could actually enjoy something without feeling guilty of expenses afterwards. But it's not necessarily free, per sé. Nothing was free. Everything wanted donations afterwards, so it's not technically free.  A terrible misconception. It was very hot indeed down there, and my pimples were boiling, and everyone's pimples were boiling, too. I went sitting on the back and beside me was someone, a man, I'm guessing Spanish, who barely speaks a word of English, listening to the stand-up, laughing to the jokes every now and then, and being laughed at as well for being lost in translation. The madness was killing me. There I was, in this new foreign land, friendless, solitary, and no care in the world. It was sad and fun at the same time. I never liked the feeling of being alone, but helplessly being alone for so long made it slightly bearable, looking back now. I've never had that sense of companionship then, and after having one now, for almost a year, the appreciation of the smallest details were excruciatingly liberating, and I ache for that same feeling as I did just because I could communicate with my soul with much pride and tenderness. I just needed a friend on that first week, 'tis all, but I didn't want to be locked on to that person, whoever it was. I didn't even know they were coming. They all came after me in droves. My life was seemingly complete. But now, a year has passed since then, and it was all for naught.

Less than expected

No word from the half. I'm guessing they're on course to the newfoundlands somewhere by now. It's the first day of the month and just exactly what I'm waiting for for some time now. Scratch that debt when it's due, all that. By tomorrow I'll be out of here as you know it, when all's been said and done. Somewhere far away from all of this. Didn't think I'd miss the solstar, feeling blue and sick, rushing to fetch a glass of natural water by the quayside. I'm frightened now, and I miss it, and I miss them all.

Mace Tyrell

In a surprising turn of events, Mark Gatiss is not Mace Tyrell. I suppose now he will probably be either a Greyjoy or a Frey. Considering he is also doing Doctor Who and Sherlock, it's safe to assume that he'll probably play a one-off character, like Merrett Frey or Randyll Tarly. Giddy.

British actor Roger Ashton-Griffiths has been cast as Dame Diana Rigg's son, the bumbling fool, Mace Tyrell. This gives us another reason why the casting choice of the show is outstanding. He's a bit more than I expected as Mace, but he may be able to easily pull it off. He's not getting that many scenes though, that's for sure.


My two-week-old cough is now completely gone. That's one reason to smile. 

Whatever sera

And on the third day, I had no idea what to do.

After spending two straight days travelling about here and there, I find myself trapped between losing something important and trying to prove a point. After Cambridge, and then Bicester, today was supposed to be Richmond Day. The closer ones always get the boot. Everyone's mood except me is neck-deep, and the only way to handle it was to hide beneath the comforts of my sheets.

Then there's the issue of the old flame. Business, she says. Joint business with me, she wants. I'm not really sure. I don't even have budget to begin with. This just sounds to me like a lame attempt at trolling. There's danger in us falling into each other's company, and I know it's wrong. I feel it's wrong. She was history and my present blossomed into serendipity. There's no other point.

Then I need to worry about Cotswolds for tomorrow. Maybe even Edinburgh. Friday has me working for one full day with Cora. All these have numbed my senses. Words were thrown my way, and I responded with silence. Today was a mistake out so many days. My body has changed within the years, so is my mind. I am barely that old. I feel old. The Jojen Reed effect. I'm heading to Oldtown as the young grandfather. I've dreamt about this day. Greenseer, was it? Mioseon and I even talked about this at one point. I spoke to this grandmother from Glasgow the other day, and funny enough there was a certain kinship between us, a camaraderie even, for someone whose generation was generations apart.

To hell.

Tomorrow is a bloody new day. Let me just get on with it. Whatever sera.

Search and destroy