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the greyest of blue skies. [entries|friends|calendar]
the greyest of blue skies.

ryan d

eighteen. singaporean. rjc. enjoys chicken rice. hobbies include reading, writing, doodling, rpgs, music, slacking.


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goodnight. [28 Sep 2008|04:42pm]

there is a time for everything.
maybe i can learn that.

want wants wanted
has have had

a scar is never the same as good flesh,
but it stops the bleeding.

this will be my last entry here.
thank you for listening.
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where you want to be. [26 Sep 2008|11:59pm]
but on other days
  i see her as she was
 on that night, alone in her living room

 a stubborn little girl;
 but mostly just lonely

and with those bright
  uncertain eyes
like afterimages in my mind

  i remember the times
when my touch and my voice
 weren't enough.

 and hope that maybe now, at least
my love has found her way home.
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wasteland. [20 Sep 2008|01:30am]
Stumbling through a haze of blinking lights and sound; I fall through a sea of people to land against a tilting wall. Raising my head against the broken darkness I can see everything.

A woman standing alone against the steel scaffolding of the room, dancing with her eyes closed like she is trying to forget. Couples pressing their bodies close, like twin hungers trying to fill one another. In a quiet corner by the door a boy is holding a girl tightly, his face buried in her shoulder. He is holding her like he never wants to let her go.

I know this is going to end. The sound, the sad lights, everything. When I close my eyes I can look through the pounding blood of my eyelids into a quieter world. A world with nothing but an empty room and a breeze and two hands pressed together. A world where that boy by the door never does let his girl go.
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mid-autumn festival. [14 Sep 2008|12:43am]
There are not enough lights on the street tonight. I have this overwhelming urge to climb onto the streetlamps and string up hundreds upon hundreds of lighted paper lanterns in the darkness. It will look as if the sun had collapsed in on the night and the glowing fragments of its embers were floating silently down into the quiet streets.

People will stop in the streets and stand where they are - wondering at the fire in the city; staring at the lights separating into constellations, hanging like starlight in the air, like the clarity of unspoken words etched against the sky. For one infinite moment they will feel as if mistakes can be forgiven and aching throats will mend. They will feel as if following the string of lights far enough will guide them home.
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fragments: march 20th, 2008 [08 Sep 2008|11:55pm]
It's something humbling, perhaps. Glimpses of a you that never knew me, a you caught up with a life - a cast of places and people - that I had no place in. Past loves, favourite songs, important conversations - a trembling certainty that, like a Venn diagram, there's a part of us each that will remain forever untouchable. Your past is something that is unchangeably yours - frozen in time like the colour of your hair when we first met, like the distant thoughts in your eyes when you look away, like the misunderstandings and expectations borne of different lives. It hurts, somewhat; that no matter how close I pull our fingers together, our hands remain ours each, ours to press together and ours to pull away. It's the beauty and the tragedy - the fleeting tenacity of your arm around mine; moments of intensity here today, gone tomorrow.
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how richer (or better) is he now? [24 Aug 2008|10:39pm]
Nineteen. Two years more than I really wanted or needed. Not bigger than this, not better. August was supposed to be a special month for me.

Next year I'll be twenty, with not much to show for it. But if I start working hard now maybe things will be better.

Maybe next year I'll get to close my eyes and blow out glowing candles and cut pretty cakes with the people I love. I would like that.
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the kissings. [17 Aug 2008|09:13pm]
Today there will be an unprecedented spate of kissings across the island:

6.43 am - The home of Ang Teck Mun and Wong Swee Lian, Bedok. Teck Mun will awaken to the sound of rain against the concrete of his three-room flat. He will stare into the darkness of his room, then roll over in bed to kiss Swee Lian, his wife of seventeen years. Then he will drag himself out of bed and head to the toilet to wash up.

10.37 am - Rooftop, Hougang Secondary School. Foo Yuan Kai, Secondary Four student, will lead his classmate Jade Chan here under the pretext of showing her the view. The morning rain will have lightened to a drizzle. When the door closes, Yuan Kai will move closer to Jade, so close he can feel her girlish breath on his face. He will hesitate. In that moment, Jade will close the final centimetre and place her closed lips upon his slightly parted lips. It will be the first kiss for both of them.

2.02 pm - Nanyang Primary School. Tay Jun Liang, economics undergraduate, will sit outside the school compound and wait for Rachel Chua, part-time relief teacher, to end her class. When - out of the corner of his eye - he sees her walking out of the school gate, he will time his standing up from the chair to coincide precisely with the moment his girlfriend wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him on the cheek. He will have missed her.

4.16 pm - Maternity ward, Mount Elizabeth Hospital. Daniel Soh, sales executive, will cradle his newborn daughter in his arms and kiss her several times above the lids of her bright, staring eyes. His shirt will be crumpled and he will not have showered for several days. But as he watches her tiny fist clench around his finger, he will believe that today will be the start of a better time.

11.11 pm - Palawan Beach, Sentosa. Ng Sue-Lin will break up with her boyfriend of three years, Jason Yeo. As the dark waves pound into the soft sand, she will stand on tiptoe and, with trembling lips, kiss him on the corner of his drawn mouth. Jason won't react. He will blink straight ahead. After she leaves, he will fling a deck chair into the sea, then hold his head in his hands and cry.
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insomnia. [06 Aug 2008|03:21am]
I've been having trouble sleeping. I go to sleep after lights out, dead tired, but somehow I keep waking up at two or three in the morning. Can't get back to sleep. Just stare into the darkness.

I can't stop thinking about the barracks at Tekong. Every morning birds crashing into glass windows and falling, like stones, to the ground. Dead birds in the dawn, feathers rustling in the breeze.


I wish I were crazy so they would lock me up and let me sleep. Peaceful quiet clinical hospital wards, sterilized corridors. White sheets. All the vending machine coffee I could ever want. Three times a day I would take pills that would make me happy.
I want to be happy.
I want to be happy.

I want to die.
Roll over and twitch like a dead bird and grin at the sky. Waiting, waiting to hit the ground. Because I always hit the ground.

Colourful pills
like lesbian sex

I can't remember anymore. No i remember but the edge is gone. I remember classrooms and hands and candles and swimming pools. I remember a girl who stared at me so hard i wanted to lift my hand to hide the honesty in her eyes.

I remember hands like blades,
love hate clouds

i am not crazy,. the worst of it is that i am not crazy. or drunk.
just self-destructive.
just everything-destructive, that's all.

i'm scared
    of course i'm scared
that's what i never told her holding her hands while she pulled them away, wringing, shaking, shaking
if she was crazy then i'm crazy too
because i'm scared

i'm scared to die
i'm scared to love
i'm scared to be alone

but i had to hold her because i could feel her slipping away

because if we were both scared
where would we be

because she was shaking so much i thought she would fly apart if i didn't hold her.

but who will hold me
who will hold ryan

and tell him it's okay to be scared
it's okay ryan

mistakes of a boy
    who thought himself invincible

until one day he unravelled so much there was nothing left

                    just string

and hopes
little dreams about happiness
    squash girl and computer boy

but a grenade is a grenade is a grenade
and shrapnel is shrapnel

ryan never changes

i'm sorry
i'm sorry

pretty little notes like razors
once upon a time

my hands can't stop shaking they can't
i don't want to write anymore
i don't want

don't know why fuck

i promise i won't always be like this

ryan is sorry for everything.

like you said. [03 Aug 2008|01:09am]
[ mood | tired ]

We've both forgotten, now.

I feel like I've woken from a dream; desperately grasping at the memory of something I cared about - but can't, for the life of me, remember.

I remember that I cared quite a lot.

Maybe you never happened.
Maybe we never did.

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100 words: 020207 [19 Jul 2008|08:51am]
[ mood | cold ]

All I have are moments. Moments of her with her long hair blowing past her eyes so bright I want to lift my fingers to her face and hide their honesty; moments of staring into the nape of her neck and wondering if her eyes are open or shut and if she feels as much as I do. Moments of watching her breathe in her sleep. When everything else fades I hope that these at least will stay with me - seconds of clarity and minutes of stillness - quiet fragments of intensity, of happiness, of dreams moving under skies.
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exhale. [09 Jun 2008|11:51am]
[ mood | sleepy ]

... Ostensibly, this place is still my blog, so I'm going to post something different and vaguely journal-esque today - by plugging Vertical Rush's new EP. I missed their set at the Substation last night (passed out on the floor sometime during Zero Sequence's performance) but brought home two of their albums - Songs for the Girls We Never Dated and The Angels EP:

I was expecting something somewhat boring (the two CDs sold for $5 as a package) but Angels really surprised me by being awesome. Slow-paced, acoustic, beautiful melodic sleepiness all round. Definitely the best five dollars I've ever spent. Get it if you can find it.

In other news, I've really missed being out. Little things like sitting at a coffeeshop in the early morning and having prata for breakfast, or watching train tracks through the rain. I keep telling myself there will be time for this. Time to breathe.

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unravelling. [02 May 2008|10:07pm]
[ mood | asleep ]

A long bus ride out to the north and I am recklessly lost in the night of the city. Turning and turning beneath bright yellow lights; intoxicated by the blur of HDB flats and the cloying aftertaste of cheap convenience store coffee. I am awake and I am asleep and the streets tilt dangerously close to my thoughts. I could fall here and nobody would notice. I could fall-

Staring upwards, sprawled in the grass, I can see the faintest stars in the dark blue sky; framed by the yellow glow of streetlamps and the squares of gaudy community centre banners. Above, the clouds swirl like milk against tea; like dreams against time, like your fingers against my cheek, like love, like hate, like clouds. I shake.

I am drowning. I am drowsing and I am drowning in the grass and it is not enough for me; to stay here, to lie still, to watch the world spin madly on through half-lidded eyes. Through the blurring of my contact lenses, I could almost reach out and drag the stars down to the streets to illuminate the empty roads. I could gather all the light in the sky to find you. Still I shake. It's not enough.

It's not enough.

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awake. [21 Mar 2008|02:09am]
[ mood | desperate ]

Three more days and I'm going back to the Army.

I can't sleep. The past two weeks have been a breath of fresh air, a sharp reminder of what I've missed. The clutter of sounds from hawker centres, the laughter of students on the streets, the sound of trains pulling into stations. Days with you by my side.

Three more nights and I'll be staring through the darkness at the ceiling of a new bunk - trying to sleep, trying to get used to not having you by my side. The horror is in losing yourself - in the daily left-right-left of military life, in the ritualized indoctrination of meaningless values, in the terrifying regimentation of your mind. The first week is the worst; waking up each cold morning and pulling your grey singlet over your shaven head. Falling in like a prisoner - exercise, march, eat, shit. Rinse and repeat. After a while, you forget there was ever a life other than this. After a while, you lose the unsoldierly urge to cry at night. It's not that hard - clap when you're instructed, cheer when you're told. Sing when you're marching. Lock your elbows. Don't show your shack face. Smile.

I smile.

But sometimes at night, past lights out, I have dreams of my very own, dreams that aren't SAF-approved. Dreams of freedom; of contentment. I dream I am sleeping on a quiet afternoon, and you are curled up around my arm, your face buried in my shirt.

And all I can hope for three nights from now is for those dreams to pull me through.

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reboot. [16 Mar 2008|10:19pm]
[ mood | mmm ]

Stop waiting. Feel everything. Love achingly. Give impeccably.

Let go.

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break. [03 Jan 2008|02:42am]
I won't be writing here for awhile.
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end. [22 Dec 2007|03:54am]
I've never really liked the Christmas season - it always feels like everything is ending. Between the carols and the lights and the crowds on Orchard Road, I feel like I've wasted another year of my life. Another year filled with worksheets I can't remember, people who don't stay, days that come into focus and then fade away like waves against the sand. Stupid, fleeting, pointless. I hate having to forget people. I never thought I would have to forget you.

So many things to burn, where do I begin? Lacing hands on cold bus rides and the first unsure tracings of fingertips. The excitement of planning stupid, small surprises and the breathless anticipation of a smile. Nights in cosy bars and moments of closeness in the city. The aroma of Vietnamese coffee and the smell of frying sausages, weaving through the early morning half-light of two eyes staring intently back into mine.

I never want these moments to lose their clarity. I want their edges to stay so sharp I bleed when I try to touch them, I want them to remind me that sometime this year, I was truly, honestly happy.

They will fade if I stay, and then we will both have forgotten. I will wake up in the morning without you in my head. It's a tempting idea. It would be like the last year never happened. We could talk and have coffee and you could still bring me to delicious places for food. It would be great. It... really would.

But either way, something has to go this time. I could forget we ever met, or forget we ever loved. More pretentious pointlessness. All this writing, and in the end it still comes down to selfishness and self-pity. "What's the point?" you would ask, "it doesn't change anything." And you would be right. I've never really been much more than words, anyway. And I'm all out of them. Goodbye, love.

The day is almost over
It's almost time for bed
So now you've finally lost me
Rest your weary head

and pretty girls. [30 Nov 2007|02:04am]
[ mood | sleepy ]

I could write a book.
A book about the life I'd like to have lived.
The things I'd like to have done.
Things like writing books.

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hours pass. [22 Nov 2007|12:16pm]
[ mood | drained ]

"This is the last straw."

"This is the last straw," she said.
"And I won't wait for you forever,
while you run around like JFK -
I've watched that poor girl waste the best years of her life,
and I'll be damned if I am going out,
I will not go out that way."
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gentle breathing over the phone. [18 Oct 2007|02:23am]
[ mood | tired ]

It's half past two in the morning again and I still can't sleep.

In the darkness, I can imagine that everything in my room is staring at me; my phone, my half-scrawled notes - this glowing screen. Watching me, weighing what I've done today against what I'll do tomorrow; reminding me of calls I never picked up and eyes I've never seen and letters I never intended to send. I am too scared to look back; I don't know what I'll see in those cold, judging, non-existent eyes; I know - wasted days, wasted years, minutes I never touched, moments I never seized, startled glances and half-sure smiles I could have reached out and held in the palm of my hand. Fear in a handful of dust; being and not-being, it's half past two in the morning.

The silence confuses me; I could be here in the dark or I could still be waiting at the train station, waiting and waiting for a thought that never comes. The platform is empty and silent and lonely and I swear no matter at which end of the train I get off the escalator's always the wrong way round. Maybe little goblins creep in at night and change them when nobody's looking. Maybe every night a dream-train slides silently into the station and goblins and fairies crawl out of the crumbling dust and no one will ever see them but me.

It's half past two in the morning and I am not drunk but I wish I were so this would make sense. I wish this would all make sense but your quiet breathing slips through my fingers like fairy dust and all around me, squatting like forgotten trinkets in the dark, little goblins are watching me type.

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from the archives: september 1, 2003 [06 Oct 2007|12:37am]
[ mood | tired ]

today i went downstairs to buy a pen. i walked to the art shop and told the uncle i wanted a blue g2 07. after rooting about a long time and finally coming up with one, he asked me "you buying this last minute issit? for the exams?". i said "yeah" and he went "never do that, boy. this is the last pen i have, and you might not have gotten it. remember that. don't do anything last minute, or you'll be out of the race. remember that."

i think i will.

I didn't.
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