Black Black Heart

Black Black Heart
The blackening wig of the candle burned defiantly as the wax slowly melted away. Its flame was alive and licking randomly at the stillness of the room as oxygen, its sustaining agent, diminished with each passing second. It was a struggle to illuminate and each flicker of light was radiating rays which would provide brightness and comfort…because it knew that that was the sole purpose it was designed for.

The boy’s gaze was fixed on the flame, breathing in its aromatic fumes and tasting its determination. His passion too, was much alive. But how long it would last was an independent factor based upon his external environment. Sure, everyone with rational animal spirits would fight for their own happiness. Yet he had come to realise that the happiness he was fighting for could never be accommodated into her ideals of happiness. How could light coming from two different sources ever merge as one? How could love coming from two different hearts ever beat as one?

The candle burns out as its final moments of combustion exhausts the last of the remaining oxygen. It had not emerged victorious despite its valiant will to carry on. The room was now in pitch black darkness.

And black was the colour of his heart.

His love was drained but he knew that within his means, it had been channelled into purposeful use. His heart was black because the absence of light blinded his eyes to its original tone of passionate red. He waited for a while for his eyes to get accustomed to the darkness before tugging at the latch and opening the window. The suffocation was unbearable. No doubt, the candle’s demise is irreversible; but perhaps when dawn finally arrives, brightness and comfort would resume in its former glory.

In the meantime, he decided to go to sleep because all manners of binary opposition between darkness and light, passion and rejection, him and her, could be put to a transient rest.

A new lease...

A new semester in less than two weeks time...Great. Back to the crazy lifestyle of a competitve bidding system, early morning lectures, projects, assignments, the list goes on...

Oh yes, I'll pretty like to welcome myself to a new semester of pretty girls as well. But women in general have never really been an important aspect of my good living. A naggy mother, a fortnight girlfriend, a bitchy sister, an impossible to bed japanese teacher, the list goes on again, and it is not that I'm trying to attribute my negative attitude towards women to the women around me, but come on, I am a social construct by and large; and i'm greatly influenced by my surroundings because it shapes my thought.

But my negativity shall end as soon as I get to know some nice and sweet 18 year old from school in about 14 days time. No, not CW bros' idea of the social club of sluts, where sluts are of a lower class than bitches type, but the really nice and sweet type.

Which leads me to wonder if those 18year old girls, freshly out from JC are anticipating the arrival of their new educational route. Well, they had better be. It is a brave new world in Uni, and they will just have to be a little more sassy when facing it. I will be waiting...

Back on the subject of education, I think it is a good idea to be back in school and learning. 幼不学， 老何为？Not that I'm expecting to live to a ripe old age with all the smoking, drinking and late nights, but really, studying opens a person's horizons. Well, sounds cliche but thats how I think it is. Life does not revolve around women, isn't it?

Home sweet home...

Ah yes...the summer(?!?) vacation is ending.

By and large, it had been a pleasantly good two months apart from the nasty results which resulted from a lack of effort in academic pursuits last semester. But the boy knew everyone made mistakes sometimes. And he is the type who seldom repeats his mistakes. This, he had learnt the hard way because, as a matter of fact, this was his second chance at life in general.

He was keen on taking a more active role in re-shaping his life of decandance and the first step he took, was to tidy up his god-forsaken room this afternoon. He started with the book rack, and ended with the finer details of filing last semester's lectures and tutorials. By the time he finished, he was marvelling at how perfect his room actually was.

In fact, he had even managed to fix up a Dvd player and hooked it to a small, but none the less workable TV he had in his room. So he could enjoy his good 'ld 'Mirai' VCDs and other productions of similar genre in the privacy of his own room. But that is if he could get the damn disc back in the first place.

This room-packing episode broke the stifling routine in his life. And it was the little perk he needed to feel a bit more like himself again. For once he thought his Dad was correct when he (Dad) said: 'If you can't even handle the small matters, how are you going to achieve something grand'?

Oh wait...suddenly he didn't feel like agreeing. But you can't blame him...I mean, a man who does wonders has no time for trival stuff, isn't it? Oh heck, he couldn't agree with either maxims actually. He just wanted to rebel against an authority brought upon him not by choice, but by destiny. You can't choose your parents... but whether your wish to listen to them all the time or not, remains your choice.

And so, after grasping the right mood of the joy of staying alive again, the boy decided to extend his sense of tidiness to the rest of the house and hence walked around, wondering if there was any cleaning up required. For the first time, he noticed that the rag on the washing machine had a cutesy blue dolphin imprint. And that the storeroom had an uncountable number of shoe boxes which he believed was the combined collection of his Mum and Sis. And that there was actually a box of old books stacked under a pile of clothes in the guest's room. Ah...what a day of discovery.

It made him realise that a big, but untidy house would never match the comfort of a small studio apartment which is maintained spick and span. Hence, he made up his mind, he would strive to get himself a neat little place of his own when his parents decided they have had enough of him. It didn't have to be big, but it had to be cozy and inviting. And being the nice chap he was, he would invite his friends, his parents and many a tipsy girl over to the place. Yeah, he was geared up for all that.

But for now, he remained contented with his room, its walls no longer a dimension of confinement, but a positive store of dreams. He figured, for the second time, that his Dad was probably right. Because if he could one day keep his own little apartment the way he deemed fit, then it might just prove to be the humble beginnings of a grandiose villa with the same management of cleanliness and coziness. Every complex ambition begins with simplicity of thought.

Who needs to be a rebel when you can be a dreamer?