5 centimetres per second, that’s the speed at which cherry blossom petals fall. Petals are like humans; just like the speed at which petals fall, our lives move slowly. We may spend time together, but slowly we drift off on our separate ways.

I waited longer than usual for the bus to come today, around 20 minutes or more? While waiting for 74 to come, I saw 3 bus 154s, 2 bus 151s and 2 bus 52s stopping at my bus stop. And that whole time 74 was nowhere to be seen! When the bus finally came, it was rather packed, with just enough space for everyone at my bus stop to get on.

I’ve been complaining about bus service 74 since my secondary school days, which was more than 5 years ago. Back then, I would leave the house 45 minutes before I had to be in school, even though the actual bus ride only took around 15 minutes. Anything later and I would end up being late if the bus didn’t come on time. So much for staying near school.

On days when the bus takes very long to come, when I spot the bus finally arriving, I would usually see more 74s following behind as well. As expected, the first bus would be pretty crowded, while the ones behind are practically empty. Why are the bus arrival times so irregular? There’s no point in having so many buses if they’re just going to arrive at almost the same time at a particular bus stop. You know, its been 9 years from the time I was in sec 1, and this is still happening!

Sometimes I think that I’m better off taking the MRT, unless I’m not being bound to get somewhere by a particular time. Even though it takes a 10 minute walk from my house to the station, at least MRT timings are more regular and I can estimate my travelling time more accurately.

I haven’t been sleeping well lately. I keep having dreams and waking up because of them. The other day I even dreamt about work, how sad is that! The hot and humid weather doesn’t help either, because soon after the sun rises, it gets too hot and bright to continue sleeping. I usually don’t sleep well when I’m stressed or unhappy, so is there some underlying cause behind this?

My ears seem to be ringing from time to time these days. It’s not often enough for me to be really concerned about it, but could it be a sign of stress, anxiety or unhappiness? There are many possible factors leading to tinnitus, but in my case, I’m not on any medication, nor am I suffering from some sort of neurological or metabolic disorder. That leaves a few possible reasons, one being low serotonin levels. Serotonin is involved in the control of mood, and low serotonin levels is known to be a cause of depression. (Urgh this is so related to Pharmacology.) Maybe when I don’t sleep well, I get unhappy and when I get unhappy, one side effect is tinnitus. (I really talk like a Biology student…)

I hope that I’ll have a better sleep tonight!

Don’t be fooled by me.
Don’t be fooled by the face I wear
for I wear a mask, a thousand masks,
masks that I’m afraid to take off,
and none of them is me.

Pretending is an art that’s second nature with me,
but don’t be fooled.
I give you the impression that I’m secure,
that all is sunny and unruffled with me, within as well as without,
that confidence is my name and coolness my game,
that the water’s calm and I’m in command
and that I need no one,
but don’t believe me.
My surface may seem smooth but my surface is my mask,
ever-varying and ever-concealing.
Beneath lies no complacence.
Beneath lies confusion, and fear, and aloneness.
But I hide this. I don’t want anybody to know it.
I panic at the thought of my weakness exposed.
That’s why I frantically create a mask to hide behind,
a nonchalant sophisticated façade,
to help me pretend,
to shield me from the glance that knows.

But such a glance is precisely my salvation, my only hope,
and I know it.
That is, if it’s followed by acceptance,
if it’s followed by love.
It’s the only thing that can liberate me from myself,
from my own self-built prison walls,
from the barriers I so painstakingly erect.
It’s the only thing that will assure me
of what I can’t assure myself,
that I’m really worth something.
But I don’t tell you this. I don’t dare to, I’m afraid to.
I’m afraid your glance will not be followed by acceptance,
will not be followed by love.
I’m afraid you’ll think less of me,
that you’ll laugh, and your laugh would kill me.
I’m afraid that deep-down I’m nothing
and that you will see this and reject me.

So I play my game, my desperate pretending game,
with a façade of assurance without
and a trembling child within.
So begins the glittering but empty parade of masks,
and my life becomes a front.
I idly chatter to you in the suave tones of surface talk.
I tell you everything that’s really nothing,
and nothing of what’s everything,
of what’s crying within me.
So when I’m going through my routine
do not be fooled by what I’m saying.
Please listen carefully and try to hear what I’m not saying,
what I’d like to be able to say,
what for survival I need to say,
but what I can’t say.

I don’t like hiding.
I don’t like playing superficial phony games.
I want to stop playing them.
I want to be genuine and spontaneous and me
but you’ve got to help me.
You’ve got to hold out your hand
even when that’s the last thing I seem to want.
Only you can wipe away from my eyes
the blank stare of the breathing dead.
Only you can call me into aliveness.
Each time you’re kind, and gentle, and encouraging,
each time you try to understand because you really care,
my heart begins to grow wings –
very small wings,
very feeble wings,
but wings!

With your power to touch me into feeling
you can breathe life into me.
I want you to know that.
I want you to know how important you are to me,
how you can be a creator — an honest-to-God creator –
of the person that is me
if you choose to.
You alone can break down the wall behind which I tremble,
you alone can remove my mask,
you alone can release me from my shadow-world of panic,
from my lonely prison,
if you choose to.
Please choose to.

Do not pass me by.
It will not be easy for you.
A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls.
The nearer you approach to me
the blinder I may strike back.
It’s irrational, but despite what the books say about man
often I am irrational.
I fight against the very thing I cry out for.
But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls
and in this lies my hope.
Please try to beat down those walls
with firm hands but with gentle hands
or a child is very sensitive.

Who am I, you may wonder?
I am someone you know very well.
For I am every man you meet
and I am every woman you meet.

Charles C. Finn

This afternoon, the topic of traffic accidents came up as Jasmine (Lim), Adrian and I were talking. Apparently Adrian’s mother had been hit by a car recently, and thankfully she only suffered from a fractured hip. Due to that, she’s resting at home now. Jasmine then mentioned that 9 years back, she was in her Dad’s car when they met with an accident due to the negligence of another driver. Other than suffering from pains and bruises, she was relatively unhurt, but her father fractured his ankle and had to go for surgery. The car that they were in was a new car too, they had just gotten the car that very day and were driving around after topping up the petrol.

When I was on my way home earlier on, I noticed that the traffic near my place was heavier than usual, and the bus could only travel slowly. The traffic is usually not so heavy at this time, so the first thought that came to mind was that there could have been an accident nearby. By the time I got off the bus I didn’t notice anything unusual, so I didn’t think too much about it and went upstairs. It was only when I glanced out of the window in my room that I noticed that there had indeed been a traffic accident and the junction nearest my block, just after the bus stop that I had alighted at.

This was what I saw:

It seems like the grey car had hit the motorcycle (on the right, behind the traffic light) that was lying on the road. The grey car was probably going straight when it hit the motorcycle which was turning. Where the person in blue is standing, there’s a blue car with its hazard lights on. Not sure if that car was involved in any way though.

My mum says that the grey car hit the motorcycle earlier on, and the motorcycle (or was it motorcyclist?) went under the car. The injured had already been sent to the hospital before I came home. If the motorcyclist went under the car, I really don’t think his injuries would be light. Hopefully the injuries aren’t too bad… There are a lot of accidents that occur at this particular junction, and the worst one I saw also involved a motorcyclist that was hit by a larger vehicle. In that case a lot of blood was spilt on the road. It was so much that I could see it from the 12th storey with my naked eye!

The firemen are here now and they’re washing something off the road. I can’t see what though. Blood? Oil? I doubt I’ll hear anything about it on the news.

If you drive, please do so carefully!