Monday, October 18, 2004
an ally moment
again, i found another old diary entry from three years ago. didn't realise how depressed i was. and fuck it sounds like a script off ally mcbeal in the latter half. maybe i should consider giving sumiko tan a run for her money and submit my resume if she ever needs a protege for penning love life grievances. here we go...vacation thoughts 1
sat morn, 5 May 2001, Hill Terrace, St James, Perth, WA.
i personally don’t believe in history repeating itself. trying to live the life i've lived is quite impossible. no one can recreate memories. cos memories are meant to be remembered. and anything to be reminisced is special, relieving it would of course rob it of its beauty.
lawson street, st james. The wee hour drives at two back to student v. the anticipation of a good night and companionship. the blasting of techno trance amidst the twirls of marlboro reds. sash’s adelante. tommy hilfiger’s lingering scent on my pillow and quilt. vcds were never this interesting (especially sausalito and crappy HK pirates). fast eds at carousel was never this fun.
[ARE MEMORIES DISPENSABLE?]
jandakot. the long dark winding roads. mayhaps a premonition of the ill-fated relationship? the lighthouse was never this romantic. everclear's “everything is wonderful” was never this good. the sunset was never this beautiful. margaret river was never this perfect. beef never tasted so delish. sleeping at night was never lonely.
[Again, are memories dispensable?]
the pain overrides the beautiful memories. if memories bring forth so much pain then why bother remembering? cos i simply can't erase. then again, can i choose to forget? do i have a choice? there're some things i can’t walk away from. so why can’t i live the life i've led a year before? why am i always recollecting? memories are meant to be embedded, not rehashed into reality whenever I desire.
stephi’s no longer at murdoch. neither are Ivan and friends. neither is vincent nor bryan. neither’s the ford festiva. neither’s flat 70, room 1. ahhh, my greatest love that I can’t leave behind. my little room of solace. my shelter from the world. how I missed that room. the dusty cupboards. the tiny spiders (spider therapy). the knocking of my knees against the wall. the heater burning my toes. the ashtray next to my bed. the CHAIR. the quilt. my freedom. my love. my life.
memories's like an old sofa. you’ve gotten so used to it. bummed in it. slept in it. drooled in it. clawed at it. the years of bonding are often overlooked. is this a good analogy of memories? we call them memories because they're incidents that we've conveniently put aside for the new and the interesting.
[ABORT. READY. RETRY] unlike a computer programme where i can erase, save and shut down, i cannot plainly ignore the consequences of my actions. a click to either would determine my destined future.
i would love to explore my ambiguous future with open arms. Or would i not?
[ACTIONS PRECEDE WORDS] 26 May 2001, Saturday, 11.45pm
i'm tired. but i can't go to bed. images of bryan still swimming in my head. moby’s porcelain playing, repeating, rewinding, fast-forwarding. when will I ever forget and truly let go?
all I want is you. who are you? when will you appear? when will you be there to hold my hand, comb my hair, massage my head, pick on my food, bitch about late night TV shows, snuggle up with in the morning, comfort me when i’m broken, love me for what I am, be truly happy with me and only me? Why are you making me wait all this while?
Have I not been a good person?
bee wrote this at 9:54 PM
