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blurbaby
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Name: Hwei Ling
Country: Malaysia
Metro: Kuala Lumpur
Birthday: 6/6/1986
Gender: Female
Interests: back massages, black leather knee-high boots, books that make me cry, bumpy potholed dusty roads, candlelight and shadows, capturing life through my camera, chillin' and grillin', cliffs and sunsets and arms spread to the wind, cute foreign accents, fingers through my hair, fishnets and corsets, guitars and campfires, scuba diving, jaegerbombs and kamikaze shots, lightsabers, long bike rides in the spring, loud headbangin' music, mountain trails and fall foliage, phoenixes and dragons, piercing parlors and tattoo shops, road trippin' with windows down and music up, scruffy rugged boys, speeding on snowboards, stargazing into infinity, staring at world maps, sunlight on water, whipped cream and sprinkles, whispers in my ear, wine-flavored kisses.
Expertise: Being nomadic
Occupation: Student/Scene shop slave
Message: message me
Website: visit my website
Member Since:
10/12/2003
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| It's been too long, and I've had nothing to say and everything to live for.
I walk in six days, the ending of four years and the beginning of something new.
What comes next?
Some days, I believe in love. Some days, I speak heresy to myself. Days like today are gorgeous, blue and cloud-tossed skies, whispers of white streaming over the azure and brilliant spring green, but my heart is shadowed. It's too early. It's too meaningless. If I could articulate what I needed would that even help gain me what I long for? There are words yet unspoken, which every night I wish I could let tumble from my lips like the touches spring so willingly from my fingertips...as if that pinpoint touch of skin to skin could convey everything welling up inside.
And yet, days like today ring hollow.
If we are all dreams, I am afraid of awakening. Or if we are all ghosts, I am afraid of the fading. It's funny, to fear both the becoming real and the decline into the unreal.
All I need really...I could reassure myself in your eyes. Distant. Shadowed, heavy flicker, dilated, tinged red. Near, subdued sparkle, moonstone glow, a smile that travels and shines. I don't know. I don't know. Sometimes I need to not know and just be held, but still I'll lie alone.
I'll be here, there, walking the world alone. Seven months and we'll see what brings me home. | | |
| The rains, they come and go - like tears, like laughter (these too shall pass).
Another Christmas passes.
I'm alone in this bedroom, stripped bare, rumpled, tousled, silent. We lay curled into a union that would be confusion, would be betrayal, would be anger and a trust falling apart. I knew. And yet, and yet...and yet I do not understand. I came searching for the things he spoke of. I saw, I thought I understood, thought I was above it all.
and yet, in the blasting of chill air, in the microfiber white softness that blankets sin, like lies we hide.
the truth is there, it it unspoken and denied. in the witching hours, we are other people. naked
souls, naked in the dark where we can shed our hardened shells and see with touch and whispers.
when we might be more real and true, and no one that we would ever profess to be.
beneath the sarcasm, the scorn. could we be frail and human? perhaps?
affirm me with gentle touch. the daylight scatters this knowing. we'll never speak. never admit.
and maybe i'll never know,
how to distinguish what was true from twisted.
or understand why. why lies were even necessary at all.
and if words can never be trusted, should touch be able to say it all?
there's a gentleness that fades into the sunrise and the morning. a softness behind a smirk. a lostness and a longing. stare into the distance and show the weight on your mind. maybe it's hate, and maybe i'll hurt but i can
never
help
caring
but i'm still a coward, and what is the use? the facades, could they be real? the charades be more than play? i'd like to think not, but again. there is no use. (imaginary?) needs that i only wish to touch and fill somehow...
i'm not even looking for love. i just want to be allowed to care.
tiredness (and possibly alcohol) weighs me down, heavy-lidded. the rain falls in waves of light patter, swells to downpour, seems to be the only animate thing in the dead of night sans myself. how many hours has it been? when we shut off the lights, turned off the tv and let the night sway us where it would. where we would. where i would. when i woke up and walked out of a chain of nights that left me sitting here, needing to leave, wanting to stay - wanting to know why? and how? and then i'll go. i'll go.
it's been 11 days since i stepped into this house.
glass frame, black and white stare, stories we've fragmented and pieced back together. deceptions, misconceptions, the facets that build up but fail to sparkle in the misguidedness of our collective pathetic beautiful humanity. the defenses we build up, the chinks we let our need through, the cracks where the sighs and tears slip through. you can do better. you deserve better. i hear. i listen. i'm powerless.
"hurt. teddy bear. care. love. i hate him. liar. scary smart. an interesting character. you intimidate. won't let a man win. bigger. older. smarter. reversal."
there's so much pain. so much pain. i wish i could hold you. and you. and you. i wish i knew you. | | |
| I want to be...
Everywhere. In your arms. But I can never have both. It always comes back to that, doesn't it?
The days trickle away into the final week of the semester. I rode a Thanksgiving whirlwind through the Maine Mall, staring through Tara Donovan's millions of straws in the ICA, through frosted cookies and the spice of gingerbread and cold wind numbing my cheeks as we strode briskly through the streets of Allston, ears ringing from another concert in another bar on another weekend night. I rode a Chinatown bus south from one Cantonese-speaking enclave into a world resounding with the smoother tones of Mandarin, stepped out into the city that never sleeps and wandered in confused circles beneath the ground trying to find my way over to the Bronx. There were stories about breath freshners, there were moments spent contemplating Santiago the anole, there were beers and conversation and laughter, spicy shrimp pasta and grey skies.
Oh New York.
We dive into culture here, we are children puffing out our cheeks at wire hanging sculptures to see them dance in our exhalations...for the circus plays in the background and lions roar in fabric and string. I watch New York's pigeons tiptoe and peer, we chow down on hot pork buns and chew our way through the dilemmas of golden spandex, golden heels and the eternal quest for knee-high socks through SoHo. And we embrace the night in a burning blur of glowsticks and techno beats, a mouse head with bright shining eyes and gyrating dancers, in sketchy advances made and sweaty embraces with people I don't really want to know. I stay up till 5 a.m. in the city, in the city wide awake and cold and dancing, in the laughter and clicking heels and short skirts in the winter, in the smell of french fries and nuggets curling through the artificial light that keeps us wide-eyed tired until I walk home to curl up in bed for three hours, past the homeless guys sitting on the stoop of my hostel who are appreciative of my skirt.
The morning sees me leave early and walk the long blocks through Chinatown to brave the crowds who are competing for a bus to Philly. I stumble through the masses in sheer exhaustion, ask the driver if I can get off in Cherry Hill although I have no idea where it is; I nap nervously, listen to the strange rounded syllables of whatever language my seatmate is speaking incessantly into her phone, and wonder if I'll miss my stop.
Thanksgiving afternoon, and we are reunited a continent away from before. I shiver my way into the van after sitting outside huddled away from the wind for a solid half-hour, and it's all hugs and sleepy conversation, a much-needed shower, and food, food, food. It begins, and does not stop.
We are wanderers; we collided once. We trace routes through our histories to the moment where they intersected. We share comforting touches that mean everything, mean nothing. I look into these eyes and can smile and laugh in all these instants...there are prisms and swirls of light through rainbow glass; I am learning how to defile my red wine with Coke; there is conversation, and I listen. Texture of carpet beneath my back, a window into the darkness overhead, the plans we make and the roads we long to take. Place these glasses gently on the windowsill, and let me fail to see clearly through my heart instead. The night reaches long and through this all...
I still fail to sleep in tight embrace. Fail to wake up with the sun on two faces turned towards and into interlocked curvature. Turn back-to-back instead, past the pillowfights, past the stripped-off socks and the words that tumble between breaths and the tracery of dark hair on white sheets, and turn into the future instead. As it must be, for these bright blurry paths lead into a nothingness that could never be known collectively.
Turn into memories of dark pearls strung around necks, into mysteries of eyelash curlers, into spins on the dance floor and nights with this notebook in bed, with the desire to cry and the bursting of ephemeral, unnamed dreams; four walls and a stranger, and the music that plays on inside my head as she slumbers.
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| (i'm just like you, and we're all different, but wishing for the same)
nights like these
the waves roar through the trees
leaves scrape across my skin
flurry fast
i tread black and white squares across the pavement. across the grass.
someday i'll learn to be beyond the path.
slowly, slowly. to feel the wind. to listen
stand.
ducks ripple agitatedly on the water
i wonder if i will ever see a tree fall.
i look through the leaves and i see the orange lights.
bulbs of bright. bulbs of light.
haunted and mysterious, the world is wild tonight.
my hair is a halo blown in black and red flame, my eyes are burning with all your forgotten names. i stand alone by the waters and watch the reeds scream. ducks cackle in the dark, shadows on the surface of a sea and i contemplate jumping in to see if the waters will hold me. nights like these i think it's been too long since i've been one with the wild world. when the jagged empty forlornness sweeps in and fills me up. nights like these i stare out the corner of my eye at a warmth and a window that i should never ever know. something that tumbled out of place in the universe and my weakness latched on to.
i think. i'd like to take photos tonight, but i'm just going to breathe it in with my entire skin instead.
i think. too much.
maybe i've always been this alone.
nights like these.
i can be one with the wind and the voices that rustle. the slashes of clouds that follow the stars. with the almost-image of you and almost-tears for almost-loss.
and terrible, empty, aloneness in a beautiful place.
to know god.
and turn around. feel the weight of the air. closeness in my head.
the laughing screams of the living, they will dissipate.
i said, the world could end now and it'd all be alright.
and death would be but a drawing near
to everything beautiful and bright.
only
maybe because
i do not understand.
for here and now,
we are all abandoned into the emptiness of our minds
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| You are there, still there, ghost.
Plaguing my cloudy nights and darkening the glow of the city's lights. You've muted my heart into heaviness, along with all my own insecurities and prejudices that only weigh me down and stir up confusion. I'm reduced to the awkward fumblings of a self I struggled to fit into, 7 years ago. The calls, the hanging up, the heartbeats that commence, and the silence that finishes off the night. So young, so un-young, so strange, so alien. Liminal emotional time that reverberates with the warning echoes of everything precarious that might shatter and slice into my ordered existence. Is this how it all ends? A petering out, a dissipation, a vapor's exhalation into the black night sky? A cloud to fade into all other clouds, a wisp of dew breathing tears onto my cheek, a blink and we are an ache that I have no right to be feeling...an ache fading, lasting, fading, longing...I am a coward and I hate myself more for it, I am judgemental and shallow and I hate myself more for it, we all are too...you are...there are wants that I will not let myself become part of, will not sell out, will not stoop to these lows.
It wasn't supposed to be this way. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't to be taken in and then driven away. It wasn't even a driving though, it's a choice I have made...but a choice triggered by others. Maybe the choice was made in your silent response, for no answer is an answer stronger than any other words. Nine months of wandering, and I am home to a home that isn't home at all. Nine months of wondering, and neither yes or no will suffice...it could never be that simple, there could be no clean-cut ending - no ending at all except the drawn-out fading that I have chosen.
But there are other things that I have chosen. Things that scare me too, because maybe I've come to believe that I can never have anything but that which will end, and so I choose to seal my demise. Unnecessarily and prematurely, and endings are always of my own volition...somehow.
there are lights on the horizon blinking red and high,
there is rock hard beneath my fingers
beneath the cold there flows a warmth
and a tension in my head i cannot breath
the way i wish i could be
alone and fulfilled alone and content
i cannot bring myself to be
and so fingers twine in the chill of the evening air and the clouds -
the clouds are the fog of my head and the tightness in my shoulders
and there are so many laughs and so many smiles and so many arms
that i lean into in my leaning into this one, and it's too much to explain
if you could be everyone and no one to me
i go through all your names, and i've given me all away
too many places and too many faces and too many eyes that i've smiled into
not these awkward paces, hurried slow, fumbling, wanting
and i'm not giving this away. i'm sorry.
all your names take me away.
and i'm missing you
and i'm missing you
and all i can say is that i should
run away to a place where i could blame seperation on neither of us
and then i'd find a new love to hold me deep
and it'd be okay.
but you ran your fingers through my hair that last morning as i lay
in the crook of your arm and we said nothing
and that touch was all i ever needed to know
to believe that you did care
and that knowledge would let me
carry on.
carry on.
(wings unfurled to the wind
another shadow slipping across the world)
There's a scent lingering in the toss of my hair, it shouldn't be there. It's unreal. Maybe tomorrow I'll wake into yester-year and re-live the torture and break through into something better. Something simpler, like love.
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