Marry My Ghost

Footsteps pounded on the pebbled ground in the rain tonight, splashing water and drips of mud around as the boots advanced. The thick raincoat swayed hastily in all directions as if attempting to catch up with the speed.

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Work of art by Alicia Leng.

I stopped writing to look out from my window and noticed the dark shadow of a woman sliding past the wall of cold, lifeless stones caught my eye. Eager to find out who that was, I picked up courage and dashed downstairs, out of the door of my apartment. The footsteps were still ringing clearly at the other end of the alley. I followed the direction of the sound.

Quick. I had to be quick.

At the end of the alley, however, I could find no shady woman. No black raincoat. No heavy shoes.

There was a lamp-post standing at the wall. Its light was weak and flickering, as if agonizing over every last breath that it had left.

Something gleamed from a bundle of old cloth hanging from the wall. It was an old mirror, about eight feet in height.

Pulling the cloth down, I hurriedly wiped off the centuries-old dust with my bare hands. They were wet from the rain, so cleaning a little was fairly easy. But then – my heart stopped.

My very own reflection. She was looking hard into my eyes, trying to speak to me. Her pallid face was a beautifully molded plastic mask that shone in the dark, the only source of light. I instantly fell for her. It was madness!

Could she possibly be me? Her beauty was perplexing; but was it really her after all, sneaking up through the alley at this time of the night to catch my attention, only to lock herself in an old mirror? I was spellbound; I couldn’t think rationally.

She raised her right hand and touched the glass from the other side, as if to answer the thousands of thoughts that were speeding through my mind like a bullet train – and I raised mine. I did not know why I did but I just followed her. Her palm touched mine… and in the next instant, a mighty force tugged me hard into the mirror, away from the physical world and all its beauty where I used to belong.

THE END

Red Scarlet

Postscript: Some say that when you have loved yourself too much, you start falling in love with all your dark secrets and truth. When you have become so enchanted with your own inner world, everything else that is in existence no longer matters anymore. You pick up the pieces of the past and put them together. You speak to your heart. And you become one with your soul.

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Burning Alive

The cotton pashmina that veiled the lady’s beautiful mind – it fluttered in the gentle wind as she glided gallantly down the ivory steps of the ruins of the fire-beaten Colossal pillars, her velvety dress sailing along.  Nothing was visible save her darkly distinguishable kohl hazel-brown eyes.  The light that shone through those piercing eyes burned everything she saw into flames.  But she did not seem afraid.

In a second little fairies appeared in the air; they flew around her, following her in a little camaraderie.  They tweeted cheerfully, with such childlike merriment and vigor.   She did not stop in her march.

Where did she come from?  Why was she heading to the fire with such passionate intent?

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Listen… listen closely.  Feel… feel naturally.  Think… think carefully.  Life waltzes in its own majestic ways.  No one could ever imagine how journeys would end, drastically, or with a tinge of fantasy.  One may lose himself in the tangle of cobwebs, but yes, he will cut his way out and yes, he will find his way through.  Darkness may plunge the anguished soul into the depths of the abyss where gargantuan monsters lie, waiting to gulp down a good meal.  Gunshots may fell the body into pits of raging fire, melting the skin, eating away at the muscles.

But you know what?  He will make it through.  He will push his way up, regardless of how thick the gooey mess he is in.  He will emerge from the pain of having his growing body held captive in the seemingly shrunken cocoon.

Today is Malaysia Day, and I have been spending the early hours of the morning to contact a few psychologists for interviews as part of my university project.  I have also spent a huge amount of time talking to my business partners about the event I am planning to hold soon.

The searing pain in the head; let it go, let it go.  It is hard to forget the past so sweet and which told of a future that was meant to be.  It is all a learning process anyhow, although it is hard to accept.  If only time could turn back its hands and work in reverse.

But how is that even possible?

I made a vow when I left: That I am going to heal like the issue never existed in the first place.  I am going to swing on my chandelier from out of your grasp, back to where I belong.  I am very aware of my points of origin, and whatever else I am doing.  I have given my best, too.  It is only for you to take it or leave it.  Whatever it is, you are still a part of me.

Love,

Red Scarlet

The Write Project

My mind has been loitering on a wandering trail for the past few months.  Not that my lips cried, but my brains could not keep their silence.  It was as if life edged by a rocking boat in turbulent waters, and all the soul could possibly do was sit and watch.  And think, too.  Perhaps.  If it were possible.

In the joyous reunion of the family, I felt my essence sui generis slipping away, bit by bit, into the stark madness of reality. More and more I was drowning away in a plenitude of data, most nothing but cold hard facts, and facts, and facts.  And then came the time where I was asked to ask myself: What am I doing?  Where am I heading?  Is this what I want to do? For the last question, of course, the answer is undoubtedly clear – yes, of course!  But how?  What?  Why? Where would I lose myself to?

It is agonizing, considering the workload I am facing, and yet it is simply a part of the process. Which path was I walking?  Whose path?  What did I want, inherently, in the end?  I was always in the have-to, but no-time situation.  But I shall not deny that worklife has absorbed a great deal of me, so now I am hard at play retrieving it.  It was as if I been prancing about in a drunken stupor, but nevertheless the questions kept on pressing endlessly.

Stop, stop, stop.  Please!  This echoed through my head.  It had to, correct?  It is probably my identity crisis as a psychopathic writer, where I let go of all responsibilities and allow myself to explore.  And explore I have – I am still at it, to be frank.  Anyway, it is safe to say that I have been hanging around the wrong loop, and therefore it necessitates me to make a reverse turn to continue the walk.  Or the run, rather.  I have been using much time.  This year, however, my writing has brought me to another level, and I am required to prepare write-ups for website content.  It is not exactly what I want – for I really, really do want to grab hold of a drama director by the wrist, and demand that he allow me to screen-write.  JS (which stand for just saying).  But my emotions speak for themselves.  I have been waiting much too long.

Slowly, though. All the exploring and traveling has made me immensely sleepy.  It is necessary that I listen closely to my heartbeat – no distractions!  Ihrer haben ein solch guten tag.  Und ich liebe dich.

#TheWriteProject #theLadyintheRedScarfMindTalks #amwriting

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Best of Both Worlds

Should have, could have, might have – but did not.  I must smack myself in the face.  The daydreaming I have plunged myself into with all the diving through the deepest depths… it is still going to continue.

This is the 21st century we are now experiencing at the forefront of conciousness.  Yet I choose to submerge a bit further through the id and out the superego as I search through the shelves of my memory for those materials I need to put to good use, specifically.

At times it takes me to a particular point in my life when I do know absolutely what I want to write about, but the hand churns up something else.  Which is quite astounding, because till now, I had expected the hand to obey the mind.

But now I shall shut my hand with orders of persecution and open my mind instead.  My love for drama shall be a little more pronounced in all my studies and research.  It is a personal attempt to bridge a conjuction between the subject of the Sciences and the Arts.  That combined with the philosophies if the ancient Grecian fathers and the rich culture of the past… ooh la la; I could have almost orgasm.

     But of course I do not.

Have you tried mixing vodka with a little berry juice?  Or, perhaps, whisky?  It is approximately similar, only that you put your drunken thoughts to print for all to read and ponder and laugh about.

The Masai warriors are stomping their sharply-carved spears onto the ground, their loincloths waving slightly in the hot, airy climate.  Let the leprachauns dance along the rhythm with pretty little green shemrocks under their cute little feet.

Gah!  Add a bit of rum; switch on the music.  Come dance with me.

Red Scarlet

Fly With Me

I may not be exactly so much – no, not in adequate proportions – but yet I consider myself an extremely artistic person.  I like to imagine my little notebook as my guitar where I play my notes on.

Call me crazy… maybe.

There is nothing wrong in that.

What goes on in my mind you do not know.  And say what you wish, I do not mind even.  I do not even know what matters are playing in your head.  Really.  Our perceptions are not all similar.

Uh-huh.

I assume I must have gotten so drunk over my music, for it depicts the buried treasures of feelings beneath the sweetly adorned grave, however deep down they may be from the surface, washed off in the rain and thunderstorm and covered by the dampened, soiled earth.  Events that go by do not oftentimes (I do not know why, but I dread this word – oh, yeah, that is out of topic so I shall bring it up later) make sense.

Nonetheless, there exists a factor in the human nature… a component known as resilience, that makes us stand so far apart from one another.  The factor that puts us up on our two feet constantly, always chasing our dreams, big and little.  That sets us running forward, never to be pulled back, climbing ountains so high and diving into seas so deep.  That seemingly brings us so close to our pinnacle  by only an inch, only to have it snatched away by another Dream-Chaser.  Which we drown ourselves into, only to watch it melt slowly away in all the heated commotion.

But we just go on our journey in a more lighted path.  We can’t stop.  Because we won’t stop.

I am like… yes!

Come.  Fly with me.

Confidence is one big part that keeps us going.

Confidence is one big part of us that keeps us going.  (The Author when her hair was still untreated.  Photo credits to photographer Ekamil Razali.)

Red Scarlet

Love Drunk

You might, if you meet with me, find me strange, for I have just listened to my ringtone list and discovered a bit of inspiration from there for my university project.

So far I have conjured up three women in love, and vying for the the attention, of two men.  One of the women has a panic issue and appears to fall into hysteria anytime (“My heart is but weak!”).  Another woma is very adamant about her choice and goes out her way to “claim”  her man (“I do not care! Leave him to me!”).  The other girl is a pessimist, or otherwise an optimist (“There are other fishes in the sea, my father used to tell me”).

Thus Woman A a.k.a. the Hysteric has fallen for a tiny little man whose voice does not yet seem to have surpassed puberty.  In fact, he acts a bit too gay for a man.  That is just how Jeremy is.

Then there is also Sean, for whom Miss Catwoman has a thing, and with whome Miss Catwoman is very much in love.

When it comes to movies, films, plays, dramas, and the like, what really matters is the script.  And then the cast of characters, the actors and actresses.  What prop and set-up required because these are crucial for the enactment of the drama about to set forth.

LoveDrunk

Love is a muddled mess in reality.  But when it comes to the movies… I lick my lips.

The cast resembles my puppets; but here I move my actors and actresses without twitching a single muscle.

Well, let us just wait and see; the classes are not to begin until next week.

Red Scarlet

Subject of Dreams

The Subject of Dreams. (Photograph credits to Ashraf Saharudin.)

It is never a sin to carry the self away with the wind and go off to far-off places where you are able to construct castles of dreams.  It is never even wrong – no, not once! – to let the wanderlust soul wander along the passages of conciousness.

As the spirit descends deeper and deeper down, and enshrouds itself amongst the visions and fantasies long forgotten, but still existing, albeit, it passes by projections of thoughts, feelings, and emotions.   It crosses over mysterious lakes covered by mists, finally transcending in a dark cave that shields a wealthy treasure of the Past, Present, and Future.

Where actions and deeds unfathomable in reality are carried out at the freedom of the soul.  Where fruits abound abundantly upon surfacing to awaken-ness concepts innovative to pending – or rather, bugging – issues.

Thus permit the soul to escape from the calcium cage as it pleases.  Leave to explore… at its own will.

Positive Quotes

I am a smart individual capable of channeling my thoughts and likewise my emotions, capable of choosing which I prefer to think, not listen to or hear.

For I am my very own Composer of Life; the thoughts that play around and dramatize themselves in my mind construct the music that I hear every second that I breathe.

You, as a perfectly functioning individual, are able to channel your thoughts.  Do not allow yourself to be at the mercy of your emotions instead. (Photo credits to Alicia Ai Leng)

You, as a perfectly functioning individual, are able to channel your thoughts. Do not allow yourself to be at the mercy of your emotions instead. (Photo credits to Alicia Ai Leng)