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?

Smoking_tab_1823342c

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

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

The Blietzkrieg

Past midnight; really early, and it is a little more than a half-moon tonight.  A glass of chocolate caramel sits melting away patiently beside my books.

Thoughts scurry along the intricate wires of the charging station, awaiting their turn to be discharged to outside air.  Boxes of conciousness containing unspoken words swoosh along the neural tracks.

As I wade through the blurry pool of dreams, thoughts, fantasies, and feelings, and aims and goals, some left hanging unfinished, a few pleasant, and others with various degrees of disgust, my Chamber of Life pumps blood throughout my body. Upon my exit from the very first box, an array of bullets are directed towards me.

Photo Credits to Alicia Ai Leng.

Photo Credits to Alicia Ai Leng.

My shield.

I am fortunate to have it on for some form of protection, though it is still in steady, albeit gradual, growth.  At present, it is creeping upwards over my skin – one day it shall, with absolute certainty, envelope the whole of my physique and engulf me in the Flames of the Moment.

In the sepulchral silence where I now stand, the Chambers of Life thumping ever so diligently bringing full-Blood zest to the exercise of all my wont.  My heart is still with overflowing zeal, for the eagerness of exploration to as high up and as deep down shall experience some form of continuation in my journey through the earth.

That the body seeks success and the spirit satisfaction of wisdom I cannot deny.  It is through weather-beaten paths the march shall prevail till it reaches the summit of what-not, personal achievements.

The jet sitting in the center of the hall, with all the artillery arranged in rows beside it – that I shall board and take off to greater heights.

I have already switched on the engines.

Red Scarlet

Confessions of a Drama Queen

Use your emotions wisely.

Utilize your emotions with a little bit of wisdom; that definitely would not hurt, would it.

No, no, I am not a superstar… at least not yet.  That I profess.  It is still a long road to travel.

As much as I am, I am not.  It is a matter of self-control, not entirely suppression.  It is a matter of selective demonstration.  In other words, mindfulness.

Being aware of what the self is up to – it really could be just about anything.  An enormous wave of silence is extremely helpful  in such periods of self-discovery.  Oh well, since I mentioned self-discovery, I view life as one endless Self-Discovery Channel, which one could switch back and forth to refresh the mind and hopefully gain some form of experience from it.

I know I laugh a little too much – a bit awkward – but that was only my release, you know.

I know I kind of cry too, at times; that was another way for me to release.  Just in case you have not noticed, but of course you have not.

Whatever I have done, it is only human that I did so.  It has been a hell lot of fun watching each chapter unfold on its own.  However, all of nature allows that even the strongest mind – and heart – will face a load of bricks hurling straight at his thoughts and smashing them and shattering them to a thousand pieces.  And all the poor soul must do, of course, is break down and pour out seemingly endless streams of tears from the corners of the eyelids.

Nature permits release of emotions in subtle ways; why else would there be several facial muscles, twitching all together at once, to put up that sweet smile on that pretty face, and thence light up the world around.

There also is Anger, and Pain, and Hurt, and Jealousy – but the mind shall choose as it pleases what it wishes to display.

Just a part of life.

Red Scarlet

 

The Writer’s World

Are We the Dreamers, or the Dream Weavers?

Are We the Dreamers, or the Dream Weavers?

And as imagination bodies forth

The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen

Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing

A local habitation and a name.

– William Shakespeare

They say that writers are trapped, locked up in their own worlds.  They say that artists are flying high in a different dimension, submerged in the incense of smoking opium and barbiturates.  Is that really so I dare not claim.

However, I shall not deny that there is much truth in it.  There is a characteristic of beauty in a mind left alone to wander about and linger on through the passages of conciousness.

One that is highly valued in a moment of solitude.  No, we are not smokers of weed and nicotine, puffing wisps of fantasies into the crisp air.  These are really periods of self-expression; of discovering oneself in a duty of such eloquence.  Times where thoughts – our thoughts – are heard, at least to an eager audience.  Times when we speak, hoping that the Outsiders take notice as we crawl out the Dream Tunnel, arms and legs outstretched like that of the spiders.

There shall be epochs where the world seems to crumble down in dusty ashes, only to arise from within a King so mighty.

We are the Dream Weavers, weaving ideas and connecting missing links together in hopes of patching up for a better world.  We are the Sowers of the Seed, silently praying that the flower that blossoms out shall be blessed with showers of love, joy, and happiness.

There goes.  Now what am I writing about?

Red Scarlet

PS: Anyway, it is about my birthday, it’s MY BIRTHDAY – so I got to spend my money. Taylor Swift needs to come up with a new hit titled Twenty-Three.  =)

Thinking Positive

Me with my fav lecturer Ms Uma Devi who is no longer with us.  She has proved herself as a role model to her students, especially ones like me.  I am so thankful for her.

Me with my fav lecturer Ms Uma Devi who is no longer with us. She has proved herself as a role model to her students, especially ones like me. I am so thankful for her.

Having been much of a thinker for most part of my life – I have been thinking ever since I existed, and I am still thinking just so you know, and not only as a thinker, but also as an experimenter – I have arrived at the conclusion.  This one conclusion shall be the slogan for the reconstruction of the self.  It shall be the ideology upon which my life is based.

My entire days in the past was based on what had occurred in the past.  I was brilliant enough to adopt a theory about the formation of one’s unique personality, but stupid enough to attach myself to the wrong one.  Yeah, I am beautiful; that is because I look 99.9% like my dad, what with the deep-set almond eyes and full lips.  Yeah, I am smart; because Germans are the most intelligent creatures standing (yet high-flying!) and my great-grandmother happens to be German.

It got the better of me though.  Strains in the parental relationships made me a scapegoat for whatever I was doing.  I got hurt, and then my friends and colleagues and bosses got hurt also, and then finally I got hurt again.  Gah!  I practically began bashing my head up to bring back my own senses.  However, the whole cycle of negativity seemed to be revolving itself on me, because I was trying to predict the outcomes of my actions!  Do you spot the humongous head-egg (sic) that is growing out of the blue?

All because of the psychoanalytic theory.  Come on, psychoanalysis is so old-school.  It is the theory introduced by Sigmund Freud – and boy, aren’t his words and thoughts bewilderingly interesting!  It is the technique used for certain people during their visits to the psychologist – but I am not a patient!

Yet I am.  Because of that, I have decided to to close the horrid book on my own psychoanlaysis, skip through several chapters, and land, safely I hope, on the one about positive psychology, the school brought about by Dr Martin Seligman.

It is extremely simple.  Smile.  Think happy.  Be happy.  Act happy.  And stay happy.

Word of Caution: I sort of experiment with people; yeah, that is what I do.  Not for the fun of it, but rather to study their reactions.

Red Scarlet