Particular Moments

More Stars than There are

Month: June, 2015


In the face of defeat and adversity, have you falsely convinced yourself much too stern?

Turning a blind eye to sentimentality, are you truly the strong, or merely the broken and the lost, disguising themselves behind the bloated exterior of strict functionality? Mixed in with a few splashes of angst and fury?

Are you sick to death, of having tenderness, your mighty strength, mistaken for cowardice & gullibility? So much so, that in effort to avert it, that you have lost yourself in rigidness?

What are you really afraid of, feeling constantly exposed, or eventually turning irrevocably numb?




In the light of recent events, I have perhaps appealed too much to stiffness, and forgot that tears, during special occasions, are necessary. The rain comes down with all its inconveniences, but it causes the desert to bloom again.

Death in The Family

A little over two days ago, Zoey passed away.

I am not sure if I can write anything conclusive of this; contrary to many other, simpler instances in life, when a loved one is no longer, when he or she departs from the realm of the living, it is too much for the conscious living to fully grasp the black-and-whiteness of it.

In fact, it’s easier to not think nor feel anything at all. Rationalize the Death with the simplest  resolve: it is not my affair. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe a year from now. But not now.

At present, I am the living and I must fulfill the role of staying functional—and not let the overwhelming sentiments of it rule. Does this sound cold-blooded, mechanical, perhaps even cruel?



“How are you dealing with it? Are you okay?” Benjamin asks, tentatively, as if he were not careful, I could have actually shed a tear in front of him.

“Heh, um…there’s really nothing to deal with. I’m good.”

Ben looked into my eye, searching for pretense, the subtle hints of weakness behind the glances of those who desperately spread veils over their pain and sorrow. I stare back into and past his studying, cautious, yet uncertain gaze, and exuded my determined response to his unsaid question,

“Are you REALLY not sad about this?”

With my eyes I said, “No, my friend, I am not.”

He looked puzzled, then slightly disappointed—as if by failing to display the expected emotions, I therefore lacked certain aspects of humanity, and that he couldn’t believe or understand why I could be so stone-cold, by his standards.



Benjamin is a rare and very close friend, yet back in that moment, as we looked into each other’s eyes, I couldn’t help but to have let anger brew:


Fucking people. Always expecting the convention, the happy and the sad of the fairy tales. Won’t you just awake yourselves to the fact that outwardly nothing indicates the MOST of one’s sentiments? That they could run so deep so as to escape the shallow face? 


To each his own. Who am I to say.



The most definitely inadequate form of grief is to think of another’s decease as one’s own loss. How selfish is it, to feel sad because you have lost someone? YOU having lost another? It is not about you, dear; you weren’t the one who had to formally greet Death for the first and last time, regardless of whether it was to your desire. The complete bereavement of physical free will, once for all.


Zoey has left this linear plane of existence, and with her departure, she also parted ways with all the privileges within it—the ability to touch, to see, and to feel: the blue sky, or when it’s gray; the sun, fields of green, the pain, the sadness, the reality checks, the confinement, the pleasure of sleep and waking up again, the promises of tomorrow, etc…the whole luxury package that is life.


I do not feel sad for myself that she’s gone. It’s unfortunate that she couldn’t enjoy her former ways of living any longer. As such, I try to imagine what is like, and I try to empathize with her. But how could I possibly even begin to do so? I cannot imagine the unknown.


Keep her in my thoughts, and she lives on, in continuity; in memory—across all points of her once unidirectional existence.



Swimming Bird, Misunderstand me Not


I walk in a blindfold,

Most days

I do not save

What’s Right from foul.



I work in the Dark,

So my Callings

Never grow strong.


I am merely

A creature of stubborn habits,

Destroying the body

All year round.




Turn your back not.


As bare are these flaws,

Deformed is this bag

Of brittle bones

That scantly moves along—


Oh my Kin,

Brother and Sister,

Have Faith in me,

For my Compassion sits

Like an endless Well.


If thirst shall befall,

I will not

Let you down.


Confide in my Embrace,

Oh Love,

For I only write

Of Tenderness & Hope

In your song—


My affection is

A stream that runs

Forever long.


Won’t you see,

Swimming Bird?

You have

Gotten me

All wrong.


Lost In Days

How often do you pause to conclude and reexamine? Ignorance is bliss, but it is just as miserable—what sorrow one must unknowingly live through, not making introspects at all?

It’s for you; it’s for me; it’s for them: the key phrase here is “at all.”

Days flow by and leave like the breeze, so barely palpable that one is left unsure—did the days, seemingly consumed, really exist at all?

You see your days slip past the deceivingly narrow gaps between your clumsy fingers—how does it feel, to have control yet none at all?

Amidst eager desires, did you inadvertently neglect being upright and functional?

That’s how it happens, you, seized and trapped by the anticipation of it all, so much so, that what unwinds leave you no satisfaction at all. Always on the lookout, seeking to gain in the future, and the future is no longer yours, but then merely a prolonged nuisance that cause you to furrow your brows.

No Light Within

Stepping Down Towards Daylight.

Stepping Down Towards Daylight.

Helplessly Vicarious

I’ve been


Dark Flies within—


Won’t you

Stay your



The You

So near

But nowhere found,


I am


The Outside

To A




The Glare

Will bring



Over The Hump & Back to Life

You see yourself

Bend and break

Into a million pieces—


Your dreams and aspirations

Deep in trenches—


For moments,

You begin to witness

Your withering:

A gradual,

Irrevocable decease


Of the once

Vastly immense


From which

Rose your strength;


Sets of spines


The Heavy load.


You see it,

This indefinite



The Sun—


The last breath

Of air

Escaping your lungs.




Do bite




You may just


This dark void

And live

To See

Another Dawn.

Metropolis At Dusk: Seen from The Hills.

Captured by 坤坤 in Hong Kong.

Captured by 坤坤 in Hong Kong.

Sucks to be Bare.

You are not sure if it’s the full moon tonight, or there is simply something menacing in the air for all to breathe it in and exhale out  their abounding miseries—

Blaming nature: the heat, the cold, the snow, the rain, the storms, the floods, the moon, and the sun; it’s the safest way to go. They are larger than life, so you won’t have to sound small and human by attributing the tragedy to other individuals.

All is said so there is nothing left to say. You kindly but unwillingly let them have their victories; in the end, it’s all irrelevant to you as to who gets in the last word.











In life, we plan and plan; neglecting the haunting thought of sweet death and no tomorrow.

All is temporary

Yet no one



Believe in

The possibility—


Provisional desire


Beautifully into

An Indestructible Endless.