It Never Leaves 4:33 pm

It Never Leaves.

the night never leaves.
it quietly finds
recesses in our hearts
but it never leaves.

it merely gives way
to the sun.
but it never leaves.

o moon, o melancholy, o sweet romance!

Uncle T

What Makes Me Tick?

Plugged into my little world created by Chet Baker's soothing voice and trumpet, I walked from room to lecture theatre. Its cold. Winter beckons. The wind finds its way through the threads of the fabric.

I meet someone familiar; I smile and move on quickly. Then another. And another. Chet, take me away faster. Familiar faces, quick smiles. Some trees are shedding the last of their leaves. Winter beckons.

Soon I was smiling without conscious effort to familiar faces, more like a Pavlov response than a sincerity that is meant to be attached to a smile. I was only caught up in one question: what makes me tick?

What makes me tick? What makes you tick?

I'm so afraid once I return to permanently live in Singapore, I will fall into a rut, one that catches you and tends not to let you go. A rut, due to locality or just permanence? A rut that finds hard to shake off the inertia to try new things, go out and discover, putting yourself through the baptismal fires of self-reflection, a rut that will make me yearn for my days here in Warwick. A rut that I have seen some friends fallen into upon returning home to Singapore.

As I near the doors to the lecture hall, my mind could only grasp one solution for now: find what makes me tick, what makes me passionate, what makes me want to disregard meals, skip temptations to laze, what makes me want to lose sleep over. Once I identify that, I will ensure the activities and people I surround myself back home will continue to be in-sync with this rudiment.

I could be totally wrong, yet totally right. As the lecturer's voice booms through the air, I reluctantly remove my earphones, and Chet Baker, and settle into lecture on theories of justice and with a momentary resolve to find what makes me tick.

What makes me tick? What makes you tick?

Uncle T

Sigh of the falling human 7:07 pm

Sigh of the falling human...

Ever since keyboards took over pen and paper by storm, people have stopped writing letters as much.

With the backspace and delete keys, people put less thought before they pen (or rather type) their thoughts.


With informality creeping into our languages, metaphors are slowly being shelved for short-forms. The beauty of languages are fast becoming an obsolete and uncool obsession. Rather, other beauties have taken centre stage, led by emaciated young models and the likes of our modern world.

I miss the appreciation of words, regardless of the language. When people stop to think before expressing themselves, verbally or in writing. I miss the appreciation of values and morals, which have been relegated to mere satirical devices on TV (like Little Britain perhaps) and movies.

this picture is from deviantart.com

This is the sigh of the falling human.

Uncle T