unreflectedsoul

if life was an onion

no matter how hard i tried, i couldn't find something less cliche if i were to find something to describe life in a single object. so...life as a rose. it starts out as a bud. concealing it's many petals. the stalk full of soft thorns like the silent dangers that lurk around the corner of adolescence. the rose blooms and reveals its many layers of beautiful petals. the petals fall with time, but the rose remains sweet smelling and beautiful. the thorns harden. and what would life be without thorns.

maybe i should stop there. because i think life as a rose is slightly too hard to believe. i think life is like an onion. if u had a whole onion bulb, and it was the first time u had ever seen it, you wouldn't know that there are layers. you wouldn't know that the onion hs a bad smell (in my opinion) you wouldnt know that when u peel one, the stench makes ur eyes sting and tears form. u wouldnt know that the smell from the onion stays on ur skin like a like a leech that just broke fast. odd analogy i know.

life is an onion. because the more u peel it, the more u cry, the more ur eyes sting. and at some point, the tears stop, but the sting in ur eyes stay. and u can only really know how many layers there r when uve come to it's end.

as ure peeling ur onion and fighting the tears or at least ignoring the sting, u don't know how deep ure in. ho far uve gone. ure just perpetually peeling. because u dont really have a choice. in ur head ure thinking "why am i peeling?" and i guess whether u know it now or later, maybe never, it's cause without the peeling, without the tears, you wouldnt be able to make some sweet or savoury meal for someone else. maybe for urself. i dunno. maybe someone else's life is a gorumet meal. and it's up to them to salt it or pepper it, cut it up, whatever. but my life's an onion. but in the end, an onion or a rose, it all came from the ground, and it'll go back to the ground. and every rose or onion has a purpose. my onion waits among other onions in a little plastic bag on the shelf of some supermarket in some little town in some little country waiting for the day someone needs it

posted by Yani Malai @ 8:24 PM 1 comments

I woke up to the past

Here I am in coffeezone gadong. Alone again, drinking my iced mochachino, smoking my umpteenth cigarette...Wait...Only my fourth. Been having the most interesting week. With a lot of little serendipity moments, coincidences and what not. Talk about blasts from the past. Seeing people long stored in my mental black book. And interestingly have been having surprises on anniversaries I've long forgotten, but I suppose did not forget me.

And all these little puzzle bits that I've been happily piecing did not exactly come together but rather shattered into many more pieces in this one momentous day, and I'm like "Oh shit". But other than the tiny anti-climax, the week has been pleasantly nostalgic.

Though it has also made me realise something. And that is that I have no foundation to stand on when I need one other than family and my Teddy. When my Teddy isn't here, and when family is the last place I can find solace, I've realised there is no one else. But hey, I've got my iced mochachino. I've got my addictions. I've got my own little world to run off to when I want. Only problem is it's just a tiny bit lonely. Not a big deal really. Thought I was used to it. but i suppose the older you get, and the more you have to do, the more you want to create a life that is your own. And I guess I should've thought of that a while ago, but even if I had, I wouldn't have been able to do much.

Life for me was centred much around a group of people I could never let go of even if I wanted to. It still is. But both parties have realised I now have the right to create another life on top of the 3 I already have, and that life will, one day (if I'm successful) be called my own. One I created through the pleasant phenomenon of chance. And the wonderful power of choice. But for now I suppose I'll just sit here with my merecenary, purchased friends and later recline into a eutopia powered by nicotine and caffiene and a wild imagination. Ahhh... "one more iced mochachino please..."

Now as the waitress leaves with a face puzzled with suspicion and sympathy I sit back and revel in the fact that I'm not the only one feeling sorry for Yani

posted by Yani Malai @ 3:59 PM 1 comments