The Red Pencil Newsletters (2015 and 2016)

Click here to read the 2015 and 2016 newsletters. I wrote most of the content and supervised the design and layout of the newsletter.

Art therapy (2/4/2016)

I saw a plethora of colours before me
I was awestruck yet dumbfounded
What should I choose? 
How should I choose?

She held out red and green crayons
placed them on her hand and told me
Don’t you think that the red brings out
the best of the green crayon
And that the green brings out
the best of the red crayon?

I chose watercolour instead
and watch the colours melt into one another
blue and orange emitted a comforting green
while red autumn leaves floated across the paper
and faded blue mountains outlined
in the midst of patterns and impressions

Tell me about space, she said
And my heart ached at the thought of
the space I had lost and could never return
Bring the space to you through art then.

I imagined the mist surrounding the convexes
of the magnificent mountainous landscape
then I saw snowflakes falling
remembered the stars scattered like dust
all over the horizon

I watched the painting come to life from afar
And my heart ached at the thought of
how I cannot be boxed up like others
content with comformity, comfort and conventions

Marry both colours together
Marry both selves together
They need not be polarising opposites;
Take your shadows by their hands
And dance with them.

You’re a volcano
full of energy and drive
integrate and marry different forms together
open up new creative possibilities

With a heart as open as yours
a flexibility and yearning to
search for the self
you’ll succeed;

you’ll succeed.

Touch (25/7/2015)

Every time someone lingers 
a little longer on her skin
she cracks a little more inside
scabs forming thick walls

Arms across her back
hands towards the waist
sometimes stomach
and other times the thighs

But she is not a doll
she is only human
yet with every trespassing
she is plasticised, objectified

She knows people love to touch
beautiful things
why can’t people see that 
the soul yearns to be touched too?

How could anyone even know her
when one begins and ends
with simply touching
the body?

Schizophrenic (13/2/2014)

Out of rhythm.
Growing expectations and disappointments.
It is true-

I'm not ready for this after all.

Hummingbird Heartbeat (13/2/2014)

The heart is a precarious creature.
It feels too much.
And that day, it beat so fast it was flying
as though it would escape the ribcages

Leaping out to find you.

Topic: Friendship (for SSA YEP exhibition, 29/1/2014)

In a sea of foreign faces

Braving the sands in our eyes

The chill in our bones

I reached out for your hands

And they were once cold

Then warm.

“Do you miss home?”

But home is where comrades reunite

Hearts reconvening

After long periods of silence among us.

“Are you cold?”

But I was standing among suns

Burning bright 

With sun-sized dreams and smiles.

In between broken words and sentences

Braving the winds of judgment

The hearts stripped of all pretenses

We reached out for each other’s hearts

And they were cold

Then warm.

Night (Prose/May 2013)

When she woke up with tears streaming down her cheeks uncontrollably, all that she could grasp were the touch of his hands and the promise they made.

She forgot about the dream for months thereafter, and lamented endlessly on the futility of love at this stage of her life. She was young, she could be happy remaining single for a long time. None are suitable at the moment, she would remind herself consistently. Once in a while, she would spot a bud blossoming but she would think too much and before it had a chance to flaunt its petals, she stretched out her hands and tore it apart. And the petals were left scattered and unborn.

In the solitude of the night, she would sit among piles of books, magazines and papers and occasionally tear up at a song, a memory or a related thought. There were also days where the word love didn't seem to exist, and she went about her daily routines and tasks. Sometimes, she was undecided about her choices, and other times she felt like no one would ever choose her. A dream would come on every now and then, of a phantom being holding her close. Every single time, she thought she had it all figured out, but realised that she had remembered everything except his face. It's just a dream, and dreams like these never come true, she would mutter to herself afterwards and hopped out of bed to begin the rest of her day wondering about everything.

That night when she spoke to the wind, she thought of how she could have seen the same moon lifetimes ago, and that past present or future, they have and will always be under the same sky. In the midst of sorting out her feelings, the moon was a shining silver coin that stood out against the darkness. A new sense of hope welled up within her, and the fog within her heart cleared for a moment. In that moment of clarity, she whispered: "I will find you no matter what."

But hours later and deeper into the night, she looked out of the window again and the moon was no longer there. Her search for light had only begun.

Shadow (Prose/May 2012)

"You are a shadow. A dark, long mysterious shadow. 

There is something hollow and yet full about the blackness of a shadow that intrigues me.

I am too bright a light; people can't look at me for too long because I am always too chirpy and upbeat and positive about life. (How can anyone be happy just like that?)

Do I not understand sadness? Do I not understand pain and disappointment? People marvel at my stark innocence and insouciance towards life. 

But I only wish to burn brighter to chase the darkness away. 

 *** 
 Do I wish for you to turn into light, to be like me? I love the way you are but because you are a shadow, you are impossible to grasp and hold on to. 

I can only look at you behind me, in front of me, at the sides. I can never really quite touch you. And that's why you are mysterious. You are beautiful. 

Are you empty? Or are you full? I cant quite reach you so can you tell me what do you consist of? What are your thoughts and feelings and opinions and dreams? Your goals? Do you plan to just exist only when there is light or do you wish to be more defined and solid? 

I've tried so hard to stretch myself out and reach to you, but still I can never quite touch you. 

 *** 

 Shadows. Are they veils? Are they a representation of what we want to have but can't have? Are they the darkness of light? 

 Where are you? Are you just a cloak that morphs and takes my shape? Why is it that you only exist when I shine so brightly? Who is going to pick me up when I turn cold and dark?

If a light is strong enough to survive on its own, what's the use of love then? Maybe that's why light is accompanied by shadows. You are a shadow. You disappear when I turn dark. I can never quite reach you. You are mysterious. You are beautiful. That's why I love you (and I will never love you)."

Sunrise (14/10/2013)

Your face encase a journey of storms and heavens

as I watched beside you over the years

but that day, the roar announced a new beginning

and I saw the first sun rise on your face

(All I did was to soak in this warmth)

Later, the palms touched as a goodbye

and in that moment

I understood the depths of our friendship-

a river of love that courses through

the air, our skin, across distance and

time

(May it never run dry)

An Imagined Fairytale (25/3/2013)

I, Humpty Dumpty;
You, picked up my pieces and
fixed me back again.

(Submitted this for SMU The Blue and Gold Haiku competition)

Journeys (8/3/2013)

Starting with one, it divides then multiply. 

More divisions and multiplications. 

They add and sit on the innocent ones, subtracting their presence. 

Add and subtract, add and subtract- till the old were gone and the new ravaged from within.

Anarchy.

They wade in crimson red, scouring for more to be lost in their rampage.

They swell with hatred, binge and then explode, littering the cavities, tunnels and walls. 

Bullets of pain aim fire, and she is pinned onto the ground.

Invasion after invasion, her heart beats, drumming the rhythm of life, refusing to stop. 

Time and again, she stands up, a warrior at the battlefield, a sailor navigating the rough seas.

Undefeated.

Faith is a compass that navigates even in damning darkness.

It is a sword that one wields, slaying all evil and protecting all good.

While fading, she twinkles the brightest  and bravest to the deepest corners of the Universe.

All who crosses her path keeps a ray of her light, igniting and sustaining them for eternity.

A thousand golden hands shall once again embrace the soul that has fought her hardest.

Another night sets in, ready for many more sunrises.

Infinite.
***
A tribute to the late Mrs Lim Ah Boi.

What is love (19/1/2013)

What is love if 

all I get are taps and arms around the shoulders

yet can never get my basic biography right

What is love if

there is no space to be with myself

suffocates and over-protects

What is love if

my understanding remains intellectual

and I fumble when we gaze

What is love if

it comes in a storm, hurricanes

and leaves a wreck of thoughts behind

What is love if

when rain falls at night

I fall asleep in tears

dreaming of a phantom pair of hands

holding myself together

only to wake up and never being able

to see his face.

(Re)lapse (25/12/2012)

blanketed in dust and darkness
pixels and colours were cold winds
that blew them all away

shards glistened like stars
saw his face in every fragment
picked them up with her hands
and they bled over his cheeks

now flushed red and alive

picked up another, yet another
cut herself a little more
reeling in the pleasure of pain
of a lapse in time, then a relapse

of memories...

her heart and trembling hands
could no longer withstand the loss
they beckoned her eyes to weep

every teardrop shattered
the stars and images that were welling up
slid into the fresh and burning scars
stitched the soul within

and he was buried deeper in dust and darkness.

Bloom (10/10/2012)

In the brown still waters
where no sunlight passes through
a lotus flower blooms brilliantly
against them all.

Lament (8/10/2012)

“Life is short”
a one in too many has said
again-
(and we make a kill for it)

Losing ourselves in so many moments
we stop once in a while
rummaging, searching
(where did they go?)

To the burdens we add that
weigh ourselves onto the ground
to the numbers, facts and figures
the things and the great expectations-
(stability)

the very things that kill us all
in a life that is already short
(and we ask, “where did they go?”)

Waves of the past (8/9/2012)

When memories from long ago
long long ago
ebbs back into consciousness
in the lens of the present self
they only serve as aches

When aches gather
the heart grows heavy and weary
every step is a journey
that never seem to end

Swimming across the earth
beckoning the sun to cleanse all sins
when eyes close
they swim back to us
and never leave...

Exploration #44/part 5 (July 2012)

The Big Push

He was idling by the sea

his entire weight pressed

on the miniscule particles of sand

and it is the big push downwards

that coerces sand into hardy glass

He ran towards the sea

he swam and his legs became cramped

it was the big push of the waves

towards the jaws of death

that coerced him to fight for his life

Now he was on the sands once more

and it is the big push of his lungs

that coerced him a breath of air

and another, and another

It was the big push of inspiration

that coerced him back home

and pen the day into words.

Exploration #44/part 4 (July 2012)

Alphabet Soup

my mum mAde soup for me today

"the Best you ever had", she ClaimeD

thEre were lots oF letters swimminG around

in tHe bowl It made me dizzy

I had to reach for that Jar of Kisses from my secret Love

to Make everythiNg all Okay

she added Pepper and i Quickly sneezed

dRipping SubsTances into my soUp

which Varied the taste Without me realising it

until the siXth spoonful-

I then spat out spitefullY and screamed "geeZ!!!"

Exploration #44/part 3 (July 2012)

Seven Gothic Tales

I. A riot of colours

His hair was a shock of violet

decked in an indigo-coloured shirt

his veins were blue and coarse

He was lying motionless on the green grass

foaming with yellow

against the orange sky

red was everywhere

The forest ahead was

turning black with darkness

and the pure white doves- they flew away

(away, away, away)

II. She

She woke up to the sound of silence

sunlight was peeping through the stained-glass windows

the pile of dust rose from the dead and twirled towards light

but her eyes remained tightly shut.

  

She woke up to the sound of hunger

the searing heat burning her skin

the pile of dust twirled and scattered with great force

but still her eyes remained tightly shut.

She woke up to the sound of the owls and crickets

the cool moonbeams kissing her pale face

the pile of dust began to settle down and rest

and her eyes that remained tightly shut

began to open...

III. Sleepwalking

I saw him only once

his silhouette against

the silver moon

He was on the plains ahead

sitting on top of a horse

wielding and waving his sword

towards me

(Come, he gestured)

I started walking forward

and forward

there was a desire I could not resist

and so I ran

(Run to me, he gestured)

With a loud crack I was jolted awake

only to find myself

stepping on a pile of bones and a sword

dripping red

with confusion.

IV. Dreams of the walking dead

They were walking

across graves

to the towns

into the shops and houses

They felt no sadness

no blinding anger

much less happiness;

only hunger

Occasionally

they would close their eyes

and dream of pain

and heartbeats

Nothing would satiate

their eternal hunger

more than the fulfilment

of truly living again.

V. Delusions

She began to sing the lullaby

in a minor key and chuckled at her ingenuity

(He held her tighter in her arms)

She looked into the sockets

and smiled back sweetly

(he looked right back at her and gave a heartbreaking smile)

  

She kissed the bones to sleep

and said "Good night, good night"

("good night", he said)

"I'm with you always"

(and his silence meant consent)

VI. Apparitions

Vampires were dancing in the sun

they were glittering like diamonds

Monsters frolicked in the pool

they were big and proud

 White figures leaped in the air

they ran like the wind

And in a blink

the room was dark once more.

VII. The End

It was a bright and sunny day

the world was full of colours

left behind by the boy who a riot of colours

Today began

with another boy who was preparing

for the same end

at the far end of the rainbow that arched across the sky

He longed for the girl who would never again awake

a life cut short by a man on the horse against the silver moon

He was the dream of the dead: of pain and endless heartbeats

he was sick of the girl in that house who talked and kissed bones

and his apparitions became his only joy and sign of life

and so he watched the pure white doves fly away

the forest turn black

red was everywhere and against the orange sky

the foams were yellow

as he laid on the green grass

veins turned blue and coarse

and he was decked in an indigo-coloured shirt

his hair a shock of purple

and he was away,away,away...

Exploration #44/part 2 (July 2012)

No Time to Cry

She was writhing

at the glare of her own light

and in the blindness

tears tried to douse the fire

she could not control

At daylight

all colours were lost

shapes and lines disappeared

she was already in the tunnel

where was the end?

Shadows followed her everywhere

they plastered their hands on her eyes

fumbling, falling

so with stained tears she

mapped the ground for her way out

Till a hand sat softly on her head

holding back her tears he whispered to her heart:

"it's okay..."

When he put the flames back into her eyes

her heart and her soul

they both could see the end

it was still far, she thought.

Apparently not, he thought.

There was no more time to cry

a step closer was eventually a step further

from each other

so he clasped her hands

and the tears that would threaten to fall

When the end was near he could not

speak anymore (would not speak)

when they walked out of the tunnel

he disappeared.

There was no time to cry.

No more hands to catch those tears

or even hold them back

there were no imprints of his palm

resting on her hair

only the warmth in her memory...

The sun was out for good.