Hic Sunt Dracones

the smylere with the knyf under the cloke

Posts Tagged ‘sue

Distant Mirage

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Lately, I’ve been treating this space like a whirlpool of nostalgia, a wormhole of memories. I’m not sure why I’m siphoned into this maelstrom of fragmented gloom. All distant and “insignificant”.

Maybe it’s Ramadhan and Syawal.

Not to say that I detest the holy month. Religiously, it’s fulfilling. I’ve done my Puasa Enam today . Breaking fast at one place that I’m comfortable being alone (that served spicy Penang fares) after attending Student Power lecture by Fahmi Reza at KL & Selangor Chinese Assembly Hall. Digressing, the student movement nowadays are lacking in the “Mahasiswa Jurubicara Rakyat” spirit due to one thing. Apathy.

Apathy is what I associated with the holy month.

It happened last year when I’m offshore in Miri. It lasted for 3 months and it felt like 3 years. I’ve been working at almost the same oil field near the petroleum platform last 2 years — and even longer. For 6 months. With the only break in Bintulu and Labuan for ship repair and changing vessel.

It’s that 6 month offshore that foster the breaking up with the penultimate relationship, and that 6 month I form a new one with the previous relationship.

Heaven knows how hard it is to get connected with the terra-firma world when you’re living in the dead space of static telecommunication wave at the distant sea — except for UHF and VHF wave, and the pricier satellite phone like Iridium. I’ve known one Diving Supervisor who owned one, who called her lucky wife every 12 hours break. Being responsible for the 24 hours shift, that’s one luxury that I can’t engineered into the hectic schedule.

In those 24 hours shift, she managed to break through the vacuum of nonexistent communication with one phone call. And it was at Bintulu when the vessel anchored for one day for a quick crane repair. I called that destiny or maybe I’m just lucky.

She called in Ramadhan and it took me another 3-4 months after being offshore to finally meeting her. I’m patient back then.

I’ve known her for 3 years as a friend. 1 year as a fiancée to be.

Then it comes to another 3 months of offshore last year. The dreaded months that felt like years.

She called in Ramadhan and it took me another 2 months to meet her again. But it didn’t happen. She told me the relationship won’t work out. I keep my patience but only just.

I’ve been distant from her for a year now. Until last night, I just can’t keep the pain inside me compartmentalized no more, hidden and unassuming except for the discharging miasma.

I wrote. I wept.

It felt almost cathartic telling her how I kept the one year alive with her memories, how it kept me sane. Despite her replying that the past is where the past belongs and that she’s shaping a new future with someone else. It feel good to keep in touch with her again even if it’s semantically indifference.

It’s an emotional sincerity that had been repressed since last Ramadhan. The memories maybe far, but it’s not distant.

Melancholy is not something that I’m looking forward to, at that months. I can’t help it triggers the sentimental switch.

I hope there’s dead man’s switch for closure.

+++

I’m not being depressive and I’m not in mirthful condition either. Life is life.

I took the freedom purchasing a Kessler Crane time-lapse rig that cost me ten thousand and another ten thousand for a new MacBook Pro.

For the penultimate breakup I spent that same amount of money on full-frame camera body and prime lens with cinematography rig. If you’ve to know, it’s the 5DM2.

That money should be in the nuptial ceremony that didn’t happened.

Look how easy it is for one man to compensate a heartbreak with mere gadget? Not to mention, travelling.

Time lapse photography can be treated as meditation with its long exposure, long hours at the field and of course long hours of post-processing.

There’s a muse — a she-devil — who inspired me with the musical soundscapes with the trailing flare of bioluminescent fireflies.

There’s an eccentric graphic artist who speaks in puzzled that even the she-devil amused with the conundrum — of whom draws me close to the technicality of cinematic.

There’s a little scientist-poet who speaks of love and (korean -_-) songs and a little writer who purrs-cuckoo and writes wonderful prose that inspires a theme or two for the future time-lapsing.

Time-lapse, as space and time frozen in light sensitive sensor with a flick of a timed switch.

Now there’s a switch that I know how to turn on and off.

The intervalometer.

If there’s a thing called interval-love-meter?

That might be the perfect gadget for closure’s dead man’s switch.

+++

Oh, I’ve to add. Listening to The Helio Sequence – Lately doesn’t really help at all. In retrospect, I listened to it after I finished up this entry.

As for the song. Sweet, tragic irony.

Yeah, I wish.

Written by cthulhu

September 17, 2010 at 4:51 am

The Stop at Sèvres – Lecourbe

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I’m sorry I can’t help being sentimental — even with sufficient compartmentalizing in this faculty — her memories still tampers with facility of felicity.

The drips of her optimism.

Those veiled salacious intent and dry tears of forgotten misery.

5 years is not something that’s easy to bury. Unearthing it is not an option too. Yet as I pass by the memorial site in my own memory. The wretchedness and those smile comes flooding to me uninvited.

The momentarily stop at Paris Métro is unexpected to both of us. And the first kiss at the station of Sèvres – Lecourbe is unexpected for me.

I’m the luckiest man in the metro station.

Then life interjected with career.

I wait and wait for time to pass by as I try to get home back to her.

Your goodbye silence is as unexpected as those first kiss — five years later.

I felt like I’m the loneliest man in the busiest metro station.

I almost hate Paris.

+++

I’m glad with her reply.

Even after 9 months later — calling me by full name stated much how her felt — tacitly.

That’s how she spell disagreement — as if I’m infantile.

Yet she purred and mew — as if she’s my favourite feline.

It’s not bitterness neither acquiescence.

She accepted it as it is.

I didn’t reply.

It won’t matter.

She finally replied.

And that’s cathartic.

Written by cthulhu

August 9, 2010 at 1:54 am

Conundrum

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s0comfyhere:

When missing someone, the most logical and likely-to-be-successful avenue by which to appease that feeling is to get in contact with said person. When this communication would doubtless be damaging to one’s emotional health (but staying out of touch is also very unpleasant), which solution is really considered “coping”?

I might have severe attachment issues. Coping mechanism simply do not operate on an adult level of refine maturity, it is as though in my own mind, I can’t get past age sixteen.

I trudge along the route of melancholy and dare myself to get in contact with her again.

Of course it didn’t work.

All I got is silence, since 11 months ago.

I knew it from someone else that her dad was treated for cancer and she start to visit the specialist for her spinal therapy again — a recurring sickness, that almost never exist when I’m still with her.

In the distant, I’m worried of her.

Those short electronic message of wishes is cathartic — at least to me.

I wish her and her family the best of health.

Alles Gute zum Geburtstag, Sue.

+++

Neither would be a “coping” solution. Yet every avenues make us human. The zeitgeist might not be the best of je ne sais quoi but it’s better than being blasé.

Written by cthulhu

August 9, 2010 at 1:53 am

9 Month Later, A Reminder Text Changes Everything

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I realized I never did delete a reminder of your birthday. I wish you’re not bitter at me anymore. Be strong and hope you’re already doing your master degree now. Hope your family is ok. Sorry for the wee hour txt. It’s been 9 month since we parted. Hope all is well. Regards, Fez.

I didn’t dare to add, I miss you.

+++

It’s a cruel realization of her memories as I picked Kahlil Gibran book at the book store and the iPod hit Climie Fisher – Love Changes (Everything). Later the text came: Sue’s Birthday, 5th August 1983.

Her favourite book, which she later bought me a hard cover while she’s visiting her grandma at Singapore.

Her favourite song, which became my ringtone whenever she called me when I’m outsation and offshore (when the phone line feels like reaching the fringe of the oil field).

Then the text. The reminder.

It’s just too much.

+++

It’s time to move on but like I said to @Voltairess:

YES! But first, I’ve to rant (write). Not to relive, more to revel. OR suffocate this sudden sobs in the pillow & wait for dawn.

And what do you know.

My last entry in my moleskine is on 27th December 2009 in which I quote her entry on her blog on 16th November 2009:

This is the date which mark something new.

Now I can’t sleep.

And I can’t write (yet).

Despite of all thing — I miss her — my petite literature chic.

Written by cthulhu

August 9, 2010 at 1:51 am

Bliss, from Dusk till Dawn

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Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats

T. S. Eliot (1888–1965), U.S.-born British poet and playwright.
Prufrock and Other Observations “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”.

At dusk, we met. At night, we drove in the sleepless street. At dawn, we retreat.

A bliss. In past tense.

+++

Rainy night never fails making me hopelessly nostalgic.

+++

Not the best shot of her. It’s out-of-focus and blurry.

Yet, it’s my favourite moment with her.

“Stop taking picture of me”

It’s actually a video.

*pinching me*

“Argh, the attack of killer woman!” In reference to Attack of the Killer Tomatoes (1978).

*mirthful amusement*

+++

Yup, it’s time to forget the past — sometimes in the near future.

Written by cthulhu

May 17, 2010 at 3:06 am

Old Wound

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The Nyonya One

I bought a few bottle of homemade Baba Nyonya’s sambal udang at this restaurant near my office. They served authentic Portuguese dishes too — as far as I know, I never know much about Mediterranean cuisine.

I was hoping to give it to your mum this Tuesday. I never did visit your parent after I got back from offshore last December 2009. January and February were hectic too, as I’m outstation a lot (Singapore mostly). March seemed to be kind to me. Then again, I did try on that fateful December.

Reading your entry about your dad (chemotherapy for the nasopharyngeal cancer), ridden me with guilt — knowing that my absence for months being offshore was hard for you.

I was never there for you — to console and to hold you, to whisper that everything shall be alright.

It’s a void, ready to be filled.

I’m contemplating of visiting your dad, but after reading this entry — maybe I shouldn’t (and to bring a bottle of sambal udang would be astoundingly rude — because of the mouth ulcer).

Even if I did, I’ll be nothing more than an unwanted ghost of the past — and a phantom I should be.

+++

…He has severe attachment issues. Coping mechanism simply do not operate on an adult level, it is as though in his own mind, he can’t get past age six…

…At the very least, you could appreciate his conviction, even when it doesn’t reflect your own…
…We can revel in our past glories, but to relive them is unnecessary…
…Bitterness and blind faith, with a shot of guilt for catalyst…
…I stopped being an observer and become a witness. I’ve got the evidence… now where’s the court?…
…After the first couple of kicks, you don’t feel any pain, just thing breaking inside. Battered by abomination…
…I’m cold, chilled to the marrow.

Is that you Garth Ennis? Jamie Delano?

You make John Constantine (Hellblazer) chokes my own pitiful mind.

Now, should I listen to my conscience or succumb to my ego?

Written by cthulhu

March 15, 2010 at 1:38 am

Her Reasons for Separation and Rebuilding Trust

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“Do I want to continue marrying the same person who constantly makes me cry because he cannot forget his past lover and these are proven by his stalking activities on her and his continuous referral to her?” — Sue

It’s all started with that one comment:

“After a while you’ll forget everything, it was a brief interlude and a midsummer night’s fling and you’ll see that it’s time to move on…[Meat Loaf]” from my ex-gf “public” twitter. An Interlude inside the blind spot.

What I meant on that comment is I’ve to move on from the past entanglement. Funnily enough, it’s déjà vu all over again. I can see the pattern now. Sue would have a problem of me ‘stalkin’ Ebb and previously: Sewya with Amie, Ebb with Sewya, Sue with Ebb, Ms. Vava Voom with Sue…etc.

And so it’s true, it ended because of distrust:

The haunting of past memory — made anew — fueling the distrust, basking in its flame.

I’m sorry I can’t be more at a present in-real-life than what she found out about me from the internet alter-ego.

I’m always away — weeks and months. I can’t blame her. The twitter (retweet), flickr (MMO avatar set) and youtube (the small inscription at the profile) incident that she found out while I’m away justifies that much of the misunderstanding.

I took 3 days leave just to digest that one entry from her. I’m depressed. I can’t be at work desk, much less gone back to Singapore for the Aramco mob to Dubai.

I’ve been refraining myself from contacting her after that small warning from her fb last month, just after I touchdown KL from Miri.

I can’t sleep throughout the night. Yesterday, I can’t take it no more. I text her at dawn, told her how I felt. She replied passively in her blog entry. The same mode of reply after I try to reconnect the 3 month incommunicado.

Her reply summarized it all.

It’s time to delete her name from the speed dial, keeping her number still.

Take down her gift of the key chain bracelet with her name inscribed from the reading desk lamp. Her first gift that I always bring along with me whenever I gone outstation and offshore — the same goes with that “Paris Metro (Subway) System Map” (hehehe, she’s sweet, like that) and the Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet (the only author that we always cherished his works, pity that I can’t live the dream of The Prophet).

The rest, she already done emptying the vessel of this mortal heart in advance.

I compartmentalized the memories; the morning wishes, the evening sadness and the night kisses.

There’s always a bit of the memories of the past that make you sad or smile. We can revel in our past, but to relive them is unnecessary.

Take a deep breathe, and let it go.

I love you, Sue. I’m going to miss you, Miss 5S.

It’s late. For the past few days, I only got to sleep after dawn. Hopefully I can sleep before dawn today.

+++

He loves her more.

I’m happy for her.

verklempt.

+++

Something on Related Post: Rebuilding Shattered Trust

To begin the process of restoring trust, the offender must acknowledge the violation of trust and make a sincere apology. The five key components of an apology:

  1. A statement of apology (I’m sorry)
  2. Remorse (I feel badly)
  3. An offer of restitution (can I make up for it?)
  4. Self castigation (I was an idiot), and
  5. A request for forgiveness (can/will you forgive me)

Is there any hope for rebuilding shattered trust? Not for me — at this time.