Remarks from the Optimistic yet Sardonic

noreply@blogger.com (Moi) — Sun, 25 Jan 2009 19:55:00 +0000

10 Songs for today's soul:[25/01/09]

::Chasing Pavements::Adele::
::Another Little Hole::Aqualung::
::Boten Anna::Basshunter::
::Here Comes the Sun:: The Beatles::
::Forever With You::Big Bang ft. Park Bom::
::Ghosts of You::Chantal Kreviazuk::
::Dreaming of You::The Coral::
::The Best of You::Foo Fighters::
::Happiness::Goldfrapp::
::不能说的秘密::Jay Chou::

::Current Status:: carefree ::

My recent one-shot story.

It is also on my fictionpress account:

My Fictionpress Account!
Breathing You In^^

Breathing You In -

It smelled like burnt cheese. The stench mixed with the old rubber and years of sweat compressed together made me more nauseous than before. The bus rattled forward to a halt, my head slamming against the seat in the front.

Oh sweet god. I could smell it again.

The boy, though appearing more like a man, was playing with a lighter. The small flicker of flames appeared and then disappeared. And then the smell returned. Burnt cheese. I never was a huge fan of cheese, and the last thing I needed was the smell to consume me for the next few hours I was trapped on this bus.

The person next to me toppled towards me as the bus lurched forward once again.

"Fuck."

I would smell the sweat on his neck, and the trial of watery droplets seeping through the crevice of his lips. I bit my lip for the second time that night, not knowing what to do.

I hated close proximity.

His breathing was in slow progression that he almost appeared dead.

I hope he wasn't.

The bus lurched once again, and the boy fell soundly on my lap, and my lips couldn't help but let out a shriek.

I could feel it now. It wasn't the smell anymore. The stench of sweat was still present, but his gaze was the most prominent. I looked up, my hands raised up in an awkward gesture as not to be contaminated by the boy on my lap. His eyes met mine, for a few minutes, and all I could see was that look.

His eyes wrinkled slightly around the corners, his brows knitted together, his nostrils slightly raised up towards the skies, and he glared.

He blinked, and that look was gone.

He turned towards the window and everything turned black. The bus was entering a tunnel. We still had a great deal to go before returning home.

I closed my eyes.

The sun was slowly descending from the high peak of the sky, and it was finally his turn to race. He was standing there with his ears cushioned by headphones and listening to an endless stream of music. It didn't seem to occur to him that he was next to go.

Race into the sunset, I always called it.

He called it work.

Maybe it was just because he was good at it, and eventually it became more of an obligation then a hobby. Maybe I was becoming more of an obligation.

Work.

They came up behind me, chatting away endlessly about random banter.

My friends.

They were boys after all. They were boys; that was what was wrong.

He never liked it.

He took off those headphones, and avoided looking towards my face.

I blinked.

He was gone.

I rubbed up my eyes.

I could feel a rush in my stomach; a sense of worry consumed me. Then I felt almost a wind sweep by my eyes, and I had to close them. And then he was there when I opened them. Staring at me. He turned his head toward my friends, and his eyes crinkled slightly, and showed more emotion then usual.

He didn't bother to say anything.

He was never a man of words.

Maybe that's why I felt detached, almost a mile away from him, a hurdle for him to relentlessly climb over after he had already tumbled over a million that day. A burden.

Yes, a burden.

He turned and looked at me again for what seemed like a long time, and then he disappeared, like always.

That night, he won his race.

We all knew he was going to win.

He wasn't like them, like those who needed a kiss to wish them luck, or a item to wear which they believed helped them win.

No, he was a winner and that was all that mattered.

He didn't need me.

I guess that's why I left. Left before the blare of the speaker announced the race. Before the gun shot was struck through the sky to be heard. No, I didn't want to hear it. I didn't need to hear it.

Instead I just kept walking. Straight up to the gates, and up the concrete stairs.

On the highest step, I stopped.

Sat down ungracefully, and waited.

I wasn't too sure what I was waiting for then. But looking back, I was waiting for him to run back and get me. To tell me he needed me before the race started, but that wouldn't happen. The gun had already shot by the time I left the gate, the cheering had already begun by the time I walked up the stairs, and needing me had never existed in his mind.

I sat.

Slowly, the lights on the field died down, and people began walking towards their vehicles and disappearing from sight.

Still he didn't come.

I wasn't sure what I was waiting for once again, but stupidly I sat there.

Waiting.

I could smell it now. The smell of something burning. I always thought it smelled like burnt cheese. It was terrible. I hated cheese.

The smoke drifted closer and closer. And he was getting closer and closer. His shoulders were slightly hunched over, his ears bare for the first time. He loved music, he barely took those headphones off. But then again, he was smoking.

I hated when he smoked.

He loved it.

We never worked out. We just didn't mix. Oil and water. Simple.

He stopped walking and stood, two steps distancing us.

He wasn't looking at me, just into the distance, and me at the ground.

Concrete...I was concrete, stepped on all the time.

"You left."

Two words. Two syllables.

"I know."

Two words. Two syllables.

Same.

He couldn't say I didn't try.

I could smell the smoke slither underneath my nose, pass across my ears, and scream at me to say what I wanted to say.

But what did I want to say?

I didn't know.

Just knew he never needed me.

Then it felt cold again.

The warmth even from the smoke was comforting, but now no more.

It was gone.

He was gone.

The bus budged once again, and the guy lying on me fell forward and awoke. Apologized and moved to talk to his friends.

Even his warmth was gone.

I could feel eyes on me again. I looked up this time, determined not to be deterred.

His eyes were blank. He let out a grunt and turned back to his paper.

I had never seen so much feeling exerted before in that one frustrated grunt.

"What are you doing?"

I looked at the paper on the floor, and just smiled.

"I wanted to see what you were writing."

He grunted. "It's not important." Without fear, I grabbed the parchment, and ran to the bathroom. Locked the door and opened it up.

It read Breathing You In. I furrowed my eyes and began reading.

Intoxication.
Is that your name?
Intoxication.
Is that the language you speak?

Your eyes gleam with so much passion,
moments like this should be held still,
Your lips curve up with every word,
my heart needs you, and only you can fill.

Tell me, do you feel this way?
Seconds tick by slowly, and time seems to stay.
Is it suppose to feel this good?
Making you smile, the way only I could.

Romance.
Is that your game?
Romance.
Is that what you seek?

Your words slither into my heart,
like falling grace,
you're tearing me apart.
All in that one face,
you gave me a single clue.

Is this how it truly feels,
to know that I love you?

Tell me, do you feel this way?
Seconds tick by slowly, and time seems to stay.
Is it suppose to feel this good?
Making you smile, the way only I could.

Tell me, do you feel this way?
Your heart beats a million times,
and she just takes your breath away.

Tell me, do you feel this way?
When your heart is restless and never blue.
Is this how it truly feels,
to know that I love you?

Is this how it truly feels?

I couldn't breath. Instead, I opened the door with the crumpled paper in my hands rolled into a ball.

"Is this how you truly feel?" I couldn't help ask.

He looked at my astonished face, and then to the crumpled paper.

"Fuck it" He slammed the door to his room and left.

I was sitting alone again.

I saw him after 4 days.

He was racing tonight. But it was different.

Tonight, someone wished him luck.

Gave him a kiss on the lips. He didn't look delighted, just lost in thought.

Now I was standing alone again.

Even the warmth from his cigarettes would have been comforting right now, but now they weren't there.

I turned around, and kept walking.

I wouldn't stop tonight.

He didn't need me.

The bus lurched to a halt.

The bus driver said we had reached our destination, but she was never good with directions. She was new and like me, she was probably lost.

Everyone was leaving.

I looked across to see if that boy was still there, glaring at me.

But he wasn't.

Instead his paper from earlier was now crumpled in a ball.

His cigarette was lying squished into his seat.

His head phones were on the floor.

He couldn't live without his music, but now they were simply lying there, helpless.

I waited until everyone left.

I unrolled the crumpled paper.

"I miss you"

Three letters. Three syllables.

He wasn't the type of guy to show empathy.

Three words were too many for him.

I ran out of the bus with the crumpled paper in my hands.

I could see the smoke, rising like chimney over the decaying sun.

I ran.

He stopped.

He use to hate waiting.

"Smoking isn't good for you." That's all I could think of saying as I bit my lip.

He looked at me with his eyes, but he didn't glare. His eyes didn't wrinkle around the corners like usual.

The cigarette fell to the floor.

I could see it go out as he stepped on it with his foot.

"I will quit for you."

Five words.

That's all I needed.

It was more than enough.

- a small memory of blurry day in my life. It's been a while.

In Moderation

noreply@blogger.com (Moi) — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 03:04:00 +0000

I never realized how sad our world is today. Never once have I woken up before the sun has peaked from the horizon and thought, today is new beginning. At least not in a very long time. Lately, it is more the tedious effort of tumbling out of the bed sheets, carrying unnecessary technology and bags the size of a rhino until our backs bent over and seized to move from all the spiraling pain. Well, when all that fails, we get into our high powered cars and bring the environment down to the steady decline one gas pedal at a time.

So, forgetting my i-pod, my cell phone a few weeks back, along with a few of my back breaking text books, I trudged out the door. The car was no where in sight [thank god for that. I loved walking, and the invention of cars simply killed all that. Were it not for the hyperactive imaginations of my parents, I would walk up Mount Everest, well if that were humanely possible without me freezing over.] Without the headphones shoved up the crevices in my ear, or the large bundle of luggage on my back, I felt 10 pounds lighter, more hyper, and more aware.
The chirping of the birds were ten times louder, the crunching sound of the leaves as my feet collided with them, sounded like bricks toppling over, and my eyes couldn't stop wandering. It almost felt as if, I had never lived or been in this residential area before. So now, even with my obsession with music, I feel so much better listening to the music of nature. I mean sure I slip up, feast on cravings for technology every so often, but hey we are only human, right?

Souvenez-vous à l'haleine,
l'haleine l'air de vie,
il est trop beau de résister.
[my personal saying[[haha]]]

What is in a Name? That which we call a rose

noreply@blogger.com (Moi) — Mon, 05 Jan 2009 01:52:00 +0000

Something I wrote a while back on an old blog, which is probably floating about on the internet.

What's in a name? That which we call a rose," Juliet said to Romeo

What is in a name, I wonder. I find myself even today in literature studies examining how a name defines a person.
How one can be 6 feet tall, yet expected to be only 4 feet in length, simply because their name was deemed Mister Small.
Even I am guilty of charge in preparing a friendly greeting in Chinese [in my mind], a language which I am terribly lacking in, for an instructor whom I assumed was a Chinese man, only because his surname read Wang.
Well, when I finally encountered the gentleman by the name of Wang, I found myself suppressing the broken Chinese, attempting to free itself from my throat. I could only stand there in guilt, for I allowed myself to judge before acknowledging the actual character of the man. At that moment even English became foreign to me. It is not to say English is my first language, for it is not. I speak languages from English to Hindi to Tibetan fluently; 3 to be exact. But at that moment, all languages were foreign, while I swallowed down the guilt within my heart.

If one must know the conclusion of my tale, the man by the name of Wang was actually an African American gent who had not the faintest knowledge what I would have said in Chinese or why I carried a remorseful look on my face as I spoke to him. Yet, like any other person, whether his name be Wang, or the Dalai Lama, he had a heart of snow. Pure and white, melting away all stress by the kindness in the manner of his speech.

What is in a name? Well a name is simply a name. Let's attempt not to judge, but to take the moments in life to learn from others, and about them as well. From that, we might more or less learn about ourselves.

Forever Learning,

moi

Chinese court sentences seven Tibetans between 8 years to life Imprisonment

noreply@blogger.com (Moi) — Fri, 02 Jan 2009 19:34:00 +0000

Something I just feel needs to reiterated continuously; a cause that I will fight for no matter what the circumstances. Call me biased, but I feel everyone should fight for their what they believe in, not with our fists but with our pen, and tongue. Diplomacy is key. With today's society it is easier to spread the news through writing. So here is a report from the Tibetan Center for Human Rights and Democracy in India -

Chinese court sentences seven Tibetans between 8 years to life Imprisonment

In the past couple of months, Lhasa Intermediate People's Court sentences seven Tibetans for their involvement in the so called "March 14" Riot. The sentences of indicted range between 8 years to life imprisonment, according to the confirmed information received by the Tibetan Centre for Human Rights and Democracy (TCHRD).

The information was further corroborated by the Lhasa Evening News (Ch: Lasa Wen bao) dated 8 November (http://www.lasa-eveningnews.com.cn/epaper/uniflows/02/20081108/02_30.htm

) According to the report, five Tibetans were sentenced by the Lhasa Intermediate People's Court on 27 October. The same court sentenced two other Tibetans on 7 November 2008 respectively for their involvement in the "March 14 Riot".

The report cited that on 27 October 2008, five Tibetans were sentenced between 8 years to life imprisonment and deprivation of political rights on charges of "endangering state security" to committing crimes of "treason" or illegally offering information to people outside China. The Lhasa Intermediate People's Court convicted and sentenced the following Tibetans to varying prison terms.

1) Wangdue, in his 40's was sentenced to life imprisonment and deprivation of political right for life on charges of "endangering state security,"

2) Migmar Dhondup was convicted on same charge of "endangering state security" and was sentenced to 14 years' imprisonment and five years deprivation of political right,

3) Phuntsok Dorjee was sentenced to 9 years' imprisonment and five years deprivation of political rights on charges of "treason" or illegally offering information to people outside China,

4) Tsewang Dorjee was sentenced to 8 years' imprisonment and five years deprivation of political rights on charges of "treason" or illegally offering information to people outside China,

5) Sonam Dakpa, was sentenced to 10 years imprisonment and five years deprivation of political rights on charges of "treason" or illegally offering information to people outside China.

Whereas the same court on 7 November sentenced Yeshi Choedon, in her 50's and retired health worker to 15 years in jail and deprivation of political rights for five years on charges of "endangering state security" and Sonam Tseten was sentenced to 10 years' imprisonment with deprivation of political rights for five years on charges of treason or illegally offering information to people outside China.

Wangdue, now in his early 40s, a former political prisoner and HIV/AIDS activist whereabouts remains unknown until his court trial on 7 November 2008. The Lhasa City Public Security Bureau (PSB) officials arbitrarily detained him from his home on 14 March in Lhasa. http://www.tchrd.org/press/2008/pr20081009.html

The bald comments made earlier by the Chinese official on the number of Tibetans having sentenced so far were devoid of any details about names, charges, jail terms, dates of court trials and other details. Mr. Li Boadong, Permanent Representative of China to the United Nations Office at Geneva, in a response to the UN Committee Against Torture (CAT) expert during a hearing told, "After judicial proceedings, 69 had been sentenced to imprisonment for committing crimes of arson, robbery, theft, obstructing government functions, trouble-making in the streets, gathering to disrupt public order or attacking State organs; seven had been sentences for committing crimes of treason or illegally offering information to people outside China, and eight were still under investigation by the judicial organs." The authorities had earlier said no Tibetans had so far been sentenced to death, raising the possibility of such punishment in the future trials.

In the absence of any independent media and monitoring agencies in Tibet, the nature of the court proceedings without legal representation of their choice obviously bring forward the questions of competency of the court. TCHRD expresses its concern at the sub-standard legal proceedings in Chinese occupied Tibet and fears the worst scenarios for the Tibetan protesters who exercised their fundamental human rights of freedom of opinion and expression. The sentencing is a clear mockery of law and due process.

The Centre expresses its deepest shock and is outraged by these bogus trials and the harshness of the sentences handed down on those seven Tibetans. We are extremely concerned about the eight Tibetans whom the Chinese official told are being under judicial investigation. Any prison sentence can amount to a death sentence in Tibet where torture and inhumane treatments of political prisoners is well documented. The Centre questions the transparency of the legal proceeding as trials were held behind the closed door and many of the convicted were held incommunicado and disappeared since their arbitrary detention by the law enforcement agencies.

What better way to begin, but with an Introduction.

noreply@blogger.com (Moi) — Thu, 01 Jan 2009 23:58:00 +0000

I originally had a blog on here, but I can't recall the password, so I guess I will start from scratch. ^^

What better way to begin, but with an Introduction.
With a name given by the Dalai Lama, I feel almost an enormous weight on my shoulders, but it is one I am willing to carry. Being born a female, I am still a minority, for leadership positions for large corporations are mainly dominated by males. Being born a Tibetan, leaves one to assume a clueless state of mind as to where one truly belongs, for my country is nonexistent. Yet even though I am incapable of pointing to a map and claiming “this is my home,” does not deem me incapable to believing that I am still Tibetan. For I feel it is my obligation to better society and bring awareness of situations that are constantly being forgotten such as China’s constant human rights violations to human trafficking. As a minority, as a Buddhist, as person, I am inspired to constantly keep moving forward towards my goal of helping others who are in need. Furthermore, being born in India, as a refugee, I have felt almost intrusive in a country that is not of my own, yet extremely grateful that I can still call it a place of residence that holds fruitful memories. It further persuades me to give back to those who have helped me get to where I am today. To be grateful for having two legs, instead of one or none, or one’s that are completely frost bitten from attempting to climb high mountains to escape Chinese guards whose only goal is to shoot and kill. I do not blame them for what they have done, for it was simply their duty as soldiers to do as they are told. I have learned that hate is an exaggeration, and even with all the suffering thrown upon us, I refuse to feel “hate” towards Chinese people, for they are also humans. And as Alexander Pope once claimed, “to err is [only] human.” I am also grateful for having fingers, that can touch water, not like my grandmother’s, who after working tirelessly in the fields in India to rebuild her life, and washing every scrap of clothing in her large extended family by hand, now can not come in contact with too much liquid or her joints will seize to recover from the pain. Also, I am appreciative for teachers, who are like guiding lights as my father calls them, for though they might seem menacing at first, care only to better our education.
Life is best lived in gratitude, forgiveness and a smile. For it is simply better to look at a glass half full, then attempt to determine why glass is half empty. That time, could be used to better improve ourselves and enjoy the chance at life we are given. And after all, it takes more muscles in our body to frown, then to smile, and with the amount of work we have on a daily basis, it is always nice to use less energy every once in a while. So smile.