diary

rushed crap...

In those days, I was everything.

I was the boulevard artist. I drank expensive coffee and tea, and ate expensive cakes in cafes. I sat in Olio Dome and sketched as if I were an Impressionist in the French cafes, listening to jazz or retro tunes as I drew and wrote. I thought I was going to write an art manifesto that would change the world. I read deep and profound poems and novels, far too early for my understanding, but I could not help it because I was everything. I knew everyone, but no one knew me. I visited the Art Museum every other week when I could. I knew the telephone numbers to all the galleries. I knew how large the space in every gallery was. I knew which gallery was running which exhibition from when to when. I wrote poems and contemplated on art at the then Victoria Food Court (which is replaced by something else now). I did paintings of pain, pain, pain, pain, pain…

I was the great art producer and art teacher. I taught art in cafes and construction sites. We painted and drew, and played with the soil and sand and sticks and stones, and the unwanted scraps in the construction sites, and walked through open fields like adventurers. We took long bus rides as if we were traveling in our homeland for the first time. We talked to trees, observed strangers, listened to alternative music and behaved as if we were the most sublime underground artists in the world. I knew everything about modern art, yet had a preference for Romantic oils and British watercolours.

I was the geographer too. I read National Geographic, read widely on physical geography, pretended to study the weather, and drew the river cross-section which I even exhibited during my first exhibition. I brought everything out, from markers to files to transparencies to expensive books. I took pictures, walked through the graveyards in the evening, and discussed profound ideas over dinner and coffee with friends.

I was the urban urchin. I wrote Chinese poems at Boat Quay till 2 a.m. in the morning while drinking alcoholic coffee and listening to music. I brought along Brian’s tripod and camera, and I took photographs of beautiful passing women, the neon lights, bright lights, colourful lights, giddying and dizzying lights that swirled at 4 a.m. in the morning. I talked to the river and sang to it and listened to it, contemplating on history and love. They sold $6 roti-john at 4 a.m. in the morning, but every single cent was worth it as they were very generous with the eggs and onions, and the sweet-and-spicy gravy was simply tasty.

In those days, I thought about death and despair. Godfather and Grandmother passed away while I studied Buddhism and Christianity.

In those days, I was lonely. Home was a rainy shelter, and I wanted a place of my own. Brother was in Detention Barracks while I was in college. I wanted a road of my own, and dreams of my own. I was going to conquer the world. I spent lonely Christmases on my living room sofa with books by Dickens or Bronte sisters, while friends were caroling or dining and giving presents to one another. I wrote poems for myself and everyone while looking at my sad paintings and listening to the rain.

In those days, I fell in love. Every other morning I woke up feeling as a poet would, looking at everything through green or purple lenses. I hurried along my paths of life, and floated in dreams and waters. I crossed the shores of love divided by seas of deep emotions, and drowned my sorrows in rain water and beer. I loved J------ and M------, the two most beautiful girls in college, and perhaps had a crush on C------ too. I loved without complaint or regret, and imagined fallen leaves to be red blushes of love in autumn air. When the November rain and leaves started to fall, my loneliness was everything and all. I thought of promises of forever spoken by artists and poets, and the girls in my life that came and went. When the tidal waters beat and fell, and the leaves departed as December was over, I was only your passing dream, while you were my everlasting and eternity.

posted by sin @ 9:15 PM