Kalua | jh | for S

Friday was, a day waited,
Alternatively, a night eternal.
It was, a surprising breeze
Through which the moon swiftly chased from behind.
I draped, a shirt over my back
Nonchalantly, yet carefully chosen.
It was, it was a let’s do this, let’s do this, let’s,
do this. Again.
As we so impetuously did before.
So innocently, and surprisingly.
Sure it wasn’t as natural the last, long time, ago.
That was, a different celebration, a different
If I may put it, step into the world. Forwards.
I cannot remember all I felt then.
We had planned it, yes, loosely. We had wanted, something.
Not sure what it would be, young as we had been.
We were walking towards it, a relief indeed to reach it,
and yet it wasn’t a surprise, not exactly.
Innocent twinkle bells, falling on the glockenspiel,
bubble pops and reverberating ripples.
I am painting colors in the air, drawing
music on a blank screen, picturing, your smile
in my dreams.
It was, and continued, to be a surprise. An evening that was,
astonishingly to me, more than it was.
Never, at least not till later, realising
How much you liked the color of the drink,
and the marscapone kalua explosion frozen in time
In your memory, and in my name.
It would be, to draw a parallel,
Absentmindedly tapping my feet on the sidewalk,
Hopping on my toes, glancing up with a smile,
With a childish wonder on my face,
And later being told, that,
Those sun glints in my eyes were stagelights,
Those faces in the cars were passing audiences,
That each twirl I did was an hour gone by.
I was on the stage of my life,
Acting, no, living it out.
And I looked up and smiled,
And I looked up and the world was right,
And I looked at you and you were alive.


Kalua by Jianhui Ho

21 Aug 2011. SIN-CCU MI488|12A

Author comments:

Being stuck in a plane with no personal in-flight entertaiment except for a macbook and ommwriter and a heart is recipe for some impressive angst. I am currently pretty pleased with this piece. Ommwriter has some impressive mood-creating music. You ought to listen to it while reading. You also ought to hear this as I imagined it. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

I realised something. I have always known that I hardly use higher-order complicated words in my writings, words like onomatopoeia and gargantuan. I think I know why: I like to use smaller words, like little bricks, to constuct in fine precise detail. Such that it is about the body itself, the face. It is not about how impressive this zig-zag odd-shaped and difficult to fit puzzle piece is, it is about what picture does it form. In the end, we see it as a puzzle formed of a thousand pieces, it is an image of something perfect, formed of a thousand imperfect pixellated pieces, for the mind to see past. It is like Late Impressionism, where the painters started dotting out paintings. The smaller the dots, the more precise the image. I don’t want you to see a brick, I want you to see a castle, with wavering flags on turrets and a manicured garden.

Thank you for your time, it is the most precious thing you could have given.


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