the paper filter

residue of my consciousness

Category: Ideology


A loud bang.
A crippling silence.
A tableau of dust,
And limbs, and white noise.

A movement
A realisation
A shriek, a cry, a wail.

Wives, lost.
Husbands, gone.
Children dead, bodies still warm.

We are born equal.
And when we die we are just as equal,
six feet underground, shoulder to shoulder covering every inch of earth.
Paving a road of corpses
From Boston to Afghanistan.



Paper… Lots and lots of paper.
Crumpled balls of the completely unnecessary, processed, byproduct of trees.

Living in a digital age,
What is the use of paper?
Proof of purchase?
Proof of my educational merits?
Proof of my word against theirs?
Proof of my existence?

To solidify the notion of an idea, an emotion, an expression?
To forge a physical link between ourselves and the intangible within ourselves and around us?

To think that all this came from a life source…
One that provided life and shelter and food.
Maslow’s basic hierarchy of needs.

And yet here it lies
A mountain in a mesh of aluminium.


Late night ramblings

Men cannot register or accept if they have flaws of which they are not aware of.
They cannot register or accept that a woman CAN be independent of them.
A woman CAN handle if they are out with their friends and not spending time with them.

trust me, we can take it.
it’s not the end of the fucking world.

the point of the matter is that it really REALLy does not take much. to please us.
One phone call. it is quite miraculous what one phone call can do.
with this simple act it tells a girl a fricken multitude of things.
They are being thought of, they are not forgotten, not neglected, they are remembered and loved.
what is a 5 minute phone call compared to the hours of fun that you’re currently having?

after a relationship has hit its peak, women usually have their partners’ characters down pat.
and what they usually want is the best for their partners. So yeah, they will let their partners know their character flaws, not for want to change them, but for the hopes that they’d want to help themselves.

women (or maybe it’s just me) love wholeheartedly. We love you, no matter what you choose no matter how many mistakes you’ve made. we will love you always.

In the generation of casual sex and Pick-Up-Artists,
what is lacking now is sincerity.
I miss when people were honest and sincere and loyal to one another.
whatever happened to the sanctity of trust? you can’t have trust without these qualities…

It’s very sad and hopeless to see that this is the new playing fields for love.
It’s sad when even without given the chance, Love can be doomed to from the start.

For all the Lovers.

Love is a very powerful thing. Some people equate Love to God.
The reason for Love cannot really be explained.
Why is it that we Love someone or something so much?
Sure perhaps it could be familiarity, caring, affection and need all rolled into one,
and yet, it still does not fully encompass everything that is Love.
To me, Love is pure feeling. Love is divinity. Love is Pain. Love is the sixth sense.
Love is Love and I don’t think it can ever really be explained or expressed to it’s fullest and deepest meaning.
Life is wonderful because of Love. Death is painful because of Love.
Thoughts and memories can be wonderful or painful, both because of Love.

Not everybody can handle Love. Love can cause them to be bedridden with grief or go insane with paranoia or lose trust and faith in everything and everyone.
but the ones who can handle Love are truly strong, and are truly wise to learn all the lessons from the experience of Love.

Death cannot cause you to lose a very Great Love because, if anything, it is immortalized and lives on in your heart and mind and soul.

Love can bring peace to the world if we let it win.

fallen soldier

the unravelling of my mind is uncontrollable
at the seemingly endless stream of thoughts.
three cigarettes later and the shaking quells.
light-headed and heavy hearted,
the contradictory physical implications to my body
creates a registration in my neurological system to be un-feeling.
and in that few moments of mental vulnerability,
my inner self speaks freely after months
of being caged and keeping her silence to pacify my desires.
“this must no longer resume.
I’ve let you wallow for far too long.
you must face this long-put-off reality
and give me a chance to live.
I am you and I want to live.
Let me take over and
I will allow you your moments to yourself.”
I sigh, defeated, tired and broken.
I lay down my struggling arms.

dear boy,
how are you?
i have not thought about you much, but you tend to cross my mind once in a while, and when you do it always begs such deep questions that i have no immediate urge to answer.
even though we’ve all accepted that it’s happened, it would be nice to understand.

i’ve always had this theory that as much as we know someone and know them enough to assume the choices the might make, we can never be certain.
this is because we are not them, nor will we ever be. we may not see every circumstance that brings them to that exact instant, and anything could affect the choices we make.

it is not our place to demand to know why, because frankly speaking, it’s none of our business.
such is life… we must all know our roles and our places.

i always wonder if this was what you wanted in the end.
i always wonder if it was an insatiable curiousity to know how death feels like.

the ripple effect of your death has touched my life and affected so much of it, even if i didn’t know you all that well. you were always just my sister’s boyfriend, nothing more.

in your death,
i feel guilt, for not knowing you better; for my lover being alive and here for me whereas my sister is left to fix and fend for herself.
your death made me treasure my life and the lives of those i love.
the trivial things do not matter anymore.
i stopped caring about school, i almost failed that semester.
not that i couldn’t cope, it just became mundane and completely, unimportant.

i remember so afraid of being alone, and abandoned like sarah.
i was desperate to hold on to my sayang, Nick.
because of you, i treasure him more than i ever thought i would.

thanks, Arul.


Oh, great Moon!
How I wonder about you…

Ever since I was little, up til now,
I wonder if you can hear all the voices that speak to you of their hopes and dreams, pain and frustrations, their love and desires…
I mean… since you’re so high up there.

Are you listening to them?
You can’t help it right? Not like you can eradicate your own existence.

I have this idea that you are this emotional, spiritual process.
You are like this great big round tank of light.
In the beginning you are empty and as the nights go by you listen to the cries and pleas of everyone that speaks to you, these voices that address you.
And you collect every word that they say and turn them into light and thus you wax.
It must be so heartbeaking to feel so helpless…
To hear them every night and yet be able to do nothing to ease or coax whatever they feel.

At when your tank is full and you’re at your brightest, at your peak,
you are bursting with this radiant glow, bathing every inch of the night sky with your warm glow.
You’re so bright that even the stars’ shine power is no match for you.
You probably don’t know this,
but you are such a humbling wonder in the way that you don’t shine so brightly and show off like the stars do, but glow so quietly and unimposing because you grow brighter and dimmer gradually.

Am I making sense?

Also, what you don’t realise about your humbling self, is that your humility in your glowing, existing and being gives us, the voices, back everything that we gave to you to wax,
and so you wane.
We take back your light and turn it back into hope and love, humility and strength to remind us that things could be worse off and that we really are going to be okay.

And when we’ve taken it all and you’ve emptied out,
we start this process all over again.


He’s the epitome of every high school nightmare.
a smart ass.
an asshole.
a gossip.
and he’s fooled all of you into liking him with his special blend of apparent charm, wit and self-depreciating remarks.

yes, the sarcasm is just a mask of the truth of your words.

and it’s not until he’s fucked you over that you recognize him for the absolute disappointment he is.
He’ll tell your friends his twisted tales of you
and watch in glee at those who turn away from you.
because they wouldn’t know any better until he does it to them too.

the funny thing is, high school’s been over for three years already.
you’d think he’d have grown up a bit.
but no.
drinking is his sustenance
partying is a rite of life.
getting trashed is his life mission.
being an asshole? don’t worry.
it’s just a birth defect; the make up of his DNA


she’s stressing out.
at every instant she’s contemplating ripping every strand of hair from her head….
every heartbeat thunders against her ribcage like an ape in captivity just from the mere thought of it drawing closer and closer.


that one place of sanity,
that one sanctuary…
the single thing that seperates the good and bad days…
that will be gone too.

she will have to do without.
she has no choice but to push on through.

and in her fluster, a thunderstorm of thoughts howl about her
as her friends dance on the outside, the better side…
and she continues on in the rain.

dear sister

dear sister,
what do i tell you now?
i usually have all the answers
but this time i am unprepared.
i have no answers.
i have no advice.
forgive me for that?

usually, a mere hug,
a hand holding onto yours,
would seem sufficient in giving comfort.
but today it is all i have to offer.
and it feels inadequate.
words cannot undo the physicality
and sequence of the events that took place.

all i can tell you is to carry on as you are.
one day at a time.
be that patience that he could not have.
until your heart is better.

he is not gone.
he remains in your closet;
the checkered shirts and the cardigan you once threw out.
in your music;
every song will remind you of him.
in your favourite foods;
you will recall every time you’ve had it with him.
every cigarette you’ve smoked and shared.
every place you’ve been together.
any thing he has touched.
any thing that remains.

these are why memories remain.
this is the reason for the existence of memories.
you can look at them whenever you want to.
you can spend as much time on each one as you want.
when they’re too much to handle,
take a step back and take a break.
catch your breath.
remember to breathe.

do not be afraid of them.
conquer your memories.
conquer your thoughts.
and you will be the victor.

do not be afraid to wear that checkered shirt.
do not be afraid to listen to that song.
do not be afraid to remember his touch.
because these things keep him close to you.
these things keep him alive in you.
he is not gone.