A MSN conversation between Sebastian and I that occurred in the morning:
"It's over. OVER! Waaaaaaah! And this is of my own doing!"
"I wouldn't lose sleep over it."
"I screwed up!!! :("
"You, Edmund, need to get a girlfriend with subdued features, plain looking. Do you know why?"
"Whhhhhy?"
"Coz then you know why she loves you. She loves you coz ... of your passion for something ; she loves you coz ... you're a sweetheart. Point is, you can trust her and she can trust you. "
"Damn man, that's deep."
"Hey, I haven't been doling out advice to this one girl constantly in the past few months without any talent."
"I guess the most heartbreaking one was this Singaporean girl I loved in Perth. It was never for her looks. *Sigh*"
"Could you articulate why?"
Just a feeling.
I liked the mystery of her silence
The allure of her occasional smile
The introspection on her face when she broods
and the lilting whisper when she speaks.
"Now that sounded like you made it all up."
"Nope, she's a really quiet girl."
"I don't think i've ever loved a girl that long! Or rather, i don't think i've ever loved a girl that much!"
Until I met her.
I strived to be a better man, a brilliant artist, endless poems, endless novels and screenplays, even until Girl Disconnected, so many works of mine in those two years were inspired by her.
Because I was constantly intoxicated by the joy of seeing her smile
and then feeling all torn up at the sight of a disapproving frown.
Ultimately, the sadness and grief she inflicted upon me then were so painful that my eyes were too dry to weep
"Hmm, i dont think i've ever felt like that. To be inspired by someone to write... To be inspired to want to become a better self, yes."
it just meant that i was so creative then because of the turbulence of emotions
that words just poured forth
"Wah."
Unbridled.
"For me, when i'm suffering from turbulence of emotions, I'm so incapacitated I can't write."
"Hmm. The last time i saw her, Which I assume would be the last time i saw her in my life, was the premiere of Girl Disconnected in uni."
she with her new boyfriend
watching the year-end productions of film students in uni
and there it was, my short film, Girl Disconnected
And that was it. Everything I felt for her. Crystallized in the form of the short film.
After the screening, I bumped into them, and asked what they thought of the film.
Her boyfriend said it was good,
she
never
replied.
The last scene of the short film, when he holds his long fingers up to make a square, like a film director framing a shot,
framing
a shot of her
looking at the sea.
I had done the same.
Outside her flat, when I said my farewell the night before I returned to Malaysia.
So overwhelmed with joy
believing
the blinding light of hope
that illuminated everything.
November. 2004.
"Wait, what the hell was that, your diary?"
"Nope."
"Then?"
"I need to launch into an angstful monologue. Just to indulge in the pain that i thought i've buried."
"You still feel the pain? Man, i've completely let go of my past loves."
"Not pain, just melancholy."
... I mean, i've let her go.
But in the weirdest way possible
i was at Bodh Gaya during my India trip last January
The place where Buddha attained Enlightenment
(you know, that big tree he meditated under)
I
dreamt
of
us,
saying
goodbye
to
each
other
We were both smiling.
"That IS weird. I'd never fantasize like that ... i don't think."
"No, i really DREAMT of her that night."
And then I woke up.
"That's too romantic to dream. I mean, dreams are usually random. Very illogical."
"I know!"
"Yours ties everything up so nicely for you."
"It was one of those last clear dreams i had. I never knew where she went since then."
"That's more romantic. Not knowing where she is now. This is like that montage in Titanic where old Rose explains what happened to everyone - that feeling right there."
"Hm?"
"That's what what you've been talking about feels like. The part where she says Cal Hockley blew his brains out during depression. Point is it feels almost third person like, narrating what happens to ppl after the fact ... and there's something inherently nostalgic about listening to that. coz you feel like you know these people, and then you hear these things happening to them but you don't see it (you get second hand accounts instead)."
"So that's what it sounded like when I was talking about 'her', huh? Dude, this conversation is so fucking beautiful that I'm saving it!"
"... oh damn."
"It's over. OVER! Waaaaaaah! And this is of my own doing!"
"I wouldn't lose sleep over it."
"I screwed up!!! :("
"You, Edmund, need to get a girlfriend with subdued features, plain looking. Do you know why?"
"Whhhhhy?"
"Coz then you know why she loves you. She loves you coz ... of your passion for something ; she loves you coz ... you're a sweetheart. Point is, you can trust her and she can trust you. "
"Damn man, that's deep."
"Hey, I haven't been doling out advice to this one girl constantly in the past few months without any talent."
"I guess the most heartbreaking one was this Singaporean girl I loved in Perth. It was never for her looks. *Sigh*"
"Could you articulate why?"
Just a feeling.
I liked the mystery of her silence
The allure of her occasional smile
The introspection on her face when she broods
and the lilting whisper when she speaks.
"Now that sounded like you made it all up."
"Nope, she's a really quiet girl."
"I don't think i've ever loved a girl that long! Or rather, i don't think i've ever loved a girl that much!"
Until I met her.
I strived to be a better man, a brilliant artist, endless poems, endless novels and screenplays, even until Girl Disconnected, so many works of mine in those two years were inspired by her.
Because I was constantly intoxicated by the joy of seeing her smile
and then feeling all torn up at the sight of a disapproving frown.
Ultimately, the sadness and grief she inflicted upon me then were so painful that my eyes were too dry to weep
"Hmm, i dont think i've ever felt like that. To be inspired by someone to write... To be inspired to want to become a better self, yes."
it just meant that i was so creative then because of the turbulence of emotions
that words just poured forth
"Wah."
Unbridled.
"For me, when i'm suffering from turbulence of emotions, I'm so incapacitated I can't write."
"Hmm. The last time i saw her, Which I assume would be the last time i saw her in my life, was the premiere of Girl Disconnected in uni."
she with her new boyfriend
watching the year-end productions of film students in uni
and there it was, my short film, Girl Disconnected
And that was it. Everything I felt for her. Crystallized in the form of the short film.
After the screening, I bumped into them, and asked what they thought of the film.
Her boyfriend said it was good,
she
never
replied.
The last scene of the short film, when he holds his long fingers up to make a square, like a film director framing a shot,
framing
a shot of her
looking at the sea.
I had done the same.
Outside her flat, when I said my farewell the night before I returned to Malaysia.
So overwhelmed with joy
believing
the blinding light of hope
that illuminated everything.
November. 2004.
"Wait, what the hell was that, your diary?"
"Nope."
"Then?"
"I need to launch into an angstful monologue. Just to indulge in the pain that i thought i've buried."
"You still feel the pain? Man, i've completely let go of my past loves."
"Not pain, just melancholy."
... I mean, i've let her go.
But in the weirdest way possible
i was at Bodh Gaya during my India trip last January
The place where Buddha attained Enlightenment
(you know, that big tree he meditated under)
I
dreamt
of
us,
saying
goodbye
to
each
other
We were both smiling.
"That IS weird. I'd never fantasize like that ... i don't think."
"No, i really DREAMT of her that night."
And then I woke up.
"That's too romantic to dream. I mean, dreams are usually random. Very illogical."
"I know!"
"Yours ties everything up so nicely for you."
"It was one of those last clear dreams i had. I never knew where she went since then."
"That's more romantic. Not knowing where she is now. This is like that montage in Titanic where old Rose explains what happened to everyone - that feeling right there."
"Hm?"
"That's what what you've been talking about feels like. The part where she says Cal Hockley blew his brains out during depression. Point is it feels almost third person like, narrating what happens to ppl after the fact ... and there's something inherently nostalgic about listening to that. coz you feel like you know these people, and then you hear these things happening to them but you don't see it (you get second hand accounts instead)."
"So that's what it sounded like when I was talking about 'her', huh? Dude, this conversation is so fucking beautiful that I'm saving it!"
"... oh damn."
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