Scented

As I stood there at my usual spot, sustaining my usual posture, I caught a whiff of your perfume - or rather, the perfume you used.

The sweet, sweet scent of fruits and herbs that I can summon in my mind anytime, and so real, that I thought I could smell it whenever I want. The scent that I couldn't describe in words (my olfactory is not as trained), the scent that belonged to the memories that contained you and me and no one else.

I did not miss you, at least not as much. That sometimes I thought of you, this I cannot deny, because I have nothing or no-one to think of.

And when the molecules of the sweet perfume passed my nose, I sniffed into my lungs greedily like a hungry wolf engulfing its prey, until I thought my lungs couldn't contain any more air (and you).

Butterflies

Some have looked at me the way you are looking at me right now. They either give me the jitters, or I barely notice them.

That gaze, it never fails to make me feel uncomfortable.

But yours, only you and your eyes, have the magic to make the butterflies flap their wings once again, and send them flying almost to heaven.

Can you see them in my eyes, my dear? Or is it hers that you see now?

And all I could do is just blurt out silly things that come up in my mind like a little girl.

I do not want you to see the butterflies, simply because I am unsure of what is going on right now. It had been too long; these butterflies have been standing still for too long a time, and they have forgotten what is up and what is down; what is left and what is right.

I do not know whether what I feel now is what I am supposed to feel. Moreover, I do not know about you.

You are not entirely an enigma, but I do not understand you deep enough to be able to pinpoint exactly your mind and heart’s whereabouts.

Are you thinking of her when you look at me that way? Do you always want to call out her name when you see me? Does my hair remind you of her?

Whose face forms inside your mind now, darling?

I have no rights whatsoever to question you. I can only sit down behind my desk, my diary open to today’s date, and twirl an imaginary rose of infinite petals.

It’s me, it’s not me; it’s me, it’s not me…

These butterflies, they are dangerous.

I am sorry. Before I can be sure that every of these are not just a beautiful mirage, I have to protect myself from the cliff, from you, from myself.

You have wonderful lips, my dear, but I can’t place my trust on them.

3/1/09 Sat
1339

4our

There she is, walking, but not with me.

She looks as radiant as ever. She is always so calm when she is not talking, but when her face lights up, animates, by that charming smile, she beats the sun hands down.

And it is that lucky bastard cycling beside her who is getting those smiles and attention from her.

Bastard.

*

Here she is, walking, right beside me.

I become self-conscious. Can she hear my heart pacing?

The moment I see her, I feel like bringing her into my arms and hug her tightly, thinking, this is the last I will let you go. Because I have never seen her for ages, it's killing me; because I miss her so badly, it's killing me; because my heart and soul are aching for her, it's killing me.

I don't want to just tell her about my friend's girlfriend, or about school, or about music; nor do I want to just walk beside her like a friend.

But my heart's content got stuck at the base of my throat, and my limbs do not feel like mine, and these are all I can do.

Coward.

*

As he tells me about his friend's girlfriend and his school and music, I listen intently and respond appropriately. But when he pauses, even for a second, my heart and mind fly off to somewhere else far from here.

They fly to where you are.

Can you feel them?

Tell me, my dear: did you mean every single word that you utter to me last night?

I've drowned in the illusions and false hopes you (and I) once gave to me, and it was bitter. And so I took another step backwards from what everyone calls "happiness".

I don't have the courage to march forward.

*

I look up from my work, stretch, and out to the window.

Her beautiful face appears, and I smile.

I hope she is considering. Lord, give me courage to face whatever she will do next. Amen.

I sneeze, and there is a buzz in my heart... Hey, girl, are you thinking of me too?

7.43pm

What is it that you have that mesmerises me like the burst of stars? I could get prettier, younger girls anytime, anywhere I want, but it is always you, my dear, who catches my breath when you look at me with the beautiful brown eyes of yours.

I ask you to take my heart, and in return I get sleepless nights filled with you.

Are you treasuring my most important organ, or did you misplace it somewhere and forgotten about it?

I ask for yours, but you are playing catch with me. You run so swiftly, I thought you will fly away like a dove. But all you do is run in circles around me.

You leave me giddy.

Stop running from me, I am right here, beside you. My arms are open wide, wide enough to contain the world, the universe...

And the Universe, that is you.

11/1/09
Sun

Dear Jo,

Hi, how have you been lately? I am fine, thank you very much! (I'll just assume you asked.)

You do not seem as enthusiastic about your college, or was it because we did not have the chance to talk?

Ah, well.

Oh, yeah, school's been fun. (Again, I assume you asked.) Friends, well, I'm not sure whether I have any yet - I seem to get fussier day by day - but yes, I have been laughing and smiling.

I still compare.

And sometimes, I just think of what had happened for the last two years.

Time flies, ain't it? It flies so fast that we were unable to catch up with it. We might not be soaked in memories, but we are still dripping in them.

Yes. I still miss the good ole' times we (used to) have.

There are many, many special, ordinary things that have happened to me, and some are related to your - our - favourite subject.

Ah, boys!

Eh, no, I ain't showing off, I'm just self-indulgent, haha.

Of course, I do not tell you about them, mainly because I do not remember them at the time of our conversations. (No, my dear Jo; I do not have a crush, nor are they cute, exterior-wise.)

For so many times, I wish to bring you and Waning along to my school. We'll sit at the third row, not paying attention to the teachers as we chat, laugh, sing, joke the day away, and then take the LRT to KLCC and be crazy.

Oh, how I miss our insanity, our naïveté, us.

I no longer feel depressed. I am happy, I think. I hope you are, too, and that you do not miss us the way I do.

Happy belated eighteenth.

22/7/08
Tues

*

Extracted from here

关于，爱情

糖糖是个很可爱很怪的女孩。她长得可爱极了，名如其人，sweet得不得了，怪就怪在她太浪漫主义了。怎么说呢？嗯…她似乎认定每一个长得稍微可爱的男生为她喜欢的人。其实她一点都不会花心，只是认不清自己的感觉。有点感觉就说是喜欢，虽然明明只把他当作弟弟。她还会把每一个遭遇美化得好像爱情小说里一样，有条隐形的线拉着两人的心什么的，文笔太好吗？

糖糖到底是开通还是保守我不懂。她可以很放肆地诉说父母亲的性爱史，在家里也可以大方地问母亲“今天会不会做？”却很抗拒蕾丝边，拒绝婚前行为。哦，不，不有婚前行为是件好事，值得称赞。她觉得基很浪漫，《断背山》的关系，真是拿她没办法。她想尝试做爱的感觉，所以想结婚。她梦想中的新婚之夜，她还对我们形容得一清二楚：房间要布置得很浪漫，灯光晕黄，要有蜡烛。老公把她“逼” 到墙壁，两人热情激烈地舌吻抚摸着，衣服最好被扯破，然后站着完成整个过程。老公最好不要太温柔，而且她一定要关眼睛，因为男性那里她看不下去。

(天啊。)有点太矛盾。

我坚持鸡蛋有喜欢的男生，是神是鬼就不知道。

粉红公主尝过爱情的滋味，不过对我来说，有点可悲，因为是网上恋情。那不是可悲的原因，而是因为好像现实中没人要。(其实不是啦！我坚持有人喜欢她。)她很小女孩，喜欢公主王子童话故事，依赖性也很强，可是长相穿着个性有点中性，所以形成强烈的对比。我说呀，她是个半透明的玻璃瓶，强悍半神秘的外表下有颗弱不禁风的心。

没说错吧？公主。

有时候觉得她蛮可怜的，可怜得来有点欠扁。对，是欠扁，不需要揉你的眼睛抹你的眼镜敲你的电脑。就像她的名字一样，她的家境比我好上几百倍，吃的住的用的穿的都是上几百的名牌。你说，欠扁吗？

言归正传。上头说过了，粉红公主很小女孩，简直比糖糖还小女孩，在恋爱方面，虽然谈过网上恋爱。看到某个人心会扑通扑通，或者突然漏了一拍。看到某个人会傻傻地笑着，想拥抱他。如果某个人不理睬她，她会想一大堆不相关的理由，把自己弄得七荤八素。别人不小心大声地谈到某个人，她会突然打你的手臂，叫你小声点，脸上幸福荡漾的表情却无处可躲。

对吧？可爱的公主。我知道你又想揍我了。

我真正喜欢过几个人我自己也不太清楚，除了那三个人以外还有谁我也不知道。好像糖糖一样，我分不清我的感觉，不过我是抗拒的类型，对某个男生有点感觉就慌张得找理由推翻“我喜欢他” 的言论，好像患了恐惧症。所以有一两年没喜欢的人了，生活闷得整天埋在莫扎特肖邦小提琴曲和自己的幻想和小说情节里，寻找火花。

新婚之夜会怎样我没想过，因为我(还)不太能接受有个人看着赤裸裸的我，也(还)没有心理准备迎接和我白头谐老的人。到现在，我只想要一个温柔体贴、成熟稳重、有幽默感，又尊重别人的男友。差不多每天听班上的男生骂粗话说一大堆黄色的字眼，又想找女朋友显示自己长大了，这举动让我稀里哗啦地作呕。

有一种感觉我比他们成熟，事实上不会好到哪里去。我很幼稚，想法行为态度上，好像没有长大，又好像有。

哎，说来说去，只是把自己弄得更混乱而已。

一直很想有自己的爱情故事。(咦，我又在发呆了。)

Extracted from here

路中间

空荡的街上
不自禁地走到路中间。

我告诉你
我喜欢不羁的
简单的自由

你笑我单纯的乐观。

“很危险呐”
你伸出你的左手，
握住我的右手拉近

松开
你的手，很自然地，而我
试图平静狂
奔的
心跳。

自由…
对，我向往着
但────

走在路中间的那时，
我渴望着你的体温，
哪怕有多么短暂。

4/8/08
Mon

那年的聚会

你曾说，你永远不可能穿裙、高跟鞋，不可能化妆，也不可能留长发。

结果，聚会那天，你穿了件白色及膝的连身裙和一双银色的高跟鞋，留长的头发烫直了，脸上还化了淡淡的妆。

“活脱脱像个天使。”我说。

你微笑，露出一排不太整齐的牙齿，高贵中显出了小时候的稚气。可是你的笑有一种孤单的味道。

“你也不赖呀。”你回答一句客套话，我只穿了件白色的T恤和蓝色的牛仔裤。“是真的，变高、变帅了，还有肌肉哦。一定迷倒了很多女生吧？”你开玩笑。

“谢谢。”我敷衍地微笑。对，是迷了很多人，却吸引不到你。

“每个人放了我们的飞机。”你对我说。你望着草场，曾经以为是一望无际的，现在只是一小块草地而已。

本来全班答应有个聚会，结果出席的只有你和我。

是你坐在草地上先的。“不怕脏吗？”我问，坐在你的旁边。

你又笑，你还是像以前一样那么爱笑。“没关系，脏了可以再洗！况且，没人喜欢看肮脏的屁股。”性格还是那么直。

“之前有回来过吗？”我问。

你点点头。“来拿阿德的成绩册，我姐姐总是不得空来学校拿。”

有一阵子我们彼此没说话。我很自然地从口袋里抽出烟盒，拿了一根烟放进嘴。你见状，大叫一声：“你怎么可以抽烟？！”

我点了烟，重重地吸进，再重重地呼出。“习惯了这样解压。”而且，有点紧张。

你笑，轻轻地打了我的手臂，一股暖流布满全身。“你变坏了。工作忙吗？不要累坏身子哦。”

“还好，谢谢你的关心。”我随口应你。

当晚的夜空没有星星，也没有月亮。一块黑漆漆的布，偶尔有几架飞机飞过，就此而已。篮球场的灯亮了，几个学生在那里打篮球。你呆呆地望着无趣的夜空，安静地哼着歌，我也陪你一起看。看着看着，无趣也变有趣了，可能因为你在这儿。

“J’veux pas grandir.”你喃喃自语。

我吐出烟，听到了，笑。“什么时候学法语的？”我问。可爱单纯的你，竟然会学那么浪漫的语言！

“大一的时候前男友教的，法语系的补习老师。”你回答。

心微涩。“啊，师生恋？”我酸溜溜地问。

你微笑。“我不是法语系的。他是硕士班的学生，那时才快要二八。他有一双漂亮迷人的灰色眼睛，很高，身材有点壮，简直就像个希腊神。那时有点叛逆，明知他有女朋友了还执迷不悟。不过，是他主动的。”

“持续多久？”

你想了一下。“大概两年多吧，到他毕业的时候。他给我取个法国名，Amorette，小爱人的意思。” 你微笑。

“那么，那句话，什么意思？”我明知故问。

“不想长大。”你叹息，用双手擦双臂。

“结果还是长大了。”我移向你，把外套套在你身上。毕竟，我没有勇气拥抱你。“还爱他吗？”我轻声问。

你笑。“那么久了，怎么还会呢？那时还妄想当他的太太。”你转头对着我苦笑。“我很傻，对吧？”

我没有回答，只是把右手靠在你的肩膀上。“他说，当你爱一个人的时候，你会在他的眼睛里看到老年时的自己。被爱呢，就是很温暖、很甜腻的安全感。被爱就好比白酒，要细细品味，享受酒精给你的醉意、甜蜜与安全感，太心急的话反而不能享受被爱的过程，可能连有人爱你也不知道，因为你并没有放慢脚步看看。现在想起来，他说得太唯美了，有点不符合现实。”

我拨你的头发，放在你耳后。不，爱情本就唯美，没有所谓的不现实，只是人类不太相信爱情。

在我的眼睛里，你看得到七十岁的你和我一起，也感觉到我给你的安全感吗？

我没办法问你这些问题，但我还是情不自禁地吻了你的额头。我把你的头靠在我的左胸口，让你听听我的心跳。你并没抗拒。“你今天没有笑。”你轻轻地说。

“是吗？”

你轻轻地点头。“你以前不爱笑，现在还是，真搞不懂你们的种类。”你调整了你的坐姿，你的手环抱我的腰。“很久没听法语了，可以说一句给我听吗？”

我久久没出声，看你闭上眼睛，我更紧张了。吞了一口口水，鼓起勇气说出这句我一直想告诉你的话：“Je t’aime.”我停顿一会儿。“Je t’aime, Amorette.”

“你有法国名吗？”你问，还是闭着眼睛。

我摇头，“没。”我有点失望。

“那么我给你取一个。”你微张双眼，想了一会儿。“Anatole，日出的意思。”

“哦。”

你没说话，我以为你睡着了。“Anatole.”你突然叫我。

“嗯？”

你抬头看我，甜蜜地微笑着。“Je t’aime aussi.”我笑。

到底是你吻了我，还是我吻了你，我不清楚。只是，然后，你对我说：“你笑起来还是一样那么好看。”

十点，打篮球的学生们都走了，我们还在校园流连忘返。手牵着手，回忆小学的事情，走草场，又走篮球场、礼堂周围、贩卖部、食堂，才走出校门。

那年的聚会，我们走在一起。