I am searching thru some files of my box and found an old poem lying around.  It describes the "life" me and my cousin had while we're still in school.  If you've waited and rode on a bus in Winter in the middle of Canada; as a minority Chinese on a not too popular bus route, you'd understand.  Yeah right..  Oh the ride, was to go to one of the only 4 arcades in Toronto.  And it's all the way across town.  And the Bus Co.: Toronto Transit Commission

 

===

 

 

we took long bus rides
longer than what most rocket-riders would preceive a ride to be long
and it lasted almost two hours.

 

we sat there in the hope that, somehow
an oriental girl would hop on this bus
and sit beside us
so, out of our own intellectual desparation
we sometimes sat seperately.

 

pretended to be strangers and felt quite uncomfortable
and generally, no girl really sat beside us except some fat and bald fabrics.

and that, was tenth-degreed patheticism
that, was hard-broiled.

 

such memories we successfully concealed
and not a single being on this world shared with us
I guess we didn't dare to share these intimate moments anyway
so we sat there on a winter bus
and pretended to enjoy the view while we knew well what summer would've been like.

 

that was the spawning ground for crazy ideas
and authentic chinese accent.
the boredom, the winter, and the transfers.

 

 

-bron

long ago

Wow just finished viewing some wedding photos, but the groom wasn't me.  You know this is bound to happen, silly.  My dear friend Kevin once told me, that was after he went to the wedding of his ex, his first, "bronney, do not, ever, attempt to go to your ex's wedding.  Trust me on this."

 

Now that was before I even started dating.  But I kept this to my heart.  He can't be wrong.  And since my love life is like close to zero, I never had to worry about that.  Lucky me.

 

But tonite after viewing those photos, I kept telling myself, "bronney you don't love her, stfu, you don't love her."  Yeah, I don't.  At least I thought I don't, not anymore remember?

 

I uh heard something on the radio last week.  The host talked about how long it takes for you to forget your ex and start over.  She goes it usually takes the same amount of time you spent together.  Which is quite true for my ex.  But for her, you know what's funny?  She wasn't even my ex.  We were never really together.  My ex took me 3 years, and yeah it's closing.  This one is way above that mark.  6 years and counting.  That was when I knew what the host said probably doesn't apply to me.  Or perhaps this was an exception, cuz she was never your ex you dumbass, so the timing don't work that way.  I guess.

 

Well I won't be going to her wedding.  Nor would I go to my ex's wedding.  But viewing the photos, man, stabbing your heart repeatedly bytes after bytes.  I quite enjoyed it.  That feeling reminded me that I still love, which I thought I'd given up for some time now.  And I am grateful I am still alive to feel this.

 

So here's to mom and dad, thanks.

Fly with me~

 

$180 at toys r us + soldering skills from grade 10 =

 

 

 

it's been with me for a while

rippled on these urban lakes

your face, your glance, and your smile 

mirror mapped, with the silence it makes

 

I grew up with these faces

on the bus and the subway

for almost two decades, they faded

until my memories composed the bits and pieces

back to a coherent canvas, and then I noticed

that I can never paint you a nice portrait

but the films kept running, and the microphone's still useless

 

perhaps I was waiting for the train to halt in the tunnel

or the bus to ride into an eternal shadow

so I can stare a bit longer, or might even pick myself up from the ground

to ask you for your name, or your boyfriend's number

but the driver never stick to the the speed limits

so we let the chase go on

 

and all these faces never speak

disappearing into thin air as the darkness grows weak

never said hi, never touched, never asked

two ships in the fog.

 

 

-bron 051206