falling.

snip. snip. snip.
my eyes twitch each time the scissors cripsly split my hair.
though without my glasses the world blurs over,
i could see and feel the strands falling;
onto the chair, onto the cover, onto the floor--
i sigh

the hair ends drop everytime a supposed period passes,
at least, for me

yet i know that even though the hair is cut,
yesterday, and the many days before that--
remains

but somehow,
just somehow,
i believe that the burden is lessened when it--
when it is no longer hanging there

UNconnected

when lots of things are going on,
i have this unexplicable urge to write them down
--like a scribe,
to record all the little,
seemingly insignificant
things that happen around me..
soon though,
i'll be overwhelmed by the amount of details;
i strive to remember all of them,
because i know that all this is part of a greater history.

as every second ticks by,
or even a mere split second,
it has become the past
and i fear this


at noon,
i was in the girl's dorm 5 with my friend
to have a look at her living arrangements for the next school year.
a girl's sharp scolding cut through the hall
we turned to see a girl asking a man to leave the building
[male visitors aren't allowed in the girl's dorm
unless they registered in the security office]

he was a large man with an armful of drinks,
and from the slight twitching of his head,
the way he dragged his legs along,
we could tell he had disabilities.
this, however, did not evoke any sympathy from the angered girl.
her repeated demands of his immediate leave did not reach the man,
for he kept on wandering down the halls.

our attention trailed off elsewhere for a while,
afterall,
the purpose was to check the dorm out.

when we returned to the main hall,
several men were brought in,
and they escorted the man out.
he didn't seem willing,
and even attempted to hit the persistent girl;
that earned him scoldings and a few whacks

the comments coming from the witnesses were disturbing though--
pervert, weirdo, freak
were the equivalent words they referred to him,

but he may have been just as scared and confused as they were.
he couldn't speak well,
and they didn't give him the chance to explain before using harsh words,
the lack of communication was obvious

this kind of disconnection is so common now
that people don't attempt to change it,
why not?

starting line

my first step towards something unexpected,
thus i BEgin.

i feel that days are getting shorter and longer at the same time,
queer.
mostly because there's an endless list of things to do,
and yet i refuse to touch them.

the result?
me here creating another fresh paper to scribble across.
there never seem just too much space for me to express myself,
and the number of choices to express with--
i'm awed.