Monday, June 07, 2004

[transmission start]

thoughts: poem...

'It struck Mort that Death must be the loneliest creature in the universe. In the great party of Creation, he was always in the kitchen.' - From Mort by Terry Pratchett

'It is finished.' Always wanted to say that. T-retreat is over, and surprisingly there's just this sense of 'Why?' I was there and yet wasn't. Involved and yet not. I thought I would be able to bring something away from it, to have something that meant something there. but... nothing. Nothing. There's just pain, and nothing else. Pain. Depression. Hurt. I don't know why, but that's what i feel. Yesterday night, i imagined going up to the roof of my house, looking up at the sky and just yelling 'WHY?! WHY WHY WHY?!!!!' I really wanted to rant, to vent my frustration, to ask God what the whole point of it was, why he put me into it in the first place, if all i was going to feel at the end was nothing but hurt. What was He trying to teach me? WHY COULDN'T I UNDERSTAND?! WHY? WHY?!!!!! 'It's not fair Lord!' i wanted to scream. Why let me be there some of the time and not? why raise my hopes? WHY?! maybe i had been better off not going at all, which would nearly have happened, to tell you the truth. Nearly couldn't even go for the first day.

To vent my frustration, i wrote this:


Poem: Why depression? - Chris Ong

With his hands at the keyboard, he stared at the screen,
all the time wondering what did life mean.
He wished he could go back to those days long ago,
while he still was anonymous and far less people he'd know.
Now it's so different from the way that things were,
he knows many more people, especially her.
Deep in him he wondered is it all real?
all of those things that inside him he feels.

***

inside he was screaming, 'I don't want to care anymore!'
yet he knew it was impossible cos within he saw,
a boy with a heart who could not let go,
especially when he cared about the friends that he'd know,
needed someone to be there when they were just down,
and chris knew that's why he had to be around.

but the hurt in his heart and the pain that was felt,
was something that chris could possibly have dealt
with by just reaching out and letting friends know,
what was inside and he dared not show.
He wanted to be loved, but didn't know how to say,
so he struggled with the problem every single day.
why he couldn't tell people how he really did feel,
cos always he wondered if it was all real.

every day was a battle between his heart and his head,
conflicting opinions which confused him instead.
He wanted to feel, to be loved- really,
but his head would drag him back to reality.
'It'll never work,' his thoughts would retort,
'She deserves so much better than whatever you've got.'
'What can you give? Nothing at all?'
well that's too bad kid, that's your downfall.'
Out there are many more guys better than that,
if you took them on you'd just fall flat
on your face and embarrass your self to no end
and heck, maybe even lose her as your friend.'

he knew it wasn't true, he was being deceived,
but it was something that was so easy to believe.
for a guy who had problems, and never as good
compared to any other guy in the 'hood.
He wanted to fight back, to find some reply,
but couldn't and wanted to just give up and die.

***

back to the keyboard, staring at the screen,
he asked out loud again what did it all mean.
As he thought to himself,'Why do i write best,
whenever i'm feeling either angry or depressed?
it's like times like those when the words can just flow,
they come out so easily and why i don't know.
why can't i write good stuff when in moments of goodness,
why does it all flow in times of my sadness?
is it a reflection of who i am,
nothing really but some depressed man?'
he searches for answers just will elude,
because all i can say--chris is one depressed dude.

Chris poured out his heart, his pain blogged in rhyme,
and just hoped for something better to tell---

till next time...

[transmission end]

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chr1s0ng put the word on the street at 8:07 AM
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