The Ghosts of Summer 2010

There’s something different in the air this summer. I can’t seem to pinpoint it, but it feels strangely too calm, as if there’s a rising uproar in the distance. I want to know what it is, but I have this weird feeling that is so similar to what I’ve felt five years ago. It’s strangely familiar yet it feels different.

The people I’ve met five years ago are slowly creeping in. Old friendships are re-kindling, friends who were turned away are once again looking forward to a second chance. Old, forgotten habits are slowly re-surfacing. Could old romances be repeated once again? Maybe not. That’s too impossible. That’s been locked and buried 1000 ft. below sea level.

Pretty soon I’m turning 25. Maybe summer’s going to be different this year. Whether the ghost of the past comes back or not, all I want is to finally have a chance to sip my sangrias without wasting this summer without a nice (fake) tan 😉

Maybe the young Kat will finally re-surface once again. Maybe this time, she’s more mature yet wilder.

Day 9: Craving for freedom.

I crave to put on make- up and dress up for no reason.

I miss locking myself in my room- crafting until dawn and letting all my ideas out.

I didn’t mind getting lost in my own world.

I want to forget about everything for even just a week.

I crave… to live.

I want to lay on the beach with my jiggly body being baked under the sun.

I don’t mind if I’m out of shape.

I want to smell the salty air, feel the warm breeze and sweat all over.

I wish I could just go to the beach.

Summer’s almost gone, what have I done?

I sat everyday either studying, listening to lectures or helping an old lady feed herself.

All year, I craved for the sun’s hot kisses.

I always tan every year but this time, I’m bloody pale.

Pale like a porcelain doll, well… not THAT pale.

I’m “asian” pale.

I envy pictures of beach trips, sunburns and sunglasses.

I envy people enjoying their vacation while I stay indoors.

How could I let myself spend my time like this?

Of course, I have to sacrifice something to become somebody.

In time, I’ll look back and cherish these days.

Someday, I’ll have my own time too.

A little piece.

Summer’s Trail

 

Ink blotches splattered everywhere

Words either scratched or left in doubt

My mind wants to speak

But no voice came out.

 

Memories made every moment

Days go by so quickly

Every moment becomes history

I want to go back

But time won’t let me.

 

Leaves will soon turn to ashes

Smiles disappear as the season rot

Summer fades into autumn

My feelings for you remains-

But will yours remain the same?

 

Places and buildings retell a love story-

Of those memories we so cleverly wrote

Soon we’ll part with each a copy

And I, standing there and remembering it all.


“Stay” the hardest word to say

“Love” the simplest word to have

“Fallen” the bitter word to confess

And “You” are the person I cannot keep.

 

People say it’s the ending

But who truly knows beyond this parting?

I cannot expect nor assume

But I can only hope for a beginning.

 

I made this poem for Beppe around end of July. A little piece, nothing big.

Silhouettes.

When summer days grew shorter,

And autumn nights grew longer,

Pretty soon, shadows will soon appear over the sunny trails-

Disappearing into a massive dusk.

When summer days grew shorter,

And autumn nights grew longer,

Pretty soon, the humid breeze turns into chilly winds-

Erasing every emotions and feelings of that shimmering warmth.

When summer days grew shorter,

And autumn nights grew longer,

Pretty soon, the leaves will change to their seasonal colors-

Leaving traces of the summer memories that will soon die in the hearth of winter.

When summer days grew shorter,

And autumn nights grew longer,

Pretty soon, the sidewalks will be empty-

Dumbing out voices and gossips that once invaded the neighborhood.

 

When summer days grew shorter,

And autumn nights grew longer,

Pretty soon, warm smiles will turn to depressing frowns-

Growing lifelessness as if it’s some diseases spreading around.

 

When summer days grew shorter,

And autumn nights grew longer,

Pretty soon, the late night back-porch parties will die out

Imprisoning loud voices into echoing silence.

 

 

But is it really almost the end?

Is it really the end?

 

 

They say that for every ending,

Comes a new sequel to a new beginning.

 

 

And maybe summer isn’t dying after all.

And maybe it isn’t the ending after all.

Maybe it’s just the beginning.

 

And I do hope someday that pretty soon,

Summer will come again

And I will be there…

Waiting for you.

 

Photos: me.