I Heart You

Some time last Monday afternoon, I was picking up Nick's repaired guitar from the shop at Peninsular and feeling in exceptionally high spirits (and broke too) that I had accomplished so much in a day. It was a remarkably beautiful day, dunno if you all felt the same way too. On the way home however, I saw something that broke my heart.

City Hall to Tanjong Pagar is separated by only 2 MRT stops, and rarely do I notice anything on such a short journey besides the occasional pretty office lady, or try to strain my eyes to read the Sports section of anyone with the New Paper. But that day, I saw a little boy sitting on a pram too small for him. He was skinny, and his facial features slightly deformed. All four of his limbs were thin to the bone, and his head kept bobbing up and down, eyes wandering to and fro. The lady on the chair, whom I suppose was his mother or his guardian looked really exhausted, pale and eyes half-closed, leaning her head against the plastic window.

Then when he saw me, his head stopped turning about and he looked at the electric guitar slung on my shoulder. I initially looked on with amusement, wondering if I really looked that cool with (of all people) Nick's guitar. Then my bad habit came again.

I have this exceptionally bad habit of looking into people's eyes. Some have said that it's intimidating, some have found that it makes them extremely uncomfortable, and a small minority few (who intrigue me) find it particularly sexy. That's why if you see me purposely diverting my eyes away from you when we're having a conversation, do pardon me. Experience has shown that it gives people the wrong signals more often than not. I just enjoy looking into people's eyes because often I can see if they're lying, insecure, confident, or simply plain uninterested. Some people have mastered the art of hiding their emotions, but even then, there are reasons for why some have claimed that the "eyes are the windows to one's soul". Children however, do not hide anything. Or at least they are too innocent or inexperienced to. That little boy's soul was bared open for me.

His eyes were just glazed with envy. I could imagine him wishing he was a rock star, jamming in front of the masses, soaking in the screams and basking in the adoration of a 100,000 strong audience. His eyes were fixated on the guitar for quite some time, before he realized that I was looking at him. Embarassingly, he diverted his eyes away, only to come back and stare at the instrument on my shoulders after a few seconds.

I looked at his little frail body, never to stand up, never to hold a guitar, never to sing into a microphone, nor lift up his hands. Something he wanted to do so badly, he might never do in his lifetime. Then I looked at myself. Everything I could dream of doing, I can do. I have no physical defect, mental deficiency, family problems or financial burdens. I'm so richly blessed by God that anyone in the right mind would chide me for being unsatisfied.

The boy looked at me. I looked into his eyes and smiled. Silently in my heart, I promised him, "With what God has given me, I'll do for you what you can't do for yourself. I'll write a song for you, with the rock groove you want, with your life story in it, and dedicate it to God on your behalf."

I think he could read my mind. After all, someone who's adapt at drawing the curtains of his eyes can also bear it all, even if it makes him vulnerable for that moment. Yes, I'm sure he got it, because he smiled back at me for a long, long time.

Joy overflowed out of my heart, spilling over and leaving puddles all the way home. I didn't care what the people on the train, at the station or at my neighborhood thought about this young man smiling to himself without a care in the world.

Because for that moment, I didn't have any. It was a beautiful Monday. +)

I heart you.
Shred my skin to ribbons, rip my heart to shreds,
Burn my soul to ashes and baby, that's that.
Because since the day I decided to love you,
It has been nothing but a psychological contract.
We can both withdraw from or violate the romantic fineprint,
And to be honest I don't care what you do to me no more.
For love and romance are enemies,
The former I hold, the latter I throw,
You don't have to remember me.
But I still heart you.

The Who, I will always and forever heart. -Shane Koh

He who binds to himself a joy doth the winged life destroys. But he who kisses the joy as it flies lives in Eternity's sunrise. -William Blake