getting a bird tattoo

If you’re lost and lonely
Go and figure out why
Take a trip to your dark side
Go on and have a good cry
Cause we’re all lonely
Yeah we’re all lonely

I want to see your sadness,
I want to share your sins
I want to bleed your blood and
I want to be let in
Don’t you just,
Don’t we all just
Want to be together

Leave what’s heavy,
What’s heavy behind
Leave what’s heavy,
What’s heavy behind

If your face is down
Take a look around
Do your fingers move
Do your lungs inflate
Are you tired are you weary
Of the hidden hate
You’ve been holding

Did you lose that love
Or have you never had it
Are you feeling sad
because you did a bad thing


Are you feeling fearful brother
Are you feeling fearful sister
The only way to loose
That fearful feeling
Replace it with love that’s healing
Are you feeling fearful brother
Are you feeling fearful sister





So here I am on the rickety wooden bridge where every shaky step takes me further away from my days of being a girl, of barefoot running on meadows chasing butterflies circling the flowers in my hair, and another step closer to being a woman, of bosoms heavy with responsibilities, overflowing with possibilities.

It is a hard lesson to learn, graduating at the highest of tiers of formal education, to find not the promised land of fulfilled dreams dancing on white marble floors but me on all fours on grimy linoleum grounds, a paddle scrub in hand. The ivory tower in the clouds hovers above me and I inspect the winding stairs leading up to it, most of it obscured by shadows and thunderous clouds, virtually vertical.

It hurts my neck, holding my head up to keep my gaze upon the tower of dreams, which then hurt my eyes. I take a deep breath, keep my head down and scrub the steps that will pave my way to the tower up in my clouds.


  • My favourite exhibits were retained – climbing Einstein, air & water tornadoes, hatching chicks, mirror pole (mirror maze is missing though), kinetics garden
  • New, exciting exhibits – VIRTUAL REALITY!!, FIRE TORNADO, marine alcove section


The first time our skulls stacked upon our spines without aid and begin life with our heads held high between the shoulders, life veterans snapped a pair of goggles with rubber straps which fit snugly over the curve of our developing minds, tinted black, tinted white.

That was our first encounter, the only way we would see the world as the years form, the goggles both stretching and restraining as we grew our minds.

Black tints the tantrums of our instincts not under control, the piercing screams in the silence of the trains, the flailing limbs on the linoleum floors of toy stores, the furrowing of brows, the ominous silence a harbinger to the hard slap across the cheeks. Then it’s the guilt of enjoyment, the afterimage of single digit test scores across tear stained cheeks, ears ringing from lessons delivered in pain, the silence of the air as you speak to find nobody echoing with you, the childish taunts that drove arrows straight through you, the chill of fogged up glass windows from the outside looking in. Black is the blanket of smoke which smothering you to get as low as you can, noses pinched, to get to your next breath of fresh air in the light, tinted white.

White tints the silence when adults are conversing, the sanguine smiles when acknowledged, the “thank you”s which came from voice boxes and not our hearts, the stay out of the way, the hunched backs over papers, pen in hands, scribbling through the night, the sweet taste of victory of hearing your name echoed back at you together with rankings above other names, the annual handshakes with very important but unfamiliar men, the flashes of film cameras, afterimage of the teeth of parents beaming proud. In the white we also find words like “elite school”, “doctors”, “scholarships”, “lawyers” rolled around in tongues, held in between lips like candies, the aroma of a dinner feast to welcome the son of a respectable Chinese family with prospects bright as white, the redness of cloths and weddings, the porcelain teacup pinched between fingers, the delightful cries of grandchildren reverberating a newly constructed BTO flat, a smattering of small feet running across wooden floors.

What if our world is painted in colours beyond black and white?

Reach your palms up behind your head, slip your fingers under the curve of your scalp and snap the tinted goggles off.

Behold a world which explodes in colours, one where children run wild in the woods under the warm sun, dirt on their faces, mud on their knees, where learning the skills of happiness and friendships take precedence over hitting numbers on a paper, where there is no white or black, no RIGHT OR WRONG.

How about coming out of college, pursing your passions, starving on a lower-tiered starting pay and not feeling the sting of judgment? How about getting to know your instincts better in the beds of friends, in the arms of strangers, in the embrace of pure nature? How about building a long and successful future with another girl in a mobile camper van, based on nothing but trust, hope and a golden retriever? How about a life without a house but a home in every corner of this beautiful Earth? How about solitude? How about all the colours of the rainbow without pain and suffering?

How about that?