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Friday, April 22, 2011


Who reads poetry nowadays? Who cares about it?
It's only people like me who write the stuff and on occassion read it ... my own I mean. I rather read other people's writings than my own. Once I've spewed all the verbatim on the screen, that's it, I'm done. A little like when you've gone to the toilet ... flush, wash your hands and get out. Relief.  Yup, poetry for me is like that. There is always this strong urge to regurgitate. It's the only release I have to be rid of my feelings.
Then only can I move on to something else.

I tried to sing when I was younger, realised, I was blessed with a low pitch voice that could not stretch to anywhere... and how upset I was that I could not sound like David Cassidy or as melodically moody as Carol king.  I tried to sing but people inevitably asked me to just hum... hum... hum... even when I was 9 and sat in the makeshift tree house, with my friends; my then "boyfriend" told me I was no nightingale.
And then there was a lovely handsome guy heart throb who told me, "you're cute but you haven't got a voice", my mouth shut and my heart fell on hearing him utter such harsh criticism.
Not long after, my mother, in a moment of inspiration perhaps, decided to buy us musical instruments.  Ukuleles, all three of us, myself and two siblings, got a ukulele each.  What possessed anyone to buy such an instrument for children less than 10 years of age. We were not given lessons, just ukuleles.  You can well imagine, a 10 year old, an eight year old and a seven year old, playing completely out of tune on the miniature "guitars".
Yes, we thought we could use them like  Carlos Santana or even Jimi Hendrix.
No, the ukuleles did not last long, before the strings broke, in fact, the whole instrument got smashed in wild moments mimicking Jimi Hendrix.
Oh, We did have our mellow moments, when we tried to "play" melodic "Japanese" tunes.   And then only to have both the gardener and driver bang away at our bedroom window, asking us not too politely, to stop the racket.
It got worse, when I decided to "sing" like a "Japanese" opera singer, my grandmother scolded my mother for encouraging the children to be disruptive (the word she used was : nuisance).
"Children should not be heard, not like that!!" grandmother scolded, "Send your children to bed for goodness sake," and this was at 4 pm in the afternoon.  Yes, grandma, we got the hint.

It was then that I had a revelation, if I can't sing, not in English or even Japanese opera, then perhaps I ought to try writing song lyrics.   Aha!! What a eureka moment that was for me.... yee haaaa
But sadly, I couldn't put any tunes to the words I came up with, or rather I couldn't get any more than one bar.  So, I gave up soon after.  And what do you think was left?  Can't sing, can't write lyrics, now what??
I love words but too lazy to write stories.  Starting was always easy but the carrying on was a hazard to the story, I would bore myself silly after a while and just didn't bother.

I sighed alot then. Loved words but how do I create with words, what can I create with words.
Till one Saturday afternoon, I was invited to "poetry club" at primary school.... what fun that was.   I could write, short lines (I like short!) and all I needed to do was to make them rhyme and add some rhythm... hey, I can do that.  And I didn't need to put a tune to it.  At last, a release for my words.   There begins my adventure into the literary world of poetry.

In conclusion, I'm a frustrated singer/song writer, who had to resort to poetry to give relief to her emotional diarrhea.



  1. Hahaha.. This was funny, and I'm sure a lot of people can relate! ;p Keep on singing your heart out Amal.. Just.. Maybe in private..? Hahahaha.. xxxxxx

  2. Gee thanks missy ... I will sing more ... think I'll do it in the bathroom ... cant offend anyone in there.
    Your comments are appreciated you know ;-) Thanks so much ;-)

  3. Oh but you can.. The neighbours.. I know.. When Oli sings in the bathroom, you can hear it down the block! Hahahahahahaha... ;p