Matt's Missives

It has stopped raining here. It comes down so hard mid-afternoon--just watching it makes you feel almost wet. I succumb easily to the pathetic fallacy--my moods reflect the weather. A kind of sadness comes, when it rains. On Friday I spent time with some friends who were in town for just a day, Noah and Maylee, people my age, people who spoke my language. It felt good just to be around people who understand me, but it's kind of strange that just age makes that big a difference.
It's funny, here in Singapore there is little respect for youth. People assume that the young have nothing to teach them, so they don't really listen. I prefer to keep my mouth shut most of the time anyways (that's hard for me sometimes, but a good lesson). Tek's not really like that, but in some ways he is still of an older generation, and still my teacher. It's tough though, to be reining in that fire and passion of youth, that desire to run down the street naked just to show them it's okay. Or to yell at them to get off their cellphones. Still it's only for a couple more months and I'm here to observe, myself as much as anyone, and not necessarily act. That's kind of a strange thing in itself. Just to watch, to wonder, try not to pass judgement. Let myself be without too much interference, let others be without too much interference. My isolation is my own doing, and that's why though sometimes I get lonely, sad, angry, I'm also okay with it. Time for some bad poetry.

I am the casual observer--
sitting in the corner chain smoking cigarettes --
watching the crowd smile and lie.

I am the wiretap in the phone, the bug in the walls
hearing things noone's supposed to know,
unobtrusively powerful.

I am the black hole
pulling mass and energy towards me,
phenomenal gravity.

I am dark and dense,
infinite in mass, nonexistent in space,
unfathomable really.

I am omnipotent,
in silence.