Visual Anatomy: The Human Condition


Brunei Blogger May Cho of The Mayden | Projector Photography, Tumblr, Neon Sign
Visual Anatomy is a bird's eye view of my inner workings, a pixelated spilling of my guts and thoughts spread out into a trilogy. Find out more here.

I sometimes think that if my heart is sliced open, instead of veins and arteries, there'd be words instead. A blood-pumping organ the core of one's anatomy, catalyst for downfalls and reason for joy -- all this in one made out of words. How insufferably poetic.

"How was your day?"

A treacherous night was upon the world this evening and I was a capsule of energy crouched in a corner witnessing it. Book shelf draped in sentimentality mounted above my head, a phone call in my ear.

I had a nightmare where you were being tortured and I couldn't do anything and I woke up crying. I went back to sleep two hours later after convincing myself that you were perfectly fine. I woke up late with a bloated face and bloated stomach and I didn't have breakfast. I read a book about the bane of humanity and the devastation of feelings and it moved me to tears so I re-read it and re-read it and re-read it and re-read it. And then I fed the cat and cuddled the cat and watched a movie about freedom. And then I tried to workout but got too lazy and ended up napping on the floor instead. I woke up and had dinner and took a bath and did random stuff and now I'm here. It was an odd day, a lazy day, but mostly odd. I miss you.

"It was alright." Understated -- the only way I know how.

Visual Anatomy: Debug [TW]


Visual Anatomy is a bird's eye view of my inner workings, a pixelated spilling of my guts and thoughts spread out into a trilogy. Find out more here.

I used to see the world in a different way.

We were all little programs running around in this great, big gigantic environment, doing things, repeating things, trying to solve problems. I saw codes on the screen of the subject I study today inside of me -- strings of 1s and 0s impeccable to the last line zooming through my brains, thought out and coded out to perfectly run a series of steps precise to its function, never faltering, never failing, immaculate.

But when I started to see my code falter -- a little too slow, a little too clumsy, a little too big -- I did what I could to keep things in order; I tried to fix things. Debug. Find the error in me. And then --

I learnt how a heart could break on the day I decided to die.

A Trade of Hearts and Souls

Brunei Blogger May Cho writes and reflects on friendships, a large part of 2016 | Vintage style, turtleneck, high-waisted skirt, button-down skirt, The Mayden
There was comfort in tearing myself apart in this room.

It was nine in the morning and a comrade was naked save for a pair of shorts and an apron draped about his neck in the kitchen. He was making breakfast: instant noodles and french toast, the diet of college kids on lazy mornings where we try to make an effort.

"Breakfast!" he called. It was the end of the semester, the end of the year and we were celebrating. 

The rest of us had just woken up. I had been up a while, unable to sleep from the misadventures dawn so often brings; ill-timed alarms serenading the way sun rays kiss dusty furniture, nightmares drowning the momentary peace of slumber, alert senses not immune to the outside world. When we sat down in the kitchen, though, I wished for nothing more than that very moment.

Visual Anatomy: Galaxy

Galaxy Projector Photography by Brunei blogger and writer May Cho
Visual Anatomy is a bird's eye view of my inner workings, a pixelated spilling of my guts and thoughts spread out into a trilogy. Find out more here.

It was close to midnight. A passionate fire sat beside me in the form of flesh and blood and he drove the vehicle we were in. Its ugly shade of green was obscure in the dim night, thankfully, but dim as it was, I could still make out the silhouettes of trees passing us by as we cruised.

We were two bodies in a confined space soaking in the serenity of isolation. The air conditioner was humming lowly, the stereo off, our attention tuned in. Laced fingers. This was a familiar retreat.

"What is the one thing you want to do in the entire world?" he asked me.

Visual Anatomy: Prologue

Brunei Blogger May Cho of The Mayden | Projector Photography, Visual, Creative, Quote, tumblr
"What do I do?" I ask.

My fingers are shaking in the cold, dark room that smells like popcorn and blessings on Saturday evenings. The screen had been flashing pieces of an angst-ridden journal a while ago but the words -- 'always' and 'scars' and 'broken' -- did not seem to speak as they usually do on teary dawns and restless dusks. They used to shout at me, their rough consonants howling in my dreams. But tonight, they are reserved. Quiet.

"Just pull up images. Any image," she replies.

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