it was finally over. he moved away and out. it felt numb, but the hurt intensified at my heart. i stared at the windows. i couldn’t decide if there was light stabbing the dark room or darkness swallowing the lit curtains. life could go on but it would be a different one. is there a way to spell bastard backwards?

by the way, i’ve been really busy working, reading, familying but not writing. i might be ringing some changes in my life. will see how it goes.

But no, when the crunch came, he melted away like a picnic bar on a tarmac ground under the twelve o’clock sun. His knees were still right on top of Xavier who was choking with tears. His hands were quavering under the weight of the machete. Crucially, his heart was crying for mercy and grace on behalf on this pitiful soul beneath him. His mind concurred after much deliberation. He should let him off, really.

“Please, Alan, please! You know I love you very much! I was wrong, but I love you!” Xavier’s vehement voice pealed for the umpteenth time. As Alan looked into his eyes, he could see the tenderness whispering forgiveness. Really, he should just tear his heart out magnanimously and amen to the bygones. He fought hard to hold back the pain that was to drip through his eyes. This man he had loved so deeply the last twenty years violated the trust he built painstakingly to keep them bonded in sanity. How could he have done that?

“You know I fucking love you too much to let you go! And that’s exactly the same reason why I’m going to fucking let you off!” Alan spoke, in an obvious heartbreaking tone that cut deep. He lowered his arms and tossed the weapon aside. He got off Xavier’s chest, stood slowly and stared at his lover for a few seconds.

“You have fucking broken my heart. I don’t want to see you again,” Alan said, as he moved away. Xavier rolled to one side gently, not wanting to aggravate the multiple injuries he suffered from the fight. He coughed uncomfortably into his hands and saw blood. He hauled himself up and managed to stand, though unsteadily. Alan was already limping some twenty yards away.

Summoning whatever that was left in his body, Xavier began charging towards Alan with the machete he picked up. He was intent in removing the thorn in his flesh now. With the instinct that had served him so well in the past as a cop, Alan somehow sensed Xavier coming at him. He dived to his left and flipped over before flooring the oncoming assailant with a kick. Alan went on top of Xavier for the second time and battered him with his fists repeatedly. Without even an ounce of energy left, Xavier was there for the taking. His injuries had taken their toll on him and he was dying a slow death.

Alan was panting after another round of physical assertion. He stooped low and lay next to his lover’s stationary body. He turned to face him.

“Why, you bastard? Why? Why do you have to make it so easy for me?” Alan whispered. His tears finally flowed. He lifted the machete and severed Xavier’s head. Then, a tune came to his mind, and he began improvising a melody of words.

Look at the beautiful night sky
With the twinkling stars and the elegant moon
It certainly promises much
The cool sea breeze
And the salty smell of humidity
They definitely promise much
How I wish all these had come earlier
You know, we could have really lived happily ever after
We could have realistically grown old together
Pity the human nature is such
That we have our differences
That we could not manage them well enough
Feel the sand around here
The grains are ever so smooth, so fine
Just like how they used to be
Hear the tides rolling in
They sing so merrily in our ears
Bringing back fresh waves of sweet memories
How I wish the human nature is such
Consistent, everlasting and adaptable
That we can be as gay as we want to be
Pity Mother Nature is such
That we’ll always find it a tall order
To keep up with her standard of serendipity
As I observe the contours of your body
As I caress the hardened pounds of muscles
I thank God for the blessings we’d had together
I long to look into your soulful eyes again
I long to kiss your sensual lips again
But I’m not sure if that’s possible now

Alan got onto his feet, one hand with his lover’s head.

It was easy, he swore.

HARPI NUDEAR 2 EBRIWAN!

there are 2 sides to a coin.

i have 2 eyes, 2 hands, 2 arms, 2 ears, 2 nostrils, 2 legs, 2 feet.

there only 2 places to choose from after life – heaven or hell.

i have experiences in 2 career paths – a teacher and now, a financial services consultant.

we speak of only 2 things – truth and lie.

i used to have 2 dreams – being a pilot and a broadcast journalist.

2 is the smallest and first prime number.

i have had owned 2 cars – a renault express and now, a ford focus.

the Ten Commandments were given in the form of 2 tablets.

i had 2 intimate girlfriends – one became my wife and the other became my ex.

there are 2 natural genders – male or female.

2 things i rely heavily on – The Bible and the dictionary.

a binary star is a stellar system consisting of 2 stars orbiting around their center of mass.

i believe the 2 most important modern invention are the internet and the mobile phone.

everyday, we should look forward to 2 things – tomorrow and sleep.

my 2 favourite tennis players are boris becker and roger federer.

in many sports, there are 2 opposing individuals/teams against each other.

2 things i absolutely despise – terrible motorists and people who don’t give up seats to pregnant ladies.

there are 2 attributes that we can’t boast about – pride and humility.

i am working towards 2 dreams – a CLS coupe and a one-year visit to all the football stadiums in UK.

there are only 2 places we can go to – somewhere or nowhere.

it took me 2 hours to write this post.

this blog just turned 2 last week!

I just read this wonderful autobiographical book by John Fowles who perhaps might be better known for his novel The French Lieutenant’s Woman. It is essentially a series of his recollections of his childhood and his work as a writer. He also went at great lengths to discuss how nature, especially the tree, should be perceived from a human point of view. The language he uses here is brilliant and profound, yet precise enough for the reader to comprehend his points.

One thing that struck me most is how Fowles sees nature as a science as well as an art. He believes that the heart of nature lies in our personal nature and its relationship to other nature. Nature is never a collection of items outside us. He also points out that understanding nature cannot be done through painting, photography, words or even science which are inferior substitutes. He wrapped up his unique discussion quite aptly when he mentioned that the two natures, human and non-human, cannot be separated.

Their parents had gone out for a wedding dinner earlier in the evening, and the girl was tasked to take care of her brother and get him to sleep at the scheduled hour. But Zhi Wei wasn’t giving his sister the best of time. He was up and running around, making a lot of noise, much to the annoyance of his sister and possibly their neighbours. It was already two hours past bedtime and the boy was still active and not in bed.

Fortunately, Ying Mei knew her brother well, so she told him that they would wait for their parents to return home at the door. Zhi Wei concurred without second thoughts and sat at the door. Ying Mei felt enormously relieved and joined her brother on the floor.

It dawned upon Ying Mei that her parents had instructed her not to open the door late at night, not when the crime rate within the vicinity had soared to a record high in the last six months. So she suggested to Zhi Wei that they would only open the door when they hear their parents. That would be a pleasant surprise. Zhi Wei beamed. He liked giving surprises.

They waited.

About five minutes later, the children heard some noise outside the door. Ying Mei wasn’t sure if her parents were back. She hesitated a while. It was risky. What if another criminal was lurking outside? But Zhi Wei was getting anxious and insisted in opening the door. Ying Mei relented and opened the door slowly and carefully.

“Hello, Kids! You are still up? Not sleeping yet?” a man spoke. Both children were stunned for a moment but became composed when they saw their neighbour, old Mr Lim with his eldest son, Sean.

“We are waiting for Daddy and Mummy!”

“Oh, how nice. Good night!” Both men walked off.

The children closed the door and waited.

Ying Mei was nodding away in her sleep before her head hit the wall that woke her up. She had dozed off. So did Zhi Wei. She looked at the clock. It was half past eleven. She was about to get Zhi Wei to bed when she heard some noise outside the house. This time there was also the sound of a bunch of keys. It must be her parents. She shook her brother and told him that their parents had returned.

Both of them eagerly opened the door. They were shocked. Floating past them unhurriedly was a headless figure in a red dress, holding a bunch of keys. The children were scared stiff and couldn’t move. The figure turned and ‘faced’ them. Albeit they were drowning in their tears and sweat, they could hear the figure asking them, “Is this my home?”

Now Tiffiny was all alone at the bus-stop that was smacked right in the middle of a 27-km two-way road. Parallel to the road on the same side of the bus-stop was a 100-acre farmland with huge plants lined up in an almost regimental fashion. On the opposite side of the road lay a vast amount of beige sand that stretched the entire the coastline of the deep blue sea. There was nothing else in sight.

The girl sat on the bench, still feeling tremendously happy with her first-day experience in school. She couldn’t wait to share her joy with her father. He was coming to fetch her home from the bus-stop before heading for their little cottage at the end of the road. He had checked the bus schedule and knew exactly the time to pick his girl up from the bus-stop.

The five-year-old looked at her watch. It was six in the evening. She pulled out her favourite storybook from her bag and started reading it. She was oblivious to the familiar surrounding environment that was characterised by dead silence and stale air. Her mind was preoccupied with thrill.

Almost 3 km away, the father was cycling on the straight road, whistling a melody. He was busy working as a site supervisor at a construction ground during the day. He was looking forward to seeing Tiffiny, especially it was her first day at school. She was the only one he had in the family after his wife had died from breast cancer. If he had a choice, he would have accompanied his girl in school. His boss had wanted him to be present at work for an emergency meeting in the morning.

Soon, the bus-stop came into sight. His heart pounded pleasingly as he saw Tiffiny. Just as he picked up pace, his bicycle ran over a small stone. He lost his balance and fell off the bicycle. Fortunately, he was not hurt. He hauled the bicycle up and jumped onto it. As he lifted his head, his blood ran cold. His daughter was not at the bus-stop.

(i’m not entirely sure where this is heading, but i knew i had to write it. pardon me if i can’t finish it soon. i might not have the time honestly. you can throw me some ideas if you don’t mind.)

He slit the skin of the chicken with his teeth as the aroma of the deep fried stank the hall. She thrashed furiously at the spaghetti mixed with sauce and complained that it was the umpteenth plain dinner. You licked the balls on the ice-cream cone before they melted away into the bin. Me? I savoured every grain in my palm with care and thought of paradise. I counted there were six of them.

You know, as I look at him, her and you, I wish we could all swap places and enjoy each other’s life. Perhaps, next time when paradise comes, we can do that?

Shall we discuss?

What is poverty?

How relevant is poverty today?

Reasons for poverty?

Any measures to curb poverty?

Move up north to River Daft
And cultivate asinine amusement customs

Go on to the Forest of Yarn on foot
And concoct daft anecdotes

Get into a boat and sail to Island of Songs
And croon droll mantra

Fly to the Republic of Chortles
And seek mirth despite the fractious response

Drive twenty miles to Follywood
And star as the self-proclaimed fool

Return to the Fault of Life
And quip at any gaffe

Combed the tresses of Obama
And coffeed with a young McCain
If you ask me what I had done today
I’d say I’d consumed the black hole

Nothing is possibly impossible
Not for Alexander, Edison or Armstrong
And certainly not for me
Romance might not be my cup of tea
But I think I know I love you

Whispering honey into your ears
Spreading jam on your toast
If you ask me what I will do tomorrow
I’d say I’d smash Al-Qaeda

Surprising you with a stalk of rose
Giving you a warm embrace
If you ask me what I will do tomorrow
I’d say I’d turn back the clock

Nothing is possibly impossible
Not for Ali, Phelps or Bolt
And certainly not for me
Romance might not be my cup of tea
But I think I know I love you

People say actions speak louder than words
But I’m not an action figure
So don’t expect the expected

Romance might not be my cup of tea
But I think I know I love you

Well, I might just, kiss you

“That’s not a head!” he mumbled cheerfully. “It’s a potato!” His father had a potato head. Potatoes must be mashed. Almost instantaneously, the boy raised the screwdriver and began pounding on the man’s head.

“Potatoes must be mashed. Potatoes must be mashed. Potatoes must be mashed……” The boy went on to mash the potato completely in some God-given time. When he was done, he leaned back to rest.

“Well done!”

“Thank you, God!”

“Are you ready for the next step?”

“Yes, God. But…”

“But what?”

“Can I see Your face, God?”

“Ha! Why?”

“I’m just curious, God. Hmmm, never mind, God.”

“Since you’ve been such a good boy, I shall grant your wish.”

“Really, God?”

“Yes.”

“Oh…thank You, God!”

“Meet your Maker.” The boy could see someone walking towards him from the darkness of the bedroom. As the figure moved under the lights, he gaped at a little boy who looked just like him.

“Who are you?”

“I am God.”

“You look like me. You are not God.”

“I am God. You are me and I am you.”

“What?”

“I am God. You are God. We both are. In music, there is only one genius – Mozart. In music prophecy, there is only one genius – you and I. You…I…prophesy to kill. Let you…me…continue to draw strength from Mozart’s energy in his music-making when prophesying the death ends of all the naughty people. I will kill all the naughty people like how I killed the undertaker who touched me all over and my father who failed his life. They don’t deserve to live……” It dawned upon the boy that he had been talking to himself, and he was rather bemused.

He stood gingerly as he remembered three names. Tom had beaten him several times, citing fun as the reason. Dick had labelled his mother a witch. Uncle Harry had rolled off his father’s bed naked. He put the headphones to his ears and clicked ‘play’ on his walkman. Mozart made him smile, again.

His father was watching Psycho on TV from the couch. Intermittently, the man would turn to glare at him, obviously warning him to do his job well. Quite bizarrely to the boy, the man resembled some food item he had learned from the pack of flash cards his mother had bought him about a year earlier. Potato. Yes, he was thinking of potato. He recalled what his mother had taught him about potatoes. They must be mashed.

A screwdriver darted across the room and hit his shoulder. He looked up. His father was yelling at him, demanding the name of the winning team of the game between Red Sox and Mariners. Then, a voice boomed in the boy’s ears. It was God and He said it was time. The boy removed the headphones and remained calmly seated. He asked his father if he could take him to the restaurant to eat waffle ice-cream. Incensed by the boy’s audacious request, the man picked up a stool and hurled it at him. The stool landed heavily on the boy’s head and it left him with an open wound. As he struggled to sit upright, his whole head was in red.

The man, who must have been shocked by what he had done to his own offspring, acted apologetic. He was adamant that he was not wrong. He told the boy that they could both work closely together to attain huge measure of success. He ambled towards the boy and went down to pick up the stool.

“Now!” God spoke and the boy pulled his father’s hair with his left hand. The man was stunned by his son’s enormous strength and thrashed about to get free. He looked into the boy’s eyes and for the first time in his life, he fully embraced the meaning of fear. The pupils were plain ravenous. The boy seized the screwdriver swiftly with his right hand and pierced through his father’s neck with it. Like a contorting dying cockroach, the man lived out his last moments in tremendous agony, body twitching acrobatically. Soon, he left.

Just as God’s serenade faded into the darkness, the father stomped into the room and hoisted the boy from his bed. He commanded him to pull Mozart close to his ears. The little one did as he was told, remembering every word that God had uttered. He was going to get it, he reminded himself. He was going to get it.

The boy clicked ‘play’ and the music rolled. It was Requiem – the trail of hope God had just left behind in thin air. He closed his eyes, and for the first time, he could see. His mother was right ahead in all red. Her lovely tresses fell nicely on her breasts as she lifted her head to look at him. He thought he saw peace in her eyes, but her mouth was full with needles and she was chewing on them. She went on peeling the skin of her left forearm with the apple knife. The boy recognised what a monster depression was.

Before he could call out to his mother, she vanished. Then, a full-length mirror erected in front of him. He could see his own reflection and he looked gay. Quite abruptly, bruises, swells and cuts began to appear on the face and arms of the boy in the mirror, and he was crying. A huge arm of a strangely familiar headless man began to drag the boy in the mirror away.

Again, the boy wanted to shout, and again, he was distracted by what he saw next. His father was standing in the living room, back facing him. He started walking straight ahead and seemed to be talking to someone. As he squatted to pick up a stool, a boy came into sight. The boy saw himself, again, and this time, he was bleeding profusely from the head. His father was about to stand up when the bloody boy grabbed the man’s hair violently with one hand and thrust a screwdriver into his throat with another.

No, he was no Chucky who was probably still chasing after his eloping bride. He was just a victim of his own success. A prodigy in music prophecy, he was the brainchild of the Almighty’s effort to boost the rootless life of a drunkard. Or at least that was what the latter believed. Day after day after the boy’s mother took her own life from prolonged depression, his father put him on the walkman that spoke nothing but Mozart. His mission was to predict the winning dog on the race track.

It was in fact accidental that the man discovered his son’s gift. Mozart was playing at his wife’s cremation when his boy whispered to him that the undertaker was going to take a tumble into the furnace. In all sanity, he slapped the boy and ordered him to shut up. Ten minutes later, while everyone was wailing or pretending to wail at the sight of the woman on the firebed, the undertaker slipped and fell into the fire. In the midst of the chaos that followed, the man looked at his son in disbelief. He knew God had finally arrived in his life.

The first weeks of the boy’s music prophecy reaped benefits for the parent, much to the boy’s own delight too. He was only four, but he could already feel what pride was. However, he soon found feeding an insatiable drinking beast an order too tall for even a Philistine. That animal started forcing him to spend every second of his 24-hour-a-day life listening to Mozart so that he could help him create his own almanac for the baseball games that coming new season. The man was determined to win every odd for every game and player. Sleep became a luxurious commodity for the little boy. Beatings began to co-exist with Mozart in his life.

Working the foul of the day
She calls for the need to pay

Nibbling the juice that burns
She yanks the chance that spurns

Oaring with feathers of lead
She toils to stay in red

Painting the whore with pride
She wills through her bore of tide

Chasing cars of yesteryears
She bellies herself through in tears

a tribute to Mr Solzhenitsyn who has crossed that path. it was a privilege to have read his work.

His Masterpiece

did i mention that his name is Stanley?

i imbibed the vodka
the angels proffered
as they tongued
proverbs in vonlenska

a fire licked me
like a luscious tsunami
with a chill peppermint
and a vogue hint

lionise my clobbered soul, lord
patronise me with your clouting chord.

I remember the times we spent playing ‘cooking’ in the barnyard when we were five, the punch I got from Dexter for shielding you when we were in elementary school, my first flower – a small dandelion – I gave you on Valentine’s Day in 1951, the first time we held hands, embraced and kissed each other, the first heated argument we had when you saw Jane crying on my shoulders, how we got our only Harley on a shoestring budget, your ‘yes’ when I asked for your hand, the night we lost our virginity to one another, your tears when I left for Vietnam, you carrying Jess in your arms when I returned from the war, how you were my strength when my folks passed on and the many success and failure we had enjoyed together.

These sixty years, we’d had it all. Well, almost…except your wildest dream – both of us riding on our Harley naked…until now.

As we run with our Harley down this memory lane with growth rings on our exposed skins that speak ages, I want you to remember this day. Even if you’re just a lifeless body now, I’ll finish this naked journey with you.

Never mind the cops that are coming after us.

hate it.

Teardrops
Could have been
Visible yet.

Childhood
Memories
Cheered hauntingly.

Bath play,
Piggyback,
Merry-go-round.

Funny
How they seemed
So yesterday.

This love
Was shared with
Much abhorrence.

But still,
She won’t trade
Anything else.

The roots
Had dug deep
In the muscles.

When cut,
They hurt with
Shameless muteness.

Lord Time
Had decreed
Their destiny.

Depart,
Both shall do
Both shall remain.

No words,
No cuddle,
And no secrets.

The eyes
Could just scream,
“I love you much!”

(this was pretty much written for my minute seven-week-old who had to go.)

how low are you willing to go before you reach all your selfish goals punch line after punch line leaving us sore leaving us sore absorbed in your ill hustling feeding a monster just feeding a monster invasion after invasian this means war this means war someday you’ll be up to your knees in the shit you seed all the gullible that you mislead won’t be up for it where to will you relocate now that it’s war now that it’s war

he picked them up
and fresh memories of
what had happened eighteen years earlier
brought back waves of sorrow
with a tinge of thrill
that could explain why all he could muster there and then
was an ounce of salty tear
from the corner of the left eye
which was the only functional window to the hardened soul
after years of pounding from the loss they labelled inevitable
because of his obstinate attitude and aptitude.

the bells jingled
and he was more than willing
to laugh at his own misfortune
so beautifully wretched
that he could not bear to curse anything or anyone but himself
who had chosen to soften the redness of the sore
that was growing and glowing with honour
from twenty thousand leagues beneath
causing the entire building to rattle with triumph
which was so sorely missed
the last eighteen years of his motherless life on earth.

he gaped

and yawed

and died

a happy lonesome brute.

The consciousness oozed from the wound.

If the pain was existent, it should be spelt r-a-i-n,
Because it pelted upwards.

That left me home and pried.

i met.

Linda Grant from Liverpool.

a few others, including one from Wolverhampton and one from Wales.

we talked.

i had fun.

oh, i also bought and she signed.

i left.

any comfort from this? not sure too. oh, perhaps, or most definitely, yes. she’s with Him now.

Lying before me
Is a path so less travelled
I’m waiting for you

when i looked at the folks around me, i realised that there are many excellent bloggers with first rate blogs. many of them would have received such an accolade before my votes. hence, i will present this award to the following folks whose prominence might be a little understated:

1. charlieboy
2. han
3. raeofsunshine
4. pj
5. rachel

(for that sober sullen drunk at the corner of helen’s bar on 14 feb)

I only needed a small favour
But you let the whole world know how big your help was.

I only wanted to be your Valentine
But you gave me the greatest bunch of flowers that meant nothing.

I only cared about who you were
But you only cared about what you did.

(a simple tribute to V-Day)

if you are hoping for more, so am i. please, have patience with me here. i’m working on it.

not easy, but…

I really didn’t know what to say when I learned about it. If she regarded me as a spouse, then I must have been an ass to believe her.

How could she hide this from me? How long did she think she could hide? Four days? Four weeks? Forever? It hurt too much. It really did. Four years of marriage wasn’t worth the effort?

You see, she surrendered all her policies without telling me her difficulty in financing the premiums. She could have told me, right? I could have helped a bit, right?

She fainted at work and was taken to the hospital. When I reached there, the doctor had diagnosed breast cancer – the late stage. And that was when her ex-agent met me and told me about her surrender – the truth. I was somewhat devastated, somewhat bitter.

For the next six months, we laboured on with my personal savings. Her treatment exhausted almost my entire coffers – all $200000. She apologised to me three times during this period and each time I had nothing to utter.

14 hours after the third time she apologised, she lost the battle and passed on. She left me with nothing.

Well, not quite. She left me nothing.

And a great lesson.

The purpose of this award is motivated by:

the desire to hand some of that love and kindness back around to those who have been so very, very, very good to me in this bloggy world. My hope is that those who receive this award will pass it on to those who have been very, very, very good to them as well. It’s a big kiss, of the chaste platonic kind, from me to you with the underlying ‘thanks’ message implied. I really do appreciate your support and your friendship and yes, your comments. … Mwah!

i must be doing something right……

Last week, I met Susan at Coffee Bean. We recounted the good old days in high school and how I used to woo her before she left for the states. Two days later, she was run over by a motorcycle.

Yesterday, Jason called me and invited me to his wedding dinner next month. He shared how excited he was about starting his own family unit. I told him he’d make a good husband because he was a very patient guy. Last night, he was stabbed to death in a snatch theft.

Six hours ago, Mum rang me up and said Dad was admitted to hospital. It was just diagnosed that he was at the late stage of liver cancer. Just a few minutes after I had met him at Changi, he passed away.

Just now, an ambulance pulled over by the pavement. The paramedics rolled out the stretcher and I could see a young man with a number tag on his chest lying unconscious. Words spread that he was a seasoned marathon runner who collapsed seconds after completing 21 km.

Now, I am staring at him. He’s being pushed out with the sheet covering his face and his parents crying.

If life is so uncertain, what have I done?

Moments later, the train doors opened. The obviously relieved passengers began to alight from the train one after another. Selena helped Lee Hoon get up and they both walked slowly out of the train. Azmi held onto Rosnah and stepped out soon after. Teck Meng carried both Raj and Jean in his arms. Both children still looked visibly shaken. All the passengers were evacuated from the station quickly. Three men rushed towards the pilot cabin angrily. Their intent was clear. They wanted to beat the hell out of Fred. But they were stopped by several policemen who had them shipped out too.

As Teck Meng walked away from the train, he saw a posse of armed policemen standing outside the pilot cabin. One of them used a loudhailer to order Fred to surrender. There was no response. Before he could see more, he was already out of the train station.

Everyone was escorted to a temporary assembly area some hundred metres away from the station. Paramedics were already there to receive and attend to them. Selena, Lee Hoon, Teck Meng, Azmi, Rosnah, Raj and Jean were all resting together with different people trying to calm them down with reassurances.

Teck Meng found it funny that these paramedics and counsellors looked more nervous than all these people who had gone through the ordeal with him. It was definitely the most harrowing fourteen minutes of their lives, but somehow all of them managed to force a faint smile when they looked at each other, except the two children.

“I guess we can really count ourselves extremely lucky!” Teck Meng finally spoke. The rest kept quiet, but nodded gently. He knew God had protected him well. Through this, he reaffirmed his faith in Him, and he was glad he had not failed him the last fourteen minutes on the train.

Selena was happy that she had chosen to help another person moments before her supposed death. Through it all, she found new meaning in life. She realised how immature and silly she was when she was contemplating suicide after James had failed her. Life is so much more than that jerk.

Azmi’s and Rosnah’s love for each other had grown stronger throughout this potential disaster. Azmi knew he had to spend more time with his wife, while the latter had decided to follow the doctor’s order.

Raj told Jean that he would love his parents more then. He also said that he would cherish his Playstation 3 even more too. Jean said her parents would be the most important things in her life and she would study well for them.

“Fred Ong Kim Loong, 36, who had threatened to derail an MRT train in fourteen minutes, was found dead in the pilot cabin, moments after stopping the train himself at Pretoria train station. He had apparently stabbed himself in the heart after telling the passengers on board that he ‘had spent his last fourteen minutes wisely’. He had also left a written note behind that read:

I believe I have taught the world a lesson in this one precious episode – live every second of your life in the most meaningful way you are capable of. My secondary school teacher taught me that. And I would like to think that I have done it. I have made every one of you on the train reflect on how you can possibly maximise the remaining time of your life. Fourteen minutes was just a random number. It could have been an hour. It could have been two days. It could have been three minutes. It would not have mattered anyway. Because most of you would still waste your life away until you know your time is up. I’m glad that some people managed to live life meaningfully in those fourteen minutes. To these people, I say I’m proud of you. To the rest of you who have failed, I believe my message is clear to you. You know what to do. There could be another Fred in future. So be prepared.

Fred Ong had been working as a train operator for five years. He’s survived by a wife and two children……” CNA News

Lee Hoon had finally regained her composure and began talking to Selena.

“I’m Lee Hoon. Thanks for your help…”

“It’s Selena,” the young girl replied.

“Thank you, Selena! I’m really glad that you are here with me. I was from STC as well.”

“Oh, which year did you graduate?” and so they went on chatting away.

Azmi picked up his phone and called his children one by one. He still spoke in his headmaster tone and instructed them what to do after his death. Rosnah took over the phone and told them to take care of themselves, working hard not to cry out.

“I really don’t want to die. I want my mummy!” Jean was crying out loud.

“Me too. I want to go home! Uncle, please help us get out from here! Please!” Raj wailed after that. Teck Meng was clueless. He had never really known how to talk to children, let alone two crying ones.

“Hey! Try this! Close your eyes and say, ‘I trust God to save me!’ Try it,” Teck Meng said. Even he was sure this was a pretty lame effort. But surprisingly, the two children obliged. They closed their eyes and mumbled, “I trust God to save me!”

Suddenly, people in the front were screaming again. The train was approaching Pretoria station – the terminal station. The end of the track was in sight. Almost everyone on the train was bracing themselves for the huge collision ahead. Teck Meng stood and shouted at all of them to pull their bodies close to the metal bars. At least, that was the best they could do now, he thought. Lee Hoon and Selena, Azmi and Rosnah, Teck Meng and the children, all of them cuddled at different spots of the last carriage.

“So this is it, my dearest folks! Have you spent your last fourteen minutes wisely? I bet you have, because I, a lunatic, have done so. Let’s end it here, shall we?” Fred’s haunting voice was loud and clear throughout the unusually quiet train.

you see, my wife and i had always wanted our little girl to quit being pacified by the pacifier just before sleeptime. as much as we tried, we just couldn’t get her to do it. but we did know that at her nanny’s place, Faith could sleep without the pacifier for she had bitten the teat into two pieces some months ago. so we thought we could do something to tarnish the reputation of the pacifier. one evening at bedtime, we told her that the pacifier was being bitten by a cockroach, a creature she very much fears. since then, she never sees or wants to see the pacifier.

are we guilty of misleading?

Lee Hoon, on the other hand, had her mind clouded with negative thoughts. She thought of how her husband would react to the tragic news that his family was gone. She could not believe that the young soul within her womb would not have the opportunity to live life, to see his parents, to know the beautiful world or now the ugly world. She could not stay composed. She appreciated the help from this STC schoolgirl, but remained confused to know what to do next.

Despite feeling gutted about not having the chance to build on the success of his own business and the booming economy, Teck Meng knew that his time was probably up. He uttered a prayer under his breath, thanking God for the blessings he had received, and how he should be joyful that he was going to meet Him soon. He pulled out the Bible from his briefcase and began reading it.

Azmi looked into Rosnah’s eyes and said that he was sorry to have neglected her. He said he loved her and asked her to forgive him. A tearful Rosnah responded by saying that she had never blamed him for anything he had done or failed to do. She said her love for him was unconditional and that there was no need for him to apologise. Both of them remained in each other’s embrace.

Raj and Jean walked over to Teck Meng as the train sped past Tangerine station.

“Uncle, may we borrow your phone? We want to call our parents. We want to tell them we love them…” Raj could not complete his sentence as his emotions overwhelmed him. Jean stuck out her hand. Her face completely washed out with tears. Teck Meng looked at the children and felt this inner sense of warmth glowing from them. He placed his phone on Jean’s palm and said, “You can keep it.” The two children sat beside him and started taking turns to call their parents. They were talking and crying at the same time.

Pandemonium began to rise within the whole train. Some people scrambled for the doors and tried to force them open. Others yelled away hopelessly. A couple of big men rushed to the front carriage and banged hard on the pilot cabin door. There were others who tried breaking the window glass with different hard objects. Phone calls were made again to the police and then to the other stations, notably Tangerine and Pretoria. Someone shouted into the phone, “Press the emergency stop button!”

“Are you going to spend your last moments on earth doing all these? Surely you are all in a better position than your dearest captain here that life is more precious than knocking on the doors and windows, or screaming at the top of your lungs, or calling for help! Do something more meaningful with your life now!” Fred boomed over the airwaves.

Lee Hoon’s anxiety had heightened. Selena was attempting to calm her down albeit she was on the verge of a breakdown herself. Azmi pulled Rosnah close. Teck Meng sat down too, looking calmer. Raj and Jean, who had just begun to know what was going on, were crying uncontrollably.

Strangely, these passengers in the last carriage had somehow resigned to the fate that they were going to die, unlike the others in the rest of the train.

“Time checked, 2.44 p.m. Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen! This is your train captain, Fred, who has the absolute pleasure of ferrying all you dearest passengers from station to station.”

Selena was jolted out of her sorrow. Teck Meng stopped reading his papers and was bemused by this short introduction. Azmi broke away from his daze and listened intently, while Rosnah was still deep in thoughts. Lee Hoon stopped talking to her baby and looked up. Raj and Jean looked curiously at each other. And the other passengers in the other carriages were all stunned at varying degrees.

“I know you are wondering why this sudden introduction. I mean, it was never done before, so I can understand how you feel now, perhaps. Anyway, I’ve got a surprise for all of you,” Fred said and paused.

Selena and Teck Meng looked at each other, silently asking each other what was going on. Rosnah turned and asked her husband what the train operator had said. Lee Hoon began to get flustered. Raj thought aloud, “A surprise? Are they going to give us a cake each?” Jean laughed with him.

“You see, I’ve always been wondering what I would do with my life if I know the exact time when I’m going to die,” Fred said and paused again.

Selena, Teck Meng and Azmi began standing up, all looking tensed suddenly. They peered into the front carriages. Many other passengers were also standing and looking ahead. Rosnah was still asking questions, while Lee Hoon started to take deep breaths. The two children stopped laughing as they observed what the adults were doing.

“And I also wonder what others will plan to do with their lives if they know the exact time of their demises,” Fred said calmly and paused.

Teck Meng began dialling ‘999’ like many others on the train. Selena noticed Lee Hoon and went up to offer her help. Azmi sat beside Rosnah and assured her with his touch. The children were still wondering what was going on. They could hear some passengers shouting from the other carriages. The train then passed Sinai station without stopping.

“Guess what? I know what I would do with my life, now that I know when I’m going to die. And I think I’m going to help you find your answers too…”

Sitting by the window, Selena stared at the passing images as the train moved along the track. She was not sure if life could go on well then. James was a jerk, but her feelings for him were strong. She remembered the first day she met him. She recalled how he had swept her off her feet with the flowers and the cards. And then, there was the first kiss – simple, yet sensational. Everything was beautiful…until she saw him moments earlier. There he was, standing at the platform and hugging another girl. He saw her. She glared at him, looking for his answer. All he gave her was a smirk on his face. Tears rolled down her cheeks and stained her school uniform. Could suicide be a solution? Her eyes still fixed on the images outside.

The future seemed bright. At least that was what the financial report was indicating in the Business Times. Teck Meng was sure that boom time in the market had arrived. He knew he could start flexing his muscles with his stocks and bonds in hand. He picked up his N95 and checked the latest status of his portfolios. Then, he made the call to his agent. Before coming on board the train, he had just clinched yet another deal for his insurance business. Everything was looking up for him. He smiled before turning his head to the right. Then, he saw a schoolgirl and her tears.

Azmi held Rosnah’s hand tightly as both of them were still grappling with the cold hard truth they had received. The doctor’s diagnosis confirmed their fear – she had breast cancer. Azmi’s sense of guilt had just deepened since. He should have spent more time with his wife the last couple of years. He should have been there for her. Linda’s voice was ringing in Rosnah’s ears, “It’s never too early to go for mammography screening, Rosnah.” She wanted to cry out loud, but strangely, she had no tears.

“I’m afraid we might have to remove your breast,” Dr Chan had said. Then, she heard the young man sitting next to her on the left saying, “Yes, Dixon! Sell them for me…all of them. Thanks!”

Lee Hoon’s hands cupped her huge tummy. She could feel him move from within. She had been smiling for a while now, and she didn’t think she could stop. Dennis had told her on the phone that he was returning home earlier than expected from Dubai. He said he missed her much and was really looking forward to seeing her. She wanted to rush home and cooked up a feast for him. She lowered her chin and looked at the bulge on her tummy, “Baby, Daddy’s coming home today. Mummy’s so happy. I’m sure you will be happy when you hear his voice later.” She felt so blessed by God as she pondered over her future. As she looked out of the train window to check her whereabouts, she couldn’t help noticing the glum look on the faces of the middle-aged Malay couple sitting on the opposite side.

Little Raj was playing with his classmate, Jean. They had just completed their remedial lessons with their P3 class, so they thought it was their right to play as much as possible to unwind and to forget about their work stress. Jean was trying to tag Raj and they were running in circles in the scarcely-populated carriage. They were screaming away, oblivious to their surroundings. Then Raj tripped and fell in front of a pregnant lady who promptly helped him up. Without thanking her, he quickly returned to his seat, blaming Jean at the same time for his fall.

this blog turns one today! and to mark this occasion, i’ve gathered a group of humble local writers over at “In Conversation“. how’s that for a celebration?

this blog will not be dead as a result. it will be much more alive!

A childish plaything
To those whose sense of bearing
Is impregnable

A shrewd lifesaver
For men at sea or airborne
In times of peril

A general term
Encompassing compassion
Regardless of use

Sitting on the bench
Staring into spaces
Jenny’s wrinkles
Display trains of thoughts
And experiences abound

A-ma! It’s time to go home!
Her grandchildren voice
Go away! I still want to admire this beauty!
She retorts

Char Kway Teow and Kopi-o
Nasi Lemak and Laksa
Surely food paradise here
Is better than
Heaven above

Chewing with the chopsticks
Gulping down the caffeine
Jenny’s appetite
Could’ve put Bourdain
To shame by miles

Ma! It’s time to go home!
Her children voice
Go away! I still want to taste God’s goodness!
She retorts

Teresa and Sok Hong
Fatimah and Ah-pek
Friends that loved
Neighbours that cared
Only memory remains

Standing at the doors
Looking down the lanes
Jenny’s busy mind
Constantly searching for
The distant recollections

Girl! It’s time to go home!
Her parents voice
Go away! I still want to reminiscent the past!
She retorts

The jade and the gold
The hanky and the panky
It would be difficult
For anyone
To grind them to pieces

Lying on the wooden bed
Tearing at counts of blessings
Jenny’s whole being
Is overwhelmed
With familiar emotions

Jenny! It’s time to go home!
Her husband voices
Yes, Dear! I am going home now.
She relents

The peace and comfort
The joy that lasts
Absolutely no one now
Could stop her
From going home

Closing the eyes
Shutting the breaths
Jenny’s soul
Is finally taken away
By her loved ones gone ahead

Towel over face
I shuddered
At the thought
Of facing me

I did not know
Which face
I should don
For yet another day

On the train
There they were
Faces
Different ones

The lady with mascara
The boy in spectacles
The man with pimples
The baby in deep sleep

Were they
Passing clouds?
Or just
Significant beings?

At the hospital
There they were too
Faces after faces
Very different ones

The doctor with looks
The old man in ICU
The nurse with boobs
The girl in ward 21

Were they
Passing clouds?
Or just
Significant beings?

Back in the closet
He told me again
Those faces I saw
Were masks un-unveiled

I told him
To go away
I did not want
To be swayed

He said he knew
I was desperate
To know
What lay beneath

I always wondered
Behind all the smiles
The sorrows, the angers
What would I see?

Tonight
He told me
To pick one
Again

A dilemma
I wanted to know
Yet
I didn’t want to hurt

Not the paramedic
He’s a nice guy
How could you
Let me choose him?

Mind’s in a whirl
Soul’s in a twirl
Heart’s in a swirl
Body’s in a……

His face was removed
I saw nothing
But flesh and blood
Like the other day

On the train
There they were
Faces
Different ones

The vixen with mascara
The nerd in spectacles
The dude with dimples
The elderly lady in deep sleep

Were they
Passing clouds?
Or just
Significant beings?

For yet another day
I had donned
The face
I did not know

I removed the towel
From my face
And stared
Into the mirror

The melted nose
And mouth
And the lidless eyes
- Gifts from heaven

The midnight news
Bore my face on screen
Hospital janitor
Wanted for murder

So day after day, she would religiously shower a great abundance of water and everlasting love, knowing the seed would grow into the fine tree Mum told her. Water from the canister and love from her lips.

Days turned to weeks; weeks turned to months; and months turned to years. And the seed never grew. Even before Mum passed on in bed that day, she told Holly not to give it up, and that the seed would grow into a fine tree. So she never once relented and kept on in faith what she had been doing over the years. Water from the canister and love from her lips. Years turned to decades; and decades turned to…well…not quite centuries yet. And the seed never grew.

One fine day, Holly came up to me and asked, “Do you believe what Mum had said?” In all honesty, I never once believed, not just because Mum was a great liar, but also, she was a greater mother who would give anything to ensure that my down syndrome sister feel important and useful in this world. “Your purpose in life is to keep that seed growing,” she told Holly.

I looked at her and saw Mum’s image on her wrinkled skin. Seventy years. She had showered the seed with water from the canister and love from her lips for seventy years. Could I just squash her hope with the cold hard truth?

“Yes,” I struggled in uttering that word. She smiled and held my hand, saying, “Me too.”

It was morning when I said, “Take me there.” Holly pushed me to the very spot where she had spent seven decades kneeling and watering. I told her I had a surprise for her and that she had to close her eyes. She giggled and closed her eyes behind those thick glasses. I prayed silently, “God, help me.” I told her to open her eyes which she did almost immediately.

“Look at the tree in front of us. Mum’s right. The seed has grown into a fine tree,” I said, as we both stared at God’s wonderful creation in awe, admiring the beauty in all its glory. I held my sister’s hand tight and breathed my last breath……and Holly lived with her wood happily ever after.

Run

I want to run, run away,
from the light of the shadows
to the shadows of the light.
The world I’m running towards
is the world the world is shunning.
From the lowest rung of this ground,
I long to climb to the highest tier of that.
Don’t mourn my loss,
for it’s a gain to both you and me.
When you open your eyes,
you shut the doors left open.
See that you keep looking up,
so that you stop looking down.
This may be a farewell for now,
but it’s only for a little while.
Before the weight collapses
And the collapse weighs
Just let me run, run away.

You might want to say something here.

What was it that I truly coveted? Would I have made a wiser choice? Was it a mistake? Turning back time would be an abysmal justification. I might possibly pick the identical course. Yes, I could do it.

Nairobi? Canterbury? Lima? Osaka? Geylang?

If only. If only I could envisage the apocalyptic day of reckoning. Making up my paltry mind would have been a cinch. Or would it?

How much time did I take? 14? 23?

Come to think of it, it didn’t matter where, when, why and how. It was who – you.

It could have been worse, I know.

and happy wedding anniversary to the two of us!

Like any ordinary Singaporean, we were skeptical about this. Was this man trying to hoodwink us into something scheming? Why was he so nice to us? He didn’t really push it, but I thanked him and went along with it. He used his card to buy us two tickets at $10. We thanked him again and looked at each other, still questioning his motive.

Minutes later, we met him at the food court. I thanked him again and told him honestly that we were doubting him. He said there were others who did not believe him and refused his offer. I told him perhaps this is a “Singaporean” thing – we are not nice to people and we don’t believe that people can be nice. As I reflect on this incident, I feel ashamed when I think of times when I choose not to be nice to people, and worse still, I doubt people who are nice. The scant consolation could be that there are probably others out there who behave like me.

Well, I have been nice to people the last few years, but believing in people who are nice is something I’m still learning to do. Anyway, I offered to buy Fred (he told me later) a cup of tea. He accepted my offer, but had to rush off for his movie. It was a pity that I could not get hold of his number, for I think he really is a nice guy.

Anyway, “Bee Movie” is strictly not suitable for young children because most of them will probably not understand the jokes in the show. My two-and-a-half-year-old daughter said she enjoyed the show. I believed her. And I think she is falling sick. Have to observe her closely.

After passing my exam papers, I’m left with one more next week. Then, I will embark on a new journey.

My pupils’ PSLE results will be released tomorrow. I’m excited, and I believe my pupils’ feelings and emotions are stronger. Keeping all our fingers crossed.

By the way, I’ve finally got my hands on “A Half Life of One” by brilliant Bill, and he is a nice bloke. Looking forward to devouring his words this December.

1. Link to the person’s blog who tagged you.
2. Post these rules on your blog.
3. List seven random and/or weird facts about yourself.
4. Tag seven random [?] people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs.
5. Let each person know that they have been tagged by posting a comment on their blog.

i’m not one who knows oneself very well, but i’m giving it a go anyway:

a. i don’t brush my teeth after a night’s sleep in the morning. i rinse my mouth, eat my breakfast, then brush my teeth.
b. i will put on my left sock before putting on the right one. but sometimes, i will put on my left shoe after putting on my left sock, before i put on my right sock and shoe.
c. i doodled a lot whenever i attended lessons, workshops, seminars, etc. i must say i could draw some decent comics.
d. i use my left ear during phone calls.
e. unlike many professional football players, i can play football very well with both feet. unlike beckham or giggs, i can bend the football round a wall pretty well with both feet.
f. i can use the mouse with any of my hands.
g. i’m a right-hander.

i shall hand over the baton to the following folks:

*hideKraM
*Louis
*Marie
*Bonnie
*Wilf
*puresunshine
*Seamus

have fun!

Jason Evans‘ “Restless Dawn” short fiction contest will close soon over at Clarity of Night. If you are still keen in it, do hurry a bit. I’ve sent in my entry. Do take a look here and give me your priceless comments. I want to improve as a writer, so hearing people out will be useful.

As I enter into my last weeks of the work year, I still have tasks to be completed. Trying to stay afloat in the pool of things in this transitional period. Like I have hinted before, I’m slowly but most definitely moving on to something entirely different in 2008. Very excited about it and will talk about it when the time comes.

before i give this award to another five bloggers, i have to think of three things that are necessary to make writing good and powerful. here they are:

1. the ability to hook - there are writers who are capable of using the right words and arranging them in the right order in the right structure to generate in readers an addiction.

2. imagery skill - there are those who are so good at creating images with words that it makes you wonder if they already knew how to write when they were still in their mothers’ wombs.

3. the ‘wow’ factor - then there are people who, through their words and stories, just simply ‘wow’ you. it’s like the moment you start reading, you ‘wow’. halfway through your reading, you ‘wow’. at the end of the reading, you ‘wow’. as you think about what you have read, you just ‘wow’, ‘wow’ and ‘wow’.

now, may i present the Roar For Powerful Words award to the following folks, not in order of merit:

* Charlieboy
* Suzan Abrams
* Jason Evans
* Jamaican Dawta
* Gautami Tripathy

congratulations, friends! you can collect your awards here.

meanwhile, i’ve just passed my third exam in less than two weeks. three more to go.

and this blog will turn one in december. any idea how i can celebrate with you here?

I was just sitting there alone, staring out into the darkness, while everybody else was busy catching up with relatives and old pals from work or school. It was supposed to be a time of mourning, but at the superficial level, people here seemed to be having a whale of their time. From smiles to laughter; from tears of sorrow to tears of joy; from condolences to jokes. This funeral wake was slowly but surely turning into a farce.

Granny whom I so dearly loved was called home to be with the Lord just days before that. Perhaps, it was really the right time for Him to summon her after watching her, for quite a while, succumbing to the worst disease anyone could ever suffer on earth – dementia.

Just the other day, she looked into my eyes and said I really resembled Elmo. Then she woke up one morning and called Pa Ma, both of whom were rather bemused. She went on singing “…she’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes…” throughout that day. Of course, nothing beats that time when she hugged our neighbour, Mr Ong, and said, “I love you!” Apparently, she saw my late Grandpa in our flabbergasted mister handsome.

So, the day must come. She called all of us into the room and insisted that we sat down together with her to have a round of mahjong. We were baffled. She had never played the game before. The closest she had come to the game was those times she spent sitting by my Grandpa’s side while he played. Anyway, we obliged and Pa sat on my right while Ma sat on my left. Granny, who sat at the opposite end, rolled the dice. What happened the next half an hour or so was rather amusing. Granny did not know the rules of mahjong, but she went on telling us how to play the game, her own way. The three of us who could be considered mahjong veterans just tagged along. It was rather fun, except that we never got to win the game. Granny did all the winning, based on her own rules, of course.

Just when we were cheering for Granny for winning the fourteenth consecutive time, she let out a chortle and collapsed onto the floor, hands clutching her chest. We scrambled to our feet and rushed towards her. She never woke up after that.

I could hear the distinct sound of the mahjong tiles on the table not far from me. I looked up and saw Pa with a stick in his mouth talking loudly. He said he was going to win the next game boastfully. His three friends at the table laughed with him as they arranged the tiles neatly before themselves. Pa rolled the dice and another game began. Surprisingly, Ma was not there to watch or play along. She was sitting at the far end with her group of tai-tais. They were speaking very softly to each other, obviously building up their gossip prowess again. I could have joined Pa or Ma, but I had no mood. It wasn’t that I felt terribly sad to lose Granny. Yes, I loved her and I missed her, but I didn’t really feel devastated seeing her gone forever. Not when she kept calling me Nemo in her last days. I just felt that I should give her my utmost respect as a grandson. I might not be crying, but my heart wept bitterly on behalf of Granny. She must be crestfallen to see her son and daughter-in-law enjoying themselves with their companions at the wake.

I stood and ambled towards Granny’s coffin. Through the glass panel, I looked at her sullen face, much aged with wrinkles and faint red spots. She looked calm, and that soothed my heart somewhat. As I was about to walk away, I saw Granny smiling. I was stunned for a moment. My heart skipped a beat. I placed my face nearer to the glass panel and observed. No, there was no smile. Ha, I must be dreaming. I straightened up to get ready to go back home to rest a bit.

Just as I was about to leave the wake, I could hear another set of mahjong tiles being shuffled on the table behind the wall next to Granny’s coffin. Ma must have initiated another round of mahjong with her tai-tais, but why would she want to play the game so close to the coffin?

As I walked towards Ma on the other side of the wall, I could feel a little chill. This weather was getting on my nerves. Hot for five minutes, cold for fifty minutes; and this cycle went on and on. Then, the mahjong table and the group of players came into sight. But what I saw next got me standing there, rooted to the ground. Granny was sitting right there at the far side of the table with three other players. They were all rearranging the mahjong tiles, almost ready to start the game. Granny looked up and our eyes met. There was this strange sense of homeliness and alienation going round in me. I simply did not know what to do next. The moment of silence was interrupted abruptly when Granny opened her mouth and said, “Nemo, come and join us!” Well, she might have died, and her spirit might be haunting me now, but surely her state of dementia remained. I would never ever forget what I was about to see next. As soon as Granny finished talking with the smile I had seen earlier at her coffin, her three mahjong ‘pals’ at the table turned to face me, and none of them had a face.

That totally freaked me out, so I yelled as loud as I could and took off. Pa and Ma might have seen their son running in countless sprint races in school, winning each and every one of them. But I bet they had never seen me run that fast, as I disappeared from the funeral vicinity in under five seconds. They found me some twenty minutes later behind a trash bin on the floor just outside a 7-eleven store, arms over legs, the whole body shaking violently with a trail of white foam from the mouth. I swear that wasn’t vomit.

Guess what? I told Pa and Ma, in the presence of many concerned relatives, about what I had seen earlier when I was finally resting comfortably in my bed. And guess what again? They all laughed out heartily and said I needed a rest. I could not believe them, especially my folks. After watching how I had broken into a canter just an hour earlier and finding me next to a bin in a contorted state, they could actually trivialise my story!

“You sleep tight here, Sumo Lee! I’m going back down there to carry on my winning streak,” Pa said. Every one of them started streaming out of the room one by one, all appeared indifferent. I could hear Ma say, “I don’t think Sumo is taking Mum’s death too well.”

I close my eyes and feel a tinge of disgust. How can they doubt me? But I am too tired and too kind to hold any resentment now. My drooping eyelids are about to shut when I hear someone say, “Nemo, come join us in the living room here. We are short of one player.”

they don’t know at all
they don’t know what they don’t know
they don’t know what they know even
they don’t know what they want to know
they don’t know what they don’t want to know
they simply don’t know

don’t tell them
don’t tell them at all
simply, don’t tell them

you know what i’m telling you
don’t you?

“what say you, weakling?” he thundered. my heart, chewing the tuna nonchalantly, sniffed the air.

“you smell that? that’s the scent of victory! liverpool shall clobber the gunners 3-0.” and he continued munching his fruits.

“absolutely ghastly! you must be mad! look at the statistics and form book! arsenal are going to triumph 3-0! football is played with brains, not brawn!” my head roared.

“i beg to differ, my lord. football is played with hearts, not heads,” my heart ended with a sneer.

the day after was stranger, ‘cos the heart fondled no more than it was supposed to be. blue ought to be the colour, but no, it did not turn up.

and the day after was perhaps the strangest, ‘cos the inkling and the tinkling wooed me a wee bit, and i could feel the presence of the positive and the negative blue. perplexed i may sound now, but the fault is not mine. blame only blue.

yeah…blame only blue. period.

this simple tale has an impact on me. what and how, i can’t describe.

It’s difficult to give out this award, ‘cos there are many friends I have here in the blogosphere who are sweet. Can I take the easy way out? The fact that you spend time here reading my blog makes you sweet. So take the badge and put it up on your blog, ‘cos you are just……sweet!

To that,
perhaps amen.

15 October 2007

Submitted by: Ablet Gorre

Dr Willknow put the paper down next to the report. He brought his right hand to his chin and twiddled his goatee with his thumb and index finger.

“I guess some truths are too painful to be spoken, and writing is a form of therapy,” Dr Willknow replied. He picked up the report and read it for the umpteenth time. A minute later, he smiled as he began to see the connections he was reading:

Ablet Gorre, long before his well-reported breakdown, was possibly the first politician to grasp the significance of climate change and to call for a reduction in emissions of carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gases. He was a firm believer that Planet Earth’s downhill glide as a result of constant human violation could be stopped if all Human Beings unite in efforts……

3 words from canterbury soul to all human beings on planet earth:

LESS IS MORE

second, facebook is my current squeeze. networking is key here.

third, just started to try out “world in conflict“. again, networking is the agenda.

fourth, a writing competition for my 12-year-olds is on the way. plan to approach some writers here in the blogosphere to be the judges.

fifth, just got involved with “blog action day!”. will post something on 15 about the environment. and yes, writing will resume after that.

I don’t doubt the fact that some nice people around me are nice to me; Miss Verilion being one. But I was nicely taken aback when I saw my nice name being nicely mentioned for one nice reason – being a nice guy who is “just always so nice”. Some of you might nicely think that this is not nicely important. But to me, it is a nice huge encouragement and a nice pat on the back. I never consider myself nice for I nicely know that I can be short-tempered and impatient; two traits I don’t consider nice. So, nicely put, I thank you, Miss Verilion!

It would be a nice disgrace to the nice award if I don’t pass on this award to some nice people around. I would gladly hand this nice award back to Miss Verilion if she hadn’t received it from someone, for she has always been nice to me here.

First up, Miss Vanilla, someone whose positive feedback and constant encouragement never fail to inspire me.

Then, I have Miss Vesper whose niceness can be beyond description at times. And the fact that she is a nice mother makes her extra nice.

Mr Jason Evans is a gentleman who deserves this award. He has been nice enough to hold writing competitions for writers from all walks of life. He has been nice enough to dish out awards and prizes to writers from all walks of life. He has been nice enough to encourage budding writers like me.

I also have two local lads in mind. Mr Louis Loo, my ex-student, has come of age as a young man. He has been a nice pal who was nice enough to spend his time with me and my little one the other evening. And he’s a Liverpool fan too. That is nice.

Miss Joyce Yap whom I met just recently is a young aspiring nice musician who is nice in her own way. Being nicely forthright, nicely honest without inhibition and nicely friendly, she so nicely deserves this award.

Ok, time out for a nice while.

Solution to yesterday’s question is ready. Check it out.

So this is it. One more day to the real exams. And one more problem to solve.

Sam bought 3 times as many toy soldiers as dolls. He spent $1972 altogether. A doll cost $10 more than a toy soldier. The total cost of toy soldiers was $476 more than the total cost of dolls. Find the cost of a doll.

P5 & P6 is 25
P4 & P5 is 16
P4 & P6 is 15

Total number of entries is (25 + 16 + 15)/2 = 28

Room for another problem?

Clement and Victor were out for a cycling trip. Clement ran into a tree, damaging his bicycle. They were 16 km from home. They decided that Clement would walk first and Victor would cycle. After sometime, Victor would leave his bicycle on the road and continue walking home, so that Clement would reach the bicycle and continue to cycle home. Clement walked at 4km/h and cycled at 10 km/h, while Victor walked at 5 km/h and cycled at 12 km/h. For what length of time should Victor cycle if they were both to arrive home at the same time?

Today’s question:

In a writing competition, there were 25 entries from Primary Five and Primary Six. The rest were from Primary Four. If 16 entries were not from Primary Six and 15 entries were not from Primary Five, how many entries were there altogether?

There are 600 children in Group A and 30% of them are boys.
There are 400 children in Group B and 60% of them are boys.
After some children are transferred from Group B to Group A, 40% of the children in Group A and 60% of the children in Group B are boys.
How many children are transferred from Group B to Group A?

Time the commander
Takes charge of his prospect
Diverting route of progress
With ambitious navigation
That leads to the Promised Land

I woke up this morning, thinking that it was just going to be another day. In fact, the mornings of the last eight years had always been extra ordinary. I could not imagine anything that is more ordinary than my mornings, and I don’t wish to talk about it now.

I just want to bask in the glory of Daddy’s beautiful eyes. It really has been a long time since he looked at me in the eyes. His dark pupils spoke volumes; his long eyelashes curled gracefully; and his soulful eyes warmed my heart. I’m really so happy that he looked at me!

Then, he told me that he was sorry to have treated me that way. He said he regretted saying I was the reason Mummy left him – something which I still don’t understand. Daddy is a man of few words, so he stopped talking after that and walked away.

My heart was still rejoicing when Daddy came back to me with some ointment. He looked at me again and pondered for a moment. His dark pupils spoke volumes; his long eyelashes curled gracefully; and his soulful eyes warmed my heart. I’m really so happy that he looked at me! Then he applied some ointment on the various dark spots all over my body. I can’t remember how these spots came about, but Daddy said that he gave them to me because he loves me. I was on cloud nine when he said that. I felt the pain everytime Daddy rubbed the ointment on the dark spots, but I could feel the tenderness in his hand.

Daddy walked away again. I was already beaming. Maybe tomorrow’s morning will no longer be ordinary anymore. Then, he came back to me and looked at me in the eyes. His dark pupils spoke volumes; his long eyelashes curled gracefully; and his soulful eyes warmed my heart. I’m really so happy that he looked at me! You can never believe what happened next! Daddy took off my clothes and put on a new dress for me! He actually bought me a new dress! This time, I really could not contain myself. I just laughed. I felt beautiful!

Then, Daddy held my hand and led me out of my house! This was the first time I was out of my house! And it was really bright out there! I looked all around me and was nervous yet excited about seeing so many new things. I could not make sense of anything, but I was happy that Daddy was taking me out.

We walked some distance away from our house before coming to a small black chair lying on the ground next to what Daddy called a lamppost. Daddy put the chair up properly and told me to sit on it. I did as told. My heart was pounding fast. Then, he looked at me again! His dark pupils spoke volumes; his long eyelashes curled gracefully; and his soulful eyes warmed my heart. I’m really so happy that he looked at me! He told me to sit there and wait. I did as told. Then, he walked away again.

I saw Daddy walking some distance away before disappearing. I looked around me. I did not know what I was looking at, but I was still very happy. Happy that Daddy has finally looked at me today! Four times he did it!

I’m in a good mood today!

*******************************************************************

Daddy has finally looked at me today!
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God, what time do you think is Daddy coming back?
*
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Daddy has finally looked at me today!
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Is that a moon up there?

1. I have lots of ideas for writing. And these ideas are conceived at different times of my daily lives. I could be eating; I could be watching tv; I could be walking down the stairs; I could be showering; I could be driving; I could be sleeping; I could be working; etc. So I do have a pretty cool number of ideas in my bank. I just need the right time to start expanding these ideas.

2. I write what I want to write, and that is my writing principle. Pleasing someone with my writing or garnering votes for my writing is never on my agenda for writing. Albeit I do wish that my writing pieces could be recognised in competitions, I’ll never compromise my writing principle.

3. Behind me and all my writings, I have a very strong support - my wife. Though she only knew about my writings just months ago, she never fails to encourage me to keep pursuing what i’m looking for in writing.

4. I’m able to contribute to the works of my students in class. Being an English teacher and part-time writer, I can use what I learn and know about writing to coach and guide my students in their writing development. And as I go through the teaching process, I improve as a writer too.

5. I believe that through my writings, I offer other writers a very different perspective of things and of life and of writing. This, I know, is important to all writers.

now, i shall pass the meme baton to Maht, Vanilla, Marie, Nothingman and Debi .

Parched under heat
Flaking in layers
Rough gradient
Sore loser

Chilly fever
Smooth slope
Luscious in bite
Lemonade drip by drip

Soothed
Ice age throttled

I stepped out of the room and unrolled the scroll.

The Great Wealth Recipe

The haima of cockerel
On the countenance of slumber
Is like a Mona Lisa
To the imp of prosperity

Fortitude is the key
In the wait of the ghoul
For the juice shall be savoured
And the glorious riches shall be served

I smiled.

Nah! Take a closer look. It’s not a bitch.

I said it’s a dog, not a bitch.

To think that you attended primary school. Bitches are dogs, but not all dogs are bitches.

It’s a dog, right?

Come on, look carefully. It’s a cat, for Pete’s sake!

A cat?

Yeah.

You are lying.

No, I’m not!

Prove it!

Alright, here’s the deal. If I can prove that that is a cat, we’ll eat out tonight.

You know I don’t like eating out.

I know what you don’t like! Is it a deal?

OK! But if that animal is a dog, I’ll blow you tonight.

That’s ghastly! How could you even think of that?

A deal?

A deal.

Show me.

Arrrrr……argf…argf…argf…ARGF!

What are you doing?

I’m barking. If that’s a dog, it’ll come to us. Arrrrr……argf…argf…argf…ARGF!

It’s not coming.

That’s because it is not a dog. It’s a cat! Let me show you. Meee……meow…meow…meow…MEOW!

So you are pretending to be a cat.

I’m not pretending. I’m just mimicking a cat call. Meee……meow…meow…meow…MEOW!

It’s not coming either.

That’s strange.

Hey, look at that! It’s jumping! And it’s…

…flying! I can’t believe this! It’s actually flying!

I don’t mean to be rude, Mr Setag, but I think you’ve got it wrong here. I think that’s a bird!

You know what. I have to agree with you, Mr Setag. It indeed is a bird.

It’s a good thing, isn’t it? Can’t imagine I have to go eating from the trash in the next street. You know I prefer feeding from the rubbish here in our home base.

Yeah. I can’t imagine you blowing my hair straight. You need a hairdryer to do that. And you know I like my messy hair. Like my idol Bob Marley.

Mr Setag laughed. And he laughed again.

From a distance, Dr Willknow finished writing his last sentence after watching Mr Setag for the last half an hour. He was satisfied with the progress his patient had made since his release from the asylum. He picked up his briefcase and walked away from the garbage dump.

With one swing of the machete, Alice removed Dodo’s head from his body.

Alice: Oops! I’m sorry. Aren’t you the king, Your Majesty? Thought you really wanted to do it. But guess it was too much for you. Just have to bear the burden for you.

And that was the last Dodo to have existed on Earth. Bless his soul.

Then, everything stood still, and I opened my eyes. I stared at the ceiling. The sun had already brightened the room. I wished the dream hadn’t ended.

It was another day, and I still hadn’t got a clue how I should live it, just like all other days. I got off the bed and went to the washroom. I sat there, refusing to think about anything. No, I was still thinking about you. The same question came back to haunt me. How could all these happen to you? For the first time in weeks, there were no tears at the thought of it.

I picked up a piece of bread, laid a slice of cheese on it, and began chewing the food. I missed seeing you at the dining table, swallowing your breakfast. Then, I stepped into the kitchen, like all other days. I had decided to keep my faith and start preparing the soup you so loved. Carrots, peas, potatoes and chicken with some leek. It was easy to cook this, and it was never a challenge feeding you with this. I packed the soup and told myself that you would come round to drink it. I got dressed and left the house.

I saw many faces along the way. Behind each face was a tale waiting to be told, I always believed. And I was pretty sure that someone out there could be suffering a similar fate you were in. Not that it would be much of a consolation.

I stood at the door that was left open. I didn’t want to imagine who was with you now.

If I saw the doctor, I would be afraid that he might give me the anticipated tragic news. I was already hit quite badly, and I couldn’t imagine the collapse I’d probably come to when I heard it.

If I saw him, I would be afraid that I would lose control. I would wail like I did the other day and run to him for comfort and reasons to all these. I would put more pressure on him who had never really recovered since the day you were admitted.

I wished I could be alone with you now. But I knew I had to enter the room.

I pushed the door, and I saw you. It was the same you, the same darling to my soul. I really didn’t find you any different from the times we had had together. Yes, you had these multiple number of tubes inserted into various parts of your body. Yes, you had these equipment and machines attached to your body. Yes, you had this set of swollen limbs. Yes, your eyes were shut and your chest rose rapidly with each breath. Yes, you were lying so still that one could mistake you as dead. But, you were still you, the darling to my soul.

Damn it! The same question came back to haunt me. How could all these happen to you? Waves of sorrow were surmounted by my faceless head. Don’t make me feel numb, please. I would rather cry out loud. Why was it that I was not reacting emotionally?

I took a step closer to you, wanting to touch your skin. I wanted to give you warmth, and felt yours at the same time.

Then, I saw him, sprawled on the floor motionless. This was the fourth time. Without much anxiety strangely, I pressed the button.

Now, I knew how I should live my day.

there are two options at the moment, and they are waiting for both to arrive. one, they are bringing in a left ventricular assist device (LVAD) to be inplanted near the heart. this device will help the heart function on its own. this, according to the docs, is just a temporary measure. it is just a bridge to a transplant. in U.S., 6 people had gone through this option. 3 of them had died, and another 3 had gone on to a heart transplant. the second option is a heart transplant. Jordan is waiting for a heart donor. a heart transplant has never happened in Singapore because there are no heart donors so far.

so, the best thing to happen now is that Jordan’s heart will heal on its own. and that, according to the docs, might not happen. other older children had a similar heart problem, but they had gone on to recover within 2 weeks. and Jordan is the first one not to have shown signs of recovery after so long and he is the youngest patient to suffer from this heart condition. at the moment, there are and will be other complications. but the doctors’ primary concern is his heart.

without a doubt, Jordan needs a miracle. he needs another matching heart or he needs his own heart to recover. i believe there’s nothing we can do now but to continue to pray for him.

me: i’ve sinned again.

devil: the only way to rid your transgression is to rid you. give you to me!

me: really?

angel: no! the only way to rid your transgression is to rid God.

me: so there’s nothing in this world that can be labelled as sin? and no guilt?

devil: right!

three of us laugh.

“Boom!”

devil is exterminated once and for all. angel is thrown from the heavens to hell. me? i’m to continue to suffer the consequences of my transgression on earth.

i’ll be visiting the boy later.

How could you doubt me?
Had I not done enough?
I have always believed,
I have never stopped trying.
So, I thought you were with me,
I assumed you would work for it.
How wrong, how naïve,
How disillusioned I have been.
Don’t blame me,
I’m just trying to make things right.
Please forgive me,
I’ll make it all up to you.
I wish this have never happened,
I hope this will stop pretty soon.
I’m doing it not quite
In the name of the Trinity,
But in the name of our love –
Something which I know you still have.

Look into my eyes.
You know I love you.

prosperity - Singapore has prospered since her beginning. not taking it for granted, i hope this will continue for years to come.

the boy hasn’t stopped fighting. so, we will not.

my N.I.E. days - i kind of sailed through the studies. so, pretty forgettable. it was the activities i went through with my friends that have lasting impression. tennis, discos, playing in the band, camping, movies, coffee hangout, cycling, etc.

colleagues – there is no ‘i’ in the word ‘team’.

it has been a traumatic experience for both parents who have an elder daughter. friends and colleagues who had visited them were often brought to tears. as parents ourselves, we should understand their feelings, though not completely. haven’t visited them in person and don’t intend to. though we are quite close, not sure if we would know what to say if we are there. heard that they need some financial help, so without hesitation, we gave it to them. we are all praying that the young boy will continue to fight.

knowing what the boy has been going through moved me much. but i was never close to tears. then i heard that the father was more affected than the mother. and the reason made me cry – the boy, in his unstable condition, apparently uttered, “Daddy!”

mental ability - i’m not enstein, but at least i can still educate children, write sensibly and do things that require some basic intelligence.

and i’m not taking the above-mentioned for granted.

the can opener - a very powerful invention for the kitchen.

I seek seclusion
In the middle of all these
Hurly-burly verve

Yet hanker for succour
Amid the hubbub that broke
Out from the nameless

Call for desperate
Measures could not have arrived
More timely than now

English – used to be an average subject, but it turned out to be my passion and profession.

it had been a symbol of my childhood
it had seen a great deal of actions
it had gone through rain or shine
it had come of age in colours

it did not flinch in anxiety
it did not waver in doubt
it just sat there silently
it just waited patiently

then they came
the scissors
they cut
it’s off

poor
me

Earth - arguably the most important planet in the solar system.

toys - what is childhood without them?

wordpress – for giving me this chance to continue blogging.

after watching Jason Bourne‘s first two stories, The Bourne Identity and The Bourne Supremacy, in 2002 and 2004 respectively, we had to catch only one movie this time round – The Bourne Ultimatum.

we are not suckers for sequels. in fact, we know that most sequels are badly done. but we both enjoyed Matt Damon‘s portrayal of an amnesiac killer thoroughly in the first two movies, and somehow had ‘fallen in love’ with this character and his story. we could have waited for the release of the dvd, but watching an action movie on a cinema screen is really different, as some of you might agree.

the result? this is probably the best Bourne movie thus far.

i used to like James Bond when i was a kid – i was impressed by the gadgets, the ladies and the suave and good looks of agent 007. but after a series of bad Bond movies the last ten years (i suspect a certain Mr Brosnan is to be blamed), i know i’ll never be foolish enough to fall for Mr Bond and his stories again. Comparing Bond with Bourne is a complete insult to the latter. Bourne is THE SPY!

for those of you who are familiar with Jason Bourne’s story, you would agree that he’s a much more likeable protagonist than 007. Bourne is more human than Bond. he gets hurt, he suffers much, he has emotions and he has feelings. Bond? nah. for those who are not in the know, here goes:

The Bourne Identity - Jason Bourne was a superspy sent to assassinate this African political figure. but he failed his mission and was shot before falling into the sea. he woke up and realised he couldn’t remember anything about himself. but he could still know how to fight and behave like a superspy. his nasty bosses tracked him down and wanted to terminate him. he ended up with a German girl somewhere in Greece after escaping from all the dangers.

The Bourne Supremacy - Jason was still having nightmares of who he really was. apparently he and his girlfriend had moved to India. but sadly, his nasty bosses were still after him. they got one guy to hunt him down. the killer failed, but not before he killed Jason’s girl. so Jason went all out to find out who he was and who the bad guys were. like the first movie, he managed to avoid being killed.

so now, The Bourne Ultimatum - Jason was set to track the real mastermind behind who he was and what he had been trained for. he……go watch it yourself.

what’s so good about the third one then? the fight scenes and the car-chasing and running sequences are all deliberately done with much choppiness. it might look confusing on screen, but i think there’s a sense of realism here. these intentional action sequences make the story so real, so personal. it’s like you can almost feel the pain when Bourne gets hit or when the car flips violently while he holds onto the seatbelt. though some would find it incredible that he can survive all these with relative ease.

this movie isn’t just about actions. you can see how intelligent people are here, especially Bourne. in fact he’s super intelligent. his quick thinking and instant solutions make you wonder why bother sending our kids to school – we should send them to NSA instead. there’s also the constant emotional struggle that Bourne faces. despite his invincibility, he’s not a happy man. he’s someone who’s confused and you can almost cry with him at times because you know his plight, empathise with him and hope that things would turn out well for him.

by the time the story folds at the end, you have this feeling that Jason Bourne could be a real person in this world. credit must go to the entire cast and crew of the movie, especially Paul Greengrass, whose directing blends in well with his storytelling, and Matt Damon, whose eyes and expressions speak much for the tortured soul of his character. for the record, Damon comes out tops in a Forbes list of the most bankable Hollywood actors. i think he’s been underrated for a while now. i’m happy for him.

and of course, there’s this classic Bourne movie track, Extreme Ways by Moby.

i’m a wee bit messy in my ranting here, but my ultimate point is that the Bourne movies are definitely way more meaningful than the Bond movies. go watch Jason then.

am i making sense? time for bed.

friends – for obvious reasons, i should mention ‘friends’. thank you my friends!

shakespeare – for giving me reasons to study ‘Macbeth’ at ‘O’ levels.

my washing machine - for allowing me to become more lazy.

the internet - need i explain this?

my soul - He sowed it and allowed it to grow in mind, spirit, body and strength.

this pain
you have engraved
in my heart

telling me earlier
would not have
lessened it

it cuts across
like nails on a blackboard
and it pierces deep
like a pencil thrust into an ear

teeth into skin
hands into boiling oil
a chopper into fingers
a dagger into throat

blood
would have soothed this pain
for it could mask it

but
how you have punished me
with this silent killer

i could only wish
that someone would end
this pain
i could only hope
that someone would end
this you

look again

my digital camera - the Fujifilm Z5 has been a very capable compact cam for an amateur like me.

my fingers - they have been serving me faithfully since my birth. i don’t think i can ever thank them enough.

My head says the new players will take time to gel, and maybe they will take a season or two to finally take the title that has eluded the club since 1990. My heart, of course, will hope that the drought will end come May 2008.

And it is my personal belief that Liverpool’s first seven games will define their league season this time round. That’s 21 points – the number of points they were behind the champions last season. They had always been slow starters the last couple of seasons and in each of those seasons they finished some points off the eventual champions. Jamie Carragher had said that they could not afford to start slowly last season, and the team ended up doing exactly that.

This season, if they want to improve, they will have to start strong. It is heartening to hear that Rafa has actually set a 60-goal target for his four strikers – Torres, Crouch, Kuyt and Voronin. At least we now know that he is thinking of playing attacking football this term.

I really wish that the players will live up to expectations and push Man Utd and Chelsea all the way to the end.

Players to look out for this season: Gerrard, Torres, Babel, Mascherano, Leiva

So, the first game? Liverpool 2 Aston Villa 0.

Fiji – my little miniature Maltese who has always been faithful.

Football Manager - i’m not a gamer. but i do play one PC game – Football Manager (formerly known as Championship Manager). non-football fans will never understand how much i have learned from playing this game since 1997.

Ford Focus - my current family ride. safe handling and a relatively smoother ride than most japanese makes. 8 out of 10.

every year, Singapore celebrates National Day with one theme song and one parade. This year, we celebrated with two theme songs and one parade. of the two, ‘There’s No Place I’d Rather Be‘ and ‘Will You‘, i prefer the former. the words are pretty meaningful and the melody is a typical soulful ballad, all thanks to local musician Jimmy Ye. Kit Chan, our local songbird, sings the ballad with her usual strong vocals that can be emotive at times. what do you think?

over the next few days, i’ll have a few more past years’ National Day theme songs for you to digest and learn more about our people here.

football - about the most beautiful team sports in the world (though some would disagree).

and sometimes, i shudder when i think of the kind of world she’s going to live in for the good part of her entire life. mad cow disease, SARS, dengue fever, H5N1, global warming and its effects, terrorism, etc. my word…..my girl needs to be strong!

i was at the supermarket with my family buying some groceries. as usual, it was packed with people from all walks of life. and like what we have been doing for the last few years, we brought along our own reusable bags as part of our own effort in being environment-friendly. but as i observed the people in the queues at the cashiers’, almost all of them had no reusable bags, ie, they left the supermarket with more plastic bags. some of them even requested for extra bags to contain their ‘heavy’ items. despite the less plastic bag campaign and its awareness programme, people are just not doing it!

i have been telling my kids in school that the effects of climate change (and global warming) are real, and they all agree. i tell them that they have to help to raise this awareness wherever they go. but i wonder how many parents and relatives actually listen to my kids and treat what they say seriously.

i was watching a little of saving gaia on CNA the other day, and was appalled by the type of pollutants present in the polluted air in Jakarta. how can we let this continue to happen?!! people are dying a slow and painful death there! and i know this isn’t just happening in Indonesia.

really, the threats are there for all to see. but people in Singapore here are just not doing enough to suggest that they care about the environment or the world for that matter. maybe because we don’t really feel the impact in a big way yet. do people really have to learn their lessons the hard and harsh way?

as Singapore and her people celebrate her 42nd National Day today, i hope people out there will not forget the fact that not only Singapore needs us. The world needs us too.

when i visited Verilion over at her blog, i read about this climate change camp at heathrow airport. some of these care-for-the-environment people wanted to raise awareness about the amount of carbon dioxide in the air. of course, they met resistance from the authorities. then i read some comments from this gentleman named Calvin Jones. apparently, he is very much involved in anything to do with climate change. i’m really heartened by the fact that there are people out there who bother to fight for gaia. hence, i’ve decided to support Mr Jones by helping him spread his message. do read it.

Camp for Climate Action

Calvin Jones

1927 – the aussie band back in the 80s. they produced songs like ‘if i could’, ‘that’s when i think of you’, ‘compulsory hero’, etc. i was a huge fan then.

the chair - the one i bought from ikea. office-style swivel armchair with comfortable leather beneath. lots of words were generated ‘cos of the coziness from sitting on it.

When it appeared
And pulled up to me
It bared its ravenous teeth
And sank its claws into my flesh

My head was swimming
As it huffed and puffed
My heart was thumping
As it moved within me

The pain inflicted
Was beyond description
The joy ensued
Was oddly enthralling

Then it froze for a second
And allowed them to swim
While I caught my breath
Like tomorrow’s the last

It wagged its tail
And bounced to safety
Then I tossed and turned
Looking for sanity

I continued sitting by the beach
Building my sandcastle

time – time is so abstract that no one can ever keep it long enough. but i believe that if i can use it well, it will give me chances to make my life more fruitful.

from today, i shall share my 3 Blessings even an Arse would be Thankful for each day. and i hope i can spread this ‘being thankful’ spirit around.

3 B.A.T. I:
Jennifer – for being the one and only who has to put up with my s***** temper every now and then. her patience and great support have made me a better man. she’s one very strong life partner.

Singapore – how can i forget my own nation…esp. with our National Day just days away? peace, prosperity, progress……what more can i ask?

folks, if you believe in what i’m doing here, go on, spread the word. find your 3 Blessings even an Arse would be Thankful for each day. And perhaps, you can share them with me too.

i really can’t thank her enough for it. she has just affirmed me that i must be doing something right here.

and now, it is my honour to present this same award to the following good folks:

Suzan (for her continuous support and encouragement)
Vesper (for her kind words that never fail to lift my spirits)
Seamus (for fathering the shameless circle)
Jason (for ensuring that all comments are positively constructive)
Witnessing Am I (for his lovely writes and kind comments)

the orginal idea of such awards came from here. read about it and perhaps you can start giving out these awards to encourage other bloggers.

i want to thank Bucephalus for taking care of this place in my absence. some lovely writings from Bashō! you are good, you beast! and thank you all for giving him your lovely support and encouragement!

my pleasure. will do a better job the next time.

yeah, it was a very busy week with all the work in school, the bonding at home and the writing for competitions.

finally submitted my entries for the Golden Point Award. i took part in both the fiction (maximum 5000 words) and poetry category (5 to 8 poems). spent quite long hours churning out the fiction and understood the real writing process – a definite challenging task. due to competition requirements, i’m not able to share my entries here. the results will only be known by december, so will probably post my entries up come end of the year or in 2008.

winning it? it would be nice, considering the fact that over 500 people took part in the last one in 2005. the important thing is i’m beginning to enjoy writing a lot. should i say i love it. will definitely dedicate more time to write more which implies that i will improve.

jason at clarity of night had another fantastic writing contest again. similar to the last one i took part, a participant is to write a short fiction of up to 250 words based on a theme and a picture. this time, the theme is “Halo” and you can check out the details here.

i submitted my entry entitled “Miss James”. go read it here and give me your comments either here or there.

well, that’s quite an update. will catch up with you at your blogs soon.

and it’s great to be back!

Pretending to drink
sake from my fan,
sprinkled with cherry petals.

Bashō

Another haiku?
Yet more cherry blossoms -
not my face.

Bashō

Do not forget the plum,
blooming
in the thicket.

Bashō

see that my dearest lion has been doing a good job here. thanks, Bucephalus!

you are welcome! leave this place to me!

Now cat’s done
mewing, bedroom’s
touched by moonlight.

Bashō

Spring rain -
under trees
a crystal stream

Bashō

New Year – the Bashō-Tosei
hermitage
a-buzz with haiku.

Bashō

Fields, mountains
of Hubaku, in
nine days – spring.

Bashō

In my new robe
this morning -
someone else.

“i will do my best, master c.s.!”

simplicity is a rare commodity in the modern human race. few would stop and ponder over it. few would want to have anything to do with it. we were meant to enjoy it, but the world is ever evolving rapidly that we see it superfluous. why should we need it, some say, if the world can offer us so much more? times have changed, some say, so move with times and ignore it. without it, complacency and arrogance have taken root, leading to the evil complexity exposing its snares, a situation which most could not recognise or reconcile. seriously, complexity has become more rampant. times of wretchedness are looming large. if only we could all pause and observe and think. simplicity might just save the day.

cow on holy trail
takes on path of redemption
narcissistic fool!

weariness is an understatement. love keeps the soul going. a transformer is in store.

a new life awaits. and i am so damn looking forward to it. although the ghost of uncertainty still haunts.

You’re The Sound and the Fury!
by William Faulkner

Strong-willed but deeply confused, you are trying to come to grips with a major crisis in your life. You can see many different perspectives on the issue, but you’re mostly overwhelmed with despair at what you’ve lost. People often have a hard time understanding you, but they have some vague sense that you must be brilliant anyway. Ultimately, you signify nothing.

try the quiz if you are interested, but don’t look too much into it.

“MEEEOWWW! thank you master c.s., for picking me! i have always wanted to say this, but was never given a chance. thank you members of the jury for believing that i might just pip brat pitt in the looks department! and thank you all for supporting me! from now on, i shall start learning from my master, and hopefully i will churn out some decent writing pieces half as good as my master’s. let me start with this poem:

MEEEOWWW!”

well done, Bucephalus!

certainly you have not heard the last of him.

He looked at all around him: the four walls and the ceiling and the floor, and the little window, and of course, the door. Others labelled this place the cell. He preferred it to be called his castle. A place where he could stand tall amongst the rest. A fortress against all odds of life. A shelter where he could be forgotten. He was certain that God had specially created this castle just for him. He grinned lamentably. He was going to miss it much.

He felt the breeze moving through the grills. It gently slapped on his face. It smelled really good. It carried with it the aroma of the charming lake. He could almost always feel the vibes of the lives beneath the surface of the glistening waters. He was certain that God had specially created the lake just for him. He tittered remorsefully. He was going to miss it much.

The door opened. Everything happened swiftly from there.

He stood. He walked. He did not turn round to take a last look at them. They were of the past. He was looking into the future. The promise of life would be fulfilled soon. He was ready.

Closed.

Tied.

Released.

Opened.

(a simple tribute to Mr Nabokov)

i’m on the edge.

no. i’m not on the edge.

i’m off the edge.

i’m barely hanging on.

you cannot imagine how much is in my hands now.

pray with me, will you?