Sunday, July 26, 2009

Trilogy Preview

It's coming. I've ideas for a mini trilogy in the works teehee.

Without over-exaggerating things, basically it'll be a short piece comprising 3 instalments - hence the trilogy title ;P

I dub it A Glimpse. A Glance, A Gaze, and it shall receive its inspiration from 3 quotes which I shall select soon.

Anticipate something later. I shall return! :)

Day #13 - Missing many days, and you too. But hopefully as I am recovering physically, so shall the consistency of writing pieces posted.

Friday, July 24, 2009

Missing :P

(to the tune of This Old Man)

This author
She's been sick
She's had no time to update
WIth a sore throat, blocked nose
Feeling tired and sleepy too
That's why nothing here is new

Hehe ;)

There'll be something new here soon. I promised fiction. I remember :)

Wednesday, July 22, 2009


P/s: Kindly check out Word Economy as well. It counts for Day #9 too :)

You are
As you were
Like the waterfall of words
Flowing steadily
Trickling drops of sunshine
Down the fine streams
Of evening traffic
And the rhythm to the melodies
That dance in twilight
Masquerading by day
The stories and reasons
To everything, and there
Your voice with its tones and tunes
Laughter carried on the winds
Blowing softly on them
Flags of pride and patriotism
Government and establishment
Fallen to a heap
Memories, inventories
Of things gained and lost
They cost you, and I
Would relive them
Again if you would
Be the heartbeat
To this rhythm

Day #9, extras - For Day #7, where I missed out posting something due to tiredness and rushing out test articles. Idleness breeds inspiration for this writer :) And I promise you fiction tomorrow...

Word Economy

It doesn't take many words to make a point.

Perhaps many of us don't realise this, but it's true. Often times, we say too much in order to convince others or to make ourselves understood. But really, you can say very little and yet carry your message across.

Let's consider some examples.

Candles. Cake. Wishes. Presents.

What does that make you think of? Why, a birthday party, of course.

Try this:

Eyes shut. Pillows. Lights off. Moon. Stars.

And that would be... sleeping at night.

Simple, isn't it?

So why do we labour so much on many words? Use just the minimal, by selecting the right metaphors, and be understood by everyone.

Food for thought :)

Day #9 - A little sick, but not without an active mind ;)

Tuesday, July 21, 2009


Update via email

I looked out the window of my office building this morning, and it was raining. Not a drizzle, not a storm… but rain, nevertheless.

I watched the drops trickle down the edges of the window. The small but growing puddles accumulating on the rooftops. The leaves of the trees wriggling uncontrollably at the whims of the wind, as though being tickled by a whispered joke.

What is rain but just drops of water descending from the sky?

Yet it is a sign, a proof of providence from a God that reigns above us. It is the way that the Earth receives her nourishment, and the means by which she grows. No other human methods could probably hydrate the face of the Earth as efficiently as the rain does.

Personally, I am quite fond of the rain. It is a symbol of good things to me.

However, I realize that there are many who view rain as a negative thing. More often than not, rain is depictive of sadness or calamity in movies, songs, poems…

But just because the skies are grey and the outlook of the world clothed in momentary gloom, it does not mean that all is not going well. Rather, how about thinking of it this way instead: that the overcast sky is God’s way of telling us to slow down – even if just a little – and to remember that not everything is within our control, yet there is Someone out there who’s taking care of it all.

Day #8 - Written during my short breaks in the midst of office hours. Rainy weather has always been good climate for creative juices.

Monday, July 20, 2009

Of Juicers And Blenders



However, I cannot sleep due to having to write some test articles for a part time writing job application.

But the one and only follower of this site (which is known at this moment) has asked if there'd be any updates here. Now, I promised a daily flow of written work here, so I should not disappoint. Self appointed "holidays" can only be stretched so far. Teehee.

So as an easy way out, here's one of the test articles I had worked on tonight. And if my potential employers read this, it's my ORIGINAL work, alrights? ;)

The Article

Have you ever noticed how sometimes certain things can be similar, but yet not entirely the same?

I made one such discovery recently whilst surfing online for juicer reviews. I hadn’t thought of blenders and juicers as being different all this while, but now I do.

Put simply, a blender basically liquefies the food you placed inside it. The final product is a puree-like liquid, which contains both water as well as the fibres from the blended item. As for juicers, it extracts the water content from what is fed into it; separating the liquid from the pulp as it does so. The end result is a pure liquid, without any fibre content.

You might think of it as merely a slight contrast, but it does make a rather significant distinction. In some ways, it proved to be a life lesson for me: it’s best not to assume things based on personal perception. Instead, it’s best to do the necessary research so we always get our facts straight.

(170 words)

Closing Remarks

Hmm. I think I'd still prefer fiction writing any day, if I can help it...

Day #7 - Lazyness looms ahead

Sunday, July 19, 2009


I think I will not write anything today.
*self declared holiday ;P*

Day #6

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Bonus: Days And Minutes

It all started with a friend telling me that my GTalk status had triggered her to start writing a poem. So I suggested why not we take turns adding lines to it (since she was stuck) and see what comes out.

So this is the final result:

by Anna Tan and Susanna Khoo

the days, they fly
but the minutes, they crawl
i try to climb high
but it's easier to fall

into comforts familiar
down these winding steps
onto these well-worn pathways
into familiar traps

yet on the horizon a glimmer
a wish, a hope, a dream
the days have flown by
still, no nearer it seems

time, please stop
do not eat me away
these fragile thoughts
should not be your prey

all i have, precious
jewels that i harbour
all i ask is another
second, minute, hour

to love, live, pray and give
to put my words in song
to remember all the good
to take back all the wrong

the minutes, they crawl
yet as ever they speed by
and as everything piles
again we wonder why

the days, they fly
by me, still unaware
yet there's time to amend
if i would just stop to care

Hehehe... you like? :)

Gifts and talents multiply in magic when there's collaboration. If anyone's reading this, I hope it inspires you to rally a few friends and work on something together ;)

Collaboration does not alter the focus of the limelight, but rather, expands the reach of its rays. :)

Day #5, on extended play :P

Friday, July 17, 2009

Sound, Noise

You don’t hear it, but there is a sound. It is a hard, loud plunk of something at the back of your mind, in the middle of my heart. It is quiet, but it is there. It casts its long, creepy shadows when none of us are watching, and whispers tunes in the cold night air. It is alive. It thrives – on the words we utter, on the steps we take. Up the creaky stairs. Down the noisy lanes of buses, trucks, cars and trains. Everywhere and anywhere, all at once. Once in awhile, something catches you firmly enough to leave its mark. And then you cannot part with what you knew. The things you leave behind and what you cannot forget, even with the passing of time. Blind. But ignorance cannot forever be pleaded. I hear it and it makes a noise. It crashes, and splinters into a million pieces at the bottom of the precipice. Sit. Still. For. Awhile. Piles and piles of memories, heightening to the mountaintops of lean dreams. You sing. And I pretend to believe everything. All the words meld into one. Only the moon, not a glimpse of the sun. Sons, daughters, learning from rhyme. Screaming, sculpting monuments of glass. Slipper. Slippery paths. Iron fists that thump on the tables of providence. Logic. Nonsense. You almost hear it, but then it slithers away.

Day #5 - Freestyle, because my mind is wandering and bordering on the melancholic.


“Mr. Paint Man, draw me a picture please.” The girl pleaded in a sweet, tiny voice.

He stopped short with his roller brush midway across the large wall. There goes the momentum. For a moment, he contemplated being annoyed at having his work interrupted. But that was only for the split second until he his gaze met hers.

There was a sadness about her, somehow. Perhaps it was in her eyes. They looked somewhat misty, and her voice cracked a little when she spoke.

“What kind of picture would you like?”

The girl beamed at the question, but shrugged in reply.

“You don’t know?”

“Something beautiful,” was all she could suggest.

He bent down and picked up a small paintbrush. He paused for a moment, realizing that he had no canvas to paint on. Not that it was a surprise, really. He wasn’t an artist, anyway. What’s worse, he only had two different colours of paint on hand. How that would amuse the girl at all, he really didn’t know.

He looked around. But there was no surface he could easily make use of to draw on. There was the wall, which was out of the question. Besides that, there was only the floor. He tapped his foot repeatedly on the cold hard surface as he contemplated it.

The girl gazed up expectantly at him, her big round eyes hopeful. There was no way he could’ve excused her request away.

So, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to imagine a picture in his mind’s eye. Then, he dipped his paintbrush into one of the cans, and began.

“It’s lovely!” The girl squealed moments later, once he was done with his feeble attempts at drawing something.

“It is?” He doubted that, but if at the very least it amused her or made her happier than she had been when she’d first spoken to him, it would be good enough. Suddenly feeling rather self-conscious, he glanced about nervously, praying hard that no one else would walk their way and see the mess he’d created. He’d have to think of how to get the paint out later…

Her face lit up in delight as she bent down and fingered the strokes of paint on the floor. She seemed to find some comfort in his silly little piece of art, for whatever reason. Her eyes narrowed as she traced the outlines of the shapes and figures in his picture.

Suddenly, she began to cry.

It was so silent that he wouldn’t have known at all, had it not been for the tears that were noticeably falling from her face. He stared at her bewildered, uncertain what it was all about.

“Tell me what colours they are,” she said in a calm, rather quiet tone.

He knelt by her side, stunned momentarily by the thought that had just occurred to him.

Then, he described the most lavish spectrum of colours that anyone could’ve ever heard of. He even told a story of the characters in his painting and how they lived in a wonderful world with dozens of hues, shades and tints.

She sat listening intently to his every word, eventually drying her eyes.

Then, she smiled.

Day#4 - Inspired by the advertisement on the overhead bridge at Kelana Jaya LRT station


Day #3: Skipped a day of writing. Blah. Well, I'l try my best to keep up wherever I can. :P

Wednesday, July 15, 2009


if only, to be found
for reasons to sing
to alter anticipated passages of time
rhyme, to fill out songs
anthems, enthralling the world
to join in and sing along
not to hide, but to try
with linked hands and hearts
muster courage to fight
not permitting the things that matter to pass
or die
minutes, hours, days, years
the moments they fly
yet sometimes, time, stands still waiting
creating a scene, propagating the means
did you notice, feel or find anything
because what falls to abeyance
sooner or later, irretrievable
would only be lost

Day #2 - albeit late, thanks to the author falling asleep

Monday, July 13, 2009

Just Is

It isn’t right.

What isn’t?

What they’re asking me to do.

And so you won’t do it, right?

Well, yes.
But then again, it may not be much of a choice for me.

But you can decide not to.
If you want, that is.
Nobody would blame you.

Maybe they wouldn’t.
But I might blame myself.

So what will you do then?

I don’t know.
What would you do?


You see now?

I understand what you’re saying, of course.

That’s good to know.

So, it’s like this. I’m giving myself 24 hours.

And then?

And then, I do what I need to do.

You know, people always think what they want to.
What you do doesn’t really change who you are.

But the thing is, people tend to just look at what you do most of the time.
Or… didn’t do.

But you know, I’m sure you’ll do the right thing.

Right is subjective.

So it is.
And so is justice.

* * *

Okay, I’m gonna do it.

You sure this time?

Yeah. I’ve done my 24 hours thing.

And what happened in that 24 hours that made you so sure?

I thought about it.


Then I came to a point of feeling alright about it.

And that is because…?

I thought of what she might have done.
Had she been here.

And why does what she would have done have anything to do with you anymore?

Because I heard her speak.

You what?
When was the last time–

Trust me. I did.
I was just doing the usual grocery thing, then I don’t know why, I felt compelled to stop at the park on the way home. Something about the air. The pitch of the whistling wind, blowing through the trees or something…

Now you’re starting to sound creepy.
What? You saw her ghost?

Not exactly.
Besides, I don’t believe in ghosts.


So I just walked right up to the middle of the park. And there was this huge, empty space. And I just lay down there on the grass, and stared up at the sky. The sun was too bright, and I had to cover my eyes. And as I did, suddenly, I heard her voice. It was as if she was just next to me, whispering into my ear.

Mmm. Right…
And what did she say anyway?

She said: I’ll race you to the end.

Err. And that means what, exactly?

She would’ve gone down this very same path I’m taking.
And, she would’ve done what I’m about to do much sooner.

And hearing some mysterious whisper suddenly motivates you to decide this?

Well… yeah.
I just needed to know, somehow, that she would’ve done the exact same thing.

And now you know?

I know inside in a way that I think is hard to explain.

Well, I’m trying my best to keep up, you know?

Haha well, you have always been a good friend.
Best I ever had, I’d wager.


You sound like you don’t believe it?


Well, like you said, what you are doesn’t change.

That’s not exactly what I meant!

Ah, anyway, I need to go now.
I really need to settle this.



You really sure about this?


And what makes you think what she says is right?

It just is.

* * *


Hey there, stranger.

How’d it go?

I… I’m not sure.
But I did what I needed to do.

You okay?


Anything I can do?

Not really.
And, you know… she came, alright.

You’re kidding me.

No, she was really there, I tell you!

Here we go again…
And she what? Applauded you for a job well done?

She cried.

But didn’t you say she would’ve wanted this?

Yeah, she did… does…. I believe.
But it’s like I knew it was wrong.
And so did she.

And you saw this coming but went ahead and did it anyway?

Well, I told you, I felt it was the thing to do.

And so now? Now what?
You feel the peace you had wanted so much?

And yet, no.


This is my last time. The last time I will come here.
I will not pass this way again.

Hey, you’re starting to sound creepy again, my friend.
Just what exactly are you talking about?

I came to say goodbye.

What do you mean goodbye?

To everything.
So everything can go back to normal again.

I don’t–
Wait a minute… so you didn’t…?

But I can’t stick around any longer.
Because the thought of not doing what I should have done when I could have done it might be enough to actually kill me.
You understand?

I think.

Thanks for always being a friend.
I’ll remember you.

Well, for the right reasons, I hope.
And what about justice?

Justice isn’t always fair.

And yet, they say life is beautiful, you know?

Well, it just is.


A Post A Day

From here onwards comes the revamp. And hopefully this resolution sticks.

The Challenge

  1. Write a short piece everday - could be a story, script, abstract piece, poem, etc
  2. Length should be at least one page in MS Word (single line spacing)
  3. Try to vary the topics as much as possible - one day different from the next

Well, let's just see where this goes ;)

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

The Truth

Long ago, I once had a blog called The Veritas Project. Veritas means truth. And truth, I believe, is the essence of really good blogging. You see, I've always believed in the sharing of the human experience. Of how what we've been through serves to encourage someone else. And that only can happen when we quite candidly open up and share about what we've gone through.

Trouble is, after awhile, this gets pretty hard. I used to be one of those bloggers who could be super honest about how I felt on my blog, and would tell at great length about some current challenge I was facing, or some battle I was waging - emotionally, mentally or what have you.

And those were the good old days when I was but a teenager, and felt so much more freedom for expression and other such liberal beliefs which we cling to when we're younger.

But now I find myself having such difficulty to come clean with what is really going on my head and life. In particular, the private life. Which is probably why this blog hasn't really been updated for some time.

I intended for this to be a place where I'd share my life stories for whosoever who fancies reading it, with the hopes of it being some kind of a blessing or something. Eventually if the posts were bulky enough in number I had desired to perhaps even convert it into a book. Yet the more I think of it, the more trivial my life experiences seem to be compared to the stuff I observe around me happening in others. And it seems pointless - like a huge masquerade just to legally publish and promote myself and my life.

And so I question again my purpose for opening this blog, and the many others like it (from times past). Is it for vanity? Blogging is so much about self - about getting noticed, about publicising your life for all the world to see. How in fact is it others-centred? God glorifying? I probably have lost count how many blogs I've started and then neglected, for the sheer reason that I cannot pinpoint its direction nor the truly noble purpose for which it was begun. Yes, it's a point of connecting to peers, a way to give others a peek into your life. But what really do we hope to achieve?

Writing-wise, I have not been churning out much of worth lately, and it's hard to tell if this is a pattern to be broken in the near future or not. I guess the verdict for now is that this blog stays open, and I will on occasion update it with some thoughts or perhaps a gem or two from my writing attempts... should there be anything readworthy.

It's just crowding cyberspace with more redundant words and webpages, unless you've something worth saying, and then the courage to tell it passionately.