Size Seven Shoes

Funny

2012-01-22T15:15:00.001+08:00

It feels strange to have a blog titled Size Seven Shoes and then to have a coffee cup picture showing on the site. I really should make my own template and put shoes into the design. Hmm.

But I like this template.. how? :(

Seeing red

2012-01-22T14:54:00.000+08:00

Chinese New Year begins tomorrow.

I think it only really excites you when you're still a child. The thought of the angpaus and meeting cousins and playing games with them seems very much appealing at that age.

At my age, it's not to say that I don't like Chinese New Year altogether, it's just that with each passing one, you feel the weight of how much time has flown and you wonder at where you're at.

This is my final Chinese New Year receiving angpaus. Once I get married later this year, I will be the one handing them out. It'll be a different feeling. It's one of those markers in your life that make you realise how many years you've braved through, and wonder how many more there will be to come.

I've never particularly felt responsible with money. Not that I'm a huge spender, but just that I don't particularly keep a close tab on where all the money goes. I wonder will that be a hindrance as I take on marriage. I wonder how much parents set aside each Chinese New Year in order to be able to hand out angpaus to all who are eligible and whose paths cross theirs.

I am curious too, whether any married couple has ever found themselves utterly broke for the sheer reason that they either handed out too many angpaus or decided on giving too generous a sum in the select few they distributed.

Okay, I need to get out of this Bride-To-Be mode before I end up evoking some long drawn melancholic episode in some single and desperate friend of mine.

Sorry, I didn't mean to rub it in if it was ever perceived that way. I was just wondering aloud. With all this wedding preparations looming ahead, I cannot help but be constantly faced with thoughts about the future consequences of my actions.

I think I have reached the conclusion that while it is good to marry early, it's also important that it is not TOO early. I cannot imagine having to deal with all that I'm working through right now at say, 16 or 18 years old.

It's just way too overwhelming.

In some ways, I'll miss some of the stuff we have the freedom to do when we were teens, but for the most part, I'm happy to be all grown up and moving forward. There are lots of perks to being an adult ;) A child is not wrong in wanting to grow up.

New, what?

2012-01-01T10:52:00.001+08:00

I awoke to the sound of birds outside my window. They were chirping cheerily and it felt as if they were saying to me, "Oh come on, time to get out of bed already, the New Year has begun and it's simply beautiful!"

It's cloudy outside. I hear cars whizzing by as they zoom off to break in the day.

Overhead, an aircraft flies, but my curtains are drawn so I can only guess at what kind it is, based on the sound it makes.

I feel calm as I linger on my bed, but my mind has already begun spinning thoughts of things I should do but haven't done.

Holidays end soon and then it's work, routine, mundaneness again.

Unlike other New Years, this time I feel a tinge of apprehension for the upcoming realities that for now remain unknown.

Previous callouses of the heart compel me to be wary of what will come, what I hold on to and may, at times, inevitably lose.

I have watched as bodies age and leave this world. I have endured heartache. I witnessed betrayal and the resulting decay of companionship. I tasted tears, romance; grappled with anger, restlessness.

What does it all come to, to have lived? Year upon year they stack higher with the advent of age and hopes to grasp wisdom.

I have yet to muster something worthwhile to offer, and I only marvel at the productivity, determination, ambition of some.

I feel as though I am floating, driven to and fro by unseen winds.

I only hope for rhyme and rhythm and reason to return. And while I wait, I shuffle and hope to redeem at least some of this... time.

- Posted via BlogPress from iPod

Things I wish I had been taught during my teenage days

2011-12-30T11:37:00.001+08:00

Financial awareness (economy as well as family status) and financial management techniques
Knowledge of current issues and know-how on where to get reliable information
Political awareness
Ability to stand up for and express individual opinion and emotions without fear or favour
How-to knowledge with regards to accentuating feminine beauty (eg: use of makeup, understanding what type of clothes suits which kinds of body shapes, poise, etc)
Guy tackling tactics and all related psychology
Mandarin proficiency
Conversational and inter-personal skills

Good stuff

2011-12-30T04:48:00.004+08:00

I could read this stuff all day :)
http://www.stuffjournalistslike.com/list-.html

Write, where I belong

2011-12-07T07:48:00.000+08:00

Ooh my. Several months have passed since I blogged. I guess so much has happened in between that it has made me forget that I do own a blog. Several, in fact.

Well, I am writing now from a brand new netbook :) My old giant Toshiba has been having hiccuping episodes, which in a computer sense I take to mean a blinking screen that alternates between the image of the things you are actually doing on the computer and a completely white, blank screen. Scary. But then again, at least when the computer does die, I hope it will not experience the Blue Screen of Death.

Anyway, the new chick that will be one of my writing companions from now on is called Eee PC Seashell1015PX. I shall rename her something soon, once I have coined up something savvy and befitting her elegant white nature.

To help your imagination, she looks like this:

I guess I don't have much of an excuse not to write anymore. I have a netbook that I can carry practically anywhere without breaking my back. Plus, I also own an iPod and a Blackberry Curve. Hehe. I wonder how many people own that many devices. It was not intentional, of course. One was a gift and another was for a work phone so... But well, I'm not complaining, am I?

So much has changed in just a few months. I wonder if I say this all the time when I blog, but the fact is, it's true.

In the span of time that I have been dormant as a blogger, I have gotten engaged; signed an agreement to buy a house; gone through the heart wrenching experience of losing Hans, my beloved German Shepherd; lost an uncle to complications following a heart bypass operation; attended my first ever Melaka wedding; gotten a not-so-hot appraisal at work; bought a netbook (which you already know about but I can't resist reiterating); attended Mandarin classes and hopefully, matured in some aspects of life.

Hopefully.

Oh, and not to mention, of course, an awfully pathetic FAIL at doing another Nanowrimo. Ah, well. Maybe such rushed deadlines are not for me.

Perhaps, with all these colourful moments in my life, it's finally time to write a book, as my real life encounters will have potentially deemed me as experienced enough to write something worthwhile. You know, it's like in singing competitions like American Idol where the judges belabour the point that the poor, hopeful young singer cannot possibly offer the best performance possible for an extremely emotional song because they just haven't gone through enough in life to really feel what it's all about.

I think a person just has to live two decades or so to have enough to tell a story. Everyone has a story. Hopefully mine will be readworthy enough to be published someday.

So here are some of the possibilities I contemplated writing about:

A completely random novel about some fictitious characters in a fictitious plot
A memoir for Hans, or something to that effect (but that would be in danger of appearing like a copycat of Marley and Me hmm)
A story about my life
A story about my love life (probably would be boring though)
A book about the wonderful as well as horrible experiences of being a pastor's kid
A book about wanting to be a writer and feeble attempts to achieve something which ultimately failed
A book about being brave enough to switch careers (my experience being on switching from an IT job to a writing/editorial one)
A book about my relationship with my sister
A story about my family history
Compiling a book of my poetry interspersed with short pieces about my real life experiences and how it affected my poetry
Compiling a book of my short stories

Oh well. That's all I could think of for now. Let's see what comes up. But the greatest fear of mine is that what I start off will end up being abandoned halfway, and it would make me (yet again) the futility of attempting to write anything of the larger scale.

Maybe for now, I'll just keep coming back here and entertaining you with a tale or two. Hopefully it'll help me to garner some sort of confidence to get down to publishing that book I've always wanted to write.

TTFN, as Tigger would say.

0339

2011-10-14T03:44:00.001+08:00

Hush
With not an echo
To reverberate the depths
Of thoughts and feelings
Held close
For not a soul to fathom

Stare
Empty, whitewashed walls
Castles and thrones
Buried in the sand
Time and tide, forsaken tunes
What had been now is not

Sigh
Live another day
To trace ebbing memories
And wonder aloud if
Cure was the prevention
The extension of a million maybes

Breathe
A tentative hope
For all the soles worn out
And hearts caved in

Another hour
Another possibility

- Posted via BlogPress from iPod

Transitory

2011-09-24T08:56:00.001+08:00

Ever gone to the store and searched the shelves for your favourite product, only to find it's not there?

Well, I have.

At the first attempt, I'd console myself by thinking,'Oh, it's probably just that this particular outlet has run out of stock for the product.'

And so I'll visit several other shops, expecting that I'd surely find the product I was looking for there.

Only to be disappointed a few dozen times before arriving at the conclusion that the product might have been discontinued.

Now, is it just me or do many of you face this too? Because it seems to me like so many products that I love end up getting discontinued after some time.

Perhaps I have a peculiar taste. Or that corporations just feel the need to keep churning out new products to appear productive and successful. A sign that the things in this life are so very much transitory.

Then again, maybe I speak in haste, and the actual fact is that companies are constantly improving their ranges of products thus phasing out the less perfect predecessors from the product line. Change is good and for the better. That sort of thing.

Well I can't decide which of the two trains of thought should prevail in this case. But it sure is bothersome to have to change my preferences just because a situation compels me to.

- Posted via BlogPress from iPod

Questioning answers

2011-09-20T10:45:00.000+08:00

"Why?"

The most common question posed to God - the mysterious Being from whom our very existence flows.

And in the absence of a tangible reply, the only plausible answer seems to be: "Because I am God, and you are not."

Ideas to perhaps revive my (handwritten) journal habits

2011-09-03T11:02:00.002+08:00

Zazu.

I just rewatched Disney's The Lion King movie last week. I guess that must be why I'm drawn to this blog... something that apparently happened by accident (please see my last blog post to understand what I mean).

It's a visual journal challenge! Haha. First time I've ever heard of the term. But well, no matter, it's something worth exploring. My creative muscles have become lethargic and almost non-functional for what feels like ages, so maybe a little help in reviving their abilities would really do me some good.

So here's how it goes. I read a challenge posted by this blogger (Zazu), and then do it. More details here.

Anyway, the blog looks somewhat dead but I'll take the last recent entry, which was in July here.

Well, if I'm in a good mood later I'll post photos. I have a nice camera now to use anyway teehee ;)

Online observatory

2011-09-03T10:49:00.000+08:00

I was surfing random blogs on Blogspot just awhile ago and I noticed that the so-called random blogs that I came across consisted mostly of either doting mothers writing about their families, craft enthusiasts, gardeners and fashionistas. Is it just me or does Blogger perhaps offer "random" blogs based on demographics?

Because I don't seem to be coming across any teenage blogs, although I feel there should be plenty out there.

Hmm.

There's The Writer, The Photographer And Then... There's The Reporter

2011-09-02T22:41:00.000+08:00

Someone asked me recently what it's like to be a Writer. I guess I should address that.

One of the first things I'd like to say up front is that it's probably not what you think it is. Maybe you envision it's glamourous, full of events, excitement, scandals, quirky colleagues... the list goes on.

But well, hate to burst your bubble, but it's not any of the above. Mmm. Except for the quirky colleagues bit.

Most of the time while you're busy attending important corporate strategic planning meetings or out dealing with potential clients trying to close a sales deal, your poor friend the Writer is stuck in the office, staring at the computer screen with a web browser window open and a tab each for the dictionary, thesaurus and Google.

Even the Designer is much better off than the Writer. Because at least the Designer (regardless of the kind of designs he/she does) gets to see colour and graphics and - for the luckier ones - moving objects. But the Writer? All the Writer is afforded is bunches of words words words and more words.

Picture the Writer's brain as a big cloud, with all these words stuck haphazardly all over it. Words that the Writer does not even remember learning. Words that the Writer uses so often that he/she finds it so dull and commonplace and cringes at the thought of using... yet again. And of course, the words of every other topic EXCEPT the one that the Writer was supposed to be writing on.

When working on an article, sometimes the words come to the Writer in neat little packages, all nicely strung together in logical sentences and paragraphs. At other times, the words are all jumbled up - like a ball of yarn that has precariously fallen from a great height and has ended up all knotty (pun not intended). And at the least expected moment, occasionally no words come to mind at all.

Oh, but don't get me wrong, a Writer's job is not boring. Usually, Writers are the victims of some higher authority's Random Syndrome, whereby any and every topic under the sun is thrown at them, with the expectation that within the day - or on a pressing day, within a couple of hours - a brilliant piece will emerge from under their fingers. There has never been a greater pretender on planet Earth as the Writer. Yes sir. Not even the Actor comes close.

Because for the Actor, at least everyone else is aware that he/she is acting, and therefore they accept the actions of the Actor with the full knowledge that it is fully make-believe. But the Writer... you should view them as pretty skilled illusionists. Because nobody knows how they do it, yet they manage to sound extremely intelligent in topics they previously knew nothing of prior to that new assignment from the Editor. And the best part is, sometimes no one is even aware of that!

Oh but before you begin to recklessly abandon your dreams of being a Writer, let me assure you that it is interesting to be a Writer. If you are in good favour with the Editor, perhaps you'll get sent out to go interview someone or attend an event. That's good, isn't it? Unfortunately, you'll have less time to get things put down for your list of articles that are due the very next day.

But there are the perks, of course. You get freebies at events. And on many a day this also tends to include free meals.

Well, if you don't want to be a Writer and still want to enjoy the perky points associated with it (namely the social parts), you can opt to be a Photographer instead and seek employment at a news agency or magazine.

You will get to attend the same snazzy (and at times cheesy or even sleepy) events as the Writer but you get to do the more glamourous bits of parading an extremely attractive state-of-the-art (assuming your company is rich and huge) gadget. Snap, snap, snap... and your job is done. Meanwhile, your poor Writer colleague is running up and down trying to interview a dozen or so people to make sure all his or her questions (which are required for the construction of the article) are answered before the important people start to disappear.

Well, if you like looking cool and using the flash to distract and annoy everyone PLUS you want to get busy going around asking VIPs nosy questions, you can opt to be the Reporter. More specifically, you can become the Online Reporter.

Compared to the usual printed press outfits, most online media organisations are smaller and younger than their printed media counterparts and often (although I can't say for sure it's always the case) have smaller teams i.e. less human resources.

So, you, the enthusiastic Online Reporter get to do a two-in-one role: be BOTH the Writer asking all the irritating questions at the press conference AND the Photographer waving your smaller-but-just-as-powerful camera around and shooting everyone in sight.

Well, there you have it. What a Writer's life is like. Well, of course there are variations, such as Writers who are cooped up in the office more than they are allowed to go out, for instance, those who write research related articles or certain kinds of Copywriters... but in general, the porfolio pretty much looks something like what I've described (but feel free to dispute if you have opinions to the contrary).

On the whole, if you ask me, I'd say it's only glamourous to be a Writer/Journalist when you're on the outside looking in. Generally when it's you that is the Writer and you're in the thick of things, the only thing that will keep you plodding onward along the same path will be either the remuneration (cash or kind, whichever suits your fancy) and pure, unadulterated passion.

I hope I have enough of the latter because I don't have much of the former.

And we shall not go into what it's like to be an Author yet. I've not reached that stage. But from what I hear, similar to other forms of the arts (like dance, music or visual arts), you tend to become richer after you've died and passed on, but live poor in the meantime.

But so as not to end this post on a grim note, I'd say there's plenty of reasons to celebrate your career if you're a Writer. For one, you get to meet all kinds of interesting people. And you get to pretend that you know a lot of things very well (although you probably just happened to utter the right terminology often enough that people assumed you do).

Here's to (the illusive) glitz, glamour and the ever expanding vocabulary. (I sort of wish we could earn money just by entering spelling bees or writing perfect grammar. Oh well.)

Presenting the past

2011-08-29T16:07:00.001+08:00

"What kind of heart doesn't look back?"
- From Sara Bareilles' Breathe Again

Often times, we are told not to dwell on our past and to focus on moving forward instead - enjoying the present and planning for the future, or at least looking forward to it.

Yet there are times when looking back is not only worth doing, but in fact very much necessary.

Allowing yourself to recall the experiences you have emerged from in your past is important because it helps define who you are today. It is a crucial building block for your future too as it presents the possibilities of who you can be or are already becoming.

If we allow everything from our past to fade completely from our memory, we become empty shells - devoid of meaning and purpose. There is no wealth of wisdom we can draw from because we have conveniently forgotten the mistakes we have committed previously, thus also discarding along with it the lessons we had learned back then.

Remembering your past also keeps you grounded. Although you may be a huge success today, there was surely a prior season in your life whereby you had yet to accomplish anything and had only ambitions and perhaps limited resources. Having undergone the journey towards success, it would now do you a great deal of good to always keep those times in mind because it will help in preserving their humility - an essential ingredient for truly sustainable success.

Despite the morbidity or even melancholy that may be attached to it (for certain cases), the past has values of its own to offer us, if only we took the time to reminisce.

Yet at the same time, we must be careful not to succumb to dwelling in the past indefinitely. There is a need for reflection, but there is also a need to advance. The past is not meant to hold us back. However, it is a necessary tool and treasure that we cannot afford to totally leave behind.

Picture perfect

2011-08-26T01:17:00.001+08:00

Those picture perfect folk, don't they just drive you insane?

The ones with the oh-so-perfect looks and never-ending smiles on their Facebook pictures.

Those with the pretty dresses and flashy cars.

Who got married and lived happily ever after.

Or whose career has only progressed upward ever since the very first day of the very first job.

Who always have reasons to laugh, and are never grouchy or unreasonable or selfish.

Don't you just hate how lousy they make you feel?

- Posted via BlogPress from iPod

To feel, a gift

2011-08-10T07:27:00.001+08:00

I love the way my bedroom looks with the windows drawn at dawn.

The dimness of the light and the air which is still calm and cool.

The way in which the sleepy world is still mostly silent and only slowly awakening.

The cosyness of my blanket and pillows.

If only the peacefulness and freshness of the morning could stay with me throughout the day.

- Posted via BlogPress from iPod

The wilting waltz - Part 2

2011-07-24T22:59:00.005+08:00

* Read Part 1 here.

Su Chen was never one to cry.

Even in her younger days, where other children would bawl their lungs out if they had their toys taken away from them or if they were denied from savouring a favourite tasty treat, she would just stare blankly back at the adults that tended to her. It was as if nothing would faze her.

In fact, her face rarely betrayed her emotion. Most times, it carried a cool, calm look which cleverly masked the turmoil of feelings that she wrestled with beneath the surface.

If anyone were to have asked her why this was, she would have blamed her parents for it.

She learned very early in her life that wearing her heart on her sleeve would not be acceptable to her parents. Especially if the emotions concerned were of the negative sort. Crying or throwing a tantrum when her parents denied her a request would only land her in worser punishment.

So she wisened up and devised other ways to get what she wanted. One of her main tactics was to feign indifference, regardless of what she really felt.

Subsequent trials for this new tactic yielded great results. It worked not only with her parents, but practically anyone and everyone she met.

The best friend who later turned out to be her worst enemy.

The teacher who punished her for a crime she did not commit.

The boy whom she loved more than anything in the world but who left for greater pursuits, inadvertently excluding her - or so it seemed at the time.

The mystery of her real emotions have never ceased to baffle the other people in her life, often driving those that sought to make her suffer experience a different sort of torture of their own.

So she decided since way back then to keep this modus operandi.

But there was one person from whom she could not hide neither her thoughts or feelings.

Tien Keat was in reality eight years older than Su Chen. Those eight years made for two very different personalities, even though they were siblings.

While Tien Keat was an indefatigable benevolent optimist who revelled in every enchantment and adventure that this life had to offer him, Su Chen was cautious, suspicious of everything and for the most part a recluse who believed that life would so much sweeter if everyone would leave everybody else alone.

It seemed somewhat impossible that the two of them could even be blood related since their personalities are worlds apart. Su Chen once pondered the possibilty that she may have been an adopted child.

But then there were certain undeniable similarities.

Their wavy hair. The greyish glint in their eye colour that would only be visible up close. The way they walked. Shrugged. Laughed. Argued.

They were each other's best friend in a family of absent parents. And for Su Chen, that's all she needed really needed to stay happy.

The wilting waltz - Part 1

2011-07-24T21:00:00.004+08:00

I felt a need to write fiction lately, so I decided to grab a picture prompt and give it a try. I have to dash off for a late dinner with my family now, so I suppose I'll come back later to finish this. Meanwhile, try reading through this and drop me a comment if this piques your interest to know what happens next:

Source: 365 Pictures Prompts (24 July 2011)

She stared silently as the blackbird flew past her window against the backdrop of the shady trees. The air was calm and cool all around her, but inside her, thoughts were stirring.

She recalled suddenly that blackbirds were birds of ill omen. For some strange reason, she couldn't remember where she had gotten that notion, but the moment the thought came to her, it made her squirm slightly in her seat.

She stood and began pacing around the room.

What had been merely peaceful a moment ago evoked a sense of uneasiness. The confines of her bedroom now felt somewhat stifling.

Stealing a glance at her watch, she noted that it was only 4 o'clock. Usually, no one would come looking for her until around 6 o'clock when it was time to start preparing dinner.

For a moment, she ambled aimlessly considering the possibility of a walk outside. A rising uncomfortable feeling had already started to grow in her chest. She clenched her fists. Then her jaw.

It was barely a minute later when she was already at the front door of the inn, shutting the door quietly behind her as she went.

The sky was grey and large, black clouds loomed ominously above her.

But her steps were sure and steady. For some reason, it was as if she knew where she must go.

* Read Part 2 here.

Starting with a clean slate?

2011-07-09T16:49:00.011+08:00

Today is 9 July 2011 and the local time is 4.48pm.

It is quiet over here as I type my post into my laptop while seated on my bed with the windows open. There is only the occasional sound of birds chirping from the nearby trees outside and the sporadic roar of cars as they make their way in and out of this peaceful neighbourhood.

But it is by no means serene in other parts of the Klang Valley.

Downtown in Kuala Lumpur (KL), the capital city of Malaysia, things are abuzz as huge crowds have gathered in various spots around the city. Their aim: to march towards the famed Stadium Merdeka in protest of the lack of free and fair elections in Malaysia.

The catalyst? Bersih 2.0, a self-proclaimed civil society movement which was re-launched this year and has been at the forefront of championing this cause. (Bersih, in our national language, Malay, means "clean".)

National media has been peppered with reports of all kinds concerning Bersih for the past few weeks. News initially arose about a rally that Bersih planned to hold in KL on 9 July in order to march to the palace and present a memorandum to the Agong.

From then on, a chain of events ensued at an accelerated pace. Other opposing groups resorted to organising rallies of their own at the same venue and date to go against Bersih. Not long afterward, Bersih is outlawed and people in various locations around the nation start to be arrested for promoting the Bersih rally. The government began issuing warnings that those who persisted in wanting to attend any such rally would risk being dealt with.

The Agong stepped in to advise both Bersih and the ruling government, Barisan National (BN) to hold discussions and reach an amicable decision. Dato’ Ambiga Sreenevasan, chairperson for Bersih, agrees to hold the rally in a stadium rather than taking to the streets amidst promises by the ruling government that this would be allowed.

However, the situation changed by the day and soon Bersih found that it is not even allowed to hold a rally in any stadium at all. Least of all Stadium Merdeka.

Yet Bersih and their opposers still stubbornly insist on carrying on with the rally.

The day of the rally has now come, and now in KL, throngs of Malaysians have gathered to brave water cannons, tear gas and possible police violence to reach the rally's venue. It is both scary and exciting to be in the nation as these events unfold.

Although I do support Bersih's cause, I am not in KL for the rally because I do not really like the idea of street protests and am uncomfortable with the thought that not everyone out there is of the same mind although it may seem that way on the surface. There are political undertones to the event, some of which I also may not be in favour of.

Yet it is amazing to note that someone like me, who is for the most part politically apathetic, has actually started blogging about these current incidents taking place in my homeland. It is a sign that recent events within the nation are starting to have a noticeable impact on its citizens. It is indeed impossible to be unaffected by the sentiments and circumstances as they unfold.

The truth of the matter is that Malaysia is by no means a first world country yet, and we've still a long way to go.

But change is good, in fact even necessary, in order for us to progress. It will probably take much more than this 9 July rally to transform our nation, but hope is budding in so many ways for us here. It is, after all, typically through struggles and difficulties and changes that we grow.

Proactiveness definitely has a place in driving this process. It would be a shame if no one in this country stood up for what they believe and risked doing something in order to make things better.

After all, looking back, we at times still suffer from the decisions of our forefathers, many of whom had been awfully apathetic about many aspects concerning the nation thus resulting in some of the ludicrous policies and practices that we now find ourselves stuck with today.

I look forward to a day when Malaysia will no longer be fighting corruption but will be living in integrity. For a time when fellow countrymen would see each other as Malaysians, and shed racial and religious labels. For a truly free economy that encourages businesses to thrive and which elevates excellence as the most respected and renowned value of the (national) brand Malaysia. For environmental awareness to influence town planning and development projects approved by the powers that be. For a country that truly keeps its word and puts its people first.

I am sure many out there have similar aspirations for the country - and possibly even more.

While Bersih's rally may trigger change in the electoral process, there is still much to be done in other spheres.

Let us - each and every Malaysian - do our part wherever we are to hasten the required changes in the spheres of society where we wield influence. Let us not get offended or sidetracked by the minute offenses around us but press firmly towards doing the right thing, being the conscience of the nation.

Perhaps the day that we hope for may be drawing near. Much nearer than we realise.

* If you are not Malaysian but have read this post, please pray for my nation or in whatever ways possible, support the voices here that uphold justice for all its citizens.

R for reasonably rationale

2011-06-27T00:44:00.001+08:00

Clarity. My mind feels exceptionally clear tonight.

I am trying to figure out what it could be that is contributing towards me feeling this way.

Perhaps it's the brief church retreat that I just attended?

Or is it the rather exquisite coffee that I just drank earlier this evening?

Then again, could it just have been the after effects of good company?

No matter the reason, I am here now. In a familiar posture with my trusty laptop in... well, my lap... and my fingers poised for a few good hours (perhaps) of typing.I am all set to get going and to start writing some unfinished articles for work.

I do not really look forward to doing this.

There is a whole mess of data that I need to sift through and arrange into neat little sentences in order to create a respectable draft. I'm not sure sometimes whether having lots of information to process is more maddening or whether it is worse had I not had enough to work with. Either way, it is (at times) such a tremendously taxing brain exercise.

I'm still pondering all those competitions I could join and the side projects I could do. I feel as though I am lacking energy to do all that. But those are the real goals that I want to achieve, far above the constant churning out of articles just for the sake of commitment and deadlines. I hope I don't end up sidelining them till life passes me by and I find no great meaning in writing and all I end up doing is churning out article after article passionlessly.

That would be sad indeed.

I do not want to be found writing without passion. Without meaning to my words. Without caring for the effect it will trigger in my readers. Writing is just as much an art as sculpting or painting is. I want my words to be deliberate. The message clear. Creativity oozing out of each word and bursting at the seams by the end of each sentence.

I don't really know what I'm saying. I guess I should stop dawdling here and begin chipping away at the actual tasks I have on hand.

I will be back, hopefully soon. Till then... have yourself a good new week.

Y for yesterday

2011-06-12T00:26:00.006+08:00

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, despite my snail like tendencies, I do endeavour to keep as many promises as I can, and I know full well that I still owe you blog readers of mine a few missing posts from the A to Z April Challenge (it's already JUNE! *wails*) so wherever possible I will attempt to fill in the gaps.

For this post, I take on one of the more obscure and yet formidable of alphabets: the letter Y.

I spent most of my evening and night today clearing out and sorting my stationery drawer in my bedroom. In the process, I uncovered various treasures and memories from yesteryears - some of which I fondly recall, others which I don't even remember at all.

It's so easy to leave our yesterdays behind, and to forget all too quickly the value they have added to our lives and the lessons we have learned and should remember at the right times in our present days (so as not to repeat the same old mistakes).

One thing I especially cherished about my past was the ability I had back then to write poetry. That is not to say that I can't muster up a verse or so now, but it's not quite the same, or as somewhat prolific as I was in times past.

Perhaps it had something to do with the turmoil of youth? One thing's for sure, now that I'm in my late twenties, I am a whole lot more secure about who I am and who I am not than I was in the not-too-distant teenage years of my life. I recall the intensity of emotions back then were quite often the reason I turned to poetry.

I wonder what does it say of me now, though... Does this mean I have lost the ability to appreciate and come to grips with my emotions (and to deal with them accordingly) as I had during those times? I find myself less composed and more impatient now (surprisingly) than I remember being in those years.

I wonder if it has anything to do with me venting through poetry or rather, the lack of it, as this is something which I don't do at all nowadays.

Maybe it's time I revisited the habit of poetry writing. Hopefully this time, the depth in the thoughts and the themes will resonate with a greater sense of maturity than what they used to. That it will be an onward march into better quality poems that I can proudly share with everyone else around me, as opposed to having to feel sheepish about how they were written or how they sound.

Anyhow, I will share with you an old poem which I found today as I conclude this post. Hope you like it.

Glimpses

Sometimes in a stranger's kindness
Or in the fading flower's beauty
At other times amidst great chaos
And sudden calamity
For some in peace and quietness
From contentment and tranquility
Often unveiled for pure innocence
Yet occasionally afforded despite shame and adverse blasphemy
The beauty in the ever present sky
The promise of another day
Ever lingering hope
At times disregarded
Irritably forsaken along the way
But heavenbound hearts cannot be dampened
And faith not so easily strayed
Whenever time is salvaged
And still enough for comtemplated wonder
Room for just a tiny glance
Glimpses into the beckoning eternity

© SKSL
1 October 2005

Road blocks, speed bumps and other strange signs

2011-06-11T02:22:00.002+08:00

I have been wanting to write, but feel as if I am paralysed whenever I actually try getting round to doing so.

With the exception of work (which is a must-do thing if I want to continue receiving pay cheques every month), I feel as though I am somewhat hindered from writing the stuff I want to write.

Well, technically there's nothing to stop me from writing, like what I'm doing right now. But I can't seem to muster any form of useful inspiration, and I keep myself from actually writing more and more often because I consider all times that I really did write, and feel horrible because I remember that the results of it were not very good.

I wonder how I could have ever written any form of entertaining fictional pieces in the past to the extent that those in my social circle could actually compliment me on it. In fact, I can't quite comprehend why anyone would have wanted to read the stuff I wrote at all.

Maybe it's just a rough patch of me not enjoying my work and in essence it's just another dry spell that will blow over at some point. Or perhaps my creative writing skills are coming to grinding halt - something I fear, yet often feel powerless to prevent.

I must admit, I have been entertaining thoughts of writing non-fiction stuff just to get a book published (one of my major life goals). And so I've tried writing opening paragraphs and chapters and what-have-yous.Later on, when I re-read what I've written, I feel terribly uncomfortable and extremely disappointed with myself. Am I forcing myself to write something that's not me, I wonder?

But everytime I try cracking my brain for some kind of imaginative plot that can serve as a starting point for a novel, I keep coming up empty. The very thought of writing anything fiction involving more than one chapter just completely scares me. I've tried it before and the ideas I have normally end up getting all tangled up in my mind and the entire episode will end with me completely abandoning the story.

Could it be that journalism is slowly wiping all traces of creativity out of me? That in the pursuit of hard, cold facts I have forgotten how to dream and forsaken the poetic license that allows me to bend time, space and the universe for the sake of a well told (fiction) story?

I feel defeated for some reason. And at the same time, I feel like even my emotions are unfounded. That if I so much as breathe a word on how I actually feel or what thoughts are actually coursing through my brain, I will be immediately rubbished off and told for the gazillionth time that I am being too emotional or just plain silly.

I even hesitant to compose blog posts. I can't even complete the missing blog posts for the already stale April Challenge. At least during my university days I could still write about real life or what I felt about whatever I was going through, but now even that feels worthless.

I somehow have it in my head that any outburst of emotions or articulation of thoughts on my part will result in me inadvertantly killing off the interest of blog followers in reading my blog, hence slowly but surely causing the number of them to dwindle until a point where there is no one left anymore to read what I post here.

I feel illegitimate. I feel inhibited.

I am tempted to believe that I have nothing good left to say - no more brilliant ideas nor fascinating philosophies nor riveting tales - to offer the world. That perhaps the passion that once sustained me and kept me writing is fading fast. It scares me to think about what will happen should it disappear altogether.

It's almost as if I've lost something precious, and that in losing it (whatever it may be) I have somehow lost the ability to be profound, to write things of value, to make sense and resonate with my readers.

It is baffling to analyse endlessly of what the thing you didn't know you lost is. Or the fact that you're not even sure that you had lost something in the first place.

Ah well, at least I haven't lost my morbidity.

S for students

2011-05-25T12:24:00.000+08:00

As I had said, there were some posts in the April challenge which I missed out on writing. So I will be trying to cover those now.

So it's S for students for this post.

My colleagues and I are currently working on interviewing some students for an article we're about to produce.

It is in the midst of this process of talking to these students that I realise how out of touch I am with youth nowadays. The number of youth that I am friends with has greatly decreased, and I realise that I am slowly becoming more and more clueless on their sentiments and their interests.

There was a time not so long ago that I was involved in working with youth at my church, but I no longer do so now. Although in some ways it was a relief that I have been released from that responsibility, a part of me feels sad that I don't seem to have insight to how the current generation of youth are now.

In some strange ways, some little tiny part of my heart still feels like a youth and there's the notion that I could just snap back into their company and fit in at any moment without difficulty. But perhaps that is not quite as true as I imagine it to be.

Sometimes I wonder if God intended me to continue to work with youths.

Then again, there's this other part of me that realises that perhaps I am not as good a role model as I should be to them, hence maybe it's better off for them that I stay away from being their leader.

Maybe the truth of the matter is that right now, in my mid twenties, it still feels like I don't fit in anywhere.

On the one hand, I am an adult, yet when I am with a predominantly adult crowd, I still feel as though I am being disregarded by some because I perceived as being "still very young" and this causes the older folk to think of me as being immature and not wise enough to have my opinions taken seriously.

Yet on the other hand, I am too old to fit in with the adolescents, because they have such a different lifestyle from the one I have, which is constrained by my work duties. That zest for life, a particular carefree attitude and nonchalance about the future and world events at large, is not longer a perpective on life that I possess.

Perhaps I am just ruminating a little too much over things that are in essence pretty trivial, nevertheless I must admit that it's something that rather disturbs me.

Selfishness - Alive and well in our cities today

2011-05-11T16:21:00.001+08:00

Spend a day in Kuala Lumpur or Petaling Jaya (prominent cities in Malaysia, for the uninitiated) and you will learn what selfishness means.

Wake up in the morning and take your car for a drive down any of the major highways of these cities and it won't be long before you see selfishness mirrored in the face of a random driver that is bent on getting ahead of you, whatever the cost may be.

It's evidently permeating the air as an impatient motorist flashes his headlights at you in broad daylight, fully intent on squeezing into the lane you were cruising along just right at the very moment when you were about to pass him by. Without putting his signal, I might add.

Stare into the droves of people walking busily up and down the streets. It won't be too hard to spot the selfish one. She's the one who's busy chattering to her mobile phone but who drops it and breaks into a run the moment she sees a small van setting up shop and handing out freebies to the public.

Cars do not stop for pedestrians to cross the road in Malaysia, except when forced to by clearly marked pedestrian crossings. Zebra crossings don't always cut it. If you're a tourist visiting the country, take heed and value your life.

If you happen to space out while standing in queue for the payment counter at the hypermarket, be wary - someone just might cut into the queue randomly and overtake you, for no apparent reason and with no apologies.

Try taking the KTM (Keretapi Tanah Melayu), the public train system, during the after work rush hour - you will be pushed forwards and backwards in a queue that really isn't a queue but rather is just a mass of people all wanting to get on or off the train at the same time. It is an absolute nightmare, and you can forget about getting to wherever you need to be on time.

There was a time that I remember Malaysians were known internationally as being friendly people. But in recent years, Readers Digest has cited Malaysians under a list of the least courteous countries.

What a shame to even think we have progressed.

Aargh.... April ended!

2011-05-02T14:56:00.000+08:00

Nooo... April has ended, but I did not manage to catch up with my A to Z posts! :(

Well, just to make myself happy, I'll be rounding up the posts I haven't completed and working on finishing them. Hope you'll read them, even if they're super late!

Once that's done, then I'll start cracking on what my next major writing project should be... I want to write something publishable... So let's see what ideas come up :)

Meantime, enjoy Labour Day! :) It's about the only time in the year we can be happy to be a labourer :P

L for lovely things

2011-04-27T23:54:00.000+08:00

Some letters are just blessed more than others. Take the letter L, for instance.

It is richly endowed with a vocabulary of niceties that other alphabets cannot even dare to dream of: love, life, laughter, like, luck... probably even more that I don't recall.

And why so, while other alphabets suffer the lack of noble or interesting words such that people are prone to forget them far too easily, as opposed to the lovely letter L?

But then, you may argue that the letter L has shortcomings of its own.

Lies. Lust. Litter. Lost.

Yes yes, but which other alphabet can trump "L for love"?

R for romance, perhaps. Or F for faithful.

But that doesn't quite cut it, does it?

What do think, then, about the bad press that F receives undeservedly?

Fight. Fat. Fool. Frumpy. Frugal.

Don't you sometimes get the Feeling that Life is a Little unFair?

K for kite

2011-04-27T23:43:00.002+08:00

A wau - a Malaysian kite

I've always wanted to fly one successfully. I don't think I ever have. I remember having to make one in primary school... a wau (which was supposed to look something like the one in the picture) and I used lidi and tracing paper and made colourful designs on it. It didn't fly properly.

I remember seeing people's kites get stuck in trees and feeling sad on their behalf when I was a child.

I wonder why the term "flying kites" ended up having such a negative connotation when kite flying is really a fascinating thing.

Do people even fly kites nowadays?

Perhaps the reason I find it fascinating is because it's fluid.. it's dependent on the wind... and wind is something none of us can control. It's the intrigue of something that's beyond you, stretching far above what you can ever understand or imagine.

That an unpredictable gust of wind can have the power to lift up your kite... and figuratively speaking, your dreams too.

What are the winds in your life that lift your feet off the ground?

W for write, write, write!

2011-04-27T08:21:00.000+08:00

Hehe can I double post for W? After all it's a DOUBLE u, right?

Okay, I'm considerably lame sometimes.

Anyhow, I've been thinking about it lately, and I still believe I'd much rather be an author than a journalist (which is what I am currently).

It's been one of my lifelong dreams to write and publish a book that gets sold in the bookstores around the city where I live so I can beam with joy every time I catch a glimpse of its title on the shelves of MPH or Borders or somewhere like that.

But that day has yet to come. I have tried and tried to write the opening chapters for what I hoped would become a book but so far the efforts have not been anywhere near successful. *sniff*

Recently, my Mum pointed out to me an article in The Star that said that the government is allocating a RM 2 million fund to help publish books. This is great because it's just what I need (now, to actually get round to writing that book hoho). I'm not sure if I'd actually qualify but I suppose it's worth finding out.

Perhaps, perhaps my dreams of becoming an author can finally see the light of day some time soon. Wonder whether anyone would read what I write though... would you? :)

Sometimes I wish I lived in some superbly well developed nation where you can do anything you love to do and earn a living from it. Over here, we still have parents nagging their children to take up accountancy, law or medical degrees just because it's assumed these education paths will land us jobs with decent pay.

Being a writer isn't exactly the most ideal choices a parent could hope for a child, I think. But well, it's not altogether frowned upon as much as... say... being a criminal underlord, isn't it? Heh. What an analogy.

Ah, I really should get moving. I need to head out to work soon. I wonder if it's true of all writers... that part of us just likes to dream more than actually write or do anything else?

W for weighed down

2011-04-27T07:55:00.003+08:00

I feel rather sad because I have not been able to keep up faithfully with this A to Z Challenge lately.

Things at work were especially busy over the past week or two, with me heading out for assignments almost every other day. I suppose this is nothing compared to the life of a reporter who works for a daily newspaper, but it's tiring enough for me. The assignments were interesting though, and I suppose it should be the subject of a blog post too, but I shall save that for another time.

Plus, I kept forgetting to submit my tax assessment form, and it hung over my head like a small black cloud that grew thicker and darker by the day (okay, so I'm exaggerating a little, but tax claims are such a bother, aren't they?).

AND to top things off, I had some other additional writing task to do, which was not so well received by the intended recipient. Sigh. I guess there's no pleasing anyone for as long as the writing is for someone else's sake and not your own.

But now the tax assessment has been done and to both my dismay and delight I owe the government NOTHING and I discover the dismal truth that I really am not that financially wealthy after all.

The extra writing task is not, but the workload at the office is bearable. The workpile is moving, albeit slowly, but so far I've not messed up in any way, so all's good.

PLUS I am about to go on a short trip to Singapore to see these guys perform live:

(Psst. They're Switchfoot, in case you didn't already know.)

Whee :)

I'm really looking forward to NOT being so weighed down, and I hope that moment will come really soon.

So I promise you, dear readers, that I will do a little catching up before the month is up and will fill in the gaps wherever I've missed an alphabet or two or more.

Sorry if you were disappointed, but I assure you, I will be back... and soon too!

Meantime, enjoy the sunshine. Another day has begun - well, at least in my part of the world ;)

P for parents

2011-04-20T01:41:00.002+08:00

They're the ones who scolded you and gave you a caning when you misbehaved.

The very same people who hugged you and told you could do it when you felt like you couldn't, the ones who cheered you from the stands when you emerged as champion in your favourite sport at a school competition.

The dependable duo who magically seemed to always have cash to spare whenever you asked for some (though you later found out this wasn't quite true).

And although they may the source of the most annoying yet useful reminders in your lifetime, they are also likely the two people who know you best.

We can't choose our parents, but we can choose to love them - for who they are to us and for all they've done in making us who we are today.

*Disclaimer:
I know that not everyone has loving, devoted parents, so I guess this post may not resonate with every single person who reads it. But I'm speaking optimistically here, because even though we can't choose the circumstances life throws at us, we can decide to make the best out of whatever we have, and I guess that's the main message that I'd like to get across here.

J for Jane

2011-04-16T17:51:00.003+08:00

Jane felt sad.

Mary had her little lamb, and Little Miss Muffet had her tuffet, plus the company of a curious little spider.

Even her annoying cousin, Jack Horner, had his stale Christmas pie to keep him amused, whilst her neighbour, whom she has only known all this while as Little Boy Blue, had his favourite horn with which he can blow funny tunes with to keep boredom at bay.

He was playing a tune right then, and as she listened, it was making her even sadder.

But she... she had nothing at all.

Folding her arms to her chest, she sighed. She needed something to perk her up. Gazing around the tiny confines of her cottage, she felt the way everyone else had described: a very plain Jane indeed. It was not a nice feeling.

After thinking for a moment, she decided to take a walk. So out her door and onto the pathway she went.

Jane walked and walked and walked. The sun was shining brightly and she felt more and more tired as she went along.

Suddenly, she heard a voice saying, "Hellooo? You there! Do you want some tea?"

Jane stopped in her tracks and whirled around to discover who it was that was speaking. Soon, she spotted a kind looking lady standing at the door of a hut, waving at her.

"Are you talking to me?" Jane asked, a little unsure.

"You! Yes, you!" Affirmed the lady.

Jane felt suddenly very shy and she hesitated. It also crossed her mind why she would want to have a hot cup of tea on a hot day like this. She'd much prefer a glass of iced lemon tea.

"But it's hot and drinking tea will make me feel hotter," she said somewhat sheepishly, staring at the ground as she spoke.

"Oh, nonsense!" The lady replied. "I have nice cupcakes and scones... surely you want some of those?"

Jane stopped to think again. She did not really like thinking much, because she felt her brain didn't really have the ability to think very far. Nevertheless, she tried and concentrated as hard as she could.

"Maybe just one or two?" She finally consented.

"Come right in!" Ushered the lady as she swung open the door of her hut and gestured for Jane to enter with her hand. "I've already got a kettle of water brewing."

- to be continued-

M for mall

2011-04-16T11:12:00.001+08:00

Note: I know there are many missing posts for quite a few alphabets (I-L), I promise I'll fill them in later.

* * *

It's a rainy Saturday morning here in Mutiara Damansara and I'm sitting here at McDonald's in The Curve with Deric. He's busy watching football highlights, while waiting for me to finish my Sausage McMuffin. But I can't sit here just doing nothing, so I'm typing out a brief blogpost in the meantime.

It's so rare to have such cool weather here where we live, so times like these are really a treat. Unhurried time to spend with each other is also more rare nowadays. So I feel really happy just being here.

I really love being at the mall at this hour, because the place just opened not long ago. The shops are slowly coming alive, but the crowds are not in yet so it's still fairly quiet. The public toilets are still clean too, a fact that's very much appreciated since most Malaysian public toilets are usually filthy and more often than not, way below the satisfactory levels of hygiene.

I don't always like hanging around malls, but when I do, I guess I much prefer being there at the start of the day, rather than at any other times.

I for intensity

2011-04-13T00:41:00.000+08:00

Intensity. Electricity. Snap, sizzle, zap. Over the wire I hear you. Talk. Gossip. Girls, too pretty too many too fiery. Disaster strikes, from the rooftops down to the paved sidewalks. They are watching, don't you see? I flee. I feel. Leave while you still can. Stand for something. When you try, you'll know finally what you're made of and if it's worth it. Forget it. But then again, don't. Can't you see? Nonsense. Nuisance. Prudence. Finales dramatically descending on the unsuspecting man. No way, woman. Dreams. In a bubble, as light as a feather. I float through the air while you stare unaware that there's a puzzle behind every piece. Pancakes, tossed up and flapping down into hungry mouths, so many to feed. What a treat. I see you me everybody I and ten cities.

H for here... right now! :D

2011-04-13T00:33:00.002+08:00

Hello dear readers! :) I apologise for the lack of updates. It's not too late to catch up now, is it?

Harder to keep up with the alphabets now as the days seem to go whizzing by, especially when there are other things happening at the same time :P

Hear me out though, because although this post is up late, H is a special letter :) I don't know about you, but the more I think about it, the more I feel that there are so many important words that start with H.

How about heart? That's a major part of who we are. Where our heart is, there lies our treasure.

Hand is another one. A handshake is a crucial formal introduction that signals the beginning of meaningful relationships - be they business dealings or the tiny seeds of friendship sown after you've gotten yourself acquainted with someone who was previously a stranger.

Handsome would be yet another example. Okay, I admit that it's a little more old fashioned compared to other equivalent terms used today, but it's still a valid word, and the most polite, hard-to-go-wrong way to tell a gentlemen that he really is quite attractive and drop dead gorgeous without sounding too desperate.

Have I convinced you yet? How about the word hear? Or hard? Or holy?

Haha... did you notice anything else about this post that's extraordinary? :P Drop me a comment and give it a guess hehe... :D

G for gigs

2011-04-08T01:50:00.008+08:00

No no no... not that guy who plays for Manchester United (even though my father is a fan, I'm sorry to say I don't quite share the passion).

What I had actually meant, my dear readers, is gigs as in live musical performances. Think concerts. Yes, you get the drift.

I was just at one earlier tonight - it was the album launch for a local Malaysian band called Paperplane Pursuit and it was at the extremely loud Laundry Bar in a livelier part of town called Kota Damansara.

Best part was I got a copy of the new CD free, just by being bold enough to go up on stage and to say into the microphone the name of the next guest band that was coming up.

Goes to show, my lovelies, that courage pays. But believe me, I still am rather shy along the fringes of my character. I hesitate sometimes. Ah, but I ramble. That will be a story for another post... R perhaps?

I still feel partially deaf, to be honest. Plus perhaps the jolt of adrenaline from all the noise and pumped up crowd earlier has yet to subside. Bah. It's rather late over here.

But well, since I'm here, time to do a little home ground promo... Please take time to check out Paperplane Pursuit - I'm possibly a new fan. :P

The video's pretty interesting... although it's nothing too fancy, it carries a vital message for Malaysians. In fact, it sort of addresses some of the issues I had mentioned here. Well, I'm a really nice person so here ya go, I'll make it easier for you by embedding the video here:

Supporting guest acts, Under Headlights and Bus Company were fantastic too. If you can spare a moment, check them out? :) Yay for Malaysian made and better days for the arts in days to come, which I hope will be sooner rather than later.

My boyfriend's whining about wanting to gig again. I want to whine, but then I shan't, since I'm guilty of slacking in my music ability since eons ago. Well, if he does anything interesting, I'll sneakily post it up later hoho. He loves he attention anyway.

Tomorrow's Friday (why thank you, Rebecca Black) and still a working day so I must leave you for now.

Goodnight, world.

F for fistfuls

2011-04-07T11:17:00.005+08:00

One of the ways that I first began writing more seriously was through poetry. It is to poetry that I return today, and I hope you my dear reader will enjoy it. But if for some reason you find it hard to understand, please feel free to ask for an explanation. I'm sure I speak for poets and artists everywhere, that we really do enjoy telling you the story behind our masterpieces.

* * *

Source: http://www.uprisingarchive.org/Photos/Bora/RaisedFists.jpg

Fistfuls

Clenched and firm
Hammering on tables
Making demands, decisions
Unconcerned of everything else but
Reflections
Of searing perfection
What is and is not yours
Profitability
At the stakes of humanity
The cigarette butts of poverty
Polluting innocence
Breeding insanity
Stuck on the temporary fixes
An addict to its adrenaline
Of trophies and popularity
With martyrs aplenty
To cushion invisible consciences
Taxes for gifts in apparent sincerity
Unending objectives for tightening security
For paranoia's sake
Too alone to want company
With proudly squinted vision
And heart carefully closed shut
March on, warrior
Clamor for your freedom
Independent democracy
One step forward
Two thousand steps back

D, E for Dear Ellina

2011-04-07T01:47:00.000+08:00

* Killing two birds with one stone, here we go ;)

Dear Ellina,

It has been some time since we last spoke. Although it's just a few weeks, it feels like it's been years and years.

I'm not sure how we got here, but I'm sorry that we have. I remember times when things were simpler, happier. I hate to admit it, but I think we've been taking things for granted for way too long.

I guess I'm trying to sound really intelligent and all that, but maybe what I'm saying is that I'm sorry. Sorry that I didn't stop you from leaving and sorry that now I feel like a complete idiot because I desperately need you here but was just too downright proud to admit it.

I know I used to hate it when you'd ramble on and on about the things you had experienced in a day. I recall how I would cringe or recoil from you whenever you reached out to offer me a hug.

I wish I could have you offer me those things now.

When I finally go this time, I will go empty handed. I cannot take anything with me, even if I want to. I had always known this would be a solo trip, yet I never imagined it would feel this hollow.

Would it be too much to ask for you to come meet me? Just one more time?

I promise I will be nice and that I won't dwell on old things.

Please forgive me and say you'll be there at the bus stop before 3pm.

Thanks, goodbye and hope to see you then.

---

* All details described above are purely fictional, and any perceived representation to any persons alive or dead is entirely coincidental.

C for country

2011-04-06T03:39:00.000+08:00

A much delayed post, but as they say, better late than never.

In case you may not have known it, dear readers, I live in a country called Malaysia, which is located on the part of globe which is known as Southeast Asia. It is a fascinating place to live - what some like to fondly (or at times, perhaps not-so-fondly) refer to as a melting pot of culture, since we Malaysians are a diverse lot, consisting of a variety of races, religions and much more.

But much has been happening in my country of late, and although it doesn't make as much worldwide ripples the way the tsunami disaster in Japan did or the revolution in Egypt did, it still matters and makes a difference in some way or another to us, and perhaps, by chance, to some other random stranger across the globe who is somehow affected by what happens in our nation due to his dependency on rambutan or durian or something.

Such is the level of patriotism of my race (which by the way, is Chinese) that quite a number of us are more keen on migrating to other countries just to escape the ongoing tussles that are taking place internally here rather than choosing deliberately to stay here and weather it. I don't think time permits me to go into details though, and I'm not sure if I want to but sometimes, I just feel sad. That we in Malaysia lack such patriotism for our own land and are so quick to relinquish our citizenship here in exchange for a better life elsewhere. Has Malaysia nothing good left to offer?

Regardless of how grim things get Malaysia, you're still my home. I still love you and hope for the best to surface in the near future in a way that benefits us all.

April's agenda

2011-04-03T18:49:00.005+08:00

It's...

And that means that the A to Z Blogging Challenge is on! :)

Whee! This is to help me keep track as I go along. Keep your fingers crossed and say a prayer. I might try resurrecting my old fictional, poetic ways.

And please feel free to join this blogging pursuit. Commit your writing and blog name to the list here.

B for brief

2011-04-03T02:30:00.003+08:00

It's B for brief this time, with a few extra Bs thrown in for good measure ;)

I guess I'll just keep things BRIEF and say that there are BETTER things that are yet to come. Do BEAR with me while I BRAINSTORM on more interesting topics to BLABBER on about. Maybe I should be BRAVER and try blogging in a more creative way. But I'm just worried that I'll be a downright BORE. Then my readers will BLAME me for making them read nonsensical things. Well, I've got nothing much to BRAG about right now so I guess I should get going. I'll just say BYE for now then :)

Alrighty, that's that and I'll see you back here for the next challenge day on Monday. I promise better quality posts by then.

A for adventure

2011-04-01T23:00:00.002+08:00

I was zooming down the ELITE highway, heading towards the Kuala Lumpur International Airport, and trying my hardest to cut down a 47 minute journey into a 27 minute one. It was all my own fault, since my bf *had* told me to leave earlier but I had delayed it. As I went, I couldn't help but think, in the solitude of my car, about how crazy life is and how we never know where we'll end up in the future.

Just last year, at this time, I was in Paihia, New Zealand, walking the 90 Mile Beach and sandboarding. I could not have imagined at that moment, what I'd be doing right now. That I'd be officially a journalist by profession, and that I'd have experienced as much in life as I already have. That I am all the more bolder, and even richer from the lessons learned and the wisdom gained.

It's amazing where life takes you. Sometimes it's not all that extravagant, but even in the small things, it really is such a splendid adventure. :)

April addictions

2011-03-30T05:26:00.000+08:00

It's really hard keeping up regular appearances here these days. It's not for the lack of wanting to, but it's just that life and it's many happenings that keeps me rather busy most times.

Being a journalist by profession now, I am technically exercising my writing muscles daily since I am perpetually swamped with assignments. Whilst that in itself is a good thing (since I have chances to improve my writing), the sad thing about it all is that I spend most of my energy writing things for my employer and not on the things I actually want to write and have an interest in (no offense, dear Editor, if you do somehow read this haha :P).

So, in an effort to keep this blog alive and well, and also to reignite my passion for doing my own thing, I hereby declare that I will be participating for the April 2011 A to Z Blogging Challenge! Whee :)

The requirements are simple:

The premise of the Blogging From A to Z April Challenge is to post something on your blog every day in April except for Sundays. In doing this you will have 26 blog posts--one for each letter of the alphabet. Each day you will theme your post according to a letter of the alphabet.

You will only be limited by your own imagination in this challenge. There is an unlimited universe of possibilities. You can post essays, short pieces of fiction, poetry, recipes, travel sketches, or anything else you would like to write about. You don't have to be a writer to do this. You can post photos, including samples of your own art or craftwork. Everyone who blogs can post from A to Z.

Care to join me? :)

Just visit the link and click on the words "Click here to enter" which is located at the end of the blog post. You'll see this blog's name as participant #764 on the long long long list there.

If you do decide to join, please drop me a comment. We'll have lots to talk about in April then ;)

Solo

2011-03-19T16:13:00.000+08:00

Source: 365 Pictures Daily Photo Prompts

As much as people keep saying to have the big picture in mind, sometimes it all just gets a little too overwhelming and confusing.

Now and then, it's nice to just have little pockets of time to yourself, to be absorbed in whatever small, trivial thing you feel like having an interest in. Perhaps no one would notice, or even care, but what matters is you're at peace and enjoying life for whatever it's worth.

I treasure those times I have all to myself. Who says it's lonely to be left alone?

The Malaysian voice

2011-03-15T20:17:00.000+08:00

Malaysians have Foot In Mouth disease, I told my colleague today at work.

She laughed, and that's probably because it's inevitably, embarrasingly true.

If you need examples, you need not look far. Just keep up-to-date with daily news updates, and you'll be sure to catch something OR someone who fits this description.

There are those authoritative figures who seem to want to say intelligent things, but only prove the contrary the moment they open their mouths.

There are the leaders (both past and present) who utter things beyond comprehension because it does not at all jive with what they do at all.

There are those who, on purpose, converse in ways obviously intent on riling up the sentiments of another.

Then there are those who are always complaining and for all it's worth, just seem to be raising their voice for the mere reason of adding to the noise.

Thankfully I don't work for the national dailies. I might just die of incredulity or from the sheer shock of the kind of things I have to listen to at press conferences.

Please oh please, dear Malaysians - big or small, short or tall, funny or cranky, famous or unknown - please use your brain before you even consider doing anything else.

Boohoo

2011-03-15T19:50:00.001+08:00

I don't think anyone really reads this blog. Bah.

Okay, I'm done whining. Moving along now... :P

Magnifying glass

2011-03-05T11:57:00.001+08:00

Clarity
Dissonant reality
Tripping on shoelaces downstairs
Dignity begging out on the streets
Trifles for an impatient palate
Menacing glares of passer-bys
Philosophers of time
Travellers astray
Treasure hunts for faith
With its crazy weather
Teetering ahead
Not knowing
Brakes from acceleration
Bitter truth from sugar coated imagination
Watch, as I fly
Lie low, breathe, relate
The common need, retrace
Lest we forget
And die

Many the miles

2011-03-04T02:50:00.000+08:00

I just updated my profile on LinkedIn awhile ago, and it still amuses me to think of all the odd articles I've done over the past year or so since I made this switch into a writing career.

10 steps on how to settle your credit card debts.

How to buy car insurance in Florida.

Memory foam mattresses.

Citrine crystals.

Is the boss a friend or foe?

These are but a few of the extremely varied topics that I've covered in articles I've written previously.

It's all very funny when I look back and think of it.

I'd really like to write a book about it some time. If I can find people who are willing to read such things, that is.

It is insane to think that I started out taking baby steps towards a career in writing by taking on a freelance job to write a bunch of 10 articles every month at a rate of only RM1.50 per article. Imagine that. Would you have done that?

But it's amazing how small decisions can add up to bigger things as time goes on. My freelance rates have soared since then, and I have landed a full time job as a journalist now.

I wonder what would have happened if I hadn't taken up that measly job of RM1.50 per article.

Would I still be slumped over my laptop on weekend nights monitoring data over a server gazillions of miles away? Having sudden calls interrupt my rest times on public holidays and have my day ruined because I would suddenly have to return to stare at mountains of SQL queries and database tables?

Not that a career in IT is bad. It's just different. And for the wrong person at the wrong place, it could be very well your worst nightmare.

I guess I should not forget to mention too, that I got this far not of my own doing.

God has been awfully gracious in so many ways, opening doors I never expected and closing the ones that I thought would be best. People often ask me why I hadn't applied to the major publication companies (eg: daily newspapers) for jobs and what made me take up a position in an obscure company. Initially, I fumbled for answers to that question. But I know now: it's because I get exposure there that I am certain I would not get at all if I'd worked, say, at The Star or The Edge (both of which I did apply to for jobs and nearly got too, I must say).

I guess we never really know what's best for ourselves. Which is probably why trusting God is emphasised so much in the Christian faith.

There were human factors that were part of my bold step into the treacherous path of career switching too.

First mention goes to my boyfriend Deric, who kickstarted the first leg of my journey when he offered me a part time job website where I found my RM1.50 per article job and a few others. It was also because of him that I landed an editorial internship position in late 2009. He wasn't my boyfriend yet at the time that some of those things happened, but I guess this was one of those areas that helped me realise what a great person he was. And that possibly why I'm glad to be in a relationship with him today.

Family (inclusive of parents and my sister Joanna) were also the key enablers who made it possible for me to take the leap into a new career. Way back in the days when I was still a student, they had encouraged me tons and heaps by reading the little poems or short stories that I read and taking the time to comment on them afterwards.

I especially am grateful to Pa for the comments he'd scribble along the margins of my printed out articles - his way of offering me detailed feedback.

They did have their scepticisms on whether a writing career would actually ever materialise for me, but I'm glad that they still supported me when I decided to go for it.

I remember my Mum critically examining my desire to write for money, and her questioning me whether I was ready for the scrutiny that would be done on my writing if I chose to work in this field. Although it was not a very nice thing to have to think about, I'm glad she asked because that helped me heaps in preparing myself mentally to face such situations with each and every one of the employers and editors that I have worked for.

Two of my friends from my uni days - Meng Yoe and Natalie Leow - also played a significant role in encouraging me to develop my writing further. At that time, I was just a Business/IT student studying accounting who didn't feel confident at all that I could do well in writing, although I really loved it. I felt inferior to the students in the Communications course, whom I felt were the real deal because they were actually formally taught about writing and knew what it was really all about.

But these two friends of mine, they read my poems and my first attempt at a short story, even though I felt really shy about it then. And they told me that according to the stuff they learnt in their classes, there was such a thing called intertextuality which meant that you didn't have to agonise over whether your writing ideas were 100% original or not.

Somehow, that gave me the impetus I needed to keep working at writing and if not for what they had said to me, I don't think I would've pursued writing further.

I have definitely not arrived yet, but these milestones of the past have taught me much about pursuing my dreams. I'm glad that I came all this way, and I hope that for all the people I meet, I'd be able to encourage as many as I can to go down the same road of chasing their passion as I have been through.

It's scary. It's exciting. And it makes for great stories afterwards.

Authentic

2011-01-22T10:10:00.001+08:00

There's nothing like the real thing.

I'm listening to David Crowder on my iPod as I'm typing this and thinking how lovely it is to own an authentic Apple product.

I'm not about to write a post exalting the virtues of the brand, but just think: there's a good reason why Apple products are in the limelight these days. It's because they really do have something good going.

Having an iPod of my own now, I can tell you for a certainty that it is a joy using a product of theirs.

And I also say with almost complete certainty that there are plenty of imitation products out there that look like and feel just like an iPhone or iPod, but somehow I'm pretty sure that it wouldn't be quite the same thing.

If nothing else, there's the satisfaction that you own something authentic, and that if you were to turn the device around to glance the logo inscribed at the back, it would really read "iPod" and not aPod or some other name that almost is like... but isn't exactly.

I guess the experience of having Jesus in your life is like that.

You only need to have experienced having Him around for just a brief moment to know that you've truly stumbled across something good. That He is the real deal and thereafter there would be no other substitute that could be just as satisfying.

Not to be so irreverent as to say the iPod and Jesus are on the same plane, but I hope you get my point.

His eyes

2011-01-11T05:15:00.000+08:00

I suppose the thought may have crossed your mind that I was about to talk about my boyfriend's mesmerising gaze, judging by the title of this post.

Well, sorry to disappoint you. Haha.

What I actually wanted to write about was the devotion that I shared at my office this morning.

You see, we have this tradition that we do at our office, where every one of us would take turns to share a devotional thought each Monday morning. A positive way to start the week and set the tone, you could say.

Well, so anyway, this Monday was my turn and I took the opportunity to share about God's eyes. I arrived at this I kept having Hillsong's I Will Run To You playing in my head for some inexplainable reason. Perhaps it's something God wanted me to say.

In any case, that was what I shared and that is what I also wish to post here. I have taken the liberty of turning it into a mini article to make it easier to read and to understand my train of thought. I hope it'll encourage you in one way or another :)

* * *

What do you think of when someone tells you that they've got their eyes on you or that they're watching you?

For me, it seems to be a scary thought at first. But according to some people I have spoken to, it really depends on who it is that is saying that to you.

Assuming those words were uttered by someone who genuinely cares about you, it would perhaps evoke a comforting feeling - to know that they are looking out for you.

But the effect would be totally different had it been from the lips of a total stranger. In fact, it might be quite correct to assume in such situations that you just might be facing a stalker problem.

So what then would be the effect of hearing that God's eyes are on you? Does that strike fear or courage into your heart?

The sentiment which it would evoke inside of you really depends on your perception of what it means to have God watching you.

Do you see Him as One who observes your every move just so that He can find fault with you?

Or do you think of him as a spectator of a reality show, who regards your actions or reactions as a form of mere entertainment?

But really, God isn't in the business of spying on us. He has other better things in mind when He says that He's got His eye on us.

In Deuteromy 32:10, the Bible tells us that God watches over us because we are precious to Him.

"In a desert land He found him (Jacob or God's people),

in a barren and howling waste.

He shielded him and cared for him;

He guarded him as the apple of his eye.."

And God doesn't just have His eyes on us occasionally. In fact, He's looking out for us 24-7, for the rest of our lives.

"... He who watches over you will not slumber;

indeed, He who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.

The Lord watches over you -

the Lord is you shade at your right hand;

the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night.

The Lord will keep you from all harm -

He will watch over your life;

the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore."

- Psalm 121:3-8

Here are some of the common reasons why God keeps an eye out for us:

1. To equip us.

"For the eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth,

to show Himself strong on behalf of those whose heart is loyal to Him."

- 2 Chronicles 16:9

2. To give us direction.

"I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go;

I will guide you with My eye."

- Psalm 32:8

3. To reward us.

"But when you do a charitable deed,

do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing,

that your charitable deed may be in secret;

and your Father who sees in secret will Himself reward you openly."

- Matthew 6:3-4

4. To protect/sustain us

"Behold, the eye of the Lord is on those who fear Him,

On those who hope in His mercy.

To deliver their soul from death,

And to keep them alive in famine."

- Psalm 33:18-19

And these are only but a few of the reasons behind God's watchful eyes over our lives.

But even as we continue to discover the delightful purposes behind God's steady observance of our lives, we ought to ask ourselves this question:

Whilst we are aware of His keen eye watching over us, do we have our own eyes turned to Him?

In Psalm 141:8 it says,

"But my eyes are on You, O God the Lord;

In You I take refuge..."

May this be our attitude each day as we continue to walk closer to Him.

Sublime

2010-12-28T05:59:00.001+08:00

I trace the thoughts
The patterns of
A kingdom found
An eternity lost
A stage of insecurities
On curious display
A sky of comets
To rake out the sun
A hope for peace for everyone
Whilst you bide your time
Flicking fleeting seconds into insignificant corners
Conquering obscure lands
Mapping crooked paths, wayward plans
Your wishes descend
Like large droplets of rain
Drenching minions
In anticipatory glee
They clamour for things not deserved
So you lay bare the cost
The imminent pain
An unforeseen loss
A storm to weather
I watch in silence
The perplexity of placebos
To tranquilise anxieties
Your hopes to be made better
But bitterness is a sneaky thief
That steals your destinies
Multiplying grief
Unless, until a greater find
Knocks down the intentions
Of enemies sublime.

The two sides of extreme

2010-12-04T12:30:00.000+08:00

It is common for us in our human nature to want to restrict or condition the behaviour of someone else based on a judgment of whether what they're doing is reasonable or acceptable to us.

Thus, we have social patterns being formed, fashioned after what is collectively deemed to be right by the society we live in.

In some parts of the world, perhaps going topless in public may be so commonplace that no one would even bat an eyelid. But in certain other corners of the globe, it would be frowned upon, or the community may take it upon themselves to even reprimand or punish the person concerned.

But I am not here to debate what forms of clothing (or lack of it) are acceptable or otherwise.

What I am writing this post for is to question our rating of the extreme just a little bit.

We tend to label something as "extreme" if we think it is out of the norm... or to put it more bluntly, out of OUR norm. Or perhaps we ourselves just don't agree with a particular habit or practice, and are out to make it unlawful or unacceptable for others.

However, we must remember too that there are two ends to the spectrum of the extreme, and whilst we strive to stay away from one end, we should be equally wary to avoid the other end too.

Let me illustrate my point.

Within Christian communities, for instance, we generally do not condone extreme physical displays of affection, especially between couples, and even more so when they are merely dating and not married. For one thing, there is the spiritual-moral aspect about being a good example and being pleasing to God and not stumbling someone else by your indecent behaviour. Let's not go into that topic, anyway.

But take it to the other end of extreme. I've heard (and even seen) in some churches that couples don't even sit together during church services. Well, of course, there are sometimes practical reasons why this is done (one party has duties to do, being hospitable to guests of the church, etc) and that is perfectly fine.

However, it's a slightly different story if the couple is deliberately not sitting together to so-called show others a higher code of Christian conduct (or something to that effect). It would then appear as if physical proximity between a couple would reflect less spiritual maturity, and that, in order to be a revered Christian couple and one that is regarded as "mature", you should not, in principle, sit with your partner during church meetings.

That is extreme too, isn't it? (And perhaps even a tad ridiculous, if I might say so).

So, actually both kinds of behaviour (public displays of afffection vs. deliberate action to remain physically apart as a couple in front of others) are extreme in nature. Thus, both are in fact not really good practices to adopt.

Hence, the solution isn't to cordon off this or that end of the behavoural spectrum, but rather to encourage moderateness. In that way, you'd have a good balance of things and everyone would be happy.

In the case of my example, that would mean the couple concerned could peck each other on the cheek, but not start devouring each others' bodies or stripping each other nakes in some way or another when there are others watching. Yet they would not be spending time awkwardly apart during social gatherings at church, but instead remain close enough to feel each other's affection and be able to interact normally with others in the presence of their other half.

I hope what I'm trying to say makes sense.

And no, the example that I used above does not have any personal bearing on my own life. I believe I'm pretty well balanced in the way I conduct myself :)

Anyway, I'd say anytime someone cries, "Extreme", the question "On whose terms?" should follow.

But at the end of the day, it's all about being considerate, I suppose. Whatever we do, we should be aware of how it affects others.

And that is how we'll avoid unnecessary extremism.

Refresh

2010-12-02T23:35:00.001+08:00

Let's talk about new things, shall we?

The intrigue of irony

2010-11-02T11:47:00.000+08:00

Received an email just yesterday from the Deputy Editor of a publication that I interviewed at previously. It's been about 5 months since then, so it's rather surprising that they should write me again on the possibilities of an interview.

Funny how life goes. The timing of things. It's really hard to determine what will happen when, so I guess the best way to make the most out of things is to be openminded and willing to consider whatever it is that comes along your path. And to also be prepared to let go of things you wanted but are either not really meant for you or which is beyond your control to attain.

At the time when I originally applied to the publication I mentioned earlier, I had limited my scope of job preferences to working for a magazine. At that point in time, I would have not considered business writing nor being a journalist (the 2 jobs which I applied for recently contained these elements). So it's really quite amusing to note how my perspective has changed, and how the opportunities have also both closed and opened at various points in time.

The irony of it all.

But in any case, I'm mostly happy. I still have trouble answering that dandy question most people love to ask about where I'd like to be in 5 or 10 years' time career-wise, but it's not for a lack of vision. Rather, I'd like to say I'm open to all sorts of options. I'd still like to be writing, but I don't really want to put a lid on things and say that I'll only want this or that. Let's just see what God brings along and what life ends up offering me.

While we're on the topic, I was thinking... why do people use the term "irony" to describe such circumstances? Why not "coppery" or "steely" or "zincy"?

And if you wanted to expand this idea further, why not "plasticy" or "spongey" instead? What's so ironic about iron? How is it that it's gotten itself labelled as a word to depict peculiar or unexpected coincidences?

On other matters, it's now November, which makes it Nanowrimo month. I must confess initially I felt rather lazy to even consider doing it, but after another round of contemplation yesterday, I decided to take it up. Teehee. I have my doubts though, whether I'll actually be capable of completing a Nanowrimo novel (I have a long and regretful history of being inconsistent in completing stories - both long and short). But I suppose, nothing tried, nothing gained.

Anyhow, November is my favourite month, so I hope there'll be some magic to spare over the next 30 days. (Why, you might ask? Well, because it's the month I came into existence in this world a good many years ago). So here's to the hopes of a fantastic, memorable November! May it find you well and thriving too :)

Doggonemad part 2

2010-10-29T00:40:00.000+08:00

* Continued from a previous post: Doggonemad

Notes:

1st revision: 29 October 2010

_________________________________________________

"I'm feeling a little under the weather," I groan to the voice on the other end of the line. "I think I need the day off. I'll probably head to the doctor's after this."

The thought that I am lying through my teeth came to mind. Though I had to wonder, even at that moment, how teeth could have anything to do with that.

Perhaps it was like having bits of vegetables stuck between your front teeth. There'd be all these horrid bits of green protruding outwards so clearly for all to see even whilst you continually denied that any were embedded there in the first place.

"It's all your fault!" I exclaim reproachfully whilst casting dirty looks at the dog.

The canine's mouth was open with his lips pulled back just enough for me to see glimpses of his teeth. He looked like he was smiling.

"Yes, yes, I know. What's new? Anyway, can we get on with this?" Hans scampers across the hallway and neatly gathers up his leash in his mouth and trots back promptly to where I am standing.

I stare at him quizzically as I grab the leash from him. I still have trouble believing this furball can talk in plain English. And that he possesses such advanced thinking skills.

"Well...?"

"Oh, get on with it," barks Hans, sitting himself down right in front of me, nuzzling my hands to quickly put the leash on him.

"Mmm," I mutter half reluctantly, but before I know it, we're out the door. The dog's the one who's taking me for a walk this time. Or maybe it's more like a run.

"Would you please slow down?" I screech through gritted teeth as we fly across bushes and flowerpots, jogging paths and pedestrian crossings.

"We don't have the luxury of time. Any moment now, the clues might get swept off or buried away and then we'll never find them and you'll never believe me."

"Why wouldn't I? After all, you can talk," I mumble somewhat sarcastically as I scarcely avoid colliding with a tree as we whizzed past.

Hans is in a zone of his own by now. He doesn't seem to have heard my last sentence. His head is bent low with his nose to the ground, and he busies himself searching for some specific scent that I know nothing of.

"Do I get any explanations yet?"

Hans looks up between sniffs and turns back to reply me, "Just a second, we're getting close now."

I sigh and nearly trip on a large stone at the same time. He had better have a good reason for having dragged me out all this way.

Not to mention the fake illness that I would have to conjure when I finally did make that trip to the doctor's in hopes of a medical chit that can explain away my absence at work today.

"Look," Hans says suddenly and I fix my gaze in the direction where his nose is pointing.

"Uhh.. it's a cat?" The disinterestedness in my voice was crystal clear. "You made me come out all this way for a cat?"

"Sshh!" Hans reprimanded me in a hushed tone. "We've got to follow her."

My movements are careful and calculated now as we tail behind the feline. Anyhow, she didn't appear to have seen us.

Hans speaks up again as soon as we hide behind the shadows of some nearby trees.

"It's your grandma..." He begins.

"What about my grandma? She's dead, you know."

"Yeah, of course I know. That sneaky cat over there was her cat."

I frown for a moment as I try to recall.

"Oh, and this interests me like, how?"

"The cat killed your grandma," Hans said grimly.

I stared at him in disbelief. How on Earth could a canine mind have deduced that?

"And what makes you say so?"

"She had a heart attack, didn't she?"

"Well, yes but-"

"Yes, and that cat had something to do with it. Your sweet old grandma had been in the pink of health before. I don't think it's common for you humans to drop dead suddenly when you're not in the least sick or something, right?"

"Well... yeah..." I admitted, still trying to digest these new pieces of information Hans was feeding me with. "So what do you propose we do now?"

"The cats are up to no good. It's not just your grandma that this feline was out to murder. She and the others like her have something bigger in mind. We need to find out what that is about before it's too late."

And that was how my hatred for cats began.

Vagabond

2010-10-28T15:15:00.000+08:00

I will be gainfully employed again soon. It's a mixed bag of feelings.

Frankly speaking, I hate the thought of having my time and energy being subject to someone else's control. Call me a control freak. Or a stingy, selfish brat. But I have come to resent this very necessary part of being an employee. I'd rather head off and do my own thing and earn money in my own way, on my own terms.

But maybe it's not time yet. I don't know.

In any case, I suppose I should not complain. Apparently there are people in this nation who have difficulty finding jobs. Now that one really baffles me. There are only two possibilities for this:

The person concerned is extremely picky about which jobs he/she will apply for, and may even outright reject those that are not up to his/her standards
The person is not qualified enough for the kinds of jobs he/she is applying for

There are many practical ways to overcome both these problems, but then again a lot depends on the person in question.

But if you ask me, I'd say there are plenty of jobs existing in Malaysia right now. Just take a look at Jobstreet, or even the classifieds section of your daily newspaper. There is undeniably an abundance of vacancies in just about every industry.

I've been unemployed for less than a month, and have in fact attended a few interviews before finally deciding to accept an offer that was made to me.

Besides my own experience, another friend of mine recently quit his job as well, and he has already been employed by another organisation - not long after having left his previous job.

So, if any of you are hunting for a new job out there, take heart. There are employers out there who would be dying to have you on their payroll, as long as you're willing to prove to them that you're worth it.

Toilet terrors

2010-10-26T12:30:00.001+08:00

I was at a public toilet in a petrol station in Mutiara Damansara yesterday when I was greeted by the following words on the door of the toilet stall:

$ One night stand $
Bernie Lim
01x-xxxxxxx

I was somewhat appalled yet intrigued by this haphazard advertisement.

Are there really people out there who are that desperate that they would randomly call a number they found sprawled on the bathroom walls for a night of fun? Hmm. I always thought one night stands were committed because of that irresistable chick or hunk that you chanced to meet at the pub or club or err... wherever. Not by contacting some unknown person whose number you got off the toilet door.

There was this other thought that crossed my mind too: did Mr. Lim actually bother to go through the trouble of visiting the Ladies' just to scribble his little advertisement on the toilet door? And if he had encountered a lady or two in the washroom at that time, would he have tried to work his charms on them in the hopes they just might be so mesmerised as to agree to sleep with him? Or worst still, did one of his present or past clients happily agree to help him put the writing on the door? Eww. All of these possibilities sound gross to me. Anyway, go figure.

Another side of the coin to this is the sad feeling that there really are Malaysians who are so hungry for sex that they would even be willing to indulge in it with a complete stranger. Either that, or they're so keen to make an easy buck that they are completely comfortable with the thought of prostituting themselves. How is this a good reflection of where our nation is headed?

If you will note with me for but a brief moment the state of most developed nations: can you confidently say that crime rates are any lower in such countries as compared to others? Or might it even be... I dread to say it... much higher, even? And yet the aspirations of most developing nations is to head towards becoming developed. But what does being developed mean? Does it mean that the social and financial divide between the very rich and the very poor should be allowed to widen further? Surely the logical answer is "no", but is this what actually what takes place in reality?

Just thoughts, that's what all this is. It's how my brain works - shooting off with a gazillion possibilities in mind for whatever enigmatic reason you can muster.

In any case, I hope some member of the cleaning crew wipes off that advertisement from the toilet door soon. And more than that, I hope Mr. Lim finds something more constructive to do in his spare time.

Breaking (into) news

2010-10-25T16:29:00.000+08:00

[At 2.15 pm today]

I just got home from an interview at a famous local newspaper publisher awhile ago, and am still recovering from the experience. No, it wasn't a nasty encounter, but nevertheless, interviews demand a lot more ardour than usual and have the tendency to deplete your energy level at rather alarming rates.

As expected, I was required to sit for a test which lasted for an hour. Writing was definitely one of the skills that was being evaluated (after all, I was applying to become one of their journalists), along with some general knowledge on the business world (in line with the kind of publications which I would potentially write for).

The interview that followed immediately afterwards was with two of their editors, and much to my relief, it was quite an informal chat and not one that was too intimidating (although the longer it went on, the more I felt increasingly restless, especially at the point where one of them says to me, "It's a bit intimidating, isn't it?" What an adverse psychological effect that produces).

The outlook of a career as a journalist certainly is quite different from what I'm used to. Having done freelance stints for a considerable stretch of time, the flexibility it offers is quite lovely (although the earnings are meagre and cannot really sustain you) and somewhat hard to give up.

Another thing, writing for periodicals such as magazines poses other kinds of demands on you. For one thing, you are often afforded longer periods of time for the entire research and writing process, and perhaps landed with a bigger word count. Topics may vary widely, and more often than not, you're blind as a bat with regards to knowledge and foresight about the subject matter at the first instance when you're just starting work on a particular assignment.

From my current viewpoint, journalism appears to be a more specialised field, and you basically write stuff within a given turf. I suppose in that sense you can speak in greater length and depth about what you write on, and growing experience would dictate that your commentary is valid and your opinions well founded.

I'm not sure which side of the fence I will end up on yet, but hey, I can do features. And I've done press releases before. And blog posts. And citations. And whatever-else-you-want-to-throw-at-me. If it's about the text, name the topic and I'll flourish you with an article. Well, at least that's how I hope I come across. Hmm.

At the back of my mind now is that blog post I need to revise for that boss I freelance for. And the house chores I haven't done. Being without a job doesn't necessarily mean you're actually free. There is really so much to do. In fact, even if I were to just concentrate on finishing my house chores alone, I think there'd be enough to keep me occupied for quite some time. (Only finance-wise I'd be suffering and soon become a pauper, more or less).

Ah, I'm rambling. I guess I should stop here until the next time when I have something more productive to say.

Good day everyone.

Epicure

2010-10-22T19:25:00.000+08:00

Just for now, can I be permitted to bask a little in my own glory a little? Just for one teensy moment?

The reason for that is that I am excited. Very excited, if you must know.

Just a little over a year ago, I began the arduous task of taking on silly, tiny, peanut-paying freelance jobs in order to kickstart a career in writing. Since that time right up to the present day, I've written on everything from kitchen mixers to foam mattresses, selecting car insurance to repaying loans and credit cards, detox products, studying in France and even profiles of famous personalities.

And in the midst of all these fantastically bizarre writing episodes, I've earned a little bit of credibility. And with that, coupled with God's merciful graciousness towards my efforts, I have been privileged to attend quite a number of interviews and land a job as a writer.

Even now as I write, despite having recently quit my job, I have new opportunities opening up and it's got me excited.

I hope this doesn't bore you too much, my dear readers, or that I don't sound a tad too full of myself.

But for me, this is nothing short of amazing. For an Accounting and IT graduate who has absolutely nothing on her education certificates to showcase her capabilities as a wordsmith except the fact that she knows she can and she can prove it, this is absolutely amazing.

It just goes to show that, God willing, with an ounce (or more) of determination and some effort on your part, it IS possible to:

Switch careers to something totally unrelated to what you had been doing previously
Make something you love doing into your career
Get recognised for being good at it

I really feel this is a story worth telling. Perhaps someday I will write this down into a book or something. It is something I wish everyone out there knew.

To anyone who's taking the path less travelled, or anyone who's contemplating that leap of faith, I'd say go for it! :)

Perhaps you may not know where you'll end up. Maybe you'll get rejected or belittled once or twice. But at the end of the day, you'll get there. And then you'll look back and reminisce, and realise that it was truly worth it all.

* * *

Read my current collection of Receipt Stories and Like them! ;)

The write way

Classifieds

A dream, living

He and I

Doggonemad

2010-10-20T17:41:00.000+08:00

Writing prompt:

One day you wake up to find your dog/cat waiting for you at the side of your bed, sitting on your briefcase. Cocking its head, it tells you, in perfect English, that you won’t be going to work today. Why won’t your pet let you go to work, and what happens?

Source: writersdigest.com

Notes:

1st revision: 29 October 2010

_________________________________________________

“Hans, what are you doing sitting on my laptop bag?” I blurt out loud on a reflex, perfectly aware that my loving and devoted German Shepherd probably would not understand a word of what I had just said.

The huge furry pooch just kept on staring at me, panting noisily with his tongue jutting out and his eyes looking directly into mine. That cute look. Dogs always give this ridiculously cute look that somehow ends up convincing you to give them what they want.

“Off boy, off!” I command Hans in my most stern voice.

Only that I am not good at giving commands, and the reaction I solicit from the canine is merely a momentary pause in his panting, during which he cocks his head to one side and continues to gaze at me in a somewhat wise looking way.

As I sit up and attempt to reach out my hand to pull the laptop bag up from beneath the weight of my stubborn pet, an unfamiliar voice suddenly says to me, “You’re not going to work today, Susanna.”

Puzzled at the existence of this voice, I look up quickly and scan the entire bedroom. As far as I remembered, it was only me and the furball that were here.

“Who’s there?” I squeak tentatively.

I feel the wet nose of my dog nudging my elbow.

“It’s me, silly,” comes the voice again, and this time I turn my attention to Hans and realise that it is in fact him that is speaking.

I shrink back slightly, retreating towards the other side of my bed. I must be dreaming. My dog is speaking English to me.

“You can talk,” I utter incredulously.

“Dogs aren’t that dumb you know,” comes the voice again, and this time I note that the words really were coming straight from the mutt’s lips.

Hmm. Why hadn’t I noticed this before? I own a talking dog.

“Since when do you talk?”

“Since you’ve been ignoring me over the last few months and my only entertainment has been the evening news. They speak pretty good English in their broadcasts, you know.”

I felt a tinge of guilt growing the moment I heard him say that. Well, yes, I was sort of guilty for having sidelined Hans lately. What could I do? Life was throwing all sorts of nonsense at me, and I was trying my hardest to deal with it. The last thing I had on my mind was making sure my dog was well entertained. I fed him and gave him a comfy place to stay, didn’t I? Surely petting him several times each day should cover it?

Yet, based on the current feedback I was hearing, apparently it was not.

But hey, I’m the owner here, aren’t I?

I crossed my arms impatiently.

“Alright, mutt, so you can speak English. And why should that be such a good reason for you to stop me from going to work?”

“Because,” Hans replies calmly, “I know things you don’t know.”

“Like what?” I mutter in disbelief. “Would you get on with it? I’m going to be late.”

“You don’t understand, do you?” Hans growls and bares his teeth to me.

“Well make me understand then.”

“Take me for a walk and let me lead you. I’ll show you what I mean.”

“Whatever for– ”

“Trust me,” Hans reassures me, and grabs my left arm in his mouth whilst he drags me out of bed.

I groan, but comply. They say German Shepherds are a clever lot. I suppose I’m about to find out just how true that is.

* Continued here: Doggonemad part 2

Space and time, things that hurt, heal, warm the soul and rhyme

2010-10-19T11:40:00.001+08:00

I am relatively free these days.

The reason for this is that I am out of a job - I recently left my last employer due to some sticky issues that I foresaw would not be likely be resolved. Sounds rather vague, doesn't it? Well, as the wise ones say, don't complain about your job online, and especially not on your blog. Thus, I will not do so.

In any case, I freelance fully yet again, ladies and gentlemen ('till such a time that I have full time/part time job offers again). Have you any need of a writer? *puts on a wide, convincing grin*

Frankly speaking, I feel a wave of laziness that is getting increasingly hard to shake off. Earning a living is rather hard work. And although writing is my forte, the truth of the matter is you don't always get to write on the topics you love AND get paid at the same time. It's a rare occurrence, trust me.

Perhaps in this temporary period of freedom, I shall blog more. Let you in on my thoughts and fears and what nots. After all, it takes skill to be gracefully unemployed.

Now please excuse me whilst I go out to wash my laundry. Hehe.

Shifting seasons

2010-10-19T01:28:00.000+08:00

It always begins with discontent.

A tiny gnawing at the edge of your nerves. The inexplainable restlessness that plagues you every few hours. A repetitive questioning, a series of self-contemplations on the meaning of life and whether or not the things you've been investing a significant amount of your time and energy into are really worth the sacrifices you make.

It is in these uncomfortable moments that an impetus for change surfaces. But then comes the crucial bit: the decision on whether something should be done or not.

In that choice lies the possibilities of improvement, deterioration or stagnation. Which of the three becomes a reality really depends on what action is taken. Or isn't.

Whatever the case may be, at the end of it all, we have only ourselves to blame for the outcomes that befall us. But conventional wisdom does dictate: you cannot expect a different result if you keep doing the same things.

Slick, not slack

2010-10-01T00:19:00.000+08:00

If you had imagined I'd been slacking, think again, dear readers.

Despite the apparent lack of posts for some time, this writer has been very much busy. If not writing, then reading, lazing about or hanging out with family, friends or the boyfriend.

And of course, daydreaming, the healthy hobby of all good writers.

In any case, I am happy to report that with the absolutely marvellous weather that Petaling Jaya has been enjoying lately (read: rainy), it's no surprise that I've regained some creative juices at long last.

For the ignorant ones, I am a full time writer who writes mostly business/non-fiction stuff for my day job. Boohoo. More often than not, this results in the creative tendencies of my brain getting quashed to make room for the logical and commonplace.

But my heart has always been sold to fiction and poetry.

Yet honestly, in the typically harsh, no-nonsense culture of every day life, it's easy to sideline these seemingly insignificant forms of creative writing (honestly, what has the world come to?). Such is the difficulty that out-of-the-box ideas are getting harder to come by these days.

But let's hope that all changes sometime soon :)

And now, a little summary for you of what's been up my sleeves of late.

Been toying with ideas for a full length book (whatever that means hoho). I've the basic ideas, but still lots of gaps in between what I envision will be the finished product, and what it currently is. Have already thrown out the few pages I started for what was to be the first draft, and have begun writing it again from scratch. Where this leads to, and whether I will finish... that remains to be seen.

I decided to participate in Book Xcess' Receipt Stories competition. Sounds simple enough. Submit multiple entries of 100 words or less and hope to be noticed. Because if you do get discovered, you'll be a winner and will have the chance to see your story printed on Book Xcess receipts. What a cool concept! Here's my initial entry: He and I. Do give it a read. If you dare, that is.

I also wrote a children's story today. I feel rather proud of that one. I've wanted to get one out for ages, but there hadn't been any inspiration. Sad to admit, really, but being an adult does hinder you from hatching whimsical, fantastic storylines that are beyond the realm of the ordinary world, yet appeal to the hearts and minds of the younger ones. It took a small cockroach appearing on the monitor of my office computer to jolt me into a feasible short story plot. Ah, but I'm getting ahead of myself. For the sake of labelling, I'm putting it in a separate blog post. Read about it here. I'm getting a niece of mine to help illustrate it. I'm anticipating great things. If all goes well, I shall re-post when I have the images on hand.

Well folks, isn't that a lot to accomplish now? I still have hopes of churning out more fiction, but I guess that will have to be a story for another day (literally).

As I leave you now, I bid all you other writers and Keepers of the Arts a good night and may you continue to champion that which you love. If you're looking for nice, mellow, slightly melancholic music to grace your writing sessions, do check out Fiction Family. It has served me well today, and I expect it will in days to come as well. Perhaps the name has something to do with it. Hehe. (Mr Foreman, you owe me a free CD for my promo efforts).

Goodnight, and do write... wherever, whatever, whenever.

The bug in Jack's computer

2010-09-30T22:25:00.000+08:00

It's my first attempt at a short children's story and I finally successfully completed one today. I am quite pleased that I've finally gotten this done. I had some difficulty in coining up an idea for the plot, so I was very much glad when I finally got one today.

It took a cockroach showing up at my computer monitor at work to kickstart the idea. Funny, but it's a true story, believe you me.

I'm enlisting the help of an extended family member to get the illustration done for it. All of this feels really exciting. If it all goes well, who knows? Maybe we'll be able to get something really cool out of this. I've left room for further story development involving the main characters. But whether that takes off really depends on the initial feedback that I get from this first story.

I guess I should be secretive for now and not publish it here. But fear not, I will surely do so once I get the illustration done - well, at least in some form or another.

I'm procrastinating, by the way. I've some work to do, and I'm putting it off by writing about everything else in the whole wide world EXCEPT that thing which I should write. What's new, I suppose?

So as not to put myself in further trouble, I will end here for now. Toodloos then!

Wordsy

2010-09-09T17:33:00.000+08:00

Latest favourite: Macmillan Dictionary Thesaurus :)

Trace

2010-08-29T02:16:00.000+08:00

She turned to go
but tripped on a pebble
she hobbled her way
past buses and trains
but no one saw where she went
or when she came

There was no seat
in the occupied carriages
amidst the whistle blows and the chugging engines
a reverie enveloped her amidst a strange silence

In the falling shadows surfaced
tales of old
memories and familiar figures
laughter and song
kisses and warm embraces

The sun has disappeared
behind clouds
as the train pulls away
so do her thoughts
her determination
willing her to keep moving

Must she stay
Should she leave

Ticket in hand
She wrestles with dilemmas
bigger than the station she stands in
larger than the life
she has to give

She walks
retracing her tracks
into a door
into a space
only she knows
and there she replaces
the hopes of better things elsewhere
with a newfound love
for her makeshift home

Edible feelings

2010-08-29T01:52:00.000+08:00

"Write about a food that gives you a specific emotional response."
- From The One Minute Writer

* * *

Food doesn't really elicit much of a response from me. That's because I don't really live to eat. I guess the only time I have a huge reaction whilst eating a particular food is when it really tastes bad. Smells are important, though. If something smells really tantalising, the chances are I am more likely to think it tastes great and derive great satisfaction from eating it. Even when maybe, it might not be that fantastic after all.

Crossed paths - The beginning

2010-08-06T00:47:00.000+08:00

Sharifah sunk into a corner at the end of the dingy toilet. The stench was overwhelming, but she did not care. Having to enter into more than 20 different toilets in a day - and for reasons other than to relieve yourself - made you immune to the worst of smells. In fact, if she concentrated hard enough, sometimes it felt as though she couldn't really smell anything foul at all.

The horrid sights that she had to endure were far worse. The bloody trails left by some primitively raised girl who had no sense to clean up after her own mess when experiencing that inconvenient time of the month. The toiletbowl that got clogged because somebody just didn't get it that if a dozen wads of tissue were already embedded in there, it probably meant the flushing mechanism was out of order.

It was hard to be imaginative in an environment as demoralising as these public toilets. The best she could do to console herself was to think about how clean and lovely and sweet smelling it would be when she was through cleaning the entire place.

She rose to her feet slowly. Picking up the mop that was leaning on the nearby wall, she got to work.

*     *     *

"Oh this is just great, isn't it," Jasmine muttered as she threw up her hands in frustration at the impossible traffic line up in front of her. Glancing at the clock on her dashboard, she inhaled deeply in an attempt to calm herself down.

She was already half an hour late. And at the rate the traffic is moving currently, she was bound to arrive there in an hour, if not two.

Shoving a hand into her pocket, Jasmine fished out her mobile phone and dialled a number.

"Hi, Mr Toh, I am so very sorry... yes, I will be rather late. The traffic today... horrible... I can't even see the reason for this hold up. If you could be so kind, do you mind postponing our appointment to maybe, 2pm? I think it's better if you had time for lunch first anyway. This will probably be a long discussion. Really sorry... yes, I did bring the documents this time... don't worry... I'll call you again you when I reach. Yes. Thank you. Bye."

Jasmine groaned and she dropped the phone into the passenger seat beside her. The cars in front were beginning to inch their way forward now. Perhaps there was hope of arriving much earlier than she had expected.

From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of some vehicles turning off into another route on the left side of the road. She stopped to ponder for awhile.

A shortcut, perhaps?

Bulldozing her way across two lanes jam packed with cars, she managed to squeeze into the leftmost lane just in time to make the turning. With a grin and a sigh of relief, Jasmine felt much better now. She revved up the car engine and zoomed down the rather empty road before her.

Unexpectedly, a speeding car came careening from some location on her right. Without enough time to digest the gravity of her surroundings, she only briefly caught a glimpse of the car before it collided with hers, sending her skidding off the road and tumbling down... down... down the hill...

*     *     *

Sharifah sighed happily at the sight of the perfectly clean toilet.

'All in a day's work' she thought to herself, and spun around in front of the full length mirror. Some days she felt quite Cinderella-ish and today was one of those days. If only her Fairy Godmother and Prince Charming would hurry up and make an appearance. The days were many and tiring and she could feel herself getting too old for fairytales already.

"Tengok apa tu?" Came an all too familiar booming voice.
(translated to English as "What are you looking at?")

Sharifah turned around to see the awfully displeased face of Aneera, her supervisor.

"Suka-suka kau ya, bazir masa cam ni. Sepatutnya siap setengah jam sebelum ni. Terasa macam Kak Neera nak potong gaji Sharifah ya..."
(translated: "Do as you like, would you, waste time like this. You should've completed this task half an hour ago. I feel quite inclined to give you a pay cut this month, Sharifah.")

Sharifah's lower lip quivered, and she shook her head vehemently.

"Jangan, Kak Neera. Minta maaf, saya ni bukan main-main, saya hanya-"
(translated: "Please don't sister Neera. I'm sorry, I wasn't fooling around, I just-")

Aneera took no heed of her words at all, and merely stormed out of the toilet, letting the door slam hard after her.

*     *    *

"So, do you want to trade places?" Jasmine's voice rang out loud in the eerily silent corridor in which they stood.

"Tak faham lah, Cik..." Sharifah whined and screwed up her face in displeasure.
(translated: "I don't understand what you're saying, Miss...")

"Nak tukar tempat dengan saya, tak?"
(translated: "Do you want to swap places with me or not?")

Sharifah wasn't sure she fully comprehended what this strange, tall, immaculately dressed woman before her was talking about, but she figured, whatever it was that they were exchanging, anything that this woman had to trade with her would definitely be much better than whatever she owned right now.

Jasmine extended her hands towards Sharifah, palms faced up. Beckoning.

Sharifah hesitated for a few seconds, then raising her hands, she placed them right into both Jasmine's hands.

"Tutup mata," Jasmine instructed, her face bearing a somewhat grave expression.
(translated: "Close your eyes")

Sharifah did as she was told.

As she did so, she immediately felt a tingle of electricity pass through her hands. Startled, she opened her eyes, and saw for the first time, a whole new world.

* to be continued*

Candid career

2010-07-28T03:25:00.000+08:00

"If you could try out a new career for a month (magically knowing what to do, without any special training), what career would you choose?"

- Source: The One Minute Writer

* * *

Ganesh watched keenly as the artist made soft strokes onto the canvas with the paintbrush that was tightly gripped within his fingertips. He stared at the point where the paintbrush met the canvas and marvelled at how quickly a plain surface was transformed into a delightful work of art, simply with a few skillful movements from a master's hands. He sighed with a mixture of wonder and melancholy at the beauty of the completed drawing before him.

How he wished he was talented in art that way.

Those around the artist were applauding and verbally commending him. Everyone appeared pleased at the results. One man was patting him on the back and smiling approvingly. The artist himself seemed hugely satisfied. His large grin of contentment was unmistakable.

Ganesh was walking away now, even as he cast one last glance at the artist and his masterpiece. Yet his mind lingered on the artwork. How he loved art.

Walking out of the building where the artist had been, Ganesh crossed the busy street and waited by the roadside for his Mum to come pick him up after work.

All around him people bustled to and fro. The evening was slowly but surely coming to a close, and just about everybody was anxious to get home.

A gust of wind blew, and unsettled a pile of brown leaves, sending them flying in the direction of Ganesh. When they settled, he recognised the car that halted just in front of him.

He smiled to his Mum as he helped himself in opening the front passenger door and settled into the car seat.

"Had a good day today?" She asked, as was her habit every day.

"Yeah." He couldn't help sighing as he said this.

"Something the matter?"

"Naa. I was just... watching this guy paint just now. I wish I could do art like that."

"I'm sure you can," his Mother said cheerfully and optimistically, in the way all mothers do when encouraging their kids to do something beyond whatever was their norm.

He shook his head. But his Mum could not see it because she was looking straight ahead as they flew past intersections and traffic lights, junctions and flyovers.

*     *     *

Sitting cosily in his bed, with a pillow propped up and a block of paper positioned squarely on his lap, Ganesh's forehead crumpled into a frown. In his right hand, he held a brown crayon, poised mid-air.

Drawing a deep breath, he made swift movements across the piece of paper that was before him, willing an image to emerge from the drawing he was attempting to create.

Minutes later, he held the paper backwards and squinted as though something beautiful could only be observed if his masterpiece was viewed from a distance. However, no matter which angle he looked at, or how much he narrowed his eyes in an attempt to so-called focus his vision on some part of the artblock, no real value could be ascribed to what he had drawn.

It was ugly.

The bedroom door opened a crack, and his Mother peeked in.

"Still up?"

"Yes," Ganesh muttered in quiet defeat.

"What have you got there?"

"Nothing," he replied in monotone, dropping the art papers back onto his lap.

"Let me see," his Mum insisted and stepped into the room.

"It's horrible," Ganesh blurted out his final verdict of the endeavour even as she picked up the art paper from his lap.

She laughed in response to his remark, but then feigned awe and admiration at the beauty of his efforts.

He knew it was fake. It made him feel all the more a failure.

*     *     *

The canteen resounded with the echoes of excited, energetic students. The weather was - as it was on most days - scorchingly hot, and terribly unbearable. The line for cold drinks stretched more than halfway across the length of the canteen area. Ganesh scowled when he caught sight of it. He'd probably better eat his fried noodles first before even attempting to get in line to acquire a beverage to quench his thirst.

He sat down immediately at the nearest vacant spot on a nearby bench. Plate placed in front of him, he picked up his fork and bent forward to take in his first mouthful of noodles.

But even as he was about to do so, he caught sight of the blue magic marker before him. It was right there, in the middle of the table, all by itself. There were no other stationery to accompany it. It was just there on its own.

Ganesh's gaze was fixed on it in amusement. He figured someone had left it behind. He toyed with the idea of handing it over to one of the school prefects so they could pass it along to a teacher who could facilitate the process of locating its rightful owner.

But then again, he reconsidered the matter, and pocketed the marker for himself instead.

*     *     *

The teacher had been delayed, and the entire classroom of students was getting fidgety. Noise levels grew, and students began getting out of their seats, each turning to their own ideas on what was the best way to spend a free period.

Ganesh was bored. He thumbed restlessly on the pages of his exercise book. Then on a whim, he retrieved the marker pen from his pocket and absently began making a tiny sketch on the corners of the final page of his book.

In his mind, he figured he should start with something small, so he drew a Starbucks mug. He had always wanted one, although he knew it wasn’t likely he’d ever get his Mum to buy it for him.

So he put lines and circles together and created the mug on paper. The blue marker was a little hard to work with, as it occasionally smudged unnecessary amounts of ink at the wrong places. Ganesh concentrated hard.

Just as he added the finishing touches to the logo design on the mug, a peculiar thing happened. The corner of his book where he had made the mug drawing began to jerk inwards, as though magnetised by something in the middle of the page.

Then suddenly, out of the page popped a mug. A Starbucks mug. Right smack on top of his book.

Ganesh stared and stared. This was most definitely absurd. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief, shut them momentarily, then opened them again to check if the mug was still there.

It was.

He quickly whisked the mug away into his backpack and looked all around to check if anyone else had noticed the queer happenings at his desk.

Apparently not, as everyone else was absorbed in their own conversations, reading books or making paper aeroplanes to send flying across the classroom.

Ganesh stopped to think for a moment.

Then he lifted the marker, flipped a page and started drawing something new.

This time he drew a huge hall. And in the hall, he drew many frames hanging on the walls carrying in them exquisite paintings of seemingly priceless value. Then at a corner of the hall he drew a canvas, an easel, a palette full of watercolours and a thick, bushy paintbrush.

As he was completing the last few strokes on his drawing, he felt his marken pen swerve suddenly out of control and pull him forward. Before he knew what was going on, he found himself in a large hall, surrounded by paintings and with an easel set before him, accompanied by all the other equipment that he had included in his sketch.

He was astounded yet pleasantly surprised.

“Draw something!” An enthusiastic voice urged him.

He turned around and found a tall, elegant lady standing beside him, eagerly nudging him to begin painting.

“But I–“ Ganesh started to explain, but then he noticed there was a crowd standing around him, all eyes fixed expectantly on him.

So he began to paint.

After what felt like only a few seconds, he realised he had already completed his piece of artwork, without even knowing what he had been painting. He stared at the filled canvas in a daze. It was a scenic landscape with trees and a lake flowing through it and meadows with cows grazing in a distance. It was not humanly possible that he had drawn that. Ganesh was pretty sure of that.

Applause erupted all around him, and gasps of delight were heard from the bunch of people surrounding him. A young man dressed smartly in a grey coat came forward and patted him gently on the shoulder.

“Well done, boy,” the man exclaimed, and went on to praise Ganesh on the excellent job he had done on his masterpiece.

Ganesh turned to face the man and to reciprocate with some words of gratitude. From the corner of his eye, he somehow noticed a small boy walking away from him and the crowd that was around him, heading towards the exit, apparently in a bit of a hurry.

‘Strange,’ Ganesh thought to himself, but merely returned his gaze to his art and to his adoring admirers.

* Inspiration for this story was also derived from the tale of the magic paintbrush.

Holiday hop

2010-07-26T00:29:00.000+08:00

Try this on for size:

"Come up with a new holiday. Explain why and how it should be celebrated."

*Writing prompt taken from Writer's Digest

* * *

We should celebrate Paper Cut Day.

This holiday should be celebrated because every one of us has experienced a paper cut in one way or another during our lifetime. As small as it is, paper cuts usually occur on the fingers, and because of this, it has a great impact on our ability to do a lot of things (because we use our hands to do most things).

Hence, sometimes we need to pay attention to the small details in life. Once in awhile, just one small thing going awry can amount to great problems later on.

So, the spirit behind Paper Cut Day is to take time to cherish the small things - to mend any hurts that might have been inflicted onto the soul.

Reconnect with old friends. Revitalise an old hobby. Make amends for relationships gone sour. Take time to smell the flowers. To sing your favourite tune. To listen to God, to just be. To make a big deal about the smaller details in life - because they really do matter after all.

In order to encourage participation in Paper Cut Day, it is recommended that this holiday should be made a globally observed one, whereby work/school (or anything which requires hard work) on that day shall be completely prohibited, with severe penalties taken on any employer or employee, principal or student who fails to abide by this law.

To commemorate this Day, each person should wear a plaster on one of their fingers as a sign that they are observing this holiday.

The IT factor

2010-07-23T21:46:00.000+08:00

I used to be a programmer by profession, believe it or not. In terms of education and paper qualifications, I have a bachelor's degree in IT, from a rather distinguished university. In fact, I was employed in IT jobs for at least 2+ years previously.

However, I gleefully left my IT ways behind me the moment I gained access to an editorial/writing career. It is my one of my true loves, after all.

Then, once in awhile, there comes a night like tonight, when my parents present me with some computer challenge that they are facing. And thanks to the principle of past behaviour defining future behaviour, they still think I am able to solve their problem.

So, well, I try. And as how it usually goes at the first attempt, I flat out fail. Then I consult my virtual best friend, Google, and 20-30 minutes later, I've got the troubling issue dealt with. Perhaps my IT troubleshooting skills haven't left me after all.

But really, this goes to prove just ONE thing: you don't have to be a genius or an expert to be able to ace something. You just need persistence, an inquisitive mind, and a nose pointed in the right direction for help, advice, and ultimately, the turning up of the right solution.

And so, my dear friends, before you decide to say "no" to some favour that someone else is asking of you because you think it's out of your league, think again. It may not be as hard to figure out as you imagined.

Plus, you might earn the label HERO afterwards, which is better than any amount of paper qualifications hanging on your wall.

The Scoop

2010-07-23T00:58:00.000+08:00

I miss writing fiction, so therefore, it's time for a refresher:

"Write a story from the perspective of a spoon in a dishwasher."

- Source: writing.com

So here goes...

* * *

It's cold over here and yet, I am waiting. Nobody ever told me before that this was part of the job description.

My vision is currently half obscured by the heavy porcelain plate that is stacked just right beside the spot where I am nestled beside other fellow dinner cutlery. In any case, I can't see much. It's pretty dark.

Dinner has been over since hours ago. But I guess someone forgot to put the dishwasher on. So we've been sitting idle here for what feels like centuries. Then again, we spend more time waiting than we do being used. It's just one of those facts of life, I suppose.

My partner in crime, the gorgeously prickly Fork, told me that the dishwasher functions pretty much like a carwash. When I asked her what a car was, she shrugged and said she didn't really know. It's a wonder how she knew what a carwash is then.

I hear some movement from the direction of the front door of the dishwasher. I wonder if it's about to be started soon. I'm looking forward to being washed squeaky clean.

Human voices. Then, a turning of knobs and a pressing of buttons. The dishwasher comes to life.

But then, something feels terribly wrong. The machine begins to shake - more violently than I remember it normally does. I hear the clatter of plates clashing against one another. The other forks and spoons are shivering. The glasses and mugs are shrieking, vibrating, shattering...

I feel the rise of chaos, the cries of helplessness, the sting of heat... and then, a sudden silence and deep darkness, thicker than before.

I try to call out, but then, my voice is not heard. Although I cannot normally move myself, I try to inch forward towards whatever it is that is around me. I feel myself falling. Somewhere. Into something.

Splat.

It is soft. I descend upon its surface unharmed. I look about me. All I see is pink.

A hand reaches into the pink atmosphere. I am lifted from the wreckage and a pile of pink stuff is scooped up with me.

I hear laughter.

Before I even realise it, I am face to face with a mouth - one that's opening and beckoning me in towards its dark, bottomless abyss.

In goes the pink stuff, and saliva smooths my curvy surface.

I stop to wonder how did I ever get here. What happened to the dishwasher?

I feel alone. I miss my precious companion, the Fork.

Again I am dunked into the pink pile. My face is numb. Teeth clench themselves around me.

I am being used. I should be happy. But I am not.

Where are all my friends from the dishwasher?

Swoosh. A wave of cold water flushes out my thoughts.

I am in a cupboard. Or a drawer. I cannot decide which.

I try to rise from where I am. My body clinks against another piece of silverware..

Fork! Dear Fork! It is good to see you.

Oh Spoon! Where have you been?

I'm not sure, but I though we were in the dishwasher?

Oh we are... we are...

Water sploshes all around. My confused thoughts meld together with the rhythmic rinsing and comforting warmth.

I sigh contentedly.

What a life.

One Minute Writer: Delegate

2010-07-02T02:14:00.000+08:00

I'd love to delegate the responsibility of making decisions for my life to someone else. Let them think for once what I should do and the pros and cons and all the other factors involved.

I'd have the hardest time delegating something I'd love to do myself, especially something creative like writing or music. That's because I'd want it done in a specific way, probably.

Idea gleaned from this post

Write Where You Want It

2010-06-22T23:41:00.000+08:00

Erm. Writing isn't always fun. Especially writing for the job. Sometimes you have the most brilliant lines emerge from your thoughts. But at other times your brain feels like the dull end of ye old fashioned me-needs-sharpening kind of pencil.

Today was one of the duller moments for me. After going to great lengths to source for information online, having gathered all my precious archaelogical findings together and almost causing my eyes pop out from reading what I'd found due to its sheer volume, my brain was in a state of stupor.

One of the hardest parts about writing, I must say, especially of the non-fiction sort, is the part where you're just about to begin putting words down - when you've got all that you need right there with you, but for the time being it's still just a huge tangled ball of yarn stuck in your head.

Once the words get recorded one by one and the sentences are getting built and the paragraphs are growing by the dozens, you are in a safe zone once more. A rhythm forms, and soon you'd have a steady momentum to spit out ideas and string them together into a logical train of thought.

Then you're alright.

But before then, there's this immense battle combo of boredom, mixed with restlessness, fear (of not being able to write the article properly or convincingly), tiredness (which surprisingly sprang out of nowhere) and lazyness that needs to be overcome.

To describe this most difficult segment of the writing process, I will use the analogy of the feeling a person gets when staring down at a valley from the peak of a very high mountain and wondering when on Earth will he/she set foot on that ground that can now only be squinted at with the eyes.

Yes, that says it perfectly.

When oh when will that burdensome article be done? The ever familiar repetitive silent cry. Sigh.

Oh, but when you finally get past all that, and you have your first draft fleshed out right before your eyes, the feeling you will get instead will be close to heavenly.

So plod on you must. And so should I.

For there is no other way to transform ourselves into spectacular authors/writers except if we write, write, write.

Am I not right? ;)

_____________________________________

One Minute Writer:

'Silly birds! Music is for optimists!'

That was the thought I couldn't help thinking when I glanced out my window upon hearing the loud, chirpy tunes of the fair feathered friends that were cheerily resting upon the branches of the huge tree nearby.

You don't really know much about life, do you?

There is too much sadness to sing. Too little energy to waste on trivial things.

I gathered up the remainder of my stuff. I am almost done now with my packing. The room feels hollow now, with all my belongings tucked away into the pockets, zippers and corners of my luggage bags.

I keep telling myself I will miss this place. But then I try to think about what exactly I will miss, and my mind draws up a blank. Perhaps I have been here way too long. Longer than I should have been.

"Sherlyn," a voice gently calls to me and I turn around to see Shermaine standing at the door to the room, leaning on the doorpost, observing me intently. She has a look of concern. She is probably worried about me.

"Do you remember...?" I ask her, my eyes misting up. I try to blink fast enough to prevent tears forming. For now, I still succeed.

"Yes," she says quietly and nods.

I smile and for a moment, am jerked back a few dozen years to when it was. But wait. It wasn't quite that long ago.

*     *     *

"Play it again!" I gasp excitedly, my voice coming out all wrong as I speak too fast and too soon without drawing enough breath. I realise too late that the words have come out in the form of an almost unintelligible squeak.

"Alright, alright," he exclaims bashfully, and picks up the clarinet.

"Beautiful..." Papa murmurs, and I note that he is staring off into a distant space as he says this.

Mama only claps.

Jester, our adorable beagle, whimpers in his sleep as if in agreement.

Shermaine hums the tune as Shawn artfully blows the notes of the beautiful tune through the instrument he caresses in his strong hands.

The shining hope of our future.

*     *     *

"Sherlyn! Quick! Get in the car!"

Mama's voice reflects the intensity of her emotions. I pick up my pace and break into a run. I have always been the slow one.

The car speeds off in the direction that only Mama knows. I don't know where we are going. I still don't know why we had to go there.

* * *

The first colour that I see is red. It is everywhere.

His eyes flitter open and shut, over and over.

I hear the clarinet playing. I remember the look on his glowing face.

I remember. I remember.

Shermaine is wailing loudly, her sobs deafening. Mama is dumbstruck and doesn't seem to be able to move.

I am there. But maybe I was somewhere else all along.

*     *     *

Silence is unbearable. Noise is better than facing the quietness.

Papa clears his throat every so often, but no words escape his lips. I wonder at the lack of them.

Shermaine has the radio on, and the volume has been creeping up in tiny decibels with every few seconds.

Mama appears uneasy with the rising volume. She keeps wringing her hands.

Finally, she yells, "Shermaine! Turn that thing off!"

I swiftly head to my room. Bury my head into the comforts of my well used pillow.

*     *     *

"I wish they would stop singing," I say to Shermaine as I pick up my bags and head towards her.

"I know," she whispers. "I know."

Abruptly, the singing ceases.

In the silence, we walk down the creaky steps to front of the house.

With one last look about me, I hasten outside, leaving behind us a trail of long memories.

Barefoot Dreams

2010-06-19T08:14:00.000+08:00

She likes to see the world in full colour. Better still, she'll kick off her shoes and scurry barefoot in the direction of any fun that comes to find her. She dreams of better days. She thinks maybe she found it this time.

Prompted by The One-Minute Writer :)

The Write Stuff

2010-06-17T00:45:00.000+08:00

And so I have entered the REAL DEAL writer job zone. It's been about almost 2 weeks now.

Just like all other things in life, it's never quite like the general public's view of what a writer's daily routine is like.

For one thing, I am NOT working for a glamourous magazine publisher, so no photoshoots with models, no gorgeously goodlooking editors or sub-editors to ogle at, or absolutely awesome cool/hot/hip events to attend.

Well. There ARE events. But they're sorta more on the serious end.

*ahem*

Moving along...

In any case, for all you aspiring writers out there, let me share with you a typical day's work routine:

Review any writing assignments that are half done and finish them OR re-edit completed articles to correct errors and possibly rewrite certain portions for better clarity OR seek superior to obtain new assignments to write
Get disturbed/distracted by colleagues
Daydream/brainstorm
Try hardest to concentrate on doing research or writing
Stay at desk for hours perfecting an article
Receive feedback from superior for articles handed in earlier
Amend articles if required by superior to do so
Get asked random grammar or proofreading tasks by colleagues, just because being a writer is equated to being an authority on all things involving the English language
Attend events
Go toilet
Eat, and then shortly afterwards, eat again
Repeat steps 1-8 several times before end of day

That pretty much sums it up. Writing is a lot of brain work, so sometimes it's quite mentally tiring. Plus, there's the infamous setback known as Writer's Block, which is prone to strike every other day, or perhaps, when the weather is bad, every few hours.

All in all, it's just a lot of discipline and work-at-the-desk sorta stuff. Nothing glamourous. Nothing extraordinary.

Just the occasional satisfying, fantastic rush when an article gets completed on time, or when you get a byline, or when the boss says you've done a splendid piece of work as some sentence or phrase of yours was aptly worded.

It makes me wonder why my boyfriend so often reports to me that whenever he informs other people of my career they seem to be very impressed. Surely there are more awe inspiring jobs than a writer's.

But I guess it doesn't hurt to be admired.

Revamp!

2010-05-27T12:01:00.000+08:00

I was having a drink with an old friend from my college days the other day, and it got me thinking about this blog.

I realise, one of the troubles I have nowadays in maintaining a blog is that I can't seem to decide on a fixed voice from which to write these posts. Whether first or third person, whether fact or fiction, etc.

So, I guess, it's time to narrow it down to a definition.

This blog shall be purely about writing - its products and processes and everything in between - and perhaps, occasionally about anything related to the arts in general.

Hence, for the personal thoughts and life experiences, please hunt me down on Facebook or click your way to my Twitter page.

I contemplated deleting previous posts to clear the way for a new direction in this blog, but then again, I thought to myself, let history be, as it is the marker that points us in the right direction, showing us the way forward into the imminent future.

So I shall let it be.

I hope you'll stay with me, dear reader. There is much to talk about and to share.

The best news I have right now is that I've been hired, as a full time writer. Finally, a dream of a lifetime coming into fruition.

And so, the tales begin.

Stories To Tell

2010-05-09T14:43:00.000+08:00

I wonder if it's just a writer's thing, to face various experiences in life and to think all the while, 'This would be such a good story to tell/write about later on'?

Because that's just the sort of thing that keeps running through my head lately. Everything that happens is pretty much a worthy story. I suppose it boils down to how you decide to tell it.

One story I'll definitely want put down in words is how I am slowly arriving at a writing profession. It's not all there yet, but I can see such a huge progression from when I first started out right up till now. It's fascinating. I'm one of those kind of people who thinks that the process is just as important - if not more important than - arriving at the desired result.

Ever thought of your life as a story before? Did you venture the thought of what it would look like on the big silver screen or the paperback novel? Would it enthrall audiences the world over, or keep readers turning the pages right through from cover to cover?

Just a thought anyway.

Impetus

2010-04-12T09:41:00.000+08:00

And so it is that I am back from a month long holiday. As is the case most of the time, days flew by much faster than expected... than wanted, in fact.

So the monotony has been broken, the previous daily routine quashed, and now comes the part where change and improvement should be worked on.

I have now the impetus for change, but the question is, will I do anything fruitful about it?

That is the pertinent question. And that is also the one that is typically left to slide off into oblivion.

On Hedonism

2010-03-01T09:18:00.000+08:00

The words "I'm going on a holiday" don't roll off my tongue easily. There's this part of me that hesitates, because I feel as if proclaiming as such is a selfish statement in itself.

For one thing, people may be prone to think to themselves how is it that I am not doing anything more fruitful with the money and time I have but instead "squandering" it on a pleasure trip.

Then, there are the internal questions: Do I deserve such a holiday? What have I done to actually deserve it? And if I don't deserve it, what justifies me having to go for it?

Holidays are so commonly taken by everyone these days. Travelling by air has been made so much cheaper, there are so many more options on where to stay, how to get around, etc. So it's not as expensive as it used to be. And yet you can get further, do more and all that.

Nevertheless, in the light of other more so-called useful things to do with our money and time, is holidaying justified?

It might seem to some, to imply affluence, and if so, is everything done in such a state appropriate, since you are somewhat in a position to do something greater to bless someone else in that same money and time, ie be more selfless?

Perhaps, like other things in life, I over-dramatise or over-extrapolate the facts with no apparent figures (and by this I mean evidence) to support my hypotheses? Or maybe, it's something most of us don't think about.

I will enjoy my holiday, without a doubt, but nevertheless, the thoughts linger. And there is the nagging feeling that even when I do get back, something more selfless and "responsible" has to come out of it.

Older

2010-01-29T01:01:00.000+08:00

I am older now.

Not old, for that would imply that I have gained wisdom that comes from age, which is not entirely the case.

But yet, I am older... because I see more clearly now the rhythm of things. Of how life often flows in cycles. Seasons. Changes. Growth. Death. Rebirth.

Purposes, which only time reveals. Stories now claimed because they have in fact been lived through. Attested to. The benefits of hindsight.

Years add perspective to vision. Experience lends clarity to decisions.

Old enough to know that not everything stays the same, and cherishing every single good thing counts.

A little more worn in, perhaps a little more tired, a bit less easily amused but still hopeful.

Boxed In

2010-01-07T23:08:00.000+08:00

I've always found the phrase "packing my life into boxes" amusing. People tend to use it whenever they're they're gathering their stuff in preparation move to a new place to stay.

I've always wondered, figuratively speaking, what would the boxes contain if I were to literally attempt to pack my life into them? And by this I don't mean the physical things I own, but rather, what are the things that make up what my life is all about.

Would it be full of perishable endeavours - things that perhaps bring pleasure only for the moment but have no real lasting value? Or would it have a respectable amount of treasures - invaluable items that were acquired through much determination and hard work?

In a nutshell, would the boxes containing my life be a delight to someone else, had they been packaged into a gift box? Is my life of any worth?

These are the questions that prod at my conscience presently.The answers are not straight forward in any sense of the word. But it is something worth pondering.

What would boxes of your life contain?

Newfound Joys

2009-12-31T10:52:00.000+08:00

I'll admit it up front. I'm one of those strange individuals who tends to catch up to things a little late.

I'm sure most of you normal people out there have been singing songs about the New Year coming round probably as early as the start of December, or maybe even long before that. But me, it's only now that I am feeling a stronger sense of that spectrum of emotions that accompany an anticipation of the brand new things to come in the soon-be-to year 2010.

Well, whilst more than half the working population of Malaysia is still in its party-holidaying mood, I have been trudging to work every morning to an office that's two-thirds empty. Technically, somewhere in the back of my mind I realise that I am not alone doing this. Yet somehow, when I'm out on the roads driving to that faraway place where I work, it doesn't always feel that way. Nevertheless, I have been trying in my own little ways to keep myself motivated.

For one thing, the roads are much clearer than usual and that means a shorter ride in the car and being able to get into the office within a reasonable time (although I am getting up and leaving home later than I should). And with the clearer traffic comes the clearer mind and a reduction in stress levels. So, with a mind that's more at ease, I've been doing a bit more thinking whilst behind the wheel these few days.

One of the things I've been pondering is how easily I forget that each new day I have before me is in fact a gift. Yes, I know, it may sound awfully cliche and all, but the thing is, as regular human beings, we do tend to forget these things. Even if we're not scowling or grunting outwardly, I'm pretty certain there have been a considerable number of days where, upon waking up in the morning, one of the first few thoughts that crosses your mind runs something along the lines of "Just great, yet ANOTHER working day..." Am I not right?

And so we forget that waking up to a healthy body, having the sufficient financial standing to be able to drive a car out on the streets each day, zipping across town taking for granted that our safety is assured, having a predictable job and steady income, being able to come home to people who love us at the end of each day are things that not everyone in this world enjoys.

Then another New Year rolls along and suddenly, we're jolted to remember the 101 reasons why the year has been such a fantastic journey. We come to grips again with the mortality of life as news reports of fatal accidents or crimes jab fear and at the same time thankfulness into our hearts again. There's life to spare yet, and we're still blessed enough to be living it. We make lists of things to do, and relive that invigorating surge of excitement again as we hold fast to the hope that the New Year will spell better tomorrows for us.

But why does this only happen at the brink of a New Year? Only for another two or three months to go by and then we'll find ourselves again stuck in some dreaded rut, loathing the very air we breathe all over again?

Personally, I've always believed that most things in life hang heavily upon our perspectives - the way we see the world. Often times, a situation doesn't really change, but perhaps the way we look at it does. And depending on the conclusions we choose to draw from it, it would determine whether or not we are affected for the better or the worse by the said situation.

So, even as we revel in the fact that the New Year is in fact finally approaching (and fast too), let's put aside the age old habit of racking up long lists of Resolutions in favour of a brand new attitude for a change. And that attitude being this: to purpose in our hearts to find ways to see things in a new light each day. To make sure we don't fall into the trappings of the mundane, but to keep that New Year's enthusiasm alive the whole year through, as though it were New Year's Day every day.

How's that for a New Year's Resolution then?

Being different is a choice, after all. And making a difference is set in motion by a series of consistent decisions to remain different each time. If enough of us believe this and live this out, who knows what form of a different world we'll have at the end of 2010?

So let's do this.

Let's not hope for better tomorrows. Let's bring hope to others wherever we're at by the way we live today.

Happy New Year, everyone. I'm excited for whatever's ahead... Are you? :)

Royalty

2009-12-11T03:06:00.000+08:00

I dreamed a dream
And it was grand
With castles majestic and not made of sand
I held the world
And it fit snugly
In the palm of my hand
Then I realised in my dream
That it was a dream, a figment of imagination
Climbing and scaling the walls and interiors of my brain
What a shame
That it should not be real
Because it was beautiful
And well, admittedly, a tad surreal
In it the horses rode wide, white meadows
And the sky was pink and purple in shade
Kings and queens came to visit and share pots of tea
Then I envisioned you with me
With fits of hearty laughter and priceless company
Smiles for kilometres (not miles)
And time that stood still, albeit awhile
In my dream I was gorgeous and charming
And you were gentle and sweet and not at all alarming

Then suddenly...

No kings and queens graced the table
Nor horses galloping came to rest in the stable
The castles crumbled
And the beauty faded
The tea got spilt
The sky got raided

Then I sighed
And looked
Then there was you

So smiles remained
And laughter was a lesson learnt
A wisdom gained
Dreams, hope and reality collided
Over tea, we conquered the world
And crowned ourselves royalty
The walls of my brain crumbled
My heart, it fitted snugly in the palm of your steady hands

And then
There was the world
And there was us

* Happy 1st quarter, sayang. It's been a lovely journey thus far. :)

Pause

2009-11-30T11:42:00.000+08:00

One moment of silence please, as I mourn the loss of face from being unable to complete Nanowrimo on time. Again.

*sigh*

But three cheers for the fact that this writer has landed an editorial job, albeit only a contract basis.

Life is about to change. Yet another time.

The Half Truth

2009-11-23T22:53:00.001+08:00

I will tell you a story that is only half true. Which half that might be is really up to you.

I used to be a gorgeous princess once. Well, at least that's what my Mother used to call me. I wore the prettiest dresses and was the admiration of everyone who saw me.

Only that what they admired wasn't the dress nor the beauty. What they admired was really, my ability to be brave. Not many girls are brave. Or rather, not many girls are as brave as they portray themselves to be.

I was once brave.

I was brave enough to stand up to the boys. Boys are full of nasty ideas, and they are big bullies. One or two tried to tease me and call me names a number of times. At first I just smiled nicely and pretended like I was too sweet to do anything to retaliate.

Then, one day, when all the boys were out playing football, I exchanged the shirts of the nasties so that none of them got to wear back their own shirts. Of course, they never knew it was me who did it. I was careful about that.

I almost fought with a teacher once, for mistreating my friend. How dare teachers just accuse people of being lazy, when the truth was my friend was busy helping her dad's business so they could earn enough money for the family so she and her other sibilings could all stay in school.

I wrote my real thoughts about school down once, in an exercise book, and handed it up as my essay homework instead of what I was actually supposed to write.

But I had girls in my class who refused to let me join in their fun and games. I was on the sidelines practically most of the time.

Eventually I watched other people my age hog the limelight, whilst I fell back into the shadows. Not because I had nothing to offer, but because others outshined me, and I accepted it for a fact.

My voice grew softer amidst the growing confidence that my peers were developing. Latest world news, current youth trends, juicy gossip. I could not keep up.

I had talent once. I squandered it. That is because I sang in a school concert, and although it was pretty good, my teacher told me instead that I had done a terrible job and my voice was not worthy to be heard in public. Which was terribly untrue.

I had always wanted to be a teacher. But then my grades got bad in high school because I fell in love with a boy who didn't love me back. One day, I tried kissing a real live frog, hoping that it might become a real prince, who would love me as I am and when he looked into my eyes, I'd feel so self-assured that I was okay and that I was lovable.

My Mum died when I was still in university. She used to say such lovely things to me every day and it kept me going. It made me feel special, that I had a unique place in this world. After she was gone, I stopped believing everything she said because I realised all the hope she had encouraged me with hadn't had the power to save her from dying and leaving me all alone here in the world.

I found a useful job, and kept at it long enough until all the good people gave up doing it, and only I was left. So I was successful because there was no one else who stuck it out as long as me. And everyone thought I was smart. And also hinted that maybe I had been brave.

I married a man almost prince-like, only so far as his choice of cars, clothes and food go. Nothing but the best and the most pricey things for my handsome hunk. I am his princess, but only when I do everything he expects of me.

I wrote a story once, about what my lfe was really like. It had a happy ending, or so I thought I recalled. It goes something like what I just told you.

What I told you at the beginning of my story is true. And then there was the other half.

Them, part 2: Against Them

2009-11-17T15:14:00.000+08:00

Entry #0002

Cardboard box

They hosted an entertainment event today. Various performers, but mostly from amongst themselves. The idea of course, was to generate publicity.

Many of us were asked to attend. No, wait, let me rephrase that: many of us were forced to attend. What good would a public event look, if there were too many empty seats?

But in all honesty, their ideas of amusement are feeble, to say the least. Back where we came from, music festivals were joyful and full of vigour. There is nothing of that sort here. If you would just look at us, we are nothing but the living dead. We have lost our souls almost entirely.

I am a performer at heart. I miss the freedom of singing in the open streets. And dancing. It thrills the heart, and sparks life into the bones. Dancing is forbidden here.

And so is singing.

But in the dead of night, I hear voices. There are some among us who have not yet forgotten the tunes of yesteryear. One day these songs will resound in this city again.

I hope in some ways I will help to hasten the coming of that day.

* * *

All related posts for this story can be found under the label Them

Passion

2009-11-13T03:37:00.000+08:00

There is a great deal of difference between doing something because you have to and doing something because you want to. That is, I believe, the essence of passion.

Take now into consideration the fact that I am up at this superbly late hour working on freelance articles. Of course I'll get paid for it and of course I have to deliver because I agreed to deadlines and it would reflect on my professionalism.

But yet I could choose to simply kill off word limits by writing nonsense or simply plaster in facts without putting effort into coining catchy puns or putting life into the words I write. It would consume less time, and the work would still get done.

However, ladies and gentlemen, I take pride in the articles I churn out, regardless of how pressing the deadlines or how daunting the topics.

The reason lies in the existence of passion.

I will be downright honest with you and tell you quite frankly that the amount of money I am being remunerated right now for what I do versus the quantity of effort I put into to produce any one given article is not in the least proportionate. It is by no means at a sustainable level as far as income is concerned. But I am doing this in the hopes that someday it will be.

Let a passion of yours collide with what you do as work and the results would be explosive. Productivity would be up by a gazillion notches and not only would you be satisfied, I'd wager your employers would be as well.

I'm embarking on that road now. The path to seek out how I may enter a job that incorporates what I am passionate about that at the same time can earn me a steady and relatively self sustainable income.

It has not been an easy road so far, and I don't expect it will be in the future either. I'm still waiting for my big break to come, yet shuffling while I wait by taking on freelance work to build my portfolio. A lot of people in my life are supportive of my move to do this, yet not many people really appreciate what it involves or share my joys/despairs in the journey. I have been questioning too how much of this is worth it, and how it would be be oh-so-easy to just slip back into doing what I'm qualified to do but which kills me off slowly as I continue to choose to do it. It is a dilemma of sorts.

Is what you're passionate about worth fighting for?

If you asked me, I'd be willing to wager that if it wasn't, it wouldn't be labelled a passion of yours in the first place.

Them

2009-11-11T15:05:00.000+08:00

Entry #0001
The Trenches, 0000 hours

I am finally alone. I am here at last.

I have tried many times to make it here to write this, but as you might expect, things often get in the way around here.

It's all their fault.

There have been others before me, many who have tried to do as I now endeavour to. To write about what really goes on here. To make known everything that they do.

They have kept us silent for far too long now. They try to strike fear into our hearts, to make us cower in their presence. To believe that there is no way that we can rise up against them. That they are not afraid.

But they are.

That is why they keep making efforts to silence us. It is the reason that they stalk us, the same cause for the violence. Yes. They resort to violence now. All their calm assurances that they would never lay a hand on those under their care is nothing but a hoax.

That's what they are, anyway. Nothing but a giant lie.

I shiver as I write this. I fear to be found out. But as I said before, I need to continue where the others have left off. It is the tiny glimpse of hope that comforts me now. The hope that somehow, when our story gets out, there will be a chance for change.

It is that chance which gives me the strength to keep going.

But this is all I can afford to pen down for now. I hear them coming. I must go.

Till next time.

* * *

All related posts for this story can be found under the label Them

Look

2009-10-27T00:23:00.000+08:00

I look at their lives and the many colours and stories. I wonder why
it is so full of activity, where mine is so empty. I wander through their
worn paths, and ruminate about my own. I falter in my convictions as
I study their certainty. I poke tentatively at the differences and cower
at the mismatches. I fear.

I fear.

Look. At. Me.

I fear.

Hope, The Friend

2009-10-19T16:35:00.000+08:00

Rough terrain slashing the backs of the weary wanderer
The dread of the perils of the trail
From the ones that were crossed before
Uncertainty underscoring the lines
The shapes and signs of the ever changing rhythm
Time and moments to a life
Tying memories around the things that matter
The dreams that scatter and crease the brow
The whys the wonder of the who how whens
Some places you head towards
The journey never seems to end or pace to slow
Of growing old or grace enough to blanket imperfections
Freedom fairness compassion justice to roam
An old friend, the shoulder upon which to lean
A pillow upon which to dream, to imagine the things that cannot be seen
Hope, the age old wisdom, the comforting touch
Puts words to songs and music to poetry
Makes things so ordinarily missed and neglected
Find their meaning
And mean much

Mental Garbage

2009-10-17T11:24:00.000+08:00

"Girl," the teacher's voice was a tad exasperated. "Go take the rubbish to throw with Dennis."

She hadn't been listening. Or rather, had been pretending not to.

"Girl, are you listening to me?"

Somehow, this situation spelt trouble. She could feel it already. She lifted her gaze from teacher to Dennis and stared straight into his fidgety face. She didn't like him. Not one bit.

The walk to the garbage collection area at the front of the school was a long one. Or maybe it seemed longer than usual because she was less than eager to make this trip.

What student doesn't like time to escape classes? Well, she wasn't one to favour it. At least not for these sort of reasons.

His pace was way quicker than hers. He didn't care, obviously, that she couldn't keep up. Every now and then though, he'd glance back at her. Pretty much just to gloat, more than for any other apparent reason.

Finally, they reached the door to the garbage collection spot. He shoved the bag of rubbish at her.

"You go throw it," he announced firmly.

She took the bag from him and glared. Then, holding her breath, she stepped into the garbage collection area. A mere few steps in and the stench overwhelmed her. She dropped the bag hurriedly and turned to leave...

Only to find the latch to the door fastened.

She pushed the door. It didn't budge. Pausing for a moment, she realised right then and there what had just happened. The idiot of a boy had locked her inside the garbage collection area.

She thought about screaming. But then again, she doesn't scream. And she wasn't sure whether she'd be heard by anyone anyway. They were the only ones around and the nearest class was quite a distance away.

Deciding to delay any real panic, she pushed at the door again.

To her surprise and ultimate relief, it swung open. She hurriedly made her exit.

Not far from the door, Dennis stood smirking, obviously very pleased with himself for having successfully frightened her. She considered hitting him. Shouting at him.

But then did nothing.

She stalked off, and he tailed from behind - both making their way back to class.

Curiousity

2009-10-01T15:06:00.000+08:00

As they say, curiousity killed the cat. But then again, I ain't no cat.

So... help me out with this survey. I'd just like to know what you think. :)

Click here to take the survey :)

*Psst... Part 3 of A Glimpse, A Glance, A Gaze coming soon, I promise ;)

A Thousand Apologies, Sire

2009-09-03T11:13:00.000+08:00

Aloha :)

It would appear that this blog has been lying idle for quite some time now. Rest assured, the blog author has indeed not abandoned this spot entirely, but she will most definitely return.

For the moment, she has her hands full somewhat... having taken up 3 different freelance tasks, and has her fingers crossed on transitioning to a proper writing career sometime... The sooner the better, of course ;)

Don't for a moment think that anything will be left incomplete here. I will most definitely finish off the last bit of A Glance, A Glimpse, A Gaze soon. Very soon. As soon as the deadlines over these next few days clear.

In the meantime, kindly amuse yourselves with this untitled piece of fiction. Psst: it's a collabo between me and my bandmate, Joanne :) Teehee. No telling you who wrote what and which parts... that's the beauty of collaborations. United we stand, together we fall (spot the deliberate error haha).

So, please dear readers, take note: this writer is not being lazy, in fact she is taking on more these days. And hopefully this means the quality of the texts written will improve :)

In any case, the ultimate passion for fiction and all things freestyle will most definitely never die, so keep up the visits, and see you here again soon with more brain fodder! :)

A Glimpse, A Glance, A Gaze: Part 2 of 3

2009-08-14T01:55:00.000+08:00

*Another update! Finally! :)

Foreword

This short trilogy is based on 3 sections, each taking on 1 of the 3 words from its title. Each section is inspired by a quote randomly chosen based on the presence of the keyword in its content. There is no plot, and the story goes wherever it wishes. :)

Acknowledgments

My special thanks to Deric for the selection of the 3 random quotes and for being a supporter of these unpolished writings.

Read this first: Part I: Glimpses

Part II: A Glance

“The retrospective glance is a relatively easy gesture for us to make.”
- George Crumb

Mr Stiffellatrundle sat on the edge of his bed, staring in the direction of the strange brown box that now occupied a corner of his room. It felt like just minutes ago when he had arrived home with the box in tow.

In reality, it has been three days already since the box first entered his home. It wasn’t much of a threat – just another harmless, inanimate object to grace his rather spartan home decor. Yet somehow, Mr Stiffellatrundle has this strange feeling that there was something about the box which was alive.

Curiousity had plagued him ever since the arrival of the box. Yet, he had not come around to actually opening the box yet. He had waited. And waited. And waited.

“Just as long as you let us know in a month’s time what you’ve done with the box, that will be fine,” Miss Daintygracearnest had assured him. Those were her final parting words to him before she departed from his front door and whizzed off in her expensive, shiny car.

It had been pure silence since then. Well, not that it hadn’t been silent in his house before that. It’s just that the silence felt especially thick these past three days.

Mr Stiffellatrundle had this unnerving notion that somehow, this out-of-the-ordinaryness that was slowly bothering him would not really go away, until and unless he opened that box.

So now, here he was, staring at that brown, corrugated thing at the corner of his bedroom again. Contemplating.

He took a deep breath finally, then stood up and walked across the room to fetch the box.

* * *

Miss Daintygracearnest cleared her throat emphatically and raised the clipboard in her right hand to read the paper attached to it. There were five names on the list, and there were five people before her.

“Alright everyone,” she said brightly, putting on a warm smile, “I’m not sure if you’ve been properly informed why you’re here or not, but in any case, I’m about to explain. You five have been specially chosen. We’re about to hand you the liberty to pick yourselves a box each. This door in front of us here leads to the warehouse. Once inside, you can take your time, browse around if you like, and when you’re ready, tell us which box you’d like to take home with you.”

“A box? Whatever for?” Squealed a young lady with long, limp hair – one of the five.

“Well... basically, once you’ve selected your box, you can open it anytime and – ”

“What’s in the box?” Interrupted a scruffy looking school boy, still in his soiled uniform from having come straight over after school.

“You’ll see,” Miss Daintygracearnest said quietly.

* * *

What does your heart desire most?

That’s what the tiny label on the box said. It was positioned right smack in the middle of the two flaps with a seal on them.

Mr Stiffellatrundle stared at the words, puzzled. No immediate answer came to mind. But then again... there was something...

He closed his eyes and let the images flood his mind. He remembered. And then, he knew all of a sudden what his answer should be.

He gritted his teeth and started pulling apart the seal at the top of the box. Then, he parted the two flaps and pressed them down to their respective sides. Now, at last, he could see what was on the inside of his box.

* * *

Miss Daintygracearnest watched the five people in the warehouse in amusement. It was obvious they were all pretty overwhelmed by the sheer size of the place, and even more so by the number of boxes they had to choose from.

Four out of the five were randomly shuffling about the warehouse in a rather clueless manner, scanning the dozens and dozens of boxes, trying their best to take it all in and make an intelligent decision.

But the schoolboy was too young to appreciate any fancy tactics. He went straight up to the first box that he had laid his eyes on, and picked it up right away.

“I’ll take this one!” He exclaimed confidently as he stood right in front of Miss Daintygracearnest. He had picked on of the smaller boxes. One appropriate for his size.

She could only smile in response at his impulsive decision.

“Well, are you sure?” She said kindly, and bent down to meet the boy at eye level.

“Yes,” he nodded emphatically, and shook the box hard as he did so. “What’s inside it?” He peered at the box in his hands inquisitively.

“That’s for you to find out.” She patted him on the shoulder, and stood upright again.

“Can I open it now?”

Miss Daintygracearnest smiled again, in spite of herself. She cleared her throat, intending to tell the boy this wasn’t exactly the best thing to do since it might influence the perception of the rest about their own boxes, but she didn’t quite know how to put it nicely to him in a way he could understand. More importantly, she felt guilty about spoiling his infectious excitement.

“Well...” she began, pausing to think, then continuing, “how about we go for some icecream after this, just you and me, we can open it together... what do you say to that?”

“Yay,” the boy exclaimed in delight, jumping up and down, nearly dropping the box. “Let’s go, let’s go!”

“We’ll have to wait ‘till the rest are done first, okay?”

“Okay,” the boy seemed a little disappointed, but sat down obediently in a small, wooden chair that Miss Daintygracearnest pointed out to him.

* * *

The big brown box wasn’t full to the brim as what Mr Stiffellatrundle had expected. He was rather surprised to discover this. A huge, empty blackness greeted him as he peered into the depths of the box. Was the box merely an empty one?

Then, finally, he noticed it.

At the very bottom of the box was a mirror.

It was not a huge one, but it was large enough for him to see the entire reflection of his face in it. Mr Stiffellatrundle frowned, and the man in the mirror frowned back.

And what was he supposed to do with the mirror now?

He had to report something back to Miss Daintygracearnest by the end of the month. Would it be enough for him to say that he had just stared into a mirror at the bottom of his box? It didn’t seem likely. And he wasn’t really intending to forfeit his “rich reward” due to a lack of initiative.

So Mr Stiffellatrundle decided to reach into the box and take out the mirror. Perhaps he could think of something, a more significant way to make use of the mirror, just so he’d have a more meaningful story to tell Miss Daintygracearnest at the end of it all.

He stuck his hand in the box and extended his fingers out to pick up the mirror. But strangely enough, he found he had trouble grasping it.

He tried again. And missed.

Odd indeed.

The moment his hand came into contact with the mirror, he felt it slip right through his fingers. As if it was wasn’t solid. As though it was merely an image, and not really there at all.

He cast a critical eye on the mirror. Or what he thought was a mirror, anyway. It was baffling.

He tried again.

Digging his hand to the very bottom of the box, he tried manoeuvering his fingers in such a way as would seem logical in order to pick up the mirror. But this time, instead of gripping the edges of the mirror, he missed.

Before he knew what was happening, he found that his hand seemed to go right through the middle of the mirror, instead of him touching its surface, as he had anticipated.

He stared at the mirror and his hand, which now looked as if it had passed into a space inside the mirror. Or... beyond it. Slightly alarmed by the queerness of it all, he tried pulling his hand back out of the mirror.

However, to his astonishment, the more he attempted to yank his hand out, the further in it appeared to go. Soon, more than half of his arm had so-called disappeared into the mirror.

This was absurd.

Mr Stiffellatrundle grunted in frustration, and gave one last hard tug in order to get his hand free from the mirror. But instead, to his horror, he suddenly found the rest of his arm was being sucked into the mirror. First his shoulder, his head, his other shoulder, and finally his entire body.

In no time at all, he found himself no longer in his bedroom, but at the other side of the mirror, and apparently, in another world.

* * *

“Alright, everyone,” Miss Daintygracearnest announced in her brisk, business-like tone, “now that you’ve all chosen your own boxes, you are free to go. You can open the box at any time after you’ve gone your separate ways. Al that’s left to do after that is to let me know what you’ve done with the box and whatever’s in it by the end of the month. Alright?”

“Alright,” all the five replied in unison.

Before long, they’d all turned off in different directions to leave, and she was left with the boy standing beside her, looking up at her eagerly.

“Can we go for icecream now?” He grinned, and put his hand in hers.

“Why, of course. What’s your name, anyway?”

“Trey.”

“Well, let’s get going then, Trey.”

“I want a chocolate icecream,” he voiced decisively.

“Sure,” Miss Daintygracearnest couldn’t help but break into another amused smile as they walked hand in hand towards her car.

* * *

There was something familiar about the place where Mr Stiffellatrundle had found himself. He turned full circle, and scanned the area all around him.

He recognised the landmarks, and the shape of the roads, and the buildings. There was something surreal about it all, and there seemed to be nobody around. Or no one within sight or earshot, anyway.

Mr Stiffellatrundle started walking, turning his head left and right, trying to take in everything that was before him. Digesting and processing it as fast as his tired, sluggish brain could handle.

Out of nowhere, people began to appear. At first, they looked like mere ghosts, then the images of them became clearer and sharper to his eyes. Before long, dozens of them were in existence. They were everywhere; talking, walking, busy, engaged in life. Noise ensued. The chatter of conversation, the roar of engines of cars on the street, the pedestrians bustling to and fro about their personal business.

He knew this place somehow. He had been here before.

A voice was calling him now. He turned towards the direction of the voice. It was a lady’s voice. None other than that of his daughter’s.

“Daddy!” She exclaimed cheerily, and ran straight into his arms. The moment they embraced, Mr Stiffellatrundle felt a strange sensation. They parted, and then he looked down at himself. His clothes were different, and his hands... were not the calloused ones that he stared lately, each time he got frustrated with a disfigured piece of handiwork that he’d tried so hard to shape.

He was baffled. Extremely, completely confused.

“I’ve missed you.” The words somehow managed to escape his lips, amidst the swirl of thick emotions that was building, and almost suffocating him. He could hardly breathe.

“Me too,” she smiled at him, and took both his hands in hers.

A Glimpse, A Glance, A Gaze: Part 1 of 3

2009-08-01T02:29:00.000+08:00

*Apologies for delay in updating. Time flies. But I can't. Tired. :P

Foreword

This short trilogy is based on 3 sections, each taking on 1 of the 3 words from its title. Each section is inspired by a quote randomly chosen based on the presence of the keyword in its content. There is no plot, and the story goes wherever it wishes. :)

Acknowledgments

My special thanks to Deric for the selection of the 3 random quotes and for being a supporter of these unpolished writings.

Part I: Glimpses

"Appearances are a glimpse of the unseen."
- Anaxagoras

Mr Stiffellatrundle stared blankly into the mirror before him. He grinned half-heartedly, and watched silently as his reflection greeted him with a similar expression. Next, he raised both his arms midway, and stretched his legs apart from each other. He watched the copycat movements in front of him once more, while allowing his thoughts to race in a million directions or more.

Mr Stiffellatrundle was seriously bored. His face twisted into a grimace, and he lowered his arms. Tapping both his feet in turn, he shook his head vigorously and squinted his eyes shut for a good few minutes.

In his mind, he saw himself. But he saw differently. There was colour, there was cheer and there was vitality.

He opened his eyes reluctantly, once he could hold them shut no longer. And saw instead the pallid reality.

“Eww,” he muttered to himself, and walked off, utterly displeased with himself.

* * *

Miss Daintygracearnest tapped the pencil in her right hand lightly against the surface of the table. Before her, a huge newspaper spread – the classified ads. Among the many, she’d circled a choice few. Her eyebrows hunched together, a frown was slowly making its way onto her forehead. She needed to decide. And soon.

The telephone rang and she looked up from her insoluble task. Standing up abruptly, she stood and flitted across the hallway to lift the receiver. She picked it up on the third ring.

“Why good morning, Mr Perkyenergy! Yes... I’m still working on it... By tomorrow? Isn’t that a bit soon? Oh... hmm... Well, I’ll let you know by evening if I’ve managed to pick out a suitable candidate. Yes yes, of course. Bye.”

Miss Daintygracearnest hung up, and returned to her spread of newspapers on the table. As she sat down in her seat once more, one particular advertisement seemed to suddenly catch her eye. She leaned in to have a closer look and squinted at the text, trying to focus on what it said.

MAN, 101 YEARS OF AGE
SEEKS EMPLOYMENT
WORKS WELL WITH HANDS
SKILLED IN SCULPTURING – WOOD AND WAX

‘Nothing very unusual,’ she thought to herself. But somehow, for some unknown reason, she felt drawn to this ad compared to the rest she’d been poring over for the last few hours.

The name... somehow sounded familiar...

She picked up her pencil and drew a rectangle around that ad slowly. Then, she got up, picked up her coat and keys, and walked briskly out the front door and into the quiet streets outside.

* * *

*Note: This poem was originally written in 2 separate paragraphs, placed side by side on a page. However, due to formatting issues on this blog, I have published it with bolded letters to distinguish one paragraph from the other. These 2 sections/paragraphs of the poem may be read separately, independent of each other, or together. Take your pick ;)

What is beauty How grace beckons
An unrivalled complexion Drenched in compassion
Bathed in sunkissed shades Soaked by harsh rains of reality
Or intelligence cloaked in modesty And simplicity unrestrained
Does it diminish with each appearance Multiplying in joy
Does it manifest in greater fullness Shrinking and expanding
With each word spoken In a heartbeat
And the thoughts floated Embracing change
High on balloons Diving the depths of oceans
Up up and away Look out down below
Into vast grey skies Sunsets and sunrises
Illuminating darkness Blind wary eyes
Where there is no indecision Opportunities beckon
Does beauty linger Grace finds a friend
Or easily drain In the plains
From one to another A perfect harmony

* * *

They were heaving boxes. And in the boxes were things.
They stood in a row. The boxes were sealed. And in it were good things.
They passed the boxes one by one, and one to another.
The boxes were stacked in rows.
Each box, a surprise.
Each surprise, waiting for someone to be surprised by.

“Wait! I’ve lost count!”

The entire row of crew that had been passing boxes down the line came to an abrupt halt in operations. Pausing, they looked at each other, and at the boxes in their hands.

These were sturdy brown boxes.
Boxes without holes.
They were heavy, too.

They silently waited.
Counting the seconds.
Musing over the boxes.
Staring at one another.

Curiousity arose, the common plague.
They wondered about the boxes.

Each of the sealed, sturdy boxes needed to be counted.
Because every person counted, and the boxes needed to be enough.

The one who yelled for a temporary halt earlier was now saying,
“Okay, continue!”

So one by one,

The people. The boxes.
The people moving the boxes.
The boxes sitting quietly in their stacks.
Counting. Piling. Moving.

Moments away to a surprise.
Good things, to seal a fate.

* * *

Miss Daintygracearnest rapped impatiently at the door before her.

Was anybody home at all?

She had been standing there for a good few minutes before what was beginning to seem more and more to her like an empty house. She dug the piece of newspaper with the ad on it out from her bag again, and inspected the address for the second time. She was pretty sure this was right – this was exactly where the Mr Stiffellatrundle supposedly lived.

“Hello... Mr Stiffella... err... Stifella – “ She hastily referred to the ad again, unable to recall how to properly pronounce the name. “Mr Stiffellatrundle? Are you there?”

All of a sudden, the sound of faint footsteps. Growing louder and louder. Then, a twist of the doorknob, and before long, there stood a man right before her.

She blinked in surprise. She had almost thought no one would answer the door at all.

“Yes?” Was the gruffy reply that greeted her.

“Mr Stiffellatrundle?” She asked tentatively.

“Mmph,” he nodded as he responded in a low, quiet voice.

She gave him a cursory glance from head to toe. She was not repulsed, neither was she impressed. He was ordinary. But there was something she didn’t see but knew immediately somehow. He had something there. Between the tiny glimmer in the eyes, the protruding belly and the calloused hands. And the big smelly feet.

Somewhere, in there.
Something.

And she had an offer to make.

She opened her mouth to speak, and began.

* * *

“That’s one thousand three hundred and fifty seven boxes we have here, Mr Perkyenergy. I’ve counted them once, and then twice and then checked it thrice. And you’ll be pleased to know that they’re fresh out of the factory. Quality assured,” the man in the bright orange uniform rattled away his words chirpily, and extended a clipboard towards Mr Perkyenergy.

“Sign here?”

“Yes sir.”

“Mm hmm.” Mr Perkyenergy scribbled away his messy, almost illegible signature. “And what if the goods aren’t as effective for the reason we bought them, as per agreement? Do we get any compensation, or refund?”

“We assure you, Mr Perkyenergy, you will not regret this shipment. Start distributing the boxes to any worthy recipients of your choosing, and you’ll soon see.”

“Ah. Well. Here you go, anyway.”

The clipboard changed hands and was back in the possession of the superbly confident delivery guy. He flashed Mr Perkyenergy the most curious of smiles. It was neither warm, nor was it cold. By no means sinister, but yet there was a knowing look behind it all.

Mr Perkyenergy shook hands for the final time with the man. Then, the delivery truck, with all its orange workmen, were soon gone.

Hand on hips and deep in thought, Mr Perkyenergy had a big task before him now.

Those boxes.
Miracle?
Blessing?
That was what the manufacturers promised.
He’d need to see it to believe it.

* * *

Mr Stiffellatrundle was shaking his head, indicating a response that most would correctly interpret as a “no”.

Miss Daintygracearnest was not easily fazed. She dug in her heels, and repeated her words. Still kindly, and ever so gently.

“Mr Stiffellatrundle, we’re not asking much. All you need to do is just follow me right now, and I’ll take you to our Distribution Centre. You’ll just need to pick out one box from there, and take it with you and open it, and do with it as you please. It won’t take up much of your time, but we hope it’ll prove to be life changing and worth the effort.”

“And... wait a minute... I get paid for doing this?”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it being paid, but I’d say you’d be richly rewarded.”

“Hmm.”

“So, what’ll it be? Do we have a deal?”

“What happens after I open the box?”

“Well, that’s entirely up to you.”

“Hmm.”

Miss Daintygracearnest cast hopeful eyes at him and held her breath, waiting for that favourable reply.

“Well...” he paused, thinking it over as he ran fingers of one hand up and down his chin, “I guess... why not?”

She heaved a sigh of relief at his words, and then said, “Okay, shall we head there now, then?”

Mr Stiffellatrundle nodded, and stepped out of the doorframe to stand just next to Miss Daintygracearnest, closing and locking the front door behind him.

“Yes, let’s.”

She smiled gratefully, and led the way in front of him, pulling out her mobile phone from her bag as they went.

“Hello, Mr Perkyenergy? Yes, I have a Mr Stiffellatrundle with me. Yes, in fact, I’m heading over right now.”

* * *

Mr Perkyenergy eyed Mr Stiffellatrundle critically.

“And why did you say you chose him again? I thought you mentioned you had some criteria about fit, able bodied individuals of a youthful age that have high ambitions of life, blah blah... ” He waved his hand and frowned disdainfully at Miss Daintygracearnest as he spoke.

Mr Stiffellatrundle’s posture slumped at the hearing of those words. He caught the undertones, and he knew what was meant by them. He hung his head slightly, and began to have the growing feeling of sheepishness, for no particularly good reason.

“Well...” began Miss Daintygracearnest, who had noticed Mr Stiffellatrundle’s reaction and felt somewhat guilty for having brought him into this rather condescending situation, “we can’t just be selecting candidates based on a standard profile all the time. Besides, if we’d just struck him out of our consideration solely based on his description or our perceptions of who he is, then we might be becoming rather shortsighted, wouldn’t we? You heard his story, don’t you think he fits the bill? And now with us having met him, wouldn’t you think there’s something here worth taking a chance on?”

Mr Perkyenergy was rather surprised at Miss Daintygracearnest’s defense. She rarely spoke up much, so he figured that - whatever her reasons were – she somehow believed she had chosen the right person for their pilot run. He studied Mr Stiffellatrundle again – the clothes, the demeanour, the earnestness. He nodded slowly as he tried to digest what she had just said.

“Okay, well, I trust your judgment, Miss Daintygracearnest. And I’m so sorry, Mr Stiffellatrundle, I hope none of what we just talked about offends you. It’s just that we have limited boxes available for this first time, and we wanted to be sure it’s distributed to the appropriate persons.”

“Don't worry, Mr Perkyenergy, I completely understand. But may I ask something?”

“Yes?” Both Miss Daintygracearnest and Mr Perkyenergy said in unison.

“This isn’t exactly a job offer as I was hoping for, is it?”

Read this next: Part II: A Glance

Trilogy Preview

2009-07-26T20:03:00.001+08:00

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.

Missing :P

2009-07-24T09:00:00.000+08:00

(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 :)

Rhythm

2009-07-22T15:34:00.001+08:00

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

2009-07-22T13:37:00.000+08:00

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 ;)

Rain

2009-07-21T14:03:00.000+08:00

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.

Of Juicers And Blenders

2009-07-20T00:34:00.000+08:00

Foreword

I am SLEEPY.

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