Beneath My Skin

My Organiser

2009-03-24T22:57:00.003+08:00

The boxes on the calendar grid
Twelve months and seven days a week
The columns and rows neatly spread
For everything to be kept in check.

A clean slate- blank, empty and bare
marks the new life of each square.
How each box so long to stay
that same way each and everyday.

If only they could stay that way
like they were many yesterdays.
Alas, it is not to be
for them to remain carefree.

Ink marks soon found their way
more so with each passing day
to the boxes that once were bare
and scarred them beyond repair.

O how heavy the burden to bear
for the load to be stuffed in each square,
to snuff out every empty space
and wipe off every smiling face

where no air is left for breathers
cos' of all the ink that clattered
as fatigue plagues all sensations
at the brink of suffocation.

How I long for yesterday
before the ink marks found their way.
Yet, I know yesterday can't stay
If it could, it won't be yesterday.

There remains One who stay the same
be it yesterday or today.
Wait on that One to renew strength
to climb up again from the depths.

The heft of the filled packed squares
will not be heavy to bear,
for the load's not meant to be
weight for mere humanity.

How I eagerly long to share
the strain of all the filled packed squares
with the One who stays the same
be it yesterday or today.

He is always enough

2009-03-05T22:24:00.003+08:00

When I was a young infant,
someone gave me this word,
'He is always enough for you,'
and I believed it to be true.

When I was a young toddler
facing several little stumpers,
that word I often recall-
apart from Him I need nothing more.

As I grew and matured,
unknowingly I took for granted
what that word truly means
is more than what it merely seems.

I stumbled but I did not fall
thanks to Him I stand tall
And deep down inside I ponder
how could He remain yonder?

He is always enough for me.
That i had always known to be.
Yet I lean not on Him
when I was caught in the whirlwind.

O how foolish it is indeed
to take to the winding streets
when the highway and straight paths
were always there for me to pass.

The relief dawns upon me
when my eyes opened to see
my ashes traded in for His beauty
basked in His glory and majesty.

I lift my hands in surrender
to Him I will gladly offer
my heart, soul and whole being
for He is always enough for me.

The Traveller

2009-02-22T20:56:00.002+08:00

For years the trodden path,
so familiar and at times tough,
had been a comfort zone
for the traveller now outgrown.

The beaten track now behind him
tells his story within,
well-littered by the fallen leaves
to which his soul was fondly cleaved.

The cobbled street ahead
gazed at him cold, with nothing said.
He knows not what awaits
beyond the steps he used to take.

Joy

2009-02-22T20:53:00.002+08:00

Count it all Joy
when things don't go our way
For I thank Him
that you are here with me

Count it all Joy
when things do go our way
And I thank Him
that we can share the Joy

Indeed it is all Joy
whether tears or laughter
For He has let it be
that we may so enjoy

Blessed be His Name
through it all
be it given or taken away
For the Joy that's in my life

After Hibernation

2008-05-21T23:39:00.002+08:00

Months, since the pen was lifted
The first few strokes, dry and inkless
A slight indent on the page
etched by the rusty fountain edge.

The mind behind the strokes of pen,
had all come to a parched end.
Words that flow to the ink
suddenly seem out of sync.

A cry made in desperation
amidst struggles for inspiration.
The strokes that once were familiar
no longer appear as clear.

Scratched the pen hard against the pad
Forced the remnants of ink that's left,
to ooze out in sloth and laziness,
in hope of a slumber awakened.

When words become a hassle

2007-11-07T01:03:00.001+08:00

Awkward silence abounds,
with eyes gazed on the ground.
Moments of uneasiness unfolds
as their hearts grew cold.
When words become a hassle

The turn-takings for a resolution
doesn't seem to be a solution.
As emotions creep in,
as the pain seeps in.
When words become a hassle

Perhaps some period of solitude
would do good to their attitudes,
to calm the storm
and ease the tide back to norm.
When words become a hassle

Would things be the same
after they become sane;
and would there come a time
where they'll be fine
When words no longer become a hassle

Taste and see that it is good

2007-10-12T00:41:00.001+08:00

It had been a long time. He could not remember when was the last time he felt like this anymore. It seemed eons ago. The days of living in daily resentment, pent up anger, unappreciated love and angsty disgust. Those dark days. They were somewhat a closed chapter in the book that he thought he would never see again. There were times he looked back. Comparing what was and what is now, all he had before was merely ashes and dust. The treasure and gold he lived in now were by far the greater pleasure he would choose to delight in.

He was enjoying the pleasures of his new found direction, marvelling at the transformations that took place in his life. The past was just a ghost that he scorned and loathed. At the same time, he also had some fear. Not an overwhelming amount, but a small dose of it. Fear of the ghost of the past revisting him. He knew that it was a pretty irrational fear, that's why it remained just a small tinge of fear. In any case, if the phantoms appeared again, he would just slay it with a cross and holy water, just like how Van Helsing did it with Dracula. A pretty amusing thought, he thought. Thoughts of being overrun by the phantoms never occurred to him. Such would be irrational and he had no room to entertain such ridicule. Neither did thoughts of facing the ghosts again ever came to him. Perhaps such was pride, or possibly ignorance, but likely to be foolishness. He certainly wasn't prepared to face them again.

Moments ago he was caught unprepared and was given a low blow. For a split second he thought he had been transported back in time. He could also mentally visualise his emotions being thrown into a turmoil, degenerating to the miserable set of feelings he had been so used to wearing in th past. Fortunately, he did not sink in and lose himself. Just as the garments of desolateness were put on, he desperately tore them away. As he tore them away, he gained an adrenalin rush and he frantically ripped them all away.

For those who had tasted Ben & Jerry's, Wall's ice cream is just shit. Marigold too. For those who tasted nice steamy hot pasta, instant noodles is trash. There is no reason to substitute the greater delight for a lesser one. He was lost for a moment, but only for a moment. He won't give up a banquet for a Ramly burger.

Taste, and see that it is good.

Heroes

2007-10-09T00:45:00.000+08:00

Sheer strength and power
Brawn, sinews and vigour
Hercules - a hero indeed, a hero indeed

Firm and impregnable
Unyielding and indestructible
Archilles - a hero indeed, a hero indeed

Of varying lengths.
shadows on the sundial shifts.
Seeping slowly,
sand trickled down the hourglass.
Tick tock, tick tock,
the hand on the grandfather clock moves.

Neither a bird nor a plane
He is swift with his red cape
Superman - a hero indeed, a hero indeed

Matchless wits to match his fancy gadgets,
He made Gotham a fortress
Batman - a hero indeed, a hero indeed

He faced the roaring lion and did not flee
He thought he too was a hero indeed.
How foolish of him that to think
He got crushed before he could blink

Heroes indeed, heroes indeed
A figment of creative imagination more like it.

Ur wretched pitchfork

2007-06-04T00:46:00.000+08:00

hey u! stop staring at me from the corner
i can see u right here in my shelter
chuck ur deep stony gaze
and get out of my face
drop ur wretched pitchfork
and cease your mindless trash talk

i aint afraid of ur toothless scares
do what u want i dont care
i may stumble i may fall
back up i will climb and stand up tall
u want a game i will give u one
but beware cos it wun be fun

plot ur schemes and play ur cards
poker, blackjack or a game of hearts
i may lag behind or seem to trail
but Victory awaits me and u will fail
my trust is on the Rock
as i await brimstone and sulfur on ur wretched pitchfork

Deja Vu

2007-05-30T01:46:00.001+08:00

He found himself in the same situation once more. Not the deja-vu again. The same place, the same events, the same feeling. Just that the characters were different now. Different people with different faces, yet the same turmoil built up beneath the turbulence of emotions beneath his skin.

Like always, this turbulence was kept well hidden away from sight. Away from the sight of others and also away from his own gaze. It was something that he did not really want to face. Because it was something he did not dare face. Perhaps evasion might be a solution. Just like he had done it in the past. Just a three point turn. Face 180 degrees away. Take off and start darting off.

It was easier to run. Replacing all that with something numb. The mechanical concentration on the physical exertion of bodily limbs, and the layer of bodily fluid that sweatily clung onto his skin usually served well to act as a good deterrence. He recalled the times where he was once faced with such similar situations.

The first time dated back many years ago, when he was young and immature. The situation suddenly loomed up in front of his face and he was caught by surprise. He did not know how to react and so he started running away. And after a while, things turned out fine. Fine for everyone else of course. He was not really fine, but eventually he still became fine.

Just when he thought that he was really fine, history repeated to remind him of what he could not run away from. Nevertheless, he still ran. It was as if the marathon was addictive. Somehow, the test of endurance and will power seemed like an exciting game to trifle with. However, it left a bad after taste in mouth. But after a while, everything turned out fine. Fine for everyone else of course. He was not really fine, but eventually he still became fine.

Now the third time round. It had come back again to haunt him. He should have been more experienced and mature now. He should know how to handle it well. He should know the necessary steps he needs to take and what he should avoid doing and not doing. He should know everything that is required of him to ensure that the situation turns out in the best way for everyone.

Strangely, he was still unsure. He felt like a moron, a slow learner who should have grasped an easy concept eons ago but somehow remained stuck at the most elementary level of the task. Perhaps he should do what he usually does. In that manner. That will bring the same outcome. Where everything turned out fine. Fine for everyone else of course. He would not really be fine, but eventually he would become fine. Somehow, there was some hints of hesitation.

The crossroad now stands before him: To take the trodden path or the road less travelled.

Robert Frost unconsciously came to his mind, as though urging him to choose the path he had chosen. But it doesn't really feel convincing either.

He decided perhaps he would take out his sleeping bag and call that juncture his temporary home. Perhaps after a good night's sleep, enough fallen leaves would have gathered on the patch of ground in front of him to join the separate paths into a single straight road.

Beneath the Skin

2007-05-23T04:01:00.000+08:00

Beneath the blanket of caliginosity, on the cobbled streets dimly lit by streetlamps, gruffy Ben trudged along the pathway with some trepidation. The ominous moon peeked at him behind the thick clouds and deftly slipped back into the comforts of the cloudy hideout whenever anyone tried to catch him in the eye. Such acts of clandestine nature certainly imposed an air of apprehension and uncertainty in the tranquil serenity of the night. Ben dragged his foot lazily as he hummed to an obsolete old Chinese tune, going off-key at almost every other note. He thought he might be crazy walking around in the streets at such a late hour, especially in a country notorious for heinous late night robberies. But he had no choice. He had fallen asleep at the dinner table and all his friends had driven off without him, deliberately playing a prank on him. He somewhat regretted going for dinner with his friends at such a deserted location. The poor location of the restaurant somewhat gave an exotic feel to the ambience, painting an atmosphere of a mystical Oriental rustic feel. However, the food there was disappointing. It had perhaps disappointed him so much that he had fallen asleep at the dinner table. And there he was, stranded in a forlorn place, with no forms of transport back home. He had walked for quite some distance by now, and a cab was nowhere in sight.

Ben instinctively picked his nose and at the same time gave a loud hoarse cough, as the chilling wind gripped his nerves a little in the destitute land. He just had to pray that a cab would come along the way and he could just hop on and get home safely. As he was dragging his slippers along the sandy road, his imagination started to roam. It seemed as though he had just awaken from his drowsy daze and it suddenly dawned upon him that his situation was a pretty dangerous one to be in. Walking alone in the middle of the night along a deserted stretch of road in a country that topped the charts in crime rates. Unarmed. He could well see himself featured in the obituaries of the next day's papers. He blew his nose with his right sleeve and that sort of cleared up his mind a little. What was all those paranoia about? Why would he come to any harm at all? He had got no money whatsoever, nothing that would attract potential muggers. And that was a comforting thought. That could well assure him his safety. He cursed himself for not bringing his handphone out. His amnesia was really getting from bad to worse. That must have been the ninty-sixth time that he had forgotten to bring his handphone out.

Occasionally, some cars drove past him. Thoughts of hitching a ride did cross his mind but the fear of running into bad company made him drop the idea. It was at this time when he spotted a cab from a distance, moving towards his direction. The headlights were on him and he flagged incessantly for the cab to stop. Hope. He was glad that a cab finally came. Now he would not run into some mafia along the way anymore. He would not be unknowingly stabbed in the back by some insane fellow. More importantly, he was certain that he would not be privileged enough to earn a place in the next day's obituaries.

Ben stopped the cab and hurriedly threw himself into the backseat. His elation was only momentary and soon he was gripped with anxiety and fear. The cabbie did not give him a good feeling. Somehow, he had a vision of a solemn face printed on the back of the next day's papers. Under the obituaries. With his name below the picture. And also possibly a headline story to accompany that as well – ‘Taxi driver kills passenger’. He choked on his phlegm and gasped for some fresh air through the window. That seemed to clear his mind again. He really needs to rid his mind of such paranoia. Sometimes he wondered if he had a mental condition. Well, apart from his barbarous outlook and monotonous voice, the taxi driver actually seemed pretty normal. But the aura that accompanied his physical features was already enough to send chills racing up and down his spine several times.

The cabbie started talking to him. Ben panicked in his heart but resisted it from manifesting in the expressions on his face. He could not show any signs of weakness. It was all about mind games now. He knew that the cabbie was trying to find out more about him, to test him and see if he was an easy target. These unscrupulous people. Hardcore criminals masquerading as taxi drivers to pick on weak passengers in the middle of the night. He knew at once that the cabbie was testing him when he asked him about whether he carried any weapons with him.

'Parang! I got parang here!' Ben said non-chalantly and pretended to reach out for his 'parang' in his sling bag.

'Hahaha... not bad.. Parang... I have got a pistol here.... hahahhahahh...' the cabbie burst out in an eerie laughter, as though he had totally outwitted him.

Ben's heart sank. His 'parang' against the cabbie's pistol. He just hoped that he would get a quick death.

The journey then became a silent one. And soon Ben reached his destination. He quickly paid his fare and got off the cab. He quickly turned into the back alley and quickened his footsteps to get away. He was relieved that he got back safely.

Seemingly to prove his thought wrong, he heard footsteps behind him. The cabbie! And he had a pistol. And they were at the back alley. And it was in the middle of the night. All too perfect for a night of murder. And he felt a tap on his shoulders. At once, he shrieked hysterically and screamed uncontrollably. Just as he did that, he could hear another voice doing the same as well. He saw the cabbie in a state of shock. And the cabbie was holding on to his wallet. He had left it on the cab. They stared at each other. And they saw themselves beneath their skins, for the first time in night.

Ah Kong was in his midnight shift and he was struggling to keep awake. He sipped on his dose of caffeine and continued driving. He knew that he needed to be awake. To be awake enough to keep alert. And to be alert enough to ward off the dangers of the night. Yes, the dangers of the night. The reported sightings of 'floaters' on the roads. Urban legends of 'pontianaks'. Myths about the long-haired female ghosts that stalked cabbies in the night. Those supernatural threats. As well as less supernatural ones. Like maniacs. Demented serial killers. Night robbers. Burglars. The list seemed endless. That brought a wry smile to his face- he patted himself on the shoulder for having the guts to be out earning his keep despite the dangers that lurked around waiting for an opportune time to ambush him.

He was just about to complain about the quiet night and how the lack of customers would result in him running a deficit after having to fork out money from his own pocket to pay for the petrol when he saw a man waving frantically from a distance. He smiled to himself. Hope.

Ah Kong started to feel a tinge of regret for stopping his vehicle. The passenger that just got on reeked of tobacco and alcohol and his wavy long hair that draped across his shoulders, together with his sharp bony features just told Ah Kong that he was not one to be messed around with. What was he doing there in the middle of nowhere at this hour? He could not be up to anything good. Ah Kong secretly just prayed that the passenger would not turn out to be a criminal running away from his crime scene. Could he be a murderer? Could he have just killed someone and buried his body in the forests around there? The thought of that sent his heart pounding faster and faster. Ah Kong knew that he could not afford to think about the what-ifs anymore. Trying to break some ice, Ah Kong asked in a tone that attempted to be friendly, 'What are you doing here at this hour?' Before the passenger could reply, Ah Kong unconsciously slipped into his blabbering mode and went on, 'Haha, you must have carried a weapon like a pen knife or something for you to have the guts to walk around like that in the middle of the night..' Just as these words came out of his mouth, Ah Kong's heart skipped a beat. Beads of perspiration began oozing out of his wrinkled forehead.

'Pen-knife? How about a parang?' the passenger bellowed and glared at him through the rear-view mirror. At the same time, the passenger reached for something in his sling bag.

Ah Kong panicked. He knew he was at the mercy of his passenger. If he were to whip out his parang and start to go on a frenzy like he did when he murdered his victim in the forest and buried him there moments ago, Ah Kong would not live to see daybreak. He would not be able to visit the Bak Kut Teh shop he always frequents for breakfast. That daily dose of pork was always what he looked forward to after a night of driving. He begged in his heart that such a simple joy would not be taken away from him.

He got a parang. Ah Kong hoped that his lie would suffice. He hoped that the passenger behind him would be wary of his 'pistol' too. It was all about mind games.

Master

2007-05-10T02:28:00.000+08:00

The strong features etched onto the angular bony face commanded an aura of hauteur that surrounded him. His greyish white hair, coupled with his wavy silver eyebrows, accentuated the assertiveness of his features. His stern expression almost never left his face - the facial muscles seemingly conditioned to be perpectually flexed in the same position all the time. When he spoke, the voice that streamed out of his mouth always demanded full attention and complete submission from those who listened. His tall and stout physique just served as a mere reminder to those who harboured any hints of rebellion that he could crush them easily with a single blow. He called himself the Master.

The training ground was one built on the foundations of fear. That was precisely the way he had intended it to be. He would have absolute control, right down to the most minute detail, over everything. With the shackles of fear firmly in place, no one would even dare to question this authority. His power was clothed in the garments of legitimacy on the basis of his self-proclaimed title as the Master.

No one on the training ground wanted to go through the strict regimentation and rigourous physical torture. But they had no choice. They were already there. And they could not leave. Not that they could not leave, but they did not dare to. Even if they wanted to, they could not figure out how to. So they all accepted their fate.

After the training hours, when the disciples were back in their bunks, they would sometimes curse and swear at the Master. Some would even boast about how he would one day go up to the Master and give hm a good beating. Occasionally, some would suggest some comical plans about sneaking out of the dreadful place. But all these talks remained as talks whose existence lingered only within the confines of the dormitories.

Enno was one of those disciples. He loathed the entire system. He always wondered why no one had the guts to do what was necessary. He had long wanted to fight back. The spirit in him was willing, but the body was weak. He could do nothing alone. He simply could not swallow conformity wholesale without any proper reason. But that was exactly what everyone was expected to do. Conformity was expected. Conformity to the rules was the Law. Obedience to the Master was something that needed no further justification and failure to conform or obey was the biggest taboo.

Sometimes Enno thought that he was plain silly. Many others thought so too. Despite that, Enno at times still could not resist himself but challenge the system on numerous occasions. And that never failed to infuriate the Master. When that happened, Enno would try to reason and justify, but he would be lambasted so severely by the Master that he would very often regret what he did. Many labelled him as foolhardy. A few secretly admired his guts, but conceded that it was a brave but futile effort.

On rare occasions when the disciples were given the privilege of leaving the training ground to the world outside, Enno would be overjoyed. But each time he stepped out of the training ground on these rare occasions, his heart would be heavy. He could step out of the place. He could even go as far away as he wanted. But when the time comes for him to return, he would still have to drag himself back to the training ground again. The gate that he passed by each time he was allowed to leave was a place of ambivalent emotions. On one hand it symbolised the hope and joy that he could receive from the outside world, on the other it reminded him of where he had to return eventually.

Enno contemplated the consequences of the plan suggested to him. If the plan was executed well, he could very well change his own destiny and the destiny of all the other disciples. If it were to go wrong, the backlash would be unimaginable. He thought about the countless many outside who were all fervently praying for him. He realised that he had the support of them. They would all be behind him, no matter how tough it was going to be.

He decided to seek help. The next time he leaves the training ground, he would seek help. That was the plan. To seek help. Even if the Master would release his immense wrath on the knowledge of that, he would seek help. The Master might be infallible within the training ground, but he would not be able to stand a chance fighting against a superior opponent.

Enno walked out of the training ground. He knew that he needed to carry out the plan. Because he really needs help. Because the other disciples need help. Because the Master himself needs help.

The Bridge

2007-05-01T23:54:00.000+08:00

The land on the other side of the waters looked uninviting and unwelcoming, as he stood on the bridge outstretched onto the other bank. He was returning home. Supposedly. The land on the opposite bank had nurtured a bedlam he had called home for the past two decades. Sometimes he would like to think that he was already numb to the pandemonium and chaos they could induce on his mind, but it was always when he felt himself cracking up and breaking down that he realised that he was not the bastion of strength and impregnable fortress beneath his icy cool facade.

He stood on the bridge, with his arms on the side railings, gazing at the waters below him. He saw himself in the waters and he stared hard at himself. Those eyes were so still and expressionless. His entire demeanour was just chilling- the air of aloofness had seemingly encased him in a space capsule where time had been frozen. He looked just like an artificial effigy, totally unperturbed and oblivious to his surroundings. At least that was what the reflection seemed.

The water surface that mirrored his image was smooth and rippleless. It was as still as his eyes, almost stagnant and disturbingly tranquil. He identified with the waters. The velvety surface was just like him; however, the waters resembled him not just on the surface, but strikingly parallelled himself even more underneath. The water below the top layer of disguise was turbulent, choppy and tumultuous. Pretty much like the invisible waves each of his heartbeat sends to the rest of the body when the heart organ pounds grudgingly. He was glad that he found a soul mate in the waters. The inanimate waters was like a juxtapose of his own life, but he would be more than willing to swap positions with the waters if given an opportunity. He would prefer to be inanimate and insentient. He longed for a quiescent mind, or even a defunct one, so that the burden of emotions, consciousness and free will would not be upon his aching shoulders.

The land ahead was where he ought to be heading, but the land behind was where he wanted to be. Each time he stepped onto the bridge, it was a matter of an unwilling choice. He even wondered if it was even a choice at all. But he chose to perservere. Such suffering would produce perserverance. And perserverance, character; and character, hope.

He knew that hope would not disappoint. Especially if he trusts in Him.

Eulogy

2007-04-29T01:48:00.000+08:00

For reasons blur as fog,
they choose to slog
on the endless conveyor belt.
They pace each steps with grudges heartfelt;
in their hearts they defiantly resent
but their bodies readily consent.

For causes unknown and mystified,
they prefer to hide themselves from Light.
On the path of daily life,
they drown their minds in lies.
In place of reason, they exalt their misery
in groans and grumbling agony.

For their sake they are told,
the Light at the tunnel holds.
On a slippery slope they stand,
down to the endless abyss they land.
In the wake of perils yet to come,
will they come undone?

For reasons blur as fog,
they laugh and mock
on the endless conveyor belt.
They march forth with heads swelled,
in their hearts they no longer resent
for to Death they have given consent.

Robin Hood

2007-03-30T01:32:00.000+08:00

He crept into the room from the window. Under the veil of secrecy, he surreptitiously stealthed across the room in a clandestine manner. His furtive glance laid fixed on the safe at the corner. He sniggered to himself. His gloved hands handled the combination lock like a seasoned expert, deftly wielding the device to his obedience. In a matter of seconds, the lock laid subdued on the floor. He took out his bag and emptied the contents of the safe into it.

'Who's that? What are you doing!' a voice shouted from behind. Needless to say, he had been discovered. Exhilaration suddenly surged through his veins. Robin thought that it was starting to get exciting. He slung his bag across his shoulder and smiled. The man who shouted ran towards him, desperate to stop him from looting his possessions. In one swift motion, Robin swept his legs and tripped the man, leaving him crashing to the floor. He followed up with a hard kick at the man's torso. Robin lifted up the hood of his jacket and hid his face in it. 'Woe to you. I will bring these blessings to those who need it,' with these words, Robin finished the man with a malicious kick to his head. Filled with a sense of achievement, Robin climbed out of the window and disappeared into the silence of the night. His night just began. Quickening his footsteps, Robin headed towards the back alley.

Robin walked right into the midst of the crowd. The crowd hushed themselves and sat down in their positions quietly as they waited in much eagerness. Robin emptied his bag on the floor and the crowd went wild with excitement at the sight of the loot. 'Help yourselves wtih them!' Robin told them and smiled. The crowd hailed Robin as their hero and distributed the loot among themselves.

Amidst the winters of society, such an occasion certainly acted as the fireplace that warms them, who otherwise were all freezing with poverty and hunger. The impersonal environment had left them feeling dejected and disillusioned. Robin is their only hero. Every night, they would gather and wait for Robin to bring them what they need to fuel their lives. Robin is their symbol of strength and righteousness.

A little boy trudged into their presence, wailing uncontrollably. Torrents of tears gushed out from him and he was overwhelmed with seemingly so much grief and sorrow. 'Hey kid, what's troubling you? Tell Robin and he will deliver you from your troubles.' one from the crowd said. Robin grinned and went towards the little boy. He stroke his head and wiped away his tears. 'Tell me your troubles and what you want me to do for you,' Robin told the little boy who was still trembling and shaking.

'You are the thief that has come to steal, kill and destroy. Why did you kill Daddy?' the boy glared hard at Robin, though his tears were still flowing. The crowd began to look at one another and looked at Robin again. Some understood immediately. They left the loot on the ground and walked off without looking back. Some began to call the little boy insane. Robin put on his hood again. He lifted his head high, unashamedly. He was talked about as the one who robbed the rich and gave to the poor. He knew he would always have his followers, despite some leaving him upon realising who he really was. Robin laid his hands on the head of the boy, the expression of his face manifesting a glint of malice.

The Count

2007-02-09T00:44:00.000+08:00

After a long period of inactivity, he had decided to come back to life again. He never knew that he needed such a long break. At first, he was just thinking of shelving it aside because he was too busy with other things. Too busy with things that probably didn't really matter to him, things that were pretty trivial yet cumbersome and things that were almost meaningless but were obligated to do. So he decided to take a break.

He remembered the time when he lifted up the lid of the wooden box and marvelled at the roseate glow on the red cushions that lined the interiors of the box, beckoning him to lie on it. He thought that there was no harm lying on it for a while. Afterall, this rest he had been looking forward too had been long overdue. The moment he lay down, he felt himself unwind. The countless straps of elastic bands that were stretched and bound on him were suddenly released, and they didn't release a little at a time, it was all at once. The weight and tension that were wound up so tightly around him disappeared in a split second, the pressure release on his bodily skin was soothing, relieving and lulling.

He began to enjoy the interaction of his skin against the fabrics of the sheetings. He slid the palm of his hand back and forth the interior walls of the wooden box. After a while, he did not feel like getting up any more. He did not feel the need to get back to being busy. There was no need to be entangled with things that did not interest him. Resting his weight fully on the red cushions, he allowed his whole body to be pleasured by the comforts of the fabric.

He was savouring every moment of it. It was almost perfect. Almost, but not yet. He reached out for the lid and pulled it down, shutting himself in the wooden box, in complete darkness. The darkness was perfect. Darkness can only be perfect when light is not present, because as long as there is a tinge of light, the fragility of darkness would be exposed and literally be brought to light. Yes, the darkness he was enjoying was indeed good. He lay in the midst of the darkness, well hidden away from view.

Moments later, he seemed a little dissatisfied again. No doubt it was dark, but it was still not dark enough. He shut his eyes. It was not enough to be hidden from view, he needed to be hidden from himself was well. It was only then that he could truly set his mind at peace.

The serenity of this rest was certainly addictive. So addictive that he even thought he could rest forever. And be dead. It was this very thought that he suddenly woke up from his slumber. He could not be dead. Because he is Undead. He pushed open the lid of the coffin.

He is thirsty. The rosy redness of the coffin cushions can no longer satisfy his insatiable hunger. He needs blood. And he needs it now. He is not Dracula for nothing. He springs out of his coffin and disappears into the silence of the night.

(untitled)

2006-11-23T20:08:00.001+08:00

If I say that the sun rises,
does it mean i am Copernican?
If I wanna lend you a hand,
does it mean I don't want my hand anymore?
If I talk about consequences,
am I assuming you will cause it?

If appreciation cannot be felt,
at least don't slight it.
Worse still, coat it with a candy floss
Cos' it makes it taste like gay Spongebob
The hypocrisy of your surface cheery
irks me more than your ditsy proclivity.

The Modern Burial Ground

2006-11-23T19:57:00.000+08:00

Down the corridor of Death,
I see Life.
Life in the bodies,
but bodies without souls.

The air of silence
that floods the cemetery floor
stares at me hard
because I don't belong.

In this modern burial ground,
tombstones stand replaced with:
books, laptops, music players and what nots.
Bodies buried not in soil
but in the lifeless parchment of education.

How interesting it is to see
the modern cemetery institution
in the compounds of the school
at the wake of the honour and glory of examinations divine.

Love is blind?

2006-11-15T16:21:00.000+08:00

Why does He love me?
They say, 'Love is blind.'
Aha. I see.
Because Love is blind.

If Love were indeed blind,
What would happen if I open her eyes?
Once she sees me in the light,
Will she turn away in fright?

Does He love me because Love is blind
and hate me when His Love gains sight?
He saw right through my mind
that was filled with dirt and grime.

But still, his Love remains.
How then can Love be blind,
if he loves me the same
despite me unworthy all the time

The Missing Present

2006-10-17T12:46:00.000+08:00

Today's Les' birthday. It rocks to be the birthday boy. It rocks even more to receive presents. He looked at the pile of presents in his room stacked untidily at one corner and they brought a smile to his face.

He began opening his presents one by one. The first one. Wow. A Tag Heuer watch. Cool. Thanks Mum and Dad, he thought.

The second one was a teddy bear. From Mary. Stupid present, he thought as he threw it behind him immediately.

Coming up next was a framed up jigsaw puzzle done by his whole class. Good effort, but unimpressive, he thought.

An Armani exchange belt. Not bad.
A Mont-Blanc pen. Good
A bottle of handmade stars. Matter that occupies space.
A digital camera. Who needs 2?
He continued unwrapping more presents.

After he finally unwrapped all his presents, Les leaned back against his armchair. He never knew that unwrapping presents could be so tiring. Well, he got quite a number of good items that he wanted. A few extra pieces of rubbish too. But somehow, he felt empty. This sense of emptiness that came from within. Actually, he even thought that he was unhappy. There was a missing present. A present that did not come. From Grace.

He never really knew Grace. Strangely, she would send him a present every year. He thought that it would be awkward accepting presents from someone he did not really know well, so he always rejected them and passed them back to the mailman.

This year, the present did not even arrive. She must have been angry. She might be heartbroken too after all the rejections. Maybe she finally decided to ignore him like he had ignored her.

The missing present made him perplexed and troubled. Why did he reject the present time and time again? Afterall, everyone loves presents. Why could he accept all the other presents but not this one? What is so hard about accepting her presents?

He went for a stroll in the park, trying to find some comfort in the tranquility of the serene nature. He never expected himself to be bothered by a missing present from someone he did not really know.

A bright area from a distance caught his attention. He went towards it and saw many candles on the floor. The lit candles formed alphabets that made up the words 'Happy Birthday'. Behind those words were a stack of presents piled up one on top of the other. Wow. He took a closer look. He rememebered some of them. They were the ones he rejected. He suddenly felt a surge of warm air surrounding his body, like an embrace that hugged him tight. His sense of emptiness started leaking away. At the corner of his eye, he saw Grace. He had decided to accept Grace.

Everyone received presents before. The rich ones probably received limos, yatchts and private jets. The not so rich ones, birthday cakes and greeting cards. Even the poorest of the poor received hugs, kisses and smiles before. Apart from all that, the fact that we are here in this world now is a gift, that's why they call it the Present. No doubt, this gift of life is wonderful. But there is another present far more beautiful than Life. One can collect all the presents in the world but miss out on just this one, he would have missed everything.

Amazing Grace.

The goblin, big red Book of Poems and Superman (Children's Story)

2006-10-12T22:43:00.001+08:00

Amelia was dozing off in the middle of the class. She was getting complacent because she realised she could understand what was going on despite skipping the previous week's lesson. She attributed it to her own intelligence and was grinning widely even as she fell asleep.

Although such poor attitudes towards learning should never be condoned, one could hardly blame her as the lecture was indeed very dry and boring. Even the lecturer himself realised this fact and was also trying his best to keep himself awake. He decided to take a sip from the cup of coffee he had earlier brought into the lecture.

Just as he was about to bring his mouth to the cup, he was pushed back by a mysterious force and a goblin jumped out of the coffee cup. Everyone in the class, except Amelia who was sleeping, was dumbstruck. A goblin jumping out of a coffee cup??? This sounded simply ridiculous. The goblin was furious as he could sense precisely these sentiments that were written on everyone's face. He was sure that everyone had heard of him before. He was foretold in the big red Book of Poems, that he would come one day to bring destruction.

The goblin immediately jumped at the lecturer and started pulling his hair out and eating them. The poor lecturer wailed in pain as the whole class went hysterical. Disturbed by the commotion, Amelia woke up. She saw the goblin. Being an avid reader of the big red Book of Poems, she recognised the goblin and knew that it was not a good sign.

Amelia felt her lungs constricting. Her vision started to blur as she felt her surroundings spinning around her. The next moment, she fainted. An Indian guy in the class saw Amelia faint and immediately rushed towards her. However, he did not see the elevated step before him and unluckily tripped over it the moment he moved. He fainted too.

The rest of the students evacuated the classroom in great fear upon seeing the goblin. The Indian guy's friend dragged him out of the classroom as he made his escape. Some of them wanted to carry Amelia out, but no one could lift her because she was too heavy. Amelia must have regretted drinking so much milk that made her bones so heavy. She should have taken more iron instead, at least, it might have helped her anaemia and she might not have fainted. On second thought, iron would perhaps have made it worse since it weighs more than milk.

The goblin saw Amelia. Amelia managed to regain consciousness but was too afraid to move. The goblin gave a long eerie laughter.

'Are you afraid of me?' asked the goblin.
'....no...' Amelia replied.
'HAhahhAHhahHah.. you are afraid aren't you?'
'no.. I am not!' Tears began to flow uncontrollably.
'Why not?'
'Superman is my helper. I will not be afraid.'
'I am Superman.'
'I will not be deceived by your lies.'
'I can see fear in your eyes. Beg for mercy and I will set you free.'
'I will fear no evil because Superman is with me.'
'You are afraid of me and I will make u suffer unless you beg for mercy.'
'It's all written in the big red Book of Poems that Superman will come down from the clouds and destroy you. I have nothing to fear.'

Amelia believed that the big red Book of Poems is true and in her heart, she told Superman to come as fast as he could. The goblin continued taunting her and did not realise when Superman arrived, standing right behind him. Amelia was relieved. Superman took out a lighter and set the goblin in flames. The goblin cried in vain as the tongues of flames engulfed him.

'Thank you Superman!' Amelia screamed as she went forward to hug him. She had been looking forward to see him for so long.

'Here's a gift for you.' Superman stuffed a box into her hand.

'Hey, wake up Amelia! Lecture just ended!' said the Indian guy. Amelia rubbed her eyes as she awoke from her slumber.

'Where's Superman?' she asked.

'Stop dreaming! Lecture is over. We are supposed to have our project discussion now. Silly of you to dream of Superman. He doesn't exist!' the Indian boy replied.

Amelia realised that she was dreaming. Then again, maybe not. She opened her palm and saw a box. It was the box Superman gave her. It was a box of iron pills.

The night when the Moon and Stars went jogging

2006-10-08T23:44:00.000+08:00

Again, it's easier to run, replacing the pain with something numb. With the earphones blaring and loud music flooding the ears, the adrenalin that rushed through his veins chilled his pulsating nerves. The blend of emotions that flowed in his blood became diluted as the anaesthetic began to set in. Soon, his neurotransmittors were shut and he could no longer feel his body. He could still move his eyes and he could see that his arms and legs were still moving in a coordinated fashion. His own breathing and heart beat were loud and perfectly audible still as his mind slowly came to a blank.

At 2 am in the early morning, this young man was alone on the streets. Not alone because there wasn't anyone else. In fact, there were people around. A few here and there. Insignificant people. Alien faces. Beings whose existence do not interest and concern him. Nevertheless, he was alone.

Alone because he was seemingly sucked into a vacuum and put into an air tight bubble filled to the brim with nothingness. His senses had been kidnapped and locked out of this paradigm of time. He could only remain as a lonely observer of his surroundings. Observing how his body was running. How every ounce of strength mustered and applied in each muscle. How his feet made contact with his socks, that kissed the insoles of his shoes which were pounding hard against the concrete floor. Alone. Paralysed by his captivity, he could do nothing other than to just enjoy his astral imprisonment.

His body was running on and on. Went past many street lamps and made a few bends. Soon, he was nearing a crowded area. He wondered why it could still be crowded at such an unearthly hour. He could not figure it out and was irritataed. Irritated because it would mean that he had to stop. Meaning that the momentum would have to be broken. The chemical reactions within his body would be disrupted. Worst of all, he would have to force himself to be in control of his body again.

He exited from his numbness and regained his body. The cacophony of loud chatter and mindless conversations invaded his ears at once. The stale air disturbed his nostrils. He could feel the remnants of dried perspiration causing discomfort to his skin as fresh beads of perspiration started to coalesce at various spots on his body. He could feel a blanket of heat wrapped around his body, with fatigue accumulating beneath his skin. Well, he became in control again. And he loathed it.

Because he was still alone. Alone in the sea of people. He could see faces everywhere around him in that stretch. None were recognisable. He turned his head left, then he looked right. All of them looked so strange to him. A little irritation and some bits of despair started to pile up. He suddenly shouted at the top of his voice. The loud yell focussed everyone's attention on him. 'They can hear me!' he thought to himself. So he yelled again. This time louder and longer. The people resumed their activities, back to their own businesses. He was wrong. They could not hear him. No one did.

In a fit of anger, he gathered his strength again and sprinted away. He continued and ran non-stop tll he reached his original starting point. Breathless, he lay on the ground, facing the sky.

The sky was blank. No moon, no stars. A few clouds occasionally drifted by, after which it became a blank expanse of darkness again. Where are the stars? Where is the moon?

Perhaps they had put on their earphones and gone jogging.

A Letter to You

2006-10-03T23:39:00.000+08:00

Dear Friend,

This is a letter for you, dear friend. I don't know if you still regard me as one. I would not be surprised if you don't. I would not be surprised too if you want to but could not bring yourself to do so. I believe none of us would have expected things to turn out this way. I still do not know what to make of the situation and also do not really know what I should do to make things better.

At this point in time, I believe there is no point in dwelling on the specifics of things, of why certain things were done, why certain things were not done, why things were done in a particular manner etc. You wanted to hear no apologies and I would respect that.

I just want to let you know that throughout these 2 years, I had made 2 of the most painful decisions of my life. The first decision was to make the switch. Yes, everyone thought that I was happy with the switch and voluntarily made the switch after much thought. Actually I was trying to make myself think that way too. No matter how much I tried to rationalise and tell myself about the pros that outweigh the cons, the pain doesn't seem to reduce. I made the switch so that I could have more time at hand to handle the matters there. That was the best compromise that I could make, such that I would not deprive either my studies or there the attention they need. Unknowingly, I had managed to subconsciously convince myself to give up my own dream so that energy could be channelled fully elsewhere in hope of building the common dream.

Nevertheless, the pain gradually sets in. Seeing others doing the things I want to do but cannot do, trying to convince myself again that it is the best arrangement, finding more excuses and reasons to tell myself why the switch is the right choice etc. After a while, I don't know what I am doing anymore. Finally I decided to switch back.

Looking back, perhaps that was the starting point where everything started to fall apart. I was not aware of it back then, and I regret for failing to spot this tell-tale sign. The point of deciding to switch back is the point where I suddenly found myself again. Slowly it came to me that all these while, I had been living a lie.

I did not realise it till then. The things that I said, the promises that I made, the dreams that I pursued. They were all not mine. I know it is very irresponsible to deny all that. It is even more irresponsible to absolve myself of all the duties I have just because of this so-called realisation. This hit me so hard that I found it impossible to continue anymore, not even for another day. I can try to, but I know I will not be able to do a good job.

I know that my departure will have its impacts. Given past experiences, my own judgement tells me that it is beyond doubt that the team would have to suffer because of me no matter what preventive measures they choose to take. That became the other painful decision that I have to take. To leave and know that after I leave people will suffer because of me. I know you may think that if I had given time for a transition to take place, the team would not have to suffer to this extent. Perhaps you are right. But it was never my intention to leave in an abrupt manner. I think there is no point in going through what I should or should not have done, the facts of the matter, the logic and rationality behind everything etc. That is not my intention.

My intention is not to deny the responsibilities. I am also not trying to make a point by saying that I am right. The only intention of this letter is to tell you that I experienced the pain too. Maybe this pain is a much lesser pain than what all of you are experiencing now. Maybe this is not important to you. Maybe you are more concerned with the operations of things. That is something that I am not going to address, which again might cause you to think of me in a lesser sense than you already do.

On top of that, I want to thank you. I want to tell you that I am extremely extremely extremely extremely grateful to you. I had wanted to tell you this a long time ago. I thought it would be the most appropriate to tell you that when we reach the summit. But it's not gonna happen now. I wouldn't be there at the summit with you. I wanna thank you for all the things that you had ever said to me. I think that the things you had said to me have directly and indirectly impacted me tremendously. If I had not learnt all those things that I had learnt from you these past 10 years, I would just be another ordinary doraemon caught up in my own silly little world.

I wish you all the best. You may consider this hypocritical. If I had intended the best for you, perhaps I would not have done what I did. What I have done was certainly not the best thing that I can do to you or to anybody else, that is why I can only wish you the best with all my heart. I can no longer be the hands and legs to ensure that the best is achieved, I can only wish and pray that it would still be achieved nonetheless without me.

Regards,
The Selfish and Inconsiderate One who Lacks a Conscience

May the Force be with him

2006-10-01T19:44:00.000+08:00

It's been a while. He never thought he could do it again. There was a period of drought where all his ideas and inspiration all dried up, because the source had been sealed and shut out. He had been so used to drawing energy from the Dark side that it somehow seemed unnatural to use another source.

On his conscious mind, he condemned the Dark side for its wickedness, dirty tricks, selfishness and destruction, yet, beneath his skin, the manifestations of gloom, pessimism, cynicism and disbelief nourished his soul. He would not admit from his mouth that he was from the Dark side. But he would admit that he did not believe in the Force.

The Force, is something so intangible that he could not feel, so impersonal that it appeared plastic and so distant that it seemed at best only surreal. Yet, the Force appeals to him. The lure of something divine and omnipotent, the promises of eternity and the epitomy of everlasting goodness were all that he hoped he could be a part of. As much as he wanted to believe in the Force, something was holding him back.

Most of the time, he would dismiss the existence of the Force, because of several aspects which he could not come to terms with. He thought that the Force was just an imaginary presence created by the weak minded to seek solace. It was no different from being the opium of the masses. Furthermore, history had shown that the School of the Force, the institution that proclaims the glory of the Force, was not as pure and clean as what it made itself out to be. Legalism and inflexible dogma painted a new face for the School, making it only slightly distinguishable from the Dark side.

As such, he had difficulties coming to terms with the Force. Nevertheless, his innate desire to reconcile with the Force subconsciously tried to seek the Way, the Truth and the Life. At the same time, he too unconsciously drew energy from the Dark side to churn out works of contempt, cynicism, disillusionment, hopelessness and disappointment, as an expression of his frustration of his failure to balance his internal struggle.

Miraculously, the Voice from the Force spoke to him one day and changed his life forever. He began to realise he was a fiend from the Dark side. Despite consciously making an effort to seive out thoughts and actions that were associated with the Dark side, he was still unknowingly its very own slave. He was born with it. It is the Original Darkness that was trapped inside him and everyone else.

He is so thankful to the Voice. It is only through the Voice that his internal struggles were resolved. He learnt the one most important thing that saved his life: Grace. Grace is not just a defense mechanism used as a shield against the Dark side, it is an offensive weapon that can pierce through walls of Darkness and dissolve all the Darkness from within. The Voice gave him Grace, that rescued him from this Original Darkness.

Yes that was great. But because he had lost contact with most of the Dark side, he soon found himself unable to write. He realised that all he had written so far were all drawn from the Dark side. he tried to draw energy from the Force to write. It felt weird and was a little uncomfortable with it. Finally, it is starting to work for him now. He soon found himself more tuned to the mechanisms of the Force and it no longer felt weird wielding the Force.

May the Force be with him.

Goodbye Mountain

2006-09-25T20:59:00.000+08:00

He turns his back and starts walking away. What is going on in his mind? Doesn’t he want to reach the summit anymore? Probably not. But why not? The first-ever taste of success he got when he reached the first milestone, the dreams, hopes and aspirations that he once harboured, the view at the top of the summit… Don’t they mean anything?

Perhaps they do. Afterall, those were all that he ever cared about for a long time. Other things that were supposedly important as well were pushed to the back of his mind. He knew that had he not stayed focus, he would not even be where he is now. But all these come at a price. A price that he thought was probably too expensive to pay. Now it comes a point where all that he ever cared about don’t matter anymore.

He doesn’t care if he is ever gonna reach the summit. He doesn’t care if millions of people would die to see the panoramic view at the top. He doesn’t care about any of that anymore.

No doubt there are attachments. It is indeed painful to abandon his team mates just like that. To some extent, he might even be letting them down. He did not fulfill the promises he made, and had even misled them into thinking that he would be with them till the end. To make himself feel better, he can possibly continue living a lie. He can tell himself that he still want all of those that he had wanted in the past. He can tell himself that it is something he really wants to do. He had tried. For a while. But it is not easy living a lie. He chose to give that up.

Yes. He chose the easy way out. He threw in the towel. He recalled the times when his teammates were feeling down and out and wanted to give up as well. He was the one who encouraged them. He remembered the countless occasions when he managed to escape death with many strokes of luck. The sense of achievement was overwhelming, and sometimes addictive.

But he realized that he cannot live a lie. He cannot assume the hopes and dreams of everyone else and treat them as though they were his own. He tried that before, but he failed miserably. All he can do now is to wish his team mates all the best.

Zipper

2006-08-06T21:24:00.000+08:00

It is starting to irritate him. At first, he just thought that it was just bollocks and did not pay any attention to it at all. Thinking back, perhaps he should have heeded the advice. He had better do something about it before it starts to get out of hand.

Embarrassment is something that had occurred to everyone before. Some people get into embarrassing situations on a regular basis, some people seldom get embarrassed at all, some people don’t really feel embarrassed though the situation they are in would be deemed as embarrassing for most while some people get embarrassed by the slightest things that happen. One thing for sure, embarrassment is something everyone would avoid to encounter as much as possible. No doubt, the recent spate of embarrassing events that repeatedly interrupt his life is making Jamin extremely irritated.

2 months ago, Jamin went on an expedition to the Sahara desert. On the very first day he set foot on the desert, he met this shady looking Moroccan who offered to be his tour guide. Jamin felt that it would defeat the purpose of an expedition if he were to hire the Moroccan, so he rejected him. However, the pesky Moroccan refused to leave and insisted on being his tour guide unless Jamin could find an acceptable reason to reject him. Jamin tried all his means to shake the Moroccan off but to no avail. Finally, he told him that he had no money and was too poor to hire him. The Moroccan expressed his displeasure and scolded Jamin for wasting his time. Being a temperamental person by nature, Jamin had been tempted to punch the Moroccan on many occasions. He did not want to hold himself back anymore and was about to deliver a knuckle to the Moroccan’s big nose when the Moroccan spoke again.

This time, he said that he happened to be offering a fortune telling service as well. It became pretty obvious to Jamin that all the Moroccan was asking for was simply a knockout blow to his head. But Jamin thought that it would be best not to create trouble in a foreign land. Afterall, there were many other people around the area. Using the same reason, Jamin said that he was unable to afford. This is time the Moroccan smiled and pointed to Jamin’s hat. Barter? Jamin did not know whether to laugh or to feel ridiculed. But he was impressed by the persistence of the Moroccan. He would make a good salesman. Despite that, Jamin insisted that he was not interested to use any of his belongings as a payment. Resigned to fate, the Moroccan turned back and walked away. As he was walking away, he said, ‘I will tell you this for free. You will be terribly embarrassed for the months to come unless you employ one of my services.’ At that point in time, Jamin thought that the Moroccan sounded ridiculous, but just dismissed it as a combination of being sour and poor usage of English (he probably had meant ‘terribly sorry’ instead of ‘embarrassed’).

Now it all dawn upon him. He was put under a curse. No wonder he keeps getting himself embarrassed. Over and over again. On Monday, he remembered Marc telling him that his pants were unzipped the minute he met him at a restaurant. On Tuesday, Lesnar told him that his pants were unzipped when they were both on a train. On Wednesday, a young lady walked past him, screamed ‘EEEWWW!’ and ran away. On Thursday, he suddenly felt a little too airy down there when he realized that his fly was open. As he was zipping up his pants, passersby gave him disgusted looks. On Friday, he was told to get lost when he was ordering food from the canteen. The stallholder was obviously offended by his open fly. On Saturday, he was running to catch a bus and he felt his pants going down lower and lower. An unzipped pair of pants would naturally get looser and looser especially when you are running. And today. He had been told by at least 5 different people that his fly was open. If it is not a curse, Jamin would have no other explanation for it.

Jamin felt that it would be best for him to avoid the crowd until he could somehow break the curse. After spending some time thinking on his couch, he finally had a solution. To solve the zipper problem, he just needs to get rid of the zipper. He just has to wear pants without zips! He immediately changed into a pair of shorts, with no zippers, and hurriedly went down for lunch. Finally, he has the courage to go out without having to worry about when his pants would suddenly unzip on their own.

He finished his lunch and was walking on the streets when he received a flyer that was offering a free membership to the new gym. Since the new gym was just around the corner, Jamin decided to check it out.

He went in and walked around. He saw a weighing scale at a corner and went on it. To his shock, he had gained 30 kg.

‘Hahah… Don’t be too shocked. If you don’t exercise, you will naturally get fat. Hahahaha.. That’s what the gym membership is for. Don’t worry, there’s still hope for you. After working out for some time here, you will find that you will not struggle to zip up your pants anymore.’ One of the gym users who caught him in his state of shock told him.

Seeking

2006-07-05T01:54:00.002+08:00

the sand trickled in the hourglass
each breath life seeps away

the hand moves, slowly and steadily
tick tock tick tock

the shadow on the dial shifts
the body weakens with each action

the sun rays shine, the moon light beams
the pace remains constant, or so it seems
where in this paradigm of time
willl there be a sign
to put everything in light
clearing darkness from the night

a pri sch essay

2006-07-02T19:17:00.000+08:00

He was dumbfounded. It took a while before reaity finally sank in. Nevertheless, that piece of news was too bitter to swallow. He could not believe that she was gone just like that.

There were some memories. Memories that still remained vivid. But he had to try so hard to resist recalling them. Memories are cruel things. They constantly reminded him how vulnerable he was and how weak he was. He longed for Amnesia.

That night, he could not sleep. It was indeed too cruel for an illness to take away his best friend just like that. Tossing and turning under the blanket. Tossing and turning. More tossing and turning.

He finally sat up. Amnesia and Sleep, this pair of elusive twins seemed to hate him a lot. To make matters worse, there was a bug buzzing around in his room. He kept shoving his hands around and started screaming. The bug refused to leave his room. He stared hard at the bug which was resting beside his bed. It was not a detestable bug. It was a butterfly. He understood. Torrents of tears began flowing fast and free.

Jane.

Revisiting lalaland

2006-06-27T15:18:00.000+08:00

Back at lalaland again last night. It seems to have changed. Still, there's some sort of familiarity hanging around in the air. The more things change, the more they remain the same. The oxygen in the air still smells the same and every step taken there seems to fill him with renewed euphoria. That, is the part of him that knows. That, is the part of him who can see, smell, hear, feel and touch. He sees the familiarity of things around him. He sees the logic and rationality hidden beneath the surface.

Despite that, he is always separated from himself there, at lalaland. he doesn't know that he is separated from He. But He knows. he would probably realise too, but that would always come much later. He stands at the side, looking at the ridiculous things he is doing.

Things that do not make sense. Things that you know are made up. These things are the ones that you can expect to happen every moment at lalaland without you even finding anything strange about them.

he was brushing his teeth at home. after rinsing his mouth, he jumped back onto his bed and started reading his book. after two pages, he was in a library reading a thick reference book. He stood at the corner, chuckling to himself. he did not realise it. because he is still reading. soon, he got tired of reading. he walked to the library counter. and ordered a glass of lychee martini. not surprisingly, the lady served it to him. he held the glass and sipped the drink to quench his thirst. Again, He smiled to himself after seeing what happened.

he began to feel a little bored in the library. it seemed too suffocating, to be trapped behind four walls and artificially cooled air. he walked to the lift and entered the doors. he pressed on the button '4'. the doors opened and he walked out quickly. as soon as he stepped out of the lift, he walked to his right and laid on the bench, enjoying the fresh air in the open park. there were some kids playing with kites at the far corner. a few metres away from his bench was a dog running on the spot in circles. He grinned wryly again.

It is now time. Yes, time's up now. It's gonna stop. He went to him. And he became He. He became he. He opened his eyes and found himself on the bed, with the alarm clock beside him screaming for some attention. Another day begins.

Breaking the Code

2006-06-03T16:06:00.000+08:00

It is weird isn’t it? Things always happen when you least expect it. When you hope that the one million dollars from the lottery would be yours, it never happens. When you make a birthday wish, you seldom expect it to be fulfilled. When you enter a lucky draw contest, you can almost for sure say that the winner will not be you. Yet, sometimes when you are just that certain that such things would not happen, it just happens, probably just to irritate you, and to show you that nothing is certain in this world. Indeed, one can never be too sure about something. When the bookmakers offer the odds payout of 1.01 for something, think twice before assuming that it is a foregone conclusion that you will win.

From time to time, something would sprout out of nowhere to challenge existing pillars of truth, to make the formidable appear vulnerable and to reveal the cracks and crevices within the magnificence and majesty. Perhaps this is the real world order. This is the way things work. The world has its own balancing mechanism, to ensure that when something has achieved too much stability, something must present itself to disrupt this peace and tranquility. It can be said that such a measure is necessary, without which complacency would breed and in time, because of prolonged stability, apathy might also strive to dominate. The end result would be the turning against of the very stability that everyone had put their faith in from the start.

Norbwand just began to understand all these things. He had a tremendous discovery and was sure that it would rock the world. But how was he going to make this discovery be known to the world? Surely he could not be traveling physically around the world to tell people about it. What was he thinking? In this modern age of technology, news would spread faster than he could even imagine. He decided that he would put his ideas down in a book and everyone who read it would be astounded by the new insight he discovered.

He sat down on his chair and started writing.

Tommy was lost for words. He never imagined that things would turn out like that. We had all been deceived! This could perhaps be the biggest cover-up in the history of mankind. Mathematics has been considered the foundation for science. It had manifested itself in everyone’s lives. Calculating the change you will receive when you pay for something. Counting the time you need to leave your house and get to your destination. Putting the numbers and figures right in your bank accounts and tax sheets. What if the fundamentals of mathematics are proven to be wrong? Would the world fall apart?

Everything in the world follows certain axioms, which are sets of assumptions that were made, upon which more ideas were built on. If these very axioms were one day proven to be wrong, the skyscrapers that were piled on top of the foundation stone would topple like falling bricks of Jenga.

Tommy was gasping for air. His discovery must be made known to the world. Everyone must know the truth and stop living in deception. In mathematics, one of the very first things taught is that one plus one is equals to two. From simple arithmetic to more complex mathematical topics, the rule ‘one plus one equals to two’ is the building block upon which everything is built on.

How would his discovery change the world? Tommy had no answers. A world where one plus one does not equal to two was simply something too much for his mind to comprehend. The founding fathers of mathematics had deliberately created such a rule, to ensure that their legacy continues. They knew that they would one day die, but their rule would live on forever. Even if it was false, it did not matter to them.

In his research, Tommy discovered that one plus one is actually three. When one man and one woman come together, they produce one child. So one plus one equals three. Sometimes, it can even be four, five, six or even more. How amazing. When you put one spoon of salt into one glass of water, you get a glass of salty water. Here, one plus one equals one. Hence, one plus one can be one as well. When you take a paper and put it to a flame, you get no more paper left. One plus one becomes zero! Tommy took a moment to savour the brilliance of his own discovery.

Soon, the world would know about the selfish evil plot the founding fathers of Mathematics had created to bring glory to themselves. It is necessary to reveal the truth, but the truth might be too great for anyone to bear. What must be done must be done.

Norbwand stood up from his chair. Finally, it was completed. He would get the book published and soon everyone would be talking about it. Maybe they might even make it into a movie. Whatever it might turn out to be, it was his responsibility to shed light onto the rest of the deluded world.

Waiting for Christmas?

2006-05-21T21:07:00.000+08:00

He had to shut it out from his mind. Inaction and passiveness would only carry him this far. It was the end of the road. Chances and opportunities are not gifts that Santa Claus gives out everyday. If this myth was real, it would occur at best only once a year. One could wait for Christmas, but he certainly could not expect Christmas to come on anytime of the year other than 25 December. Nevertheless, people loved to wait for things like that to happen. Though at the back of the mind they know the chance of it occurring is probably as low as spotting a green elephant crossing the road, they somehow think that it is still a realistic chance. Maybe that is why people like to buy lottery tickets. Choosing to ignore the extremely probable outcome that they would win nothing, they put their hope on the most unlikely outcome.

Perhaps this is the way people work. After all, what would life be without hope? What would life be without fairy tales, fantasy stories, sweet romantic dreams and tales with perfect wonderful endings? That was the best way he could comfort himself. Indeed, it sounded convincing enough to tell himself that it was not just another excuse.

He laid on his bed and prepared to sleep. He tossed and turned, occasionally sitting up for a while before lying back down again. Was it insomnia? Surely it was not too traumatic for him to sleep? Maybe it was. He knew that he accidentally shed a tear or two when he was under the blanket. Why was he doing this? He could not understand. Surely what happened was definitely not a good thing, but surely he should not be bothered by it? He asked himself if he was affected. His mind told him no. No. He was not affected. It was just one of those things in life that did not happen as he would wish.

He shut his eyes again. Soon, he found them open. Why could he not sleep? Irritation began to set in. It was clearly affecting him. He did no know why but all of a sudden he was feeling down. Down. Down. Down. Down in the dumps. He felt like crying. He sat up, holding the pillow near his face. Tears began to start flowing. Yes. He was sad. He cold not get it off his mind.

He started imagining Lydia in his mind. Lydia and him. Things they did together. Some of which were real. Some were his fantasies. It was supposed to be saddening, but somehow, it felt good. It was not entirely good, but it was not bad either. Like a smoker addicted to cigarettes, he seemed to be hooked on these thoughts.

It took him quite a long while before he got off those thoughts. He must be out of his mind. How could he allow himself to think that way? His vulnerability could not be exposed. He was the alpha male. He was an impregnable fortress, a bastion that could not be broken into. Such weak thoughts were so uncharacteristic of him. It was simply ridiculous.

Unknowingly, he was already lying on the bed snoring. How silly. How much could pride be worth? He might have thought that his pride was worth almost his life. But still sometimes, he could fall into such lapses.

Well, maybe he could do something for him. He could work a little over time. Sometimes he wondered if he was too lazy. Alright. He would work over time. Too much time off could get boring sometimes.

Did he sleep well last night? A slight neck ache, other than that it should be pretty fine. He got out of his bed and went to take his usual morning stroll in the park. After the walk, he should feel more awake and ready for the next day’s work. He dragged his feet lazily on the pathway, yawning occasionally. Something at the corner of his eye caught his attention. What in the blue hell was that? He rubbed his eyes again. What he saw was simply out of this world. At the far end of the road some distances away, he saw a GREEN ELEPHANT. What on earth is a GREEN ELEPHANT doing here? Wait a minute. Do green elephants exist? Oh my god. As if seeing a green elephant was not ridiculous enough, the next thing he saw was the green elephant CROSSING THE ROAD! Absolutely absurd. He wanted to run over and take a closer look, but the next moment he looked up, the green elephant had disappeared.

The green elephant certainly made him completely wide awake. He was ready to go to work. He hurried back home, took a shower, and rushed off to work.

Monday blues again. What else could be worse than work? He knew that it was useless complaining because everyone else was also trapped in this wretched lifeless life there. Just when he decided to take a short break from work, he received an SMS from his handphone. It was Lydia. She had broken up with that guy and she wanted to meet him for dinner to talk. Not a good thing to be happy about that someone broke up, but he still felt happy. He scowled at his own evil thoughts.

The SMS had lifted his spirits. He was extremely productive at work and his manager was amazed at his efficiency. When he worked fast, time seemed to pass so quickly that he did not notice it. It was time to knock off. He rushed down to the meeting place. Lydia was already there. They talked a lot during dinner. After that, they went for a stroll in the park. Soon, Lydia was in his arms.

The alarm buzzed. Freak!! He got woken up rudely from his sleep. Argh. Another idiotic dream. He thought that he needed some medicine to clear his mind of such ridiculous thoughts. It was making a mockery out of himself. He washed up and went for his usual morning stroll.

A bunch of kids were playing noisily at a corner of the park. Irritating kids. He hated kids. They should be responsible for a large proportion of the world’s noise pollution. He frowned as he was walking past them. One of them was drawing a picture. It was a green elephant. Incensed, he went up to him and told him that he got the colour wrong. The bunch of kids all laughed at him. He stormed off angrily. Kids are also one of the most stupid living things on earth, he thought to himself.

His day unfolded just like any other day, each daily routine leading to the next, till it was knockoff time. He received an SMS. It was Lydia. He scratched his head. It was the same SMS he got in his dream. And dinner was perfect, just like the dream. And they went for a stroll in the park too.

‘Hey, look at that in the sky!’ Lydia exclaimed. He looked up. It was a shooting star. A rare sight indeed.

Up there above the clouds, on the shooting star, Santa Claus was riding on his reindeer. Sometimes working over time is indeed not bad. After all Christmas is still many months away. One should not just wait for Christmas.

a heartless man

2006-03-08T02:23:00.000+08:00

So it happened again. She had done it again. Not that she really wanted to do it. But again and again it happened. Now she found herself in the same place she had been so many times. This is all too familiar. She looked up into the sky. The same dark nite sky. Where are the stars? Where is the moon? Cant they appear to at least show some comfort?

And there he stood. He always appeared so disgusting. Yet not always, but only at this time, when the passion is all over and the heat of the moment had passed. Oh it would always seem so romantic. The handholding. The peck on the cheek. The solitary walks in the park. And then the peck. And then the pecks would grow longer. The hugs deeper. Before they knew it, they were at it again. And now there he was again as he always looked. So selfish, so disgusting. But she never saw it. Not till it was all over. Yet again and again it happened.

She loathed him. He was an insensitive, selfish and unloving prick. But why? Why? Why? Why did it only always appear at their final throws of passion? It had passed. It was no longer present. She stood there in the still air. All she could feel was the nite air caressing her skin. She raised her hand and tried to get hold of it. She caught nothing. She tried again, hurling her hands at the emptiness, trying to grab something that she could hold on to. Try as she might, there is nothing.

She could remember it all the head. The images were so vivid. They replayed in her head over and over again. But why couldn’t she feel it again in her hands? She didn’t want them to be just images. Fake images. Intangible deceitful stuff. She needed them real. Real things that she could feel and touch and know that they exist. That would give her security. Yes security. Security. It seemed all so elusive.

She hated herself for being like this. She knew she was being too self-absorbed. Every nite she stood at the balcony and tried the best she could to bring those memories to life, making the images real. It is not possible, she realised, for the umpteenth time. She could not replicate them alone. Tears began to form at her eyes. Her heart was squeezed and she could feel air escaping her lungs.

His photograph was in her left hand. She stared hard at it. She could not stop the tears from overwhelming her. She asked too many whys and whys. Sometimes, there is no why. Things happen for no reason. Things happen just because they want to happen. Or maybe things happen to deliberately sadden her. Someone up there must be playing a trick on her and took pleasure in seeing her down in the dumps. She glared at the nite sky. ‘screw u,’ she muttered to herself. ‘whoever it is, fuck u.’ the sick person up there who planned these events in her life seriously deserved to be mutilated.

She saw the razor on the table. That thought came to her mind again. To end it once and for all. She resisted. She knew that if she did it to herself, she might never see him again, not even after death. She would be burning in the tongues of flames deep down in hell for taking her own life.

Tim.

The sun was up in the sky and his rays forced her eyes open. It was day again. She needed to do what she needs to do everyday. She went down to her car and drove off. Once again, she reached the place. She walked on the pathway, in the same manner like she did everyday. Finally, she reached the place.

‘Tim.’ She put down the bouquet of flowers on the cold stone and looked at the picture again, trembling. ‘Tim.’ Her tears began to flow again as she hugged the stone on the grave. He was too insensitive, selfish and unloving to leave her all behind.

bone

2006-03-01T01:55:00.000+08:00

its nite time again. the same darkness. the same blank sky each nite. he laid on the bench, resting his head on his arms, staring at the blanket of the nite. hadnt he been here at the same place, staring at the same spot on the sky before? in fact, he had done that countless times. history seems to repeat itself, he is seemingly trapped in this cycle. who determines this cycle? is he being programmed to do these things that he do, and even think this thought that just flashed across his mind? he looked around himself. the landscap was pretty barren, which was rather expected for this time of the day. doffles was already sleeping at the far end under the tree. that bitchy cherie is still flirting with the other males in the park. are they thinking what he is thinking? clearly not. in the first place, what the hell is he even thinking about?

random sporadic thoughts. disorganised and frivolous thoughts. all these that meant to only ridicule himself. nevertheless, this felt so addictive. its like a black hole, sucking him in. he noes that he is sinking in, at the same time, he is drawn by the mystery and suspense that it offers. he wants to unveil the mask and see the face, take off the clothes and see the nakedness. the bare reality of it all. yet, despite being sucked in, nothing more is revealed. the sexiness still lingers and he longs for more. he is already in the black hole and theres no turning back. occasionally, he manages to retrace his steps and move against the current. but before he could reach the safety zone, the vacuum would pull him further back in. a part of him did enjoy that. the to and fro motion that he underwent. tedious and unrewarding, but somehow, in a way, satisfying.

he blinked his eyes and retrieved his mind from the black hole for a moment. he tapped at the stone bench he was on with his right hand. its hard. yeah. he is there. he is real. at least it feels more secure. something tangible, something that he can touch and feel. isnt this better? keep out of the danger zone which holds so many uncertainties and questions with no answers. the safety zone here offers u order and predictability, though dull and suffocating, can sometimes be soothing and comforting as well.

yes, he thought to himself. he needs this comfort now. because he can feel the growl in his stomach. the desire for food. he walked around, hoping to find something he could salvage. doffles would probably have some food hidden somewhere, but he is already asleep. cherie would definitely have got quite some bit through flirting, but she probably would not spare him any.

at the end of the pathway, there was a group of young delinquents. people. properly loaded with food too. he scurried over. one of the young boys was chewing on a chicken wing. foood... he salivated uncontrollably. the boy chewed off the last bit of meat on the chicken wing and fling the bone onto the grass patch.

food at last. he pounced on it, picked it up with his teeth and hurried back to his bench.

'pathetic dog! hahah...'

'yeah, such a brainless creature! how stupid can animals get..'

'alrite, let's go back and play our computer games.'

'yeah of course. got to do something meaningful in the nite rather than wasting it away like that pathetic dog haha..'

Grieving Despair

2006-02-12T23:10:00.000+08:00

He lit a fag,
put down his sling bag
leaned back against his chair
unperturbed by the glare.
Puffed a cloud
feeling down and out.

Mindless quarrels
Endless squabbles
Meaningless arguments
Repeated disappointments

She could not see it,
despite him repeatedly going at it.
Speaking Greek to English?
No one can revive a dead fish.

A lost cause,
an expected loss.
Ideals of a perfect family
were never meant to be.

No light at the end of the tunnel
Some live forever in the dark corner,
never ever seeing the light.
Indeed its a pitiful sight.

Attempts to break down
the walls of darkness are failure bound.
The real world is never ideal.
Painstaking efforts to create one can only kill.
Utter disappointment
in something devoid of love and filled with resentment.

He knows the way out
He knew it eons ago when he was first thrown out
He took the way before,
it worked, but still it feels sore.

Wanting to end it once and for all,
he tried it once more.
Once again, he was proven wrong.
He buries his head down, tearing to the mournful song.

a tinge of disappointment

2006-01-30T12:25:00.000+08:00

he had been waiting for this day. it was arranged some time ago and he was looking forward to it. mental preparations had been made and he had psyched himself up for it. it is not the first time. but it is gonna create a greater impact than the previous times.

he recallled how big an issue it had become the last time it happened. he was on the news, radios, magazines and literally everywhere in the world. he even appearead in some toys and t-shirts. this time, it must create a bigger bang than that.

they had arranged for it to come in 2 days' time. adrenalin was rushing thru his veins and he couldnt sleep at all as the date draws near. the collapse of the buildings, the scurrying pple, the dying cries, the cloud of dust that resembles the atomic bomb of the World War etc. it may seem sadistic to others, but to him, he is doing it for the greater good.

he got out of his bed each day thinking abt the day thats gonna come. its gonna come soon, hopefully. hopefully it would not be foiled again like many of those that happened before. contrary to popular belief, he is not the mastermind of all the operations. he is a mere scapegoat. he awaits instructions obediently and patiently while his thirst for blood and battle hunger is about to drive him crazy.

Now its drawing closer. Even closer than before. Just 1 more day.

'Osama?'

'Yes?'

'An instruction had been passed down. The operations scheduled for tommorrow had been postponed.'

He was dumbfounded. He sort of expected it though. It had happened before and so he should expect it to happen again. He had worried for nothing. The adrenalin were wasted for nothing. The sleepless nights were totally uncalled for again. At least it is just postponed. Another date would be given and it can still be executed. Well, he just hopes that it is not cancellled.

He walked into his prayer room, sat down and meditated.

wads his name?

2006-01-24T23:47:00.000+08:00

he is sometimes known as Gary. or Jerry. sometimes Jeremy or Terry. or any other names he could think of at that pt in time. hes like a chameleon, without a fixed identity. one moment he is just a person picking up a call, the next moment he is the manager, the next moment he is an admin staff. who is he really? are they all the same?

he is seldom what his IC says he is, unless its pple he already knows. even to those who know him, not all know him as his real name. some addresses him by his surname. he knows who he is. he prefers to be someone he is not.

he would rather be Gary, Jerry, Jeremy, Terry or anyone else out there. someone that no1 has any expectations of. someone that has no responsibilities.

each time the fone rings, he is preparing himself for a new identity. so far, Tenacious hasn't shown up yet. wonder what would the caller's reaction be if Tenacious were to answer the calls. but that would almost never happen. its just not appropriate.

geishas hide their true self behind their painted faces. he hides himself beneath his skin, under the facade of these different names.

back at it again

2006-01-22T03:51:00.000+08:00

i m not leaving afterall. yes i m extremely tired, but i would carry on. perhaps sometimes i m too harsh with myself, putting too much pressure and expectations on myself. i have to realise that i m afterall human, and i do need help. i used to think that i m a blackhole, that i have an unlimited capacity to consume everything that comes along. i thought that i would never burn out. seriously, i have never felt burnt out before in my life.

i cannot turn away a fren's plea. i noe that if i quit, it is the end. there is no replacement. no1 can take over from me, at least at this point in time. if i quit, he would stand to lose much more. i have come this far, surely a lil more wouldnt harm. i appreciate his understanding.

now i m back again. like a phoenix reborn. i will come back stronger than ever before.

'i get knocked down
but i get up again
and u're never gonna take me down'

nothing can cut me now. my skin is now lined with diamond, even the sharpest object wun be able to penetrate. i will never be brought down again. 1 day to recharge, and i m ready for the bullet train race.

i may not be able to complete a marathon sprinting the first 2 km at top speed. it was a foolhardy move i took. i suffered the consequence of my own temerarious decision. now i would pace it well, and once again i would be the bastion of strength, the impenetrable fortress.

Swan Song

2006-01-21T12:50:00.000+08:00

and so it ended. slightly more than a year. it is kinda sad to leave. it is painful but necessary. it has been taking too much out of me. i m not superman. yes i m the champion of the world, but i m only human. theres still a limit. i was stretched beyond my limit. i m terribly drained now.

i know i have endless amounts of energy. in sec sch, i bring in more than 1400 bucks in 2 days of jobweek almost every year. not by luck or wad, but by mere endurance and determination. at mt biang, i carried the load nobody wanted to carry for 2 days. i din die. i can sleep for 1 hr and wake up the next day doing work for H and is still sober. sometimes i really think this energy would last me forever. i would like to think so too.

it sounds damn fun and slack to tell pple that u have a 2 day week. but does anyone know what it means? they think i m some stupid young punk who just wanna slack at home and play computer rite... they think i dun give a flying fark abt my studies.. when i said that i want to get first class honours they think that i m talking shit.. who really knows the meaning behind them? who knows whats really hidden beneath my skin?

my dream is to be a psychologist.. has been this for many years. cos i think my family is farked, and i dun want other families to be farked. so i wanna be a psychologist to unfark all the families that are already farked. i wanna help pple to get outta their emotional troubles. perhaps at the start it is already all wrong. my family is farked so how can i expect myself to help? i m emotionally unstable and always have the weirdest and most ridiculous views ever so how can i expect to give others good advice?

perhaps a dream will always remain as a dream. i know i need my masters if i wanna be a psychologist, and the only way for a pauper like me to do masters is to get a scholarship. the only way to that is to get first class honours. i suppose no1 knows that i m really damn serious abt it. maybe i only want and wish that i m serious abt it, but i cant actually do it. its true that i cant actually do it. its true.

the past sem's grades were a disaster. why? cos i really have no time to study, till the very last part.. i have 24 hrs a day but i dun have much of those hrs to myself. most of the time are either spent doing things for H, thinking of what H needs, planning what H would require me to do... H H H H H H H H..... i have no complaints. when i give my 100% i dun expect to receive 1% of grattitude from anyone. cos i give it free of charge, willingly.

everyone told me to prioritise properly. i refused to listen. i said H and sch are on equal standings. in practice, theres no sch. theres only H. i packed my timetable to 2 days a week. so that the rest of the time is all H's. 10am-6 pm without a break in between. does it sound fun? does it sound slack?

i said i quit smoking. and yea i did quit. its not difficult. its a piece of cake. only H can cause me enough problems to pick it up again. this is damn shit.

at least it is over. i have emailed him. i hope he would not try to ask me to stay.. knowing him, i think he would. knowing myself, i think i might give in. at the end of the day, it might actually not be over. but i think its over for me.

lalaland

2006-01-20T02:07:00.000+08:00

it has been deluding him for the past few mths. so far sleep hasn't been too bad. not really getting insomnia as often now, occasionally he still manages to have undisturbed sleep though sometimes he would wake up at odd times in the middle of the night. but he has not got any nightmares. or dreams. for mths.

he wonders how his friends are doing at lalaland. it had been such a long time. he wished he could meet them to catch up, whether or not the situation over there had improved, or gone for the worse. no news is good news. so he is inclined to think on the positive side. even if the worst do happen, there is nothing he can do, unless he can get back in there. he can only wait. it is extremely stressful to wait, expecting an undesirable outcome. optimism would do him more good than anything else.

still, sometimes its inevitable. maybe they really are going through bad times, the worst that they had ever experienced. so bad that they had no means to get through to him for help.

he tossed and turned under his blanket. eventually, he shut out all thoughts from his mind, and let himself rest.

the next day began like any other day. he was on his daily routine, going on his way to work. the streets were unusually busy and everyone were gathering in groups, all muttering something to each other, as though there is a new hot topic to talk abt in town. wad else could be new and interesting in this world? elections? terrorists attacks again? earthquakes? he sniggered to himself. meaningless superficialities.

a little young girl walked past him, holding her mother's hand and licking on a lollipop. she was describing her dream to her mother in such enthusiasm.

'i saw donald duck and mickey mouse. they brought me to a candy palace and eat M&Ms from trees! they told me that im their princess!!'

'yes dear, but its a dream. candy dun grow on trees. u noe it dear.'

'its real. they told me its real! and they say they would bring me back there again!'

'alrite alrite. tell me abt it again when u get back there okay?'

the little young girl has dreams. she had been there. people are still going there. at least thats a good sign, he thought to himself. '...its a dream...' the mother's words stayed for a moment in his mind. yeah. so what if its a dream? cant a dream be real? what makes this world more real than the dream world? sigh. ignorance is bliss. choosing to disbelieve is never a bad choice.

if only he can convince himself that skepticism is the logical and rational way to think of dreams. he knows he cant because he had been through it. as he was thinking about this, something furry took his hand. he turned and saw a rabbit!

'Balbus! goodness gracious! how did u come here???'

'lets go somewhere.'

the rabbit scurried into a small alley and he followed. they entered a small house and went into one of the rooms.

'Joe.. it's been a while.. '

'Balbus, wads going on? if u are here, wad abt the rest? and are those pple coming too?'

'its a matter of time before all of them finds out. candies from trees are already melting over there.. ice cream sometimes now melt on sunny days. some times we cant do certain things even when we imagine very hard that we could do them.. its no longer the same'

'why is this the case?'

'cos no1 believes now. they think that their dreams are not real. even when they are dreaming, they think they are not real. when they come over here, their skepticism is especially draining for us. when there is no more clear line between us and them, every1 wil have to suffer the consequence. by then they would know not even know that we are real. when the Nightmares enter the waking world and run havoc, it would just reinforce their impression that dreams arent real and are a waste of time.'

when people dream, it is not just a flicker of thought going through the brain when they are sleeping, though most people now think so. every1 is living in the world, be it in the waking world or the dream. the distinction could be made because the balance is maintained whenever someone goes into the dream and fully believes in it, and in the process enjoy themselves with the people there. if the balance is upset, the distinction would slowly become nothing. most people go into dreams now not fully enjoying them, some even to the extent of thinking that its a waste of their sleeping time and want to get out of the dream as soon as possible. little do they know that they are doing themselves a disfavour. if the people of lalaland cannot convince the dreamer that they are experiencing something real, the lifeforce that keeps lalaland going would slowly drain away.

now, it was made known to him that the consequence of that is the gradual extinction of lalaland altogether. the people of lalaland would soon have to cross over to the waking world. and those other people, those of the Nightmares, would follow. Right into the waking world. and people would experience the Nightmares while in the waking. When the time comes, it would be a sad thing indeed.

when lalaland disappears, the common people's idea that dreams are not real would be true. it would indeed be that dreams are non-existent. and everyone would stop having dreams altogether. the good things would never happen again, not in their sleep. bad things would come again and again, after the Nightmares fully infiltrate the waking world.

if everyone was like the little girl, if they believed in their dreams, lalaland would not be drained of her life like it is fast becoming now. Everyone believes dreams at the start. just that when they grow old, they think that dreams are for children. Children are always so happy because they believe in their dreams.

'Balbus. i have been trying to get over to see u all but to no avail.'

'maybe u know too much. the laws of nature are all made known to u and so they intend to shut u out of this game.'

'y dint u all bring me in then? i can help. getting one more person who believes in lalaland is better than getting a whole load of skeptics!'

'u believe because u knew. u din believe because u wanted to believe. wad makes u so different from the skeptics anyway? u cant fool Mother Nature. maybe u would be like them if u din know. u cant be of much help anyway. we would be better off getting people who might have a chance of believing in us.'

'so wads ur purpose here?'

'soon there would be no difference between here and there anymore. might as well come here earlier. soon i may not even be able to speak in a language u can understand. when lalaland disappears, everyone in lalaland would become what u people here expect us to be.'

yaheuh

2006-01-18T23:25:00.000+08:00

'hey no we dun sell this here.. haha.. most shops usually dun carry russian brands.' the shopkeeper chuckled, almost amused by Juk's enquiry. Juk frowned and left. shld have expected it rite. how many russian brands have anyone heard of before? Yaheuh. most shopkeepers probably would ask 'What?' and would repeat the same question even if he says it again. almost unheard of. a yaheuh musical box. Juk needs it.

'no we dun have it.'

'do u know where i can get it?'

'not here.'

'if a shop happens to sell it, how much would it roughly cost?'

'cheap, hahhaa, i can tell u very cheap. that sorta brands, almost worthless ahhaha.'

worthless. so be it. Juk saw the picture of it online. an old classic wooden musical box. he wants it badly.

he had soon gone thru all the shops on the street. as expected, he had no results. he knew there was no way he could find it in the country, now that he had searched the entire street, best known for selling all sorta musical boxes available in the market.

he sensed a feeling of loss, seems like a part of himself has disappeared, and he needs to find it back, to lay his hands on the yaheuh. ever since he saw that picture 2 days ago, part of his soul had already grown too impatient, and wandered off first in search for it. not much time left, really.

he walked back all the way to the white building, face sullen. he thought there was a glimmer of hope. he thought it might be possible to find it there. perhaps the picture he saw was the closest he could ever get to. closest, yet it is still not enough. he needs to hold it in his hand and feel the weight of it on his palm. well. so what if he somehow manages to? it might not be enough. cos he would expect more to come still. he shld be satisfied, the greed of hope kills. reality is meant to disappoint, never to match the potential of realising the expectation.

enough is enough. he decided that it would be over. Juk turned the knob on the door and entered his ward. he sat on his white bed. taking the laptop from the small table beside the bed, he placed it in front of him on the bed. it took a while to start. it din take long for Juk to feel the heat of the machine on his white bedsheets. warmth. some warmth. artificial. too fake.

Juk shook his head. everything around him seems to be placed there to disappoint. he logged on to the internet and typed in the website again. he could see the beautiful description giving praise to the musical box every shopkeeper on the streets had laughed at. but the picture was no longer there. the cursor moved over to the 'refresh' button. the page was reloaded. nothing changed.

a drop of tear escaped from his right eye. a sharp pain pierced his heart. he could not control his heartbeat. all of a sudden, it seemed to go all haywire. he clutched his chest. he slipped from his bed and slumped onto the floor.

'help help!' these cries were made by those on the other beds. the doctors rushed in.

the next thing he knew, he was on his bed again. hah. still alive. he wondered how long more can he still play this cat and mouse game with Death.

'hey Juk. thank god we got in time. dun move ard too much yea? try to stay on ur bed and everything would be fine.'

'fine? wads fine? i had at most 2 mths rite? hahaha.. perhaps 2 mths would be fine.. perhaps it would be better if its shorter hahahha...'

'dun say that.. be strong k? anyway, have u got a grandson?'

'no. i m not married. u know that.'

'a small kid just asked me to pass u this. thought it was ur grandson.'

the doctor passed Juk a nicely wrapped box.

'have fun opening it. do cheer up.. i'll b off. let me know if u need anything..'

'alrite.. cya.. thanks..'

Juk smiled to himself. a grandson? a real joke if u ask him. maybe he would have a grandson if he had stayed in Russia. that was a bad thought. it suddenly brings back more memories. he tossed the box in his hand. then, he carefully peeled away the piece of paper wrapped around it. a little excitement runs in now. he opened the cardboard box. he was dumbfounded. yaheuh. he held it against his chest.

he had no control over his tears any longer. 40 years of pain.. he lied on his bed.. the memories started floating in his head. Yuri.. the musical box. the last thing he gave her before he was forced to leave. to come to this foreign land. all in hope to provide a better life for them back there. the letters never got replied after some time. when he returned, the whole house they lived in were no longer there. caught in a fire in the middle of the nite, he was told by neighbours. everything disappeared from then on. all he wanted was a better life for both of them. but he lost all that he ever wanted.

he contemplated many times to seek Death. but he knows God would condemn him and he would never ever see Yuri again. he grown all too impatient in waiting for Death's arrival. he knew he did not have to wait for long. it was about time. all the years of waiting. it is gonna come anytime now.

he hugged onto the musical box as tightly as he could.. he closed his eyes. he smiled. the heart beat again started to beat unsteadily.. faster and faster. slowed down.. faster and faster again.. faster.. too fast.. then it stopped. completely.

Yuri walked out of the hospital, holding a young boy by his hand.

'whos that old man just now, granny?'

'an old friend. dun ask so many questions. lets go home quickly. granpa's waiting.'

Tunnel

2006-01-17T19:12:00.000+08:00

the train mechanically comes to a halt. the doors slid open and the ugly pple swarmed out in masses, trying to squeeze past one another as though the more they squeeze the easier they would get outta the crowd. the boy stood behind the entire mess, numb to this ridiculous scene. for a moment, he seemed to be locked out of this world. the vision of the moving crowd still stays, but the ears hear nothing except for the sound of vacuum zoning in on the ears. there was no breath. it was just for a moment, before the signals of the closing doors woke him out from his spell. he hurriedly got in between the sliding doors, which were already half closed. this sudden exertion of his leg muscles sorta shook him up a lil, an early morning boost which he so desperately needs.

it is a every-morning routine. the same train. the same dreadful ugly pple. the same stop. the same lethargy. he is not where he wants to be, maybe he is, but he is not too sure. some pple would say how lucky he is to make it there, how smart he was and how they wished they could belong there too. they know nothing. just like those pple who were already there like him, they know nothing too. he, himself, probably knows nothing too.

he is not sure what exactly his mind is thinking. it seems to be roaming around many different things, some big issues that concern humanity, some smaller issues involving people around him and some on a smaller scale, at the personal level, his own inner thoughts. roaming around these many issues, touching them a little below the surface then turning away in disgust. such dissatisfaction.

he goes through this every morning whenever he reaches the stop that says 'Buona Vista'. this same thought process that haunts him every morning haunted him again today and he was delayed by another minute on the platform, in the same daze as he was minutes before behind the closing train doors. he was standing still, staring fixedly at one invisble spot on the screen of thin air erected directly in front of his human frame. he got into the spell again.

cacophony of the ugly pple complaining and train doors closing signals penetrated his ears. he breathed in some air. but his eyes were still fixed at that invisible spot. his limbs seemed to be immobilised.

he stumbled. the crowd coming out from the train that just arrived showed no mercy for him, they muscled him aside and cast some glances of displeasure at him, cursing him for his inconsideration in blocking the pathway. he shook his head. and he shook it again. he knows he got to stop daydreaming.

he walked into the crowd and blended into them. soon, he was walking the same kind of pace the ugly pple walk. he took the escalator down and exited the gantry. he went on another escalator that would bring him outta the station. he was now at the ground floor. same shit, different day. he sighed.

a few steps ahead, the Tunnel lies before him. it was fairly lit at this time. he carried on, and proceeded into the Tunnel. the smell of rotting leaves and murky drainwater pervaded his respiratory system. nothing alien. he continued walking. soon, the stench became more and more unbearable. this is the first time he is experiencing this. he thought he should have been immune to it considering this Tunnel is his routine path for 2 years already. he hastened his footsteps, not willing to put up with the smell any longer. the Tunnel seemed to be longer than usual today. it is usually only a 3 min walk, but it seemed like he had walked for ten minutes.

he stopped for a while, with his right hand covered on his nose. he looked back, and looked at the end of the Tunnel again. he is halfway through. he started walking again. the smell is suddenly gone. he let his right hand down and smiled to himself, heaving a sigh of relief. he slowed down his footsteps and began to drag his feet, walking at a leisurely pace now. he knows he is gonna be late. he doesnt care. its better to be late than to attend morning assembly.

he began to notice that the lights in the tunnel have started to dim. he looked behind him and looked at the end of the Tunnel again. he is still HALFWAY through. ??? the lights began to flicker, the stench started to come back and the walls of the Tunnel seemed to be moving in out and out of its place. he wanted to shake his head again, but he couldnt. he cant breathe. he cant smell anything. his eyes cant move. his limbs were locked. screams couldnt emerge from his throat. he was locked in a seeming forcefield.

his eyelids were suddenly forced shut. he was in darkness. he doesnt know wads going on ard him. maybe it doesnt matter. he couldnt see anyway with his eyes closed. a spark of light broke the darkness, for a second. the sound of wind. a very strong gust of wind. a big splash of light, blinding the total darkness. his pulsating nerves were no longer like choppy waters. they were now calmer than ever before. his heart beat at a steady rate.

the next moment, he saw a familiar boy wearing the same uniform as him walk into the Tunnel, and out of the Tunnel and disappeared. then he came back again, went through the Tunnel and to the station. the same boy kept walking up and down and this same scene repeatedly flashed itself to him again and again till it disturbed the serenity he had a little. the boy appeared at the end of the Tunnel again, now holding a piece of paper in his hand, walking with a group of frens, smiling in glee. they walked past him and into the station.

then a soldier started walking from the station to the end of the Tunnel and disappeared. moments later, he appeared again, at the end of the Tunnel, and walked all the way back to the station. the Tunnel became empty for some time. it seemed like a long time. no footsteps, no light, no smell, not a hint of life present in it. he stood there, still locked out of this world. wondering wads happening to himself.

he heard footsteps. he turned behind and saw a man in formal clothes walking smartly into Tunnel. he walked through it till the end and disappeared. this series of weird occurences made no sense to him.

he was waiting for the next character to appear. he waited. it is beginning to iritate him. the air becomes too stale and its getting stuffy. beads of perspiration began to form on his forehead. those beads of perspiration are causing discomfort to his skin. he cursed and muttered a vulgarity, then lifted up his sleeve to wipe off the perspiration. then he stopped.

it is over. he scratched his head. totally puzzled. he remembered that he was late for school. he lifted up his schoolbag. ??? a BRIEFCASE? he looked at himself. he was in formal clothes. wads happening? he took out his file from the briefcase and saw the documents he prepared the night earlier. he was supposed to give a speech at the graduation assembly today. he hurried towards the school. its not nice to keep the whole school waiting.

for a second, he thought about the boy standing in the Tunnel. who was that? he had no time for such questions. he took bigger steps and made his way to the school as quickly as he could.

Looking back

2006-01-16T22:33:00.000+08:00

1 year ago was when it all started. I would think that it was started on impulse, perhaps others would think otherwise. come to think of it, it was done without much planning, in a rather haphazard manner. without a proper start, one cant really expect much to come out of it. the effects of insufficient planning soon hit us. we had no idea who we were up against, what are the possibilities. closet plannning is really silly, looking back. targets were set, but till now we were nowhere close. unrealistic expectations, made realistic only by our own ignorance and fantasies.

maybe gotta thank Lady Luck, or maybe gotta thank me for being the Champion of the World, somehow, we managed to get on track. a little.. before more poor planning come back to haunt us again. underestimation of costs, frivolous expenditures, biting off more than what we could chew.. a bit too anxious, too impatient..

suddenly, a spate of problems started throwing themselves at us.. never rains but it pours.. people coming and leaving.. people who said they would come but never came.. people who wanted to leave but stayed on... people who wanted to stay but somehow left.. transitions after transitions...

perhaps the Tarot reader was right.. theres just some mysterious force that seem to steer us outta trouble.. whenever theres a problem, the solution always aint too far away.. may not be easy, but it is eventually attainable.. never had a situation occurred where no solutions could be found..

plunged to the lowest point 2-3 mth's back... effects of poor planning again.. seriously... fail to plan, plan to fail.. sometimes.. things cant be forced.. cannot means cannot.. a pebble is a pebble, if u insist that it becomes a turtle egg somehow, perhaps pple may try to convince themselves that the pebble may indeed be a turtle egg, but eventually, the turtle would not crawl outta the pebble. no1's fault, really... too immature, too impatient, too rash.. again..

miraculously, we bounced back again.. now its like things are brighter than before... irrelevant expenditures were cut greatly, not exactly by choice though.. still, it is rather tight.. in fact, more tight than ever before..

it seems like its bright, yet tinges of darknesses occasionally pops out behind the shade of brightness to make it seem not that great at all.. this sorta weird weather that u dunno if its considered a sunny day or a cloudy day.. perhaps its a sunny cloudy day.. at least its not a rainy day..

queasy

2006-01-15T15:20:00.000+08:00

wonder how i fell so sick... tom yam noodles for supper, then breakfast, then dinner and then supper again... plus some pineapple tarts in between... just like that and i fell sick.. must be the damn weather... the weather nowadays really siao... this is farking singapore, an equitorial region lar.. the weather shld bloody hell noe his role and stick to the rules man... goddamn raining everyday... think must be ben that day come my house blast the fan at nite then make me so damn sick now...

started off with a sorethroat, then became giddiness and fever... this morning all of a sudden i kena diarrhoea!!!! wtf man... totally no relation man.. how can a sorethroat, giddiness and fever be the symptoms to an impending diarrhoea??? furthermore i din even eat much the day before.. cos i was feeling so sick, i only had 1 bowl of fish noodles, sugar cane juice and soya bean the whole day..

diarrhoea is one of the worst shit in the world man.. literally.. u dun even noe whether its in a solid or liquid state and its really bad shit.. at first i thot it was just some gas, but the process of diarroearisation suddenly chose to step in and within seconds, the gas become some weird mixture of liquid and solid.. i thought no 21 year old would do this sorta shit in his pants.. i was proven wrong 5 times.. 5 times!!!! wadahell. kena one stealth attack by diarrhoearisation when i was sleeping halfway too... wtf man..

at least now the fever is gone, but still damn scared of the stealth assasin.. dunno when he will strike again...

???

2006-01-14T00:26:00.000+08:00

for some strange reasons, i m blogging. i din realised till now that i had a previous blog, with like only 2 entries. i suppose this one may end up the same. strangely, some guy left a comment at my previous blog.... (hey thank u for reading, if u happen to see this as well)

the last entry of my previous blog was abt tidying up my room.. man.. 21 years of my life i never knew wad tidying my room really means till a few days ago when i REALLY tidied it.. it is at its CLEANEST state ever now... eliza said wait one week and see... hey man.. this time the room cant be messed up cos theres nothing left to be messed... threw away one big cupboard, one small cupboard, old toys, old books since secondary sch days, gave away a pile of comics, threw away another pile of comics, threw away my water bag, my rope, my scout uniform, candles, a few hammocks.... and lots more rubbish...

when i told ben that my room is damn clean now, he just laughed in disbelief.. even when he finally believed that it is tidy and neat, he thinks that it would all be gone in a matter of days... it is extremely foolhardy to think in such a manner... cant believe that these pple do not even trust the saviour of their world, of THE world, to keep his own room tidy. ben is coming to my place in abt 2 hrs time.. at 2 am.. goddamn 2 am..hope i m awake still man... he will have a shock of his life when he sees how neat it is..

tidying my room is indeed a chore and it is bad for health too, physically and mentally.. the mental torture of doing a supreme test of never ending endurace, throwing items after items away, wiping away layers of dust etc... is like an endless activity. the whole room is in an extremely dusty state too, i can feel them tickling my nostrils.. perhaps that explains y i m sick now... nevertheless, it is an interesting experience.

i got to look through many items which i had but never gave a second look after chucking them in the drawers. things like, blue slips, greeting cards etc...

1. a thick wad of blue slips -

all taken during jc times... the master copy which winston hodge signed and granted me countless half days is still there lol...

2. greeting cards -

so many of them man... 1 each from ben and changyong when they were overseas... the most coming from shuwei and joanne.... shuwei sent me a strange xmas greeting this year.. dun really know wad it means, but i guess its something abt his disappointment in me not being more involved in the Group... really dunno wad to say abt that... i liked his previous one where he wrote his greetings on the back of a jigsaw and jumbled them up hehe.. joanne dint send me xmas card this year.. guess she still din wanna be my fren at that time.. at least now we were ok... called me for the past 2 days..

the one that got me laughing was a card by Ling Khoon Chow, my bio teacher in sec 4.. it said something like 'u are one of the untidiest person i have ever met. u are so messy that sometimes i feel like tearing my hair out'.. also his progress reports comments like 'i think u are quite a bright student. but y dun u wanna study?' wonder hows he doing now man...

its like one of those moments in life where u look back and reflect upon wad happened.. had plenty of these sorta moments when i was in army.. cos theres nothing else to do if u dun do that lol.... i think i have grown and matured in many ways.. though ACY always likes to say that my mental maturity never progressed beyond sec 2, i know that deep down inside him he is worshipping me like a God..

a new year, a new life? not a good way to start a new year where the first week of the year ends on fridae the thirteenth... bloody cursed number.. seems like many thigns went wrong todae... bloody housekeeper pang seh me.. say till she really wants the job and after all the arrangements she failed to turn up.. bloody hell off her fone after hearin my voice some more.. argh.... complain here and there that u got no job, then when pple give u a job, u pangseh.. not the first time already lar.. no wonder so many jobless pple out there.. i pity those who tried but really cannot get a job, but i think those, who are like the farker who pang seh me jus now, really deserved to be jobless... nothing to say man... then mark langgar again.. he damn broke already still kena this kinda shit.. dark also like claypotting lately... and ben missed his flight!!! damn cock.... miss flight then have to stay over at my house.. luckily my uncle not coming my house tonite...

problems seem to keep popping up, and there seems to be no end.. when will everything stabilise? i really wonder... at the moment, i cant seem to see the next step i m taking... the path ahead is shrouded in a thick fog, possibly caused by the rainy weather these couple of days.. plus all the dust that made my eyes watery probably blurred my vision as well... nevertheless, nothing is clear to me.. i m treading on uncertainty.. i may not be happy, its hard to be happy, but at least i think i wanna do it...