Good Ol' Days

It's a bit proper to end the year with one final 2012 blog post, I think. Hence, I'm writing this. To be honest, I've been trying to write something but the words didn't flow so I just deleted lots of the drafts. 

So what is it going to be this time?

Resolutions? Hmm, I'll keep that to myself, thank you very much.

Future plannings? One step at a time.

Well... *shrugs*

I don't know. Since stepping foot into my university life, every year has been a roller coaster ride. It has always been that way, come to think of it. However the rides are wilder as the years gone by.

But in six months time, I'll be graduating. Graduation is another turning point in my life. It's one of the greatest ones too. All those years spent on my education would now be used to write the penultimate chapter in my life: my working life. A life that would take up about two thirds of the remaining years God intends me to have.

Is that scary?

Well, uncertainties are always scary.

I then remembered the first time I tried to ride a bicycle without the help of the two smaller wheels by the sides. My uncle took off one of the side wheels first and let me cycle in an awkwardly balanced bike. It was funny and after a while, he asked me to stop. I got off the bike and he kneeled down beside it. He held the bicycle firmly with his left hand and with his right, now holding a spanar, he was determined to send me to my doom. Every little turn to unscrew the nut made my heart pound a little bit faster. The nut came undone and fell to the ground. He smiled and nudged me.

I got up the bike, struggling to balance myself (I was a tad too short) and the bike to stand firmly on the ground. As I struggled, I cannot begin to understand the mechanics of this two-wheeled vehicle. How can I not fall from this?

"Go on," he said.

It is like that now. 

At this very moment, as the new year looms, the nut is being unscrewed; slowly but surely. I watch with many doubts and uncertainties, provided my heart isn't pounding that hard and fast but you get the idea.

One funny gift that God has given us is the ability to create memories. Wouldn't it be sad (I think a bit funny, too) if we keep forgetting about things after three seconds, like how a goldfish does? Memories are very precious things. Yes, they come in packages, good and bad. I think there's a reason why they come in packages too. It's the old saying of take the good, learn from the bad but then again, there're much things to learn from the good as well.

This year has definitely been one of the most bittersweet years. It started off ok, went downhill towards the middle but picked up just in time again before the year ends. And this is where memories are created, where the good and the bad are absorbed, learnt from and remembered. They maybe bittersweet but I would definitely look back in time when I'm older and tell my wife that those were the "good ol' days".

The good ol' days when I started off the year with a determination to make it a different year and to enhance my skills. But it sizzled off, and I fell out of my relationship (let's be honest here). The downs made me realize how weak and feeble I was. Then, I tried rebuilding again. I prayed that it would be the last time I do so because I cannot keep rebuilding. It would be taking three steps forward and two steps back. I need to change.

Perhaps, it'd be the good ol' days when I finally see what God meant by loving someone; simple, natural and beautiful. The kind of love where we don't need to force ourselves to pacify our partners because it all comes so naturally. 

Having said that, to meet her under such circumstances and to have her train me in the most peculiar way in lessons about patience, faith and love... It's what makes this year so sweet. We both understand how hard it could be to maintain a relationship. But we are determined to learn from the changes of the turning points that will come. We both hope and pray to be stronger every day. We both don't know what the future has in store for us but it is following where God leads us, one step at a time.

As I put my foot on the pedal of that bike, thoughts of falling off the bike and hurting myself gushed into my mind. But challenges excite me. So, I pushed my right foot to set off the pedals in circular motion, the chains with it and the wheels duly followed. The bicycle went forward. I wobbled and tried my very best to be in control of my handlebars as it swirled left and right.

"Don't worry! Just keep pedaling!" he shouted.

I did. And it gave me an important lesson about life: it goes on.

Definitely the good ol' days.

Love: it's patient, it's kind; it means not being pushy for quick results or trying to be hasty. It's not jealous or unhappy about the other's success, it's not boastful nor proud nor rude. it never puts the other in a bad light.

Love shouldn't and won't demand its own way, it's not selfish nor self-serving nor conceited. it always puts the other first and gives the benefit of the doubt. It's not about keeping scores or paying attention of the wrong done.

Love rejoices in truth, there'll be no lies. It never gives up, it bears up everything and anything. It patiently accepts all things and that God is in control.

Love believes. It believes in all things, it believes the best in the other. Love trusts the other.

You need faith, hope and love to live in this world. But when you've found eternity, you don't need faith because you're already there. You don't need hope because you're already with Him.

But for eternal, forever, to be worthwhile... all it needs is love.

三思 | Think Twice

I haven't been updating for a long time... Do you miss me?

Anyway, this might be a highly judgmental piece and I expect it to be hurtful to read for some people. Don't read on if you can't take it.

You have been warned.

I hate to admit it but people connect and correlate. I do it myself. It's hard because it would only appear natural. Let's look at it this way, if you join a particular group/corporation/company/political party/INSTITUTION/etc., people connect and correlate what you do to that particular group. In another word, it'd mean you're now representing what the group represents. Whatever you do now will inevitably be connected to what your institution is all about.

Ok, well, you may have the PM potentially representing what the Malaysian politics is all about but it isn't always the case.

Certainly not this one. Unless, of course, people of that institution continue their support for such disgraceful  immature idiotic interesting... page.

Have people's mentality and common sense been regressed so greatly in the last few years? Have they not realized what implications it might bring?

If you're all question marks, I'm talking about the UTAR Confessions page. I'm going to reiterate my point. It's S.T.U.P.I.D.

People will come to me and say it's none of my business. Or use a cheap shot to say that I'm all self-glorifying trying to be righteous. You see this is not even remotely the point of this whole post. It's about other people, the institution involved and not about me not liking the page.

After a short conversation with a very wise person, I realize that even if I don't like the page (I admit), it is not up to me to decide what is going to done with it. I am just an individual and I would very much love it if an authoritarian figure were to tear the page down.

But "the way to fight speech is by more speech. This is what democracy is all about." She was also right that some posts in the page were legitimate causes of concern. No, I'm not talking about the kinky stories. I could not care less about really senseless people who like spreading their sex life all over Facebook to be read and laughed at by strangers.

And as we all try to be democratic about the things that we say and do, think about it.

What good would you get out of supporting such a page?

What good would you get reading the posts?

What good is there after your little laugh?

A little de-stress moment? A little side-tracking to read 'em kinky stories?

What good would there be by posting those stories?

What good would there be if someone reads your story and knew it was you?

What good would there be by provoking such a response, admin?

Most importantly, what do you get at the end of this?

Remember: connections and correlations. Recall what the name of the page is and what is our identity for these few years.

One word comes to mind: UTAR. Now connect and correlate those posts to yourself. That is what outsiders are going to see.

Respect the institution that is giving you an education. It's an important phase in your and my life. Sure, you can say you're paying for it and you have the right to say whatever you want to say about this institution. However, there are other avenues, other ways to say what you want to say.

Putting your erm... provoking thoughts (can this even be categorized as thoughts? because I don't think they put in a lot of thoughts whenever they post) for public viewing, is akin to running around the stadium butt naked and getting yourself laughed at.

Like this.

Shameful.

We are judged (I wish I could use another word but...) regularly by what we do. But we tend to forget what we do affects, not only ourselves but to other people and things that we are affiliated with.

And a proverb fits so perfectly to end this:

三思而后行

(Think twice before you do or say anything)

To say that my understanding and knowledge are shallow is an understatement.

To say that I've not seen much is not an exaggeration.

To say that I've failed in many ways is not disappointment.

To say all that is a proof of my shallowness.

A depth that will never be filled.

So what could be worse when it all seemingly goes to waste? 
Fly away cupid, fly away. Mending is not for thee.Healing is not from thee.With an arrow to the heart, thy made souls flee.

Now fly away, fly far away. 
Let the lights guide me home instead. 
Let my mistakes remind me grace.Let my tears stream in grateful gaze.Let my bones work again in my will.Let time fix my heart by its cold play. 

Let Him be my heart as "I'll fix you," He said.

I'll laugh, I'll smile.
I'll make it look like nothing is wrong.

I'll make sure life goes on.
I'll make sure I won't stop people from moving on.

I'll keep it all, I'll cover it all.
Because one thing is for sure,
None of this is good for showing after all.

No I'll not cry...
But maybe, alone,
In the silence and company of the moonlight.

After that, I'll be fine.
Like I always do...
Just... fine.

Making peace with the past

"Here" was inspired by somehow a conversation with someone and my own myopic but long standing problems.

I was at the bridge once where choices about whether I should continue living in the past, giving up all that it is or venture into the future which is full of uncertainties.

I wouldn't lie. Thoughts of taking my own life did cross my mind once. It was deplorable and a strong blasphemy to what I believe in, to everything I ever stood for and to all who believed in me. If I were at the courts in the heavenly realms, I could picture His disappointment and sadness over what I had done. And I'm ashamed about it.

You see, the past makes a good enemy but at the same time a good friend. It depends on what your past is and how you wish to remember it.

All my life though, whether I'd like to admit or not, living within the past was what I've been doing. I'd choose to blame what is happening in the now to what had happened in the past. I know it's stupid and by all means, sickening to always moan and groan about it.

When those thoughts were slowly persuading me, the question popped into my mind.

"Who are you?"

or rather, "Who am I?"

I think it's somewhat a mantra now. That I believe, behind every smile is a sad tale.

I think I've beaten up myself and God, for that matter, to the point where pain is not the sensation anymore.

He reminded me though, that it didn't mattered how bad or good I've journeyed in my life up until this point. It did matter however, how I would want to continue my journey afterwards.

The past, when it serves its purpose right, would be the best reminder, challenger, and teacher.

There isn't much good in my past but there were very memorable moments too. I cannot simply throw or hide them away in some corner because... ultimately... they are a part of me. They made me who I am today.

I made myself promise that I wouldn't let it be my obstacle or excuse anymore. Instead I'll acknowledge it. That it made me into a better person and I just thank God for all that happened.

After all, we can only understand life better when we understand what happened in the past.

So who am I?

I am just a person with weak moments. But that doesn't mean I am fundamentally weak. Rather I'm just fundamentally human.

I am just a person relying on His strength and grace to continue hoping and pursuing for a better tomorrow.

I am just a person who made peace with my past.

I am just a person who at the end of my journey will hope to hear, "Well done My son" from Daddy above.

Here

And suddenly I appeared at this bridge, suspending from heights I've never seen before in my life.

I looked down, which was most probably the stupidest thing to do. I gulped and my feet trembled. I lost balance in my body. I took a step back, hitting the edge of the sad ropes still holding, this precariously dangling bridge. It wobbled.

It wobbled hard.

Being at the middle of bridge did not help at all. I went down on all fours. I kept my head buried between my arms, hoping it would stop... Hoping that I could just get out of this wretched place.

"STOP!" in fear, I wailed.

Then, a tap on the shoulder. I jumped a little and turned sharply, landing on my bottom. The bridge wobbled more angrily now.

"Relax," said he, while holding on to the ropes which seemingly calmed the bridge from its rage.

He was about the same height as me. He wore ragged clothes with his beard and mustache, unshaven for God knows how long. His sleeves were visibly torn by somehow I think an act of rage. His arms were tired and charred. My eyes shifted to his feet and they were littered with bruises and wounds.

My eyes met his. They were so... forlorn. His face said nothing but of age.

Then he gave a smile and said, "Hello."

I could only nod back in acknowledgement. Silence engulfed us before a breeze slightly pushed the bridge. I tried to keep my footing. The planks of the bridge looked unreliable.

"You won't fall. At least not yet," he said.

"What do you mean 'not yet'? Am I supposed to jump off this?" rage slowly filled me.

"Only if you make that choice," came the drab reply.

I looked around. There were no skies, no trees, no end to the bridge that we were standing on. I could not see the sun, yet there is light. And the only feasible conclusion I could think of was that I was stuck in a dream.

"Dream? You're not in a dream," he said, reading my thoughts. Shocked, but no words came from my mouth. It was numb to even murmur words.

"You're nowhere near a dream. You're beyond that," his voice, dull and lifeless as ever.

"Then... Where am I?" I asked.

He stayed silent for a moment. It killed me.

"The more important question is, who are you?" he answered.

"I am... Dan... I am Dan... I am Dan!" I replied in desperation.

But my reply is met with his cold eyes. He took a step forward with fists clutched.

"No. I didn't ask for your name. I asked, Who ARE you?" he pushed on. Just then, the plank I was standing on gave way. I jumped back, perhaps landing too hard, making a few more planks to fall.

I stood frozen, now afraid of making another dramatic move.

"Look behind you," he said.

I glanced a little, worried about falling off this wretched bridge.

"I said look," he raised his voice. I gulped a little and slowly turned.

More broken planks and ropes slowly loosening greeted me. Now though, I could clearly see what was at the end of the bridge. I cannot make out if it is a forest because it looked too sad to be one. The trees were bare. There were no sounds of life coming from it. I noticed a really broad path but it wasn't one I'd like to travel in.

His hand met my shoulder. It was a strong grip, yet warm.

"This is you," he said, pointing to the forest.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Look carefully. This is the path you travelled up 'til now," he answered.

"You mean, I've been walking up until here all this while? But I don't..." I tried to reason.

"You have and had. You didn't took notice. Like how you didn't know who I am and how much you are hurting me," he interrupted.

"I don't..."

"You don't have understand. I just need you to make a choice."

"What choice?"

He pointed to the other side and to the forest.

"Choose."

I looked to the other side but I couldn't see anything. The light stopped short of shining that place.

"What is over there?" I asked.

"That is for you to discover," came the cliched reply.

I took deep breaths. I looked at my options. At one side, I had the luxury of knowing what is there but it is full of desolation. At the other end, I would be travelling into the unknown. I ponder if there were other ways to do this.

"There is another way," he finally said, reading my mind yet again. I turned to him, confused.

He pointed downwards.

"Jumping off this??" I exclaimed. He merely nodded, much to my frustration.

"That would mean you have given up," he answered dryly.

"On what?"

"On your journey."

I scratched my head furiously. I have no idea what is going on. I hated that I didn't have a sense of control over this.

"Where am I?" I demanded.

"Who are you?" he answered with this dreaded question.

"WHERE AM I?" I yelled.

"Who are you?" he said again.

I took the scruff of his neck. With rage I punched him repeatedly. Blow after blow, to the face, then to the abdomen until he could not stand anymore. He fell.

"ANSWER ME!" as I watched him lying fetal, rubbing his chest, hugging himself into the pain.

He wiped blood off his mouth and gave away a weak chuckle.

"You have hurt me before. This meant little."

I unclenched  my fists. My rage somehow subsided. I knelt down by his side.

"Who are you..?"

"Don't you already know?" he looked into my eyes again. They were brown but was warm now. They breathed life.

"You are..."

The realization hit me like a brick. I sat down in disbelief. I was not in a dream. The last thing I remembered was...

"Dan, it is now or never," he said, while trying to find his feet again. He offered his hand as he stood up, balanced and assured. I looked at his hand. They were rough and full of stories.

"It doesn't matter how bad you've walked until here. Your past will give you valuable lessons. And I understand the pain more than anyone else would," he said, still offering his hand. I took it and he pulled me up.

"But I need you to know that, here is where people make their choice. Whether to be stuck there..." he pointed to the forest and continued, "to be lost and desolated... Or they choose to jump down, giving up on everything," he ended abruptly.

He smiled weakly.

"They could... choose to travel into the unknown. They won't know what it brings but... It is a path yet to be taken," he paused before continuing, "and it's one you can still shape. And one day you'll see the light in it."

A long pause.

"I'll ask you again, Dan. Who are you?"

Then he vanished.

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

The moment I awaken, white, bright and sharp lights burnt my eyes. I slowly gathered myself, squinting and feeling my way around. My chest hurt as so did my head. I tried sticking my feet to the ground to stand but I lost my balance.

I fell to the ground. Hard. I groaned in pain. Using the bed as support, I tried climbing back to my feet.

The nurse gasped as she entered the room and quickly rushed to my aid. She sat me down.

"Young man, just exactly what were you trying to do?" the nurse asked sternly.

I managed to give her a weak smile. She shook her head and quickly pressed the call button.

"I'm just glad that you're awake now. The doctor will be here in a minute and things will be fine," she said reassuringly, patting my shoulder as she finished her sentence.

"How long have I been here?" I asked meekly.

"Long enough to forget who you are," she said with a chuckle.

I grinned. 

I'd like to believe I know who I really am now.

I am....

Flattering to Deceive

In many ways, humans have a tendency to deceive themselves and others. At the core; who they really are, is but to be shielded and kept in a safe. It is to be hidden from view and sight, even those from trusted ones.

The world has become such an unsafe place, not just for the physical world but to the emotional side as well. Many things are built on deceit and distrust. It makes people tightened up, to develop a defensive mechanism to protect oneself from being hurt.

How often has a heart opened up to a seemingly trustable person, only to end up being broken, trampled and thrown to the dirt? How often has others do this to us and us to others?

The only feasible defensive mechanism therefore is by flattering to deceive; to portray ourselves as being strong, cold and mechanic, that nothing shall in any way move us or threaten us. In short, we wear masks to protect our vulnerabilities.

Yet, one who has many masks is one who needs assurance the most.

But assurance only comes when the heart is willing to trust. Irony, is it not?

We forget we have limits. And limits will be broken when too much is stored. The heart, denotatively never stores blood. It beats, approximately 72 times a minute, to make about 5 litres of blood flow. And so, the heart, connotatively, can only store up so much before it has to let go, to pump, to make things flow again, else we be in stagnation. In essence, it's never meant to store things. It keeps you alive, reminds you of who you really are.

Some secrets, we want it to be kept. Some parts of us, we want it kept hidden. Some sides of us, we wear masks to protect such vulnerabilities. But the same question begs the answer for all three: for how long?

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

David says:

"For I am poor and needy, And my heart is wounded within me"

-Psalm 109:22-

But Jesus says:

"Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid."
-John 14:27-

Candle

Life is as fickle as a candle sometimes.

Like a candle, we flatter to deceive, especially in a dark room. We give ourselves hope, some light to see and yet at the smallest hint of breeze or wind, our flame fickle.  A stronger gush of wind would instantly kill the light. At times, we are like that; fickle-minded creatures. We vow to be strong, to be a light in the darkness, to change and to grow but how often had we let people (and ourselves) down because of the smallest sign of trouble and distress?

I really like Shakespear's "Life's Brief Candle". While it preaches pessimism and gives not even the slightest hint of hope in it, I think there's another way to look at it.

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
How long more must we fool ourselves in the shadows?
At the hint of gust, at the hint of trouble
How our flame fickle, our wax trickle,
Life is but a brief candle
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
How long more can we hope to light our tomorrows? 

Life would be littered with regrets because we are not perfect. But then we learn from them and try to be the better man in days to come. Our tomorrows may not be many and are numbered but as the countdown continues, it is only up to us to make those times here worthwhile.

It's all about the passion

The most fascinating thing about these people is that the work is never ending. Yet they somehow find the strength and tenacity to just keep going and going. Something on the inside is very much on fire and that feeds the soul which strengthens the body and makes them keep going.

I'm already in a month and a half going into my internship. It's been an amazing experience so far. There were times when I feel utterly disappointed with myself and there are times when I feel utterly incompetent too. I don't like to lean on the excuse-side self. And I definitely don't think it's because I'm new.

Somehow, there is this clumsy, rash and no-sense (yes, no-sense not nonsense) ingrained in me which I don't like at all. I am trying to eradicate them to be a better person, overall.

The team has been great to me and it's hard to say that I will find this kind of people elsewhere. I would have been slaughtered on a few other occasions, had I been in another company or shooting with another team.

In about a week or two from now, I will be drafted into a movie shooting. It's gonna be different. It's gonna be tough and tiring. I've been warned.

Which is why the questions they ask is so important today.

Will I be able to say that "I love working in this field" for years to come?

You see, sometimes I feel useless too in a sense that I know something about all things but I don't know all things about something. It's a very worrying thing. In simple terms, it's jack of all trades and master of none.

I know something about photography.

I know something about cameras.

I know something about editing.

I know something about audio.

I know something about writing.

I know something about producing.

I know something about production managing.

I know something about everything. But I know nothing about something.

It's not a dilemma. It's something I feel that I've not worked well enough on.

So after almost three years into understanding this field, where do I truly stand?

I find myself asking this question again. As I only know something about these things, I don't truly excel in them and that saddens me.

But nevertheless, the same thing that drives them to keep going is the same thing that I must possess.

It's all about the passion.

And hard work.

Come Wednesday...

Come Wednesday, the old guard of UTAR PJ CF will make way for the new. As such, felt compelled to thank each and every one of you for your superb hard work.

For Tammie, thank you for being ever so-willing to step up when I am unable to lead. Thank you for being the ever reliable lieutenant who isn't afraid to stand up for Him and push on when going gets tough.

For Moky, thank you for being the enthusiastic, crazy person that you are. Loved every moment with you in it. I admire your love for God and commitment to the cause which plays a big role in why we chose you as the new leader (WOH!)

For Roxanne, thank you for steadying the ship when there need be, together with your couz. One I can always count on to get things done. So blessed to have know you.

For Cheryl, though you have hard time coming to CF, I know your heart has always been with us all. Despite all that, you don't mind helping in any way you can which touches a lot of people. Thank you, sunshine girl for the sunshine you gave us all. 

For Clinton, it's been amazing seeing you grow in Christ and stature. On the appearance, people may think you are childish but on the inside, you are more mature than most people think. Lest you think different, you actually pulled together a lot of people to keep coming to CF. Keep burning! 

For Benjamin, thank you for willing to give time and also for willing to send people here and there despite all the troublesome-ness. It's been a joy serving with you.

For Susanna, thank you for sticking with CF for so many years and seasons. We have both seen it all, I guess but despite that, you remain a passionate member and an invaluable one to us. 


For Choulyew, thank you for stepping up when CF needed someone. Even before, you have been the one willing to do much for Him. Glad that you came to know Him and keep that fire burning! 

 For Willy Lim and El Na Na, again, you rise up to the challenge when CF needed new leaders.

 We thank you for the commitment and cause. Let that passion run deep!

For Beatrice and Caroline, there's no end to my thanks when it comes to you two because you have helped us in so many ways, so many times and guiding us through all difficulties and moulding us to be better persons. Thank you for giving us the time and effort. We cannot thank you enough.

For Sian Lerk, after all these years being an advisor, I think the weight has always been on your shoulders. Thank you for carrying us through the hardest of times. We love you!

For the new, all the best! Prayers, best wishes for you. May His wisdom be your guidance, His grace be your strength, His mercies be your joy and His love be your promise. Strive on. The journey is long. :) All things are possible with Christ!

Never quite the same

709 is a very significant date now. Loathe by some of the elites of this nation but for some of us, 709 was and still is something that we hold dear.

Can I argue that since that fateful day, things have changed a little and never quite the same anymore?

Have Malaysians finally woke up from their 50 and more years slumber?

Have we finally, realize that it is indeed we; not the leaders nor anyone else but ourselves that we can count on to make a change?

Ikan

They ran and ran, almost defying gravity in their every step, laughing so heartily, knowing no worries, no weight on their shoulders.

Across the shoreline, and up the wooden jetty. Panting at a pace without rhythm, they sat down at the edge of the pier; facing the sea, legs dangling precariously over it. But it was a sight to behold, a moment too important to worry about safety for now.

The sight, however, was the least of their concern.

"Diaorang tu balik ari ni ke?" Fikri asked.

"Entah lah," Mat shrugged and answered to the bemusement of Fikri.

"Abis, kenape kito kat sini?" he questioned Mat irritatingly. If they aren't coming back today, he had something else better to do. Those rambutan trees looked to have bore enough fruit for them to devour and savour but Mat insisted they had to make haste to the jetty.

"Ko tak yah tanya banyak sangat! Duk diam diam dan tunggu aje! Terajang karang baru tau" an annoyed Mat snapped back to which Fikri obliged in fear that his elder brother would indeed bashed him up like the last debacle they had. Thinking back, he should have just let his brother bathed first. It was too cold in the morning anyway. Why did he ever bothered for that toilet, he couldn't remember.


Fikri, unconsciously, slapped his palm on his forehead. Mat turned sharply, wondering what his little brother is thinking. Realizing that it got Mat's attention, Fikri quickly pretends to scratch his forehead, trying to mask his embarrassment.

"Awat?" asked a curious Mat.

"Tak de. Saja," came the answer.

"Bangang. Orang tak tampar, ko pula tampar diri," Mat teased to the admittance of Fikri. He is too prone to doing these actions unconsciously. Maybe there is a way to rid this. Or not.

Mat reached into his pocket and pulled out a delicately packed lunch. It was really this morning's leftovers but it didn't mattered much anyway. Fikri did the same, reaching deep into his pocket and scouring but no packed lunch was to be found. He stood up and continued his little digging of the pocket. Mat looked up.

"Aih, ko ni. Poket dah berlubang tapi seluar ni juga ko nak pakai, eh?" Mat said bluntly to which Fikri found out to be true. He pulled out the pocket's sac to find one huge hole on it.  No wonder his pants felt lighter than it should have been.

Fikri sat down again, resting his head on the palm, elbow on his thigh. No rambutan, no lunch, a long wait and an annoying brother by his side. What could be worse?

Mat took two quick bites of the glutinous rice and handed it to Fikri. He stared at Mat as this was rare.


"Tak nak? Kalo tak ambik, aku abiskan!" Mat threatened. Fikri quickly snatched the rice and gobbled it down.


"Tak yah la nak gopoh macam tu. Makan pelahan sikit," Mat said as he patted Fikri's head.


Their wait is accompanied by the wind who gently beats the sea and helping it to the shoreline. The sounds of waves and Fikri's chewing filled the air. It is going to be a long but routine wait. For the last week or so, Mat had consistently insisted to wait for their return from noon till dark. It didn't make much sense to Fikri as there are so many things to do inland. If they returned, they would have to go inland anyway. They could play while waiting instead of just sitting and staring at the sea.


"Dulu sini banyak ikan," Mat pointed to the sea and drew a spot to show Fikri.


"Itu dulu. Skrang?" Fikri asked. 


"Abah kata ikan semua lari. Skrang kena pergi jauh untuk memancing."


"Mana ikan tu semua lari eh?"


"Entah. Tapi Mat rasa, ikan bukan lari. Dah abis ditangkap." 


Fikri scratches his head.


"Boleh abis ditangkap ke? Tak bertelur ke? Cikgu habak ikan bertelur beratus-ratus biji."


"Tapi beratus-ratus biji tu, banyak ke yang membesar?"


"Manalah Fik tau..."


"Tu lah, orang suruh baca buku, ko pi main lah, nak rambutan lah, nak ni lah, nak tu lah." 


"Eleh, abis along tiap tiap ari kat sini tak baca pun!" Fikri protested to which Mat raised his fist.


"Pandai pula ko melawan eh! Nak kena penumbuk ni?" Mat threatened once again. Fikri sat quietly again. He had no idea what kind of a brother Mat is. No, that packed lunch isn't enough to redeem his constant threats and bossiness. 


They sat still for a while.


"Kito tunggu sini, takut masa abah balik ngan diaorang tu, kito kena tolong angkat ikan tu," Mat finally explaining their routine wait.


"Tapi kito pun tak tau diorang tu balik bila... Eh ikan bukan dah abis ditangkap ke?" Fikri asked unwittingly.


"Ish, gunalah otak tu sikit. Sebab tulah kena pi jauh jauh tangkap ikan. Sini dah abis. Jauh tu, ade lagi rasanya." Mat answered.


"Mana along tau?"

Mat thought hard.

"Ma.. Mat tau lah!" he snapped and raised his fist. Fikri raised his arms to protect himself and turned his head to the side.

Then he saw a small silhouette appearing from the edge of the sea.


"Along! Abah!" he pointed to it excitingly.


Mat lowered his fist and looked. A smile, then a jump. The two brothers waved tirelessly at the boat.


"Abah! Abah!"




(inspired by the fishing villages in Kelantan and Kedah, together with the recent revelation that we might have no more fishes to catch in 35 years because of over fishing.)

Point of no return

There comes a time in life when everything seems bleak. And rather stagnant.

There comes a time in life when you realized life has come to the point of no return.

In the pursuit of means to live better, men have so often chase dreams in a way that the old must make way for the new. A substitute for another; another now deemed valueless, now is to be replaced with something even better.

He took up the violin and gently he ran his fingers on the strings. He felt the ribs of the aged but an instrument that miraculously survived decay.

But men have also so often forgotten or rather choose to forget, that new does not necessarily mean better. Nor does it make the old valueless.

As if to throw a tantrum for being used so extensively, his beloved refused to sing in tune. This has happened before. He plucked the strings, listening to her sing. Twisting her pegs, he helped and pampered her into singing in tune again.

Life is like a circle, a cycle really; sometimes harsh and cruel. There was a time when men cannot foresee nor fathom the transmission of voices and music with radio signals  nor when they could see stories being told and shown by a box. These were his hey days.

As he makes his way to centre stage, being one of the last of his kind, he prepares his final show, his point of no return. Time and age has soften him well, making his body fatigue, now only possessing the strength of one last show.

He lifted his bow, placing it gently on the string.

A deep breath and the first pull of the bow; the first note.

The beginning of his point of no return.



(inspired by the Penglipur Lara Awang Batil of Perlis
What is penglipur lara?
Answer: http://sasterasmso.tripod.com/id1.html )

Menyintai bukan bererti memiliki,

Memiliki bukan bermakna menakluki,

Cinta itu memerlukan pengorbanan dan kesabaran.

Man in the Mirror

SO after the whole excitement about maybe entering the Perdana Essay Competition, I kinna just *urgh* when I finally get the chance to read the T & C and the format. They want graphs and stuff in the essay for one titled "It has been said the era of Government-Knows-Best is over. What do you think are the implications of this?"

Forget it. I'll post here instead. Have a read!

"Man in the Mirror

As much as we would like macro changes to many different things in many different fields, the harsh reality is that many a times we fail to realize that it is the micro changes that we make, would be the defining factor at the macro level.

Aptly put by Howard Zinn (Remembering Howard Zinn, Noam Chomsky), we have often forgotten that the countless small deeds of many “small” and “unknown” people had been the main driving force behind the many “big” deed that ultimately ended up in historical books.

The best example of such saying was also portrayed in a Chinese movie, none other than the famous “Bodyguards and Assassins”, where it showed how the many “small” and "unknown” people sacrificed time and lives even, for the greater good of their motherland and the protection of their leader, Sun Yet Sen whose assassination would have ended the revolution struggle.

Ultimately however, it is Sun’s name that ended up in historical books and not these unknown people mentioned.

So what am I trying to say?

What I am trying to say is, as insignificant as words spoken and actions done without second and wise thoughts, should we all fail to realize that our nation’s or rather, our home’s progress is heavily dependent on the man in the mirror.

Or crudely put, if we maintain the level of apathy and ignorance, or rather if we are so bullish and naive in believing change would happen without us changing ourselves, from the inside out, what are the odds of improvements, changes, and chances of our home surviving in a world so loaded with competition and a constant need to move forward at bullet speed?

We have often pride ourselves in our mutual understanding, in our tolerance with each other, in a nation claimed to be so diversed in race, religion and culture. But tolerance just goes as far as it can get before it reaches a boiling or melting point for that matter.

Our pride extends to our acclaimed move for “Merdeka”, the bloodless way; in how we achieved independence without the need to shed blood, and our unique constitutional rule, which ensures freedom for all.

Perhaps, after tasting freedom, peace and some sort of stability for so long, we have chosen to live our lives, in chasing our dreams in a manner that we have developed our famed “tidak apa” attitude. We have forgotten how to be the responsible citizens that our country so needs right now.

Let us not choose to forget dark days and only look at the sunshine. For all that matter, dark days are the days that we learn most from. Let us all be frank with ourselves, that the latest developments and fracas in our home lately, have opened our eyes again towards a dire need.

That need is to move forward.

And we can do that by first looking and then changing that man or woman in the mirror."

Probably worth a try entering the competition but don't know how to steer it onto that title's direction. Ah well.

The songs that you sing

If it needs a confirmation,
Or a reassurance,
Of what you feel,
What you see,
What hurts you the most,
The things that make you joyful,
The things that make you love,
People who made you cry,
People who made you angry,
Or just a recollection of
Good and bad memories,
It's gotta be the songs that you sing.

What's for tomorrow? (A Prologue)

And so I climbed up using the tiny little steps to the roof top. I have no idea whether it shrunk to the size of small wooden planks fit for ants or it's me who has just overgrown these steps. I would want to believe in the former but this is very much the case of the latter.

It's been a long time since I've climbed these steps up. And it's been a while since I looked at the sun set in this very town. If there's anywhere which fits the description of tranquility and beauty, it would definitely be here. Well, yes, I'm biased about this but every man has his own meat and one man's meat is another's poison.

She was tagging along behind, skipping from step to step. I had to stop and warn her about it.

"I used to do that and I fell down," I said with a very serious face as she looked at me, clueless. She grinned a little and took another skip. I relented and let her skip past me. At least, when she does fall down, I could catch her from behind.

"Daddy, daddy, daddy!" she jumped up and down while pointing westwards. I just about set foot on the top. She decided to skip the skipping part and sped all the way up. I wish I could do the same but this was a task for the healthier me. I miss him.

The old swing was still there. She ran towards it and managed to escape my bear hug. I made a small growl. But, I lost touch with time for a while.

As she swung herself slowly; to and fro, forward and backward, she looked beyond the old buildings and to the edge of the Earth where Mr Sun was slowly making way for Ms Moon to fill the sky.

She turned and waved at me, showing her teeth with an upward curve of the lips. That's my little Feli.

I went towards her, picking her up from the swing and sat her on my lap. I swung slowly. She lifted her head and saw the world in her eyes; so innocent, so young, so full of joy. She made my life whole.

"This is a photo moment," a voice said.

I turned and there she was. If little Feli made my life whole, this is the woman who made my life complete. I smiled and nodded at her.

"Turn around, now. And big smiles!" she said as she prepared to press the shutter button. "Feli, look here!" she said and waved at the little girl who was busy playing with the buttons of her dress. She took notice and looked at the camera with a big smile.

*CLICK* went the Polaroid camera. We waited as the camera processed the photo. Instant, they say.

As we waited, she asked, "What's for tomorrow?".

I gazed at her. Both of us knew fully well that tomorrow might not come. But this must not be a reason to celebrate the greatest gift of all.

"Hmm... Life." I answered. We both smiled as little Feli race towards the edge to see Mr Sun finally settling, resting and giving way for Ms Moon to dimly light the dark sky.

Tha Mo Ghaol Air Aird A' Chuain

This song is totally magical. You cannot make out what she's singing because she's singing in Scottish Gaellic, an old form of language in Scotland. Enjoy this Scottish folk song and it will be featured in the newest Disney movie, Brave. Hoping this cartoon will be the best one yet. After watching the trailer and stuff, my expectations are high as I reckon this would be different from what the regular Disney stuff is usually about.

p.s turn off the player in the doubly doo at the side before playing this song!

I knew...

The ceiling fan was rotating slowly, creaking at every rotation of the blades. She took a quick glance around the room. The walls were white and gloomy for the blinds had kept away the sun's rays from the room. She sat upright and saw a book on the side table. The title read "To Kill a Mocking Bird"; his favourite book. She grinned as she remembered vaguely, a voice reading page after page of this book to her.

Slowly, she climbed out of the bed. Her feet touched the ground. They felt numb but it was only normal for them to feel that way after so long. She got out of bed and tried standing up straight. Clumsily, she succeeded. She tried a tiny little step after tiny little step around the room.

When walking felt like a normalcy again, she went over to the window and opened the blinds, allowing the sun's full blast into the room. The room was lighten up. It felt more 'alive' than it did before. She liked the sun's warmth of her skin. She stood there for a while and pulled up her sleeves a little, letting the sun tan her pale skin.

She loosen herself, stretching a little bit. As she did, she realized it didn't hurt anymore. She stopped and brushed her bald head. She felt a small bump on the left side of her scalp. She scratched and pinched it a little. There was a little sting. The stitches had already been removed as she slowly felt around the elongated bump, revealing an incision.

A turn on the door knob made her stopped and turned around.

"I've brought fresh flowers for..." he said as he opened the door and stopped short, looking at the now empty bed. He quickly looked up and saw the woman whose height he had almost forgotten and smile he had never seen in a long time. He stood stoned and the vase slipped from his hands, crashing and breaking on the tiled floor.

It startled him out from the little daze. He quickly bent down to pick up what remained of the vase as she did the same hastily.

Picking up the pieces, their hands brushed and met. He held on to her hands. She looked into his eyes.

"I knew..." he said as tears welled up in his eyes. She lifted her hand and felt his face tenderly.

"You waited..." she whispered weakly and smiled.

He hugged her; his head, resting on hers, in an embrace so tight, he nodded as their sobs echoed around the room.

-End-

Wah Lao

Yes. To sum up my week, these two words are the best words to describe it.

WAH LAO

Well, work load has been heavy and yep, I've not expected the first week to be this fruitful. But whatever it is, this can help me learn more. I'm up early again because in 20 mins time, I'll be heading to the office... Yep. Wah Lao.

Action!

'tis a short update from my internship so far.

Am on my 2nd day and have been in the thick of action from the off. Well, not exactly thick but I think I'm doing a lot of things already for an intern. I've been assigned to an exciting project and we're rushing for the July deadline. There're many things to cover, many places to travel to and many researches to be done.

So far, the P and the D liked some of the researches I've done and said that I've been very helpful so far (P said she was impressed *wink* and D said I was dedicated). There's nothing more I wish but to help out the team as much as I can. After all, I'm here to learn so getting their trust to research and other things is my priority because only by getting my hands on thing can I learn. Everyone in the team and company has been friendly and I'm extremely happy to be here!

As far as I know, all these came because God provided. I'm developing this habit and so far this habit has not failed me. Everyday is new and everyday is fresh, just like my new quote in life: "Live to fight another day and make each day different because these days won't come back again".

That habit:  Time Alone With God after I wake in the morning and before I sleep at night. It's been awesome so far! Not gonna change, no matter how tiring it is.

Well, not gonna lie that despite the apparent rushing and busyness, I'm still thinking and pondering and reminiscing some of the memories.

But endure, Saiah.

Endure.

"I lie down and sleep; I wake again because the Lord sustains me." Psalm 3:5

See you soon!

Remember that each morning, you wake with a 

SMILE =)

It's dawn

A large and uncomfortable thud echoed as he was thrown down like a sack of rice. The door behind him shut tightly; iron clashing iron and a huge click to lock it. He coughed and choked, inhaling the stuffy air that is in the cell.

He tried standing up but to no avail. On his knees, something dripped from his forehead to the ground; sweat or blood he could not make out. Then, an arm swooped over his shoulder and helped him up.

"Up and at it, son. You can sit right here," said the man with the scrawny arms as he escorted the hurt man to a stool.

His eyes were too swollen to open. He could not see the man but felt his breath as he slowly guided him. He tried making himself comfortable as the stranger made his way to the opposite of the cell. He dragged another stool and sat down himself.

"Thank you..." he said with gratefulness to his aide and used the wall to lean on his back.

"Can you open your eyes, son?" his cell mate asked.

He tried opening but his mate quickly continued, "It doesn't matter... It's too dark in here anyway."

With that, he stopped trying and rested from all the battering and torture. He pressed his arms and rubbed them to make them feel less sore but the wounds and scratches prevented further comfort. He gave in and hoped that the pain will just go away.

"Your name?" his cell mate asked, breaking the silence between them.

"Adam," he said weakly.

"Well, Adam, please to meet you, even in these circumstances. The name's Lloyd," he replied and the name unsettled Adam.

"T.J. Lloyd?" Adam asked, now looking up, even trying to open his eyes to see the master of this legendary name.

"That's me," he answered in an almost uncannily manner. Then silence came to the fore again as Adam tried to organize his thoughts.

He could hear Lloyd's slow breathing rhythm as it echoed in the cell. It was a quiet night but the air was humid and it did not help stop his already rapid perspiration. He raised his hand to wipe off some sweat, yet only find himself in pain from the bruises and wounds.

"What they have you in here for?" Lloyd asked, again trying to find a common ground with Adam.

"I refused to sign the pledge," Adam answered and to his surprise, Lloyd found his answer amusing.

"I don't get the funny part," Adam protested plainly.

Lloyd stopped laughing and said, "I just didn't thought that anybody out there would still have some fight in him."

Adam paused in his thoughts, carefully musing Lloyd's statement.

"Didn't he promised peace, prosperity and stability?" Lloyd continued.

"Lies," Adam answered plainly again.

Lloyd chuckled loudly.

"I like you. This place could use some more people like you," he said, after his laughing subsided.

"And you," Adam replied to which silenced the both of them for a spell. A tiny breeze found its way through the iron-barred windows, high above the prisoners.

"Why didn't you sign the pledge?" Lloyd asked meekly and continued, "The Dictator would have you in a good life straight away."

"Why did you fight then?" Adam answered his question with this thought.

Lloyd grew silent. His breathing was noticeably heavier. He stood up, the stool pushed behind. He went over to Adam and looked at him.

"Your eyes are swollen," Lloyd said and touched Adam's forehead, "Your head is bleeding," and he examined Adam's arms, "Your arms are battered... Your body is bruised... You're hurt... Why?" he paused for a moment, waiting for Adam's reply.

But when no reply came, Lloyd helped him, "Because you believe, Adam, that somewhere under the nicely put promises and benefits, is a lie and a lie that kills, robs and wants our souls sold to this man... We fought, have our bones and sinew crushed, bleed and bruised because," and he leaned on the wall next to Adam, "we believe that beyond this hell, where you and I are robbed of our choice, our freedom, is a better tomorrow," and he ended.

The rebel leader had sent Adam straight into deep thought.

"But you'll be gone tomorrow," Adam said, remembering that tomorrow would be a day of celebration for the man whom had cursed this land with fear.

The sound of boots tapping on the cement floor slowly filled the silent air. Adam sat up.

"I have two beautiful children," Lloyd said in a soft, almost whispering tone. Adam sensed sadness in his voice.

He was able to see clearer now. The swell had slowly subsided but all he could see was a silhouette of a thin man for light was scarce in the cell.

The boots were getting louder.

Lloyd, however, seemed disinterested as he continued leaning on the wall. The first light of the day broke into the cell, illuminating the dark a little. Lloyd looked up to the window.

"It's dawn," he said as the guards now stood in front of their cell. One had a cuff, the other a baton ready to beat the daylights out of any prisoner reasoning to escape.

Adam looked up to Lloyd, taking one last good look at him. His arms were scrawny but strong. His body bruised but held pride. Lloyd replied him with a smile.

"Do you still believe that there's new hope every morning?" Lloyd asked as the guards opened the door and stepped into the cell.

Lloyd held up his hands as the guard cuffed him.

"I still do," Adam answered hastily.

"Good. My children too... Keep believing it," Lloyd replied as he stepped out, the door shutting tight behind him.

Their footsteps slowly disappeared... From loud to soft, from near to far.

Silent again befell Adam but the morning light continued shining, chasing away darkness as it grew stronger.

-End-

*disclaimer: Any resemblance to persons living or dead is pure coincidental and have not in any way been portrayed deliberately so, in this short depiction of a controlled and a society bereft of freedom and instated with fear through authoritarian hands, all in the name of peace. 

And there she goes again...

"You know, when I was your age...." and there she goes again I thought. She had gone on and on about being at my age for the past hour or so but who could have blamed her?

I smiled and answered each of her statement with repeated yeses, nods and giggles. She was more eager than I was and more nervous than I'll ever be. After all, her little girl has now grown up and ready for a life of her own.

"Oh, you'll need this, dear!" she exclaimed as she pulled out something deep from the closet. I stopped stuffing my already burgeoning bag and shifted my attention to her.

"What are those, ma?" I asked. She was engrossed with the box, touching it so carefully as I looked on. I waited, for it has been a while since she had shown such signs of nostalgia towards material things. It must be very important so I had to be patient. 

"Take it," she said and handed me the box. She smiled sweetly. I felt the box tenderly as it was something she treasure.

It was coated with brownish red leather and the smell was as new as it can be. I remembered accidentally finding this box once, when I was little. I assure you that I got a good deal of nagging then. 

She kept a lot of things in her closet, this mother of mine. She was peculiar in some ways but it was who she was. Now, she is handing her treasure to me. What a moment it was.

"What's in it?" I asked, curious but still having find not the courage to open it. 

"Oh, it's just a little something..." she paused. Her voice trembled a little bit and I knew what was coming- tears.

I got off the floor and hugged her as tight as I could. She patted my back a few times before she broke off the hug. Sobbing, she continued, "It's something for you."

I looked at her as she struggled to smile in the sobbing. 

"From whom?" I asked again.

"Oh, you question too much, Felicia," she said. She wiped off some tears and continued, "When I was your age...". 

And there she goes again about how when she was my age, she got spanked repeatedly by her father who also sent her sleeping outside for asking how toothpaste were made. She must have been mighty annoying.

We chuckled loudly. I knew granddad was a hard man but never knew he was this hard. The laughing subsided and we locked eyes for a while.

"Felicia, you have eyes just like him," she said suddenly.

I knew who him was but he never did appear in my life. He left this world when I was three, or so they say. I had no memory of him. For me, he was just like figurative speech; a metaphor, a myth even, that I never knew what was true or false.

And so I smiled and continued suffocating my bag while she continued her stories about being at my age.

********

As I put down my impossibly heavy bags on the floor, I took a deep breath in this new home of mine. It was already evening. I sat down in the empty room, thinking of unpacking before the night blanket over the orange sky. Alas, I was too tired.

I opened the windows and took in a deep breath. Sure enough, it didn't had that tinge of green freshness in the air but this is something I had to get used to. 

Then, I remembered the box.

Carefully, I pulled it out from the piles of clothes and stuff that I probably shouldn't have brought along. I opened its cover carefully. Dust flew around a little as I lifted the lid and the hinges creaked with it.

I stared at the box's insides for a good few minutes. 

In it, I saw him. In it, was an instant photo of him and me. He was carrying me with such tender and love. I was so small then and his hands were huge when put into comparison with mine.

His hair was curly and whether or not it was brown or black, I don't know, for time has decayed the colour of the photo. I covered my mouth and sobbed.

"For little Feli." was written at the bottom.

In many years of obscurity and mythology, I felt him at that moment and he was real...

After many years of silence... He was alive today.

-End-

I'm just visiting

She climbed up the bus steps one by one. Each felt heavier than the last. It has been a long time since she had boarded one of these buses. It was old and worn down. It relied on the wind as air conditioning. The engine sounded like it could die anytime. The interior was mostly wood, some of which were greatly decayed by time or termites, she couldn't make out. The seats were once velvet wrapped but now some of them have only the inner sponge to show.

"Are you crippled or what? Move on!" the driver yelled as a long line of his passengers jammed up behind her. She nodded embarrassingly and tried to find the most comfortable seat that she could find. It wasn't easy. Before she could find one, she gave up and just took up the best of the worst lot. She sat down and tried to make herself comfortable or at least look comfortable.

The passengers settled themselves as the driver went first gear to get the bus moving. Move it did but at a pace so unfamiliar to her. It was slow and she had forgotten this long after she decided life in the city was better. She got accustomed to the microwave society and lost that slow-paced self.

"Haven't seen you in these parts before," came a voice. It startled her for she was busy looking out the window to see miles and miles of green, a sight she had long forgotten and a sight enough to make her unaware of a stranger taking seat beside her.

She smiled at him and nodded.

"Where are you from?" the stranger asked. She stayed silent a while and smiled again. He smiled back and looked away, probably thinking how weird she was.

He looked stout, wearing a white shirt and jeans. She noticed his skin and giggled silently for it was more burnt than tanned. He had wavy hair, as it flew so gracefully when the wind blew straight at their faces. It was a rare sight again for her for most men she knew in the city were either bald or had hair spiked up like cactus thorns. But this man seemed decent.

"Where are you headed?" he asked while looking forward, already aware that she was studying him.

When no reply came again this time, he turned, already ready to address her apparent rudeness. Just as he did, he was met with a yellow note.

She nodded, smiled and jerk the note a bit, a motion to tell him to take the note. He took it hesitatingly and it read, "Hello. I'm just visiting." with a smiley face at the bottom right of the note.

She smiled embarrassingly and rotated her right fist over her heart in a few clockwise motions.

He pointed at her pen and she handed it to him obligingly. He scribbled on the yellow note and handed it back to her.

She took it and as she read, she let out a big smile, this time a genuine and happy one.

"Welcome!" with a huge grinning smiley beside her smiley face.

Hi...

"Tick... Tock... Tick... Tock... Tick... RINGGGGGGGGG!!!" went the alarm clock. The annoying clock jerked her out of dreamland. She pinched between her eyes, ignoring the alarm clock's desperate cries to turn it off. She realized she felt asleep on her desk. Papers that required her meticulous study were scattered across the table. The alarm clock continued ringing.

She moved away from her table and looked out the window. The city was already bustling. Smokes and smogs was already filling up the air. The honks and engines roared around.

"And they say the 12th floor has the best view..." she murmured and finally killed off the alarm clock as she made her way to the bathroom.

She left home at 9 that morning, all dressed up in her usual work clothes- her three-year-old jacket, the worn out pale blue shirt that she was able to hide its hideousness under the jacket, that same old black pants and heels that are probably meant to be made into waste. Her hair was messy as she stepped out of the apartment building. While walking towards the bus stop, she tied it up, hoping that no one would notice.

The bus stop was crowded as usual. It was the thing she hated the most. The long wait for the always-delayed bus, the need to squeeze in between smelly men and inconsiderate aunties, she hated it. She longed to own a car so that she could be away from these unnecessary problems. She gripped the strap of her bag.

"If only..." she muttered out but was interrupted rudely by a huge bang from the opposite end of the road. Together with the crowd, her attention shifted there. But the heads were numerous, she could only try and peep through a few gaps. At last, she got to know that it was a car accident from one of the bystanders.

"Or not..." she murmured again. The bus arrived.

As she boarded, she was knocked on the shoulder by some stranger rushing down from the bus.The stranger's papers flew and her bag fell.

"I'm sorry!" went the stranger and he quickly bent down to gather his papers, now scattered like leaves during autumn.

She rolled her eyes and offered him help.

As they were gathering the papers, the bus left, the driver unwilling to wait for such fuss. She gave chase but only for a few steps.

"WAIT!"

She sighed heavily.

Realizing what damage he had done, he quickly gathered the last of his papers and picked up her bag. Slowly, he approached the woman he made to have miss the bus.

"I'm sorry, miss. I didn't mean to..." he tried to reach out to her but she didn't move, as if petrified.

He tried again, "Oh, here's your bag," as he held it out to her.

She turned around and took her bag from his hand, never looking at him, never saying a word. She slowly made her way back to the hated bus stop.

"Ally?" the stranger asked.

She stopped, her heels scratching on the cement a bit. It was a familiar voice... an unmistakable voice.

She turned violently and gave him a good look for the first time.

"Hi..." he continued, as she recollected her memory.

"You are..." she paused, as they gazed at each other. He smiled.

She stood still, as people walked pass the both of them and the traffic minding its own business.

-End-

Because it's different

He hurriedly burst through the door, took off his shoes and dashed for the living room. The ruckus startled Dylan who was trying to read his newspaper.

He looked bewilderingly at his brother who was now pushing magazines off from the coffee table and swinging the cushions away from their rightful place. He put down his paper, stood up and made his way away from all the mess.

"What are you doing?" Dylan asked but no answer came. He grew impatient.

"I'll ask you again. What are you doing?" he raised his voice.

His brother stopped his frantic of a search and looked up. Dylan smiled at his small victory. His courtroom voice never once failed him.

"I'm looking for something," he then bent down and checked the underside of the table.

"And what is that exactly?" Dylan asked again, arms now crossed.

His brother ignored him again.

 "OUCH!" he hit his head as he pulled it out of the table's bottom. He rubbed his head violently and dashed into his room. Dylan shook his head and followed closely behind.

"Mr Aaron, would you just tell me what're you searching for?" as he leaned on the door's frame, looking at his brother who now ransacked his room like some robber desperate for loot. The neatly made bed, now in a heap of mess.

"Look, maybe I haven't made this straight. I'm your brother. I'm not your maid," Dylan said dryly. The continual ignorance was pushing Dylan to his limit now. He cleared his throat, crossed his arms and continued, "Aaron, please tell me what the hell are you looking for?".

Aaron stopped short of rummaging the wardrobe, sensing the annoyance in his brother now. He gave him a quick glance, reached deep into his wardrobe and pulled out a box.

"I'm looking for my handkerchief," he gave a quick reply as he opened the cover of the box. Dylan put his hands into his pocket and stood up straight.

"You mean the white one?" he asked. Aaron's eyes went wide open and rushed towards his brother. He grabbed Dylan by the shoulders and shook him a bit.

"Yes! Where is it?!" Aaron asked loudly. "Easy there." Dylan said dryly again. Aaron realizing his eagerness, let go off him and apologized. Dylan shook his head and jerked his head to the right, "It's on the dinner table."

Aaron made his way there quickly and found it. It was white but with a shallow shade of blue on the edges. At the bottom right corner, "With Love" was embroidered on it. He took it up and put it near his nose. Eyes closed... He was just grateful that it isn't lost. He then folded it neatly and snugged it carefully into his pocket.

"You dropped it near the shoe rack when you left. And if that's the thing that caused this mess of a home-," Dylan tried getting his utter annoyance across.

"I'll clean it up." Aaron interrupted sharply.

Dylan shrugged and said, "If you say so... Look, if you need handkerchiefs that much, I can get you a dozen on a cheap. Okay?"

Aaron gave a strong glare at his brother but loosen as he felt the unsightliness of his stare.

"I don't need more handkerchiefs, Dylan. Thanks but no thanks," Aaron replied.

"But you seemed eager and..." Dylan looked around the messy living room and continued, "anxious about not carrying one. You'll need 'em."

"No, I don't."

"Then why all this?" Dylan waved his hand around.

"Did anyone ever tell you that you can't stop asking questions?" Aaron blurted out.

"That's the nature of my job. And you're not the first one to tell me," he answered, unimpressed.

Aaron knew his brother wouldn't give up until he had a definite answer. So, he gave in.

"I don't need more handkerchiefs. I only need this one."

Dylan's frowned brows relaxed.

"Why?" he asked, trying to be as gentle as he could.

"Because it's different," came the answer.

They remained silent for a moment.

"Because it's from her," Dylan said.

Aaron looked at his brother with a tinge of guilt written on his face.

"Am I right?" Dylan asked though he already knew the answer.

Aaron looked away and stared at the balcony, unsure what else there is to say.

-End-

I'll be waiting

Heavy footsteps rang around the park. It was a cold, early morning. The mist has yet to disperse. The birds have yet to sing. The sun has yet to settle itself in the sky.

He jogged up the winding path, and down the slope. Drops of sweat dripped down his forehead, to his cheek and finally to the ground.

"Huh... Hah.... Huh... Hah..." went his breathing rhythm. The air around him slowly turns warm. The birds are now awake, together with a tiny breeze. The water in the lake, now slowly splashed the banks. Ripples on the surface signified life is now awake.

It was beautiful.

Suddenly, he stopped in his steps.

A straight narrow path to complete his jogging routine was now before him. He hesitated... Not because the path was dark... But because the path is reminiscent of... his life.

The sun had slowly risen and settled itself in the sky. A few other fellow morning walkers and joggers passed  him by. He gripped his towel tightly.

He closed his eyes and took in a long, deep breath. He turned around, away from the path. He looked up to the sky.

"I'll be waiting," he promised but unsure if the breeze would pass on his promise to her.

-End-

How are you doing?

She opened the door as he followed closely behind with hesitating steps. Her hair is a bit different now... A bit longer and curled but she tied them up, constraining her hair into that of a pony tail.

He observed her every movement. He loved how her pony tail bounces. He giggled a bit inside. 

"Corner?" she asked. He looked around and pointed to his right- a table for two, near the windows. Fitting.

They made their way to the table and took their seats. The waitress laid out the menu and they both studied it. As they flipped through the pages, his eyes scoured her. She looks more fragile... The radiant once covered her, gone. Her fingers frail... Her wrist, now skin wrapping bones. He died a little inside.

Their eyes met for a while. He snapped from his scouring and continued studying the menu.

"Wondering what I should order..." she said. 

He looked up at her and a smile was drawn on his face.

"Coffee? You love coffee," he replied.

She frowned. She looked into the menu closely, now halfway lifting it up. She placed her finger on her lips and tapped lightly.

"I know but what kind?" she asked.

He looked at the menu and noticed the multitude of choices. He chuckled.

"Well, there's the long black, the white coffee, latte, mocha, cappucino...." he went on, almost reciting the whole list of coffee choices.

"Ding dong!" she exclaimed with a tiny roll of the eyes and continued, "What are you having? Too bad they don't have frappucino, huh?"

"Nope but they have ice blended coffee!" they giggled a little.

He ran his fingers through the list.

"Cappucino looks good," he finally decided.

"Two then," she too.

They placed their order and waited.

Their eyes met again. Black and pearly her eyes were. He loved them. They were true. There was nothing malicious behind those eyes. They gave him a sense of calm. He loved her smiles too but her smiles seemed a rarity now. 

The good, the bad. The happiness, the joy, the sadness... The pain... Everything felt like it was yesterday. Emotions were peaking. He could feel a bit of tears welling up at the corner of his eyes. Memories flooded his mind as he wonders if it was the same for her. 

They broke off their eye contact and continued their wait for the coffee. There was a deafening silence between them. The chatters and laughter of other diners surrounded them. She looked out the window. He rubbed his hands in anxiety.

Finally, they looked at each other again. She wore a lovely smile and asked,

"How are you doing?"

He looked on, unsure where to start.

-End-

The Warmth of Grace

The ugliness about truth is that sometimes it hurts... and sometimes it merits nothing but add into the agony of a person who's already been through enough. They say the truth will set us free but on what cost does that freedom come?

Heartache?

Broken relationships?

Lies, best kept and buried underground?

At what cost...?

Honestly, I don't know. However, I'd always like to believe that no matter what the cost, what the pain may be, the truth is always the path that one must walk in. Perhaps I haven't seen the world enough to understand what truth really is but as of now, I believe truth is at it is. Facts- unrivaled, unbeatable, unquestionable. Truth is the story behind two stories, the one side of two opposing sides, the fence between two fields.

But the cost, sometimes is too much to bear. I learnt so. And whenever I think about the lessons and truths that I've been through so far, my heart bears a heavy guilt and my shoulder, a heavy burden.

The hardest thing is not the forward march. It's the time that flies... too fast at times. I can bear the march, the burden on my shoulders but I cannot bear how time constantly tries to be the antagonist, the catalyst, the unwanted guest who keeps pushing you to the brink of collapse at times. When time travels, the light is sucked in, the unbearable thoughts sank in, the memories caved in, throwing you deep into a limbo that is so difficult to get out from. You need someone to get you out of there. The longer you stay, the more delusional you become.

That's why I like to face the truth. Because I've always believed that truth is the thing... the person, the someone who can get me out of there. Until recently, I find truth, however, isn't that pleasing at all. I don't know how to face it. I don't know how to deal with it and accept it. It hurts. It has a cost. And most of the time, truth changes how things work... how human relationships work...

I find no peace. I find no rest in truth. Though I found light, I found little comfort.

People look at the outside to judge, to see what's going on. On very few occasions that people actually tried to look what's behind a smile, what's behind the cheerful personality or what's beyond the silent persona. But  don't we all know that there's a sad tale behind every smile, there's a grim side to every cheerful personality and a chatterbox beyond every silent persona? Don't we all know? Yes, we do. Because at the very essence, that's what we've been through. That's what we all do most of the time. We wear masks to hide things that we think, are best kept hidden.

But I also believe that in every sad tale, in every grim side, in every disappointing circumstances, we are able to move forward, to carry the burden, to stand back up again because of grace.

Grace is a favour, a goodwill, a manifestation of kindness towards someone. We are able to move forward, away from the unrelenting push of time and away from the grasp of delusional limbo because one way or the other, we've been shown grace by someone.

I cannot say I've lived a lifetime to see all, know all but in my lifetime, I know one thing. And that one thing is that the grace that keeps me going comes from Him. His Grace... unrivaled, unparalleled, unquestionable... made only possible by Jesus Christ and none other...

The broken truth hurts. But the warmth of Grace soothes.

"Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we boast in the hope of the glory of God." 

-Romans 5:1-2-