p.s turn off the player in the doubly doo at the side before playing this song!
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Tha Mo Ghaol Air Aird A' Chuain
p.s turn off the player in the doubly doo at the side before playing this song!
Monday, May 28, 2012
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.
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-
Saturday, May 26, 2012
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.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
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!
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!
Monday, May 21, 2012
Sunday, May 20, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, May 18, 2012
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-
Thursday, May 17, 2012
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.
"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.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
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.
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-
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
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.
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-
Monday, May 14, 2012
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.
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-
Sunday, May 13, 2012
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-
Saturday, May 12, 2012
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.
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-
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