Post-Competition Blues

Every time I go on trips with the band, the room I stay in would be empty, my roommates running off to their friend's the moment their luggage touch the floor.

This round though, things are different.

The hall is filled with seniors and juniors alike-- people I don't particularly like and those who I'd sleep with. I'm out on the balcony tonight, it's another evening filled with live music, laughter and cheer. In the opposite block, I hear our oboe soloist practicing his solo. Tomorrow is the day we go up on stage... One mistake and it's over, there's no reset button this round.

Rain, staining the rooftops, the empty badminton court and the tarred alley below me.

I don't know how I should feel. Another band played the exact same song this afternoon, Fate of the Gods. Personally, I think we are better, but every one of their soloists can do the flutter technique while only our trombonist is able to do it. In bar five, the trombones would bring a sense of mystery to the piece, sort of like a first impression... We're all worried that the first note wouldn't come out... As for me, the bass trombone, I'm forever alone. The other parts, we have extra players, but me? Hah, I've been playing alone since I picked up the bass. I'm the only trombonist without "insurance"... The pressure!

During rehearsals, my tone was flat. That really, really, really brought me down, disheartened me. I'm also worried about the Malay song we're doing. Tongue-ing, accents, staccato, tempo...! I suck at the song.

Our horn soloist is a bit intimidated by this afternoon's performance. I hear her fierce music from her room. She's young, but good. All her notes are in tune. Hope she doesn't cry tomorrow... She's a crybaby.

Another three girls joined me outside.

Ah, the days of colour guards! I was never in there for long, didn't even compete as one of them before. They're talking about the competition back in 2010, the good times; the last time we went for marching formation.

I should be joining my friends now. I want to. Time to narrate ghost stories and turn them into jokes!

A Night in the Hostel

Six storeys below in the parking lot, in the hallway, people are practicing. Each their own tune, technique and tempo. Somewhere in the middle of it all, laughter can be heard. All the bands are living in the same area. Blocks and blocks of semi-rundown buildings; eerie, unmaintained.

Annie must be thanking God every second of this moment because we're not alone. This is a small apartment. Four bedrooms, two bathrooms and a small hall with nothing but dining tables, eight chairs, a sink filled with dead insects and dust, broken shoe racks and a lone mirror near the front door. In each little confinement, holds eight members.

The other band just finished playing Blue Ridge Saga. It definitely sounds better than it did during the actual rehearsals.

I'm sitting at the table alone. Being the last one to force all those rice down my throat, not to mention the oldest senior here, everyone is a little bit intimidated by yours truly...

They're doing their own stuff. Annie went out with her friends, two other juniors are in my room visiting and another two are busy playing games on the iPad. As for me, I'm here, ignoring everything that's happening around me except for the live music I'm able to enjoy on this still night, inside this stale concrete box.

I can't wait to go home.

Upon unlocking the door, my heart fell. It wasn't until I pushed open the room door that I wanted to run home immediately. The walls, dried cellophane tape marks covered them, duct tape here and there, broken hooks randomly hammered onto the yellowed plaster. Is this a joke? I'd rather sleep in the school library.

Annie, Shu Jing and I are sleeping in the hall. The rooms give an eerie aura-- I wouldn't dare be in here alone. What makes it worse is that the previous residents taped a piece of Muslim prayer to the front door, "for protection" that piece of faded paper read. How does one feel comfortable in a place like this? After all, it is rumored that most hostels are haunted.

Shu Jing is out on the balcony-- probably. It's a nice night, there's even a soft breeze blowing.

Xing Ning came to my unit for a shower. Apparently, her bathroom is way more disgusting than the ones in my unit.

Sigh...

I'm lovesick.

I can't believe I got myself into this situation again. How many times do I have to throw my own heart on the floor and step on it over and over again?! I know very well that this cannot happen, and that I cannot fall because... I just can't...! It wouldn't work out. Besides, I don't think he'll even want me to be his girlfriend.

"Don't just take whatever comes along at the cost of your heart. Just so you can have a taste of something that's not really real." a friend said to me when I told him I had fallen for somebody... That isn't even here...

As I lie here and blog, a very tiny girl is eating Cookie Crisp in front of me, with a can of Milo in one hand while she texts a little after putting each cereal in her mouth. She just chunked down a whole bucket of rice... ... ...

Bagpipes. I hear bagpipes.

By: a Heartless Senior

I really do hate my body. It's seven in the morning and the dew drops are still resting on the leaves and petals of the plants, the early birds singing as they hunt for worms and those hatchlings chirping in their nests, waiting for the adult to go home with breakfast. I'm awake on this lovely, after-rain morning when I should be deeply sleeping instead. It's the holidays! God damn it, biological settings!

Today is the day where we leave for competition. Ah, yes, the thought of happy roommates, chit-chat, pillow fights and laughing nights... All gone. This round, only two people are sharing a room. Yup, not three, four or five, just two.

"Hey, Rachel, who do you wanna sleep with?" band leader asked me as I walked through the back door of the band room to where my trombone cupboard is. He's sitting at the gray table that has a number of things scattered on it which isn't even ours, arranging roommates for the competition.

"Eh, Shu Jing, of course!"

"Mm hmm... No, no; can't," he wiggled his pencil in front of my sour face. "You have to sleep with one of the juniors, I'm afraid that they won't be able to take care of themselves." that bastard is making eye contact now. Grr...

"So who is it gonna be? Annie or Kee?" band leader is starting to get a bit impatient. There's still a great deal of paperwork to be done.

I stare at the name list, my eyes shifting back and forth between the names Annie and Kee. Honestly, I don't want to share rooms with either of them. I'm not very comfortable with Kee, and I don't want to expose myself in front of her. Annie on the other hand, I like her a lot but she's scared of me... It sounds like a bad joke, doesn't it? Someone is afraid of me, Rachel, the slovenly, bubbly and very often cold senior. The rest of my juniors just act as if I'm one of their pals, Sunnie even hits my butt once in a while! Annie isn't just scared of me, she's terrified of me! She shivers when we're alone.

I had no choice, and so, Annie, I apologize for saying your name when I decided who my roommate would be.

The girl almost cried when she found out I was her faithful roommate.

Just a few months ago, when we were in Thailand, Annie was close to me. She stuck to me even. We sat together on the bus, talked to each other and even lied on each other's perfectly meaty arms! She'd walk with me when we were given time to shop, or explore the places we stopped by. At the time, I really wanted to be alone, but I couldn't get rid of her.

I remember seeing those torn sneakers of hers, the bottom already falling apart while the body was also peeling, with tears here and there-- that isn't something fit for wearing! Let alone walking. That evening, I bought her a new pair of sneakers and reprimanded her brother for letting her wear something like this on the trip.

She was like a sister to me during the stay in Thailand.

In Ubon, when I felt frustrated at night, I'd walk around the empty hallway from my room to hers so I had an excuse to be roaming about the seemingly eerie corridor. When I wasn't squeakily walking over to her room in my yellow Hush Puppies, I'd be out on the balcony with my Walkman, deep in thought and sighing at the dissipated flame of my relationship as well as the fact that I was starting to fall for someone I could never be with.

Good times. Good times!

It was all before Annie became a trombonist.

After being switched to my section, she wasn't the same anymore. She's always so careful now, being cautious of every move she makes when I'm around, even the slightest change of the breeze would make her flinch, as if I was going to raise my voice at her because the wind was blowing her hair in the wrong direction. It's like I'm tormenting her just by being in her sight. I stopped showing up at sectionals because it disheartened me, to know that a junior is terrified of you. I was hurt.

Am I really such a horrible human being? Am I really so harsh when I teach my juniors? My friends tell me that I'm unforgiving, ferocious and unusually harsh whenever I teach those three juniors of mine. It's a pity to be under me, my friends said.

"All her juniors' faces would turn black during section practices! One little imperfection and she'll tell them to start from the very beginning. My, my, my! She's really heartless when it comes to teaching her juniors! More mistakes and it's two laps! Tsk. Tsk. Tsk." Zinc said to Shirley as she shook her head at me. Everyone could do nothing but nod at her statement, it was unanimously agreed by all the seniors. To prove how monstrous I am, even the juniors from other sections tell me the same thing. A junior trumpeter pulled a chair beside me during breakfast the other day, said that I shouldn't be so damn harsh cause my section members are really terrified of me.

I must leave now...

I want to mend this huge gap in the relationship I have with Annie, but I'm afraid too, you know. I feel frustrated and disappointed that someone nearly cried just because they were sharing rooms with yours truly. I worry that I might scare her even further. I can't help but feel cold now... I'm not the best person at socializing, and I definitely am not one to open up so easily.

The coming days, the two nights I share with her, I hope things go well. I want her to smile at me again. The one thing I want most though, is for her to be herself around me again.

Unkempt

Seeing girls in dresses, coats, stockings, fancy shoes with handbags hanging from their shoulders makes me realise that I don't know how be pretty. Why does someone need to wear so many layers of clothing, I wonder. Then, my eyes would shift down to look at my own body, the t-shirt I'm wearing, shorts and yellow flip-flops. I'd look up again, this time noticing the layer of powder that doesn't match their skin-tone, the too-pink blushes on their cheeks and poorly applied fake-lashes. There's nothing on my face either, not even the moisturizer that is supposedly good for my skin.

I continue to walk along the pathway of the seemingly crowded shopping mall, my worn Hush Puppies smacking against the tiles with each clumsy step. 

I own dresses. A good deal of them. They're comfortable, and I would wear them whenever I get the chance to so I'd feel like a pretty girl. Still, they don't look as good on me because I haven't the slightest idea of how to compliment them. I'd put on a dress, but that's it, nothing more; no coat, no statement necklace. The same dress would look a thousand times better on another girl... 

I'm bad at this-- being pretty, catching the hearts of everyone that pass me by. Don't talk about strangers, I can't even get the attention of people I've known for years! It's not a bad thing, considering the fact that I'm someone who likes being in the shadows. 

Fancy shoes, huh? I own two pairs of flip-flops, two pairs of sandals, some three pairs of sneakers, a pair of running shoes and a few girly shoes which I don't even know what they're called. Anyone with a foot fetish would immediately get turned off by how I decorate my feet, not to mention these legs of mine aren't the smoothest and are pretty badly scarred. 

What do you get when you pair up a plain black dress with iPANEMA sandals? Rachel Cheong Yun Xuan.

Indeed, I know nothing about style and what the latest fashion is, or what colour is in this season and which design is passe. All I know is that flip-flops are my favourite-- yellow flip-flops, to be exact.

A pin with a glittering blue star design, sticking out of what seems like a bird's nest instead of a person's hair. The hair clipped to the side like a curtain reveals a round face and seemingly tired eyes that's obvious despite having large glasses masking them. The first impression I'd give people is that I'm slovenly, poor and have no life. Shuffling across the floor of the shopping mall in a university t-shirt suggests otherwise. 

...

...

...

I'm really tired. I went out in my pajamas today, from the morning till the Sun set under the horizon. In fact, I've been wearing the same t-shirt for more than 24-hours... I slept in it last night, went for band in it this morning, went shopping at Aeon wearing the same old thing, then went back to school for band practice again in the very same t-shirt. You'd wonder how the hell a girl could be this lazy... I surprise even myself sometimes! I'm still wearing the t-shirt, by the way.

Nobody's here to make my day better, and the fatigue isn't helping. I'd want to talk... or something... Blah... I don't even know what I wrote... I don't know anything at the moment! I can barely keep my eyes open, yet I managed to write a blogpost... Ughh... This has got to stop...

Goodnight. 

Epaulettes, Buttons and Smiles

Behind every "just kidding" lies a little a bit of truth it in-- or so they say. For me though, I never use it unless every single word in my sentence is true. In a way, my "jk" means: every word I said is true. I meant all of it. I only said I was joking cause I want you to think it's a lie so you won't think I'm creepy.

Now that another secret of mine has been exposed, I hope whoever reads this forgets it quickly so I can go back to telling the truth but lying at the same time... Not that I'm thinking about anyone in particular...

I love you... Just kidding!

Totally not kidding.

Tuesday is it, Today? Half the day is already gone. The Sun has already set in my part of the globe. I'm in my dimly lit room blogging, hoping that this would be someone's bedtime story. I want this to be a happy post, something that's heartwarming so that you'll be able to go to bed with a smile on your face.

Ah, yes, a smile!

Despite looking like a cold and uncaring person in my daily life, I actually yearn to make people smile. Whenever I see a smile hanging on a person's face, it softens my heart a little; to know that I'm the reason behind that smile makes even the shittiest job worthwhile.

Epaulettes and buttons. I wonder who the hell was brainless enough to appoint me as the person in charge of the worst possible part of the uniforms back in 2012. Clumsy hands, fat buttery fingers, unorganized and certainly not the most responsible person out of the 100 members in NHMB. To add, I haven't the slightest skill in sewing and mending even the simplest tear in clothes. Back in my junior years when Home Economics was a subject, my sewing project was done by the tailor!

My history aside, now that I'm finally released from that wretched post as one of the uniform committee members, I find myself willing to help out more these days. Hah! To think that I was never going to go near those boxes and boxes of decades-old epaulettes, badges and buttons ever again!

It's no longer my responsibility, but I'm still there whenever it's time for concerts or whatnot and we have to get everyone their "biscuit boxes" and make sure everything fits. Truthfully, I'm doing it like it's still my job.

Grace is the new person in charge of those headache-givers. She is a rather organised girl with neat handwriting and isn't unkempt-- unlike yours truly. It's my fault for not calling her to help out at all when she was supposedly my assistant, so I guess this is compensation-- being her assistant. I can choose to ignore her, but being me, I feel depressed when someone doesn't like me. I try my best to lighten the weight on people's shoulders and make them smile... Unless of course, that person is on my blacklist!

Albeit Grace is a woodwind-- an enemy of the brass section-- I'm still willingly helping her out. In all my years in the band, I've never once liked anyone from the woodwind section. Especially the girls. The ones I really couldn't stand was the batch of 2010... Ugh... I hate people that were born in the year of the Chicken! Somehow, I just can't click with them.

"Aw... Can you help me with Shirley's uniform?" there was a little pout on that face of hers. I don't particularly like it when girls try to be cute in front of me, but hey, as long as it would make Grace a little bit relaxed, I'd do it. Like I said, knowing that the reason behind a person's smile is because of me makes even the shittiest job worthwhile.

I think that this is enough for today! Although it wasn't a very touching post... Well, I apologise, my Lord! I probably ended up boring you with things you don't even know about me! T^T

This is like a diary after all, isn't it? A post written every other day would differ. Happy, sad, remorseful or memorable. It's all unpredictable.

Sweet dreams, Lord Batnan XD

Cynical Little Post!

It's so easy to tell someone that you'll be there for them, isn't it? "You can count on me, I promise!" then after a while, you'd lose heart; the kindness you once felt have slowly dissipated. Rather sad world we live in, don't you think?

Everyone would tell you they'd be by your side when you're in need. They feel obliged to say so because they want to think that they are in fact good people. Who wouldn't want to be considered kind and caring? Sometimes, we think we mean well but in truth, it's actually that atrocious pride of ours doing the talking. It's in our God damned nature. We're so distorted, rotten to the core, that admist knowing how grotesque we all are, we'd still want to hang on to that rotting thread of hope that's connected to our decaying pool of foul dignity.

Oh my God... I'm so cynical today!

While you're busy acting like a saint, the fool you're pretending to help is truly grateful. He'd be thinking that you're the best thing that ever happened to him while you think of ways to quietly sneak away. No big deal, right? Vanishing without a trace.

Wrong.

People are forever in debt of one's kindness, be it something you did out of pure love or so you could keep up your appearance. The fool would be searching for you, hoping he could thank you for what you've done because he thought you really did have a heart of gold.

I'm actually really sleepy right now. My eyes hurt because of Rei's small screen! She's just half the size of my hand!

Anyway, the reason why I'm writing this post today is because I'm both the saint and the fool. My selfishness frustrates me a lot.

I just want to know why people can't just come out with the truth? Instead of blaming technology for their absence, why can't they just shoot the words "I don't want to talk anymore" right at you? It saves time, and it certainly makes both parties less miserable.

I stand by my if-you-have-nothing-good-to-say-then-shut-up principle. Which is why when people gloat and call themselves far from what I think them to be, I just type a smiley in reply. A jaunty tongue hides everything. Sir Daniel, in case you thought I was talking about you, no, you're awesome! Honest, I swear.

A little assumption goes a long way. As a woman, it is in my nature to assume the fuck out of everything. I'm upset because I thought too much, thus creating a cynical little post on bloggie today.

Ah, just when I thought I could schlep on a Sunday, band leader texted me. Have to go to school on my only free day of the week to get my uniform! Funeral on Monday. Ah, I should stop wearing earrings. Whenever I put those cursed things on, band leader is sure to inform me of a funeral!

I've been using lots of ahs lately. Japanese influence; probably.

Goodnight, love.

Oh, before I forget! May 26. Exactly five months before the day I was born(October 26), was the day my nemesis came to this world. I shall write a haiku for him before I go to bed.

               Happy birthday, Quah
          Still so short, ugly and dark
               Please become fairer

Days of Hunny Jars and the Hundred-Acre Woods

After weeks of telling myself that I'd watch The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh with my dearest Macadamia, I finally did it this evening.

That little tune I've been humming all these years? Turns out, it's the theme song for The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh from 1977. It's funny, because I didn't even know that I knew the song! I don't even recall ever watching the animated musical. When I watched it just now, I almost cried upon hearing the opening theme song-- the very same tune I've sung in my head since I can remember.

If you didn't know me at all, you would have thought that I was a mentally unstable person when you saw me sitting in front of a 15.5-inch laptop, humming, laughing and swaying my body to a children's cartoon. I admit, the story was childish, but I was happy. Indeed, I was very happy! Happier than I've ever been, in fact.

How did I come to love this yellow old bear that's filled with fluff? I'm not really sure. I just loved Pooh Bear. I continued to love it even when I grew out of my childish fantasies and I still love him now; probably will forever!

This silly old bear is also the reason why I came to love HUNNY. Until now, whenever I make myself a cup of honey, I'll always remember to dab my finger on the honey bottle's opening to make sure that not one drop of it trickles down the side of the glass container... Who am I kidding? It's just an excuse so I can taste the honey directly from my hands. The yummy golden liquid that's sticky and sweet, I always liked licking it from my fingers the way Pooh does it.

Ah, when I was a six-year-old kindergartener in pig-tails, I always spelt honey as HUNNY. Whenever the grown ups told me I misspelled it, I would argue with them that they're wrong and it really is spelled H-U-N-N-Y! "it's written on Pooh's HUNNY jar! Come see for yourself!" I would tell my mum and my grandma when they corrected my spelling. I remember that I drew honey pots and labelled them HUNNY very often. When I finally found out that "honey" was indeed the real spelling, I cried. Still, I ignored it and continued to use the word "HUNNY"

Sweet memories, indeed.

I should stop reminiscing and come back to the present. But after watching something like that which sparked such distant memories, making me remember all the things I thought I've forgotten, how can I not go back to the days of hunny pots in The Hundred-Acre Woods?

It's time we went to that enchanted place in the hundred-acre woods, said Christopher Robin to Winnie the Pooh. I want you to come up here next time, when I'm gone... Promise me that you'll never, ever forget me, Pooh; even when I'm a hundred...

"oh, you mean come up here alone?"

"yes... And Pooh, promise me that you'll never, ever forget me?"

"I promise, Christopher Robin."

"even if I'm a hundred?"

"hm... If you're a hundred, how old will I be?"

"ninety-nine, you silly old bear!"

As their backs grew smaller and smaller when they headed up to the enchanted place in the wood, I almost cried. It was goodbye.

"I'll always remember you, Pooh..."

...
...
...

:')

Music of the Night

Music or the ambient sounds of nature and the community?

It's not a bad thing to leave the music player indoors once in a while. I've been so immersed in the music composed by man that I almost forgot how beautiful mother nature sings. In this era, you wouldn't just hear the sounds of cicadas and the rustling of leaves alone. The cars zooming down the main road a mile away, the sounds of heavy trucks passing by on the road that leads to the burgeoning iron works nearby and the laughter of children from next door. It's a new kind of music... Such contrast, the natural surrounding and everything that's slowly killing it yet in the night, they blend, making it sound like everything's indeed calm and nothing is wrong.

Up above, thunder roars above the clouds. Down below, crickets and cicadas call out to their mate. The neighbours have gone inside, laughter of the children have died down while my dogs are whining, hoping that mum would come home soon. Once in a while, a lizard would speak, and another one far away would click its reply. Insects are surrounding me, biting me--the source of their food-- even though I have insect repellant smudged all over me.

The stars are out tonight, the moon is only half full yet its reflective light is already enough to illuminate the dark, star-filled curtain of the night.

I see lights blinking.

Tonight, I am making an exception. Today, I'm letting go all of my frustrations and yes, through these eyes of mine, everything is beautiful.

The artificial glow from the power plant nearby, the smoke emitting to the sky... For now, these are apart of my picture, the picture of how beauty can exist in the most unimaginable form.

I love you. I will continue to do so. Once in a while, tears would stain these blacken apricot-coloured tiles.

Rachel

How does it feel to be someone's favourite? I've never been anyone's angel. Not then, certainly not now and never will be. Even when I had a boyfriend, I wasn't his favourite.

Sometimes, it makes me wonder why my parents have four children. It's so clear to me that all they ever wanted was one-- my brother. Everyone loves
Dennis the menace; the irony! Dennis is always right. Rachel is always wrong. You know, I gave up trying to explain my actions a long time ago to everyone because they don't care, and wouldn't understand.

You won't see my family get excited about Rachel; nope, not even once. You'll never see them organise a birthday dinner for Rachel. No. When Dennis comes home with a girlfriend? Yes, let's have dinner at a seafood restaurant.

It may seem like I'm jealous of my brother, but trust me, I'm not.

This lack of attention is what shaped me to become who I am today. The days of being in the shadows, the emptiness, they were my guidelines to the base of my principles. Why else would you think that I'm independent, cold and often appear uncaring? It's also how I developed this passion for writing. Who else was going to listen to my problems besides myself?

I'm thankful for being ignored. I molded my own personality, developed my own perspectives and my own ideals. They call me weird, but why should I care? It's not up to them what I want to become and how I want to live.

You'd hear them say Rachel is a good girl, independent and capable; most promising one out of four children. I'd smile at that, but it doesn't bring me to cloud nine because I already know that fact. The sad part is that I don't feel the attachment of being someone's daughter, someone's granddaughter or someone's niece. Dennis is the golden boy after all.

I don't feel love. Only responsibility.

Mum and dad, when I'm done studying and settle down with a career, you can look for me when in need, but I will never ever beg for your help, even if I'm on the brink of dying. I will try to repay you every single cent you've spent on me since the day I was born. Nothing more needs to be said.

Cold. Blunt. Shy. Quiet. Easily annoyed. Soft. Honest. That's all I am.

Cereal at Night

Cereal at night, only three words can be said: BEST FEELING EVER.

I go downstairs, rummage the utensils box and dug out my favourite cereal spoon. You might laugh hard at it when you see it. It's a white plastic spoon, yellowed due to the years it's been hiding in the drawer; even the pink angel printed on it is losing its charm-- whatever, it's still my favourite cereal spoon.

Then, I search the stacks of plates, bowls, containers and basins that's in a hodgepodge of a mess on top of the kitchen counter, trying to find my Winnie the Pooh bowl; desperately. How can one have cereal with their favorite spoon but not their beloved bowl!? I gave up searching for it and took a substitute out of the cupboard-- my second favorite bowl, a highly-breakable cream coloured cereal bowl.

The empty fridge greeted me.

Empty. Empty as in there's nothing I like inside. If anything, our decade old fridge is everything but empty. Packets of unused McDonald's chili sauced stuffed between the empty egg holder, sugar cubes in a poorly wrapped package at the bottom with an almost empty bottle of mayo shoved between a new bottle of ketchup, hardened oyster sauce and some Thai chili sauce that seemed to have been there since the dawn of time. Is that a bottle of vinegar? Bags and bags of wrapped up nonsense blocked the orange light at the back of the fridge. What in the world are in these bags? They have been there longer than that bottle of Thai chili sauce! It'd be too much of a pain to clear them out now, besides, I see my box of cereal and that horrible carton of milk already. They are up front, I really didn't have to look. The mystery of those wrapped up bags remains.

The sound of cereal against the bowl. Relaxing. I never want it to stop. But if I don't stop pouring, they'll fall out of the bowl, roll onto the floor and get stepped on. No, I wouldn't want that to happen! Goodbye, sounds of mini balls filling up an empty bowl!

I take one piece and put it in my mouth. Crunchy. As my teeth crushed that one little ball, I sensed a burst of flavour. Mm... Wheat... I love the taste of wheat. It reminds me of Oishi brand genmai green tea that I would always drink in Thailand and somehow, that taste brings me to an open field at sunset with storks bathing in the muddy water. Of course, once that taste is gone, I stop reminiscing. 

I take a spoonful and shove it into my mouth. Shit, that's too much! Om nom nom nom... My mouth was dry, and as the chewed cereal went down my throat, my oesophagus had a hard time contracting its muscles; peristalsis almost hurt. Finally, I swallowed the ball of crushed chocolate pieces.

Time for the milk to invade my peaceful kingdom of chocolate pieces.

I dislike milk ever since a few years ago when the smell of it made me vomit all over the floor. It was only recently that I've come to accept milk back into my diet. This white, creamy liquid, it's as if I could still smell that farm and cows of Dutch Lady when I open the lid. It makes me sick. But alas, what's the enjoyment of having cereal without milk? This deadly combination is my guilty pleasure in the dead of the night.

I let a piece of cereal slide onto my spoon, then carefully, I let the milk fill up whatever space that's left. I raise it to my lips. One lick of the milk, using the tip of my tongue like a cat. It's time to feed myself properly-- not quite. I like to taste the milk and cereal individually first, thus the reason why there's only a piece floating in my spoonful of milk. Before the innocent white of the milk gets contaminated by the chocolate, I'd like to feel its blandness on my tongue and that indescribable taste which I loathe yet at the same time, it soothes me. 

Time to feed myself properly, like a human being, like a seventeen-year-old highschool student.

I look over at Sarah who took a bowl and sat down beside me. I told her how I like to eat my cereal. She stared at me incredulously and I started laughing. "You're the only abnormal one around here!" and she left me there, alone under the creaking ceiling fan and dull lights.

Ineligible Ideas

I'm not a big fan of essay competitions, but what the heck, I participate anyway! I love writing, I just don't know what to write when it comes to a competition.

These competitions are mostly for educational purposes, so we're encouraged to write about positive stuff... You know me, I prefer the darker way of writing; the Japanese way. Japanese novels are brilliant and sexy, that's why they're my favourite.

Sigh...

I don't know what to write about.

I have ideas... I just don't think those ideas are suitable for the competition.

I'll go write now... And if I get too frustrated, I'll go to bed.

Good afternoon and happy mother's day. Do something special for your mummy.

The Frog that Climbed Out of the Well

One thing leads to another. Unknowingly, a new bond is formed; two persons cross each other's path. 

When you give yourself a chance, when you gather all the strength that's left in you and crawl of the well you've been trapped in for years, you'll find a new world to call home. From beneath the well, all you were able to see was the sky when the Sun shone and the stars when it set. That round picture of day and night, it was enough to satisfy you, and so you tell yourself you'll never leave that empty well, even if it started to crumble. 

I had nothing left to salvage, so I bid the world I knew goodbye as it fell to ruins.

At first, all I could do was cry. I curled up on the cold hard ground, sobbed my days away because this new world was unknown to me, I didn't know what to do or where to go. I thought of giving up, and I drugged myself with the memories of my past so I'd leave this life peacefully. As the scenes of how my world fell apart flashed in my head, I jolted awake. Those memories, they were all too painful to bear. So I ran.

I stumbled, fell, cut myself. I couldn't see where I was going. I ran without direction, without a destination in mind but soon, I heard distant voices and saw faint lights. My body slammed against something hard, I lost all my senses; fainted.

The best things come unexpectedly when one isn't even looking.

How can someone move on, I wondered as I drifted in and out of sleep. Once, I loved a person. I gave so much, invested all my time in the first relationship I've ever had in my life, thinking that it'll last forever. He seemed so sure too, constantly telling me that he wishes to marry when the time comes. Years passed by like that, and we were a step closer to our goal as each year went. It wasn't always rainbows and butterflies, compromises were made, but I never thought that promises would be broken. 

Spring, the season where nature is reborn. It was then that I suddenly became a part of nature, needing to sprout out from the earth once again. Indeed, I lost everything I had that spring. 

I finally woke up.

My head rests on a soft pillow, white sheets covering my body. I could smell breakfast, the sizzling of bacon on the frying pan in the kitchen. 

A stranger had found me unconscious, so he took me to his home.

How can someone move on? I ask myself yet again.

Numb from the heartbreak, I don't want to fall in love again. 

I was convinced that the world was only that same portrait of day and night when I was a frog that lived in an old, empty well. I convinced myself that what I knew was as good as the world can get. I was wrong. 

There is someone ten times better than you are. A hundred, maybe a thousand folds better than you. Losing you and meeting someone new, I'm starting to realise what I'm looking for in a partner-- though I don't want to date again so soon. Companionship, that's all I long for at the moment, and I seem to have found the perfect one. I never thought I'd be able to give so much in such a short time, to a person--in my candid opinion-- not very good looking. 

Nobody's perfect, but then, personality and inner beauty would make even the ugliest beings beautiful. 

You, Me, John

He's a nice guy. That's all there is to say.

Months ago, I sat in the living room of a one-bedroom studio apartment, listening to the sound emitting from the filter of the fish tank while my eyes were fixed on the 27 inch screen. Though not a big fan of Apple, the iMac was the only option I had at the time. It was past midnight, I couldn't sleep. Alone in a foreign country, where else was I to seek company?

He was one in twenty-thousand.

I was ready to press the Esc button any time, moreover, I wasn't in the loveliest mood that night-- frustrated, and answering rudely. I was surprised that he still opted to talk to a grumpy sixteen-year-old. We exchanged emails and that was it. I had no intention of looking for him ever again.

Five months later, a chain of events led to where I am now.

He's in the shower at the moment.

I'm sitting on the bed, legs folded. The morning sun is shining through the window, lighting up part of the room since I only bothered to pull back a small section of the curtain. How long has it been since I woke up so early? It's not often that I see sunlight like this through the dusty glass windows.

I like talking to him, I realise. Hah, if I didn't, I wouldn't have woken up at half past five this morning!

What we have is rather peculiar. I am still numb from the break-up a month ago, I don't feel the need or want to be in love yet I enjoy the company he's providing. Truth is, I feel sorry him. I don't feel what I felt -- and still feel-- for You when I'm with him. Something's missing, but I don't know what. To say that my heart is nowhere in it is a lie, because he makes me smile and I'd want to see him happy as well.

You, always in my mind still. I feel like I'm trapped in a labyrinth of my own emotions, forever wandering around this complex structure, unable to find my way out as each turn I make brings me to the walls that holds the memories of our times together. I break down in front of those cobbled walls before moving on again.

He's out of the shower, standing in front of the door at 6' 4'', you'd wonder how many people on the face of the Earth that's actually so tall.

I smile at him.

Behind this smile of mine, there lies those bittersweet thoughts of first-love. What is this shadowed smile of mine then? I don't know either. I feel nothing, but I am happy.

In Chinese, our situation would be described using four simple words: 有缘无分, meaning not destined to be. Fate is cruel, don't you think? But ah, compensation; this is as good as it's going to get.

3AM

Here I am, missing you at this hour. I wonder if I cross your mind at all, but judging from your posts, I'd bet all my money on the fact that you don't think about me. Not even when you read what I write.

Nothing excites me anymore.

Back then, my heart would stray so easily, even to those I am unfamiliar with it would go. Now? It feels as if I haven't a heart at all. Don't talk about falling for another person, it doesn't even race when I watch clips that supposedly turn people on. Others may call me cute, but I feel nothing at all; not the slightest feeling of happiness.

Everything means nothing now that you're gone.