Monday, November 11, 2013

When Love Arrives



by Sarah Kay and Phil Kaye


I knew exactly what love looked like – in seventh grade
Even though I hadn’t met love yet, if love had wandered into my homeroom, I would've recognized him at first glance. Love wore a hemp necklace.
I would’ve recognized her at first glance, love wore a tight french braid.
Love played acoustic guitar and knew all my favorite Beatles songs.
Love wasn’t afraid to ride the bus with me.
And I knew, I just must be searching the wrong classrooms, just must be checking the wrong hallways, she was there, I was sure of it.
If only I could find him.

But when love finally showed up, she had a bow cut.
He wore the same clothes every day for a week.
Love hated the bus.
Love didn’t know anything about The Beatles.
Instead, every time I try to kiss love, our teeth got in the way.
Love became the reason I lied to my parents. I’m going to- Ben’s house.
Love had terrible rhythm on the dance floor, but made sure we never missed a slow song.
Love waited by the phone because she knew if her father picked up it would be: “Hello? Hello? I guess they hung up.”

And love grew, stretched like a trampoline.
Love changed. Love disappeared,
Slowly, like baby teeth, losing parts of me I thought I needed.
Love vanished like an amateur magician, and everyone could see the trapdoor but me.
Like a flat tire, there were other places I planned on going, but my plans didn’t matter.
Love stayed away for years, and when love finally reappeared, I barely recognized him.
Love smelt different now, had darker eyes, a broader back, love came with freckles I didn’t recognize.
New birthmarks, a softer voice.
Now there were new sleeping patterns, new favorite books.
Love had songs that reminded him of someone else, songs love didn’t like to listen to. So did I.

But we found a park bench that fit us perfectly
We found jokes that make us laugh.
And now, love makes me fresh homemade chocolate chip cookies.
But love will probably finish most of them for a midnight snack.
Love looks great in lingerie but still likes to wear her retainer.
Love is a terrible driver, but a great navigator.
Love knows where she’s going, it just might take her two hours longer than she planned.
Love is messier now, not as simple.
Love uses the words “boobs” in front of my parents.
Love chews too loud.
Love leaves the cap off the toothpaste.
Love uses smiley faces in her text messages.
And turns out, love shits!

But love also cries.
And love will tell you you are beautiful and mean it, over and over again. “You are beautiful.”
When you first wake up, “you are beautiful.”
When you’ve just been crying, “you are beautiful.”
When you don’t want to hear it, “you are beautiful.”
When you don’t believe it, “you are beautiful.”
When nobody else will tell you, “you are beautiful.”
Love still thinks you are beautiful.


But love is not perfect and will sometimes forget, when you need to hear it most, you are beautiful, do not forget this.
Love is not who you were expecting, love is not who you can predict.
Maybe love is in New York City, already asleep;
You are in California, Australia, wide awake.
Maybe love is always in the wrong time zone.
Maybe love is not ready for you.
Maybe you are not ready for love.
Maybe love just isn’t the marrying type.
Maybe the next time you see love is twenty years after the divorce, love is older now, but just as beautiful as you remembered.
Maybe love is only there for a month.
Maybe love is there for every firework, every birthday party, every hospital visit.
Maybe love stays- maybe love can’t.
Maybe love shouldn’t.

Love arrives exactly when love is supposed to,
And love leaves exactly when love must.
When love arrives, say, “Welcome. Make yourself comfortable.”
If love leaves, ask her to leave the door open behind her.
Turn off the music, listen to the quiet, whisper,
“Thank you for stopping by.”

Saturday, October 26, 2013

All is Well Now

Just because one forgets, doesn't mean one doesn't care.

That is something I should never forget.

Thank you for reminding me of that through the friends you have provided, dear Father.

Amen


Wednesday, October 23, 2013

The past month, my Facebook has been abuzz with exuberant birthday wishes accompanied with loads of photos at birthday parties - a substantial number of my old ACS classmates were born in October. Here's the thing about me. I've never been fond of birthday parties or cakes. I have never envied anyone for their birthdays, how they celebrate it, or what they get from it. I've always been contented with spending my birthday with one or two of my closest friends, satisfied that I had close friends who made the effort of remembering the day I was born.
 
Not until now.
 
It's a sad existence. I never expect much on my birthdays, but this year just might be one of the worst I've ever had. While others celebrated their 21st with stacks of cards, mountains of cakes, loads of friends and barrels of booze, I could count the number of birthday wishes I got from my friends on one hand, I spent the day in absolute loneliness and one of my closest friend completely forgot my birthday.
 
Apparently, I share the same birthday as Andrew Scott, who portrays one of my favorite villains of all time, Moriarty from BBC Sherlock. At any other time, I would have been ecstatic about this shared birthday.
 
Just... not this time.
 
I wonder what it says about a person when his closest friend gushes to him about a TV star's birthday while remaining completely oblivious to his hurt and frustration. Does it perhaps mean that his existence is less important than that of a celebrity? Is it something else?
 
As hard as I try to avoid thinking about it, I can't help but wonder how many of my friends even cares about my existence. Half my birthdays, I'm forcefully reminded that perhaps my birthday isn't really worth the effort to remember after all.
 
I'm sorry if this is starting to sound like a rant of self-pity. But I figured since this is a blog with near-zero readership, probably the only people to read this would be the occasional stranger chancing upon this blog. I'm not generally fond of self-pity - sometimes I look at it with disdain - but I think I realize now why self-pity exists. People pity themselves because there is no one else to pity them. In my case, the only people who would pity me are people who know it's my birthday, and since there's hardly any of them - and none of them are even in the country - it doesn't amount to much at all. So I celebrate my birthday with whatever I have left - a cake of self-pity lit with 21 forlorn candles and extinguished with drops of tears, celebrated with the stuffed animals on my bed who sang happy birthday in their little stuffed animal voices.
 
To those who know me, you know that my friends mean the world to me. I've always tried my best to be the best friend I could to those I befriend. Maybe I'm doing something wrong, maybe most of my friendships one-sided or something, maybe it's something else. I don't know. There's so much I don't know. All I know is that it's been awhile since I felt as worthless and discarded as I've been feeling these past few days.
 
A week ago, I looked forward to my birthday so very much. What a naive fool I've been. All I wanted was for my closest friends to remember my birthday. Birthday messages would have meant the world to me. I adore them. Words from the heart mean so much more to me than any tangible present ever would. All I ever wanted and needed for my birthdays was to know that I meant something - anything - to my friends. That's all. Sigh. My wishes were so different... but unrealistic, I realize now.
 
The procrastinator here, signing back out to his sad, quiet existence...

Monday, October 21, 2013

Twenty One

It seemed an apt picture to put up, since I can start drinking legally from today onwards
Twenty-one years ago to this day, a baby boy was born somewhere in Kuala Lumpur to happy parents and probably less-happy sisters. That boy was me.

My birthdays have always been a jumble of emotions as far as I remember. On one hand, birthdays are merely a marking stone for each year that has passed since a person was born and has managed to stay alive till. Staying alive was something I never actually considered a great achievement, I suppose. It simply is, and I owe most of that to God and my ever-watchful family members than to myself. God knows how many times I could have easily been pancaked while crossing a road with my nose in a book if not for some vigilant family member around.

But on the other hand, birthdays are something to me because it only occurs once a year on a very specific day. And because every person has a unique birth date, remembering one's birthday is something that requires effort. Well, at least it used to, until Facebook came along.

Call me old-fashioned, but I really don't care much for Facebook birthday wishes, or Facebook birthday reminders. Why? It's too easy. So every year as October rolls around, I play a little game called "Who Remembered?" I am the game master, and the players are anyone who manage to discover the existence of this game.

Facebook, Twitter, Google, Skype... You name it, I erased my birthday from it. I even went as far as to block anyone from posting up on my wall for as long as two days before and after my birthdays, to reduce the likelihood of players publicizing the game. Most years, it worked, with only a slight trickle of players to discover my hidden birthday. Most years, all I ever want is to hear a simple Happy birthday from a select few whom I thought of as my closest friends. Some years, that doesn't happen.

It sounds silly perhaps, and I suppose readers might be wondering why I would perform such an idiotic act of intentionally hiding my birthday if I wanted people to remember it. I do want people to remember it. But at the same time, my selfish side needs to know that people remembered it not because of some social media reminder, but because they cared enough to remember today and what it means to me.

Gauging friendships by one's ability to remember dates is probably an unreasonable method of doing it. Some people are just better than others at remembering dates, and after all, my birthday doesn't exactly occur on a remarkable date. On the calendar, it is just another day. I don't blame anyone in the least for not remembering it. I really do not. No one is obligated to remember my birthday, and I've always thought of birthday wishes as a gift. Given and received, but never asked for.

I suppose it is during moments like these when I'm thankful no one reads my blog anymore. I could have written this on a piece of paper and thrown it into the fire, but that would have meant nothing. A tree that falls in a forest doesn't make a sound. It only makes a sound if someone hears it.

So here I am, typing this out in a place where there's a chance of someone hearing me.

Saturday, October 5, 2013

Bored. Bored! BORED!

Hello all. Someone. No one. If anyone is reading this at all. Quite frankly, I won't be surprised if no one ever reads this, and I don't suppose it would be anyone's fault but my own. I did neglect this blog for quite some time after all. Fortunately, the name of this blog does reflect my frequency in updating it rather well. I'm not too sure if I named it so because I knew I would procrastinate, or I procrastinated for the sake of maintaining the identity of this blog.

I like to think it's the latter. Yeah. It's definitely the latter.


I think.


I'd be lying if I said I didn't update this blog because I had nothing to write about. I thought of many things to write about. Stories, remarkable events (though remarkable doesn't necessarily mean interesting), thoughts, frustrations, yearnings. God knows how true that last bit is. I guess the nice thing about having a blog that no one will read is that I can bleed my thoughts out and... no one will read it. In any case, I suppose the only honest answer as to why I haven't been writing is one that is quite obvious and simple. 


I. Am. Lazy.


There. I said it.


Anyway, so why start now after so long? Well, turns out that boredom can be quite a good motivator, it seems. Or a good reason to find a new distraction, whichever it is. I'm sure there's something else really important I should be doing right now other than update a blog just because I got bored. Practice my Japanese, lift some weights, clean my room, count how many cornflakes there are in a box of cereal. Etc. 

In any case, I think I've run out of things to rant about for now about being bored. Maybe I'll continue in a following post about something else. Hmm...

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Our Own Heaven

w r i t t e n   b y   D a r r e n   Y i p
Courtesy of Whitney Ng
There are three kinds of sinners: Those who kill, those who steal, and those who don’t obey their parents. Papa always said that all sinners go to hell. But he also said that God can forgive those who kill or steal if they pray for forgiveness. It’s only people who don’t listen to their parents who are never forgiven, and people like that go to a special place in hell because it is such a big sin.
            I believed him. It wasn’t hard; Mama died soon after giving birth to me when she tried to steal me and run away from home. Papa said she died because she didn’t listen to him, so that’s why God decided to punish her. God could have forgiven her for stealing me from him, he said. But Mama will still go to hell because she didn’t listen to him when he told her not to run away with me.
I was confused, so I asked why Mama was punished even though Papa wasn’t her parent. Papa then took down the big Bible from the wooden bookshelf and opened it. He pointed out a verse in it and read it out to me, but I didn’t understand it. Papa laughed very loud, and then he explained that the Bible said wives are like children, and that they must always obey their husbands. If they don’t, God will punish them, just like He will punish little children when they disobey their parents.
I nodded slowly, and then said to Papa that I was sleepy and that I wanted to go to sleep now. But Papa said no. He said that he wants me to play a game with him in his bedroom.
“But Papa, I’m sleepy,” I complained.
“I know, sweetheart. But it’s just a short while. Papa promises.”
“Can’t we do it tomorrow, Papa?”
“No, Kailey. Now do as I say and go to my room.”
“But I don’t want to.”
“Now, Kailey! Do you want to go to hell? Or have you already forgotten the time when I showed you how painful it is like to burn forever in hell?” Papa took a few steps towards me, his huge form towering over me.
I flinched, and almost automatically, my right hand reached over to grip my left arm, where there was large pink patch on the bottom side of it. Papa had said that he wanted to show me how it is like in hell, so that next time I would remember not to make God angry by doing “sin”. He had taken me to the kitchen, and sat me on the counter beside the stove. He then lighted up the stove. With a firm grip, he took my left hand and guided my arm right over the open flame.
I cried out; I couldn’t help it. The fire was so hot that it no longer felt like heat. All I felt was pain. It was so different from the gentle warmth that I was used to when I warmed my hands at the stove during the winter. Tears poured down my cheeks as I watched my skin turn from pink to red, to a darker shade of red. I tried to yank my arm back, but Papa’s hands were like rocks.
“Papa! Let go of me!”
“Do you understand what it feels like to burn in hell now, Kailey?”
“Please, Papa!”
“Answer me, Kailey.”
“Yes! I understand! Let me go!” I screamed.
Papa let go of my hand, and I immediately pulled it back towards myself, only to cry out in pain again when my left arm touched the fabric of my dress. My skin was an angry dark red, and oh God, it hurt. The very air itself seemed to be burning that part of my arm, and it felt like a dozen knives cutting into my skin when I brushed it against my dress. I used my right hand to scrub my face – my entire face was wet with tears and sweat – and hurriedly jumped off the kitchen counter and ran out of the kitchen to hide under the table. I sat there sobbing, while trying unsuccessfully to avoid touching anything with my left arm.
I heard Papa come near before I saw him. A moment later, his head appeared as he got down on one knee and faced me. He had a thick dark beard and moustache that made it hard to see when he was smiling most of the time. But this time, I would have seen it from a mile away. I didn’t like his smile. I tried to scramble away to the other side of the table, but Papa grabbed my legs as I did and dragged me bodily back towards him. My left arm scraped against the cheap carpet, and I screamed in pain as Papa grabbed my shoulders and made me face him.
“Kailey, Kailey, Kailey…” he gently murmured as he rubbed a rough thumb over my wet cheek. I felt his fingernail scratch against my skin.
“Now do you understand why Papa always makes you listen to me? God doesn’t like children to disobey their papa’s, and God will send these children to burn in hell forever. Papa loves you, and Papa doesn’t want you to burn like these bad children. This is just to help you remember so next time you won’t make God angry.” His voice ended in a whisper.
These memories flashed through my head as I looked back up at Papa standing over me. I knew that look on his face. It meant that he was going to get angry soon if I didn’t listen to him.
I knew the game that he wanted to play, but I never liked that game. I always felt a bit of pain between my legs in the mornings, and sometimes Papa gets a bit rough when he plays and accidentally hurts me. Sometimes I get bruises and scratches too.
But that look on his face meant I didn’t have a choice. So I slowly moved my feet up the stairs and pushed his door open with a finger. It creaked open. I felt the wall gingerly with my hand for the light switch and turned it on before stepping inside. The bed stood in the middle of the room, and the wall was covered with shoddy wallpaper that had more rips in it than I could count. There was a strong smell in the room; the same smell that is in the fridge when Papa leaves an open bottle of beer in it. I made my way across the room and sat down on the chair in front of a desk that was littered with cigarette butts.
A minute later, Papa stepped into the room. I felt my body shiver, but it wasn’t because of the cold. His eyes looked towards me immediately as he carelessly flung a hand to flick the lights off. The room went dark.
“Let’s play, Kailey.”
I was seven then.
***

Monday, September 12, 2011

A Year Ago

It all happened a year ago
When I arrived here and came to know
That not all was as the TV had shown;
By God, it was the land of the unknown!

An endless summer marked the days
In the blessed land where I was raised.
But here, autumn leaves and winter snow
Marks the time that passes ever slow.

Of cultures and traditions,
Or dreams and ambitions;
A clash between the East and West?
To join the two shall be my quest.

I used to be a joke in my friends’ eyes,
For they said I was a white in disguise.
“White on the inside, yellow on the outside!
Look, a banana!” they laughed and cried.

Yet, here I am in the Land of the Free
Eating rice and drinking tea.
“Kanasai!” remains my favorite curse,
And thus it shall be till the day of my hearse.

Monday, April 25, 2011

Fatal Imprudence

David looked out the window of his apartment as he absent-mindedly adjusted his tie and collar. The sun had barely risen, but there was already an orange glow to the sky. Skyscrapers dotted the landscape, and the mixture of traditional and modern buildings has never ceased to fascinate David whenever he looked out the window each morning before going to work. To his left, he had a clear view of the National Stadium in the distance, while if he looked hard enough to his right, the Forbidden City was a dot in the horizon. 
          Living in the middle of Beijing does have its advantages after all, thought David musingly as he turned around and reached for the coat rack. As he shrugged on his tweed coat, he felt warm hands touch his neck and gently adjust his lapels.
“Leaving so early?” a soft voice murmured.
David smiled and caught those hands with his own. Turning around, he looked down at the woman he married a month ago. May looked back at him with an expression of befuddled innocence, smiling that smile that made him fall in love with her in the first place. Her long dark hair was disheveled and her breath smelled slightly sour, but David didn’t care. He looked deep into her eyes as he raised one hand to touch her face.
“It’s not my fault,” sighed David. “Your dad wants me to meet up with some important clients of his who have a bad habit of waking up too early. God knows why they can’t come to the bank at a more reasonable hour.”
May fingered his tie idly. “You should wear that changshan I bought for you. It is the New Year, you know. You could probably win a few points with my father too.”
“I doubt that. He still thinks I’m a chicken pretending to be a duck, and simply putting on some Chinese costume isn't going to change that. I suspect he’s trying to work me to the ground as revenge for marrying his only daughter.”
“Surely you’re not having regrets already, Mr. West?”
“Not on your life,” whispered David as he pulled her in for a kiss.
After a few moments, May pulled apart. She cupped David’s face in her hands and looked him in the eye, her dark eyes tinged with sadness.
“David, I know you hate dressing fancy and all that, but do me a favor and wear that changshan when we go for my family’s reunion dinner tonight. Please?” She looked away. “I know things didn’t turn out too well between you and my parents, but… I know they’ll accept you one day. All I’m asking is for you to try your best to make that happen, David.”
David looked at her soberly. “I promise I’ll do everything I can to make your family accept me, May. But it’s going to take time.” He sighed. “A lot of time.”
May gave a weak grin. “Well, that’s a start. Jia you ba.” (All the best.)
David smiled back as he detached himself and reached for his briefcase on the dining table. “Okay. But I gotta run now before I’m late. I’ll see you later,’ he said as he walked towards the front door and opened it.
“David,” May called out.
He turned around with his hand against the open door.
Wo ai ni.”  (I love you.)
For a moment, David looked at the woman standing in the middle of his living room, clad in T-shirt and shorts. She was as beautiful as the day he first saw her at the bank’s opening ceremony a little over a year ago. Dressed in a red blouse and blue jeans then, she exuded a quiet confidence, which was what drew him to her at that time. He remembered the dimpled smile on her face as she introduced herself, and the warm gentle hand that she extended to shake his own. She had chosen to marry him against her family’s approval, and he loved her for that. He used to feel like an outsider in China. Now, he can’t imagine being anywhere else.
David carefully pronounced the words in his head before replying. “Wo ye ai ni,” he said slowly. “Zai jian.” (I love you too. Goodbye.)
May gave a satisfactory nod. “You’re getting better. Almost like a Chinese. Now get out of here, David, and tell Zhi Tian not to be late for lunch tomorrow.” She waved cheerily and blew a kiss.
David grinned and stepped out of the apartment. He closed the door just as the clock struck six.

***
Two days later

Zhi Tian was out of breath when he finally stepped out of the pouring rain and into the building. His formal black coat that looked immaculate not two minutes ago was now soaked. Water dripped steadily from it onto the carpet in the lobby. Silently cursing the idiot who built the bus stand a hundred feet away from the entrance of the building, he took off his drenched coat and looked around for a restroom.
Ten minutes later, he walked into the parlor dressed in a white shirt that was mostly dry. His coat was stuffed into a white plastic bag and now lay inconspicuously in an obscure corner of the restroom. At least, he hoped it was still there. Some thieves would steal a toothpick if only for the sake of stealing something. But he didn’t want to raise any awkward questions carrying a dirty looking plastic bag around, especially not during this particular occasion.
The parlor was half-filled with people already, even though the start of the ceremony was still half an hour away. Zhi Tian recognized many of them as business associates of his boss. No doubt they were here more out of formality than anything else, he thought to himself. They were mostly gathered in little circles and talking in hushed voices. As according to custom, some among the crowd wore the traditional white armband. Zhi Tian nodded curtly to the few who glanced at him and edged his way through the groups of people, his eyes scanning the crowd for his white friend.
Zhi Tian felt a wave of sadness rise in his chest as he thought of David. That poor bastard. They were roommates during their college days back in Connecticut, and it was Zhi Tian who suggested to David to try applying to the People’s Bank of China for a job when the bank was on the lookout for workers who could speak English fluently. Surprisingly, David had agreed. He had gotten the job, despite not being able to speak a word of Mandarin back then, and had started a new life in the capital of China.
That was two years ago. Everything had gone so well for David since he moved here. He made friends easily among the Chinese people, and he had even found himself a beautiful wife here. At any other time, Zhi Tian might even have felt envious of his old friend.
At any other time, that is, Zhi Tian thought gloomily as he made his way to the front of the parlor where the casket lay. An elaborate altar had been set up before the casket, complete with joss sticks and incense paper. Little saucers of fruits and food lay on it as well. A single candle burned on the right side of the altar, its flickering light reflecting off the picture frame that was placed at the center of everything. The sound of gongs and wind instruments accompanied the chanting of three monks who stood beside the altar. Zhi Tian went up before the altar and bowed. One of the monks stepped forward to take a joss stick from a pot and lighted it with the flame from the candle. He then offered it to Zhi Tian.
Zhi Tian accepted the joss stick from the monk, who retreated to stand beside the other two monks. He clasped the joss stick between his hands and closed his eyes to offer a prayer. He bowed three times before stepping forward and planting the joss stick firmly in the pot of sand on the altar. He took a step back and stood there gazing sadly at that smiling face.
May’s smiling face.
David was right, he thought bitterly as he turned around and walked away. Life really is a bitch. No one should ever have to die because some idiot thought he’d get drunk behind the wheel in broad daylight on New Year’s Eve, especially not someone like May.
A commotion near the front doors caught his attention, and the noise level of the room grew in a sudden crescendo. Even the monks standing beside the altar stopped chanting to look towards the doors. Curious, Zhi Tian moved closer to get a better view. He breathed a sigh of relief when he caught sight of a brown head of hair peeking through the top of the crowds.
David.
Zhi Tian hustled his way through the people milling themselves around his friend. For some reason, David had attracted a crowd of people who were gathered in a circle around his person. Geez, I guess he’s even more popular than I thought he was. All the while muttering apologies to the people he had to gently push aside, he finally made his way through. He was about to call out David’s name when what he was seeing finally slammed home into his brain with the force of a speeding train. Zhi Tian felt the blood freeze in his veins.
Oh shit.
***
David felt unnerved with everyone’s eyes on him. No one had stepped forward to offer their condolences as he had expected, and neither did anyone greet him since the moment he stepped through those gilded front doors. If anything, those gazes directed at him almost seemed… hostile. He heard the crowd muttering among themselves, and a few of them shook their heads in disapproval. David felt a chill run down his back.
Awkwardly, he took a few steps forward. The crowd didn’t budge.
Gathering his courage, he turned to an elderly man with a walking stick and asked, “You shen me wen ti ma?” (Is there a problem?)
The old man gave him look of pure disgust and spat. It landed on David’s shoe. He turned around and disappeared through the wall of people.
David’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. What the hell did I do wrong now?
A man in a white shirt pushed his way through the crowd towards him. David’s heart leaped when he saw that familiar face. Finally! A friendly face. He opened his arms in anticipation of a hug.
“Zhi Tian! You have no idea how – 
“Are – you – out – of – your – God – damn – mind?” Zhi Tian hissed. Roughly, he caught hold of David’s shoulders, spun him around, and shoved him hard back towards the doors. David heard him yell in rapid Mandarin to the crowd surrounding them before grabbing hold of his shoulders again and forcing him back through the corridor, down the staircase, and out the main entrance of the building. All this happened so fast that David did not even have a chance to gather his thoughts, let alone protest. One of the cleaning ladies in the lobby looked at them curiously as they passed by but did not say anything. David blinked when he found himself back outside the building. The rain still poured on relentlessly, and the cold wind bit at them. David gave a slight shiver, but Zhi Tian did not seem to notice it. Only there did Zhi Tian finally let go of his shoulders.
The funeral parlor was situated right beside one of Beijing’s many main roads, and David could hear cars whizzing through the rain on the road. The cacophony of pattering rain against the roof accompanied the sound of splashing puddles on the road. The air outside was cold, and there was no one else outside.
David watched Zhi Tian pace around with agitation on his face. But Zhi Tian wasn’t the only one seeing red at the moment. This is my wife’s funeral, for Christ’s sake!
“Do you want to tell me what the hell is going on?” David demanded angrily.
Zhi Tian finally stopped pacing and rounded on him. His eyes were daggers in the dim light. “No, do you want to tell me what the hell you were thinking by wearing that to your own wife’s funeral?” He prodded David in the chest. Hard.
Not for the first time today, David felt like a complete idiot. What? All this fuss over the clothes I’m wearing? What the hell is this?
David looked down on himself. He was wearing the changshan that May had bought for him, the very same one he was going to wear for the reunion dinner at her parent’s house on New Year’s Eve. David had bitterly cursed himself for not letting her see him dressed in it while she was still alive. It was her present to him after all. That was why he had chosen to wear this tonight. At the very least, perhaps she could smile down on him from wherever she was right now.
“May gave this to me before she died,” he said softly, gently fingering his cuffs. “She had always wanted to see me dressed up in it. I know she’d be happy if she could see me right now.” David felt his eyes moistened again. He hurriedly blinked a few times.
“She also said that this would bring me good fortune. God knows how much I need that tonight.”
“Good fortune?” screeched Zhi Tian in disbelief. He threw up his hands. “David, the only thing you’re going to get wearing that is a knife in your back, and you’ll be lucky if that's all you get. Wo de tian! (My God) Have you learned nothing of Chinese customs since you came here? Red is the color of happiness, you moron! What were you thinking?”
David felt like he just got slapped in the face, and his mind went completely blank. Happiness? They actually think I’m happy my wife is dead and lying in that casket just because I’m wearing my wife’s favorite color? Numbly, he lifted his right hand and stared at the bright red fabric of his sleeve. May.
From inside the building, he became vaguely aware of a man shouting at someone. It took him a few seconds to recognize his father-in-law’s voice. David became instantly alert. Oh damn.
Na ge wang ba dan pao le qu na?” (Where did that bastard go?)
David stole a look through the automatic glass doors. His elderly father-in-law was dressed in a black suit and had been yelling at the unfortunate cleaning lady whom they passed by earlier. She took a few steps back and held her mop protectively in front of her. She gave an offended look and pointed at the main entrance. A moment later, David’s father-in-law stepped through those glass doors and into the cold air with murder in his eyes.
Zhi Tian immediately went up to him and started a stream of explanations. David couldn’t make out what he said, but whatever it was, it fell on deaf ears. The old man shoved Zhi Tian roughly aside with one hand and took a few steps towards David, raising an accusing finger.
“You!” he shrieked. “I should have killed you the moment I saw you, you piece of filth! I was stupid to expect anything good from you Americans, especially an American who stole my only daughter from me! And tonight you dare to insult my daughter’s memory with your insolence?”
Ba,” David began, but then he stopped. “Sorry” didn’t seem to be the right word at this time. But what else can I say? David gave a deep bow to the old man. No excuses this time.
“Dui bu qi.” (I’m sorry.)
The old man replied by stepping forward and swinging his fist in an upward motion at David’s head, which was still bent over in a bow. It connected with surprising force squarely on David’s nose, and he felt the cartilage in it break on impact. David’s feet lifted an inch off the ground before he landed painfully on the small of his back. He could feel blood flowing from his nose, and his mouth was already filled with the metallic taste of it. Vaguely, he heard Zhi Tian’s pleading voice over the background of splattering rain and speeding cars.
May’s father ignored him and walked to stand beside David, who lay groaning on the ground. Hatred burned in his eyes as he glared down at David, and his fingers were clenched into fists. He raised his foot and slammed it down on David’s chest. David’s eyes widened as the air was knocked out of him. He turned on his side gasping for air.
Numb with pain, David felt rough hands take hold of the front of his changshan and pull him forwards. He found himself face-to-face with his father-in-law. His eyes crinkled in anger, and his lips were pulled back in a snarl.
“Let me tell you something, Mr. West,” the old man said in a soft but dangerous tone. “I hate Americans. They’re arrogant and think they know everything when they come here, and I’d sooner die than hire one to work in my bank. The only reason why I hired you was because that man (he jerked his thumb towards Zhi Tian) pleaded with me and told me that you were different, that you were willing to learn new things. He told me you would never disappoint me.” His voice dripped with contempt. “And so, like the naïve old man I am, I took his advice and hired you. That was the second biggest mistake of my life.”
David felt himself being lifted up to his feet by the front of his shirt. Groggily, he found himself wondering how his father-in-law could be so strong for someone hitting seventy years of age.
“But the biggest mistake of my life,” he whispered, “was not killing you when you had the nerve to ask my daughter out the first time. And because of my mistake, today she’s dead.” David felt his fists tighten further on his clothes. The old man closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again. Malice shone in his eyes. “Your friend was right; you did not disappoint me at all. You’re an American, and I expected nothing better from filth like you.” With a grunt, the old man shoved David backwards and out onto the road.
David felt the rain hit his face as he stumbled out on the road. He did not hear Zhi Tian scream his name, nor did he hear the sound of the approaching bus. When he finally did, it was too late. David only had one thought in his head as he watched the incoming headlights.
May…

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Sorry

There is really not much to be said
When there's something you wish you could forget;
It's almost as if my heart had bled
And filled itself with fear and regret.
I'm sorry I hurt you, my friend so dear,
With careless words tinged with scorn;
Losing your friendship is my one great fear;
Yet, I guess it's what I earn for your feelings torn.
No, I don't have the right to ask for your smile,
Especially not after the grief I've caused you tonight;
I know "sorry" isn't enough by a mile,
But try as I may, it's the only word I can think of that's right.

'Blog will explain,' that was what you said.
You were right; I read it and wished I was dead.


Monday, January 31, 2011

I would never welcome a blizzard to stay,

Unless it means closing the college for the day.

Ah well,

Bloody hell,

Carpe diem, as they always say.

Friday, January 28, 2011

There lives a girl, sweet and petite,

A classmate whom beside I sit.

Pleasant company though she may be -

I admit she's the source of moments of glee -

She adores pretending to be me,

By going on a Facebook spree.

Of nachos, ninjas, and pies,

Nay, it was not my sanity's demise.

Rather, it was her, being me in disguise...

Friday, August 20, 2010

T.O.M. The Obese Man

It was a very normal day, and Tom Gutter had intended it to remain that way for the rest of the day. He had gotten out of bed at noon as usual. He had eaten his late breakfast and early lunch thirty minutes later as usual. And of course, he had already planted his rear end on the couch for another day of TV programmes marathon as usual, when Mrs Gutter squawked at him to get his lazy butt into the car and drive her to the gynaecologist's clinic.

Rumbling, grumbling and growling a few of his choicest swear words, he clicked the remote and made his first attempt to get up from the sofa, but failed dramatically as his legs gave in and his buttocks collapsed back unto the sofa with the force of a small bomb. There was a loud creak followed by the sound of something breaking from inside the sofa, and the middle of the sofa gave way to Tom's bottom. Mrs Gutter sighed and looked out the window to the porch where another broken sofa was waiting for the garbage truck as she made a mental change to her shopping list.

Fifteen minutes later, with much heaving and grunting on both their parts, Tom finally managed to detach himself from the sofa and stand on his feet. Five minutes was the time he took to waddle and plod his way to the front door. Four minutes and fifty seconds was the time he took to get himself through the door frame, with Mrs Gutter attempting to help by running back and forth from the door and ramming her small frame against his colossal figure. Six minutes and forty-three seconds was the time it took for Tom to squash himself into the driver's seat of the car, and his wife to seat herself on the back seat in the corner opposite of Tom. Twenty seconds was the time it took to drive across the road to Doc Daneeka's clinic.

An hour later, Tom and Mrs Gutter were in the waiting area of the clinic. Waiting.

Mrs Gutter bit her nails nervously and kept flicking her eyes to the clock on the wall every few seconds. She would jump with shock everytime the door popped open, and sink back into her nervous stupor when the nurse yelled somebody elses' name.

Tom, on the other hand, was feeling extremely bored. He had tried to kill time by glaring and muttering at the kids who gawked at the sight of his bottom drooping over the two plastic seats he was occupying, but they ended up running back to their mothers in tears. Predictably, he had once again single-handedly cleared the vicinity of everyone but his wife.

Another half hour ticked by. Tom started excavating his nose, flicking his product randomly. Mrs Gutter glared at him as one of it stuck to her skirt.

Finally, just as the clock struck four, the door opened, and the nurse poked her head out to stare at the only remaining people in the waiting area: Tom and Mrs Gutter.

'Mr Gutter, please step inside,' barked the nurse. 'No, not you Mrs Gutter, just your husband.' she added to Mrs Gutter, who had already risen before she finished her sentence.

Mrs Gutter's face fell, and she walked back to her seat like a dejected puppy. Tom, however, was annoyed that he had to go in instead of her. Five minutes later, Mrs Gutter sunk back into her reverie as the nurse closed the door.

The room was painted white, and everything else in the room was either silver or transparent. It was designed to build confidence in those who stepped inside. A beaker of filled syringes stood on the doctor's table, with the label "Sedatives", and a strait jacket lay crumpled on a chair in the corner.

Doc Daneeka blinked at Tom as he waddled from the door to his desk. Tom seated himself in front of the doctor, and glared sullenly at him.

'You are Mr Gutter, I believe? Yes?' began Doc Daneeka inquiringly.

Tom grunted.

Doc Daneeka coughed a few times before continuing.

'I called you in because I have some bad news, and I thought it would be better if it came from you. Yes? No?'

Tom grunted impatiently again.

'Well, geez Doc, just spit it out will ya?' grumbled Tom with a scowl. 'Do you think we ordinary people don't have better things to do with our time than freezing away in your waiting area? Countdown's on Channel 5 in half an hour, for heaven's sake!' he ended with a yell.

'Well, yes yes yes, my apologies, Mr Gutter. I guess I better get to the point then, shall I? Yes, no?' said Doc Daneeka.

Tom glared back in reply.

'Well, how should I put this,' coughed Doc Daneeka. 'The thing is, Mr Gutter, I'm sorry to say that your wife, well, she cannot conceive. Yes.' Doc Daneeka looked at Tom with a pitiful expression.

Tom blinked. 'What?'

Doc Daneeka bit down an impatient sigh. 'She cannot get pregnant. She cannot bear your child. Understand? Yes, no?'

'Oh, is that it?' snorted Tom. 'Well, thanks for wasting my time, doc. I've spent time better counting cornflakes in a box if you ask me.'

Doc Daneeka sighed and shook his head.

'Anyway, break it to her gently, yes? She will not like to hear this. That is why I called you in and not her, yes?'
*
Mrs Gutter jumped as the door opened. She quickly got up and took Tom's hand in both of her own, and fixed him with expectant eyes. Tom thought he detected a hint of desperation in them.

Clearing his throat, Tom wondered how he should rephrase his sentences and words to blunt the effect on his wife. He thought carefully for half a minute before replying.

'Hun,' said Tom tentatively. 'The doc said that you're inconceivable.'

'What?!' squawked Mrs Gutter. A hurt expression appeared in her eyes that Tom couldn't attribute to anything.

'No, wait a minute... Oh yeah, he said you're impregnable.' said Tom confidently.

Shock and surprise hit Tom as his face caught Mrs Gutter's full-armed slap a second later. Shaking his head a couple of times, Tom looked at his wife, and felt his heart tear at the sight of tears on her cheeks.

'Hun... I'm sorry,' said Tom softly as he used a thumb to rub the tears off her cheek. Mrs Gutter pushed his hand away, and turned away from him.

Silently cursing himself, Tom tried to remember the exact words Doc Daneeka used. Come on Tom, think!

'Eureka!' yelped Tom. 'That's it, hun. He said you're unbearable!'

Thursday, August 12, 2010

To dearest Aunty Nita

I'm sorry there is so much I did not thank you for,

before you walked through heaven's door.

I'm sorry for all the conversations left unsaid,

and now only my last respects can be paid.

But sorry isn't the only thing I wish to say,

especially when you've always worked hard to make our day.


Thank you, thank you, thank you,

for always serving us something to chew.

You've never failed to make us full,

I realize now, how big I am a fool.


Thank you, thank you, thank you,

for always being part of the crew.

Sunday school, youth or Golden Age,

you have always been there behind the stage.


Thank you, thank you, thank you,

for knowing everyone through and through.

May it be the market, Jusco, or anywhere in town,

you've showed Christ's love everytime you go around.


There is so much more I have to say,

and I can only wish you had a longer stay.

But I know I'll meet you again,

after I've passed on to heaven's domain.

So until the day we leave our earthly dwell,

for now I will say farewell...

Monday, June 7, 2010

Sunday, April 4, 2010

182 days

I've named my blog well.

A total of 182 days have passed since I last posted something on my blog. It has indeed been a long time, that I wondered if should shut my blog down due to the lack of activity on it.

Oh, but I nearly forgot... It is, after all, named Procrastinatus maximus

Sunday, October 4, 2009

I never thought I will see daylight again...

I never thought I will see daylight again; it was too much to dream of when you have a cold and heartless jailer such as mine. Its funny how life works at times. I may never set my eyes again on the things of nature, nor ever again feel the tickle of gentle wind upon my cheeks, but very soon I was going to see something better than daylight...

A rough snort emitted from my sleeping husband beside me. I sat up in the coarse wooden bed to better observe him. His body smelled of harsh soap, and his feet retained the dirt collected in the mines he work at. His features were appealing enough to a woman. His eyelids concealed his eyes, the windows to his soul.

The windows into the devil himself.

I was young, and naive. Mama had warned me of men. She said they were as good as animals for all they ever do. All men ever do in life is eat, sleep, defecate, have sex and die, as she once told me with harsh contempt in her voice. I believed her. Its not hard to when your own father abandoned mama and I for a vixen half his age.

Mama did whatever she could to earn a few coins, even if it meant inviting men to her bed. Mama always came out with a haggard look after they left, and then she'd send me off with the few coins the men had paid her to buy some bread at the marketplace.

This was our life for many years, until the day I turned twelve, when he walked through the door of our wooden hut on my birthday.

Mama met him at the door, and demanded to know how much he was going to pay. He named a price which seemed to satisfy her, and she jerked her head towards the room near the back of the hut. They were halfway across the hut, when he pointed at me and asked my price.

Mama's face stiffened visibly. 'You can't have her,' she replied flatly. 'Come.'

'I'm the one paying the gold, woman. Remember?' he sneered as he shook his pouch, coins tinkling within it. 'I will ask you again, how much is she worth?'

I remember mama spinning around with her eyes flashing as she grated back at him, 'Its either me or nothing. Choose!'

He took nothing.

I dearly wish that I had not left the house later that same day to the marketplace, or at least bade mama a proper farewell, for I never saw her again after that day.

I was walking along a lonely stretch of road to the marketplace, when I heard the sound of an approaching horse and buggy. I took no notice of it, and waited for it to pass. Moments later, I felt rough hands on my waist and my feet were lifted off the ground and into the buggy. No amount of screaming and struggling availed any good, and I was taken to a town far away from the place I knew as home.

He brought me to a church, where he paid a priest to marry us against my will. I was bound and gagged in front of the altar, and a coarse metal ring was forced painfully onto my finger as the priest solemnly pronounced us man and wife. My gag was soaked with tears as I cursed him, that damned priest, and most of all, the God that condemned me to this fate. A wild image of mama praying in front of the window with tears pouring down her cheeks flashed through my mind then, but I discarded it ruthlessly. Where was God in all this?!

For years, he'd keep me in his cellar, and that is where I lived. I now know the cellar like the back of my hand. The only time of the day I leave the cellar is at night when he uses me to satisfy his appetite. That is my purpose. That is my only purpose, as he always reminded me with a mocking smile every night.

As I lie in bed now, terror has been part of my feelings for such a long time, that I can't tell if what I'm feeling now is fear, or exhilaration.

Cheap tapestry adorned the whitewashed walls, and dirt from the mines filled the cracks in the wooden floorboards. A chest of drawers stood in the corner. I quietly got out of bed and made my way to it slowly, lest the creaking caused him to wake up.

It was a mercy that he did not realize that I had salvaged through his mining tools in the interval of his toilet earlier in the evening. I stuck my hand beneath the chest of drawers, where I had hidden it in a hurry. I took it out, and gazed at the cylindrical object in wonder.

He had only told me of it once, after the time he used it to take revenge on a fellow miner who had wronged him. Glee filled his face as he described the explosive power of this object, and how it caused the unfortunate fellow's demise.

'Dynamite' is the name he gave to this object, if my memory serves me correctly.

I opened the top drawer, where a candle and a box of matches lay. I took out the matchbox, and looked back to the sleeping figure on the bed, and felt nothing but loathing and hatred for the man who lay snoring there.

I thought longingly of mama, yearning to speak to her one last time, but I knew that was impossible since a long time ago. I bit down on a sigh of regret as I opened the box and took out a single match.

No, I may never see daylight again, but I'm going to see something much better than daylight. I am going to see heaven's light.

A spark of light illuminated the room for a few seconds as the fuse lit. I only wish I could have heard him scream.


*This essay was written by the procrastinator for his English test. Several editions were made to make up for the mistakes he made in his haste when writing it in the exam hall, and he begs pardon if it is deemed to be an unsatisfying read. Constructive criticism is welcomed.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

She

She stood at the gates, with a smile on her face as I got out of the car and called. The signs of age were distinct, but not any different from what I remember. Until I entered the house, and felt my heart tear at the sight of a walking stick near the door. It felt like another milestone in her life to me. She never needed a walking stick before this. She always seemed so strong and agile for someone her age.

Sitting me down beside her and cheerfully nattering away about grandaunts and granduncles, I felt another stab when I realised she had difficulty hearing my voice. Another first. I can't remember if tears threatened my eyes, nor could I remember much of the one-sided conversation we had. Only the silent mourning inside of me as I observed her aged features, and the unspoken thought that keeps me awake many nights.

"大妈" (dui ma) is what I call her in the Foochow dialect, as do many of the young ones in my extended family do. She is, after all, my beloved great-grandmother.

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Moral 101

A few days ago, I happened to read through a rather interesting blogpost of a friend which deserves mention here.

The topic? Of Gentlemen and Breasts.

No, really.

I'll spare her the shame fame of having her name mentioned here, 'cause I don't know if she'll take offense at this. If you're reading this SL, rest assured I'm not making fun of you =)

No, really.

It was an epic tale of the noble acts of chivalry, thought to be long extinct by this fair maiden. This particular tale spoke of two heroic knights on board the much abhorred Keretapi Tanah Melayu, who sacrificed their thrones to two women.

In the words of this fair maiden herself, "Honestly, that took me by surprise. Cos in all my life, I have never personally witnessed such a noble deed. I mean, we all know what should be done, in principle. But how many of us actually do it?"

So much for the gentlemen part of it. As for the breast part of the title, I'll leave it to the reader's imagination.

Yup, we all know what should be done. We've learned that since the moment we entered primary school. Its just ironic that nearly everything I learned in moral classes for over a decade in my life is the exact opposite of what I learned from lessons by the people of Bolehland.

One thing which amuses me is the thought of how much courage it takes to do what everyone knows everyone should do. Countless times in my life I found myself in situations where I am in the position to offer my seat to someone who needs it more than I do, and countless times I was overtaken by this irrational fear of being seen doing something that should be done. Its not something I'm proud of, but that's what I did.

Its funny how God works sometimes.

I read this post yesterday. I thought about it this morning, before I boarded the dratted train up north. Two hours later, an old woman with wrinkled skin and luggage had boarded the train at the UKM station and stood directly in front of where I was comfortably sitting.

Malaysia, uniquely ridiculous

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Going Latin

Putting off something I can do now to the last minute - literally - is a habit I can't seem to shake off. One example is as I'm typing this in the wee hours of the morning (4.12am to be exact), my accounts homework sits on my desk, while I'm hoping for my pen to pick itself up and start scrawling. Oh, and I hadn't mention that this was supposed to be handed in two days ago.

I couldn't think of anything else better to define me, for I'm probably the most incurably lazy person that one would ever have the misfortune to meet in this century. Beware to readers who would do me the honour of following my blog. You have been warned =)

Hence the name of my blog. Dear readers, presenting Procrastinatus maximus