A Collection of short stories

The Reproaches

2009-04-10T22:38:00.002+08:00

My people, what have I done to you?

How have I afflicted you?

Answer me.

I made a solemn promise

That I will destroy the temple

And then I would rebuild it

In three days

Have I done it?

I Have.

Why don't you believe?

I made a solemn promise

That I will raise myself up

And I would come back to life

In three days

Have I done it?

I Have.

Why don't you believe?

My people, what have I done to you?

How have I afflicted you?

Answer me.

I have taught you how to live life

Through the Sermon on the Mount

I have taught you all I know.

Have I done it?

I Have, to my fullest.

Why don't you believe?

I have taught you that to lead

One must first serve.

I have shown you my example by the washing of your feet.

Have I done it?

I Have, to my fullest.

Why don't you believe?

My people, what have I done to you?

How have I afflicted you?

Answer me.

I stood in front of Pilate and the people

I stood before them, head bowed low.

How much it went against my will, just for you.

Have I done it?

I Have, to my fullest.

Why don't you believe?

I stood standing and facing my cross

I stood before them, and they mocked me.

How sadly I did, I drank this cup that the Father gave me.

Have I done it?

I Have, to my fullest.

Why don't you believe?

My people, what have I done to you?

How have I afflicted you?

Answer me.

I was nailed, and did you care?

I was screaming, and did you care?

When I looked up to my Father above, I did for you.

Have I done it?

I Have, to my fullest.

Why don't you believe?

Eloi Eloi lema sabachthani

My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?

My Father cried, for you, not me.

Have I done it?

I Have, to my fullest.

Why don't you believe?

Holy God, Mighty God,

Holy immortal one

Have mercy.

To a friend, I love you

2009-04-10T22:33:00.001+08:00

He was always there when I needed his help with my studies. He was there, each time I get into trouble, to get me out of it. He was a good friend. He helped me.

And so I pledged, “For you, impossible is nothing.”

But I broke my promise. And how I dreadfully regret it.

Adrian, you were brilliant in maths. I sucked at it. Whenever I had a problem, you helped me get through it. How he ever did it, I never knew. He was the obedient one. I was the one that needed to get out of trouble. Often. Others mock him for being the teacher’s pet. They mock him for being fat. I mock him for being too good a friend.

Yes, he was brilliant in everything, except sports. This was where I excelled. My academics was acceptable, and sports was where I truly excelled in. I could jump, run, and do anything that he could not, or would not. He became lazy and did not like sports. I could not blame him, but I tried my best to encourage him to like sports. Not necessarily to run 2.4km, not to do push-ups like, say, a good hundred times? I wanted him to engage in sports like soccer. Like Chelsea. Hate Liverpool. Or vice versa if you did not like Chelsea players.

He was from another country, and so he lived in the hostel along with half of the class. I came from this country, where the school was in, so I found solitude at home. He had to endure those classmates till the term ended.

I was the only one who was there to speak to him when he was down, which was most of the time. many of the other guys, and even himself, have asked me why I still hang out with him. I did not know what to answer.

He once lamented that the others pressured him too much till he could not take it. He said that he was lucky to have had me to confide in. Adrian, how very wrong you were.

It was two weeks before the school holidays. Alex and the gang conered me in school that day, and threatened that if I spoke to Adrian, or continued the friendship, they would give us both a good bashing. I could not have heard him wrongly. It was a gang cornering one. And so I promised that I would not speak to him at all, as long as they do not do anything to him, to be friends with him instead.

“We agree to only not to do anything to him at all, not to mock him, nothing at all. But we won’t be friends. If you break your promise?”

It was thirteen against one. I gulped.

“Bash me instead.”

And so I entered school the next day, I had this heavy burden on my shoulders. For your sake, to relieve you of this torture, I had decided to end our friendship by deliberately avoiding Adrian. I once tried messaging him on his mobile, but Alex and the gang was keeping a close watch on me. And I receieved a brilliant bashing from the gang that very instant.

I still had to keep to my end of the bargain.

Really, it was a brilliant cat-and-mouse chase. He was the cat, chasing me, this timid mouse who decided that my friendship with him was worth nothing. As usual, during recess, he would chase after me, and ask me where we wanted to revise our work, or something along the line. He got the cold stare from me in return for his innocent friendliness. And yet I admired him. He still saw me as a friend, and still did the same thing every single recess. Could I still be your good friend, Adrian? Could I still?

Alex and the gang was stalking me for those full two weeks. Each time I tried to sneak out talking to him, they would aim for my genitals almost immediately. I know it was torture for both of us. But I made a promise that would do good to you. And it was torture more for me than for him. I wanted the old days. Alex gave me a new order things that I must follow.

And no, I could not tell the teacher, for if the teacher knew about it, she would definitely have taken disciplinary action against the gang, which would result in a month’s misery for my genitals. I was in a dilemma. How could I speak to him without the gang noticing?

I had, with my own decision, destroyed a friendship that had taken many trials to build.

How I regret it.

I tried to give an excuse, got Alex and the gang did not keep to their side of the bargain. They continued to taunt him, as well as mocking him for being fat, scold him for making their team lose in the sports games. Since they did not keep to their side of the bargain, why should I keep to my side? It was totally unreasonable.

But, as I said, they were a gang.

And it was twenty to one.

It was my choice. Either I don’t speak to him at all, or I keep to my side of the bargain. It was my choice, really.

I was jumping for joy when the school holidays arrived. I believed that I could speak to him on MSN, thought I could explain to him the situation. I wanted a friend again.

But I did not see him online at all during the entire holiday. I received none of the usual chain emails he sent me, neither did he tell me of his overseas experience in China, America or some distant city, far, far away. I did not see that cheerful seasons greetings for Christmas or the New Year, and my parents forbade me to make a telephone call overseas. And so I decided to wait until school reopened, before explaining again.

How very wrong I was.

School reopened, but he did not turn up for lessons at all. For the next day, and the day after that as well. It seemed that he had left school altogether.

Alex and the gang began to mock me again, for they kept saying that Adrian never saw in me a friend, just someone who he made use of, for he was so bullied in school. They said that they cornered me as they wanted to get rid of this backstabber once and for all. This backstabber whom I called friend.

“Backstabber? How could this be true?”

And they explained to me that he had been badmouthing me behind my back, saying that I sucked at academics, and I should be kicked out of the school. He indicated that I called Justin a freak, Amos a dumb ass, and I asked Paul to “go and die”. According to Alex, they were mistaken about me till they found out about his backstabbing ways. They realised it was just a big lie, and that he was trying to secure his popularity in class by making me look more inferior.

Alex and the gang therefore oppressed him, taunted him about his size, and his capability as a sports-person. They taunted, as I have seen and heard, that he failed his physical education test, could not even do a single push-up, and all the other stuff, like, when he runs, it is actually the same speed as when they walk, and no matter how much he exercised, he was unable to slim down.

They said that I had wrongly accused them.

Yet, now I must know the truth. I trust you, Adrian, but I just want you as a friend.

I decided to write a letter, and send it to him.

To my friend Adrian,

I believe that you can guess who I am, without me even writing my name down. If I recount the events, you should be able to guess who.

This letter is to explain all my past wrongdoings, and to cordially invite you back to study in this school. My friend, do come back.

You must be wondering why I did not speak to you at all for the past few weeks, especially the last week before the holidays. I am so sorry, Adrian, I really am.

This is what happened.

Alex and the others came after me, and asked me why I was still talking to you. Yes, Adrian, they used the same tactic, and asked me some questions. There were twenty people cornering me, and all of them was prepared to bash me up the moment I said that you were a nice guy. I wanted to say that, but, for reasons I do not know, I, for the first time in my life, freaked out and agreed not to speak to you at all. But I did it only on one condition. That they would not treat you that badly. Was I right to do that? I would never be able to answer.

But they did not stick to their end of the bargain. They still tortured you, and there was nothing I could do about it. I fear that my friendship with you did not stand. I feared it, Adrian, for I tried to message you, but Alex and the others would just be behind me, ready to trash my… you know what.

I chickened out, Adrian, I really did.

Why have you not been online at all on MSN? Did you block me? You had every right to. I decided that you would have marked my emails as spam and trash. I decided to mail a letter to you, for I decided to keep it anonymous, as I have said. Please do read this letter. Please do, Adrian, please do.

“For you, impossible is nothing.”

I have not managed to keep that pledge, Adrian. Give me a second chance and I can assure you that I would do a better job than how Winston Churchill would have managed the D-Day forces from Annex in Britain. Will you give me that second chance? Will you?

Alex and the gang have been telling me terrible things.

They called you the most horrible backstabber in the class. How you had made use of me as a cover, how you played innocent in front of me, only to badmouth me behind my back. You, according to them, made me seem like a backstabber, and they hated me initially as they thought that I was one. Justice has long arms. They caught you in your backstabbing ways.
But I see things in a different light from them. I see you as a brilliant friend. I see you as the most helpful guy ever. The guy that helped me to pass my mathematics would never backstab me!

But I want to be assured, Adrian. I want to be sure. I want to trust you.

I wish to see through this big lie of Alex’s/

I need to renew our friendship.

You remember my favorite quote: “You know my heart. You have come to me at night; you have examined me completely, and found no evil desire in me. I speak no evil, as others do; I have obeyed your command and have not followed paths of violence. I have always walked in your way, and have never strayed from it.” This is from Pslam 17:3-5, The Prayer of an Innocent Man.

You are innocent, I know it.

But I am not. And so I beg you for your forgiveness. I have done something that would have greatly hurt you. Call me a sissy boy, but guys have feelings as well. It is less of the feelings, but yet more of the guilt. I finally understand what they mean by “the pricking of one’s conscience.”

Forgive me, will you? Come back to school!

I have just one sentence to end this letter.

To a friend, I love you.

A friend, from
Third Year, Class Two

5 January 2008

A sense of relief surged through me as I finished the letter. It was the longest letter I had ever written, and it will be the longest I shall ever write.

I posted it, but as I shoved the envelope into the mailbox, I decided to change the last line. I wanted to write “You are fabulous, in every way possible.” But it was too late. But that would be so corny. The last line would suit it much better. It was from the bottom of my heart. It was one of the few straight and direct things I have ever said to you, Adrian. One of the very few.

Meanwhile, I avoided Alex and the gang as much as possible. They had n need to tail me anymore, for he had stopped his education here completely.

However, the way things work is almost always never the way one wants it to. For it just so happens that the teacher told the class that Adrian did not come back to school as he was so oppressed by people in the school. (At this point, she glanced in the direction of Alex) She wanted to see a change of attitude, from everyone in the class (At this point, I winced) toward each other.

The teacher then called me after the lesson, and I was now soon going to re-enact out the worst two weeks of my life again.

“Sit down.”

It was not a command. It was a request. And so I sat down.

“You were Adrian’s best friend. Tell me, then, what happened.”

I gazed into the brilliant, kind eyes of my teacher. She was a lady who spoke very little, but when she did, only wise words would erupt from her mouth. She was of a much shorter height compared to me. Yet, I felt a certain uneasiness when I gazed into the two brilliant eyes of my teacher.

“Nick, Nick! What’s wrong?”

And I broke into tears. Those saltish droplets dropped down, and I sat there, crying for the first time in my life. So this was how it felt, to cry. Who was the dumb as who said that the male was the man of the household, and should never let tears roll down his cheeks?

Man can cry. And that was what I did. For the next few minutes.

And my teacher waited through it all.

“Nick, so can you tell me what happened?”

I gazed into that same eyes. And I told her everything. She listened to every word. About the cornering that day, about my promise to Alex, about about them not keeping to their side of their bargain, about my sorry heart, about everything. It took guts to say it all out. It took a lot of guts.

And she sat there, looking at me for a few moments.

She then spoke.

“Nick, have you done anything about this yet? To salvage the situation?”

I nodded, and explained about the letter.

My teacher then picked up the phone receiver, and made a phone call, and had a conversation for about ten minutes. Then she asked, “when did you send this letter?” I answered, one week ago.

She then told me the letter was never delivered. I was shocked. Didn’t I personally put it into the mailbox myself? I had put a stamp on it. I had written the correct address! How could it have gotten missing in the mail?

My teacher looked at my shocked face, and said her wise words.

“Repost the letter again.”

“Yes, teacher. I will.”

I walked out of the staff room, but my teacher had something to say, for I heard her calling me again.

“Make it sincere.”

“Yes, teacher.”

I took myself to be dismissed.

I rushed out of the staff room, only to see someone standing there, schoolbag in one hand, an envelope in the other. She was alone, which was strange, for I always saw her with friends. She looked at me, and I stared back at her.

She was my crush. Her name was Tessa.

“Nick, this is for you.”

And she thrust the envelope into my hands. On it was the address of Adrian’s house. The letter! I tore it open and indeed, it was. I was so relieved, but angered. Angered with Tessa for having the letter, for not passing it. Angered that my crush’s actions could cause me to lose my best friend. My words became a big mess when she was nearby. That did not happen that particular day.
“Where on earth did you get this letter? Where! Explain yourself!”

I was shouting at the top of my voice.

“I… found it… on the table yesterday… I opened it, curious to see…”

“And then?”

“I… saw… your handwriting… It… was… you…”

And she broke down into tears. That simmered my anger. She ran off, and I could not control myself. I chased after her. And I found her sitting in a corner, her head buried in her arms. I moved over and sat next to her, waiting for her crying to be less vigorous.

“You… saw the contents in the letter?”

She looked up at me, tears still streaming down her cheeks. I stared. She stared back. I was reminded of my cowardice, of my actions, for when I saw her, I was reminded of my fear, which caused me to lose a friend. This cannot happen today.

“Nick… don’t scold me…”

“I won’t scold you, silly. I wish you to help me. Will you do me that favor?”

She stared at me. I wanted to kiss her.

And I bent forward, and did it. A pure, sweet, innocent kiss, that made me feel warm and happy.

A moment’s pause, and she came over, and put both arms around my shoulders. I returned the action.

A smattering of applause, and I could say that I heard wolf-whistling behind me. It was the rest of the class, and I saw Alex there, scowling. My face felt hot, and I looked at Tessa. She smiled, and stood up. I did the same. I grabbed her hand, and with the letter in my other hand, slung my bag over my shoulders, and ran. We were off to the post office.

We stood outside the mailbox, the letter in my right hand. It hovered over the “other countries” slot, but I did not put the envelope in.

“Do it, Nick.”

“I fear…”

“What is there to fear? You did good. I know Adrian. He was talking to me the whole time you ignored him. He believed that you weren’t the kind like Alex. Neither did I. You proved not to be. Do you know why Alex was scowling just now? You didn’t know, but he was trying to impress me. He knew, he knew that I liked you, and was trying to demoralize you so that he could stand a better chance in chasing me. He was wrong, wasn’t he? You still won. Now, let’s put that letter in, shall we?”

So, it was all Alex’s doing. So all the more I could not trust him. I now realised how much I could be manipulated. How could I be so dumb? How could I be so unfaithful? You were such a good friend, Adrian, so good a friend, yet I made you lose faith in your best friend.

I am so disappointed in myself. And you should be, toward your best friend.

I put the letter in.

And I waited, waited for your reply. One week went past.

Two weeks.

Three. I bean to wonder if you did get my letter. Then I saw an email sent by you. It was seven words. Seven simple words.

“It will be my final decision, then.”

I was shocked. He did not accept my apologies. He did not give me that chance. I needed that chance. I needed a close friend beside me.

Beep. It was my mobile. A message from Tessa.

“Did he send the letter?”

“He sent an email. It wasn’t good.”

She had been sending me the same message for the past three weeks. I wanted to tell her I’ve lost the battle. I did not want to upset her, and yet I did not want our relationship to end up in the same way as the one with Adrian.

2-3-5-7. I looked up at the poster pasted on the wall. We drew it together, representing our favorite numbers. This jolted my memory.

“Why do you like these numbers so much?”

“Why, because it’s the four prime numbers that are of a single digit. Enough of me. What about you?”

“Me? I’m not so sophisticated. I just like the numbers.”

We both laughed.

“What if one of us goes missing one day?”

“C’mon, don’t talk crap.”

“No, I’m serious.”

“Well, I think we should add up all the numbers together. That would be the number of days the other party has to wait.”

“Deal?”

“Deal.”

That sealed out friendship. Yet neither of us was able to stick to that promise.

I turned over the poster. “Adrian and Nick, both masters, no apprentices needed.”

“Shut up! Say that for what crap?”

“Keep your big ass shut.”

“Shut it.”

“Oh yeah, your ass ain’t big, compared to his.”

“Shut it, or I’ll bash you up.”

“Want to fight me now?”

“Oh yeah, where do we begin?”

And with that, I threw a fist toward his face. Alex grabbed his own cheek, and with his other free hand, whacked me in the eye. With that, we began our brawl. The girls were screaming, but none was loud compared to Adrian. The teacher came. “He started it.”

“Why did you do that for?”

“No sir…”

“He didn’t. Alex and the others did that to me, almost did, actually started till Nick came.”
And I was let off.

And again, I stared into the picture.

I went to church, for confession. This is an act of confessing our sins (a.k.a. mistakes and wrongdoings) to God through a priest.

It started.

“Bless me father, for I’ve sinned against you. The previous time I came was before Christmas.”

The priest nodded his head. I continued.

“I have sinned a great deal during this period. I have disobeyed my parents, picked up a fight, made myself to be easily manipulated, being utterly irresponsible, lied, kept things hidden from others, and.” I paused, and the priest looked toward me. “And?” I held my breath. “And… destroying a friendship that took real blood and sweat to build. For these and the rest of my sins, I really am so sorry, father.”

The priest did the absolution, and his next few words struck me.

“For your penance, I want you to go and pray for all the people you’ve hurt. Now, go in peace, and may the Lord be with you, my young friend.”

“And also with you, father.”

I went over to the pews to pray. All I could think off was Adrian, Tessa picking up the letter, the warmth I felt with Tessa. I closed my eyes and prayed.

“Father, let it be not my will, but yours be done. If it be your will, let Adrian find the love he needs. Help him find a good friend, a best mate that would not betray him at all. I do not necessarily need it to be our friendship that would help him. I am not worthy enough for that. He has suffered enough. Please, Father. Let him suffer no more. Your Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, taught us the Lord’s Prayer. In it there is the verse as follows: Do not bring us to the test, but deliver us from evil. Amen. Put me to the test! Don’t do it to Adrian! For Tessa, make her happy in any way possible. You know they are good people, Father. I am nothing compared to them. So here I shall pray the Lord’s Prayer for both of them. Deliever them from all evil, Lord, put me to the test instead. I take it as my punishment.

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us. Do not bring us to the test, but deliver us from evil. Amen.

Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy. Lord have mercy.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

I went back to school the next day, and from the morning, I could sense that I was being followed.

Adrian was back. I just knew it.

The teacher confirmed my suspicions.

“Class, today we are going to invite back a student. He has decided to come back after months, and (at this point, I turned to look at Tessa, who smiled back.) I believe that each of you here know who I am speaking off. Welcome our good friend Adrian back to school!”

I was in for a big shock. He as no longer the plump boy that was my friend. He looked every inch a sportsman. He beamed at me, but I could not bring myself to smile back.

The bell went for recess.

“Nick! Nick!:

It was Adrian.

“I thought your email…”

“This is my final decision.”

And he shoved a piece of paper into my hand. On it wrote, in my style of writing:

“I have just one sentence to end this letter.

To a friend, I love you.

A friend, from
Third Year, Class Two

5 January 2008.”

The world was a blur. It then went black.

I woke up in my bedroom. Adrian was there. There was a difference. There was no door to get out of the room, neither was there any windows. But it was my room all right. And it was Adrian right there, walking over to sit down on the study table. Then a door appeared, and another Adrian entered, the Adrian whom I betrayed, the plump one. I decided to go straight to the point.

“I’m so sorry, Adrian. I really am.”

“Nick, that is for me to say was well.”

“Why?” I asked. He motioned for me to stay seated. The plump one spoke first.

“Nick, I’m so sorry. you should not have been feeling so guilty if I told you the truth.”

“What truth?”

“The truth that Tessa had liked you from the start. You were indeed very popular in school, but you mixed with me – that was your demise. I was so worried that if you had a girlfriend, you would forget all about me.” He paused, and I just stared at him. I did not know what to say. Then the new Adrian spoke.

“You might be a coward, but I can assure you, I was more of one compared to you. I wanted to wait for you to make the first move. I am a coward, I truly am. I remembered what you said, to make my body stronger, to exercise. And so I did. In the past, I was so worried that I would make you jealous of me if I was better than you in sports.”

“Silly you, doing that.”

And both Adrians stood up. The plump one slowly faded away, into nothingness.

“Wait! Don’t go!”

“I am going into nothing, where everything comes.”

The other Adrian walked towards the door, which had rematerialized. I knew what to ask.

“How long more till I get out of here?”

He turned back, and smiled. “2+3+5+7 makes 17.”

Four wooden poles sprung up from the ground around me. Then four poles materialized, linking the vertical pillars. I got up from the bed, and walked straight, and slammed into something.

The room went black.

I woke up, to feel my head hurt. I opened my eyes, and all was blurred. I could make out an oval-shaped object, and on the top was something black. It had something that looked like a black tail, reminding me of Tessa’s favorite way of tying her hair, in a ponytail.

I blinked my eyes. It was Tessa.

Looking around, I realised that the four pillars were still there. I got up, but Tessa, with strength I never knew she had, forced me back into bed. “What is this?” I demanded. She just sat there, not mouthing anything, and I asked a second question. “Where am I?” No response. “Who are you?” I asked.

She gave me a peck on the cheek. “I love you, no matter what happens.” She disappeared. In her place stood Alex, smirking.

“Yes! Now I’ve gotten rid of you, this scumbag.” And he walked off.

“How do I get out of here?”

“Oh, begging me now, are you? Then I shall not tell you, then.”

“What if I promised you something? Anything you want?”

“What if I wanted you to give me Tessa?”

I wanted to get out of the place. Yet I could not betray Tessa, just as I did to Adrian. And so I stood there, stumped. Alex laughed again, and walked out of the room, leaving me with so many unanswered questions. All I wanted was to get out of here, and yet I couldn’t can it black out again? Perhaps I could escape from limbo.

“Nick, come back, come back…”

I stood up. And walked out of the gaol.

A blur.

I blinked. Still a blur.

Blinked again. It was Tessa.

“Are you for real, or is this all happening in my head?”

She stared at me.

“What makes you think I’m not?”

And I looked around. I was lying down in a bed all right, but this was not my bedroom. This was a ward, a room in the hospital. I looked around, and only Tessa was there. She looked worried. “What’s wrong?” I inquired.

“Noth… Nothing.”

“I can’t tell him, I can’t tell him Adrian’s in a coma…”

“What? Adrian’s in a coma? Why? What?”

“Doctor! Doctor!”

The doctor explained everything. I had cancer of the blood, and it was Adrian that donated me his bone marrow. There was some complications, I lost a lot of blood, and so Tessa donated her blood to me. I was unconscious for fifteen days. The doctor then paused for a moment.

“Where is Adrian?”

“Don’t tell him in a coma, don’t say it…”

And yet the voice did not come from the doctor. In fact, the voice did not come from anyone in the room. It was an odd feeling. No one was speaking in the room. Yet it was Tessa’s voice I heard. I looked at Tessa.

“Tessa, can you tell me if Adrian’s really in a coma?” I thought.

“How… what…” she was not moving her lips at all.

“How did you know?”

The doctor stared at me. “What did you say?”

“Nothing. Doctor, please get out of here. Please. Just please.

He left, and I turned to Tessa, and we just stared at each other.

“Tessa, tell me what number am I thinking of right now.”

It was a seven.

“Seven,” she answered.

“Again.”

“Three.”

“One more time.”

“It’s not a number. It’s the letter A.”

This confirmed my suspicions. We could communicate using our minds. This would be for which reason, I would never know. But could I, if I, could talk to Adrian using this method? It had to be my last hope. “Adrian, can you hear me? Adrian? Can you hear me? Answer me, Adrian!” Things were already making their way down my face. I waited. And waited. And yet no one answered.

Nothing.

“Nick, perhaps you should take a rest.”

“No, I shouldn’t.”

“Go on, you really need it.”

“I’ve wasted fifteen days, and my best friend is in a comatose state, and I can rest, Tessa?”

“The doctors say you need rest.”

“Then, well, fine. But can we talk first?”

“Fine, then.”

And I kissed her, like for bliss, the first time – so pure, such an innocent kiss, that made me feel so happy inside. “Seven minutes? Seven minutes in heaven?” “No, this ain’t seven minutes, but it is heaven.” She smiled, and it was such a sweet smile that made me fall in love with her.

2-3-5-7. I looked up at the poster pasted on the wall. We drew it together, representing our favorite numbers. This jolted my memory.

“Why do you like these numbers so much?”

“Why, because it’s the four prime numbers that are of a single digit. Enough of me. What about you?”

“Me? I’m not so sophisticated. I just like the numbers.”

We both laughed.

“What if one of us goes missing one day?”

“C’mon, don’t talk crap.”

“No, I’m serious.”

“Well, I think we should add up all the numbers together. That would be the number of days the other party has to wait.”

“Deal?”

“Deal.”

“To a friend, I love you.”

I knew what to do.

I had been unconscious for fifteen days. Seventeen was the dateline. Subtract fifteen from seventeen, and that gives the number of days I had left to wait. Two more days.

The first day.

On my drip, I walked into Adrian’s room early in the morning, Tessa accompanying me. What greeted me was a bedside full of flowers. I put down the flowers in my hand, a bunch of chrysanthemum, the best I could find, me being almost immobile with the drip. Another addition to his admirers, I thought. “He is sweet, but so are you.” A weak smile spread across my face. I could not make out a proper one, the plight Adrian is in now. He saved my life, but at what cost?

I could not bear to think of it.

I attacked the wall with my fist. It was so unfair to him.

“Go die!”

“Tackle… Haha…”

“No!”

“Rupture! Rupture!”

“Shit! No mana left, shit!”

“Haha…”

It was a game of Warcraft. We were on the same team, and advancing well into the base, close enough to the frozen throne. The two of us against the rest of the class. We were winning.

“Three, two, one more!”

“Gogogo!”

The frozen throne was destroyed. We laughed.

It was after the 100m finals. I walked over to the stands, and promptly fell straight down on the ground. Yet it was Adrian that brought me a towel, as well as a bottle of water. “Congrats. First.” I smiled, raised my fist, and he whacked it with his own.

I woke up, and it was already 2pm. “Nick,” I heard someone call. I turned, and it was Adrian! The seventeen days were over.

“Believe Tessa told you everything,” and he smiled. Tessa came over, and grinned at him.

“Seventeen days. I saw that all went well.”

“Yea, right. I knew I could wait. Tessa, can you get Adrian a drink?” and she went out.

“I am about to die. I just came back to meet you one time.”

“Don’t go, don’t say those things.”

He closed his eyes, and said, “To a friend, I love you.” Tears were streaming from my eyes. “Don’t go, don’t go…” He smiled.

“You made my life brilliant. You were the light of my life.”

All went limp.

“I wake up.
I look around.
I see no one.
I have lost love.
I have failed you.

God! In all your glory
Listen to my prayer
A prayer of a dying man
So I begin. And I say
Just one thing

In then name of the Father
And of the Son
And of the Holy Spirit

Where have I failed you?

I plead you, Lord.
I beg of you
Tell me my faults
Spare me, God!

I am too weak
So shallow am I
To understand even myself
I took my entire life
And yet I do not know much.

Forgive us our sins
As we have forgiven those
Who sinned against us

I yearn for love, my Lord!
Without it, I am worthless.
I can teach others love.
But yet I yearn for it.
Forgive me, Lord!

Even if I could heal the lame
Bring sight to the blind
I still will not understand
The simple concept of
Perfect Joy

For the blood that flowed to the Earth below
Brought salvation for the world
That treated him so.

I know you five me love.
Love beyond all things.
But still I yearn for more
Will you hear me Lord?
Answer me!

How will I come closer to you?
When can I do your will?
What is my purpose?
How can I experience
Perfect Joy?

If you want to be my disciple
Take up your cross
And follow me

I do not understand
In my old age
I have seen disasters
Calamities
Is this the end of the world?

I want to know my mistakes, Lord
I want to do your will.
Give me the cross, Lord!
I have been abandoned.
I wish to see your face.

Get up!
For I shall make you
Fishers of men

I pray
For the safety
Of my family
Let them live in happiness
Let them forget me.

I pray
For good health
For my family
Let them live in peace
And harmony.

Get up, Lazarus!
Get up! Get up
And walk.

This loss
I cannot comprehend
The loss of a friend
The death of a loved one
Father, forgive me.

Jesus, my mistakes I realise.
Forgive me father
For I have wronged my brother
Keep me in peace
I want to set things right

Come Holy Spirit
I need You
Come sweet spirit, I pray

I am weak
Ailing
Father, gie me the strength
To overcame this final hurdle
I need it, Lord. I need You.

Jesus
Protect me
From the cold
I am Your servant
Your unworthy servant

Hide me now, under your wings
Cover me
Within Your mighty hand

I wish I could
Stand up to walk
To tell my friend
Just six words:
“To a friend, I love you.”

Bless him
In all of his deeds
In all of is endeavors
That you, God
Would bless, shelter and love him forever

You were sent to heal the contrite.
Lord,
Have mercy.

I may not survive this
But save my brother
I have to do this
Forgive me, Lord
To my brother in Christ, I sacrifice my life

Watch me
See if I am doing the right thing
I have friends who care
Friends who are more worthy
Than I am

Saviour
He can move the mountains
My God is mighty to save

Friend
Wake up!
Before she comes in
Then I cannot say
Anymore.

Nick
Believe Tessa told you everything
I am about to die.
I came back
To meet you one last time.

To a friend, I love you
You made my life brilliant.
You were the light of my life.”

- Adrian’s last words

November's Chopin

2008-11-26T23:52:00.000+08:00

November's Chopin
Odes - A Collection

Yes, I hear a sound.
Who is that?
I hear the Prince of the Piano.
It's in November.
November's Chopin.

I have had high expectations
Of Chopin's music
But have you disappointed me?
I believe you have.
November and Chopin just don't mix.

I have had low expectations
Of your music earlier.
You surprised me, Chopin.
You surprised the world
And produced such good music.

Chopin!
Chopin!
You gave me the drive to score in music
But you never taught me.
How would I succeed?

You told me that you would haunt me
To my deathbed
Should I fail your expectations
Haunt me then!
Do I fear?

I have been prepared.
Everyone knows about this.
But I shall strive.
I shall succeed.
Without your help.
I will do my best
I shall not let you haunt me all my life.
You will not succeed, Chopin!
November's in winter.
I hate winter.

Music just isn't my talent
I cannot score
I cannot beat you
I have no golden fingers
I am not talented

You tried to reaffirm
That belief
But did you succeed?
I do not think so
For if you did succeed

You succeeded in strengthening
My resolve
Into something
More secure than
The corner stone

I know
I am not a genius
My talent lies in other things
I do not wish to see your face anymore
Chopin get lost

Get out of my sight!
Leave this place
Leave my heart
Give me peace
Please
You taught me
How to hate music
Now I will learn
Without your help
On how to love music

Chopin
I must thank you
For helping me with this.
You gave me the resolve to strive
Harder

And I promise you
Chopin
I will work harder.
Strive for betterment
I will be better than your

November's Chopin

A Soldier's Pen

2008-11-26T23:49:00.001+08:00

A Soldier's Pen
Odes - A Collection

I fight for God and I fight for the peace
I walk out on this battleground for thee
I take my rifle - I fight for the peace
I live my life - Is it to see this day?
I await my fate. O God I shall stay.

Korea! We fight for the hearts of the men
Korea! Against communists we defend
Korea! The legion marches out for you
Korea! Korea! We suffer 'cos of you
Korea! Oh Korea! Guns we defend you

On the battleground we watch the war run
On the muddy ground it is really run
On the uniforms you see our suff'ring
On the foriegn land my brothers all die
On the living stone I shall carry on!

Rifle! Bayonet! I take up my tools
Rifle! I fire! My heart breaks anew
Rifle! The tool that kills so many men
Rifle! The tool of which I lost my friends
Rifle! I take! I fire all my "friends".

The war is so as such - we are in hell
The march is like a song! To death we go
The thoughts that run through my mind - When I march
The words that I have written - hope is there
The story that I write - to leave a mark

That we carry our weapons and shoot them
That they will still return us the favour
That advance! Then they force us to retreat
That we slap our helmets - We take our guns
That our thoughts come back again to haunt us

I walk to the end - I pray for my life
I take up my rifle and so I spray
I feel the tension of this big battle
I find a bullet stuck up my nasal
I fall down like all my friends before me

I close my two eyes. I die. I find peace.

就是你们

2008-11-26T23:48:00.001+08:00

就是你们
Odes - A Collection

什么是感恩？
感谢？
我什么都不懂。

又为何需要感恩？
生命中如果不感恩
谁也不能生活了。

如果我生活
能够回到小的时候
我一定会做到。

这样一来
我又能够重新学会
“饮水思源” 这四个字的意思。

山
永远那么高
搞到我看不到山顶。

我欠大家的
就是
比山会更高。

大家
我欠你的
我这一生还不了。

有朋友的支持
我生活才过的美好
谢谢大家。

如果没有了你们
我已经不是我了
谢谢您，朋友们。

再见了，朋友们。
我这一生
所拥有的

就是你们。

I Rush and I Rush

2008-11-26T23:46:00.000+08:00

I Rush and I Rush
Odes - A Collection

I rush and I rush
Just to get on the bus
Looking out of the window
The sun was hard to swallow
Why, I try and I ask, why?
The bus wasn't moving.

I rush and I rush
Next to get off the bus
Looking at the street
People closed their doors and windows
Why, I try and I ask, why?
The sun has set.

I rush and I rush
Then to get out of the way
Looking at the sidewalk
There were parangs and fists
Why, I try and I ask, why?
They hated me.

I rush and I rush
Soon to run for my life
Looking at the other side
More parangs, more fists.
Why, I try and I ask, why?
These were the Chinese.

I rush and I rush
Make myself to get out of that crowd
Looking forward and not backward
Fists bellows punches screams
Why, I try and I ask, why?
Malay versus Chinese, 1-All.

I rush and I rush
Last to get to my office
Looking back at that time
I knew I made the right choice
Why, I try and I ask, why?
I am the Prime Minister

Peace and harmony is supposed to be my forte.

Love, Hate.

2008-11-26T23:45:00.000+08:00

Love, Hate
Odes - A Collection

I am always thankful.
Thankful for the things that my God has given.
Given, and I receieve wholeheartedly.
Wholeheartedly with my whole being.
Being so thankful as I am,
Am I being happy?

Happy, yes, it is me.
Me, I love with my whole heart.
Heart, I Heart You.
You, My grandfather.

Grandfather, I am thanking,
Thanking for everything that I have experienced.
Experienced a lot I have these days
Days of ending
Ending of a life
Life lived long enough.

Enough, is it?
It is never good enough for myself.
Myself, I don't want to think of.
Of these, do not remind.
Remind me, and I hurt deep within.

Within me, all the memories suffice.
Suffice the great lives of the memories.
Memories serve to pierce my soul.
Soul is broken
Broken beyond repair.

Repair my heart, please.
Please mend this broken soul.
Soul seek, please do seek.
Seek this unworthy servant
Servant of the darkness.

Darkness enguled my sight
Sight without, I groped in the dark.
Dark king
King of the engulfing flames

Flames I wish
Wish as they are much better
Better compared to this hell
Hell might seem heaven
Heaven, I am unworthy of.

Of many things I must be thankful.
Thankful for ever meeting him
Him and his lessons
Lessons I will never forget.

Forget, I find it difficult
Difficult to remove all the hate
Hate and love, are they different labels?
Labels of the same thing?

Thing, it is just material.
I want to see the memories.
Memories of the good times
Times that I will cherish.

Cherish forever, grandfather.

ABC-es of Racial Harmony

2008-09-01T16:40:00.000+08:00

ABC-es of Racial Harmony
Odes - A Collection

Able bodied men
Blood on the floor
Corpses of the races
Death of the millions
Energy of the people, wasted
Fresh from the womb
Gnashed in the teeth

Due to the bloodshed of the racial differences.

Holy heaven all men go
Innocently, we were involved
Jew or gentile, Malay or Chinese
Kiss the floor of their deaths
Love was lost within brothers of a nation
Miserable at best
Nods our heads, spectators we fear

Due to the death of a nation

Open a new era
Please, we begged our men
Queen of the motherland, our royal blood loomed
Racial harmony we must have today
Sin no more brothers, we must make friends
Truth is, we can't have a nation without harmony
Under pressure, under a need, we build a nation

Due to the need, we struggled, we understood

Vigour, was a nation born
Washed away was our differences
X-rays couldn't even tell our differences now
Youth of today all make friends
Zoom. Peace. Is. Achieved.

Due to us making harmony.

I rush and I rush

2008-09-01T16:38:00.002+08:00

I rush and I rush
Odes - A Collection

I rush and I rush
Just to get on the bus
Looking out of the window
The sun was hard to swallow
Why, I try and I ask, why?
The bus wasn't moving.

I rush and I rush
Next to get off the bus
Looking at the street
People closed their doors and windows
Why, I try and I ask, why?
The sun has set.

I rush and I rush
Then to get out of the way
Looking at the sidewalk
There were parangs and fists
Why, I try and I ask, why?
They hated me.

I rush and I rush
Soon to run for my life
Looking at the other side
More parangs, more fists.
Why, I try and I ask, why?
These were the Chinese.

I rush and I rush
Make myself to get out of that crowd
Looking forward and not backward
Fists bellows punches screams
Why, I try and I ask, why?
Malay versus Chinese, 1-All.

I rush and I rush
Last to get to my office
Looking back at that time
I knew I made the right choice
Why, I try and I ask, why?
I am the Prime Minister

Peace and harmony is supposed to be my forte.

The Treetop Sonata

2008-06-21T15:18:00.002+08:00

The Treetop Sonata
Odes - a collection

A library is a collection of the universe

Black and white outstanding as they are
Can only fit when they are caressed by slender limbs
Greatest men have found their purpose caressing them
Why should you be any different?

Many things man cannot question why
Just only how should it be done
Freedom! Justice! Integrity!
All are void in the bigger picture.

Whoever knew
The power of a great belief!
To save the suns of the earth
And to stop them from ever setting

Shall we don the mask of sleath
And walk through the remnants of imagination
And find hope to settle
And release the void tapping the mind?

The branches of the two trees shall recreate the earth
Of two different species, there was once hatred
But love shall be learnt by the two
The dawn of a new world; the sonata of a generation.

Yes we shall create that sonata
A sonata sung over the treetops.

I Pledge Myself

2008-06-20T15:20:00.003+08:00

I Pledge Myself
Odes - a collection

Hand over my breast
This is where I am left
I pledge a holy crusade
I remember no fifty stars
A cross remains in its place

A holy crusade!
A holy crusade!
Mighty as can be
I pledge myself
To God, and to peace

I see the flag, in its glory
I see my king, in all his awe
I see my fellow men
Dressed in the colours of nature
At the helm, at the sea

I pledge myself
To God, and my country

“Go forth!
Save the world!
We are men.
We bring peace.
God decrees it.”

And so we go forth
Swords at the ready
Left and right, left and right
Flesh one day
Steel the next

I pledge myself
To God, and my country

The doves fly!
They fly in the sky
They send word of our arrival
They signal the coming
They bring peace

“I have a dream!
On the hills of this land
I have brought freedom
I have brought peace
For all eternity”

I pledge myself
To God, and my country

Swords at the ready
At the hand of the referee
He raises a hand
On the count of three
Tre. Due. Uno…

We charge on cavalry
To the land named “Wandering”
For we reap what we sow
We are clear what we fight for
We sow peace

I pledge myself
To God, and my country

I had a dream
I saw the eldest son
Walking toward me
He savoured the water from the ground
He stared earnestly

He turned to me
He found it familiar
It’s water, I commented
He shook his head
“I’ll be back”

I pledge myself
To God, and my country

His Father came
With the Son
I saw the cross
It was drenched
With blood all over

The Son took the cross
And dipped the blood into the water
They formed light
So dazzling, so beautiful
Then it disappeared

I pledge myself
To God, and my country

Waking up
The general was by my bedside
It was the quarter-finals
A second crusade
I had not wanted

At what price?
I see the friends falling
Into nothing
Piles of historical artifacts
Surround me

I pledge myself
To God, and my country

I take my sword
I charge
I plummet it through the souls of my friends
They stare. They drop.
They stamp my soul.

I see the cross
I see my king
Hand over His breast
Like a knight in shining armour
I raise my sword

“I pledge myself
To God, and my country!”

I see the cross
I see the light
I see my dreams
I see my life
I see a lie

This is no crusade
A Holy Crusade?
Bahh!
Blasphemy!
You’re caught in the act of blasphemy!

I pledge myself
To God, and my country

I look to the stars
I see my friends
The clouds are dark
I see the eldest brother
Vengeance written on his features

I belong not in Eden
I feel a stone running through me
I fall on the pile
I see the crusade carried out for my king
I am at peace

I pledge myself
To God, and to peace.

Challenge

2008-04-24T22:50:00.002+08:00

Challenge
Third Year, Class Two
- I blackmailed Rachel to write this, haha.

“No.”

The man scowled at the dark corner of the rat-infested room. Though the only source of light was a single, flickering flame atop a graying candle, it managed to cast some of its yellow glow on the bloody figure which had uttered the syllable. Silence reverberated in the gloomy, dungeon-like place and lingered for a few mere seconds, before it was interrupted rather curtly. This time, it was not the scarlet-soaked person’s doing; the one who spoke was still glaring at the peeling wallpaper.

“I won’t take no for an answer,” he said in a rather threatening tone.

Straightening his back defiantly, the casualty remarked with an unusually relaxed – despite his rope restraints which affected his movement decisively more than just a little – and slightly amused air, “Well, I guess you don’t exactly have a choice, now do you?” He lifted his chin and, for the first time in the two-hour period, smirked into the beetle-black eyes of his coldly cruel tormentor.

“Why you little-”

Here, the sallow-faced foreigner launched into his routine tirade, during which he gesticulated like a mad man and allowed a barrage of strange-sounding words to leave his lips. The rope-bound victim stared at him, preparing himself for the next installment that would come from the raving Japanese.

“You stupid boy! I’ll get it out of you, mark my words!”

The furious Hiro, obviously frustrated that yet another day had passed without him being able to extract any information from his captive, pivoted on his polished boot and stormed out of the dingy room. The interrogation was over.

Two muscular men who shared the similar skin colour of Hiro untied the British boy and dragged him roughly towards the door, which had been previously thrown open unceremoniously by Hiro, intending to dump him back in his cell.

Once he had been left alone on the cemented floor of the rectangular prison, he sighed with relief. Amazingly enough, almost three months had gone by and the information he had overheard his father telling his elder brother had not escaped his lips. His father had warned his elder brothers about the dangers of trying to go against the Japanese, but still, they had persisted in their secret plans to retaliate against the unwelcomed intruders. The Japanese army had discovered their plans to attack and sent their bayonet-carrying soldiers to capture those involved. His brothers and father had tried to flee back to Britain, where they were convinced they would be safe. Abandoning him, a young, innocent boy, aged only seventeen, and his defenseless mother, the three conspirers were killed in the midst of escaping. The Japanese soldiers had raided his home, grabbing anything that could be of use to them, including his weeping mother. He had attempted to stop them from leaving with her, but instead, they took him captive too, suspecting that he might know something of importance which concerned them.

And they had been absolutely right, the youthful British teenager mused, scratching at the mosquito bites scattered on his arms. His distracted gaze fell onto the numerous cuts and scars covering his exposed limbs. But they could not get it out of him, no matter which threat they decided to use or which form of torture they chose to execute. And they would not, he told himself firmly.

It had been the hardest challenge of his seventeen years’s worth of existence and although Jeremiad had never allowed his captors to see it, had made him consider, more than once, giving up the piece of information, just so his suffering would end. But after the past week’s events, he knew better.

The interrogators had never failed to mention their tempting offer during the questionings. “You’ll be set free after you tell us what you know” echoed dully in Jeremiad’s exhausted mind. He had actually believed their words and was on the verge of letting his secret out. But a change of plans had occurred.

A loud cry had pierced through the corridors minutes before his interrogation three days ago, with a deathly silence accompanying it soon after. The British lieutenant, Benjamin, never returned to the cell directly in front of Jeremiad’s. The whispered rumours told of Benjamin’s somewhat traitorous act. It had been, as Benjamin had been told, his only hope to freedom. However, the silver blade of a merciless Japanese general had sliced through the morning breeze, after Benjamin had finally deigned to reveal what they were all so eager to find out. It had stopped Benjamin’s cry midway with a swish of awful finality. The Japanese, Jeremiad learnt that dawn, were liars.

It sounded wierdly sacrificial and foolish now to Jeremiad, as he recalled his previous intention to “tell the truth”. He no longer believed in the offers the Japanese had concocted. His helpless mother had been raped by a countless number of Japanese soldiers, according to the rumours. Jeremiad had seen with his own eyes his mother being dragged out of her cell – usually, they would pull her along by grabbing fistfuls of her tangled mane and yanking them forcefully – in the middle of the night.

Upon seeing those truly venomous episodes, Jeremiad would hurl abuses at his beloved mother’s tormentors until one of them ambled over to jab his seething face. This would continue until they had passed his cell and he would stop then, because his mother’s defeated look always seemed to sadden him in the worst way possible. When they had disappeared from view, he would slump back down on the cold concrete and swear at himself inwardly for being so useless and not being able to save his mother from such humiliation. More often than not, he resorted to lashing out at the cracked wall, throwing punches that he wished he could aim at those “god-damned mother fuckers!” Gradually, his anger would begin to be directed towards his father and brothers for causing all this pain to the two of them. His hatred would well up inside him, building up every single second he lay there. Sleep would finally come then, though sometimes, it did not arrive soon enough for Jeremiad.

The sounds of shouting and cursing reached his ears, interrupting his bitter thoughts

“Let her go!” yelled a voice Jeremiad thought to be of Chinese ethnicity. “You slime ball!”

‘Was it nighttime already?’ he wondered. This retort only came when his mother or some other poor female was proceeding to the room against her will. Peering through the long, bamboo-like barriers, he saw a Japanese man holding a hunting rifle in his ungloved, meaty hands.

It was not only the type of tool which was currently being employed that made Jeremiad feel horrified; it was also its target, who, surprisingly, was standing upright and looking rather unruffled, a posture not unlike his own an hour ago. The hunting rifle was poised at the temple of his mother, whose face no longer bore its pathetic look but instead, had determination and defiance written all over it.

“Mother, don’t!” Jeremiad blurted out before he could stop himself. “What about me?” he added, hating himself inwardly for sounding so childish and needy. He felt like he was three again, bawling for his mother while clutching his right knee which had scraped against the gravel covering the driveway outside his house.

His mother looked as though she was going to accept that she was about to be killed. She turned immediately when she heard him and faced him.

“I’m not leaving you, sweetheart. I’m only making your leaving easier,” she replied, with just a hint of significance at her third-last word.

Jeremiad gaped at her in bewilderment, completely speechless even though his mother’s words were pretty much nonsensical.

“I love you, my dear boy,” she uttered finally, before the executor pulled on the trigger.

“No!” Jeremiad yelled for the second time that day.

But his mother had already been shot dead, toppling down like a wounded prey.

Jeremiad bashed his left fist at the cracked wall, venting his mounting frustration and sorrow at it without allowing another syllable to escape from him. This was horribly unfair and macabre; his family had left him one after another, he was alone and he was still subjected to the torture. He felt a jealous surge of envy towards his mother. What would he give to be killed too…..
The thought struck him involuntarily and he felt shocked with himself. He ran his mother’s last three sentences over in his mind, wanting desperately to make sense of it. Then it hit him. ‘I’ve got nothing worth hanging around here for’, he realised. It was obvious that he would never be freed. The Japanese intended to keep him here forever. ‘Well, Mother’s gone, so I can die without worrying about what will happen to her,’ he reasoned silently.

And, as if he had heard Jeremiad’s thoughts, the Japanese interrogator marched briskly through the corridors and towards Jeremiad’s cell.

“We see no use in keeping you here. If you refuse to talk, we don’t care. You’re just a little kid, what do you know about war strategies?” he snapped contemptuously.

Seizing the weapon from the man who had shot Jeremiad’s mother, Hiro clicked back the trigger and brought it to rest on Jeremiad’s chest.

“Good-bye,” Hiro sneered, curling his finger. There was a deafening roar, and a small black bullet flew out of the long tube.

Jeremiad felt it pierce his heart and, falling backwards, he took in one last deep breath. He felt a sense of peace he had never felt before throughout his entire stint in the prison fill his entire body as he closed his eyelids.

The challenge was over and Jeremiad had won.

Differences and Determination

2008-04-24T20:59:00.002+08:00

Differences and Determination
Third Year, Class Two
By Rachel Lee

An emaciated girl in a thin patched dress dashes across the courtyard, clutching a wooden bucket which bangs against her right hip as she moves. She joins the crowd gathered around the century-old well, hoping that last night’s rain lasted for more than an hour. Only then, will there be enough water for the entire community. Only then, will her family have water to drink. And only then, will her thirst be quenched. But she knows that the thirst will return and everyone will once again spend days waiting for a drop of rain to fall from the heavens above, cursing the blazing heat of the sun and swallowing the non-existent pool of spittle in their all-too dry mouths.

That would have been a typical sight eight years ago, before the great change came about. Now, things are much more different. Underground pipes which distribute fresh water have been built; contaminated rivers and wells have been replaced by rooftop reservoirs for the collection of rainwater for washing and drinking; proper showering and toilet facilities have been constructed for every household - all thanks to the determination of the many families who had lived there with us.

Because the state of the economy in Portugal had worsened, countless families were driven right to the depths of poverty. The breadwinners lost their jobs, millionaires became bankrupt overnight and many expatriates withdrew their money and returned back to their homelands.

One evening, my father returned from work earlier than usual and announced gravely, “My company has been officially closed down. I’m afraid that we’ll have to move to a cheaper part of town.” This was especially terrible to us as our mother had already lost her job weeks ago.

A couple of days later, because my parents could no longer afford to pay the bills for our house, we left that part of town to go to live in slum-like conditions. It was horrible. The differences between living in a slum and a house were numerous. I can still recall the endless queues outside the common toilet in the middle of the neighbourhood and the mothers washing the family’s laundry in the filthy, muddy water of the river. Since there was no rubbish dump nearby, everyone simply dumped all sorts of rubbish into the river. If you needed water for drinking or washing, you could either use the dirty river water or you could wait for the well in the middle of the square to fill up. Droughts were common then, so most people used the water from the river.

My brothers and I stopped going to school, much to my parents’ distaste. However, they could do nothing about it because we had discontinued our education as it had been just another outlet that was siphoning the very little money we had. Illiteracy was very common then as a large number of children could not be educated solely because their parents could not afford the school fees.

All of our neighbours were in the same plight as us and we shared our woes while impatiently awaiting our turn to relieve ourselves. My family established strong relationships with all our neighbours and we would all take turns to dine at the other family’s place every weekend. Gradually, all of us started to feel like we had some sort of bond with the rest of the neighbourhood. As the months passed by, we became a close-knit group, almost like a clan.

But our happiness was short-lived. We had been staying in the slum for less than a year when there was a sudden outbreak of malaria. Unfortunately, my older brother Carlos contracted the deadly disease. My entire family was devastated. Carlos was so ill, he could barely get up. He would lie on his mattress for hours, staring at the spinning ceiling fan. Then something significant happened. The people in our neighbourhood started coming to visit Carlos daily. They brought fruit, get-well cards and board games and they would stay to talk to Carlos, in the hopes of cheering him up. Carlos got better and two months later, he was deemed to be fully recovered. That was when we learnt that our neighbours were a truly remarkable bunch; they were caring and compassionate.

After the malaria outbreak, the adults got together and held weekly meetings, during which they discussed the lack of hygiene in the neighbourhood and the children’s lack of education. They planned for hours and hours, while we children played amongst ourselves. The adults finally produced a proposal to the government, requesting that they renovate the area we were living in.

The whole neighbourhood had traipsed off to the government building in the richer part of town and we did look pretty intimidating. “Remember,” my father had instructed, “Look like you really need it.” We were malnourished, uneducated children who did not care about personal hygiene and we looked it.

When we entered the town, almost everyone’s jaw went slack. The adults gaped and glared at the town they thought they once knew and the younger ones gasped in total awe. The small town had been transformed into a bustling metropolis packed with skyscrapers that towered over the older buildings and there were thousands of vehicles on the roads. Gone were the two-storied terrace houses. In their places, large commercial buildings stood tall, blocking out the rays of the sun. There were highways everywhere and bridges located all over the city. It was a major contrast to our present neighbourhood.

“Wow,” breathed a neighbourhood child, his eyes opened wide in amazement.

My father cleared his throat. “Now, let’s not get distracted,” he began calmly.

“Yes, he’s absolutely right. Let’s get our proposal done with!” finished Mr Frederica.

“Come on, everybody!” I leaded them all into the government building.

Once we entered the impressive lobby, the adults headed towards the receptionist and requested to speak to the minister in charge of citizen’s welfare. Luckily, the minister was in and he agreed to meet us. The receptionist led us down a corridor and into a spacious board room, where the minister was waiting.

“Here you are, Sirs and Madams,” said the receptionist, smiling politely.

The adults shook the minister’s hand and, when they had done the introductions, everyone sat down. The children kept silent during the meeting and the adults presented their proposal about the construction of bathing facilities and reservoirs.

Half an hour later, they were done.

“Well, what do you think, Sir?” my father asked the minister.

“I like your plan very much, actually. You’re all right, something has to be done about the living conditions in that area,” mused the minister.

The minister and the adults held many meetings over the next few months. They discussed the renovations of the area we were living in, the facilities that could be constructed there and other building matters. By the end of the year, they had practically planned a town.

“Renovations are to start next month,” announced my father. “While the renovations are going on, we will be staying in one of the city’s hotels – free of charge.”

Everyone cheered enthusiastically. Finally! We were upgrading our living standards and we would be cleaner and healthier.

Now, eight years later, all of us are still living in the same neighbourhood, but now we have proper housing, indoor toilets and shopping centres. Without everyone’s determination to change our living standards and without everyone’s cooperation, we would never have gotten to where we are today. The community has remained the same throughout the years – helpful and loving. Welcome to my neighbourhood, where I am proud to say, “This is where I live.”

Dawn's Sonata

2008-04-16T21:20:00.003+08:00

Dawn’s Sonata
Third Year, Class Two

“Gregory, you shall be the last person I would ever be seen going out with! Even if you’re the last man on earth, no way!”

Those were the very same words that she told me. I had always liked her, ever since out first year. Well, perhaps she being popular could have helped. A student counselor, captain of the volleyball team, and later, council president and she was very sociable. Very. Sociable. Me? I would have given anything to be in her position. Though being the captain of the basketball team, I had always been shy around people. When I say people, I meant females. Humans of the opposite gender, if it doesn’t occur to you.

But I loved something. I love playing the piano. And I was a composer. I’ve done music for many school concerts. I’ve done sad, happy, romantic, rap, anything on the piano. But I’ve never done any dedications. And so, in my most depressing time, the feeling of being rejected, and I turned to my beloved piano for comfort. I started to play some song, that was written for me to be happy, for four hands to be played. I called it in honor of her. The name was Dawn’s Sonata.

From the semiquavers to the quavers, from the crotchets to the minims, I played the designated part of the song for the male, and I skipped all the sharps and the flats, making the entire impression change from happy to sad. But then, I noticed a sound, and I heard the female portion playing her tune. I looked toward the side. The keys were pressed, but there was no one there. We continued playing. From the white naturals to the black sharps. And I ended, with the last note, the Middle C. I looked up, and I saw an old scoresheet. On it were the two words: Dawn’s Sonata.

My curious heart engulfed me as I opened the book, and a postscript was written.

“Dawn’s Sonata”

“The branches of the two tress shall recreate the earth
Of two different species, there was once hatred
But love shall be learnt by the two
The dawn of a new world; the sonata of a generation.”

I stared up, and the entire world as I knew it had changed. The school was in ruins. And looked toward my house. Nothing was left of the place I once called home. My city was in ruins. Dark clouds loomed over the sky, blotting out the rays of the sun. it was soon going to rain. And so I rushed toward the nearest shelter, but as I put my hand into the crevice I hid myself in, a raindrop fell on my hand, and it scalded my skin. I closed my eyes in agony of the pain, and yet as I opened them, I saw my skin dry. Crack, open. It was now scarred as a blister. I looked up at the sky again. The raindrops emitted green smoke upon having pelted the ground. And I was alone, so much, so alone, in this world. There is left only me.

“Gregory! Is that you?”

Well, I was angered when I heard that voice. Of course I am me! If I am not me, who am I?

Dawn. It was Dawn who called out my name. I would have recognized it anywhere. Yes, and I turned back. I was happy that I could have someone with me, and yet, you could call it a mixed feeling. It was both happiness and anger. But what choice did I have? There was only one other human alive, and I stared out at the city square. City Hall was just a pile of ruins. The tallest of all the skyscrapers was no more. There was nothing left, nothing left. I looked toward my right. There was a river of a green liquid flowing down where central park once stood. But where were the human bodies? This was getting creepy. Way too creepy. My city had become a ghost town. Nothing, nothing left.

I looked up at Dawn again, and she stared at me, a blank expression on her face, and she beckoned me to enter the shelter, and as she walked in, her face turned to that of sadness. I followed, and I heard the rain outside splash down, much heavier. Pit. Patter. Pit. Patter. The sound became more muffled as we entered the building. After a while, she stopped in her tracks. “Dawn, what is this about? Give me an answer! Where am I? When am I in? Is this even Earth?” I didn’t know a thing. I wanted answers. I wanted them now.

“Well, just a few hours ago, yes, after I told that to you, and I still mean it, I heard this piano song playing.” I shivered. That was the one I played. “Then, the dark clouds started to appear. Then the rain came, and dissolved every single human. I was saved as a sheet miraculously appeared above me, and I saw a postscript written on it. I stared at her, and we repeated the words again. Together. “The branches of the two trees shall recreate the earth. Of two different species, there was once hatred. But love shall be learnt by the two. The dawn of a new world; The sonata of a generation.”

She stared at me. “How did you know the words?” And I stared. I just stared. And then toward the side of me, on the wall, the same words appeared. Then the last two lines disappeared. We both stared at each other. The rain outside continued to do her job. Pit. Patter. Pit. Patter. Silence again. “Let’s stay here till the rain stops.” We both looked at each other, and shivered. The weather outside was not cold. We looked toward the words, and again toward each other. “Ironic,” I said. “How ironic.”

I started to explore the shelter we were in. it was a three-storey metal storehouse, full of metal alloys and artifacts, undone projects, loads and loads of scrap metal were stacked up in a corner. A good thing. There were still some sandwiches left. I packed some inside the school jacket that I always wore, and I walked down the stairway, and passed Dawn a sandwich. She took it, and seemed too embarrassed to look me in the face. “Thanks,” was all that she uttered, and she ran off toward the office room, and entered it, and shut the door, bolted it. I was alone. Again.

As I ate, I looked at the score, and the words written as the postscript. I had written the score, but could it have been for any other reason other than to play with her? My heart started throbbing, and I chewed the last bit of the sandwich, and I went to sleep, her face lingering in my dreams. I dreamt that she would be the one playing the song with me, the world had not ended, and I would be a happy man. But then the world changed, and I was on the basketball court. She was sitting on a piece of metal, her brilliant face was asking me, beckoning me to go over. I ran across the court, and I stepped on the platform.

Then I woke up.

The book was right on my face, and I thought, “ We have to escape.” And over the night I searched the whole storehouse for materials, and I built a boat for two. Thin sheets of zinc layered the base, and the shelter included three layers of metal. It was elongated, like a canoe. The ‘building’ was covered at both ends. The only entrance was at the beginning and at the end. I stocked up the food in the ship.

“Dawn! Dawn! We’re leaving this place!”

and she just followed, without saying a word. And then pushed the ship out into that cold night, that night full of the sulphur river, which now was at my doorstep. And the boat got into the river. I was elated, for the first time that day.

Then the most surprising thing happened.

I spotted a piano in the center of the cabin. And Dawn was playing it. Chopin’s Waltz. My favourite song. And so I closed my eyes and listened to the melody. It brought me a certain sense of peace. It gave me something that I needed: hope. And I remembered that time, when both of us was still young. Younglings who had an interest in the piano.

“Greg, you like the piano as well?”

“Well, I do play it.”

“So classical, I like.”

“Do you play the piano, Dawn?”

“Well, of course I do.”

And she played this tune.

“Oh… that tune’s brilliant! Can you teach me how to play it?”

“Chopin’s Waltz? Yeah sure.”

That was how I learnt the Chopin’s Waltz. And , as I grew up, I began to… well, yeah. So simultaneously, I began to love that song.

I sat down, and played one octave below the original Chopin’s Waltz. She started as well, and we played that melody again and again throughout the night. As dawn grew closer, the sun’s rays shined into the cabin, and I looked out, and saw a violin, playing by itself. Curiousity killed the cat, and I stepped out to have a closer look. What greeted me was pure sunshine. There was no hint of the sulphur rain I experienced in the city. This was a new world.

Gavotte. I know this song. The violin then jumped up to me and bowed down. I smiled. There were friendly creatures around. But behind it was an even more amazing sight. It was an entire string orchestra, ad they started to play their brilliant works of art. The cello, the double bass, the violins, the viola. They all greeted me with a bow. Now where was this place? This place in the old world? America? Europe? I do not know. But I wanted to know.

I picked up a violin and it started squirming. Then a cello came over and beat the violin’s strings with its bow. Stopped. I took up the bow and started playing it. It creaked, and the cello approached again, and I managed to play the Blue Danube properly. And I put it down, and it scurried off, to the colony.

The grass was green on this side of the world. The melody that was played, the feeling that was given, was just, happy. Lively. Brilliant. This could not be the end of the world. It just seemed impossible. Just totally impossible. And at this point, Dawn stepped out of the cabin, and the entire colony turned their faces toward me. Most started backing away. I stared. And they stared back.

A double bass pushed me into the river. Great. The great sulphur river.

It was horror. The pain, the suffering. It was agony. Great. Why ever did I have to suffer this? I am by no means an evil man. I was just filled with utmst sadness, and now here I am, bearing the horror of this world. Why is it always me who suffers so? In a single day, Dawn said that she hated me. In that same day, the world came to a standstill. Yet again in that same day, this happened. The pain was ripping my skin apart, they were like nails piercing through your skin, so intense, so shocking. I closed my eyes, and I saw a peaceful haven. There was just sunlight, green grass, a cottage. So much like grandparents’ place. This was the cottage of which I first learned to play the black-and-white keys.

“You know how to play the piano?”

“No, grandmother.”

“Well, look at the instrument there. Do you know what that is?”

“The piano?”

“Yes, and such a beautiful instrument it is.”

“Really, grandmother?”

“Heard of Chopin, Mozart and the other great composers?”

“No, grandmother.”

“These are whom you should try to follow. Come, sit down and let me teach you how to play it.”

“Sure, thanks grandmother!”

And I smiled.

This sudden gush of liquid, a great current, pushed me up onto the shore. Landing on some golden object, I looked up, and saw the brass band staring down at me. No, no, no. please don’t repeat the same things again.and I looked toward the ground. Gold. Pure gold. Where was Dawn? I could not find her. No, nowhere in sight. Where was the ship? Still in string-land? No, no, no. I’ve lost my only other friend, I’ve lost Dawn. No more languages for me. No more languages.

This was the point that most shocked me. The brass band formed words. Words of inspiration.

“The person who rang the bell must stop it from resonating.”

I looked at them, and the entire band played the Dawn’s Sonata. It sounded brilliant, but it just felt that it just wasn’t… It just wasn’t… I don’t know how to describe it, it just was bad, though it sounded more brilliant than when sounded on the piano. I felt a tinge of sadness in my heart. It reminded me of many things. Important things. And I broke down and cried. I shouted the names of the people I missed, the places I had lost. It was all because of me. The tears flowed like a river.

And I saw her. She was on the hill. And so I ran. And I ran. And I ran. She was sitting on a piano seat.

I went and pulled her hand.

She would not budge.

So I sat on the seat, trying to pull her off.

Pft. Pft. Pft. We went into a vortex, swirling, swirling, swirling. Nothing of the two worlds. Just pink. Blue. Green. Red. Pink. Blue. Green. Red. It was absolutely hypnotic. Just totally hypnotic. My head was spinning, and I closed my eyes. I felt two arms surrounding me. It, no, they, were shivering. Shaking, Trembling. A jerk and that familiar sound.

Pit. Patter. Pit. Patter. Pit. Patter. Pit. Patter.

The city. And the rain was burning the skin. The skin hurt. Scalded. And a drop came to my upper eyelid. The entire eye now could not blink. It started to water. Blurred the vision. Pit. Patter. Pit. Patter. My head hurt. I turned over to look at Dawn.

“Shall we?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The song, the song!”

“What song!”

And I took out the script. Dawn’s Sonata. And we read the postscript.

“The branches of the two trees shall recreate the earth. Of two different species, there was once hatred. But love shall be learnt by the two. The dawn of the new world; the sonata of a generation.”

I now finally understand. This was our fate. That we cannot change. Our lives we learnt the piano.

And to the piano will our fate be.

We started playing. Black key to white. White to black. And the sound was still behind us. It hurt my bones. The sulphur was now burning through the skin. It hurt. Yet I played on, furiously. And furiously. And yet more furiously. I felt my life-force seeping away. To sustain it, only the image of Dawn appeared in my mind. Just that. Just that was enough. The tone was happy, but yet I was full of fear. Nothing. Nothing left.

End. The middle C.

I looked at Dawn, and she stared back. We kissed each other to oblivion. Just that kiss, and I felt the life force slowly seeping out of us. I knew it. The world would be filled with life again. Life. Light. Water. Food. It was all coming back, at the sacrifice of the both of us. Now I know why the name of the song was named like this. After we break off the kiss, the end would be nigh.

“The dawn of the new world; the sonata of a generation.”

A legacy this shall be.

Her name was Dawn.

Mine was Gregory Sonata.

Pit. Patter. Pit. Patter.

Ode to chemistry

2008-04-07T23:41:00.004+08:00

Ode to chemistry
Odes - a collection
Rachel Lee

I have the wierdest partner
sitting next to me in Chemistry.
One Friday, my boiling tube caught fire;
I bet she would've laughed along with me.

The teacher isn't one of the worst
so sometimes, we let his ego burst.
We've tried to measure his gluteus maximus
- it was less than thirty centimetres!

All sorts of stuff fill up the racks,
though I think that our lab still lacks.
Self-made larva lamps and chemicals galore,
how can it be, we ask, a bore?

The answer arrives, to our dismay.
"It's time for your tests," the teachers say.
Cracking open the heavy books,
we shoot our notes some dirty looks.
Why is there a need to memorise, we curse,
the table of Titanium, Manganese and Phosphorus?
And of f atoms, electrons and covalent bonding.
But truth be told, I don't understand a thing.

Well, I guess I'll start studying someday
(I always wonder when that will be).
They say it's not hard to get an A
so I'll just wait and see.

I am proud of my home

2008-01-16T22:06:00.000+08:00

I am proud of my home
Third Year, Class Two

I am proud of my home.

It does not have much history, but yet it is my home. This has been my home all my life, and it will be, till the end of time.

I resent the fact that it never snows throughout the year, for the snow has melted during the winter season, causing it to fall down to the ground as big drops of rain throughout winter. Yes, winter is cold here, and yet I cannot throw snowballs at my friends during the season. I have never even seen a snowman my entire life.

My home is splat in the middle of the ocean. Surrounding me is water that I cannot drink from, with fishermen bringing a big cargo of fresh produce, those simple luxuries of which makes my home my home.

I am proud of my home. I walk by the riverside, and those brilliant memories come to me. The times of happiness, the times of which my forebears came to build, piece by piece, this village that I call home. They cleared the forest that was my home, and used their knowledge and skill to build my home, just for me.

I am proud of my home. I turn anywhere and I see beautiful flora and fauna, flora and fauna which never dies. My home is not a barren wasteland. It is the pride of my life.

In spring, I see red all around. My family members spring red all over the house. Everywhere I go, I see signs reminding me of my heritage, and what makes my home so unique. I see joy surrounding me, I see smiles, I see happy faces. The mood can turn my frown upside down.

My birthday is in summer, and it so happens that the head of the household declares that everyone gets a day off as we celebrate all the hard work we’ve done. We also have a day off to understand each other better.

Autumn has the commemoration of the day the founding stone was laid those many years back. My family thanks the teachers for their good work.

Christmas comes in winter. And it’s celebration! We go to the living room, and get gifts for each other, for as many people in the family that we can get. Greetings are passed, and we commemorate Christ’s birth. In a way that is uniquely ours.

The heads of the household are capable to keep the family well-fed, and as our home is situated in the middle of nowhere, it ensures that we have good relations with the families-next-door, as well as the families living over at the next street.

The heads ensure that I am well-educated, and I shall not comment on my education, but I can assure myself that it is good enough that I can write an essay about my home.
My cousins who live along the next street comment that I live in the best place in the world. My mind tells me never to be satisfied, yet deep down, I am already satisfied enough. My mind hungers for excitement, it hungers that for the simple reason of killing boredom. My heart, however, desires simple peace.

The heads of the household ensures that there are minimal fights and brawls within the household, and I am extremely glad for that. They give me excitement, but perhaps it is a generation gap, and yes, there is excitement, enough to kill my boredom at some time, but overall, yes, they are trying their best.

I find security here in my home. I fear not that my house will be broken into, nor will it be torn down, and there is always legroom, and places to put my stuff. We do not have the desire to sabotage other’s property. We are a peaceful household.

My household has a short but rich and documented heritage. We have learnt from many lessons that we should avoid violence at all cost. I wouldn’t want my treasured family portrait smashed to pieces, never be able to piece the pieces back again. I would cry, even though I’m a guy.

I call, and I am connected. I surf the net, and I can find anything. I have all here, more then I need. And my family does her part for charity. The heads of the household decree it so. We give gifts to our less well-to-do neighbours living next-door. We all live on one street. It is just rightly so that we help each other in times of need.

People say that I lack creativity. I do not lack creativity. If I lack creativity, I can make sure that I am unable to write this essay. I have pride in my house, my household, my elders. I love them. I am at home. I am at ease.

I am coming fifteen, and I am sensible enough to learn what is affecting my home. I am curious, and I wanted to know more. How good could it be, if I could head my marvelous home. I had found security in this place where I live. I want to give my kids that same security. I enjoy the love. I am blessed with the love that became my birthright.

Love. This is the one simple word of which why I so love my home. I tried going over to the neighbour-next-door to stay, I was quite happy, it was quite fun, but I just missed the love and the warmth that my family gave me. As I have said, it became my birthright as I was born there. Now I must transfer my birthright to my descendants.

I have extremely talented brothers and sisters. They have made my family proud. They have become talented doctors, lawyers, lecturers, scientists, writers, and many have gone to mission work, to improve the life of the less well-to-do.

This causes a lot of pressure on my part. For I have to compete to be at least as good as the least of my brothers and sisters. It is extremely competitive, but it is good for me. This is because I have to strive to improve myself, both for the family, and for my own personal benefit.

We each live in an apartment, in a high-rise flat. Our old feuds with the other nations (of which, I was glad, that was very quickly solved) caused us to have very limited space to build the building, and so we can boast that we house a big number of people in such a small plot of land. We have no space. It’s quite crammed, but yes, I am happy.

I walk up and down the buildings, enjoy the paintings of which were left from those days where we ‘rented’ out the place. It poses a important thing in our life. My family’s life. My family’s heritage. It is important. Very important to me.

I have spent my whole life here. Fifteen brilliant years. And there will be many more years to come. Beautiful. Beautiful home. I appreciate. I live in harmony with everyone. I live in peace. This is my island home. This is my country, my island-state. This is where I live.

To a friend, I love you

2007-12-18T21:43:00.001+08:00

Under construction. The old edition was just the first half.

The guy with the cool hair

2007-12-17T23:25:00.000+08:00

The guy with the cool hair
Third Year, Class Two

Here is a story I would want to tell. Here is the story of someone whom I hate a lot. Yes, someone whom I hate – and I use the word – to the very core. I will address my grievances here. If not, my anger toward you will not be appeased.

But first, let me introduce myself. I am a schoolboy of fourteen, and my examination results were acceptable, for I made it to the track team in my school. I have training four times a week, and I am in the high jump division in school.

And that is where I met this person, and for respect of him, let us just call him a random name. And that, I have decided, should be Jason Tan, though the many of us he has offended have resorted to calling him even ruder names. Yes, I can safely say that this is the most polite way to insult him.

There are many things that make a person hated, or to use a less harsh term, disliked.

For one, the person demoralizes you, deliberately, for once you feel demoralized, this person would lose a strong competitor. This kind of person would be totally despised by his strong competitors. (as in, when they pick themselves up) He will be hated by his competitors – for this type of person is totally cunning.

The second type of person is very arrogant, and pretends he is better than others, when actually he is much worse, and his alter ego cannot be subsided. This type of person is totally hopeless, and his alter ego will cause him to be in such a state where others detest his boasting.

There is, however, a third type of person. This type of person is a deliberate time-waster. No one can stand such a person. For one thing I know, I hate, or so to say, dislike, such a person the most. Time is precious, and so I detest people who waste it.

Jason Tan? He is all three.

And so I must first say how Jason Tan angers me. Then we shall see the actions we did to anger him. No, no, we cannot say it as anger. It should be called an eye for an eye. But we shall not stoop to his level. Oh, just you wait and see. Jason Tan is the same age as me, but three times as malicious.

There exists such a person whose name is Jason Tan. He demoralizes people until they do not believe in themselves anymore. I personally have experienced this. As I have indicated earlier, I am from the track team in school. Well, at least I initially thought I was. I entered the team through sprints. Then the coach from sprints decided that I sucked at sprints. And so the coach from jumps took me in. Thereafter, there was this exercise where we had to jump and attempt to touch the rugby pole. I managed to jump the highest, and so the coach asked me if I would want to try and attempt the high jump division. Obviously, I nodded my head.

When I went to the high jump mat, the coach asked me if I was right-legged or left-legged. (Well, obviously) I told him right, and he placed the rubber band (or, specifically, the elastic band) for fear that I would injure myself in any form. Well, I would have, if I had screwed up my jump. But I didn’t, and the coach was glad. I even crossed the set height.

This is where out dear old Jason Tan comes into the picture. For as we all know, in order to make sure that the athlete crosses the height, we use a pole (which is mostly made of wood) and we place it on the two bar rests so if an athlete does not cross the set height, the pole would drop. Therefore, when the pole drops to the ground, it is not counted as a cross. This pole was the marking.

And mind you, crashing into the wooden pole would not be a satisfying feeling, I can assure you that.

And so out good friend here, by the name of Jason Tan, decided to (kindly) tell me that smashing into the bar would hurt a hell lot, and that it once hurt him for a long, long time. Four months, to be exact. My high jump coach was pissed. Seriously pissed. I could jump when the barrier was marked by the elastic band. I could jump a good height at the time, given that I had only trained for four months. When you put the bar on, I could not dare to cross the height. Not at all.

Call me a guy with no balls for all you like, but everyone has a fear. The pole just happened to be mine.

I took four months – and a hell lot of hard work – to overcome it. My coach rejoiced. Mister Jason Tan continued to demoralize me with the fact that I was scared of the bar (though pretending to be happy for me) and did not seem to believe that I did manage to conquer my fear.

Of course, I soon began to improve, and overshot his performance. So did the rest of my teammates.

I later heard from the others that the jumps coach told them all that I was second only to one guy there. And it definitely was not our dear old friend. Okay… So he could not bring me down by skill, so he brought me down (at least, for a moment) through psychological warfare. Despicable man! How could I trust you from now on!

He cannot control what I think. Similarly, I have not authority over what goes on in his mind.

I could not decide what he thinks about me.

He made use of that fact.

As so happens, there was this female senior who joined the ranks of high jumpers on (coincidentally) the same day as I joined. Obviously, as the both of us were new to this form of sport, the coach would put both of us together to do the same exercises. It would be inevitable not to strike up a conversation with each other, and we soon became amicable friends and I happened to be the only one of my level who talked more than a sentence to her at any one go.

And there you have it. I suddenly had a girlfriend who was, say. Four years older than me?

Guess who started it? Mister Jason Tan. And so I had a reputation of supposedly dating a girl older than me. It was through good cause that I managed to prevent the rumour from spreading even further, and yes, it soon died down, and I was back to being normal me again. But not for long.

Mister Jason Tan started to (shock, horror!) speak to me like a friend again. I noticed something. As I had a nickname in school due to my old hairstyle, he started to pick on me by (attempting to) style his hair whenever he talked to me. This is why we gave him the name (to mock, obviously) “the guy with the cool hair”.

He once criticized me for being such a time-waster.

I was speaking to the others the other day, and I realised that I was not the only one who disliked him. The whole high jump team from my age also hated him as well. To the core. And also for the same reasons. Well, roughly.

I forgot to mention something at the beginning. All men hate hypocrites. For hypocrites say one thing, mean another, and do the complete opposite of what they say. The people that fit into this category cannot be trusted. They just call themselves the posh name of a liar.

This my friends, is our dear old friend.

But do not fret. For now we come to the next portion of this text.

This is where the retribution of our dear friend comes about.

I was there, ready to jump. But the coach was pissed. Seriously pissed. I was worried. Was it because I did not dare to jump? No, it definitely was not. I had since overcome the fear of the pole. So what could it be? I still could not comprehend.

Somehow, I knew the answer.

Mister Jason Tan was running up and down the curved path, and upon reaching the mat, he stopped, turned back, and covered his face. And he did that for another ten minutes. The coach asked me to wait awhile more. I did not want to. I had wasted four months fearing the bar. Ten minutes is also precious to me. I will not star there waiting for the person who caused me to waste four months of my life. I can be a kind man, but there is a limit to kindness. He has reached the limit, a long time ago.

Did I have a choice? No.

The coach requested me to wait. So, perhaps I could wait. And so I waited. But then, I waited for another ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty. Forty. Fifty. One hour. And he remained that way. Yes, I know I could slack. Yet I did not. I did not want to slack. I wanted to exercise my all that day. And out dear friend Mister Jason Tan just had to ruin it for me.

After training, 7p.m.

“I don’t know. I don’t know why I am unable to jump today. I believe that I pulled my hamstring. I think I’ll see a doctor tomorrow, just to comfirm.”

He did not turn up for training the next day. Doctor’s excuse letter. 2 months off training. But our dear friend came back only after two.

It just happened to be the day right after the coach announced that there were girls of age sixteen coming for training. And he indicated that they would be coming on this same exact day. We noticed a slight change in character. The guy with the cool hair was styling his own hair more often than ever. And he attempted to jump. And failed to bring his body off the ground at all. Tsk tsk tsk. And he gave the same excuse again. He pulled his hamstring.

I heard from the others that he liked girls older than him.

Now why would I say this? In my school, there is a tradition. An unspoken rule if you have a girlfriend. You must not have a girlfriend who is older than you, as in, born in the year before you, or older. This rule was created for obvious reasons. For one, the man is usually known as the head of the household, always the protector. The mindset is this: As a teenager, if you are younger, your girlfriend has more experience than you. So, it might be you being protected instead.

I am a kind man. I treat my enemies nicely.

But my friends don’t. they treat their enemies (and mine as well, in this case) like scum. For the sake of our dear old friend Jason Tan’s privacy, we shall only name one account.
It was a bright and sunny day…

Well, enough of that crap. It was going to the end of training. The entire high jump wanted to go and eat lunch together. For the matter, ten people were at training that day. Nine of us hated dear old Mister Jason Tan. None of us invited him to go and join us for lunch.

But someone wanted to make our dear old friend excluded.

And so he decided to count the number of people going. He waited till all the people were resting, seated in a row (which conveniently was the scene) and he started counting.

“Who’s going to join me to eat lunch? You, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you… that makes it nine, and then…”

His hand hovered over the guy with the cool hair for a moment.

“Coach, are you coming along?”

He deliberately excluded Jason Tan. We all burst into shrieks of laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, coach.”

Jason Tan, please try to change, so that you will not offend any more people. Please change, for retribution does happen. I am kind enough to tell you that. For the good of yourself, do not lose any more friends, just as you lost me.

Oh yes, I have one last thing to say. Please change. For if you do, I still hate you.

A boy's story

2007-12-16T22:14:00.000+08:00

A boy’s story
Third Year, Class Two

Young man, if you read this, you should be glad that you taught me something important.

You was, and as I am writing this, you are a young boy, very young at that, but in your simplistic mind of yours, you have the mind of a man old enough to be your grandfather. You do not know this, but you have that wisdom. Keep that, and if you do not let yourself be affected by the world’s complex ways. I assure you that you will give brilliant advice on how to live one’s life. I am sure of that.

I met you on the 11th day of December in the year before the first Beijing Olympics. You taught me a valuable lesson.

I am wrong to say that. You taught me three lessons. Three valuable lessons.

I was sitting down on the bench at the centre, and I was trying to figure out the solution to the Rubix Cube I had in my hands. It was soon going to make me pissed. The solution was possible, but the cube was not in proper functioning order. I turned the cube so that the white tile would come in place, and the whole corner almost fell out. Hastily, I put the cube back in, as the people in the office behind me could see what happened. The cube belonged to them. These were my friends, and I came to help them, at this elderly care centre.

It was really quite a dull day. I cleaned the bird cage, the two fish tanks, and the served dessert into equal portions for fifty people, delivered a mattress to a fellow living in the neighbourhood, and listened to an old lady relate her story, though what she spoke in, was a complete different language to me. It was Greek. In every sense of the word.

The old lady was unable to pay her phone and internet bull to the telecoms company, and the company was now hounding her for the minimal monthly instalement. She had a son, who stayed with her and worked in a Bar, and it was he who signed up for the internet line. Now he was unable to pay it.

The choicest swear words popped up into my mind at this point of time.

Then, as so it continued, the old lady has been using the funds from the centre (or, more specifically, the amount she was allocated) to give to her son as what she called “pocket money”. As a result, her working son went to squander the money away, and the old lady was unable to pay the bill.

Use a charity organisation’s generous help to fund your own son’s squandering? I was cheesed by the old lady’s ignorance, and so I walked out of the room, and asked if there was anything to do. There was, as I had expected, nothing for me to do.

And so I sat on the bench, and had the Rubix cube experience.

I had just fixed the corner back into its proper place, and I looked at the table in front of me. It was made of bamboo, and was the type of table of which there was space to put magazines under.

I turned, upon hearing footsteps in my direction. A small boy was walking toward me, and he reached out for the Rubix cube. I released my grip, and in an instant, the cube was out of my hands. The boy waved at me, and he smiled, baring his white teeth.

I smiled and waved back. “Hello,” was what I said.

The boy asked me if I knew what the cube was. I was momentarily stunned. A cube is a cube, and no matter what, it is still a cube.

“It’s a cube.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s a robot.”

That young little boy was you. And your words caught my attention. So I stood there, listening. And if you do remember, you looked at the cube, and moved the centre column till the corner was in the position of where, from the top, the middle cube was. It clearly resembled a top.

And you told me it was now in the form of a dinosaur. This dinosaur would go around exterminating all the “bad guys” and the monsters. Then you changed the shape of the cube. You twisted and turned it a few times, with the notion of “and this, and this is, and this, and that…” till you returned to the original shape. It was, according to you, now a crocodile. This crocodile could bite people, and you indicated a blue square, and said that it was the stomach. The stomach of the crocodile, and thereafter you rubbed your own stomach with your palm, and soon pretended your stomach was expanding. I took that to mean the stomach of the crocodile. Now was the time for me to speak.

“What about an elephant?”

And you said no, the robot cannot transform into an elephant, and we palyed with the most appealing fact of an elephant for a moment: that of its long trunk, of which you kept referring to as its big, long nose. We put our right arms at our noses, and moved our arms just as an elephant would move its magnificent trunk.

And we both laughed. I looked at the time. It was now ten past four. I had to leave by the time the minute hand reached the number six. How saddening. I was beginning to enjoy this little talk. This engaging little talk with you.

Meanwhile, you decided to let the robot transform itself again, this time not into an animal, but a Power Ranger. Typical of boys your age, in this era. If not Spiderman, it would be Batman or the Power Rangers. But how would the human-shaped Power Ranger change its form to become a cube-like being, I would never know. You then continued your story on your self-made superhero.

“You are the monster, ok? Then I show you… the robot (bang bang) kills the monster!”

Since when did I turn into a monster? That I would never know. But then, you tilted the robot into a position that clearly resembled a Mark One Tank ready to fire. And with two jerks of the Rubix Cube, (and of course the “bang bang”-es which so clearly signified the firing shots) you smiled as you killed me, the big, ugly Godzilla creature, the Darth Vader, the Big Brother, the Lord Voldemort.

I could not stand being called a monster. And so, I changed the subject.

“How old are you?”

And you stretched out an arm, baring your palm toward me, with the palm curled in. you smiled again, and retracted that so straight arm. And you went back to your superhero story. I was gobsmacked. That was the first lesson you taught me that day. A lesson so simple that adults simply could not show toward me, or even act out, let alone teach me. Two days ago, an innocent child in the form of you taught me the important lesson of trust and direct honesty. Answering straight to the point. Not beating around the bush. I could learn not to procrastinate in telling the honest answer in anything. I should really learn from you. I decided to tell you the truth.

“You know, that what you are holding is a game?”

Which, in every sense, the Rubix Cube is. As we all know, it is a game where, when jumbled up, we must work out (most easily, using an algorithm) so that every single face of the cube would have only one single colour. Well, at least it was to me. But you insisted no, and seeing how obstinate you would become, I decided to continue on with the story of the transforming robot who is now in (or so I thought) in a Power Ranger form, and coming over to kill the Lord Voldemort sitting harmlessly on the bench.

It was now 4.20p.m.

And then I heard another shuffling of steps. It belonged to a man of about 40 years old this time. He walked with a seemingly noticeable limp, which seemed to have been a big burden to him. But morale teaches me not to despise such a person with a handicap. And I believe, you did not understand, but you just thought of him as another human, that walks in a different way, not the way that you and me walk. This man was carrying a cup of coffee.

That was the second lesson you taught me that day. I see people with differences, I do not despise them, but I see them as… different. You, you see them, you see him as another human, just with a minor quirk, but than that, you saw that he was just like you, another male, another human.

And so the “three musketeers” sat down to talk. When the man asked what was it in your hands, (I sometimes seriously doubt that that was the only way people entertain kids) you explained the robot story again. (I heaved a sign of relief when you did not demonstrate the magnificent function of Lord Voldermort-killing) The dinosaur, the crocodile, and the Power Ranger. The man smiled and drank his coffee.

“Is he your brother?”

My brother? I would have loved you as a brother. You were so adorable, so brilliant, so imaginative, so innocent. If you were my brother, I would have done all that was in my ability to keep your mind that innocent, that friendly, that fine way which we should all be facing.

“No,” I answered. “He isn’t my brother.”

I believed your grandmother worked in the centre.

And so we chatted, and the man and me laughed at your cute and innocent ways. Then the man finished his coffee, and got up, and limped his way out. You must have noticed, for your curiosity got the better of you. You asked the oh so forbidden question.

“Why is your leg like that? Why are you walking like that?”

The sky had fallen, Armageddon had arrived, so why was I there, still standing, alive?

The man, however, smiled, and said, “Oh, uncle’s leg is in pain.” He laughed and walked off, leaving you to ask me more questions. I did not know what to tell you, I wanted to say that this is all that you would learn when you grow up. I wanted to tell you more. I wanted.

But I could not. I was dumbfounded.

And so that was how I learnt the third lesson from you that day. You taught me that I must not be held back in what I do, if it is for a good cause. You taught me that I can ask anything, and I must accept whatever is the answer. I learnt that if the person walks off, I should not pester him with more questions.

It was now 4.30p.m.

I had to leave the place.

And so I asked, “Where is your grandmother?” And you answered, “There,” and pointed to the old lady who was helping to clean up the centre. I brought you over to her, and the first thing she asked was that did you give me any trouble.

Obviously not! I would have been glad to have talked to you, and I would, if I did not have anything on after this.

I had to leave you with your grandmother, but not before the man came back with another cup of coffee. He patted your head and agreed with what I just said. But he forgot about one thing. He forgot to say that you were wise. And very wise you were.

I took the cube out of your hands. The cube which you imagined to be a transforming robot, that was your superhero, that could save the world. Then you said something, as I was about to leave.

“Bye bye.”

“Bye bye, my friend.”

I was not just saying goodbye to a friend. I was saying goodbye to such a brilliant person. If I see you again, I hope that you have not changed. You are as perfect as you are.

The fringe

2007-12-16T22:13:00.000+08:00

The fringe
Third Year, Class Two

I am a man of thirty, in the prime of my life. I had a good job, a brilliant one at that, but I had no life, no fiancée, no girlfriend. I am Chinese, and I did not know how to answer to my mother, for she had wanted me to wed a lady. The old tradition. Marry a girl, have kids to carry on the family name.

But mom, the world is different. No more matchmaking. What we have got to do is to impress the girl of my dreams, date her, and then get married. There was no room for kids in the plan. And there was one big problem, and a big one at that.

I am too handsome. Yes, only if the other two men in the world are Mr. Bean and Darth Sideous. In no way would I appeal to the girl of my dreams.

Speaking of her, she has the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. But, I was almost wrong about that statement. Everything about her was beautiful. But she would never speak to me. Oh! How I wish that she would just notice me.

All these was about to change.

For the other day, I saw this man, who told me my image was too ‘50s style. He knew what I wanted, and I had this queer feeling that he was coming to help me. And help me he did.

“It’s time for a change of hairstyle.”

And he brought me to his salon, put a blindfold over my eyes, and started work on my hair. I think he put a shower foam on my hair, for I felt like my hair was on fire. Then, he started on my hair. I closed my eyes, picturing me enter the office, the girl of my dreams running toward me. And before I knew it, the job was done. I opened my eyes.

I looked… cool. I had a fringe that covered my left eye. Brilliant. Just what I wanted.

I turned to thank the guy, but he disappeared, only leaving a note on the table.

“Do not ever wash your hair.”

The strangest instructions, and coming from a hairdresser at that.

But heck, who cares?

8p.m. I knew she worked overtime today.

She was the only person left in the place. I held my breath. And entered the room.

“Urm… hi.”

She responded, and stood up. And behaved in such a way I would never have expected of her. She giggled, and sat down again to face the computer screen. I walked over to see if I could help her. And she did something else I would never have expected.

She put her lips on mine.

I grabbed her, hugged her, until oblivion had passed. This moment could never end. Even if, heaven forbid it, it did end, I would remember it forever. Oh! Blissful oblivion!

But it did end. And for the third shock of my life that night. She asked me over to her house. I stammered. She took it for a yes. But we would go over to her place only after she had finished with her work.

Her house was only six blocks away from the office. On the way, I somehow had the feeling that many people were staring at me. Perhaps it was due to the way she cuddled me. It could have been the way I looked. A new look. A new life. A new me.

It was the best night of my life. Just me and her, just getting to know each other. I found out that she loved romance novels, classical music, and simply adored the colour pink,

We talked the entire night. And it was again time for work.

We decided to go in one by one, to avoid rumours spreading.

I was to go in first, and when I went in, the guys were like, “Whoa”, but the ladies? They seem to be attracted, and I swore I could see one of them battling her eyelids toward me.

This went on for a few days. Each day, after work, the two of us will go to somewhere romantic, to spend the night, she resting on my shoulder, I patting her head. We were in love.

We usually spend these nights in silence, watching the stars. Until that day. That day when it rained. From the park bench, we had to take shelter, for the rain was seriously going to come. I was sure of it.

The nearest shelter we could find was that of the female washroom. And she fainted.

“There is no need. She will wake up later. Now, I need to speak to you.”

It was the hairdresser. He knew, that I did not wash my hair. And he was delighted. But all I could find was anxiety, on how my love could be doing. And the hairdresser forced me to sit down. I had to oblige.

He told me that my love had not fainted at all. I was so shocked that I almost missed the next detail, for, as the hairdresser said, she would now have fallen so badly in love with me until I could ask her to do anything, and she would oblige. Even if I asked her to throw herself off the building. She was now blinded by affection toward me. And it was all thanks to his marvelous hairdo.

Ariel, my love, how could you have done this? Couldn’t you have resisted?

And I turned back, only to see the hairdresser was not there.

And so, I carried Ariel into my house, and she opened her eyes, blinked, and put her lips upon mine. I ordered her to sleep, and she just… obeyed.

I thought. Could it because of my hair?

It couldn’t be. And with that, I slept.

I woke up the next morning, early. So I could go back to the office and avoid her.

How so wrong I was.

I was mistaken.

Another female colleague went to my desk, placed a note on it. It said:

“I love you.”

And I was showered with kisses from most of my female colleagues.

They all liked me.

And so I ran, I ran for my sanity. And the whole group was chasing after me, a whole stampede chased me halfway round the neighbourhood. Was there a place to hide? It did not seem so. I dared not turn back, for if I did, they would chase me even more. Do not ask me how I knew. I just knew.

There was only one thing for it. Run home. And to my home I ran to. Then, the fringe fell over my left eye. Now I understood that only I could stop this, make my nightmare over.

“He’s mine.”
“No, he’s mine!”

They had started to fight among themselves. This gave me the chance to enter my house, my one last chance.

And I sat on the sofa, thinking. Was it my fault? I just wanted to speak to Ariel, and, God, why was my wish granted in such a way? I needed an explanation. Why couldn’t I just do it the hard way? The proper way? The orthodox way? Oh, God, in your goodness, forgive me.

I stood up. And walked, walked into the room.

I understood what I must do.

I turned the shower on.

E.D.I. Inc.

2007-12-16T22:10:00.001+08:00

E. D.I. Inc.
Third Year, Class Two

I am thirty and in the prime of my life. Only I do not feel that way. I am a poor man, perhaps the poorest in England. I watch my bank account and it is rapidly decreasing by the day. By next year I will be a broke man. I regret so much in studying tbe wrong subject in University. I have no talents, none that can help me at all.

None except two. My glib tongue and my lovely imagination. Usually only with the glib tongue can my life be made interesting, be made good. But no. I am not a con-man. That is the job of those two despicable brothers of mine. So far my imagination has led me to have a good spanking from my teachers and parents - for yes, I daydream a hell lot during my lessons.

Welcome to the life of Edward Smith. Welcome to my story.

The financial crisis of '97 left my homeland's economy in ruins, so my brothers, those two con-men, advised me to help their business, D.I. systems, where they sell watches, with the face of an expensive watch like Breguet, but with the gearing systems of your normal £3 watch. It’s pure dishonesty, and so I do not wish to go deep into the details. With the elder brother into the business, my two brothers could finally expand their con-systems into England and Europe.

It is three years of living in England that got me to my brilliant idea.

I do not gloat often, but this really is a marvelous idea. So very marvelous. Useful for all ages. And how did I get the idea? I was sitting next to the missus in the apartment, and I was noticing how beautifully painted her nails were. Baby Jay was sleeping, and it was one of the few romantic nights I have spent since I arrived here a few years back.

Then the baby cried. For heaven’s sake, it was just the right time for a French kiss! The stupid baby just had to spoil it.

Rushing in, both the missus and me could not find any problem. The crib was not wet, and yet the diaper was still usable, and I could have sworn the lights were on. What on earth could be the problem?

It was the missus who found the problem. Choosing to employ my choicest swear words (yes, much to the disgust of my wife), I pried the baby off his fingernails. The dumb-brain just went to suck his own fingernails (again) and chose to bite them at that appropriate time. Magnificent. Just magnificent.

Now, imagination works in an amazing way. There are, in fact, four ways – four different ways – in which imagination can occur. All four forms attribute inspiration, a problem, and the solution, only that they work in different ways.

The first is the way of the famous inventor Thomas Edison. He has the inspiration to answer his problem, then he tries so hard, for years even, to find the solution, which is, obviously, found. It can be found, but mostly, this way is very risky, for I can research for my whole life and not find the solution that I want, the solution that I need.

The second is to have a brilliant idea, and work begins on it, then there is a problem, so the inventor finds a solution to his problem. This way is brilliant, but very time-consuming. But at least it is foolproof.

The third involves a solution popping out through inspiration, and is considered redundant, until a problem arises, then the solution is used. A wise inventor does this. A wise, but redundant and orthodox inventor.

Finally! We arrive at my idea of imagination, which is most marvelous. It involves seeing the problem, and the inspiration and the answer comes immediately. In my opinion, it is the most brilliant form of imagination, but very few people possess this beautiful talent. I am one of these people.

So I immediately thought of something to cover my boy’s fingernails. I looked at my wife, toward her hands, and I thought of chocolate. Mix the three together, and there we have it! A job to do. But first, I must speak to my old friend, Dr. Joseph Huxley. Now this is a man which my brothers have found – to be precise, one of the very few honest men my brothers have mixed with. He was a food specialist, and I was asking whether it was possible, to make my fiction, my dream, feasible.

It turned out that it was. So I proceeded to Step 2 of my plan. To discuss with my wife, for yes, she was a brilliant chef and cook.

And so we began Master Plan A. But first I must find suitable ingredients, only the finest in the world. And I knew where to begin. The Middle Kingdom.

I am happy to be here, for the Middle Kingdom gave me three good things, to have a good feel of country air, an insight on Eastern culture, and a brilliant excuse to swear a lot. For the rural people would never understand English anyway.

So I found a brilliant master, who graduated with a bachelor (with honours) in cooking from the top University ever – the University of Mars. I had never heard of it, and yet I was so eager to learn, and he was the best I could find.

My wife was disgusted with him, but I shall never find out why. My closest guess is that he swore a lot, for the Russian philosopher once said, “For ye, thy apprentice shall take after thy master’s character.” I had to learn from him for another two years.

And he taught me about all the necessities of cooking, and they were marvelous. And I finally graduated with a test – to achieve my goal, to create my recipe. And so, here goes my recipe.

EDIBLE NAIL POLISH
Chocolate Flavour

Mix nail polish (any desired colour with 1 tablespoon of salt.
Heat for two hours. Stir well.
Add melted chocolate ice-cream after two hours.
Stir the mixture

clockwise for it to be edible
anti-clockwise for lickable nail polish.

Add hot water mixed with iron fillings.
Stir well.
Stir for another hour, and cool it down.

And I set off for England, ready to promote my new, brilliant product.

I was greedy. I wanted money. And yes, I will get that money. With such a new invention, I set out to conquer the food paradise. I took the missus with me.

And so we arrived back at my homeland. And started a shop near my house. Now, this is where the happiness truly began. A novelty of mine, it exceeded the initial sales, and the missus worked hard with me. Business was brisk. I worked hard. Expanded the business. Worked even harder. Expanded it further.

Now, by another three years, the child had become old enough to work. And so, I made him work. Filial piety. Success tasted sweet.

Alas! A downfall to my business. The missus was overworked, and her face became more wrinkled. Then, just the other day, the production stopped, and Jay was crying. The missus lay on the floor, unconscious.

I stood there, speechless, above my wife’s body.

I appreciated her for all the work she had put into the business, and I had told her, many times, to rest. But the missus just would not listen. She overworked, and now I had to send her to the hospital.

And what I received from the hospital was even graver news yet.

The missus had overworked until she was brain-dead. Now I looked upon my wife, her life clung on to a machine. The doctor had said that there was a chance that she would wake up. And so I spent that night by her bedside.
I could not sleep. I was daydreaming, on how good it would be, if I had this big mansion, where Jay and the missus could stay happily together, striving hard for our business.

“Papa, how is mama?”

It was Jay.

“Nothing.” I replied. “Now go back to sleep.”

And yet, as Jay slept, I looked up at the night sky. It was clear, but yet, as I saw a gust of wind blow over the sky, the stars were covered.

I set off the next day to buy my house, the one which I hoped to welcome my wife into. And yet I could not know what was the purpose of this. I just felt a surge of happiness leap into me, and I felt so happy in buying the house.

I visited my wife’s ward daily. Her figures (or at least, the medical bill) became astronomical. It was good that I had enough savings to last this. I wanted her to wake up, wanted her to help me with the business, I wanted to be happy.

Then, one single action changed the course of my life.

Forever.

I was sitting beside the missus, and the doctor came over to me.

“You had better come with me.”

I followed, and beyond it I saw a covered body. Fearing the worst, I opened, uncovered the sheet, and I saw the body of Jay. I could have cried, but I just couldn’t. I felt empty, and yet my eyes did not water.

Jay died of an accident.

The phone rang over at my brother’s house. On the other side was me. Me and my idea.

“Let’s meet up.”

And I told them my plan. To ask them to stop their trickstery, and promote the business, and so my brothers decided to rename the company. Build an industry. Those two money-grubbing brothers of mine. All I just want to do is to wait for my wife to wake up. And live with me in that house. God, help me.

I woke up. “Tell me this is a dream, this is all a dream.” I did not open my eyes, not at all, for I knew that if I opened my eyes, I would fall back into a nightmare. But little did I know, it would be a worse nightmare then I thought.

I opened my eyes. At least that was what I thought I did. But I saw the moon in the sky, and the room was pitch black. I held my wife’s hands for the last time, and I left the pitch-black hospital. The staff was rushing around, I could see their feet moving on the ground, but I paid no attention. I needed to get back to work.

In the night, when I visited the hospital again, I saw that the missus’ bed was empty. She had woken up. And so a sparkle twinkled in my eye. I ran to the counter to ask where my wife had gone.

“Oh yes,” said the nurse, and there was something about her face. “She has gone to heaven.”

I do not know how long I stood there, shocked, and yet there was not the sadness I had expected to feel coming from my heart. It was a feeling I had, that my wife would meet this end. It was a sense of fulfillment that I had. The missus died during the period of the blackout, the power failure. The hospital could not bring the power back on time. The missus had passed on. Nothing I could do could bring her back to life.

“Sir, I’m so sorry.”

It was the nurse.

“I’m fine. It wasn’t your fault.” Came my reply.

I held a brilliant funeral for the missus. Then I went back to my big mansion. It was big, and beautiful, and I found comfort in it, for it was the symbol of my failed dream. But part of it still can be fulfilled. The part which I had delved in since the missus went into a come. I will pursue that dream. I will fulfill that dream.

And the phone rang.

“Brother, bad news. The customers are demanding their money back.”

“What? Why?”

“There are poisonous materials found in the product.”

“And that is…”

However, I knew the answer. My brother did not need to tell me so.

“The iron fillings.”

“Return their money back.”

And so it was done, and I became a bankrupt man. Someone without a penny to my name. I had a dream. It was that one day, I would have my wife work in the company again, for E.D.I. Inc. to prosper. To live in a big, marvelous mansion. Somehow, in a few days, the whole dream was shattered.

All except one. I still had the mansion, still left in my hands. I still had that. But, I was wrong. Very wrong. For there was an Earthquake, and my house was located far from the city, in the country, and on that night, when I went back, I saw my house in ruins. I stared.

It began to rain.

And I knelt down and cried. I started crying, crying for the money I had worked so hard for and lost. I cried for the mansion, that mansion, which was my last hope of a dream that would not be fulfilled. I wanted the days that I was a tycoon, where I basked in the light of happiness.

A Rolls-Royce skidded to a halt in front of me, and I heard the driver scream his choicest swear words, and he took a turn into the next lane, and I watched him drive away.

I remembered. And my tears were mixed with the rain, down to the ground.