This Moment

Forgotten.

2011-08-28T07:56:00.000-07:00

He soon came to the realization that he was no longer able to hear his own voice. Not that It frightened him, of course, he was a boy of few words anyway, and the loss of it did not make much of a difference. But something else did. He could no longer hear his thoughts his own familiar mental voice – a process he had taken so much for granted that the silence was foreign and empty, a palpable presence. With no thoughts of his own, the din of the outside world came crashing in: the chirping of the crickets, the rustle of the tablecloth, the sound of footsteps on the parquet floor. Each of these sounds became unbelievably loud and incredibly deafening; he felt naked and vulnerable without the protective shield of his musings.

Certainly, this had not come as a complete surprise. All these reflections occurred to him as half-formed ideas, grey misshapen ghosts floating in his mind, refusing and repelling the confines of the square boundaries of words.

He knew how it had all begun. He had been sitting on the polished marble steps of the front porch one summer morning when the very notion crept into his conscious. Why should we have to be trapped within our individual selves? Look at all the people out there, hundreds, thousands, millions of them – all looking at the world only through their own eyes. Incredibly selfish. All of them seeing nothing but themselves, hearing only their own thoughts, immune to their neighbours’ feelings. Tremendously boring. Why shouldn’t we get to be someone else, even for the briefest of moments? The kid down the street, the mayor of New York. The most acclaimed actress, if you like… And the fantasy had begun.

He had run to the breakfast table, preoccupied with the conception of this immense, revolutionary, monstrous idea. Yes, why not? It would be fun.

“Such a queer little boy. I wish he would eat more. Doesn’t he have any friends to play with?”

He had started, his heart clenching itself into a dreadful little knot. It was Grandaunt Dorothy’s distinct throaty voice – too deep for that of a woman. But no one around the table had spoken, and the room was silent, save for the awkward slight clearing of throats and scraping of cutlery against porcelain plates.

“How could I have forgotten the iced tea?” He had remembered Mom’s voice, with its usual tinge of worry, coming from across the table. But no one replied her, and as he glanced frantically at the guests seated around, it was evident that he was the only one tuned in to their thoughts.

A sharp pang of guilt passed through him – it was as if he was eavesdropping.

“I hope Tommy remembered his coat; it’s such a cold day.”

“She talks way too much, it’s a wonder how her husband ever tolerates her.”

The voices were distinct at first, fragments of conversations belonging to the guests quietly eating breakfast. But more unfamiliar voices slipped in as well, light chatter above a whimsical tune drawn out by a violin; faint traffic noises; harsh words uttered during a heated argument.

“Stop, stop!” He cried out aloud, the noises had not ceased, everyone turned to look at the slight, bespectacled boy with floppy hair.

It was then that it had dawned on him. He had not heard the thoughts of the guests and relatives in the drawing room.

He had picked up all their forgotten memories.

*****

He had lain in bed with a raging fever a few days after. His eyes burned and his lips were parched and his mother understood that even her cool hand on his forehead brought him pain.

She did not really understand. Her presence was accompanied by a multitude of overlapping, jarring sounds – small talk with the town’s grocer, whispers exchanged with his father, even conversations with himself. He had tossed and turned fitfully until she left the room, and he was left alone to his delirious dreams.

Then the fever had subsided, and he remained in bed for a week, tracing strange shapes on the blotched patterns of his cupboards with his eyes, deliberating over this newfound ability. By some freak of nature, he had been granted his wish, his absurd prayer on the front porch that summer morning. He would be able to see – or hear, rather – into the lives of complete strangers. Memories, the faces of people, and scraps of conversations they had not held to tightly enough would be snatched up by him, lost from them forever.

He had come to the conclusion that he was a receptacle – wherever forgotten ideas and lost memories went when they slipped away, it must have been to him.

He shuddered suddenly, terrified by the prospect of going out into the streets, of the sweaty crowd closing in upon him. And yet, he forced himself to agree, how much he would gain from what they lost! He would never have to rely on his own miserable ideas and conceptions; there was a world of abandoned dreams and thoughts and hopes and fears and all he would have to do was to glean the fruit of the world’s labour. It was a brilliant proposal. Yes, why not? It would be fun.

It was mid-autumn before he was well enough to leave the house on his own.

*****

The first time he walked out, he was accosted by a sudden fear that everyone’s worries would surge upon him, swamping over him like a tidal wave. But the pavements were empty, the world was still asleep, and the slanting sunlight cast long disproportionate shadows on the cobbled stones. Only a beggar limped ahead in the distance, surveying the streets for the best position with the most human traffic. Two adults hurried by, and he braced himself for the burst of discordant voices. But it never came – and he began to doubt himself. Perhaps, that morning had only been a figment of his imagination, conjured up by the ravaging illness.

He widened his strides, closing in quickly on the beggar, when he noticed a shiny silver penny on the floor. It was followed by a trail of others left behind by the homeless man.

“Hey, you dropped this-“ he called out, his weak voice faltering as he looked up to see the beggar scurrying away, his face contorted with an expression of terror. He picked up the coin –

“You lazy good-for-nothing scum!”

“Here, have a dollar. You look like you could use a cup of hot coffee.”

“Mommy, why is he sleeping at that bus stop?”

And another penny – the sound of scuffling feet, the pinkle-pinkle of raindrops hitting metal.

These weren’t coins; they were memories.

He gathered the pennies by the handfuls, shoved them into his deep pockets and ran all the way home to examine his newfound treasure.

*****

Then came the loss of his thoughts. They had been preceded by many days like the first, loitering in the streets, amassing his trinkets by the handfuls off the sidewalk. The most fruitful days came from waiting outside the schools on examination week, where hordes of students came out in noisy throngs, leaving behind dull grey threads of Calculus, yellow crumbs of Quantum Mechanics, sparkly red glitter of Geography. There was so much to be gathered, his pockets bulged – there was once half a tune of such a beautifully sung opera it brought tears to his eyes (he wondered who it might have belonged to), a stanza of a poem by E. E. Cummings and an extraordinarily difficult cadenza of one of Chopin’s Etudes (he hoped the person no longer needed it).

Doctors, in their starched white shirts and cool confident gait, left more memories behind than anyone else did. Scatterings of tiny yellow tablets and pink-and-white capsules – each of them narrated a different account of a separate patient. Perhaps, they tried to forget. It was a burden too, to be bearing the memories of each person lying dead on the operating table after all had been done in vain. Little wonder then, that the tossing of these thoughts seemed deliberate.

Firemen, bookstore assistants, ex-convicts… He trailed them all. And each night as he pondered over his gems, he was someone else, looking at the world through a different set of eyes. He no longer had to think – in a manner limited by his twelve-year-old brain. He was free to put his ideas into thoughts surmised by a lawyer, or a headmaster, or an engineer of some sorts.

He was all of them – all of the people he had trailed – in one person. The loss of his own thoughts left him defenseless against the surroundings; but in return, he had been rewarded with the work of others, their thoughts, their memories, their personalities. He engulfed their shattered dreams – and saw that elementary school teacher who wanted to be a ballet dancer, that financial broker who used to nurse hopes of marrying a particular high school sweetheart, his own mother who had given up the high expectations she had held of him.

But she was weak, she did not understand at all, she could not see the pocketfuls of jewels he gleaned off the streets every day.

“Won’t you ever leave me alone?” The harsh shrill voice of a teenage girl floated into his mind, someone he had encountered earlier, as means of replacing his thoughts now that he had no voice of his own.

His mother looked at him with infinite sadness pooled in her stormy blue eyes and as she left, he gently picked up a pale blue button she had let slip to the floor.

It was all her plans for his future that she had harboured, for him, her only son… He broke down and wept.

*****

He was following her, keeping a safe distance behind, as was his usual custom. Ordinary people never really noticed him, a knobby knee-d skinny boy picking up his invisibly treasures (they just assumed he was ‘special’) but she was different. Every so often, she glanced over her shoulder, eyeing him with a look of apparent distrust and annoyance, and it quite unnerved him.

Still, he could not stop following her. He was drawn to her, attracted, fascinated. No, it was not for her looks: in fact, she was plain, and simply clothed in a light cotton sundress. It was the trails of pink rosebuds she had dropped behind, each one so dainty and fragile he feared it would disintegrate between his clumsy fingers.

“I haven’t forgotten you, Lucille… It’s just… We haven’t… Ten years. I have never stopped thinking about you, you’re my daughter. No, please… Your mother… Will you forgive me? I just want a chance to get to know you. I can… explain everything. A chance. Just one.” Broken fragments of a broken man’s hoarse pleading voice. Each rosebud was exactly like that, always disjointed sentences, never the full picture.

He followed her up the bus toward the hills in the suburban county, cupping the rosebuds in the warm nest of his palm, scarcely daring to clench his fist. They were poignant, emotional memories – and for the first time, he felt ashamed of himself. He began picking them up, no longer for himself, but in order to return them to her.

He lagged just a few steps behind her, gingerly scooping each tender rosebud out of the dirt she threw them into, and tried to catch up as she nimbly navigated the slippery slopes of the hill.

“I can’t do this any longer.” The sound of a door slamming and heavy stomping footsteps fading away. A pause – and a thin voice, that of a woman’s, weeping bitterly.
“Mom? Are you alright?”
The sound of a slap, and staggering steps.

He stopped, unable to catch his breath and unable to continue. He was invading her privacy with each successive rose bud – for the first time, his resolve came back; his thoughts, previously dark mists clouding his mind, assembled themselves into concrete words once more.

“Wait! Wait – “ he called out, amazed at hearing his own voice. It came out more like a husky croak, unlike what he would have imagined. “I know why you are here.”

She hesitated for the briefest of moments, but did not turn, and continued steadily ahead.

“You came here to forget.” He shouted again, to no avail.

They trekked upward in contemplative silence, each of his breaths coming out in discontinuous wheezing gasps.

“Who are you?” Her voice was familiar – of course, he had heard it from her memories. She had tired eyes, eyes that first alighted on him, then turned to take in the view from the top of the hill. Rows of neatly fenced in cottages, green pastures blemished only by white specks of sheep, ripples of sunlight dancing on tree tops.

“I – I’m the collector of forgotten memories…” He stammered.

“No. You’re a thief,” she turned to face him, but there was no reproach in her voice that gave her away.

“I – I came to return these to you,” he started to defend himself, holding out the dirt-smudged rosebuds, forgetting she could not see them. “They’re important to you, aren’t they?”

“Not now. You’ve tainted them.”

He let them fall to the ground.

“I know who you are. I’ve heard of you. They say you are mad, but they’re wrong. You’re incredibly clever, gathering forgotten memories and earning wisdom for yourself. But you haven’t really lived. You think you have a world of experience – in loving another person, in making scientific discoveries, in raising children. You’re wrong. People never really completely forget, you know? They may forget the names, but they never forget the faces. They may forget the details, but they’ll never forget the emotions seared onto their hearts. They may try to forget someone they once loved, but a part of them never really leaves. And that’s something you’ll never understand.”

She turned to make her way down the hill, but he did not pursue her this time.

He reached once more into his coat pockets, and drew out his handfuls of treasures – and saw that they had lost their sparkle. Buttons, pills and capsules, bunched-up wool, pennies – they were unmistakeably coated with grime, grime from his hands. Frustrated, he hurled them off the hill, watching them ricochet off the rocks at the bottom.

For the first time, he took a slow, long look at his hands. He had always been so preoccupied with the things he held that he had never taken a second look at them. They were long, thin and bony, with spider webs of wrinkles bunched up over his palms, covered with ugly liver spots and freckles. The hands of an old man.

Everything the girl had said made absolute sense to him, now.

And from afar, a girl watched a stooped old man stumble slowly down the hill.

Mirage

2010-09-22T06:37:00.000-07:00

You,
You whom I thought I saw in the distance -
You who were holding out your arms
to me
from a f a r
You are only a figment of my imagination.
I ran lightfooted, eagerly, with anticipation
across the desert,
across miles of sand,
to find myself in thorny embrace.

These tears which I weep into the
silky sands -
vanish as they fall;
Certainly they will be gone by morning.
"I love you" -
Empty words,
empty devoid heartless cold -
And I wish I could
break,
into,
your battle-hardened heart.

The stars in your eyes that dance,
have become glittering tears:
we are silent,
our sorrow does not need words.

Here's to you.

2009-10-11T02:22:00.000-07:00

I had forgotten how to laugh,
You were like a peal of giggles on a clear sunny morning.
I had forgotten how to breathe,
You were a breath of fresh air.
I had forgotten how to love,
You showed me how.

Closure.

2009-01-05T06:05:00.000-08:00

"I really did love you," she said, and there was not as much hurt in her voice as finality and disappointment. "But now I've seen that you didn't really care in the first place. I tried to give us a chance, you know? Hoping that we could still be friends or something. You just gave it up... So I gave up on you too."

He stared at her blankly, and there was a pregnant pause for a moment. He attempted to say something, but the words were caught in his throat. She went on flatly, "Yeah. I guess that's it. I was just hoping for closure, and I just had to say all this to you. Thanks for all you've taught me, and all I've learnt? Even though I went through so much pain the past year, I've become stronger."

She waited for him to say something else, a word to hold her back, but he shrugged simply. "If that's it, then goodbye." He replied quite simply, and shoved his hands further into his pockets.

"Goodbye." She brushed past him, and walked briskly onto the pavement. The sun was shining, the sky was cloudless; yes, it would be a fine day. It was a new day, and she would put the past behind.

But I love you.

2008-08-25T07:43:00.000-07:00

Sonnet XVII

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

-- Pablo Neruda

just a random thought.

2008-06-09T07:55:00.000-07:00

i wonder if there's still a :) after my name in your phone contact.

daring my heart to be brave.

2008-05-21T09:04:00.001-07:00

the act of loving someone isn't for the faint hearted.

You hold the universe.

2008-05-16T23:49:00.000-07:00

How often have i run away from You,
And how many times You have brought me back.
Loved me
Even though i didnt deserve it.
Unworthy as i am,
Lord, i give my life to You.

Once again, once more.
Take my hand, and never let go.
You know my heart is prone to wander from You,
So take it and keep it.

The passion,
The Spirit's fire,
The longing i had for You.
Fill me once again, Lord.

You alone are my God.

because i cant hold on any longer.

2008-05-15T22:30:00.000-07:00

all the feelings that i've been holding back for the past two months. i cant do this any longer. this thing really pierces my heart. you cant see, can you? how much i like you. and i hate myself for acting so sometimes... sometimes, i feel like the only person who can possibly love me after knowing what i am on the inside is Jesus.

i love you too, Jesus. but now i'm so confused, i dont know what i'm doing. or why i feel the way i do. or why this matters so much.

Metallurgical Intent

2008-04-19T22:35:00.000-07:00

whoops i realised that the previous one i published wasn't the latest version. so here's the latest one, dated 29 January.

Kaelyn was more than just a little surprised to see Nic waiting for her outside the apartment when she returned and she clearly expressed her surprise.

“What are you doing here, Nic? We’re desperately short of manpower here! You should be polishing the equipment for the laser sculpting!”

Nic shrugged unsmilingly. He stood waveringly on the spot, his large brown eyes following Kaelyn as she slid out of her spacesuit easily.

“Guess your battery needs to be recharged again,” Kaelyn sighed wearily. Although she was nineteen, she was assertive in her manners and, competent in her profession. Being one of the most talented and sought after laser sculptors, she thought it was necessary to carry off an air of feminine elegance under the scrutiny of the intergalactic media.

“I’m going to have to switch you off,” her authoritative tone barely masked a trace of impatience. She slid her hand into the small of his back. What she hadn’t expected was the violent reaction from Nic as he nearly knocked her over.

“No!” he resisted. There was just the faintest hint of defiance.

Kaelyn sucked in a breath and tried once more, impatiently. “Not again, Nic! It’s not going to hurt. You’re only a robot; and stop over-reacting!”

Nic leaned against the titanium walls of the apartment, and apparently hit a sensor – the solar shields came down and the interior lights flickered on.

“Alright, okay, you asked for it. Nic, shut down NOW. This is an order.” She spoke more sharply than she had intended to and expected to hear the metallic click of his system switching off any moment.

Minutes passed, but he was still standing there, watching her intently. Kaelyn was more than just a little disturbed by his reaction. Finally, she broke the dreary silence. “What’s wrong with you?! Nic, I swear I’ll send you to be reprogrammed!”

She diverted her attention to the two new robots that had just arrived the day before. JC-17 and IZ-28 were made of highly advanced synthetic jelly silicon with 60 artificial joints each in their faces, necks, and lower bodies. They were specially customized to be able to demonstrate realistic facial expressions.

Kaelyn was preoccupied with examining JC-17 and IZ-28 which had been made to look almost exactly like humans on the outside, but with internal mechanics exactly the same as that of robots.

“Could you please… ” Nic was standing in her way.

“Look, Nic, I’m really busy here. JC-17 and IZ-28 require my attention… now.”

Nic felt a sharp twang of resentment. He grasped Kaelyn’s arm forcefully, catching her by surprise.

“NC-16! Control yourself! This is an order!”

“Kaelyn,” Nic said slowly, a note of passion rising in his automatonic voice. “There are many things I am not made to understand, and this must be one of them. But I’m… I’m almost human. I’m also capable of loving you. ”

The realization that Nic was no longer just an android hit Kaelyn. His ability to model human emotions and display his affection for her far exceeded her expectations.

Robots can’t feel; they don’t have emotions; they aren’t capable of loving! A mental voice reminded her and she freed herself from his grasp. Snapping back to reality out of her momentary confusion, Kaelyn was filled with a sudden revulsion and horror at what had just happened.

She left the room abruptly.

The sudden revelation that he was capable of human emotions despite being a mere android, was mortifying. After all, his positronic brainwaves weren’t wired for such purposes.

This was absurd. He didn’t know what might happen to him – he might suffer a breakdown, collapse, go mad, anything. But he would still love, anyway.

“The Constitution: A robot must not injure a human being, or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. Loving someone puts them at risk of getting hurt. Contradiction. Therefore I must not allow Kaelyn to love me.”

What about hurt feelings then? Were they also considered injury? When you love someone, you put yourself at risk of getting hurt… And Nic knew, with an inexplicable conviction, that Kaelyn would love him back.

And he also knew, with his head but not his heart, that it was impossible for a robot to disobey the Constitution. It was a mathematical impossibility, an unconceivable idea… but he was already disobeying it. He was becoming more and more human-like each day; he could feel pain, frustration, hurt, jealousy, joy, but most of all, love.

Nic would have been crying at this point, if he could. Instead, though, he sat down and buried his face in his hands – and started working out the prime numbers between 57 000 and 439 000. It always calmed him down, without fail.

*****

Kaelyn sat on the edge of her bed, suddenly frightened in a completely new way. She swallowed nervously and stared at her hands stupidly – they were still tingling with the pressure of his fingers.

No, not him. He was an “it”. NC-16. That was the name she referred to him – by his serial number – when she needed a reminder that he was only a hunk of aluminium and titanium, under a human-like façade.

One did not have to be a roboticist to know that androids cannot possibly be capable of emotions. They made good friends, perhaps even confidantes, but lovers… No. No. NO! How could she be in love with a machine?

Kaelyn shook her head hard. Would anyone else in the space colony understand how it felt to be in love, or worse, to love someone that you weren’t allowed to? She remembered vaguely the stories she had heard of the Earthmen – how they still had wives and children, still loved, still led simple lives. The Earth colony hadn’t changed much since the Revolution a good three centuries ago. It was given up as hopeless.

But here… here on the space colony, anyone could have anyone else. She had had a few guys back in college, but that kind of existence was too empty, futile, useless. Kaelyn wanted someone she could love, that she could call her own.

Maybe she would have been much happier living before the Revolution.

In any case, Kaelyn was tired. She was sick of living the way she did, working as a laser sculptor. Of course, the pay was great and there was the job satisfaction, but she was still missing something.

Nic. Nic. Nic. Her heart contracted in her spasm of pain, and tears flooded her eyes. A stirring from her own body sent a shudder from mind to soul… Her own genetically engineered body was designed by minds who wanted perfection… Was flesh and blood really that different from silicon and electron pulses? How different was he from her?

Why then was she capable of love but he deemed unable and therefore prohibited? Was loving him truly a crime?

Kaelyn knew somewhere in the recesses at the back of her mind that these were questions that no one knew the answer to. And as the sharp pain in her heart became only a dull ache, she gave herself over to her jumbled thoughts that washed over her…

Quite unsurprisingly, the last thought that clamored at her was that of his hand. She remembered how it felt, warm and soft, just like a human being’s.

Almost like a human.

*****

The next morning, Kaelyn met Nic in the hallway with an unusually fond greeting.

“I know… I know this place, with the most extraordinary relics!” she whispered excitedly, beside herself with girlish anticipation. “It’s outside of this space colony, but a short trip on the space bubble should do the trick.” She added, dropping her voice to even lower tones. A prominent figure in society, her every move was monitored closely… And she knew, as everyone else did, the open secret about the Corporation tapping into the networks of apartments at random, to eavesdrop on their private conversation.

“But… but how?” If Nic was thrilled, his inscrutable face surely did not betray it.

“Simple.” Kaelyn could not suppress a grin at the foolproof plan that she had worked out feverishly all night. “I’ll leave first and you’ll set off half an hour later. Study these directions carefully, and make sure you don’t get lost.” She handed him a folded slip of paper.

What seemed like the faintest trace of a smile tugged at the corners of Nic’s lips. “I don’t need these,” he said, quite simply, after his photoelectric eyes had scanned the note. “You haven’t forgotten, have you? I can receive and wire radio signals easily, even in time warps, let alone outer space!”

The secret rendezvous went as Kaelyn planned. Stopping upon the abandoned
L-5 NanoCity in space on the asteroid, she waved her hand airily at the vast amount of junk accumulated on its surface and explained, “It used to be a dumping ground for the Earthmen, about a hundred years ago, when we had already developed the disintegration technology.” She allowed a small smile at the primitive ways of the Earthmen, and their rigidity at rejecting every type of advance in technology.

Picking their way slowly through the pieces of waste, they came across rather curious articles – scrap metal, disjointed robots, rattles, awkward thick objects with squiggles scrawled across their pages, and… and…

Kaelyn dashed over the jagged rocks on the surface of the asteroid towards the craggy cliff. The low gravity made physical activity an easy feat, but the bulky spacesuit obstructed her movements, and she barely cleared the seven feet jump. Stopping and staring in awe, Kaelyn was faced with the most breath-taking sight.

It was an odd instrument, with duo-coloured keys, and a cover that was inclined at an angle so as to allow her to view the dozens of parallel strings inside, each connected to a tiny little hammer. “It must be a Pianissichord!” Kaelyn murmured inaudibly. She had heard about it during her history lessons that such peculiar musical instruments had existed before the Revolution.

Kaelyn depressed one key gently. It created a solemn melancholy sound reverberating through the hushed atmosphere of the City in space. If only there were others to hear it! The sound stirred some lost childhood memory – where she had stared at the picture of the piano on the screen for hours, and wondered how it might have been like to attend a concert.

Imagine the music! The dancing notes swirling through the air, the harmony of chords, each sound distinct and unique from the others… What rapture it must have created in its audience! And how much more, what infinite pleasure the pianist must have derived!

She knew what it was like to be an artist, watching her laser sculptures slowly take shape under the guidance of her skilful, deft fingers… But perhaps, the art even of today could not be compared to that of the past. That single mournful note still rang out, its echoes dying away slowly. A sudden déjà vu swept over her; and Kaelyn felt as if she had never been more alone before.

Nic touched her shoulder gently. “I think I could play that piano,” he glanced at it shyly. “I’ve been programmed to do so.”

Planting himself down firmly on the bench, Nic’s uncertain fingers found the right keys… and there was a sudden orchestration of sounds, like nothing Kaelyn had ever heard in her entire life. This was real.

His fingers swept nimbly across the keyboard, blending rich harmonic overtones; the music rising to a crescendo as he executed octaves and double notes with precision. It was a wonderful showcase, and Kaelyn sat rapt and enthralled. It was all she could do to manage a “Wow!” at the end of the piece, and Nic beamed.

“That was the Paganini Variations by Johannes Brahms,” he cast a sidelong glance at her, and was taken very much by surprise when she reached for his hand.

“That was impressive.” She was overwhelmed by the intensity of her own feelings. “Nic, are you really capable of… loving?”

Kaelyn held her breath and waited for his reply. The dead silence was ringing and it seemed like an eternity before he replied rather dully, “I’m not sure now,” and his voice trailed off.

“So you were lying the day before?”

“Yes.” Nic averted her steely gaze. “I did that all to prevent you from getting hurt. I don’t really love you.” He was lying that he had lied, but he did not have another choice. This was the only way to protect her, now. Even if she had to hate him… He had made up his mind to do so.

The dizzying sensation was gone, and only a gnawing ache in the pit of her stomach was left behind. “Alright, at least I know the situation now.” It was hard to hide the hurt in her voice, but Kaelyn did so with a great effort, and turned towards her space bubble.

She never looked back, he never saw the tears in her eyes, and she never saw him again.

*****

As the weeks turned to months, Kaelyn found it easier to put Nic out of her thoughts. Her feelings toward him were fading quickly, and she found it nearly impossible to stay in love with someone that she could no longer see. Well, perhaps, she had only been in love with the idea of being in love. That was a reassuring thought.

Sometimes, when her mind was idle, her thoughts inevitable turned to Nic, and she wondered what had happened to him then. He never returned, and she never had the courage to find out, but she always took it for granted that he was happy somewhere else.

Nevertheless, Kaelyn did not usually entertain that train of thought. It was an unpleasant memory, to be locked up and stored away; or more preferably, forgotten. Whenever the thought of Nic returned to her uninvited, she made it a personal habit to bury herself in work. This tactic had never failed her.

Kaelyn looked over the laser sculptures she had completed in the past few months, that were to be exhibited at the Intergalactic Arts Fest Conference 2307. Sure, they weren’t nearly as good as the ones she had worked on together with Nic, and they were mere variations of her previous successes… The public wouldn’t notice a difference anyway.

Her life had changed more drastically. For one thing, she now had the two new robots – JC-17 and IZ-28 to assist her.

Nothing they ever did would erase the memory of Nic and his brooding handsome looks, soft dark hair, youthful square jaw, and muscular arms. Still, with the ever-surmounting workload, Kaelyn realized that she could go for days at a stretch without thinking of him. But when the work was done, she would flop down on the couch and feel the aching void within… Everything was meaningless, utterly meaningless!

That was where Stan came into the picture now. Within days of being nominated as one of the Top Ten Entrepreneurs, Kaelyn soon learnt the social norms. She had to have a bedmate, and Stan would do perfectly fine. He wasn’t very much older than her and incredibly dashing… With the sufficient work in the day and Stan at night, she needn’t have worried too much about her feelings.

The older women rallied around her and patted her encouragingly, each recounting her personal tale of some obscure romantic relationship, and all unanimously agreed on the point that she would get over it. “A man a day, keeps the emotions at bay!”

It was on a day very much like the others that the telescreen beeped right after breakfast. Kaelyn shoved her plate away and ignored the shrill sound that was reverberating through the small cluttered apartment. Stan walked up toward her, with a suggestive grin. “What shall it be this morning? Shall we head for vibro-vac-massages down the block? I heard they’re good.” He had his arm around her.

“It’s your decision,” Kaelyn replied sweetly. It was strange, using such language and being so close to someone she didn’t really care for, but it was the social norm. Anything else, and she could forget about her ambition of being the Top Laser Sculptor.

The shrill beeping ceased abruptly, and a human voice came on the speakers. It wasn’t quite the flat robotic one that she had always heard, informing her of her daily workload, and that made her start a little.

“Is this the private residence of Doctor Kaelyn McKenzie?”

“Well, yes.” Kaelyn straightened. Any call that required a human’s precious time and attention had to be something of utmost importance. She slid away from Stan and tossed her tousled hair out of her face. “What is the matter?”

“This is Professor Ernest Stein, from Intergalactic Robots Research Centre, and we have called you regarding your robot NC-16. You were once his previous owner, no?”

“Yes. What is wrong with NC-16?” Kaelyn hastened towards the telescreen, where a projected image of a middle-aged man with an agreeable red face, spoke coldly and crisply.

“He malfunctioned during one of our interrogations last week, and we found it is our professional duty to terminate him, as he had displayed tendencies of defying The Constitution. We would like you to assist our investigations - ” Professor Ernest croaked over the static sound.

“You terminated my robot?! How could you do that?!”

“Doctor McKenzie, the robot NC-16 is now official property of the Intergalactic Robots Research Centre since his detention. I hope you understand.” He reminded her.

“I’ll be right over.” Kaelyn was already putting her spacesuit on with extreme haste. Detention? He was detained? When? How could she not know? A million questions raced through her head.

A perturbed Kaelyn stumbled into the Intergalactic Robots Research Centre head office just half an hour later, and was greeted by a young fresh-looking secretary. “Follow me please.” He led her into the inner office.

They filed into a laboratory in icy silence, and her presence was hardly acknowledged by the team of scientists huddled around the screen. She cast a sidelong glance at Nic who was lying on a steel table, wires connected to his head, eyes shut. He was as handsome as ever, the only difference was he looked entirely like a robot now.

A chill swept over her momentarily as Kaelyn fixed unseeing eyes on the computer screen. It took her quite a few moments to realize that it was entirely blank, but that did not matter.

“You detained him? What actually happened?” She demanded.

“Didn’t you know, Doctor McKenzie?” Professor Stein’s voice was perfectly even. “Our wave beams detected two trespassers on Asteroid L-5, and NC-16 was one of them. Apparently, he was out there with a human female, and from our control station, we intercepted their conversation, of which we could make out that they were involved in a romantic entanglement. Of course, you are aware that this is a crime?”

He paused significantly, but receiving no reply, continued. “However, when our patrol team arrived on Asteroid L-5, we found NC-16 quite alone there. Months of interrogation yielded no results as he fiercely protected the identity of that, uh, human female. And we were wondering if you could assist us in our research.”

He nodded calmly toward Kaelyn, who was struggling to remain composed. “Surely, there was no need to terminate his program!” she sputtered. A dim horror of her worst nightmare and wildest dreams washed over her.

“We took out NC-16’s positronic brain to identify errors in his programming that would, er, lead to his tendencies to defy The Constitution. You see, we can’t have robots that disobey It.” Professor Stein explained patiently.

All of a sudden, Kaelyn realized the significance of what Professor Stein had just said. It was coming together, like pieces of a puzzle – Nic’s confession of love, why he had turned against her, his empty program, his tendency to defy The Constitution… He had done it all to protect her! He had sacrificed himself, his all, for her… But what had she ever done for him in return?

Kaelyn was on the brink of insanity.

“I’m sorry, Nic!” she gasped over and over again, her tears falling, as she realized the hopelessness of the situation. He would never rise again, and he had once loved her! With what contempt she had scorned his love, and it was too late.

Too late.

By: Ada Ngo
29 January 2008

ups and downs.

2008-04-07T22:28:00.000-07:00

dont you realise, that you have the ability to make us the happiest of friends or the unhappiest of lovers?

i like you, but i dont love you.

2008-03-27T22:33:00.000-07:00

perhaps
my feelings for you have morphed
into something
more than just admiration?
perhaps, i love you now.

love is a subset of "like".

i guess i was being silly
when i thought i could make you care.
but now i know,
it's just been wishful thinking on my part.

there's only one person
that i know of
who can possibly do that.
but i held myself back,
because if i did go over,
i know i'd fall in love with you even more.

i'm doing all these for you,
maybe you'll understand some day.
some day.

i found my first true love at age 6.

2008-02-28T22:21:00.000-08:00

hahah maybe not. i found it at age 12.

why does love hurt, if it's that great? why do hearts break, then?

i love you so much, but i'll never tell you. because i know you don't feel the same way about me, and that pain, that stabbing pain, in my heart is something i'll never forget.

we met, we laughed, we held on fast, and then we said goodbye.

No Greater Love

2008-02-08T23:28:00.000-08:00

This is a true story. (Names have been changed.)

Mr Harrington was the richest gold miner in the entire of South Africa, and it came very much unexpected to the rest of his subordinates and co-workers when he announced his decision to adopt children from the nearby villages.

"Children are of no use, Sir! They do nothing, they live off your money, they're extra mouths to feed, and then... and then... when they grow up, and you're old, they leave you. Why would you want to adopt children?"

But Mr. Harrington was a man of few words and he said nothing, not even to his only son who pressed him, hard. He did not understand his father's intentions, but he knew his father's heart that always went out to the poor.

The day finally came, and Mr. Harrington adopted no less than FIVE children from the orphanage, 3 girls and 2 boys. They were uneducated children of varying ages, small, olive-skinned and malnourished. No one could understand how Mr. Harrington came to love them almost as much, if not more than his own boy, for the children were never grateful.

They never learnt how to speak; and retained their savage ways, hooting and staring at passers-by with their large eyes, wide and fearful. One could have said they were almost afraid, they did not know what love was, and now it was showered on them, they did not know how to react to it.

The children got into trouble so often that Mr. Harrington, a respectable man, was often seen at the county police station apologizing profusely for the misdeeds of his children. And yet, he never disciplined them harshly, he sat them down and talked to them... But the children never learned.

"To love the children to such an extent, one would think that he was foolish and desperate!" the villagers whispered among themselves, but Mr. Harrington paid no heed to the advice of the rest that the children would one day betray and desert him.

"I love them, and they are my children." That was the only reply they could get from him.

The day came, the day finally came, that the villagers' predictions came true. All five children broke loose, and created a hell in the entire county, plundering all the houses, injuring people. Even after years of being shown love and the tenderest compassion, they were still hard-hearted savages. Mr. Harrington was heart-broken, but he still refused to comment. It was evident he was deeply grieved...

After nearly a week, the adopted terrors were caught. The verdict was such that they should be stoned to death, and Mr. Harrington was there at the hearing. He was silent, deep in thought, and when the sentence was pronounced, he walked up to the judge's seat, and said the most unbelievable thing.

"Your Honour, would you give these children back to me, if I gave you my son, my one and only son? You can take him to be stoned instead."

The boy looked at his father with shock and disbelief, but the father kept his steadfast on the judge. "My father, why have you abandoned me?" The boy was crying now, and Mr. Harrington's eyes were filled with tears, but he was looking only at the 5 piteous children standing in the farthest corner.

"Why would you want to do this, Mr. Harrington?" The judge was nearly speechless, as was the entire courtroom. "They're worthless little savages, they won't know how to appreciate the love you've shown them, and they're only gonna betray you again, and hurt you. They will never understand."

"I love them, and they are my children." Mr. Harrington replied quietly, and it was all he would give for an answer.

"Fine, so be it." The judge rapped his gavel decisively, and the boy was brought out to be stoned by the villagers. His father stood at a distance, his face averted, but his heart evidently torn apart by just the sight of his only heir being stoned to death.

"Daddy! Daddy! Why are you doing this to me?" the boy cried out again and again, as the stones pelted on him. He sank weakly to his knees, and breathed his last.

"My child, I'm doing this, so they might live. They are the reason that you have to suffer and die." His father's reply was barely audible, and his voice quivered with strong emotion. The 5 savages looked on, barely comprehending, and they even joined in the loud outcries of the crowd.

But like all stories with a happy ending, Mr. Harrington's son was resurrected, and some of the savage children learnt what love, what great love, their father had shown them... That he gave even his only son, his pure son, that they might live.

well, as most of you have guessed by now, this is the story of how God gave His one and only Son, Jesus Christ, that we might live.
"For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord." Romans 6:23.

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:38-39

Nothing we have done or could do will ever make Him close the door. This is the true story of the Greatest Love, unconditional love. Love so great, that you cant even begin to comprehend it.

I love You, Lord. Thank you, thank you for dying on the cross for me. :)

love... what is it actually?

2007-12-30T06:32:00.000-08:00

Of all the things in the world, love is said to be the greatest. The Bible seems to agree with this. But all too often, how we treat love and think about it seems to be flawed...

We hurt and get hurt. We fail so often and we give up. We let the woes of the world and the things that distract us take us away from the ones we love. Futility sets in & our hearts are torn asunder. We give ourselves excuses for why we can't love or shouldn't anymore.

My friends, if you see this: Who do you love the most? If you 2 are apart, please don't give up. If mistakes have been made, heal the wounds caused. If there's a barrier between you, grab his/her hand and leap over no matter the cost. If distance separates, hold each other in your hearts.

Love always safeguards what is most precious when it is most vulnerable, it always believes in the best of each other, it looks at a future otherwise impossible, it never gives up even when heart and flesh have failed... (I Cor 13: 7 - paraphrase)

Just thought i'd share this. courtesy of Issac Ho(:

did you know.

2007-12-27T18:43:00.000-08:00

do you know how it feels like to love someone whom you know you aren't supposed to? that you will get hurt sooner or later.

A Twisted Tale

2007-09-18T20:26:00.000-07:00

It was a most peculiar situation that Petite Red Riding Hood found herself in. Appearing before the court, strained and unnerved, she took her vows, squeaking out each word, then proceeded to take a seat while waiting for the trial to take place. She was certain that it was a day that would live in infamy.

Like any other day, it was scorchingly hot and humid, with the summer flies hovering around incessantly. One by one, the bystanders filed in drowsily, sipping their sodas and slouching in their seats - to them, this trial was no more than a scandal; a juicy topic for gossip.

"This way, please, Wolverine." Wolverine, a large wolf with grey fur shuffled in and took up his seat near the prosecutor. The trial was about to begin, and Wolverine cast a glance towards Petite Red Riding Hood, one that harboured intense hatred and malice. Judge Taylor rapped the stand with his gavel for order, and the loud chattering died down to a faint buzz in the background.

"The accused, Petite Red Riding Hood. The victim, Wolverine. The case - Petite Red Riding Hood has been suspected of theft, rather, a breach of copyright laws and also of slandering Wolverine. What have you to say in defence of yourselve, Hood?" Judge Taylor was a severe man who wore a perpetual frown on his face and a penetrating stare that seemed to read every single thought that crossed your mind.

"Your Honour..." Petite Red Riding Hood rose to her feet rather shakily, feeling as if her knees had turned to Jell-O. "I did not do any of the things you accused me of... Wolverine is a liar!" She had meant to speak with conviction, but now her words seemed to hang limply in the air, the silence seeming more oppressive than ever.

"Even Atticus Finch couldn't save you!" a voice yelled from amongst the audience and Judge Taylor rapped his gavel once more. He turned to rest his gaze upon Petite Red Riding Hood, assessing her with his one good eye.

"I really didn't..." she faltered lamely, half wishing she had had enough money to engage a lawyer instead of speaking in her own defence. With that, she sat down hastily and her heart sank as she glanced at the jury's unmoved countenances.

Wolverine stood up next to accuse Petite Red Riding Hood. He wore an expression of utmost hurt, and blew his nose violently into a large silk handkerchief. Glancing up, he began his well-rehearsed rhetoric -

"Your Honour, I'd always treated Riding Hood as a close friend, until she showed me what a nasty backstabbing fishmonger --" the Judge frowned even more, his eyebrows knitting together and Wolverine remembered himself sufficiently to go on acting -- "Well, until she STOLE my idea of wearing glass slippers to the prom night... And she told everyone that I had killed her grandma and that I blowed down the lil' piggies' houses, yer know ful' well I didn't..."

With that, Wolverine burst into tears. He covered his mouth with his hands and sobbed. Judge Taylor stared at him and it was plain that he had never been confronted with a problem of this kind. He cleared his throat and tried unsuccessfully to speak in soothing tones. “Now, tell us in your own words, what actually happened.”

Wolverine sniffed wrathfully. “Said that Ridin’ Hood stole my idea of glass slippers and claimed it as her own… It ain’t, it ain’t, how could anyone do somethin’ so awful as that… And she slandered me – made me outta be a murderer and an arsonist and now she’s even turnin’ my friends against me… To think I treated her as a friend!”

Petite Red Riding Hood was on her feet before Wolverine was done with his accusations. She drew herself to her full height and was looking at Judge Taylor squarely, her jaw quivering with rage.

“Your Honour,” her voice had become arid and detached, trying to mask the emotions that were bubbling within her. “Would it be considered slander if I told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

“No, that would be a fact.” Judge Taylor did not quite seem to register the point that Riding Hood was driving at.

“Sir, all that I said about Wolverine –“ she paused to point an accusing finger at the wolf – “are facts! He did murder my grandmother, he destroyed the little pigs’ homes, AND everyone knows that we agreed to wear glass slippers to the prom night together! He’s the liar, the slanderer! Why can’t you see the truth? It’s plain as daylight!”

Petite Red Riding Hood was crimson from her passionate fit of yelling and her last question was directed at the jury. But there was no use – for all seven of them sat unmoved, filled with pity for Wolverine who was now dabbing at his eyes furiously.

“Your Honour,” he began chokingly, in his pseudo-forgiving voice. “Don’t, please don’t, hold it against Riding Hood… She seems to be a little delusional nowadays…”

But Judge Taylor decided that he had heard enough. He rose wearily, and announced that the case was closed, and after a short consultation with the jury, declared in a booming voice, “Petite Red Riding Hood has been found guilty of breaching copyright laws and slander. She is now sentenced to five years’ jail.” It was ended with a rap of the gavel that drove home the finality of the sentence.

Petite Red Riding Hood stood stunned. She glanced helplessly at the jurors who were people she once knew – Snow White, Cinderella, Mulan, even her ballet teacher, but they merely shook their heads disapprovingly at her, and went on to comfort Wolverine.

Petite Red Riding Hood had to bite her lip and clench her fists to prevent herself from crying out in anger, as Wolverine accepted their sympathies with mock tears. And when they had all left, he whirled around to face her, his white teeth gleaming in contrast to his grey fur coat.

“You… you… Nasty, lowdown, stinking –“ Petite Red Riding Hood could not think of enough adjectives to hurl at him.

Wolverine simply chuckled, as if he were mildly amused. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” He leaned over toward her such that his unkempt fur tickled her ear, and added in a mock whisper. “You should have never broken up with me, darling.”

With that, he sauntered off, basking in the sweetness of his revenge. And as Petite Red Riding Hood found herself shaking uncontrollably with indignant sobs, she realized for the first time in her life, what the words “an unjust world” really meant.

love letter

2007-08-13T20:39:00.000-07:00

Dear you,

I can't call this a love letter. Love is too big a word. And no, I don't want to scare us both away.

I fell in deep "like" with you. Puzzling, because we never been alone together ... Our gazes never lasted more than 2 seconds.

But I think of you. A lot.

I like that you're passionate about what you do. I like that you know a lot about so many things, and you have an opinion for almost any situation. And I like that you don't compromise your opinions. And I like that you can say no to culture.

I like that you want to do so many things, and you seem to have time to do little of almost all those.

I like that you are candid. I like that you are honest. I like that your honesty sometimes leaves me wanting to take back something I said. And many times, leaves me wondering what if I said more.

I like that we never had nothing to talk about. At the same time, I like that I am so certain that silence with you will still make me feel the same way.

I like that you can can make me laugh. And I like that you can do that so effortlessly.

And yes, I like that you can't look straight into my eyes for more than 2 seconds.

So there... here's my like letter for you. Keep it... It might be a prelude for something else.

Source: http://www.1millionlovemessages.com/

RE-OPEN!! :D

2007-05-21T22:05:00.000-07:00

alright, hi peeps, (if anyone has been following this blog at all) im officially re-opening this blog! since the holidays are starting, i shall, hopefully, be coming up with more stories and get my creative juices flowing once more. :D

and when i do have the time, after all the script-checking is over, i shall post the short story which i scribbled in a hurry on the back of my geography paper. heheh... that's all for now.

ciao. :)

Eternity Memories of Light and Waves

2007-01-19T05:20:00.000-08:00

This is a fan-fiction of Dune, Book One, by Frank Herbert. Please visit http://midori-angel.blogspot.com for my commentary- which i'll put up later- or to leave a comment if you do not have a Blogger account :) okay, i admit, this isn't exactly one of my best works. I haven't found the time to type out 2 other works I've done.

At the end of the South Wing, Paul found a metal staircase spiraling up to an oval door. He glanced back down the hall, and again up at the door.

Oval? What a weird shape for a door in this house.

The great white sun of Arrakis shone harshly down the corridor, and the house felt unsually lonely and cold as he saw his elongated shadow stabbing down the narrow passage way. But once more, the words of Hawat, his faithful Mentat and friend returned to him, burning all thoughts of homesickness.

Paul turned his attention to the door once more. His gaze flitted behind to make certain he was unobserved. He climbed the stairs slowly, his hand sliding along the cool metal railing. The door had been locked with a palm lock. Paul knew he had learnt it before from Jessica, his mother, and from the Bene Gesserit training. He placed his hand on the slight depression and made a subtle twist of his wrist. The door clicked open easily.

As it shut softly behind him, Paul stood, awed by the efforts someone had put in to put up such a wonderful garden. An artificial waterfall cascaded down at a corner, while vines and shrubs and flowering plants of every sort fluorished in this greenhouse.

He caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye and jerked his head toward it, suddenly alert. But it had only been a garden hose, moistening his cheek with a fine spray of water as it sent a mist of droplets toward a fern beside him.

He marvelled, inwardly, at the lavish and excessive use of water on Arrakis, the desert planet. The water used in this house, in this particular room, could probably support 9000 Fremen. This, perhaps, he thought aloud, was Hawat's way of demonstrating the absolute unquestionable authority of the Duke's family over Arraki.

Paul's heart gave a sudden throbbing lurge as he remembered he was no longer the Duke's son, but the Duke himself. Tears flooded his eyes, stinging them as he stared at a minature river weaving through the plants.

The door burst open with a deafening crash. He whirled round, blinking the tears back bravely as the sheath of the crysknife tucked in his belt stabbed his ribs. It was one of Hawat's men.

"Your Highness, there has been an intruder that has been captured in the storage house." Paul knew this man - He was another Mentat.

"A Fremen?" He raised his eyebrows quizically.

"No, one of the Harkonnens," the Mentat replied calmly, flicking a finger down his flowing black robe to smoothen a crease. "A girl."

"I'd like to handle her myself." Paul caught himself in time, correcting the sharpness and cutting edge of his voice. It dawned on him who the intruder might be. "Does Lady Jessica know about this yet?"

"No, Sire. She's resting in her room. Shall I tell her?"

"No. You may leave." Paul nodded wearily, hurrying toward the storage house where the weapons were kept. It was at the West Wing of the house and he quickened his pace to a quick jog. Mom must never know about this. He knew how news spread like wildfire in this household.

Upon emerging, he met Shadout Mapes, housekeeper. She was ambling toward the storage house as well, her characteristic 'all-blue-no-whites' eyes fixed in that direction. As usual, she was clothed in an oversized knee-length dress, that billowed out in the wind, potraying her as a caricature of a stick figure in baggy clothes.

"Intruder." Mapes was direct. Nothing ever seemed to worry her, or even to surprise her. Paul had wondered about this at first, her strange ways that she never lost her cool and became frustrated... but he had eventually accepted it as the way of the Fremen.

"I can handle this." He ignored the strange glance she cast in his direction, one of doubt. He knew everyone thought and saw him as a mere sixteen-year-old, a boy, and not the man he was now growing up to be. Even Reverend Mother.

Those were the same words he repeated to the guards pinioning the lanky girl down in the storage house. She held a look of absolute defiance, her eyes flashing with hate, hate of an old woman, as the guards meekly obeyed the orders of the skinny tan boy. Paul knew who she was, as she got to her feet and stood looking into his eyes as equals, arms folded across her dirtied blouse.

He hesitated, clearing his throat. "You could have died, Xanthia! They could have killed you!" Somehow, he could not comprehend how someone could be so gullible as to attempt sneaking into this house. The security was stringent, everyone lived from day to day with such wariness and cautiousness, as if there were a traitor among them. Trespassers could have been put to death.

Xanthia tossed her head, flinging her mangy auburn hair out of her eyes. She stood for a long while, studying the olive skinned complexion of Paul, his severe eyes and cold hard mouth drawn into a line. His lips were quivering a little, as he pulled his shoulders back squarely. The dark cloak with the eagle symbol that once belonged to the late Duke, was now draped around his frail, thin shoulders, a thread coming loose from the silvery embroidered bird-of-prey.

"I know."

"Why did you come, then?!" Paul was struggling to keep his voice even, not to let it rise in hysterical anger. Couldn't she see how worried she had been? He found it personally ridiculous that they quarelled nearly every time they met.

"I want to show you something. Come with me." Xanthia walked briskly past him and out of the storage house, in the presence of the dumbstruck guards. Paul filed past them in silence, trying to keep up with her pace. He had admired her for a very long time, being secretly in love with her courage and fearlessness. She was quick, sharp-witted and decisive. Hesitation, did not exist in her dictionary...

Xanthia, he knew, was one of the Harkonnens, a tribe of people after his own life. How then, could he fall in love with the enemy? That was why Jessica could NEVER know about this, about their friendship, about the flashes of light they sent each other across the basin. There could have never been 2 more unlikely friends - a Duke with a mission in his life to seek revenge for his people, and a girl who lived as an outcast from her tribe, stealing and looting from the Fremen.

It seemed many miles later that they came to the basin where Xanthia lived. Drip-drip-drip. drip-drip. Paul could hear the soft sound distinctly, even over the sound of Xanthia's footsteps on the crunching gravel ground.

"Water!" He knew the sound of dripping water by heart, the precious commodity of Arrakis. Xanthia nodded, pointing to a cave hidden among the rocks. "That's where I live, Paul." The hardness in her voice had melted away as they stepped into the cave where water was flowing into a small pool of rocks.

It was dim and cool in the cave, a comforting shelter from the sweltering white hot sun. Paul bent over the refreshing pool of water, having learnt to recognise the pure water from poison water, which was also found abundantly on this planet.

"Is this what you wanted to show me?"

Xanthia was silent as she picked up an instrument with twelve strings. Running her fingers over them gently, she was able to create the sweetest and most melodious sound that ever graced Paul's ear. Slowly, she played a charming, hypnotic melody, resonating through the cave as the sunset gloriously, half-illuminating everything in a shadowy yet romantic manner. Paul was caught up in the music, as each note trailed through the air, rushing over him like wave after wave... hard as lightning, yet soft as candle light.

Finally, the last note trailed off in the air.

"Did you compose that yourself?" Paul was enticed by the melody. He stood, gazing at her face, as she turned to look out of the cave, revealing her profile. Her sharp nose, large eyes, high cheekbones. And yes, that mouth.

"It's called Eternity Memories of Light and Waves," Xanthia glanced at Paul, but her mind was on the gom jabbar in her pocket. Her fingers darted in, closing around the needle tightly. This would be the right time, nearly perfect... The gom jabbar caused a quick and painless death. He just had to come a little closer, and the Duke would be no more. Arrakis would be rid of a tyrannical ruler who was so easily charmed by a woman.

"It was nice... The best thing I've ever heard!" Paul was forgetting himself. In fact, he always did when he was around Xanthia. He paused, swallowing hard. "Xanthia, I love you."

The girl gawked at him. Now he had ruined everything, foiled her perfect impeccable plan. The fool! But she had to admit, there were so many feelings raging within her now... He had been trained in Truthsay, hadn't he? Why could he tell what she really was thinking?

"Please go." Xanthia turned abruptly away from Paul, the sliver of a needle clutched in her sweaty fist. "I just..." Words failed her for the first time. Was she really going to do it- to kill him? No, she could not, and would not.

To her surprise, Paul turned to leave awkwardly, strolling out onto the pitch dark sands. She gazed at his tall erect figure with his loping gait and plunged the needle into her neck, cringing silently. Xanthia fell onto the sand, but she fell so softly the thud couldn't possibly be heard... She fell the way a tree falls when it has been chopped down, her mouth open in a silent scream never heard.

That night, Paul witnessed an auraura in the desert night sky, the most beautiful phenomenon he had seen in his entire life. You see, Xanthia lived out the Eternity Memories of Light and Waves, a star in the night sky watching down on him. Her love for him was greater than that of his for her... The greatest love is sacrifice, that another may live.

Sacrifice.

An Aspect of NUS High

2006-10-11T14:45:00.000-07:00

yo dudes... gahhhx. alright, mr valles wants me to do an article on my opinion of NUS High (just any aspect will do) and i'm suffering from severe mental block now... after laughing my head off about the indian accented imitation of richard gere that vardini is doing... XD

MUAHAHAH. shall i talk about exams? friends? mugging for exams with friends? yeah. maybe. cool :) yupp, and shall get some inspiration from dylan's article about how to stretch time. Maybe i'll borrow the title, yeah? Maybe. Thanks. And perhaps, it'll seem a little too much like plagiarism... >.<

How to Stretch Time - An Opinionated Story

By Ada Ngo, M06102

Today. It is the second Chemistry test for the module. I am sitting on the concourse, frowning helplessly at the series of notes splayed out on the floor in front of me.

Belinda is smiling confidently and positively at her chemical equations, her correct answers doing nothing less than boosting her already swollen ego. That, however, is of no help to the rest of us.

Twirl. Drop. Twirl. Drop. Twirl. Catch. Somehow, the hypnotic spinning my Pilot G-2 0.7 seems to assist in my short-term memory. If only I had paid attention to the teacher's presentation on Memory Tips yesterday. Ouch.

"Charge One cations - SPCASMH - Sodium, Potassium, Copper (I), Ammonium, Silver, Mercury (I), Hydrogen." Heidi rattles off effortlessly. SPCASMH? How many people can think of pneumonics like that? For one, I know that I can't.

The time seems to crawl. I glance through all my already tattered notes, my mind already drifting from the chemical formulas.

Belinda. She is undoubtedly prolific in every single subject. Perhaps, it was her method of studying, reading the formulas aloud over and over and over again. And perhaps, too, it was the fact that she never daydreamed during lessons. It was a miracle how she could accomplish that feat when we were struggling to keep our eyes open.

Heidi. She is just another nutter, but when it comes down to studies, she can get serious. Really serious.

Serene. She can nearly up to the standard of Belinda; many a time, complimenting her on her memory work, we have joked that she had bought Einstein's brain on Amazon.com.

Bernadine tosses her file down and declares that she knows she is just going to fail the module. I look up and our eyes meet. We share the same sentiments.

5 different people - 5 different study methods. And after all, we may still do equally well in the exam. Who knows? For now, though, it is still fanatical mugging for the test.

Outside, on the field, where the pale sun glints from behind a veil of haze, the guys from our class are playing soccer. They have their methods. For them, it is to de-stress first. Yet, there is an element of unease in their game, exchanged glances, worried looks. The tension before the exam appears to have shrouded even the most relaxed of the students.

Even the president of the Slackers Committee is mugging now.

The bell rings. We pick our bags up simultaneously.

"Hi Mag. Hi Desmond. Hi Janice."

The threesome head down from the fourth floor, Mag and Janice waving enthusiastically. They are more than prepared for the test. We stroll toward the chemistry lab in silence; the tension and stress hanging over us.

The test begins. I unconciously glance at my watch. Five minutes have passed since the beginning of this composition.

This is how you stretch time.

*yayy* this is the end... and im so sorry, so much of it seems exactly like dylan's compo... gahx. well, anyway, this concludes it... :) and dylan, dont scold me. :)

The Article

2006-09-28T21:54:00.000-07:00

Credits: Russell Ngo a.k.a my cousin XD

This article shall endeavor and endure to scrutinize, in quasi-inclusive breadth, the epistemology of psychologically, neurologically, scientifically and physiologically contrived appraisals of the anatomical physiology of the notorious and infamous ________(insert name here) who is currently psychoneurotically volatile. (sometimes inordinately garish and lamentably deplorable)

This creature's elusive epistemology has resulted it being nomenclatured as a hypocritical bugaboo of the zoological pantheon. Extensive research is imperative as it is fecund with deceptions.

The creature which has appropriately furtive and lousy nomenclature is always concealed by an ersatz and brummgem facade and rarely discloses its thoughts unless being forced to, in which information which is often ersatz and should not be assayed by neophytes as it is a rather precarious methodology. Its true nature is a mix of melancholic, supine and phlegmatic making it an efficacious comrade but initiation of a head is requisite and imperative for the expugnation of perils. Its default facade is a sanguine although it switches to choleric rarely, another fact to note is that the illusion conjured involves being slightly vainglorious. It is insipid to hope for the evanescence of its brummagem and hackneyed facade reveals and unveils its true personality which is as dark as a crow flying through a pitch black night which effervescences with melancholy.

As the penultimate sentence of this article, it must be noted once again that neophytes should not assay this inordinate and immoderate creature, which is also necrophobic.

DIE!!!

pay attention to his range of exhaustive vocabulary... impressive, huh?

Lucius

2006-09-28T07:15:00.000-07:00

It wasn't after all...

I tossed and turned on my bed, feeling the cool metal of my handphone against my cold and clammy palm. I had been waiting for Lucius' reply for the past half hour. My pillow was damp and cold from my tears...

I pushed the buttons on my handphone again. 'W-h-a-t-a-r-e-y-o-u-d-o-i-n-g-?' I typed.'I-h-a-v-e-b-e-e-n-w-a-i-t-i-n-g-f-o-r-y-o-u-r-r-e-p-l-y-.' I continued and sent the SMS to Lucius, with bated breath.After waiting for another hour for his reply, I could take it no longer. This miserable and painful relationship seemed too much for me to bear. It was a slow, grilling mental torture; the thought of Lucius spending so much time with Isabel filled my every thought. A part of me wanted, desperately, to end this ridiculous relationship, but I knew I still loved him and I could never bear the thought of never hearing from him again. I was completely disillusioned.

I dialled my best friend's number from my home phone.

"...Hello?" Jamie's sleepy voice drifted over.

"......." My tears welled up. The warm, salty tears were coming down thick and fast, nearly blinding me. I bit my lip hard, trying to control my sobbing."Ashley, is that you? What's wrong?"

"It's Lucius..." I could hardly bear to speak of his name, the name of the guy I once and still idolised. The one who loved me... or so, I thought.

"What's up with Lucius? It's just been 3 months... What happened?" Jamie implored.

"Remember that night when he confessed his liking for me? He messaged me that night. We were soon sending love messages to and fro... until a month ago, he stopped," I choked on my sobs.

"Initially, I didn't sense that anything was amiss. Not till... a month ago... I received his last message... he would not have as much time for me. He was busy," my voice was barely a whisper.
I paused, the unpleasant memories overwhelming my tired, confused brain.

Lucius had signed up for a Budding Playwrights' Project with another girl in his class. Isabel, the top in their level, was smart, witty and pretty. In fact, I believed, she was the ideal girlfriend any guy would like to have.

They literally spent their after-school hours together, corresponding via handphones, SMSes, MSN... working on their project for the past month...

Just then, the loud, jarring message alert pierced the cold, lonely silence bearing down upon me.

I fumbled for my handphone, a spark of hope surging through me.
'Call me now.' the message read. It was from Lucius.My heart skipped a beat and a lump formed in my throat, inducing this tingling sensation of new found hope.

I mumbled a hurried goodbye to Jamie and dialled Lucius' number with trembling fingers.It seemed like ages before I heard his cold and deadpan voice, confirming my worst nightmare and the unbearable truth that I had always refused to face.

"...I don't like you anymore. Please stop bothering me, OK?!" And the line went dead.

I stared into the mirror, taking in my bloodshot eyes and pale, gaunt face.
It was as if I heard Jamie's soothing voice," Get a life, Ashley! Move on! Lucius isn't everything. He's not worth..."

Perhaps, it was really time to move on...

October 30, 2005

The Start

2006-09-27T14:45:00.000-07:00

Her love for him was merely fraternal, she reminded herself once more. Her gaze flitted to where Zachary sat behind her, with her classmate... They were so deeply engaged in their conversation... No. She told herself firmly. No. She was not allowed to feel jealous.

Her mind drifted from the present classroom scene to the events during lunchtime.

"I'll take that," Jamie snatched the handphone she held and dashed off. Jenn could hardly believe her ears as Zachary took the handphone over and gasped, "Thanks so much, Jamie! Thank you..."

She had searched for him frantically in order to return his handphone, even being late for her CCA... She was bewildered. Jamie simply grinned smugly and shrugged. Thoughts pooling in her already befuddled mind, she turned exasperatedly to face Jamie.

"He thanked the freaking wrong person!"

A sharp tap on her desk snapped Jenn back to reality. They were still pleasantly chatting with each other... enjoying each other's company... She diverted her attention to the teacher once more.

"Jenn, can you please work with Zachary for the lab practical?" the teacher smiled and nodded at her.

"Ermm... prepare that slide for Euglena. And remember to add Protoslo as well," Zachary gestured impatiently at the small bottle of pond water with Euglena culture and the several glass slides that lay beside it.

The slide slid out of her wet hand, crashing to the floor.

"S-Sorry," she mumbled.

"How could you be so clumsy? Look, we'll have to start the experiment all over again!" she heard his unencouraging voice behind her.

"I'll get it." Jenn bent down to pick the broken pieces up rather unsuccessfully, sending the bottle of safranin stain rolling off the very edge of the table as well.

"Get out of my way! You're really making a mess out of this place... I'll work with Jamie for next lab practical!" Zachary did not care to hide the evident irritation in his voice, nor the very fact that he was put off by her.

*****

Home, did not hold much encouragement for her either. Her busy parents never had any time for her. They had unrealistically high expectations of their daughter... And they always showered her with many gifts. Didn't they understand that she would love them no matter what? All she wanted was their time... To listen to her... She just wanted to be closer with her parents. They never seemed to care about her problems... It was just about making money.

"Sweetie... How was the English test?" That was the first thing her mom asked the moment she stepped home. "I had a really tough day. The client was so unreasonable; and the boss seems to keep picking on me!"

"Fine... It was okay," Jenn lied through her teeth. She shoved the crumpled English paper beneath a pile of textbooks and assignments.

"How much did you score?" Her mom seemed to read her mind.

"43.5... out of 60."

"And the highest?"

"58." Jenn could feel the tension in the room building up like a pressure cooker. The smile on her mother's face evaporated as she handed the paper over meekly; the taut silence between them broken only by the sound of firearms from her brother's computer game.

"I work so hard each day and endure my boss' scoldings just to pay for your school fees, and 43.5 is what you give me? Your grades have been sliding. I don't go to work for nothing, I have to bring the money home to pay for all your tuition fees, piano lessons, and what-nots... It's not my future; it's yours! It's no use when I work so hard to get you into a good school, and you can't make it to university! You're banned from the computer," Her mom glared sharply at her.

"But... It's not fair!" Jenn protested weakly, as she felt hot tears welling up in her eyes. "Well, I never seem to see you scold kor --" she pointed at her brother who was glued to the computer. "Kor is always at the computer all day, and he won't vacate it even when I need to use it for a project! You are so biased!" She directed her last sentence at both her parents; her dad's car had just pulled into the driveway, and he stepped through the front door, tugging at his tie.

"Not only is it fair, but it is final." Jenn's mom always had the last say.

Jenn tried to protest, but the sobs that were choking her from deep within prevented a rebuttal of any sort. Disappointed and frustrated with her parents' attitude, she stormed off to her bedroom and slammed the door. Flinging her bag across the room, she wept miserably.

*****

Everything suddenly went quiet.

The lights flickered and the room was enveloped in darkness. Jenn did not even realise how loud the humming of the air-conditioner actually was until it stopped.

"What's wrong?" She glanced toward the transom which was half-open. A shaft of light shone in, illuminating everything dimly, creating the effect of sinister shadows in the room.

"Lights out, I guess," Zachary, the only other person in the PE room, suggested. At least he's were on talking terms with me now, he was so grouchy yesterday, Jenn thought. "We'll get the stuff and go."

Zachary tucked the badminton rackets under his arm and headed for the door.

"Dang. It's jammed."

Jenn yanked at the door too. "Remember this door can only be unlocked from the outside? We had to use our student cards to access the room... and now, the electrical supply is cut off, so we're stuck in here." she reasoned.

"Wow." Jenn could recognise a sarcastic remark when she heard one.

Zachary groaned and sat down at the far end of the room, staring blankly ahead.

It was minutes later when he finally decided to break the ice. "I don't like Jamie," He glanced at Jenn, who was spinning a badminton racket.

"I never said you did."

"Well, when Nicholas teased me, you agreed with him," Zachary muttered bitterly.

"I just laughed."

"You did... I remember hearing you say 'nice one, Nicholas'... And I'm sorry about yesterday at the bio lab... You seemed quite upset."

"Did I?"

"Yeah. You were so moody and stuff like that... I wanted to call you when I reached home, but I was real scared you would get mad again. I approached you in the canteen to see if you were okay, but apparently..." Zachary faltered at this point, his voice trailing off. "I'm sorry, okay?"

Jenn smiled. "I was never angry with you!" The lights flickered on again and the air-conditioner was humming once more. Both dashed to the door at once.

"Freak! It's still jammed!"

"Aha... Gotcha jinx!"

Jenn grinned at Zachary. The storm was over; and they were friends again... And behind them, a test paper graded A+ peeked out of Jenn's bag.

Yes, today would be a wonderful day.

ivp skit

2006-09-26T22:49:00.000-07:00

Upon arrival at the popcorn stand, an impatient Hermione noticed her two pals were still not in sight. Checking her digital watch, she realised that she was an hour earlier. She paced around for one minute and decided to call it a day.

"Hello? Where are you now, Harry? I've waited for one minute already!" She barked into the receiver.

"Uh... I'm in the shower... AARGH... the soap suds got into my eyes... my mouth... my ears... MOMMY!!!!!" a distressed Harry shrieked.

Hermione grunted and hung up.

"Ron! Where are you now? I've waited for two minutes already! Are you on the way yet?" Hermoine spat into the mouthpiece.

"I'm already at the popcorn stand... I can SEE you!" Ron chuckled sinisterly.

She whirled around and almost crashed into Ron. He gave a wink and smiled even more sinisterly.

Hermione snorted, "Hmph! I waited for 180 seconds. Arghh!!! I'm gonna get my brunch first."

She stormed off, with Ron tailing meekly behind.

Hermione snorted noisily when when she spotted the CFC Restaurant.

She made a mad dash, cutting queues and jostled her way to the front. "1 small fries, 1 regular fries, 1 large fries, 1 Zinger burger, 1 Shrooms burger, 1 Chicken popcorn, 1 five-piece meal, 1 wedged potato, 1 small Coke, 1 medium Pepsi and 1 large Sprite..... Mmmm, and can have 8 packets of chilli sauce?" Hermione snorted out her order indistinctly.

*****

There was a mighty blast of trumpets to announce Harry's arrival. And a red carpet was rolled out. Harry stepped out of a posh limousine...escorted by a procession of sexy socialites.

He was dressed like a knight in shining armour...
Fit for his wedding banquet...
Standing at a jaw-dropping 1.98m, he pounced on Ron.

Both guys wrestled.

A bossy Hermoine snapped, "Stop fighting lah! Later we're going to miss the show again!"

When they were finally seated in the cinema, watching GOAL!, the 2 over-zealous guys stood up and cheered loudly.

Harry shouted, “Goal liao! Goal liao! Goal Goal liao!” And a $50 note changed hands. Ron cursed loudly.

A bored Hermione began chomping on her potato chips.
(insert potato chip problem)

Harry glared at Hermione.

“SHHHH…” He shushed her.

“DON'T YOU SHUSH ME!" she rebutted loudly.

"SHHHHHHHH...." he shushed her once more.

"WILL YOU FOR ONCE SHUT UP?!" she exploded.

In order not to end up killing Harry in a fight, she diverted her attention to Ron who was clambering the ladder to fix the cinema spotlights frantically.
(insert ladder problem)

Halfway through the show, Hermione became so bored she started to peel potatoes in the dark cinema hall.
(insert knife problem)

An angry man stood up, glaring at them. He claimed to be from MOE and demanded for their particulars.

They took turns to give the names of their school, their class, their mentor, their principal, their vice-principals, their mentor-reps, their head student councillor, their assistant head-councillor, the top in class and the bottom in class, the toilet aunties, the canteen aunties and the name of the stray cat.......

The trio proceeded to the ticketing booth to demand for a refund as there were glitches during the screening.
(insert table problem)

Subsequently, they went to look for a bin to dispose of Hermione’s 8 bagfuls of trash.
(insert canteen bin problem)

Next, they went to Harry’s house… Harry’s parents had left for JB to be reunited with his mother’s long lost hamster.

(toilet arrangement problem)

“Expecto Metronome!” Ron chanted, pointing at Harry’s hot pink file.
(file problem – insert any dialogue)

Hermione grunted and settled down on the crouch to play Harry’s Xbox, Ybox and Zbox, PS III to V.

Ron let out a heart-wrenching shriek when he spotted Harry's diminutive stature, toddling at 0.98m, due to a spell gone wrong. They pacified the toddler with a pacifier and a stroller.

(insert baby stroller + lunch box + classroom arrangement in preschool)

“It’s all your fault lah!” Hermione blamed Ron when they saw Harry.

"What?" Ron thrust a finger at Hermione.

"What what?" Hermione thrust 2 fingers at Ron.

"What lar?" Ron didn't want to be outdone. He thrust 3 fingers into Hermione's face.

"What what lar?" Hermione thrust all her fingers into Ron's face.

Ron sat down angrily on the couch, beside Hermione, who was once again engrossed in Final Fantasy 100.

A violent rocking drew her attention away from the game. Ron was shaking his legs so violently, the entire couch vibrated.

"Stop shaking lah, will you?" she snapped at him.

"It's my legs, so I shake all I want to," he retorted.

"STOP IT LAH! NOT FUNNY OK?" she stood up, ready to shove him .

"I SHAKE UNTIL MY LEGS DROP ALSO NOT YOUR BUSINESS WHAT, RIGHT?" he also stood up.

"WRONG!" she shoved him.

"DON'T ANYHOW PUSH PEOPLE, CAN OR NOT?" he shoved her back.

"CANNOT!" she shoved him again.

He shoved. She shoved. He shoved. She shoved. He shoved. She shoved.

By the time they had shoved each other 50 times, the game was over.

M06102 (:

The Tall Order

2006-09-20T21:27:00.000-07:00

He was, or at least, used to be, my friend.

That was what I had always strongly believed, until that very afternoon, when I saw and heard him chanting, "Coward! Coward!" at me, together with my taunters. "Coward!" they laughed; "Coward!" they jeered.

That Ashton I saw, standing amidst the smirks and sneers, seemed hardly the same person who stood up for me, who was always there for me, and who sat beside me during lunch and break. He was my only friend; and now he was gone.

"Keanu, you gotta stop being such a sissy wimp, or else I'm outta here." Those were the words that hurt me more than anyone else in my entire life.

Young and naive as I was, at the tender age of nine, I knew the heartbreaking pain of rejection and loneliness. It was a mental torture for me to go to school day after day, only to face verbal and physical abuse from my abusers, who were several years my seniors and at least double my puny frame.

Ashton was my only motivation; and now he was gone. I would show them, show them that I was not a coward, or a sissy wimp. It would take all my courage, but...

"Fine. I'll do it."

Witnessed by many onlookers, I slipped my skinny body between the barbed-wire fence and the parapet, only a few centimetres away from my doom. Knowing all too well that it was too late for regrets, I inched carefully toward the narrowest side of the aisle.

My heart was pounding away and I was virtually drenched in my own sweat, yet, still, I placed one foot after another, dragging myself toward the destination. Just think of how wonderful life will seem with no more torture and bullies, my heart sang, but deep down, I knew it could only get worse.

For a nine-year-old with a small frame, standing below the average height of his peers, climbing onto the ledge from a dizzying height of four storeys was the stuff of nightmares. I paused, overwhelmed by the temptation to stop dead in my tracks. Still, I heaved myself forward.

I glanced back. No cheers. No hurrahs. No "Go! You can do it!".

My sweaty palms never left the dusty surface of the parapet once. I swung my wiry frame onto the ledge and stood up, slowly, trying to balance myself.

In no time, I was once again overcome by my fear. Groggy and nauseous, I fumbled wildly, trying to regain my composure. Help, I tried to croak through parched lips. Before I could bring myself to the landing again, I was hurtling through the air towards a mish-mash of tree tops.

That was the day I broke an arm and a leg.

*****

"Now move your freaking arse and get up here! Do you hear me, Kirton?"

"Yes, S-Sir." After so many years, my bad stammer still had not completely eroded yet, and neither had my aloof personality, nor my unwillingness to trust anyone else again. I knew the other guys in the camp labelled me as a 'geek' and said that I was 'snobbish' and a 'snotty-nosed arrogant weirdo', but I never heard the insults anymore.

I had mastered the skill of ignoring my abusers. After all, my sole purpose at this TeenFight Mission Camp was to learn some survival skills and find out more about the very one thing that had fascinated me for years - The Power of the Human Mind.

And here was one person who could tell me everything I had wanted to know. He was the only one who could satisfy my thirst and desire for more knowledge.

After going through gruelling hours of selection procedures, I was finally shortlisted to join three others on a hundred and sixty days stay with the Sage, Sir Winslaught. There were many tales and rumours concerning this man - He was said to be one with complete control of his mind, so much so that his mind sometimes controlled him. He was a reclusive hermit who lived on the almost unheard of Galactica Islands in the Arctic Ocean.

The trip was like a dream come true in every way, except for one. Ashton was our team captain. Towering over me, he was six feet two inches, an impressive height for a sixteen, going on seventeen-year-old. And he had strictly refused to maintain any eye contact with me, ever since we boarded the plane for our eighteen hour direct flight.

Throughout the flight, I passed my time by staring wearily out of the window and eating very little during the meals. At our last light meal on board the private plane, Ashton turned and barked at me, "Kirton, for goodness' sake, get that food down your throat! You need the energy and I don't wanna lug your corpse back, you know!"

His curt words still stung like pelting stones. I shovelled the bland food into my mouth and held them there without chewing, hoping that the waves of nausea and reflex movements of my stomach would not bring them back up again. I clutched my abdomen tightly...

*****

Galactica Island was a cold, unwelcoming place with subzero temperatures all year round. As the bitter, icy winds whipped sleet into my face and the pale sun shone across the blazingly bright snow, a jumble of emotions pooled in my mind. I was nervous yet excited. I feared Sir Winslaught and yet anticipated. Each time I lay my sodden foot ahead of me, my heart raced to the rhythm: A few more steps...! A few more hours...!

*****

The strict, regimented routine as the understudies of Sir Winslaught was tough getting used to. He spoke with us personally for only about ten minutes a day, regarding our performance in the day. His well-learned disciples taught us how we could use psychological defence in mortal combat; there were many things to be committed to memory and the end of each day left all of us tired and worn out.

There were hidden rooms and secret passageways that were 'out-of-bounds' to us, and that was inclusive of Sir Winslaught's private study and bedroom. The adventurous spirit within me ached for more than mere memorizing each day - I knew it was a matter of time before I would sneak out, in search of sources that would fill my insatiable desire for more knowledge.

And it happened.

It happened that fateful night when I was lying awake on the cold hard bed, exploring the twists and turns and deep dungeons and labyrinths of the house with my fertile imagination... I had to try it out for myself...

Putting my jacket on and hooding my face carefully, I had barely tiptoed out of the room, when Ashton, who slept by the door, awoke and was grabbing my collar in an instant.

"Where do you think you are going?" Ashton demanded in a hoarse whisper. I could smell garlic and vodka in his breath.

"I'll go where I bloody well please, thank you!" I returned his steely stare and yanked his hairy fist off my collar.

"Don't talk to me like that, Keanu Kirton."

"I'll talk to you how I like, Sir," I shoved past him and headed for the door.

Once outside, the cold and crisp air of Galactica filled my lungs. With the chilly temperatures, it was painful for me to draw each breath. Undaunted, I jogged down the eerie corridors that were only dimly lit by fluorescent lightings arranged at irregular intervals.

I went down the winding staircase and headed straight for Sir Winslaught's private study, which was connected to his bedroom. The sound of padded socks on the ground was hardly audible. Good. It was easy finding the door that led to his study.

I tried the handle. It was locked.

Willpower. I grasped the handle and focused, as hard as I could, on an image of being able to unlock the door, in my mind's eye. The door creaked slightly, but otherwise, remained tightly shut.

Once more, I told myself. This time, I focused even harder, and feeling this sudden surge of strength, I opened the door relatively easily and quietly. Wonderful.

I trod slowly into Sir Winslaught's bedroom, where he was sound asleep. He was only a silhouette in the darkness. He's just a man, I told myself as I explored the bedroom and glimpsed something glittering on the wall.

It was a sword. Curious, I reached over and stroked the shimmering handle slowly. Perhaps, if I worked hard enough, someday it would be mine... I would love the sensation of wielding a sword in my hand...

"Don't touch my sword."

I whirled around to face Sir Winslaught. Clad only in his pyjamas, he still had a commanding presence. His eyes blazed with the willpower of one who could kill with a glance. I found myself shrinking away as he interrogated me with his questioning stare...

One thing, however, was evident: I was in for it.

"Never have I come across such an audacious attempt in my entire life!" Sir Winslaught bellowed, as I backed away slowly from both the sword and him.

"You little twit! Have I not given you warnings and repeated instructions not to enter my private rooms? Do not, I repeat, do NOT intrude into my study without my permission!" He was advancing towards me quickly and I was retreating from his bedroom, and finally the study.

Sir Winslaught gesticulated toward a table draped with a white tablecloth. "Take your shirt off, Kirton."

His voice was calm and lilting; it betrayed no emotion, yet I did as I was told in the shortest time possible. Leaning against the table with my bare back facing Sir Winslaught, I secretly wondered what punishment he was going to mete out.

He took a whip from one of the many shelves. I heard it crack through the air, before he brought it down on my back. The pain was... Excruciating. I felt my body go numb for a second, before hot, stinging, pain radiated from the wound to my shoulders and hip.

My knees buckled and I sank to the floor weakly. He pulled me up and had me lean against the table once more. Squeezing my eyes shut, I mentally prepared myself for the next flogging. The second blow came down harder than the first.

Bright red blood was spattered across the table cloth as he dragged the whip across my forearm and lower back. Blood, not Tears, I reminded myself as he dealt a third and fourth blow, numbing my entire body with the intense pain.

"Why not, Sir... W-Why not? Why c-cant we enter your room?" I gasped in an asphyxiated voice, as blood trickled off my shoulder blade onto the tablecloth.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip.

Sir Winslaught was caught by surprise. For an instant, I thought I was going to receive yet another round of flogging, but he dropped the whip and walked towards me. I was seized by terror and fear.

"This... is the true spirit I have been looking for... the courage to ask 'why'. And you have greater willpower than most people, for I have locked my door with the most secure of locks," Sir Winslaught nodded at me. "War is coming; and you possess great potential. Someday, Kirton, someday, that sword will belong to you."

He slid his palm over my wounded back and instructed me to get dressed, before leaving the room.

I turned. My wound had miraculously disappeared but he had carved his mark beneath my skin. A 'W' and an 'S' with a sword slashed through its centre sprung out at me from my upper right arm.

I told no one about it.

Midori's Gaze Version III (Damien's pov)

2006-09-17T17:17:00.000-07:00

Credits: Dux

I've always been noticing her. In class, in the canteen, everywhere we meet.. I don't know how many times I've hesitated-so many times I've seen her, and words never seem to come out. Time always seems to stretch, to stretch, so that the seconds and minutes ceased to matter when she's around..

She always stood with the flair and grace of a lady. She definitely was the prettiest of them all, but yet..

Desmond. He was so suave, so smart, so academically inclined, and furthermore, just to emphasize my point, the Head Prefect. Surely I couldn't match up to him, could I? Surely, there was no reason why Midori would not fall in love with him.

Oh how I wish.. how I wish..

*****

After my usual smattering of basketball with the guys, I returned to the library, as usual where I saw, hardworking Desmond sitting down studiously copying his notes. I smiled to myself. I could never be able to match up to him academically, but everyone has good points, right?

"Yo, 'sup, Des?" I said cheerily, as I thumped him on the back. I smiled at him, while secretly peering at her. She stood motionless, her silky black hair moving in the wind. Her sling bag was worn in the most elegant fashion, and her long legs stood firm on the carpeted floor. Surely, Midori was the girl of any boy's dreams. Desmond turned to look at me, clearing his throat gently.

"Been playing B-Ball again?" he asked me. I nodded, wiping the sweat off from my forehead with my hand. On that note, we just sat there, silent. Few minutes passed before the silence was broken. "Well, good-bye then." I said.

"Bye."

I left quickly and quietly.

*****

That afternoon, both Desmond and I were back in the library. Desmond, as usual was busying himself with quadratic equations on his graphing calculator. I for one, couldn't care less. But seeing him, I decided to take out my graphing calculator and amuse myself with a game of Super Mario. All of a sudden, I felt the deepest feeling within myself. I was tempted to, and suddenly, for no particular reason blurted out. "Do you like anyone?"

Desmond gave a little start. "Nope," he replied. "Nope," he repeated again, almost as if he were confirming that fact with himself. "Do you?"

I hadn't expected that from him. I hesitated, biting my lip gently. I saw Midori from a distance, walking slowly with inate grace and poise towards us. I wasn't sure how to tell him, so I quickly nodded anonymously. "You do?!" Desmond gasped a little too loudly, then lowered his voice. "Who is it? Tell me, please... I can keep a secret."

"Is that a promise?" I was watching Desmond closely. I couldn't be sure whether I could trust him. Our friendship had been disintegrating rather quickly. I decided to buck up my courage and just say it. "Fine.I like Midori." "Oh... Okay..." Desmond's face changed drastically. I noticed his sudden change in emotion, and now he didn't even respond.

"Do you think she's nice?" I asked matter-of-factly. He shrugged simply, and just went back to his homework.

Desmond would be a nice person to adore at a distance. He was tall and smart and suave, and miles ahead of me academically. Furthermore, he had a good character and was always well-liked by the class. Surely, if Midori had a choice, she would pick him over me..

*****

I went home rather early that day. I was still thinking in my head of what I had done. Why on earth did I tell Desmond! Besides, gaining Midori's love would be next to impossible..

Over the next few weeks Desmond admitted to Midori that he too liked her. I had long suspected of his crush on Midori. Now it was public. Constantly seeing the both of them together made my heart pain with anger and regret. If only I had told Midori myself.. maybe.. maybe we could have been together! my heart ached with fury over Desmond. I mean, he knew who I liked, but he chose to ignore it. Our friendship had been on a steady decline ever since.

Midori and Desmond began a relationship that was all too real for me. Seeing them walking through the halls holding hands just made the pain unbearable. I just couldn't concentrate anymore. Mother and Father always reprimanded me, but I couldn't be bothered anymore. I eventually gave up on school itself. School was merely a reminder that I had been forgotten. As my grades slipped up, and Desmond and Midori saw each other everyday, I realized all of a sudden the simple solution to my problems.

As I stood on the balcony of my home, the truth became more and more real. I realized.. I could forget everything. One swift movement, and everything would be forgotten. I would never have to face Midori and Desmond ever again. Tears began to well up in my eyes. My heart was filled with sorrow and pain. But all of a sudden, I came to my senses. It wasn't me who was causing these problems. I suddenly started thinking more practically. I realized.. I realized.. that it wasn't me anymore. It was.. it was.. my friend, or should I say, used to be my friend.. He was Desmond.

I would not let him see the light of day..!

End Credits: dylan rocks XD

Midori's Gaze Version II

2006-09-15T22:55:00.000-07:00

He had noticed and glanced at her for weeks, no, months. And he wasn't even sure how long they had been exchanging glances across the school canteen, across sweaty shoulders in the lift or across the hall during gym period. Time seemed to stretch, to stretch, so that the seconds and minutes ceased to matter when she was around.

She, he was quite certain, was the prettiest girl in the level. She had the sweetest smile he had ever seen... Yes, and he was the handsome Head Prefect.

Desmond was perhaps, the most wonderful guy a girl would ever hope for. Head Prefect, smart, serious and suave. He was quiet and hardworking. Surely, there was no reason why Midori would not fall in love with him.

*****

"Yo, 'sup, Des?" Desmond whirled around to see Damien grin and give him a spine-shattering thump on his back. Vaguely, he thought he caught a glimpse of Midori, over Damien's shoulder. She was wearing her silky black hair in a high ponytail today and carrying her baby blue slingbag across one shoulder in a casual yet elegant poise.

Composing himself with a slight clearing of his throat, Desmond shrugged. "Been playing B-Ball again?" His best friends nodded and wiped the sweat off from his forehead with the back of his hand. There was a comfortable silence between the two boys that morning, for there was nothing to be said, yet, unknown to them, both were in love with the same girl.

*****

That afternoon, Damien seemed to be unusually deep in thought.
"Do... do you like anyone?" Damien asked abruptly, after a series of mind-boggling quadratic equations and intervals of Super Mario on his graphing calculator.

Desmond gave a little start. "Nope," he replied. "Nope," he repeated again, almost as if he were confirming that fact with himself. "Do you?"

Damien sighed and his eyes followed Midori, who, in the distance, was walking with inate grace and poise in the direction of the library. "You do?!" Desmond gasped a little too loudly, then lowered his voice. "Who is it? Tell me, please... I can keep a secret."

"Is that a promise?" Damien was watching Desmond closely. "Fine.I like Midori." "Oh... Okay..." Desmond's heart was sinking quickly into a quicksand of disappointment. He turned back to Practice Question 12-10.

"Do you think she's nice?" Damien shook Desmond's arm slightly. He shrugged simply, for the words were caught in his throat, inhibited by dread and hurt.

Damien would be a nice person to adore from a distance... Tall, tan and suave... A member of the school's badminton team and one of the fastest runners in the whole of Waffles Institution... Desmond thought, feelings of insecurity were now lunging at him, each wave crashing his usually jovial mood.

*****

A week after that incident, rumours had it that Damien confessed to Midori. Meanwhile, Desmond was utterly heartbroken. He had never felt such strong feelings for a girl before - was it love? He was quite sure it was... and now the sudden turn of events left him quite confused and disappointed, but most of all, hurt.

Strangely, there seemed to be no tension between the two friends, but Desmond could feel his heart breaking into a million tiny pieces whenever he saw Midori. He was shocked and upset when she began avoiding his eyes. However, he spoke nothing of it to Damien, hoping that Damien would not find out his feelings for Midori.

That Friday night, during their Astronomy Club meeting at the observatory, Desmond was exceptionally distracted. He had been listening to Damien's accounts of him sending lovey SMSes to Midori all week... and there was no sign of any rejection.

That was certainly an omnimous sign, Desmond thought, lifting his eyes to the cloudy sky.

"Hi!" Midori's cheery voice interrupted his quiet reflections.

"Uh... Hello," Desmond felt their eyes meet and instantaneously glanced away, hoping she would not see his feelings in his half-teary eyes. A notion that perhaps, all their 'exchanged glances' had only been his fertile imagination running wild.

"Did you hear about Pluto?" Midori sat down beside the Head Prefect.

"Er... yeah. That it was demoted to a dwarf planet, right?" Desmond nodded and sighed. "Sad, wasn't it?"

"Well, it's like a bunch of big bullies in a playground telling a puny kid, 'Shoo. Go away. Shoo. You don't belong here.' " she mused, rolling her eyes.

Desmond laughed. He could talk to her all night... and secretly wondered if she felt the same way, as he stole two glances at her.

Somehow or rather, that breezy night, their conversation progressed to the topic of crushes. Midori seemed to speak so easily about crushes, while Desmond was tongue-tied.

"Damien likes you..." he began teasing Midori. Midori was silent for what seemed like a very long time.

"I'm sorry," he ventured fearfully.

"It's okay... and I knew that too," Midori replied rather non-chalantly. "I don't like him, you know; I like someone else."

"Me too," Desmond answered too quickly, then hesitated. "I love her more and more as each day passes... I don't wanna hurt her, ever. But I seriously think she likes someone else... I don't dare to tell her my true feelings... at least, not now."

Midori choked back her giggles. "You sound like someone in love for the first time."

"Well, I am!" Desmond started indignantly.

Midori smiled seriously, "Here's some advice... Follow your heart. I mean, you can't choose who you like... so make sure you never regret what you do, or what you don't do..."

Desmond was silent for the rest of the night. He did not want to regret not telling her how he truly felt... And he certainly did not want to hurt her anymore.

At bedtime, his last thoughts were those of Midori and her words: to folow his heart... He was certain, absolutely certain, he would not regret his actions.

As for Damien, he would think about that later. After all, Damien wouldn't mind Midori being with the person she truly liked, would he? And their friendship would be able to weather all storms and tests, Desmond concluded before he drifted off to sleep, including the test of one girl......

Lost in Time

2006-08-05T23:45:00.000-07:00

4.12am: Ashley stared impatiently out the window, where a dark sky randomly dotted with stars loomed over head. She had been sitting on the frosty wooden chair beside the floor-to-ceiling glass panes all night, waiting for her first sunrise in three years.

5.37am seemed like such a long way ahead, Ashley thought as she pulled at a frayed string on her windbreaker with clammy fingers. Her heart throbbed with excitement at the thought of experiencing REAL sunlight, even if it was going to last for just an hour.

She would love to be able to walk in the garden without having to tread on frozen soil, to be able to turn her face toward the light and feel the warm sunlight on her cheeks and shoulders, to be able to play with the dancing spots of light with her bare palms, to be able to find a single pine cone that was not covered with snow.

Ashley turned her thoughts to Soloplex and wondered if he missed her as much as she missed him… She was nearly envious of him and the others on Earth…

The long summer days that they could enjoy. It brought tears to her eyes to remember the wonderful times they had on Earth, back at school, where they used to break test-tubes during Biology practicals, heat hydrated Copper (II) Sulphate crystals during Chemistry lessons, throw paper balls around during animated English lessons and spend entire afternoons hacking lockers, Googling for teachers’ blogs and daydreaming up inventions which could store light in a little glass bottle, the sort where you could keep folded paper stars.

A tear rolled down her cheek quite unconsciously. Soloplex and the others had given her a paper box full of shells and sand from the beach near the school, so that she could open it every once in a while and think of them… And she could carry the smell of the salty sea breeze along with her to Planet Tidus, a place devoid of feelings and love; a place where humans were programmed as if they were robots.

“Don’t forget us,” Soloplex had whispered to her, in a group hug, where there were sniffles in agreement. How could she ever forget them? How could Soloplex ever be envious of her? There were metre-long glow-worms, beautiful pale flowers which blossomed in the night and the three-eared Snowies which looked like angels in their angelic white fur coats… But all these amounted to nothing.

5.05am: Ashley hated her new class. The kids were around her age, but they were mature and clever beyond their years. Yet, they never smiled, joked or talked, wearing a strained expression on their worn-out faces all the time. She secretly wondered if that was due to the fact that they had never experienced the joy of lying in the warm sand at the beach, or felt sweat running down their cheeks after a whole afternoon of cycling in the hot sun…

5.22am: Jeremy was awake. Ashley could hear him shuffling out of his bedroom, bleary-eyed.

"I dreamt that the sun didn’t rise this morning!” Jeremy burst into tears. Ashley held the eleven-year-old boy close, trying to quieten his sobs and still her similar fears, which were raging within her like a wrathful storm.

5.36am: Ashley treaded out into the garden cautiously; it was slightly warmer now, although the only light was from the distant stars. She tried to bring her father’s reassuring voice into her mind, that at that very moment, the planet would be closest to Sun Herles in its orbit… that they would experience daylight for an hour…

Twenty seconds past 5.37am. The garden was flooded with light that was so bright, it made Ashley squint. Jeremy would waste no time. He kicked off his slippers and pranced around the garden happily, clad only in his pyjamas and sweater. Ashley was crying tears of joy, fully basking in and appreciating the moment that she had been waiting for.

5.43am: The light was fading quickly; the shadows were growing longer. Jeremy and Ashley stood, staring in disbelief as the light went out like a burnt out candle on a birthday cake, disappearing just as suddenly as it had arrived, allowing the darkness to engulf them and their new-found happiness…

Ashley dashed into the study room, searching for an explanation.

“0.1 of an hour?” she stared at her father, whose strained expression fought to mask a hint of impatience.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” he smiled sadly. “It was a calculation error on Tim’s part… Cheer up, let’s have breakfast!” He beckoned.

Ashley bit her lip hard, trying to control her sobs. The hot, salty tears ran down her cheeks, as she shook uncontrollably. Perhaps, she should have been asleep… then, she wouldn’t have witnessed the daylight… and she wouldn’t be so disappointed…

Hope, she decided, was something that could kill… It brought something as beautiful as a snowflake to you, leaving you to stare helplessly as the snowflake melted in the palm of your hand…

She would never trust another promise again. It was not so much the broken trust as the shattered pieces of hope.

It's All About Us

2006-08-05T22:42:00.000-07:00

Midori's Gaze

2006-04-20T21:23:00.000-07:00

He had noticed and glanced at her for weeks, no, months. And he wasn't even sure how long they had been exchanging glances across the school canteen, across sweaty shoulders in the lift or across the hall during gym period. Time seemed to stretch, to stretch, so that the seconds and minutes ceased to matter when she was around.

She, he was quite certain, was the prettiest girl in the level. She had the sweetest smile he had ever seen... Yes, and he was the handsome Head Prefect.

Desmond was perhaps, the most wonderful guy a girl would ever hope for. Head Prefect, smart, serious and suave. He was quiet and hardworking. Surely, there was no reason why Midori would not fall in love with him.

*****

"Yo, 'sup, Des?" Desmond whirled around to see Damien grin and give him a spine-shattering thump on his back. Vaguely, he thought he caught a glimpse of Midori, over Damien's shoulder. She was wearing her silky black hair in a high ponytail today and carrying her baby blue slingbag across one shoulder in a casual yet elegant poise.

Composing himself with a slight clearing of his throat, Desmond shrugged. "Been playing B-Ball again?" His best friends nodded and wiped the sweat off from his forehead with the back of his hand. There was a comfortable silence between the two boys that morning, for there was nothing to be said, yet, unknown to them, both were in love with the same girl.

*****
That afternoon, Damien seemed to be unusually deep in thought.
"Do... do you like anyone?" Damien asked abruptly, after a series of mind-boggling quadratic equations and intervals of Super Mario on his graphing calculator.

Desmond gave a little start. "Nope," he replied. "Nope," he repeated again, almost as if he were confirming that fact with himself. "Do you?"

Damien sighed and his eyes followed Midori, who, in the distance, was walking with inate grace and poise in the direction of the library. "You do?!" Desmond gasped a little too loudly, then lowered his voice. "Who is it? Tell me, please... I can keep a secret."

"Is that a promise?" Damien was watching Desmond closely. "Fine.I like Midori." "Oh... Okay..." Desmond's heart was sinking quickly into a quicksand of disappointment. He turned back to Practice Question 12-10.

"Do you think she's nice?" Damien shook Desmond's arm slightly. He shrugged simply, for the words were caught in his throat, inhibited by dread and hurt.

Damien would be a nice person to adore from a distance... Tall, tan and suave... A member of the school's badminton team and one of the fastest runners in the whole of Waffles Institution... Desmond thought, feelings of insecurity were now lunging at him, each wave crashing his usually jovial mood.

*****

The glances of Midori and Desmond became more frequent, long after the mid-year exams. Desmond topped the cohort in Physics and Math and even secured a Platinum award for the Singapore Math Olympiad Competition. However, the friendship between him and Damien had been on a steady decline, since that incident.

Damien was becoming more aloof and anti-social. In the meanwhile, his results were sliding drastically. He was underperforming but denied anything being the problem when Desmond asked him out of concern.

The last straw came when Desmond witnessed Damien confronting Midori. She was nearly reduced to tears and Desmond felt his adrenaline level soar.

"But... I like you! Do you like me? Tell me! Tell me the truth!" Damien was yelling and his fingers were closed tightly around Midori's wrist, despite her struggles. "I'm sorry," Midori looked away, tears of physical pain moistening her eyes. "Let me go."

"We can't be just friends!" Damien rasped, ignoring Midori's pleas to let her go.

Desmond's eyes burned with the fire of hatred and rage against his friend. When he could tolerate it no longer, he strode forward and pulled Midori away so sharply that Damien was taken by surprise. "Leave her alone!" He found himself shoving Damien away and taking Midori by her hand.

The next few minutes rushed past him, with a misty recollection of him leading Midori by the hand to the most wonderful place he had ever known, the rooftop of the hostel tower, where there was a panoramic view of the estate.

Midori quitened her sobs and gazed deeply into Desmond's warm and mellow eyes. "Thank you..." She whispered, and added, after a pause,"Desmond."

Desmond felt almost compelled to protect this girl, whom he loved, from anything that would ever hurt her. No words need to be spoken, but both parties knew the feeling was mutual. Even as the events of the day replayed in his mind, and Desmond dimly suspected that he might only be a character in a story, words printed on a paper, he didn't mind and didn't care.

All that possibly mattered, was him holding Midori's hand, in the time that seemed to melt into eternity...

Hero

2006-03-28T23:56:00.000-08:00

Hero Lyrics- By Enrique Iglesias

2006-03-28T23:50:00.000-08:00

(Whispered) Let me be your hero

Would you dance if I asked you to dance?
Would you run and never look back
Would you cry if you saw me crying
Would you save my soul tonight?

Would you tremble if I touched your lips?
Would you laugh oh please tell me these
Now would you die for the one you love?
Hold me in your arms tonight?

(Chorus)
I can be your hero baby
I can kiss away the pain
I will stand by you forever
You can take my breath away

Would you swear that you'll always be mine?
Would you lie would you run away
Am I in too deep?
Have I lost my mind?
I don't care you're here tonight

Chorus

I just want to hold you (2x)
Am I in too deep?
Have I lost my mind?
Well I don't care you're here tonight

Chorus (2x)

You can take my breath my breath away
I can be your hero

Kingdom Hearts

2006-03-23T22:08:00.000-08:00

Chapter VIII

2006-03-19T20:52:00.000-08:00

As the weeks turned into months, I gradually forgot Gerard. I was soon the lively, spirited girl with a sense of humour again. My grades picked up rapidly and I was fifth in the level for my year-end examinations.

Gerard became obliterated from my thoughts and my vocabulary; he was no more than a mere name. Even his presence made no difference to my life.

The year-end holiday approached once more. I busied myself with the forthcoming theory Grade 8 exams, an overseas trip and church activities.

I was beginning to look at my life with a different light and love it too! The days seemed too short for everything I wanted to do: The stories I was wanted to write, the books I wanted to read, the friends I wanted to make and the places I wanted to explore.

I enjoyed and treasure each day that passed…

Our Youth Group decided to put together a short skit for Christmas. Danny and I were both involved and we spent a lot of time together, rehearsing and preparing for the Christmas surprise.

Just a week away from Christmas, during the full-dress rehearsal, I found myself alone with Danny. We started talking about school life and homework.

And then, he told me something, “I just realised how stupid crushes can get. If you break up with your boyfriend or girlfriend, you can’t even remain friends! That’s why I’m glad, ” he paused for effect. “—That you rejected me in the first place. We are still friends!”

He grinned at me.

“Friends forever!” I agreed, patting him on the back.

~The End~

Written By: Ada (21 November 2005)

Tidus will spill his heart for Yuna...

2006-03-16T10:55:00.000-08:00

Chapter VII

2006-03-14T21:15:00.000-08:00

We debated on the subject of crushes for nearly a week until Gerard had something to say.

“Look, Ariel, I don’t know how to say this… I really don’t,” I could hear his uncertain voice.

“Ah… just shoot!” I was anxious to know what he had to say.

I could sense Gerard’s hesitation. He paused… and then spoke so quickly that I could hardly catch his words. “Do you like me?”

“Pardon?” I wanted to make sure it was not just my fertile imagination running wild again.

“I like you, I really do! Do you like me? I mean, will you accept me?” Gerard questioned me.

“I like you too,” I began, nearly overcome by surprise and excitement. “Alright… okay… I accept you.”

“Really?” Gerard spoke again.

“Yup,” I confirmed my affection for him.

“Okay then… um… that’s all, bye!” his voice seemed so gentle and tender. Everything seemed like a dream: Too good to be true. But it was true…
*****

On Sunday, after Youth Group, Danny, Jamie and I stayed back to practice the instruments for next week’s worship service.

Jamie and I were playing a duet on the organ while Danny was playing the flute this time.

After the rehearsal, we proceeded to the nearest fast food restaurant for a well-deserved break. While Jamie was in the restroom, Danny approached me to declare his feelings and he also asked me if I would be his girlfriend.

I wavered slightly. He was very talented and he could play two musical instruments. Besides, he was in a prestigious school…. And he was sincere!

My mind wandered to Gerard and how he would feel if I left him for Danny. No, I couldn’t do that.

“I’m sorry, Danny,” I said apologetically. “I’m really sorry… I have a boyfriend already.”

“You do?” his eyes widened.

“I’m really sorry…” I looked away, not wanting to see the hurt in his eyes. I didn’t want to break his heart.

“It’s okay, in that case,” he forced a wry smile. “I gotta go.” Danny left abruptly before Jamie returned.

I knew that I had hurt him terribly.
*****

I never guessed that my relationship with Gerard would be short-lived. On top of that, it was filled with more jealousy, hatred, anger and misery than bliss and love.

School reopened. I enjoyed the attention Gerard gave me. He was always looking at me during assembly and hanging around me during free periods as well as break time. We walked to the bus-stop together after school. Sometimes, he would even help to carry my bag.

Yet, on the other hand, I grew jealous when I saw him hanging out with other girls and talking to them. I knew that he did not belong to me… but I could not help my unhappiness.

Very often, in order to spite him, I would speak to the boys from my class and refuse to look at him. However, it did not make me feel any better.

Misery dominated our relationship. Both my parents and my teachers noticed a significant change in my work attitude. Still, I denied anything being the matter when they queried me.

Our relationship did not last longer than three months. We had had a series of quarrels and I was harbouring the bitterness within me when I received a telephone call from him.

“Ariel, do you love me?” I could hear Gerard’s soft voice.

I choked on my reply.

“Do you love me?” He raised his voice just a notch. “Yes or no?”

I mustered all my courage. “Listen, Gerard, I’m really sorry. You know that we have been hurting each other all the time. Ninety percent of our relationship is misery and hatred.”

He was silent.

“I feel that it is meaningless to carry on this relationship because of ten percent of love… So, I guess we should go our separate ways. I wish you all the best… Goodbye,” I hung up on him.

From the moment I placed the receiver down, I never heard from him again.

Cute Video- Bleach

2006-03-12T20:25:00.002-08:00

Soledad- Westlife

2006-03-04T16:19:00.000-08:00

If only you could see the tears in the world you left behind
If only you could heal my heart just one more time
Even when I close my eyes
There's an image of your face
And once again I come
I'll realiseYou're a loss I can't replace

Soledad
It's a keeping for the lonely
Since the day that you were gone
Why did you leave me
Soledad
In my heart you were the only
And your memory lives on
Why did you leave me
Soledad

Walking down the streets of Nothingville
Where our love was young and free
Can't believe just what an empty place
It has come to be
I would give my life away
If it could only be the same
Cause I can't still the voice inside of me
That is calling out your name

Soledad
It's a keeping for the lonely
Since the day that you were gone
Why did you leave me
Soledad
In my heart you were the only
And your memory lives on
Why did you leave me
Soledad
Time will never change the things you told me
After all we're meant to be love will bring us back to you and me
If only you could see

Soledad
It's a keeping for the lonely
Since the day that you were gone
Why did you leave me
Soledad
In my heart you were the only
And your memory lives on
Why did you leave me
Soledad

Chapter VI

2006-03-02T21:46:00.000-08:00

There was a sort of tense atmosphere building up in the school like a pressure cooker as the exams drew nearer. All the pupils, Year 1 through Year 6, wore the same glum expression. No one spoke.

Or even if they did, it was to show their apprehension for the mid-year examination.

“I’m gonna flunk Biology this time, I just know it…”

“Yup, I was never good at Science.”

“I just hope I don’t get a single digit for History.”

… And the complaints never ended…

In every corner of the school, you could spot hordes of older students spending every minute of their break studying. Scribbling notes, working on worksheets and mock exam papers.

The younger ones discussed Science concepts and History facts and Literature books and foreign terms.

Emma, Isabel and I no longer joked and played pranks on each other. Instead, we sat together solemnly, poring over the notes we had taken down earlier this semester. I was getting irritable, due to the three and a half hours of sleep I was getting every night.

Isabel muttered a rare swear and shoved her notebook towards me.

“I can never seem to remember a single fact!” she snapped, sighing audibly. “Test me, Ariel.”

“Okay,” I agreed readily, sliding my books onto my lap. “Name the two ways desalination can be carried out.”

“Decanting… and reversed… reversed osmosis?” she frowned in mock concentration.

“Nope,” I corrected patiently. “Distillation and reversed osmosis. Next question. What does the rate of radiation depend on?”

“Temperature…” she mumbled. “And… Nature of the surface of the hot body.”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact,” I gave her a confident smile. “Next. How do you calculate the volume of a sphere?”

“4/3 pi radius squared? Oops… wait… 4/3 pi radius cube,” she gasped nearly breathlessly, looking at me expectantly.

“Brilliant!” I encouraged. “We shall proceed to the next question...”

“Well, I guess that should be enough,” Isabel reached over for her notebook and made a face that was sour enough to can pickles.

I glanced over my shoulder at Emma, who looked as if she was the most stressed out among the three of us. She entered a lengthy equation into her calculator, squinted into its scratched LCD panel and scrawled some numbers in her assessment book.

“Good riddance!” she exclaimed, ticking off the agenda on her checklist and checking the time.

“I wish my parents wouldn’t push me so hard. I feel like my mind is a rubber band stretched so far it’s gonna snap.”

Emma pretended to stretch an imaginary rubber band and then, let her hands fall limply to her sides.

She turned to me briefly, “You’re so lucky… Your parents don’t pressurize you at all. Just because I topped my primary school doesn’t mean I must top my high school!”

I sighed and sent a box of fresh mints skidding across the table in Emma’s direction.
*****

The two weeks of examinations passed quickly and now we were filled with a new anxiety for our results, which would be out shortly.

Gerard, who had vanished from my mind during the exam weeks, filled all my thoughts once more. The other day, not so long ago, he waved a friendly goodbye to me as I boarded the bus.

His friends whooped and teased us, but Gerard remained exceptionally cool, his eyes fixed on me even when the bus pulled away. I didn’t think that I minded the teasing, after all…

Now, I was torn apart by my feelings for him and my conscience. I was longing to wait for him at the bus-stop and see his face light up with a boyish smile. However, each time, I always left silently, against my will…

I made up my mind.

That late afternoon, as I headed for the bus-stop, I told myself silently, that if Gerard liked me, he would be at the bus-stop.

I looked up, only to meet disappointment. My heart sank. The bus-stop was empty and the only sound that could be heard was the cicadas’ chirp…

I bravely fought my tears back and pushed my disappointment deep down inside me, where it would never resurface again. You gotta stop liking Gerard, I tried to counsel myself, but I knew I could not help falling in love with him.

My feelings for Gerard were real --- very, very real.
*****

That night, I was reclining on the sofa, watching a documentary. The pen I was spinning idly dropped to the floor with a loud ‘clank’, when my handphone’s message alert beeped.

The message was from a foreign number but my heart raced against my chest when I saw its contents.

‘Hi Ariel… You must be wondering who I am… I’m Gerard and Emma gave me your number. LOL!’

Leaning back on the sofa, I read and re-read the message several times. I was in a dilemma whether or not to reply Gerard… I scratched at a small tear on the leather cover.

Having made a decision, I replied Gerard, taking extra care to choose my words… His reply came in less than two minutes when my handphone beeped noisily.

It did not seem like that many, but Gerard and I sent more than forty messages to each other that night… And he ended off the SMSing session with a ‘Goodnight, sweet dreams!’

I re-read all his messages before I fell asleep, still clutching my handphone tightly.
*****

A broad grin crept up on Emma’s face, showing the lovely dimples on her rosy cheeks as I narrated the SMSing session between Gerard and I.

“He didn’t know your name at first… But he wanted your number!” she tried to speak with a straight face. “I know you like him, don’t you?”

I shushed her immediately.

“Ariel’s blushing!” Isabel teased me playfully.

“No, I’m not!” I nearly yelled, but I was laughing as well.
*****

The results were released and I had done exceptionally well. I was third in the level!

Dad was very pleased as he signed my report book with a flourish. For months afterward, I could still see his smile and hear his deep voice telling me to keep up the good work.

As usual, Emma had topped our class and level and Isabel was within the top twenty of our class.

Everyone had done well!
*****

Vacation started and I was literally inseparable from my Sony Ericsson K700i. Gerard and I could send up to sixty messages to each other throughout the day.

After about a week, both of us were talking on the phone for hours late into the night.

I learnt more about his background and was slightly disappointed and upset that he was not exactly my type but continued with the long telephone conversations and SMSing frenzies.

Gerard was in one of the average classes in Year 2. He had done fairly well this time but he did not get into Seinfield High by works of merit. His father, a wealthy businessman, donated ten thousand dollars to the school to get his son in.

Gerard had an older brother who was in the same school. Besides that, Gerard could not play any musical instrument, unlike me and he was a gaming fanatic.

We had very few common topics.

Nevertheless, I still enjoyed talking to him… Night after night… And my dad did not know the reason behind the escalating phone bills.

One particular night, the subject of crushes came up. Gerard had just broken up with his girlfriend because of a painful relationship.

I lent a listening ear as he rattled on about how he could not forget his feelings for the girl. Now she was asking for reconciliation and he was wavering…

He finished his sad tale with the conclusion that his percentage for his ex-girlfriend was very low and that he liked someone else currently.

It was my turn to talk and I was stumped. My previous relationship was two years ago! In fact, it couldn’t be called a relationship. It was merely an exchange of love letters.

The guy and I broke up simply because we had lost interest in each other. Ever since, I had been afraid to go into another one. I had this irrational fear of rejection.

Gerard asked me if I had any crushes. I told his the answer was ‘yes’ without a moment’s hesitation, although I insisted it was not important for him to know who it was.

He fell silent for a long while and then asked so quietly that my flesh crept, “Does he like you?”

“I don’t know…” I answered, melancholy in my voice. “You know, it’s very likely that he likes someone else.”

“Hmm… quite true,” Gerard murmured, “I’ve been thinking, anyway, that I’m in no mood to like anyone now…”

“Really? Why?” I was curious.

“I’ve been really sad after the break-up. And I don’t know if I did the right thing, eh?” Gerard’s voice quivered a little. I could tell that he once loved his girlfriend very, very much.

“Heh. But what’s done is done,” I told him in a matter-of-factly voice. “I’ve been thinking too. I should stop liking who I like.”

“Why is that so?” his voice drifted over from the other end of the line. “Everything is done for a reason."

“He’s taken,” I stated.

“He’s taken?” Gerard sounded a little suspicious.

“Not really,” I was getting more confused by the second. “Could we please stop talking about this? I haven’t really sorted out my feelings yet. Please, I don’t wish to talk about him.”

My voice must have taken on a desperate, pleading edge. Gerard must have sensed it as well, so he agreed.

This conversation left me thinking about my feelings for Gerard for many days…

:) Awesome video (:

2006-02-23T21:59:00.000-08:00

Intermission (Author's Note)

2006-02-21T22:06:00.000-08:00

Just Another Stranger was written on the 21st November and completed a day after. It was inspired by someone's failed relationship. I made some alterations and generated this ideal story...

Just Another Stranger was an agreement between someone and me. We made a bet: The loser would have to write a story. Of course, I wasn't the loser, but why was this story written? Curious? I agreed to write half of the story and someone would continue the other half...

This story was solely written by me, after all. Someone agreed to write his story. Then, we would exchange our stories...

Just Another Stranger was given to someone as a Christmas gift, as well as the bet. Subsequently, I sent this story to another highly esteemed blogger friend. So far, only 2 persons have the complete edition...

Presently, I decided to post a chapter each time for sharing...

Enjoy reading! ...and don't be too harsh about the comments... for it was written before I had begun my high school life.

-Ada

Chapter V

2006-02-21T21:59:00.000-08:00

I overslept the following morning. I couldn’t have felt more miserable when I knew that I had missed all the fun and laughter in Youth Group.

Worst of all, it was the last Sunday to submit the consent forms for the coming Mission Trip to Malaysia. All my friends at church had signed up and that trip would be all they were going to talk about for the coming weeks.

I groaned to turned on the radio to full blast. It was terrible enough sitting at home on a rainy Sunday morning, knowing that my friends were having a whole lot of fun at Youth Group.
To top it all off, I still had to study. And I wasn’t exactly looking forward to my exams the next week. I made myself a quick breakfast, popped some peppermint sweets into my mouth and returned to my bedroom to study.

After my lunch, I gave myself a short mental break from simple and compound interest and recurring decimals. Logging to MSN Messenger, Jamie, my church friend, popped up to chat.

This is a short extract from our lengthy conversation:

Jamie: Uh, hey?
Ariel : Yo…
Jamie: U din cum for YG today
Ariel : Yup… I overslept :’(
Jamie: Aw… dun feel too bad. It wasn’t tt gr8 todae
Ariel : Wasn’t gr8? Y?
Jamie: d gal in charge of collecting the consent forms din cum… N the speaker was so boring!
Ariel : heh. Hu was the speaker?
Jamie: AARGH!!! He’s a foreigner, his accent is OMG
Ariel : hehx
Jamie: Oh ya. Btw I 4got to tell ya sth
Ariel : Wat izzit
Jamie: U wun blif dis, man!
Ariel : wat? TELL ME… PLZ PLZ PLZ
Jamie: U noe d drummer hu always practices wif us?
Ariel : danny? Ya, y?
Jamie: he told us tt he lyks u
Ariel : OMG
Jamie: OMG
Ariel : …You gotta b kiddin
Jamie: OMG, no I’m not
Ariel : haizz… haizz…

I was shaken after the conversation with Jamie. It seemed impossible that Danny liked me… Well, I had treated him as a very good friend only!

Sure, he was nice and caring towards me and the others used to tease both of us, but… somehow…

Hopefully, Jamie was joking. I had enough on my overloaded brain with the pending exams, Gerard and my friendship problems. I slumped down in my chair and held my head with my hands.

Glancing at the screen, I had received a series of ‘nudges’ from Jamie and ‘R U ok?”. I typed ‘Yup, dun worry.’. And decided to forget all my crazy crushes.

That was, until the exams were over.

Subway Train Station

2006-02-19T22:16:00.000-08:00

Chapter IV

2006-02-16T22:46:00.000-08:00

I cried myself to sleep that night, but after that good cry, I felt in tip-top condition for my piano lesson the next morning. Traces and remains of the jealousy and hurt still tore me apart, yet I was more cheerful compared to the bitterness I harboured the previous day.

I gobbled down two slices of bread with raspberry jam for breakfast. Settling down in front of my upright classical piano, I glanced sharply at the clock: Only one more hour. That’s all I had to practice my piano for only the third time in the week.

Uh oh…

I thumbed through my scales, which was mostly perfect except for a mistake or two occasionally. I couldn’t really care less. Arpeggios, Chromatic Scales, Major in thirds… what else?

Yup, scales in contrary motion. Almost forgot that.

I finished all my scales in a record time of seven minutes. Awesome, man! Next!
I groped for the next book: Jazz. That was my favourite book. I just simply loved the rhythm, the feel, the motion and the beat of jazz. And I adored nothing more than the finger-twisting trills and the odd rhythm of jazz that made counting so difficult.

Yet, nothing gave me greater pleasure than mastering a jazzy piece and observing my piano teacher’s satisfied beam.

I nodded to the swing of the jazzy piece I was playing, ‘Show Girl’.

I quickly reached for the next book, and also the one I dreaded to see each week, Every time, I tried to delay the time before my piano teacher flipped the book open. It was Chopin’s

Waltzes.

I grimaced and gritted my teeth. Setting the metronome to eighty crotchets per minute, I whizzed through the entire twelve-paged recital piece. Obviously ignoring the ‘Animato’ on top of the page, I played the waltz as if a funeral were taking place. Deathly and monotonous.
I proceeded to conjure up a silly excuse for not mastering the waltz, before continuing with the final book.

It wasn’t really a book. Just a file filled with scores from the world-class French pianist Richard Clayderman.

I ran through some old favourites like Mariage d’Amour, Nostalgy, Souvenirs d’ Enfance, and Les Fleurs Sauvages.

Next, came the piece I was currently struggling to master: A Comme Amour. I mauled the piece till it was nearly unrecognisable.

Five more minutes. He would arrive anytime now.

I leafed through my theory hurriedly, checking for consecutive fifths or eighths, overlapping, seventh notes…

So absorbed was I that I nearly jumped out of my chair when I heard the familiar knock. I grinned broadly from ear to ear.

“Whoa! What’s that grin for, Ariel? I hope you haven’t hidden rubber cockroaches under my chair!” my piano teacher, a talented young man in his mid-twenties, teased me.

“Nah,” I replied, shrugging. “Not today. But you watch out on April Fools’ next year!”

He chuckled as he slouched over to reply an SMS to his girlfriend. Straightening up again, he smoothed out a crease in his checkered blue NEXT shirt and cleared his throat.

My piano teacher’s face lit up with a smile after I had performed my scales, jazz pieces and Richard Clayderman pieces with near perfection and much passion.

…And there lay the dreaded Chopin Waltz book I had been trying to hide in the most inconspicuous corner. It was a tool of torture in any piano teacher’s hands.

“Ah… Ariel! Let’s have the waltz on Page 98, please. Remember your dynamics!” He sneered slightly.

I tried to focus on the metronome with its deathly toll and executed the waltz most unsuccessfully. Finishing off its awkward ending, I gave my piano teacher a sidelong glance.
He was distraught.

“Man! Ariel, that was absolutely, certainly, positively, undeniably the WORST waltz I have ever heard in my whole life! If Chopin were to hear it, I bet he would jump out of his grave! You are really doing injustice to its composer…”

I grimaced as he threatened to make me practice nothing but waltzes this week and even to compose one. The piano lesson was soon over and I was all too glad to change into trendy clothes and rush off to meet Emma and Isabel at the library.
Emma was already there, waiting for us to arrive.

“Hey, Emma!” I yelled a cheerful greeting as she spun round, smiling.
Suddenly, everything that happened at the bus-stop the previous day came flooding back into my memory. I felt ashamed of myself for hating Emma because of a boy… I stared at my shoelaces… I could not look into Emma’s eyes.

She seemed to read my thoughts.

“Ariel… I don’t blame you for anything that happened yesterday. I guess it was my fault… I didn’t realise you liked Gerard! Anyway, you don’t hafta worry, buddy… I wouldn’t fall for him,” she assured me gently.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” I blurted out, while gazing into her sincere eyes. “I’m really sorry, ok?”

Emma squeezed my shoulder as a gesture that my apology was accepted. Isabel came, shortly afterward. They decided to write a story about the life of a poor violinmaker whose enchanting music led him to enter a fantasy world of princes, princesses, knights and dwarfs.

After the mind-mapping session, we decided to have tea in Pizza Hut and catch a short movie in a nearby cinema. It was evening.

I headed home for dinner, feeling light-headed and happy. The feeling of being forgiven was simply wonderful!

I completed two projects and went to bed at half past midnight. Despite being sleepy, I did not nod off immediately. I lay, staring up at the ceiling, thinking.

Thinking of Emma, of Isabel and of the poor violinmaker in our stories.

~Final Fantasy X~

2006-02-13T21:32:00.000-08:00

Chapter III

2006-02-13T21:30:00.000-08:00

I could hardly focus on anything. I still could hear his quiet voice and cheerful laughter. Even in my cousin, I could catch a glimpse of his humour and cheekiness. In my dad, I heard his seriousness. In one of illustrations on my textbooks, I thought I saw a flash of his boyish smile.
I sighed and turned back to the array of notes splayed over the study table. And tried to ignore that irritating, whiny voice deep inside me, that is more commonly known as your conscience.

“Ariel, get a life! How could you ever fall so madly in love with a complete stranger? He doesn’t even know your name! You jolly well know that he doesn’t like you; you’ll only get hurt… You know that all too well, don’t you?” it whined shrilly.

All my emotions were conflicting. If there were a colour that represented each emotion, mine would be a jumbled mess with blotches of brown and black and streaks of red, green and orange daubed on the borders.

I groaned and pressed my forehead onto the cool surface of my study table, letting the faint scent of beech wood fill my lungs. I inhaled deeply.

All of a sudden, a firm grip on my shoulder started me. It was Mom.

“You need some sleep badly,” her voice sounded concerned. A cool palm was pressed onto my warm forehead. “You go to bed now. You can’t fall sick, exams are coming!”

Her voice had taken on a worried, motherly tone.

“Yup,” I mumbled sleepily. “I’ll go catch some sleep as soon as I finish this darned project!”

I began gathering the papers, worksheets, notes and my thumb drive randomly and shoved them into my file. I gave my mother a reassuring nod.

“Mom, I’m going to bed soon… I’ll be fine.”

Mom disappeared into the bedroom and I heard the door click firmly shut. The clock’s incessant ticking echoed in the silent living room. It made my head swim…

The loud, jarring ringtone from my handphone broke the peace and quiet. I snatched it almost immediately, not wanting to wake my parents. My dad was worse than the worst tempered grizzly bear if he was awoken in the middle of the night for no good reason.

Then, my heart skipped a beat. For a fleeting moment, I wished it were Gerard who had somehow obtained my number from Emma.

But I glanced at the glowing screen, with a sinking heart, the disappointment overwhelming me. Isabel.

“Hello?” I whispered in such a low voice, that it was almost lower than a purr.

“Hi, Ariel,” Isabel responded, equally softly. “You know what?”

“What?”

“OK, Emma got wind of a project that we’re going to be given tomorrow…”

“Uh huh, what is it?”

“It’s something about a writing competition with really attractive prizes. You know what a fanatic she is about writing.”

“Yup…”

“OK, listen up, I’ve gotta make this quick. My phone doesn’t have free outgoing calls…”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever…”

“Listen to me! This competition, whatever, doesn’t allow individual entries, so we’re gonna work with her. This Saturday, Emma and I are going to the library to do some research for the project. And… can you make it?”

“This Saturday… Uh… Lemme see… I guess so. But only after eleven.”

“Eleven?! Why?”

“Piano lesson,” I scowled darkly.

“Alright then, I’ll tell Emma,” If Isabel was disappointed; her voice betrayed nothing. “Goodnight. Bye.”

“Hey, wait a second, Isabel!” I gasped, but I was greeted only by the monotonous beep after the click of her receiver.

I had wanted to ask Isabel if that was all Emma had mentioned. Did she bring up Gerard’s name? Did she speak to him? And if she did, did he… happen to bring me up?

I let the cool metal of my handphone slip through my clammy fingers into its pouch, with a soft ‘thud’.

Turning slowly, I shuffled back to my bedroom.
*****

There was an incredible amount of homework the following day as it was Friday. We had three projects simultaneously! I was trying to focus on what the teacher was saying, trying to keep the classroom from whirling into a dizzying mixture of psychedelic colours.

I had insisted on going to school that morning, even though I was unwell! All I could hear was Gerard’s promise to meet me that day…

A wave of nausea swept through me. My stomach threatened to turn inside out and tip the breakfast contents onto my white uniform. I fought wave after wave of nausea with weakened strength, but was finally successful in keeping my food where it belonged.

The day passed with feverish delirium. Once or twice, Isabel and Emma noticed my pale lips and clammy fingers, but the answer I gave was the same.

“I’m fine, I’m okay.”

There was much talk among the three of us about the following day’s meeting. We would meet from twelve to three, for the project. From three to four, we would allow ourselves an indulgence in window shopping, snack tasting and other treats to take our overworked minds away from homework and the like.

I was barely myself as the day drew to a conclusion. Having waited at the bus-stop for Gerard for the past fifteen minutes that seemed to melt into eternity, my anxiety was growing by the minute.

Finally, I noticed Gerard’s lanky silhouette in the shadows approaching the bus-stop with three
other guys and… and… a girl.

My grin of anticipation faded as I recognized the familiar chirpy voice, the cropped hair and large, beautiful eyes. It was Emma. Every nerve in my body tingled with jealousy, a feeling so entirely new and raw to me, that I was fighting back stinging tears.

“Yo, Ariel!” Emma waved, as she strode up to me. “Gerard just told me that he’s signing up for the Budding Writers’ Competition too! Coincidence, eh?”

I did not say a word. How could Emma have betrayed me? She was my best friend and didn’t she know that I had a crush on Gerard? Perhaps not… But I felt as if I had liked Gerard all my life!

I glanced past Emma, at Gerard. His gaze met mine, yet the only response I received from him was a quizzical raise of his eyebrows. I was hurt.

Emma stared into my tear-filled eyes.

“Ariel… What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” she asked softly, putting a comforting arm around my shoulder.

I shrugged her arm off.

“I’m not crying!” I blinked rapidly, trying to keep more tears from gushing forth. “The wind… got into my eyes… made them water…” I became vaguely aware that I was speaking incoherently. But it did not matter to me, not anymore.

Emma did not appear to believe my words, but she did not question any further.

Bus 156 literally saved me the embarrassment of having to give any further explanation. I boarded the bus and jostled all the way to the back of the bus where I would be spared the torment of witnessing Gerard’s loving gaze at Emma.

I held back my tears… And choked back my sobs…

As soon as I reached home, I stormed into my bedroom and slammed the door. I found myself shaking with sobs as the warm, salty tears flowed down, thick and fast. This hurt was something I had never known before.

I cried till my tears ran dry, till I had lost my appetite for dinner.

The pain I was feeling was likened to a sharp stab in my heart, wrecking my whole being. I was very, very upset and only one word can be used to summarise my feelings.

Heartbroken.

~Tsuki no curse~

2006-02-12T21:45:00.000-08:00

Chapter II

2006-02-12T21:34:00.000-08:00

“Hey, Ariel, you gotta hurry up! We’re gonna be late for class again… Just grab your things and go, will ya?” Isabel yelled from the doorway.

Ooops… I forgot to do a self-intro, eh? Okay, hi guys, I’m Ariel and I study in Seinfield High. I’m in Year One, so everything’s pretty new to me. I haven’t exactly settled down into High School life, though. I’ve been here for less than a semester.

“Comin’…!” I shouted back to an impatient Isabel, snatching up my sling bag and a ham sandwich.

Oh yeah… forgot to mention that Isabel is one of my best friends and I live in Singapore. Yup… I guess that’s all I hafta say for a self-introduction, and we shall just speed into my ordinary school life.
*****

We met Emma in the hallway. Emma was a girl of thirteen, but with a wisdom and maturity beyond her years.

She was tall, smart and pretty. She topped the level in nearly every subject. Emma had such a gait that drew many turning heads in almost every corridor.

In fact, you could say, she was an all-rounder. She was in the school’s netball team, debating team and even the Science Club.

Well, lots of guys in our class had fleeting crushes on my best friend since Primary School, Emma, and it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to claim that she had already received seven notes from boys, declaring their suppressed liking for her.

And she was awfully modest.
*****

The history lesson was extremely boring; I held back my sixth yawn and blinked quickly to keep myself awake.

The torrential rain poured down in buckets; it was as if the skies had released their dam. Somehow, it seemed to me that the sound of the raindrops spattering down on the sidewalk and the gushing wind that tore through the branches of saplings, reverberated through the still classroom air.

I drew my attention away from the grass that was swaying as if they were bewitched by the wind. A fork-shaped lightning streak divided the ominous grey sky into unequal halves. I clenched my fingers into tight fists to keep them warm as a roll of thunder growled ferociously.

Staring out at the wet and slippery corridor, I saw him. The stranger. I thought, in the back of my mind, I had some vague impression of his shadow lurking near my house.

I nudged Emma sharply. She was making some notes about the Holocaust.

“Look,” I whispered, trying to hide my mounting excitement. “See that guy over there in the corridor? That one with the untied shoelaces? Do you know his name?”

I gazed into Emma’s eyes expectantly, as she craned her neck to glimpse the stranger with his three other friends.

“Him?” Emma smiled dreamily. “Oh, he’s in the Science Club. He’s Gerard… And you think he’s handsome, don’t you?”

I nearly leapt out of my skin.

“N-n-no…” I stammered.

“You have a crush on him,” Emma chuckled, with an assuming and non-chalant shrug. “But it’s all right, lots of girls fancy him too!”

“Well, I don’t have a crush on him!” I whispered fiercely, sending Emma into a giggling fit.

“Stop it, will you?” I went on, in a harsh whisper.

Mr. Chua, the history teacher with flaring nostrils, strode over.

“Ariel and Emma, I observe that both of you have been preoccupied with your own private business. Emma, could you please tell all of us what I have just said?” he snarled.

Emma consulted her handy little notebook and rattled off some facts about Hitler, Jews and gas chambers.

Mr. Chua advanced menacingly toward me. “And you, Ariel? Could you add on to what she has just said?”

My tongue seemed to stick to the roof of my mouth and I got no further than a nervous gulp when Mr. Chua dismissed me as a hopeless failure in history.

“Miss Ariel Tan, you shall meet me in the HOD Room after school. I would like to have a word with you.”

I nodded meekly and was dazed and dumbfounded throughout the rest of the lesson.
*****

It went badly. Mr. Chua, who was known to be a violent-tempered man, gave me a severe dressing down, yelled till his face was the colour of a beetroot and gave me an extra project to do an extensive research on the Holocaust.

I nodded morosely and turned to leave when I realized that Gerard was standing a few meters away, waiting to speak to Mr. Chua.

My look was that of utter shock and horror.

I made a dash for the exit.
*****

I kept up my sprint until I reached the empty bus-stop. The rain had lightened to a drizzles and the air was filled with the smell of fresh, damp soil. Even the wet grass seemed greener. I sighed and hugged my sweater. The sky in the distance was a shade of maroon, foreboding an imminent thunderstorm.

I shook my head and wallowed in self-pity until I heard someone clearing his throat softly. Whirling round sulkily, unhappy that my reflections were interrupted, I caught sight of a familiar figure beside me.

Gerard?

Oh no.

It might have been only my imagination when I observed the corners of his mouth turning upwards. I smiled shyly as he plonked down near me.

“You were getting lectured by Mr. Chua?” he began, almost awkwardly. He was gazing into my eyes, and that, made me feel vulnerable.

The words were caught in my throat. I nodded, as if I were a mute.

“Heh. You’ll get used to it after a year. You’ll survive, like me!” Gerard’s grin dazzled me. He looked so handsome when he smiled, and there I was, sitting so stiffly that I might have been frozen, behaving like an absolute fool.

I could not look into his eyes, and it was at that point of time, that the fact that I had a crush on him dawned on me.

I compelled my dry, chapped lips to curve into a wry smile. All I could think of was Mr. Chua’s large flaring nostrils. It appeared to be hilarious, now that I was recalling his furious expression.

And I did not even realise that the girlish laughter I heard was mine.

Soon, Gerard was laughing too. In no time at all, both of us were chuckling like two runaway patients from the Institute of Mental Health.

The time I spent with Gerard seemed to be ages to me, but in actual fact, it was only five minutes…

My bus skidded to a screeching halt by the bus-stop. I waved a shy goodbye and his words were still ringing in my ears throughout the whole ride home.

“Bye! See you tomorrow! I really had fun today, you know…”v

How can I not love you...

2006-02-09T23:44:00.000-08:00

Just Another Stranger--> Chapter I

2006-02-09T21:58:00.000-08:00

He was just another stranger. Doing the stuff strangers usually do. And he was certainly not part of my life.

We might have brushed shoulders in a crowd, passed each other along corridors… But both were preoccupied in our own thoughts, our own world revolving around us… And continued on our way again.

Our paths never did cross… Or perhaps, they did, after all… He might have been in my dreams…

Hello, Stranger… I would never have dreamt in my wildest dreams… that our paths would intertwine… at a crossroad in our lives…

Storm

2006-01-22T15:31:00.000-08:00

The flashes of lightning all around,
The unending thunder resounds,
The raindrops have yet to spatter,
Silence except for whining hounds.

The peace before a storm,
The calm and quiet of the night,
They weigh upon the still midnight air,
Where darkness reigns over light.

When all is sleeping,
When no one turns,
The writer works on, he writes, he states,
The melody of the tune within his heart.

Pen flying across the paper,
Crumpled drafts at hand,
Yet no word sought can express,
The unbearable emotions in his mind recess.

Whispering thoughts echo loudly,
Overwhelming emotions shout.
The writer is far and lost,
Amid the whipping motion of his tool.

A knight crows with victory,
A beggar kneels and weeps,
A young child's earnest face,
The writer yields to his nib.

Standing with the seamen on their voyage,
With the staggering toddler as he trips,
With the merciless criminals at the guillotine,
With the callous ringmaster cracking his whips.

Back in the real world,
Of sorrow, tears and pain:

The first raindrop falls,
Followed by the joyous arrival of another,
A third, a fourth, fifth and sixth,
Till the pattering is loud and clear.

A Page

2006-01-16T20:52:00.000-08:00

A page...
A torn one, to be precise, for that matter.

It was simply an unfinished, ink-blotched letter, expressing her utmost feelings of affection for him...

He had not expected to receive this letter in such circumstances.

Now, even his hardened heart had begun to melt...
It was shattering his heart into a million, tiny pieces...

Life would never be the same for him again.

Footsteps

2006-01-15T21:32:00.000-08:00

Footsteps up the stairway. He could still remember them vividly in his mind...

They had always been cheerful. Children's laughter always accompanied the pattering steps leading to his landing.