Who is this woman? Why is she taking me home? I need to leave. Got to get to Hollywood, heard they are making Jurassic Park 3 : The Attack Of Meme Dinosaur. My one and only chance to be a superstar!
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Tuesday, September 29, 2015
Saturday, September 19, 2015
Wish
She loved the way he looked at her. It started from her smooth face, moving down to her exposed neck, her chest, her waist, all the way to the details on her shoes and back to her perfectly combed and styled hair. The longing and admiration in his eyes left nothing out.
She wanted to chase after him when he left. Maybe just to say thanks. And tell him that he is good looking. And admit that she had been looking at him too.
But it was nothing but whims and fancies of a melting wax figure.
Saturday, July 4, 2015
Engagement Gift
Something I found in my laptop.
For heaven's, Shin, you write the most nonsensical nonsense.
*
“Jovanth –“ I scream, but it sounds like I am whispering. “Jovanth-“
I fall onto a pile of – I am not sure what is it called – I think they are called dried leaves? They are brown, in pieces and they look crumpled. I can’t walk anymore. I am just too tired, and I am hungry.
I am out of concentrated food pills and River-in-a-Flask. I don’t know what is edible and what is not. I remember reading in a book that these mini umbrellas – I think they are called vastshrooms – are edible, but I also remember reading somewhere that some of them are poisonous, so I dare not eat them.
I only eat bananas because I know be it yellow or green, they are all edible – just that the green ones taste somewhat funny. And I had eaten bananas in my life before. They were really expensive – two hundred and fifty eight Mercury dollars and seventy nine cents for a quarter of a banana - due to the fact that they were extremely rare. My family could only afford to eat it once in a month – one quarter of a banana to be shared among three of us.
It is quite a pleasant surprise that I actually get to eat more than a quarter of banana here. In fact, I am actually eating banana by bunch. I actually lost count of how many banana I wolf down. I eat until it starts giving me discomfort – I don’t know why, after having the seventh banana I feel there is plenty of air in my stomach and I know I have to stop. I suppose too much of a good thing is equivalent to disaster.
I also come across a red hairy fruit and I remember they are edible too. I think they are called ramaltans. The only difficulty I have in getting ramaltans is the fact that I don’t know how to climb trees, so I have to hit the tree with a stick repeatedly until the ramaltans fall down. You can’t blame me for not knowing how to climb trees because I have never seen one in my life. I am good at climbing skyscrapers, but they are smooth, they don’t have little six-legged red creatures (I think they are called hents) crawling on them and I climb them with skyscraper-sucker gloves and boots, which do not work on trees.
Trees are so mysterious that not even my grandmother had seen one in her entire life, and my grandmother is so old that I thought she should be placed in museum.
I only get to see real trees because of Jovanth, my crazy, adventurous, daring boyfriend.
“So - When are you going to get me an engagement ring?” I asked Jovanth when we were having fun air-skating at the newly launched theme park on Venus.
“Honestly, Schiya – what makes you think I will get you an engagement ring?” he asked in a way which I deemed lackadaisical.
I kicked him hard so he fell to the ground. It only took him seven seconds to bounce back – why did I have to get him such a good anti-gravity belt for Christmas? Should have gotten him ZP210, that model takes 3 minutes to bounce back once you fall, and it’s so much cheaper.
“I can explain –“ He rubbed his ribs but I kicked him again. At the same spot. I was a sadistic girlfriend.
“No Schiya – “
I kicked him to the ground again. Bullying him was one of my favorite past time.
“Listen, Schiya –“
I kicked him for the last time and flew away. An angry woman is a deaf woman.
He cuddled up to me as I ate ice cream alone at the café. I struggled but when he kissed my cheek, I softened and stopped fighting. His kisses never failed to calm me down.
“You know me,” He kissed my cheek again, and even though he did this countless times before I still found myself blushing. “Would I give you something as ordinary as an engagement ring?”
My eyes widened. So, he had something better planned! Oh Jovanth, I love you, I love you so much!
“Look at this, babe,” He pulled out a piece of folded paper from his pocket. Once it was unfolded I saw a picture of a round, green object with many thorns on it. “This is called a durian, king of fruits. It is legendary, no one has seen it in our times, but in the past it was extremely popular, and it holds magical power - whoever who eats it will gain courage, whereas the cowards flee upon hearing its name. Don’t you think this is way better than an engagement ring? Imagine – just you and I – embarking on a journey to find durian. The day we find one is the day we get engaged. Isn’t that romantic?”
Of all the men in the universe I had to fall in love with this idiot. My heart sank from the nine thousand and eighty seventh floor to basement.
“Jovanth,” I took a deep breath, trying to make myself sound calm when I was not. “An adventure to the middle of nowhere is not romantic.”
“But Schiya, you and I are adventurous. Adventure is our romance,” He insisted.
“For heaven’s sake Jo-“ He shut me up by kissing my lips, and I surrendered.
I must be the biggest idiot in the universe to fall in love with Jovanth.
*
So we packed (we couldn’t really figure out what would be needed, so it was basically just a couple of concentrated food pills, few bottles of River-in-a-Flask, laser-knife ring, Waze-scroll and flashlight-contact lenses) and started our journey to look for durian. According to Jovanth’s research, the best place to get durian is a little town called Bentong (located at Pahang, Malaysia) on Earth. We stole Jovanth’s family spaceship (I felt really guilty because I previously dented their spaceship) and travelled all the way from Mercury to Earth.
I had never been to Earth before. Maybe once when I was really young, but I could not remember anything. This place looked so different from the place I lived in.
No skyscrapers, for instance. The tallest building probably had only two hundred floors. There was no use for anti-gravity belt, or skyscraper-sucker gloves and boots.
Creepy, very creepy. I felt shiver down my spine.
“According to Waze-scroll, we are only 10 minutes away from durian estate,” Jovanth said. Sensing my fear, he squeezed me gently.
I love adventures, honestly I do. Which explained why I love Jovanth. But this was just too scary. I guess I am only adventurous within what I know.
It only took us minutes to reach the durian estate, and the first thing that came to my mind was “no, I will not go in.” I tugged Jovanth’s shirt and shook my head. He hugged me tightly and kissed my forehead.
“It’ll be fine,” He whispered into my ear.
“I hope you are right,” I sounded as if I was about to cry. I got a bad feeling that this would be the place that separated us.
Good prophecies never come true but the bad ones always do. Darkness loomed, we slept against a tree but somehow when the blinding light woke me up Jovanth was not by my side anymore. I panicked and I ran around like a mad woman and stopped doing so after some time because I realized that was not a good strategy as my energy drained out very soon. I tried to remain calm but whenever I saw creatures which I had never seen (I knew they were not dogs nor cats, these creatures had bushier tails) immediately I got covered in cold sweat, not knowing whether what was approaching me was a friend or a foe.
I walked and walked and walked. I had no idea how long I had walked. I kept calling out for Jovanth, but all I could hear was my own voice amplified and repeated numerous times.
“Jovanth-“
*
“Schiya? Schiya!” I feel something patting my face. Open my eyes slowly and in front of me – the idiot I missed – looking worried and clumsily feeding water into my mouth.
Once I regain my energy, I slap him.
“Ouch! What on earth was that for?” He yells.
“For disappearing. Where – did – you – go – do – you – know – how – worried – I – am – you – know – how – scared – I – felt – don’t – you – how – dare – you – leave – me – alone?” With every word I fire a punch at his chest, which he does not defend himself against.
Once I stop punching, he pulls me towards him and hugs me.
“I’m sorry, Schiya. I’m really sorry,” He squeezes me tighter and I almost can’t breathe. “But I know you are a strong girl, you are intelligent, you are brave, you can take care of yourself. That’s why I love you in the first place,” He looks into my eyes and I can see from the corner of his eyes he is smiling, which further annoys me. He pokes at my puffed up cheeks. He loves doing it when I get angry. As if he is eager to make me angrier.
“I saw durian leaves and I had to follow it’s trail,” He places a long, thin, green leaf on my hand.
“And I found durian. Follow me!”
When Jovanth gets excited he forgets everything, including me. He runs as if he is a fully fuelled NZ320 spaceship, totally forgetting that I am panting, lagging behind, trying hard to follow him.
“Ta-dah!” He stops abruptly and I almost run into him. “Isn’t this beautiful?”
In front of me I see many trees with durian hanging on them. Soft beam of yellow light shines through the leaves making the durians looking like emeralds. It is an incredible sight, something I had never seen in my life.
Too beautiful to be true. All the fear, the panic, this whole journey… It’s worth it.
I kiss Jovanth, which he reciprocates passionately.
“Thank you. Best engagement gift ever. I love you.”
“No, honey, that’s not the best. We haven’t taste it. “
Jovanth climbs up one of the trees clumsily and tries very hard to pluck a durian. Every inch of the fruit is covered with thorns hence making it difficult to be plucked.
That’s when I spot a durian under the tree.
“Come down!” I shout.
“Ahh, that’s perfect.”
Jovanth points his laser-knife ring at the durian to cut it open. We see something yellowish, and the next thing we know –
Stench.
I want to vomit.
“I’m not eating this,” I cover my nose. “No way.”
“But we came so far. And we want the courage gained by eating this, no?” His voice sounds funny with his nose covered.
“Come on Schiya. Just a bite,” he nudges.
I hesitate.
Why must our engagement gift be something so awful? I hate myself for loving this guy.
Jovanth places some of the yellow flesh in his mouth and his face brightens up.
“This taste much better than it smells, Schiya.”
I’m not sure whether if I should believe him. After all, he was the prankster who pretended that wasabi was the best thing on earth just to get me to taste it, and he laughed so hard when my tears rolled down my cheeks uncontrollably, begging for water.
Reading my mind, he laughs. “I’m serious, honey. Have some.”
He forces the yellow flesh into my tightly closed mouth. I back off but his other hand has my head wrapped tightly so I cannot escape. Like parents forcing their children to take medicine, he pinches my nose and once I open my mouth in reflex action to breathe, he shoves the yellow flesh into my mouth and covers my mouth with his hands.
Many vulgar words find their way to my mind and I swear I am going to use them all on him but once my taste bud reacts to the taste I change my mind.
Hakuna matata, what a wonderful taste.
“Would you marry me?” for the first time in my life, I sense that Jovanth actually sounds nervous.
I kiss him, again and again. There is no need for words.
*
We end up residing in Bentong after marriage. Durian made us fall in love with Earth. It is a quiet peaceful little planet and we actually work hard for living.
No robots to serve us. We learn to wash clothes, wash dishes, cook and a number of other chores (and yes, we can now climb trees skillfully). Tough initially, but Youtube, Google and Pininterest had provided us with useful tips and we slowly learn to adapt.
It’s a shame that us homo sapiens had abandoned our planet after destroying it to satisfy their whims and fancies. It’s a shame that us homo sapiens never bother to return to their home. It’s a shame that us homo sapiens forgot how beautiful their home is.
Jovanth and I, we really enjoy watching stars at night and waking up early to watch the sun rise and to listen to the birds chirping. We take long strolls along the beach and we run barefoot on grass. We bath in the sea and we sing our songs as we pluck mushrooms in the jungle (oh yes, now I can differentiate the edible ones from the poisonous).
“Baby,” I said with my nose on his and my arms around his neck, “This is so romantic. I wish others are here too.”
“I know,” He plants a kiss on my lips. “I have the same wish.”
“Remember how durian made us fall crazily in love?”
“You mean…” He raises one of his eyebrows.
“You know me. I was a marketing student.”
“Got it,” He laughs. “Let’s start working!”
*
Jovanth and I, I have to say, we are perfect match. We come up with engagement tour package and we travel back to Mercury to advertise it.
As we are very familiar with Earth now (Bentong especially), we can guide people around to ensure our tour package is safe. The success rate for proposals are high (as expected) which attracts more couples to join our tour.
People come, they fall in love with durian, and more importantly, they fall in love with Earth.
We see people shifting to Earth, including our parents.
“You know something, Jo?” I ask, as I watch people having fun swimming in the sea and strolling on the beach.
“Hmm?”
“That durian idea of yours? Best engagement gift.”
For heaven's, Shin, you write the most nonsensical nonsense.
*
“Jovanth –“ I scream, but it sounds like I am whispering. “Jovanth-“
I fall onto a pile of – I am not sure what is it called – I think they are called dried leaves? They are brown, in pieces and they look crumpled. I can’t walk anymore. I am just too tired, and I am hungry.
I am out of concentrated food pills and River-in-a-Flask. I don’t know what is edible and what is not. I remember reading in a book that these mini umbrellas – I think they are called vastshrooms – are edible, but I also remember reading somewhere that some of them are poisonous, so I dare not eat them.
I only eat bananas because I know be it yellow or green, they are all edible – just that the green ones taste somewhat funny. And I had eaten bananas in my life before. They were really expensive – two hundred and fifty eight Mercury dollars and seventy nine cents for a quarter of a banana - due to the fact that they were extremely rare. My family could only afford to eat it once in a month – one quarter of a banana to be shared among three of us.
It is quite a pleasant surprise that I actually get to eat more than a quarter of banana here. In fact, I am actually eating banana by bunch. I actually lost count of how many banana I wolf down. I eat until it starts giving me discomfort – I don’t know why, after having the seventh banana I feel there is plenty of air in my stomach and I know I have to stop. I suppose too much of a good thing is equivalent to disaster.
I also come across a red hairy fruit and I remember they are edible too. I think they are called ramaltans. The only difficulty I have in getting ramaltans is the fact that I don’t know how to climb trees, so I have to hit the tree with a stick repeatedly until the ramaltans fall down. You can’t blame me for not knowing how to climb trees because I have never seen one in my life. I am good at climbing skyscrapers, but they are smooth, they don’t have little six-legged red creatures (I think they are called hents) crawling on them and I climb them with skyscraper-sucker gloves and boots, which do not work on trees.
Trees are so mysterious that not even my grandmother had seen one in her entire life, and my grandmother is so old that I thought she should be placed in museum.
I only get to see real trees because of Jovanth, my crazy, adventurous, daring boyfriend.
“So - When are you going to get me an engagement ring?” I asked Jovanth when we were having fun air-skating at the newly launched theme park on Venus.
“Honestly, Schiya – what makes you think I will get you an engagement ring?” he asked in a way which I deemed lackadaisical.
I kicked him hard so he fell to the ground. It only took him seven seconds to bounce back – why did I have to get him such a good anti-gravity belt for Christmas? Should have gotten him ZP210, that model takes 3 minutes to bounce back once you fall, and it’s so much cheaper.
“I can explain –“ He rubbed his ribs but I kicked him again. At the same spot. I was a sadistic girlfriend.
“No Schiya – “
I kicked him to the ground again. Bullying him was one of my favorite past time.
“Listen, Schiya –“
I kicked him for the last time and flew away. An angry woman is a deaf woman.
He cuddled up to me as I ate ice cream alone at the café. I struggled but when he kissed my cheek, I softened and stopped fighting. His kisses never failed to calm me down.
“You know me,” He kissed my cheek again, and even though he did this countless times before I still found myself blushing. “Would I give you something as ordinary as an engagement ring?”
My eyes widened. So, he had something better planned! Oh Jovanth, I love you, I love you so much!
“Look at this, babe,” He pulled out a piece of folded paper from his pocket. Once it was unfolded I saw a picture of a round, green object with many thorns on it. “This is called a durian, king of fruits. It is legendary, no one has seen it in our times, but in the past it was extremely popular, and it holds magical power - whoever who eats it will gain courage, whereas the cowards flee upon hearing its name. Don’t you think this is way better than an engagement ring? Imagine – just you and I – embarking on a journey to find durian. The day we find one is the day we get engaged. Isn’t that romantic?”
Of all the men in the universe I had to fall in love with this idiot. My heart sank from the nine thousand and eighty seventh floor to basement.
“Jovanth,” I took a deep breath, trying to make myself sound calm when I was not. “An adventure to the middle of nowhere is not romantic.”
“But Schiya, you and I are adventurous. Adventure is our romance,” He insisted.
“For heaven’s sake Jo-“ He shut me up by kissing my lips, and I surrendered.
I must be the biggest idiot in the universe to fall in love with Jovanth.
*
So we packed (we couldn’t really figure out what would be needed, so it was basically just a couple of concentrated food pills, few bottles of River-in-a-Flask, laser-knife ring, Waze-scroll and flashlight-contact lenses) and started our journey to look for durian. According to Jovanth’s research, the best place to get durian is a little town called Bentong (located at Pahang, Malaysia) on Earth. We stole Jovanth’s family spaceship (I felt really guilty because I previously dented their spaceship) and travelled all the way from Mercury to Earth.
I had never been to Earth before. Maybe once when I was really young, but I could not remember anything. This place looked so different from the place I lived in.
No skyscrapers, for instance. The tallest building probably had only two hundred floors. There was no use for anti-gravity belt, or skyscraper-sucker gloves and boots.
Creepy, very creepy. I felt shiver down my spine.
“According to Waze-scroll, we are only 10 minutes away from durian estate,” Jovanth said. Sensing my fear, he squeezed me gently.
I love adventures, honestly I do. Which explained why I love Jovanth. But this was just too scary. I guess I am only adventurous within what I know.
It only took us minutes to reach the durian estate, and the first thing that came to my mind was “no, I will not go in.” I tugged Jovanth’s shirt and shook my head. He hugged me tightly and kissed my forehead.
“It’ll be fine,” He whispered into my ear.
“I hope you are right,” I sounded as if I was about to cry. I got a bad feeling that this would be the place that separated us.
Good prophecies never come true but the bad ones always do. Darkness loomed, we slept against a tree but somehow when the blinding light woke me up Jovanth was not by my side anymore. I panicked and I ran around like a mad woman and stopped doing so after some time because I realized that was not a good strategy as my energy drained out very soon. I tried to remain calm but whenever I saw creatures which I had never seen (I knew they were not dogs nor cats, these creatures had bushier tails) immediately I got covered in cold sweat, not knowing whether what was approaching me was a friend or a foe.
I walked and walked and walked. I had no idea how long I had walked. I kept calling out for Jovanth, but all I could hear was my own voice amplified and repeated numerous times.
“Jovanth-“
*
“Schiya? Schiya!” I feel something patting my face. Open my eyes slowly and in front of me – the idiot I missed – looking worried and clumsily feeding water into my mouth.
Once I regain my energy, I slap him.
“Ouch! What on earth was that for?” He yells.
“For disappearing. Where – did – you – go – do – you – know – how – worried – I – am – you – know – how – scared – I – felt – don’t – you – how – dare – you – leave – me – alone?” With every word I fire a punch at his chest, which he does not defend himself against.
Once I stop punching, he pulls me towards him and hugs me.
“I’m sorry, Schiya. I’m really sorry,” He squeezes me tighter and I almost can’t breathe. “But I know you are a strong girl, you are intelligent, you are brave, you can take care of yourself. That’s why I love you in the first place,” He looks into my eyes and I can see from the corner of his eyes he is smiling, which further annoys me. He pokes at my puffed up cheeks. He loves doing it when I get angry. As if he is eager to make me angrier.
“I saw durian leaves and I had to follow it’s trail,” He places a long, thin, green leaf on my hand.
“And I found durian. Follow me!”
When Jovanth gets excited he forgets everything, including me. He runs as if he is a fully fuelled NZ320 spaceship, totally forgetting that I am panting, lagging behind, trying hard to follow him.
“Ta-dah!” He stops abruptly and I almost run into him. “Isn’t this beautiful?”
In front of me I see many trees with durian hanging on them. Soft beam of yellow light shines through the leaves making the durians looking like emeralds. It is an incredible sight, something I had never seen in my life.
Too beautiful to be true. All the fear, the panic, this whole journey… It’s worth it.
I kiss Jovanth, which he reciprocates passionately.
“Thank you. Best engagement gift ever. I love you.”
“No, honey, that’s not the best. We haven’t taste it. “
Jovanth climbs up one of the trees clumsily and tries very hard to pluck a durian. Every inch of the fruit is covered with thorns hence making it difficult to be plucked.
That’s when I spot a durian under the tree.
“Come down!” I shout.
“Ahh, that’s perfect.”
Jovanth points his laser-knife ring at the durian to cut it open. We see something yellowish, and the next thing we know –
Stench.
I want to vomit.
“I’m not eating this,” I cover my nose. “No way.”
“But we came so far. And we want the courage gained by eating this, no?” His voice sounds funny with his nose covered.
“Come on Schiya. Just a bite,” he nudges.
I hesitate.
Why must our engagement gift be something so awful? I hate myself for loving this guy.
Jovanth places some of the yellow flesh in his mouth and his face brightens up.
“This taste much better than it smells, Schiya.”
I’m not sure whether if I should believe him. After all, he was the prankster who pretended that wasabi was the best thing on earth just to get me to taste it, and he laughed so hard when my tears rolled down my cheeks uncontrollably, begging for water.
Reading my mind, he laughs. “I’m serious, honey. Have some.”
He forces the yellow flesh into my tightly closed mouth. I back off but his other hand has my head wrapped tightly so I cannot escape. Like parents forcing their children to take medicine, he pinches my nose and once I open my mouth in reflex action to breathe, he shoves the yellow flesh into my mouth and covers my mouth with his hands.
Many vulgar words find their way to my mind and I swear I am going to use them all on him but once my taste bud reacts to the taste I change my mind.
Hakuna matata, what a wonderful taste.
“Would you marry me?” for the first time in my life, I sense that Jovanth actually sounds nervous.
I kiss him, again and again. There is no need for words.
*
We end up residing in Bentong after marriage. Durian made us fall in love with Earth. It is a quiet peaceful little planet and we actually work hard for living.
No robots to serve us. We learn to wash clothes, wash dishes, cook and a number of other chores (and yes, we can now climb trees skillfully). Tough initially, but Youtube, Google and Pininterest had provided us with useful tips and we slowly learn to adapt.
It’s a shame that us homo sapiens had abandoned our planet after destroying it to satisfy their whims and fancies. It’s a shame that us homo sapiens never bother to return to their home. It’s a shame that us homo sapiens forgot how beautiful their home is.
Jovanth and I, we really enjoy watching stars at night and waking up early to watch the sun rise and to listen to the birds chirping. We take long strolls along the beach and we run barefoot on grass. We bath in the sea and we sing our songs as we pluck mushrooms in the jungle (oh yes, now I can differentiate the edible ones from the poisonous).
“Baby,” I said with my nose on his and my arms around his neck, “This is so romantic. I wish others are here too.”
“I know,” He plants a kiss on my lips. “I have the same wish.”
“Remember how durian made us fall crazily in love?”
“You mean…” He raises one of his eyebrows.
“You know me. I was a marketing student.”
“Got it,” He laughs. “Let’s start working!”
*
Jovanth and I, I have to say, we are perfect match. We come up with engagement tour package and we travel back to Mercury to advertise it.
As we are very familiar with Earth now (Bentong especially), we can guide people around to ensure our tour package is safe. The success rate for proposals are high (as expected) which attracts more couples to join our tour.
People come, they fall in love with durian, and more importantly, they fall in love with Earth.
We see people shifting to Earth, including our parents.
“You know something, Jo?” I ask, as I watch people having fun swimming in the sea and strolling on the beach.
“Hmm?”
“That durian idea of yours? Best engagement gift.”
Friday, June 12, 2015
Sand
For every heartbreak he caused, a part of him turned into sand.
By three hundred and sixty fifth day, he had almost turned into a statue completely, save for his mouth.
"Yes? What is it?" She asked, noticing how hard he struggled to open his mouth, hoping for an apology, or a confession.
"I should have never tackled a witch's daughter, no matter how rich she is."
She destroyed his statue as soon as it was fully formed.
Saturday, June 6, 2015
Rehearsals
Lately my short story, "Get Down", made it to Taylor's Book Project, "As Life Found Me," an anthology on people who are a little different from most of us.
People with Down syndrome, for example.
(as you might have guessed from the title of my short story.)
I couldn't make it to the book launch and first reading session. That itself was depressing. To make matters worse, I really felt terrible of the story I wrote.
It was not good enough, Shin. It wasn't. The pace wasn't right, you dragged too much, you lacked elaboration, and what kind of narration was that?
But look, Joe said to me, if it was chosen, surely it has to be reasonably good, right?
But I just.
You need to be happy, Fahirul said. I'm talking about genuine happiness. Not the conspicuous one that you are good at showing the world.
I doubt if I know what genuine happiness is. I doubt if any creative souls actually find genuine happiness attainable.
Writing is mein kampf. My struggle.
On a complete unrelated note, here's a story I wrote quite a long time ago. Because at one point or another, we all want to give up, even though we shouldn't.
And because someone once told me courage is admirable.
*
He was so sweet. Every time we got together he would touch my face gently, showering me with fly kisses cheekily and whenever we took pictures together his arms would always be on my shoulder.
We were so close to each other - the way we stared into each other’s eyes, the way we held each other’s hand firmly, the way he had me on his back, the way I had him on my lap, the way he kissed my forehead, the way he touched my face ever so gently yet never losing his manliness… I couldn’t help it, I fell in love with him.
I got excited when I received text messages from him, my heart did a summersault when he replied my Facebook comments.
He posted a 9gag picture which said “Always walk a girl to her car seat… And use the time walking back to the driver seat to fart.”
<Now I’m wondering when can a girl fart> That was my comment.
<Girls fart?>
<Girls are homo sapiens too>
<Some might beg to differ>
<Gender discrimination>
<Tsk tsk>
<Don’t make me slap you> - That was one of my lines. I could not resist the temptation to use my lines in real life.
<You can’t, we’re on Internet, duh>
<You’re forgetting we’re meeting up at 2pm, duh>
Nothing romantic but the fact that he rarely replied other people’s comments excited me.
Also, we did not converse normally. We were always bickering, arguing, fighting, talking about something disgusting. Which was probably why I was attracted to him. He was not one of the guys who would walk me to my car. He was not one of the guys who would talk to me politely.
He was direct; he was honest. He was different from other guys.
He had the sexiest voice I swear and I loved the way he laughed, it was so infectious; his broad shoulders made me felt so secure, his palms were always warm and that gave me a fuzzy feeling when he held my hand.
“You keep tearing that dress you’ll end up with nothing. Not complaining,” he recited his line in his sexy voice, with his signature naughtiness. I blushed.
He wasn’t that tall – around my height, and he was surprisingly thin for a guy. He was actually around my weight, and I was underweight even for female’s standard.
Maybe because of rigorous training and rehearsals, he was surprisingly strong for a guy of his weight.
We had to wrestle each other while reading our lines out loud during one of our rehearsal sessions, and I was almost out of breath by the end of the session. I had to put up a real fight so he wouldn’t have the chance to press me to the floor; although secretly I was hoping for that to happen.
Well I guess I shouldn’t be greedy. I was in seventh heaven to hug him so tightly; to have my abs pressed firmly against his six packs; to be leaning on his strong shoulders.
I loved bullying him. Getting him angry and challenging his limitations were so entertaining.
He brought three T-shirts for our dress rehearsal, none of it was ironed.
“You’re planning to wear pajamas on stage?” I asked, and lifting my hands to cover my face at the same time, knowing that he would try to punch me because I had attempted to punch him countless times before. It was part of our performance – for me to attempt to punch him.
He became exceptionally skilled at dodging my punches.
He also became exceptionally good at kissing me. It was difficult for him initially as he had to lie on my lap when kissing my forehead. It was not easy to bring his upper body up all the way from the ground to my head. There were many occasions when he couldn’t reach my forehead.
There were many occasions when he almost kissed my lips instead and I could hear my own heartbeat.
We tried many different positions including me lowering myself down so we could meet halfway but our director thought that would spoil the story. Finally he managed it by placing his hands around my neck so he could lift himself up easier.
Ever since that successful attempt, he became somewhat addicted to kissing me. So much so that even when our director told us to practice our lines without physical contact, he would still kiss and touch my face whenever our director was not watching us.
Or fly kisses when we were being watched. He went “Muacks-muacks-muacks” (complete with puppy eyes and pouted lips) every time he reached the line “What a thing to say,” and I could feel my heart jumping to my throat.
Then, he disappeared from my life. It took him ages to reply my text messages, he stopped watching performances with me, and where was the song cover he promised to do for me?
“Ahha sorreyh - I was busy – I have rehearsals every day,” he said. But I saw, on Facebook, he did song covers for other girls and there were pictures of him watching performances with other girls.
Who was I in his heart? I couldn’t help but to wonder if he did whatever he did with me with every other girl he met.
I thought I meant something to him. I really thought so.
I woke up in the middle of the night and cried. And cried. And cried. And cried.
The best revenge was to live a better life than him, so I moved on, getting myself busy with projects I was passionate about.
I exited his life.
*
She was so cute. So cheerful, so bubbly, and I just loved the way she smiled; it melted my heart. She was daring, she was adventurous, she had a great sense of humor which most other girls I met lacked, she was sarcastic in a fun way. I enjoyed being with her so much – why was it that we were only going to have four rehearsals together? How I wish we had rehearsals every night just so I could spend more time with her.
She was so comfortable in being herself. Not pretentious at all. She did not act demure and ladylike.
She did not sit cross-legged, she ate like a wolf when she was hungry and when she was tired during rehearsals she would just lie on the floor during our one-minute break, which I gladly joined, lying next to her, breathing the same air that she was breathing in.
She was so different from other girls I had met. Other girls were nice to me, they appeared to be very sweet up to a point that it was kind of sickening. She was independent, she helped carry heavy objects during rehearsals.
Independent girls were so rare, so hard to find and so alluring. I also began to suspect that I was masochistic because being bullied by her was so enjoyable. Pretending to be angry of what she said and did became my new hobby because I knew she loved it when I got angry.
I tested the water; like a child I showered her with fly kisses, I braved myself to touch her face.
I tried so hard to fail to kiss her forehead because honestly, I was aiming for the lips.
I looked for excuses to place my arms on her shoulders - the perfect opportunity to do so was when we took pictures – I hated taking pictures but if she was involved I love it, I loved the fact that our performance required me to lie on her lap – how lovely, whoever the script writer was, I could never thank him (or her) enough; and it was incredibly wonderful that for our warm up exercises she had to ride on my back and hold my hand – honestly if a truck hit me I could die in happiness and I wasn’t even exaggerating. I loved to get close to her, both physically and mentally. I loved the way we had to say “I love you” over and over again for purposes of our rehearsals and I genuinely meant what I said, I wasn’t even acting (although I would never admit it). I pretended to forget to return her belongings to her just so I had an excuse to contact her and I made sure I replied her Facebook comments – because her comments were so funny, and because they were written by her.
“Right, babe?” She asked – it was her last line. My eyes were closed but I knew she was staring at my face lovingly, as instructed by our director.
Many times I had peeped during our rehearsals because I love the feeling of her staring at me with love in her eyes.
I knew what would happen next and that made my heartbeat raced.
She lowered herself to hug me and I could feel her perky bosom on the tip of my nose.
That was more than enough to make any young healthy man nosebleed. I stopped breathing for a moment.
“You hugged me too soon,” I complained after our show was over. “You were supposed to stare at me longer.”
(And you were supposed to place your breasts on my face longer. Like, forever. I thought in my heart)
“Are you serious?” She looked at me, eyes wide open in surprise.
“No kidding, but –” I patted her back gently and pulled her towards me for a hug. “Good job anyway.”
Her performance was awesome. I was just looking for an excuse to hug her.
She uploaded a picture of us together. The picture where she was smiling happily at the camera while I was staring at her intensely with my arm around her, another in my pocket clutching her torn sleeve tightly.
Why can’t you look me in my eyes? In my heart I cursed her stupidity, but that was part of the reason why I loved her. She was charming in a stupid way.
<“I want to tell you something… I couldn’t push my intestine back into my body”> That was her caption and I almost sputtered water on my laptop screen when I read it. I had always jokingly called her sleeve “my intestine.”
<Your sleeve is mine now. You’re never getting it back> That was my comment. Aww, her sleeve. I kept it on my memorabilia shelf. Such beautiful memories.
<You’re getting me a new one> That was one of her lines. She loved using her lines in real life.
<I don’t think H&M stocks up on sleeve>
<New blouse please I’m XS thank you very much>
<Ugh all of a sudden I’m feeling so sick>
<You lame excuse makes me sick>
Days later I made time to buy a new XS boat neck light pink blouse. Yes, I remembered her size, her favorite style, the color she liked.
Now I need an excuse to ask her out for a date, I thought.
Then, she disappeared from my life. She stopped sending me text messages and I had no idea why.
I told her I was busy with rehearsals and I would do the song cover I promised her once my performance was over. I thought she would be happy about that – I thought she loved my singing.
I thought, since we sang together all the time, from Bee Gees to Katy Perry.
From “How Deep is Your Love” to “Unconditionally”.
How I wished I could watch that performance we had both been dying to watch with her but we both had tight schedules hence it was not possible. I had to watch it with other friends of mine and honestly, it would had been so much more enjoyable if I was watching it with her instead – I was positive that she would come up with funny names for that geeky nerdy actor with a shiny yellow hat.
She would probably crack me up by calling him banana.
The people I watched the show with made me do a song cover for them. I wasn’t in the mood for it and I was too busy with rehearsals anyway, so I just uploaded an old song cover I did years ago to please them.
Another week passed, my performance ended (she did not come to support me. I thought she would.) and I finally had time to relax. I looked at the pink sleeve on my memorabilia shelf – that very sleeve she torn for our performance. She almost cried when our director cut that sleeve from her blouse and
I had to cover her eyes with one hand while placing the other around her slim waist tightly so she would not have the chance to snatch her blouse.
She always jokingly called me crab because she thought my voice sounded like Sebastian the crab in “The Little Mermaid”, and she asked me to do a song cover of “Under the Sea” for her. That showed how much she loved my singing, no? At least, that was how I viewed the matter.
Those were the days when we were so close to each other.
On my table was a CD containing the song cover I did for her. No, it wasn’t “Under the Sea” – I decided to do “Kiss the Girl” instead because that was what I really wanted to do – I wondered if she would get the hint when she received it?
Once my performance was over, once I had the time to check Facebook again, the first thing I did was to stalk her profile.
From Facebook she seemed to have a great life going on. She was involved in some other projects it seemed – singing, acting, writing - There was nothing on her Facebook that indicated she was missing someone. I guess she didn’t miss me.
Checked my phone again and again. No incoming text messages.
Who was I in her heart anyway? Just a fellow cast, and nothing more than that I suppose.
Or maybe I was just a crab. Crap.
I threw the CD along with the new blouse and the torn sleeve into my dustbin and for the first time in my life, I cried.
I exited her life.
People with Down syndrome, for example.
(as you might have guessed from the title of my short story.)
I couldn't make it to the book launch and first reading session. That itself was depressing. To make matters worse, I really felt terrible of the story I wrote.
It was not good enough, Shin. It wasn't. The pace wasn't right, you dragged too much, you lacked elaboration, and what kind of narration was that?
But look, Joe said to me, if it was chosen, surely it has to be reasonably good, right?
But I just.
You need to be happy, Fahirul said. I'm talking about genuine happiness. Not the conspicuous one that you are good at showing the world.
I doubt if I know what genuine happiness is. I doubt if any creative souls actually find genuine happiness attainable.
Writing is mein kampf. My struggle.
On a complete unrelated note, here's a story I wrote quite a long time ago. Because at one point or another, we all want to give up, even though we shouldn't.
And because someone once told me courage is admirable.
*
He was so sweet. Every time we got together he would touch my face gently, showering me with fly kisses cheekily and whenever we took pictures together his arms would always be on my shoulder.
We were so close to each other - the way we stared into each other’s eyes, the way we held each other’s hand firmly, the way he had me on his back, the way I had him on my lap, the way he kissed my forehead, the way he touched my face ever so gently yet never losing his manliness… I couldn’t help it, I fell in love with him.
I got excited when I received text messages from him, my heart did a summersault when he replied my Facebook comments.
He posted a 9gag picture which said “Always walk a girl to her car seat… And use the time walking back to the driver seat to fart.”
<Now I’m wondering when can a girl fart> That was my comment.
<Girls fart?>
<Girls are homo sapiens too>
<Some might beg to differ>
<Gender discrimination>
<Tsk tsk>
<Don’t make me slap you> - That was one of my lines. I could not resist the temptation to use my lines in real life.
<You can’t, we’re on Internet, duh>
<You’re forgetting we’re meeting up at 2pm, duh>
Nothing romantic but the fact that he rarely replied other people’s comments excited me.
Also, we did not converse normally. We were always bickering, arguing, fighting, talking about something disgusting. Which was probably why I was attracted to him. He was not one of the guys who would walk me to my car. He was not one of the guys who would talk to me politely.
He was direct; he was honest. He was different from other guys.
He had the sexiest voice I swear and I loved the way he laughed, it was so infectious; his broad shoulders made me felt so secure, his palms were always warm and that gave me a fuzzy feeling when he held my hand.
“You keep tearing that dress you’ll end up with nothing. Not complaining,” he recited his line in his sexy voice, with his signature naughtiness. I blushed.
He wasn’t that tall – around my height, and he was surprisingly thin for a guy. He was actually around my weight, and I was underweight even for female’s standard.
Maybe because of rigorous training and rehearsals, he was surprisingly strong for a guy of his weight.
We had to wrestle each other while reading our lines out loud during one of our rehearsal sessions, and I was almost out of breath by the end of the session. I had to put up a real fight so he wouldn’t have the chance to press me to the floor; although secretly I was hoping for that to happen.
Well I guess I shouldn’t be greedy. I was in seventh heaven to hug him so tightly; to have my abs pressed firmly against his six packs; to be leaning on his strong shoulders.
I loved bullying him. Getting him angry and challenging his limitations were so entertaining.
He brought three T-shirts for our dress rehearsal, none of it was ironed.
“You’re planning to wear pajamas on stage?” I asked, and lifting my hands to cover my face at the same time, knowing that he would try to punch me because I had attempted to punch him countless times before. It was part of our performance – for me to attempt to punch him.
He became exceptionally skilled at dodging my punches.
He also became exceptionally good at kissing me. It was difficult for him initially as he had to lie on my lap when kissing my forehead. It was not easy to bring his upper body up all the way from the ground to my head. There were many occasions when he couldn’t reach my forehead.
There were many occasions when he almost kissed my lips instead and I could hear my own heartbeat.
We tried many different positions including me lowering myself down so we could meet halfway but our director thought that would spoil the story. Finally he managed it by placing his hands around my neck so he could lift himself up easier.
Ever since that successful attempt, he became somewhat addicted to kissing me. So much so that even when our director told us to practice our lines without physical contact, he would still kiss and touch my face whenever our director was not watching us.
Or fly kisses when we were being watched. He went “Muacks-muacks-muacks” (complete with puppy eyes and pouted lips) every time he reached the line “What a thing to say,” and I could feel my heart jumping to my throat.
Then, he disappeared from my life. It took him ages to reply my text messages, he stopped watching performances with me, and where was the song cover he promised to do for me?
“Ahha sorreyh - I was busy – I have rehearsals every day,” he said. But I saw, on Facebook, he did song covers for other girls and there were pictures of him watching performances with other girls.
Who was I in his heart? I couldn’t help but to wonder if he did whatever he did with me with every other girl he met.
I thought I meant something to him. I really thought so.
I woke up in the middle of the night and cried. And cried. And cried. And cried.
The best revenge was to live a better life than him, so I moved on, getting myself busy with projects I was passionate about.
I exited his life.
*
She was so cute. So cheerful, so bubbly, and I just loved the way she smiled; it melted my heart. She was daring, she was adventurous, she had a great sense of humor which most other girls I met lacked, she was sarcastic in a fun way. I enjoyed being with her so much – why was it that we were only going to have four rehearsals together? How I wish we had rehearsals every night just so I could spend more time with her.
She was so comfortable in being herself. Not pretentious at all. She did not act demure and ladylike.
She did not sit cross-legged, she ate like a wolf when she was hungry and when she was tired during rehearsals she would just lie on the floor during our one-minute break, which I gladly joined, lying next to her, breathing the same air that she was breathing in.
She was so different from other girls I had met. Other girls were nice to me, they appeared to be very sweet up to a point that it was kind of sickening. She was independent, she helped carry heavy objects during rehearsals.
Independent girls were so rare, so hard to find and so alluring. I also began to suspect that I was masochistic because being bullied by her was so enjoyable. Pretending to be angry of what she said and did became my new hobby because I knew she loved it when I got angry.
I tested the water; like a child I showered her with fly kisses, I braved myself to touch her face.
I tried so hard to fail to kiss her forehead because honestly, I was aiming for the lips.
I looked for excuses to place my arms on her shoulders - the perfect opportunity to do so was when we took pictures – I hated taking pictures but if she was involved I love it, I loved the fact that our performance required me to lie on her lap – how lovely, whoever the script writer was, I could never thank him (or her) enough; and it was incredibly wonderful that for our warm up exercises she had to ride on my back and hold my hand – honestly if a truck hit me I could die in happiness and I wasn’t even exaggerating. I loved to get close to her, both physically and mentally. I loved the way we had to say “I love you” over and over again for purposes of our rehearsals and I genuinely meant what I said, I wasn’t even acting (although I would never admit it). I pretended to forget to return her belongings to her just so I had an excuse to contact her and I made sure I replied her Facebook comments – because her comments were so funny, and because they were written by her.
“Right, babe?” She asked – it was her last line. My eyes were closed but I knew she was staring at my face lovingly, as instructed by our director.
Many times I had peeped during our rehearsals because I love the feeling of her staring at me with love in her eyes.
I knew what would happen next and that made my heartbeat raced.
She lowered herself to hug me and I could feel her perky bosom on the tip of my nose.
That was more than enough to make any young healthy man nosebleed. I stopped breathing for a moment.
“You hugged me too soon,” I complained after our show was over. “You were supposed to stare at me longer.”
(And you were supposed to place your breasts on my face longer. Like, forever. I thought in my heart)
“Are you serious?” She looked at me, eyes wide open in surprise.
“No kidding, but –” I patted her back gently and pulled her towards me for a hug. “Good job anyway.”
Her performance was awesome. I was just looking for an excuse to hug her.
She uploaded a picture of us together. The picture where she was smiling happily at the camera while I was staring at her intensely with my arm around her, another in my pocket clutching her torn sleeve tightly.
Why can’t you look me in my eyes? In my heart I cursed her stupidity, but that was part of the reason why I loved her. She was charming in a stupid way.
<“I want to tell you something… I couldn’t push my intestine back into my body”> That was her caption and I almost sputtered water on my laptop screen when I read it. I had always jokingly called her sleeve “my intestine.”
<Your sleeve is mine now. You’re never getting it back> That was my comment. Aww, her sleeve. I kept it on my memorabilia shelf. Such beautiful memories.
<You’re getting me a new one> That was one of her lines. She loved using her lines in real life.
<I don’t think H&M stocks up on sleeve>
<New blouse please I’m XS thank you very much>
<Ugh all of a sudden I’m feeling so sick>
<You lame excuse makes me sick>
Days later I made time to buy a new XS boat neck light pink blouse. Yes, I remembered her size, her favorite style, the color she liked.
Now I need an excuse to ask her out for a date, I thought.
Then, she disappeared from my life. She stopped sending me text messages and I had no idea why.
I told her I was busy with rehearsals and I would do the song cover I promised her once my performance was over. I thought she would be happy about that – I thought she loved my singing.
I thought, since we sang together all the time, from Bee Gees to Katy Perry.
From “How Deep is Your Love” to “Unconditionally”.
How I wished I could watch that performance we had both been dying to watch with her but we both had tight schedules hence it was not possible. I had to watch it with other friends of mine and honestly, it would had been so much more enjoyable if I was watching it with her instead – I was positive that she would come up with funny names for that geeky nerdy actor with a shiny yellow hat.
She would probably crack me up by calling him banana.
The people I watched the show with made me do a song cover for them. I wasn’t in the mood for it and I was too busy with rehearsals anyway, so I just uploaded an old song cover I did years ago to please them.
Another week passed, my performance ended (she did not come to support me. I thought she would.) and I finally had time to relax. I looked at the pink sleeve on my memorabilia shelf – that very sleeve she torn for our performance. She almost cried when our director cut that sleeve from her blouse and
I had to cover her eyes with one hand while placing the other around her slim waist tightly so she would not have the chance to snatch her blouse.
She always jokingly called me crab because she thought my voice sounded like Sebastian the crab in “The Little Mermaid”, and she asked me to do a song cover of “Under the Sea” for her. That showed how much she loved my singing, no? At least, that was how I viewed the matter.
Those were the days when we were so close to each other.
On my table was a CD containing the song cover I did for her. No, it wasn’t “Under the Sea” – I decided to do “Kiss the Girl” instead because that was what I really wanted to do – I wondered if she would get the hint when she received it?
Once my performance was over, once I had the time to check Facebook again, the first thing I did was to stalk her profile.
From Facebook she seemed to have a great life going on. She was involved in some other projects it seemed – singing, acting, writing - There was nothing on her Facebook that indicated she was missing someone. I guess she didn’t miss me.
Checked my phone again and again. No incoming text messages.
Who was I in her heart anyway? Just a fellow cast, and nothing more than that I suppose.
Or maybe I was just a crab. Crap.
I threw the CD along with the new blouse and the torn sleeve into my dustbin and for the first time in my life, I cried.
I exited her life.
Saturday, May 16, 2015
Heads Up, Dim Sum
Writing is a therapy and a tool of self-discovery for me.
(And money, too.)
I wrote "Heads Up, Dim Sum" for Fixi anthology. Didn't make it. A little disappointed but I wasn't really expecting anything; there are so many dedicated and talented local writers out there.
More importantly, I had my fair share of reward in the process of writing : I found another piece of jigsaw puzzle about myself.
My tendency to include the issue of consent in sexual intercourse (rape would be a simpler term but I don't think the word itself is sufficient to highlight the topic that really bothers me. Not that rape doesn't; it is just that I am more concerned of this depressing gray area in law called consent) and prostitution. How romance made their way into my writing, even though I rarely see myself as a romantic soul.
More importantly, my desire to voice out for the oppressed.
(when I am not writing sarcastic nonsense purely for my own pleasure.)
A novelist and mentor once asked me : Why, Shin, why do you write? What is your discourse?
The crying voices that we hear, the anger that could not be properly channeled, the murderous melancholy.
Do you hear the people sing? They are singing the songs of angry men.
*
Two guns aimed at my abdomen.
Yen was right. We should have stayed in Kunak.
She told me we were doing fine in Kunak, that our Tilapia fish feeding business was going great.
However, when I received a proposed partnership to expand business in Ipoh to create 36 integrated farms on a 100 acres area, I lost my mind.
During our second month in Ipoh, Yen and I were still busy unpacking. So many stuff, so little time. One Friday when we were unpacking as usual, Yen and I stopped abruptly and collapsed onto the bed together, letting the mattress absorb our heavy flow of tired sweat. We looked in the eyes and smiled; there was no need for words. My lips conveyed gratitude to her welcoming lips, my hands loved every inch of her hardworking body appreciatively, my hot steel rose despite weariness.
With all the excitement and new environment, we had been having sleeping problems since relocation. That night, however, both of us slept like our daughter, Bee Bee. I even dreamed of becoming a pirate of a golden ship. The golden ship suddenly turned into a giant alarm clock and started barking. I tried to silence it but my attempt was unsuccessful.
It took me some time to realize that I wasn’t dreaming of dog barking. The dogs were really barking. It wasn’t the usual long, rhythmic stanzas that us Chinese regarded as “how dogs bark when they encountered ghosts”. It was brief and explosive, low pitched and harsh, as if they were trying to tell us to “run fo your life! It is getting dangerous here and I could not hold the fort any longer!”
As I opened the door, I wondered what could have frightened these tough black Doberman Pinscher and brown Belgian Malinois who had the ability to scare intruders off with just their appearances.
Two guns aimed at my abdomen.
*
Jun always laughed when I said “I have a hunch that...”
He never believed in my hunches. They were not scientific, he said.
That night, that Friday night, I had a hunch that something terrible was going to happen. I felt like I was back in primary school when my classmates were happily chatting away, and suddenly I quieted. The next moment, the principal entered the classroom with a cane.
Only, it was much more intense now.
A part of me wanted to stay safe in the locked room. Another part of me refused to die as a coward. Then I remembered Bee Bee and the thought of her gave me courage.
I couldn’t let anything happen to Bee Bee, I thought. I couldn’t let anything happen to Bee Bee, I unlocked the door. I couldn’t let anything happen to Bee Bee, I walked out of the room. I couldn’t let anything -
I rushed back into the room again when I noticed four men surrounding Jun, two of them aiming guns at his abdomen, my heartbeat racing fast.
There was a moment of silence. I wondered if I should dash out. I wondered who should I rescue - Jun or Bee Bee - if I did manage to muster enough courage to dash out. I wondered if I was safe behind this locked door - I saw guns - I’ve never seen guns before. I wondered if I should escape through the window.
“Don’t disturb them, I will follow you,” Jun broke the deadly silence. His voice was surprisingly calm, to me at least. Maybe my heart was beating too loudly to hear his quiver. I couldn’t hear what those four men said either, but I knew they must have said something, for I heard voices that did not belong to Jun.
I heard them knocking on my door, too. Loud, thunderous, pounding rap that threatened to cause the wedding photo on the wall to fall and shatter. My breathing stopped. Welled up tears froze in my eyes and I tried to stop my heart from beating, while praying for Bee Bee not to cry at this moment, for I noticed her turning in her sleep.
Save me, Amitabha. Save us, Jesus Christ. Save us all, Ya Allah. I prayed to all the Gods I knew, and I didn’t stop praying until I heard the sounds of boat engines which indicated that they had left our area.
I tip-toed out of the room. Everything looked the same: the unpacked packages remained unpacked, the furniture were not moved, the romantic snow globe was still next to the TV.
Bee Bee woke up with a yawn. She ran all around the house before stopping in front of me.
“Where’s daddy? He promised to bring me to the beach today.”
“Daddy needs to go to work today,” I pat her head with more pressure than usual, went to the toilet and let my tears flowed out with my urine until I was calm enough to call Chee Wah, Jun’s business partner for help.
*
I wondered if I should abandon ship. That was what my worker, Azlan did. The kidnappers cursed and swore but they made no attempt to catch him back as he swam away.
However, I dared not. Partly because I was afraid that I would die, but that was not the main reason : the kidnappers might kill me anyway, it was just a matter of when.
I was more worried that they might kill Yen and Bee Bee if I tried to escape. Azlan was single but I wasn’t, and the kidnappers had told me that they would leave my family unharmed only if I follow them. Which I did, and they had kept their words.
So had I. So far.
It is better for one to be killed than to risk two lives so that one has a fifty per cent chance of surviving, even though I really didn’t want to be tortured to death.
Where would they take me? What would they do to me?
I remembered reading in newspaper. Abu Sayap or something. Some foreign gangsters that kidnap people for ransom.
I couldn’t believe that that was happening to me. I had often distanced myself from what was happening in newspapers as if those were news from a different world that coincidentally happened to be similar to the world I was living in. I suppose that was the way my mind coped with something as depressing as newspapers.
I must be dreaming. Surely this newspapers shield could not be broken.
*
I didn’t see Azlan being kidnapped, but through the window I saw him returning. He was running, panting, breathless. He was alone. I was going to bombard him with questions but at the same time my phone rang. For a moment I was walking back and forth, from the door to the phone and from the phone to the door, for I could not make up my mind.
Until I accidentally knocked over the phone and it fell to the ground with a heavy thud and I just had to pick it up and answer it.
“Your husband is with me.”
I couldn’t think of an answer. All that I could do was to sob, but the kidnapper seemed to be expecting that anyway.
“12 million if you want to see him again. Alive.”
With that, the conversation ended.
“I don’t have 12 million!” I screamed into the phone when what I heard finally registered in my mind. I was forced to accept the fact that there was nobody on the other end after a long moment of silence.
*
Yen’s sobbing had transformed into daggers that pierced through my heart. If only I could grab the phone I would tell her that I am fine, but I could only managed a “hmph” through my taped mouth, accompanied by the rattling of the shackles on my wrists and ankles.
“12 million if you want to see him again. Alive.”
One of the kidnappers locked eyes with me as he said that and I felt cold even though I was sweating profusely.
He was practically killing me. Soon, I would be killed for real.
It was just a matter of when and how.
The kidnappers left me alone in the hut, chained. Whenever I thought I couldn’t go on anymore, someone came in, bringing me food. Sometimes, I got to eat fish and rice. Most of the time, however, it was just tapioca, and nothing else.
I lost track of how many times the sun rose and went down. Through the gaps between the bamboo shoots I could catch glimpses of sunlight, followed by moonlight, occasionally starlight, and sunlight again. I remembered driving Yen around Kunak looking for the perfect stargazing spot. That was before we got married. I was still courting her back then. We kissed under the starry night on a carpet of grass. I had no idea that I could be so romantic but Yen brought out a side of me that I never knew existed.
We used to have sex at all Kunak beaches. Why did we stop doing that after we got married?
I was drenched, dried and drenched again. Rain and sun, hot and cold, who would have thought that I could recover from flu without any pills? Who would have thought that life could be so short and unpredictable?
I miss you, Yen. Have I told you that I love you?
*
I wondered if I should cover up hell notes with real money on top.
I wanted to smash everything in the house and scream but I couldn’t. Chee Wah, my parents and my friends borrowed me money but it didn’t even total up to 1 million.
I wished I hadn’t sold my gold necklaces for Jun’s business. That way, I would have more money now. That way, I wouldn’t even need these money now.
The kidnappers told me I have three more weeks to come up with 12 million. If I couldn’t, they would send me Jun’s head. I begged them for more time. They told me to get the money from my government before slamming down the phone.
Maybe they were joking when they suggested that but I took it seriously. I spoke to 22 Members of Parliament. 20 had not replied. 1 said he was doing his best to help me. 1 refused to help me on the grounds of “this is a bad precedent that will open the floodgate”.
I had been dreaming of Jun’s head ever since then. I was selling my breasts and vagina to that 22 Members of Parliament for help and random strangers for money in my dreams. There was a huge, broken hourglass on top of me which contained Jun’s heads instead of colored sand. Each time I wanted to refuse a customer because I couldn’t stand the rawness and pain, more of Jun’s heads would roll down and hit my face, covering my face with blood. I woke up each night to wipe the blood off my face only to discover that I was crying and sweating.
*
The kidnappers allowed me to walk at the beach. I was chained, there were two men in front of me and two more pointing guns at me from behind, but at least I got to be out of the hut for the first time since I was kidnapped.
I had no idea where I was but it was a beautiful place. The sand was white, fine and soft. The sea was clear blue and I could smell sea salt in the wind. I remembered the last thing that I promised Bee Bee was to take her to the beach.
She would love it here. We could fly kites, build sandcastles, collect seashells and watch hermit crabs. Yen could read Nicholas Sparks and guard our belongings while we have fun.
I want to see Yen and Bee Bee again.
I was taken back to the hut where, to my surprise, there were plates of Dim Sum waiting for me. I looked at the armed men in delight but they left me without a glance. Didn’t matter. I wolfed down the pork and shrimp dumplings, followed by fish balls. Oh, so elastic and juicy, just like the ones I had with Yen and my parents-in-law.
The yam puff was crispier than the ones in my memory - either that, or I was really hungry. The flaky pastry crumbled and fell onto the dirty ground but I picked them up and threw them into my mouth anyway. Who knows? This might be the last dim sum for me. I couldn’t afford to waste anything.
Bee Bee used to waste food whenever we took her for Dim Sum breakfast. She would bite the prawn dumplings into halves, scoop out the prawn for consumption and leave the translucent pastry on her plate. I would eat those for her, earning me a nickname among my family : the filial daddy.
‘There was a movie about barbecue pork bun made from human flesh. Those were the days when people did not have enough food to eat and they had to kill their friends to survive. So don’t waste food unless you want others to turn you into food,’ I used to lecture her with a joke. She would just blink and laugh while continuing eating the prawns, leaving the tasteless pastry for me.
I then vomited abruptly when I noticed a finger in my yam puff. When I realized it still had Bee Bee’s pink Barbie toy ring on it, I passed out.
I woke up much later to realize that it was a nightmare, and there was nothing around me except cold tapioca.
*
Am I dreaming?
It had been 176 days since Jun was kidnapped. I heard his voice once on 74th day. He said “I’m fine” but he didn’t sound okay at all. The kidnapper took over the phone conversation after that to remind me of our bread-or-head deal.
I stopped reading the newspapers, nor did I have to, for friends and family called me all the time, updating me of what was written in the papers, asking me what was the progress, telling me to be strong.
The newspapers was all about Jun. How the government was in the middle of negotiation with the kidnappers, how the police refused to tell the journalists if any demand for ransom was made, how Azlan escaped, how they thought I ought to feel, what the experts thought of the state of our national security and other nonsense that I did not care about.
Jun used to tell me that newspapers reading is depressing. I disagree as I only read horoscope and comic back then.
Am I dreaming?
176 days after Jun was kidnapped, the government told me that they had successfully gotten him back to Kunak.
I thought of how my friends told me I would get straight A before PMR result was announced. That excited me and got my hopes going up, causing me to repeatedly tell myself to calm down so I would not be overly disappointed when I saw a B on my result slip.
What if Jun returned in a coffin? Would Jun return in a coffin? What would I do if Jun was returned in a coffin?
I asked my neighbor to take care of Bee Bee for the day. I told Bee Bee that her father was coming home from business and I was going to fetch him at the airport. Bee Bee nodded happily and only went to neighbor’s house with me after I took out her swimsuit and placed it neatly on her bed.
Sandakan police station was not very huge, and it was even smaller now with reporters from various newspapers.
Flashing cameras blinded me but when Jun arrived - alive - at the station with two policemen, I could see every bruise and wound on his body as if they were magnified. I saw the shackling marks around his ankles under his torn pants. His lips were chapped, his eyes were red and his face was sunken. His pupils had turned gray like a dead fish, but when they saw me, they lit up in recognition and we ran towards each other, crying, laughing, shouting, hugging tightly.
There is no place like home. We are going home.
Yen was right. We should have stayed in Kunak.
She told me we were doing fine in Kunak, that our Tilapia fish feeding business was going great.
However, when I received a proposed partnership to expand business in Ipoh to create 36 integrated farms on a 100 acres area, I lost my mind.
During our second month in Ipoh, Yen and I were still busy unpacking. So many stuff, so little time. One Friday when we were unpacking as usual, Yen and I stopped abruptly and collapsed onto the bed together, letting the mattress absorb our heavy flow of tired sweat. We looked in the eyes and smiled; there was no need for words. My lips conveyed gratitude to her welcoming lips, my hands loved every inch of her hardworking body appreciatively, my hot steel rose despite weariness.
With all the excitement and new environment, we had been having sleeping problems since relocation. That night, however, both of us slept like our daughter, Bee Bee. I even dreamed of becoming a pirate of a golden ship. The golden ship suddenly turned into a giant alarm clock and started barking. I tried to silence it but my attempt was unsuccessful.
It took me some time to realize that I wasn’t dreaming of dog barking. The dogs were really barking. It wasn’t the usual long, rhythmic stanzas that us Chinese regarded as “how dogs bark when they encountered ghosts”. It was brief and explosive, low pitched and harsh, as if they were trying to tell us to “run fo your life! It is getting dangerous here and I could not hold the fort any longer!”
As I opened the door, I wondered what could have frightened these tough black Doberman Pinscher and brown Belgian Malinois who had the ability to scare intruders off with just their appearances.
Two guns aimed at my abdomen.
*
Jun always laughed when I said “I have a hunch that...”
He never believed in my hunches. They were not scientific, he said.
That night, that Friday night, I had a hunch that something terrible was going to happen. I felt like I was back in primary school when my classmates were happily chatting away, and suddenly I quieted. The next moment, the principal entered the classroom with a cane.
Only, it was much more intense now.
A part of me wanted to stay safe in the locked room. Another part of me refused to die as a coward. Then I remembered Bee Bee and the thought of her gave me courage.
I couldn’t let anything happen to Bee Bee, I thought. I couldn’t let anything happen to Bee Bee, I unlocked the door. I couldn’t let anything happen to Bee Bee, I walked out of the room. I couldn’t let anything -
I rushed back into the room again when I noticed four men surrounding Jun, two of them aiming guns at his abdomen, my heartbeat racing fast.
There was a moment of silence. I wondered if I should dash out. I wondered who should I rescue - Jun or Bee Bee - if I did manage to muster enough courage to dash out. I wondered if I was safe behind this locked door - I saw guns - I’ve never seen guns before. I wondered if I should escape through the window.
“Don’t disturb them, I will follow you,” Jun broke the deadly silence. His voice was surprisingly calm, to me at least. Maybe my heart was beating too loudly to hear his quiver. I couldn’t hear what those four men said either, but I knew they must have said something, for I heard voices that did not belong to Jun.
I heard them knocking on my door, too. Loud, thunderous, pounding rap that threatened to cause the wedding photo on the wall to fall and shatter. My breathing stopped. Welled up tears froze in my eyes and I tried to stop my heart from beating, while praying for Bee Bee not to cry at this moment, for I noticed her turning in her sleep.
Save me, Amitabha. Save us, Jesus Christ. Save us all, Ya Allah. I prayed to all the Gods I knew, and I didn’t stop praying until I heard the sounds of boat engines which indicated that they had left our area.
I tip-toed out of the room. Everything looked the same: the unpacked packages remained unpacked, the furniture were not moved, the romantic snow globe was still next to the TV.
Bee Bee woke up with a yawn. She ran all around the house before stopping in front of me.
“Where’s daddy? He promised to bring me to the beach today.”
“Daddy needs to go to work today,” I pat her head with more pressure than usual, went to the toilet and let my tears flowed out with my urine until I was calm enough to call Chee Wah, Jun’s business partner for help.
*
I wondered if I should abandon ship. That was what my worker, Azlan did. The kidnappers cursed and swore but they made no attempt to catch him back as he swam away.
However, I dared not. Partly because I was afraid that I would die, but that was not the main reason : the kidnappers might kill me anyway, it was just a matter of when.
I was more worried that they might kill Yen and Bee Bee if I tried to escape. Azlan was single but I wasn’t, and the kidnappers had told me that they would leave my family unharmed only if I follow them. Which I did, and they had kept their words.
So had I. So far.
It is better for one to be killed than to risk two lives so that one has a fifty per cent chance of surviving, even though I really didn’t want to be tortured to death.
Where would they take me? What would they do to me?
I remembered reading in newspaper. Abu Sayap or something. Some foreign gangsters that kidnap people for ransom.
I couldn’t believe that that was happening to me. I had often distanced myself from what was happening in newspapers as if those were news from a different world that coincidentally happened to be similar to the world I was living in. I suppose that was the way my mind coped with something as depressing as newspapers.
I must be dreaming. Surely this newspapers shield could not be broken.
*
I didn’t see Azlan being kidnapped, but through the window I saw him returning. He was running, panting, breathless. He was alone. I was going to bombard him with questions but at the same time my phone rang. For a moment I was walking back and forth, from the door to the phone and from the phone to the door, for I could not make up my mind.
Until I accidentally knocked over the phone and it fell to the ground with a heavy thud and I just had to pick it up and answer it.
“Your husband is with me.”
I couldn’t think of an answer. All that I could do was to sob, but the kidnapper seemed to be expecting that anyway.
“12 million if you want to see him again. Alive.”
With that, the conversation ended.
“I don’t have 12 million!” I screamed into the phone when what I heard finally registered in my mind. I was forced to accept the fact that there was nobody on the other end after a long moment of silence.
*
Yen’s sobbing had transformed into daggers that pierced through my heart. If only I could grab the phone I would tell her that I am fine, but I could only managed a “hmph” through my taped mouth, accompanied by the rattling of the shackles on my wrists and ankles.
“12 million if you want to see him again. Alive.”
One of the kidnappers locked eyes with me as he said that and I felt cold even though I was sweating profusely.
He was practically killing me. Soon, I would be killed for real.
It was just a matter of when and how.
The kidnappers left me alone in the hut, chained. Whenever I thought I couldn’t go on anymore, someone came in, bringing me food. Sometimes, I got to eat fish and rice. Most of the time, however, it was just tapioca, and nothing else.
I lost track of how many times the sun rose and went down. Through the gaps between the bamboo shoots I could catch glimpses of sunlight, followed by moonlight, occasionally starlight, and sunlight again. I remembered driving Yen around Kunak looking for the perfect stargazing spot. That was before we got married. I was still courting her back then. We kissed under the starry night on a carpet of grass. I had no idea that I could be so romantic but Yen brought out a side of me that I never knew existed.
We used to have sex at all Kunak beaches. Why did we stop doing that after we got married?
I was drenched, dried and drenched again. Rain and sun, hot and cold, who would have thought that I could recover from flu without any pills? Who would have thought that life could be so short and unpredictable?
I miss you, Yen. Have I told you that I love you?
*
I wondered if I should cover up hell notes with real money on top.
I wanted to smash everything in the house and scream but I couldn’t. Chee Wah, my parents and my friends borrowed me money but it didn’t even total up to 1 million.
I wished I hadn’t sold my gold necklaces for Jun’s business. That way, I would have more money now. That way, I wouldn’t even need these money now.
The kidnappers told me I have three more weeks to come up with 12 million. If I couldn’t, they would send me Jun’s head. I begged them for more time. They told me to get the money from my government before slamming down the phone.
Maybe they were joking when they suggested that but I took it seriously. I spoke to 22 Members of Parliament. 20 had not replied. 1 said he was doing his best to help me. 1 refused to help me on the grounds of “this is a bad precedent that will open the floodgate”.
I had been dreaming of Jun’s head ever since then. I was selling my breasts and vagina to that 22 Members of Parliament for help and random strangers for money in my dreams. There was a huge, broken hourglass on top of me which contained Jun’s heads instead of colored sand. Each time I wanted to refuse a customer because I couldn’t stand the rawness and pain, more of Jun’s heads would roll down and hit my face, covering my face with blood. I woke up each night to wipe the blood off my face only to discover that I was crying and sweating.
*
The kidnappers allowed me to walk at the beach. I was chained, there were two men in front of me and two more pointing guns at me from behind, but at least I got to be out of the hut for the first time since I was kidnapped.
I had no idea where I was but it was a beautiful place. The sand was white, fine and soft. The sea was clear blue and I could smell sea salt in the wind. I remembered the last thing that I promised Bee Bee was to take her to the beach.
She would love it here. We could fly kites, build sandcastles, collect seashells and watch hermit crabs. Yen could read Nicholas Sparks and guard our belongings while we have fun.
I want to see Yen and Bee Bee again.
I was taken back to the hut where, to my surprise, there were plates of Dim Sum waiting for me. I looked at the armed men in delight but they left me without a glance. Didn’t matter. I wolfed down the pork and shrimp dumplings, followed by fish balls. Oh, so elastic and juicy, just like the ones I had with Yen and my parents-in-law.
The yam puff was crispier than the ones in my memory - either that, or I was really hungry. The flaky pastry crumbled and fell onto the dirty ground but I picked them up and threw them into my mouth anyway. Who knows? This might be the last dim sum for me. I couldn’t afford to waste anything.
Bee Bee used to waste food whenever we took her for Dim Sum breakfast. She would bite the prawn dumplings into halves, scoop out the prawn for consumption and leave the translucent pastry on her plate. I would eat those for her, earning me a nickname among my family : the filial daddy.
‘There was a movie about barbecue pork bun made from human flesh. Those were the days when people did not have enough food to eat and they had to kill their friends to survive. So don’t waste food unless you want others to turn you into food,’ I used to lecture her with a joke. She would just blink and laugh while continuing eating the prawns, leaving the tasteless pastry for me.
I then vomited abruptly when I noticed a finger in my yam puff. When I realized it still had Bee Bee’s pink Barbie toy ring on it, I passed out.
I woke up much later to realize that it was a nightmare, and there was nothing around me except cold tapioca.
*
Am I dreaming?
It had been 176 days since Jun was kidnapped. I heard his voice once on 74th day. He said “I’m fine” but he didn’t sound okay at all. The kidnapper took over the phone conversation after that to remind me of our bread-or-head deal.
I stopped reading the newspapers, nor did I have to, for friends and family called me all the time, updating me of what was written in the papers, asking me what was the progress, telling me to be strong.
The newspapers was all about Jun. How the government was in the middle of negotiation with the kidnappers, how the police refused to tell the journalists if any demand for ransom was made, how Azlan escaped, how they thought I ought to feel, what the experts thought of the state of our national security and other nonsense that I did not care about.
Jun used to tell me that newspapers reading is depressing. I disagree as I only read horoscope and comic back then.
Am I dreaming?
176 days after Jun was kidnapped, the government told me that they had successfully gotten him back to Kunak.
I thought of how my friends told me I would get straight A before PMR result was announced. That excited me and got my hopes going up, causing me to repeatedly tell myself to calm down so I would not be overly disappointed when I saw a B on my result slip.
What if Jun returned in a coffin? Would Jun return in a coffin? What would I do if Jun was returned in a coffin?
I asked my neighbor to take care of Bee Bee for the day. I told Bee Bee that her father was coming home from business and I was going to fetch him at the airport. Bee Bee nodded happily and only went to neighbor’s house with me after I took out her swimsuit and placed it neatly on her bed.
Sandakan police station was not very huge, and it was even smaller now with reporters from various newspapers.
Flashing cameras blinded me but when Jun arrived - alive - at the station with two policemen, I could see every bruise and wound on his body as if they were magnified. I saw the shackling marks around his ankles under his torn pants. His lips were chapped, his eyes were red and his face was sunken. His pupils had turned gray like a dead fish, but when they saw me, they lit up in recognition and we ran towards each other, crying, laughing, shouting, hugging tightly.
There is no place like home. We are going home.
Saturday, May 9, 2015
Zurich True Love Viral Video
Zurich true love viral video marked a satisfying milestone in my journey of acting.
I didn't think I did well during the audition. What a ham actor, I thought, and where was your voice projection?
It was therefore a pleasant surprise when Noelle Talents commented "good job acting during audition yesterday, Lee Yoong Shin."
Effort acknowledgement is very gratifying.
The shooting itself took two days in the jungle, with plenty of walking and flora fertilizing. I had no idea that walking in tight flats could hurt so much, so much so that I didn't mind stepping into the mud at all, as it allowed me to take off the shoes.
I feel you, mermaid. I see what you mean by walking on daggers, Andersen.
Ad-libbing is an exciting challenge, more so when the entire filming was a test of improvisation skill. Tacit understanding, responsiveness, expect the unexpected - lacking in any one of these, naturalism is beyond the realm of possibility.
I was therefore very grateful when Joe told me (in surprise) "I thought this was a reality show with hidden camera!"
I was even more grateful when the director told me "whoa, you can act for real."
Deserved or not, effort acknowledgement is indeed very gratifying.
Saturday, May 2, 2015
God Sent Tax
The Ruler was on TV, again. Long and transparent, and there wasn't any space for a brain.
"God Sent Tax will be implemented tomorrow," he said solemnly. "As this is decided by God, we are convinced that it will be beneficial to us all, even though we had not conducted any research. There will be six per cent tax on everything. Well, almost everything. Some are exempted from tax and we hope to come up with a list once we have made up my mind."
*
When Jake stood up from toilet the next day, he was pleased to discover that there was less faeces in the bowl. His faeces was taxed!
He hummed happily to the dining room. He noticed that his voice was not as loud as usual. It was frustrating to think that even voices were taxed but he cheered up immediately when he realized that there was value in his frog-like voice.
Jake continued to feel good throughout the day. The train was less crowded. The air was less polluted. Construction sites made less noise. His clients were less annoying and his boss was not as angry as usual.
God Sent Tax turned out to be better than he had anticipated.
*
Jake went to his girlfriend's apartment after work. It was their weekly union of body, mind and soul and Jake was really looking forward to it.
With his girlfriend, Jake felt as if he was aligning perfectly with the universe. Stars were exploding in his head and he was zooming around on comets. He was ready to ride to the end of the world with his girlfriend when she pushed him away to sleep.
Curse this God Sent Tax! What kind of idiot would decide to tax sex drive?
"God Sent Tax will be implemented tomorrow," he said solemnly. "As this is decided by God, we are convinced that it will be beneficial to us all, even though we had not conducted any research. There will be six per cent tax on everything. Well, almost everything. Some are exempted from tax and we hope to come up with a list once we have made up my mind."
*
When Jake stood up from toilet the next day, he was pleased to discover that there was less faeces in the bowl. His faeces was taxed!
He hummed happily to the dining room. He noticed that his voice was not as loud as usual. It was frustrating to think that even voices were taxed but he cheered up immediately when he realized that there was value in his frog-like voice.
Jake continued to feel good throughout the day. The train was less crowded. The air was less polluted. Construction sites made less noise. His clients were less annoying and his boss was not as angry as usual.
God Sent Tax turned out to be better than he had anticipated.
*
Jake went to his girlfriend's apartment after work. It was their weekly union of body, mind and soul and Jake was really looking forward to it.
With his girlfriend, Jake felt as if he was aligning perfectly with the universe. Stars were exploding in his head and he was zooming around on comets. He was ready to ride to the end of the world with his girlfriend when she pushed him away to sleep.
Curse this God Sent Tax! What kind of idiot would decide to tax sex drive?
Sunday, February 22, 2015
Taylor Swift - Blank Space (Parody)
Written for The Writer's Tower, February 2015, theme: unromantic.
[Verse 1]
I’m excited
for our date
Can you show me incredible things?
Magic, madness, heaven, sin
Saw you there and I thought oh my god
Look at that belt, it is one hell of mistake
Wanna say, you’re so gay
New Axia, suit and tie
You can charm me with a flirty wink
Ain't it funny romance dies
And I know you get dressed in
the dark, let's be friends
I can see now how this one ends
Grab your pink belt in my hand
If you’re getting ideas well it’s not BDSM
[Pre-Chorus]
It’s not gonna be forever
We are gonna go down in flames
I can tell you that it's over
Candelabra won’t kill the pain
Got a long list of bad lovers
But you are most insane
Cause you know I love good fashion
And you are a shame
[Chorus]
Cause you're young and you're reckless
You take this way too far
It makes me hopeless
That belt is too bizarre
Got a long list of bad lovers
But you are most insane
If I have a death note baby
And I'll write your name
[Bridge]
If you don’t change belt then we’re over
Don't say I didn't say I didn't warn you
If you don’t change belt then we’re over
Don't say I didn't say I didn't warn you
Monday, February 2, 2015
Lucy's Happy Cafe
"Hey, new place?" A young man in grey shirt and black pants walked into my cafe. Just a common face in the crowd that I have probably seen a million times in LRT.
"Yep. Welcome to Lucy's Happy Cafe," I smiled as I handed him a menu.
"Your signboard doesn't look that happy," he said as he opened it.
"Maybe black and red are not your color."
"They are, but I always associate them with bloody death," he replied while reading. "Oh my, and your menu is even more depressing. What are the ingredients of these drinks - Suicidal, Shed a Tear, A Drop of Blood, Chronic Depression?"
I laughed.
"Reverse psychology, my way. Sorry I can't tell you the ingredients - trade secret, you see. But you'll love them."
"Do I get a refund if I don't like it?"
I nodded.
"Wow, that's confidence. I'll have a... Suicidal."
"Would you like to order some food? Maybe a croissant, or a slice or carrot cake?"
"Just a drink will do."
I started working on his order. A spoonful of pale, silvery, sickly white moonlight and rain water from a lonely midnight. A wilting red rose on the glass' side and I finished it off by sprinkling the drink with a cluster of stars that forgot how to shine.
"Smells good," he sniffed and cautiously took a sip. "Hmm, tastes good too!"
"I'm glad you like it."
I hummed a little tune as I cleaned the kitchen.
D G G F G
D F F E F
D F F E F E D D C C D
"That's a weird tune. What song is that?"
"Oh, I don't know. Just something my mother hum to me when I refused to sleep."
"Just a tune and no lyrics?"
"I don't think there is, but when I grew up I decided to write lyrics for it."
"A ringgit and cent
and I'll be your friend
Chasing your sorrows as fast as I can."
"So... if I give you a ringgit and a cent, you would make me happy?"
I nodded.
He handed me a ringgit and a cent and as I pocketed it, he looked at me expectantly. I laughed.
"I can't do my magic if you don't tell me what's bothering you."
"Ah, alright," he looked embarrassed. "Here goes. Don't laugh... "
"I won't," I assured him. "A ringgit and cent, and I'll be your friend, remember? A friend won't laugh."
*
It's a long story. Not really long, actually. But "it's a long story" seems like a good way to start a story. Anyway. I think you must have heard this a million times. You are probably bored of hearing it. It probably happens to anyone alive. But it's my sorrow. My depression. My sadness. And that makes it unique and special to me. It's mine.
I am the second child. I have an elder sister and a younger brother. My elder sister is called Carina and she is two years older than me. She is everything that I am not. She got straight A, she won scholarship, she studied in UK, she works for a multinational company and is the best performer in her company for three consecutive years.
I am nothing compared to her. I was never good when it comes to studies, but I wanted to study overseas like Carina. I found a college in Taiwan which would accept me. Beggars can't be choosers, so I went to Taiwan, even though they offered me psychology, a course I am not interested in. That's not true. I don't know what I'm interested in. I'm not sure if I have an interest, actually.
Anyway, surprisingly I managed to graduate. It was not surprising that I couldn't find a job when I return to Malaysia. Not as a psychologist, so I tried other fields. I failed miserably. I was fired after three months. My boss said I was "courteous but not motivated".
Now I am unemployed. I am actively attending interviews so my family won't complain about my joblessness. Of course I won't tell them that I intentionally screw up my interviews so I don't have to work. I don't think I am able to work. I am not good enough, I think.
I am nothing when compared to my youngest brother, Aaron, either. He is an amazing athlete. A very good badminton player, and he is now a popular coach, especially among his female students, who fall in love with his smashes.
Me? Look at me. Chubby. Round face. I am not good with sports, and I am not handsome. I can't jog for more than ten minutes. I'll faint. I'll never be popular among the girls.
I hate family gatherings. My cousins are all excited to talk to my siblings, but when it comes to me, it is just polite talks about the weather.
I know these are trivial matters, but they hurt me so deeply. So deeply. You can't imagine how painful it is.
How can you make me happy?
*
"That is a very sad story," I said sympathetically.
He nodded lightly and removed his spectacles to wipe away his tears.
"I have a good idea as to how I can make you happy. But first, finish your drink while I prepare something for you."
He drank up obediently. He was staring at me blankly when I walked towards him with a wooden box.
When I opened the box and showed him the contents - a bottle of sleeping pills and a bottle of mineral water - he broke into a huge, genuine smile.
"You read my mind! I just realized that suicide is the perfect solution to my predicament. It is the only way to make me happy, for the dead don't experience sadness. Thank you, thank you! Best dollar and cent that I have spent."
"Welcome," I said with a smile as I watched him swallowing the pills.
Nothing makes me happier than a satisfied customer.
"Yep. Welcome to Lucy's Happy Cafe," I smiled as I handed him a menu.
"Your signboard doesn't look that happy," he said as he opened it.
"Maybe black and red are not your color."
"They are, but I always associate them with bloody death," he replied while reading. "Oh my, and your menu is even more depressing. What are the ingredients of these drinks - Suicidal, Shed a Tear, A Drop of Blood, Chronic Depression?"
I laughed.
"Reverse psychology, my way. Sorry I can't tell you the ingredients - trade secret, you see. But you'll love them."
"Do I get a refund if I don't like it?"
I nodded.
"Wow, that's confidence. I'll have a... Suicidal."
"Would you like to order some food? Maybe a croissant, or a slice or carrot cake?"
"Just a drink will do."
I started working on his order. A spoonful of pale, silvery, sickly white moonlight and rain water from a lonely midnight. A wilting red rose on the glass' side and I finished it off by sprinkling the drink with a cluster of stars that forgot how to shine.
"Smells good," he sniffed and cautiously took a sip. "Hmm, tastes good too!"
"I'm glad you like it."
I hummed a little tune as I cleaned the kitchen.
D G G F G
D F F E F
D F F E F E D D C C D
"That's a weird tune. What song is that?"
"Oh, I don't know. Just something my mother hum to me when I refused to sleep."
"Just a tune and no lyrics?"
"I don't think there is, but when I grew up I decided to write lyrics for it."
"A ringgit and cent
and I'll be your friend
Chasing your sorrows as fast as I can."
"So... if I give you a ringgit and a cent, you would make me happy?"
I nodded.
He handed me a ringgit and a cent and as I pocketed it, he looked at me expectantly. I laughed.
"I can't do my magic if you don't tell me what's bothering you."
"Ah, alright," he looked embarrassed. "Here goes. Don't laugh... "
"I won't," I assured him. "A ringgit and cent, and I'll be your friend, remember? A friend won't laugh."
*
It's a long story. Not really long, actually. But "it's a long story" seems like a good way to start a story. Anyway. I think you must have heard this a million times. You are probably bored of hearing it. It probably happens to anyone alive. But it's my sorrow. My depression. My sadness. And that makes it unique and special to me. It's mine.
I am the second child. I have an elder sister and a younger brother. My elder sister is called Carina and she is two years older than me. She is everything that I am not. She got straight A, she won scholarship, she studied in UK, she works for a multinational company and is the best performer in her company for three consecutive years.
I am nothing compared to her. I was never good when it comes to studies, but I wanted to study overseas like Carina. I found a college in Taiwan which would accept me. Beggars can't be choosers, so I went to Taiwan, even though they offered me psychology, a course I am not interested in. That's not true. I don't know what I'm interested in. I'm not sure if I have an interest, actually.
Anyway, surprisingly I managed to graduate. It was not surprising that I couldn't find a job when I return to Malaysia. Not as a psychologist, so I tried other fields. I failed miserably. I was fired after three months. My boss said I was "courteous but not motivated".
Now I am unemployed. I am actively attending interviews so my family won't complain about my joblessness. Of course I won't tell them that I intentionally screw up my interviews so I don't have to work. I don't think I am able to work. I am not good enough, I think.
I am nothing when compared to my youngest brother, Aaron, either. He is an amazing athlete. A very good badminton player, and he is now a popular coach, especially among his female students, who fall in love with his smashes.
Me? Look at me. Chubby. Round face. I am not good with sports, and I am not handsome. I can't jog for more than ten minutes. I'll faint. I'll never be popular among the girls.
I hate family gatherings. My cousins are all excited to talk to my siblings, but when it comes to me, it is just polite talks about the weather.
I know these are trivial matters, but they hurt me so deeply. So deeply. You can't imagine how painful it is.
How can you make me happy?
*
"That is a very sad story," I said sympathetically.
He nodded lightly and removed his spectacles to wipe away his tears.
"I have a good idea as to how I can make you happy. But first, finish your drink while I prepare something for you."
He drank up obediently. He was staring at me blankly when I walked towards him with a wooden box.
When I opened the box and showed him the contents - a bottle of sleeping pills and a bottle of mineral water - he broke into a huge, genuine smile.
"You read my mind! I just realized that suicide is the perfect solution to my predicament. It is the only way to make me happy, for the dead don't experience sadness. Thank you, thank you! Best dollar and cent that I have spent."
"Welcome," I said with a smile as I watched him swallowing the pills.
Nothing makes me happier than a satisfied customer.
Thursday, January 1, 2015
Annus horribilis? No.
And so a year has ended and a new year has begun.
Looking back at 2014, I would love to kill myself, once, twice, thrice, whenever I do something silly. Perhaps courage is the way God compensates a fool, assuming that God is real. I joined pageant contest when I can't even stabilize myself in heels. I auditioned for theater when I don't know how to project my voice. I auditioned for musical when the only singing experience I have had came from singing in the bathroom and the car. I joined a novel writing course conducted by Malaysia's first female novelist even though I don't have a solid literature background.
And the list goes on and on.
Yes, I have been a fool and I hate myself for that. I am an embarrassment, a laughing stock.
But I tried. It doesn't say much, but it said something. If I die tomorrow, or the next second, people might remember me as the girl who sang very badly during the audition for Short + Sweet, or the girl who can't write well but still submit writing after writing at The Writer's Tower, or the pageant contestant who does not even know how to stand properly. I am of course not fond of such memories, but they are proof that I had lived.
*
More importantly are the people I have met. Writers, be it established or aspiring. Photographers, thespians, models, cosplayers.
Their passion move me, sometimes so much that I want to cry, but somehow I can't. Maybe my mind's self defense mechanism is turning me into someone heartless.
The girl with a degree who now designs costumes for a living. The guy who writes Harry Potter fan fiction. The guy who gets offended when people mock his enthusiasm for gaming. The girl who bakes the most beautiful cakes. The guy who wanted to be a child actor and is now learning ballet. The guy who writes the most hilarious stories on The Writer's Tower. The girl who asks for donations of fruits for her artistic charity project. The guy who went to Singapore for his degree in acting. The girl who won't give up on studying law no matter how many times she has to fall. The girl who managed The Writer's Tower despite her stressful and tiring job. The ACCA student who dances and cheerleads.
So many more and I can't remember all. They are my inspiration when I fall, reminding me to keep standing tall when I am feeling small.
*
I resolute not to make any new year resolution for 2015. Not because I can't hold on to it, even though that's probably true. But the main reason was because I haven't decide on what I want.
Two contrasting desires and I wonder how one achieve the balance between two extremism.
On one end I yearn to let it all go. Stop being so body-conscious. Stop caring about the tummy flab and all other imperfections. YOLO so be yourself, right? Eat that chips and drink that coke. Continue to be a fool. Laugh out loud and fart louder.
On the other end is the dream to excel. Be demure, you're a girl, act sophisticated. Read multi-layered literature that you are not interested in and ditch those Wei Si Li sci-fi. Exercise three time a week, tone up that body, make sure you are always ready for a bikini. You only live once so be the best that you can be.
*
On my table there is an image of a Santa Claus in a sleigh pulled by dolphins instead of reindeer. It is not well drawn but it makes me smile.
The freedom of dreaming is at our discretion to exercise and right now, I am growing enormous white wings that are strong enough to carry me over the broken rainbow bridge that leads me to the starry castle of fantasy.
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