Sunday, 26th September 2010

The clear night sky was a mixture of indigo and gold, the stars glittering invitingly like treasure. Having just finished his evening prayers, he set about preparing the fire for dinner. "One, two, ...," he hit the rocks together, and sparks began to fly. With a crackle, the dry wooden sticks ignited, and a warm orange glow washed over everything nearby.

He set up the pot over the fire to boil the water while he prepared the ingredients for the stew. His trusty mule, Shera, lay comfortably by the dancing flame. It was getting cold out, and temperatures of blistering height plunged considerably. He diced the vegetables and the dried camel meat and threw them into the pot with some salt and pepper.

"Isn't this night a beauty, my dear?"
Shera turned to look at him, her mouth still chewing on the carrot he had fed her earlier. He walked over and kissed her on the nose, then proceeded to cut the bread.
It had gone a little stale now, they had yet to embark on their weekly visit to the market. The Arabs were always extra kind to him, allowing him discounts, but they could never understand why anyone would want to live in the middle of a desert.

What they didn't know, of course, was that he loved this life. Every atom of his being craved adventure, and he took pleasure in suffering for it. The company of Shera was all he needed, he disliked having other people's expectations to live up to. This was freedom.

Dinner was ready now and eagerly, he ladled himself a big bowlful, but not before he gave Shera her dinner of mixed vegetables and hay. He sat by the fire, the bowl and bread on his lap. "Bon appetit, Shera," he said to the mule, who was already tucking in. Then, he savoured slowly, his warm dinner of stew and bread, inhaling the aroma as he did so.

Ah, what a beautiful feeling. He sat in the warmth of the fire, enjoying his dinner under the star-speckled sky. He was what he had always dreamt of being; a nomad, an adventurer, a survivor. He was beyond reach in the world, and nothing could dissuade him from wanting to die this way.

After dinner, feeling comfortably full and warm, he decided to retire to his tent. He left Shera by the fire with a big bowl of water and then snuggled in the sleeping-bag. It had been his for as long as he could remember, and from it he derived comfort.

Staring up into the darkness of the tent, he smiled to himself when he heard Shera start to snore. In his last conscious moments, he gave thanks for the day and, wearing a silly grin, drifted off to the land of dreams.

Saturday, 25th September 2010

I feel like typing about so many different things, but I don't feel up to it tonight. I don't have the heart to do it, and my brain simply refuses.

Yes, my expression is that of Philippe Jaroussky's in the photo above, hands and all.
Big headache. God, this is just so damn difficult.

I stood at the water's edge today, just looking at the sea and sky. I thought about how I love water, and how so many of my characters have died in it. I thought about my 'O' Level Art coursework, about the wave of nails engulfing the girl at the edge of the cliff. I thought about the man who stayed looking at his own body at the bottom of the ocean. I thought about the man who burned his house into a frozen lake. I thought about the deaf man who heard his own laughter at the bottom of a swimming pool. I thought about the poet/writer who leaped off a cliff. I thought about the man who drowned himself in a fountain.

I don't know why all my characters die. Sometimes, it scares me, because when I read the stories I wrote, I find a lot of myself in them. This is the poet/writer who questioned himself on his fall from glory after all his stories ended with death. He didn't know why, he didn't know how. It just felt the right way to end it.
He got depressed, he went insane. There was no other way to end it, and so he stood atop a cliff, gazing down at the deep, dark ocean beckoning to him.

And leaped.

Friday, 24th September 2010

I will not give up.

I will not be disheartened.

I will keep going, keep going.

Monday, 20th September 2010

When my choir went to Riva del Garda, Italy to participate in an international choir competition in 2008, we got to sing at a church for our Sacred Music category.

I remembered it tonight on the way home. She told me once that I should try singing in a high-roofed church or cathedral. It didn't occur to me then that I did. It struck me tonight out of the blue, while walking along the pavement.
I dreamt of her again last night.

I remember being at Riva del Garda.
The church was beautiful and silent, save for the occasional shuffling of feet and people in their seats. It was a quiet, respectful kind of worship. The marble angels lined the walls, and they gazed down upon us from above. It was cold outside, but cosy and warm in the church, where the candles flickered softly. They hung from the ceiling, they were placed at the altar, beside the door, along the walls. The sound of our singing was beautiful as it echoed through the church.

I wanted to live in that moment forever.
Take me back.

Sunday, 19th September 2010

It went well!

Even though it was foreseen.
The food, the cake, the games, the BBQ sauce fight all went well, and I must say, I'm proud of myself. I stayed up till 3am baking that cake, and awoke early again the next morning to bake the pasta, then met with Jo to cook the clam chowder.
It was a German Apple Cake, with added hazelnuts and cinnamon sugar.

A few people didn't turn up, though, that made me a bit upset, but it went all right after all.

I have this urge to buy those little Sesame Street plushies from Cheers. It used to cost $5.90, or $3.90, from what I remember, and it's now $1.90! I like almost all the characters. No, not a fan of Elmo. Bert, Ernie, Grover, Cookie Monster, Oscar are all pretty cute.

After cooking and slaving away at the stove and oven without sufficient sleep yesterday, I found $10 on the floor while walking. Hahaha, must be my, er, reward. Thank you, God! :D

Last but not least,
Happy Birthday, dearest! I hope you like Part 1 of the gift! Heh heh, Part 2 shall come later! I wish you a wonderful day, can't wait to see you later ;)

Wednesday, 15th September 2010

An echo reached his ears as he set foot in the cathedral. Lined with marble angels, saints and paintings, it seemed more like a glorified art gallery, save for the countless pews that were painstakingly aligned.
The smell of vanilla lingered in the air, it wafting from the candles that surrounded the stone figure of the Virgin Mary. Her eyes, though empty and white, seemed to gaze upon onlookers lovingly.

Catedral de Malaga had always been his refuge, his sanctuary. He had first gone there as a little boy, when his mother was still alive. She had taken him to mass one autumn, when the ground was still covered with an orange blanket. He liked to jump in the leafy piles and feel the crunch beneath his feet.

She'd never forced him to believe, but it grew on him anyway. He quite liked the quiet solitude he found whenever he sat at the pews, alone with his thoughts and prayers. Nobody insisted on baptism, nobody insisted that he join the rest of them. He discovered that he enjoyed the masses held, and acquired the habit of saying Grace before his daily soup and bread.

Now seated at a pew, he began to run through his daily prayers, his lips silent but moving. His hands clasped a gold-and-white rosary, his fingers deftly handling each bead as he progressed. The town bells tolled for midnight.
He would be 36 today.

Finishing his prayers, a sudden urge came over him. He let out a muffled sound, a cross between a laugh and cry. The sad hilarity of it all finally hit him. Who'd have guessed that he would end up here?

Such a grand cathedral, ceilings gold and pillars cream, the scent of vanilla complimented it perfectly. He took out a palm-sized bottle and began walking towards the altar. The countless marble figures gazed at him curiously as he passed them, a slightly worried expression upon their faces.
Pausing for a moment, he uncorked the bottle of kerosene in his hand, and proceeded towards the vanilla-scented sticks of wax. The flame atop each one flickered furtively as he approached, as if threatened by the flammable liquid.

Watching them, a grin drew itself across his face, mouth stretched, pupils dilated as he brought the bottle to his lips. He let the bitter liquid trail down his throat into his stomach and, finishing the last of it, dropped the bottle and reached for a candle.

Saturday, 11th September 2010

The night was quiet in the small Spanish square. Few people were about, the last for the day; the bakers were cleaning their counter-tops, the butchers were storing their meat, the civilians were long gone, all safely tucked up in bed, whiling time away in slumber to await the next sunrise.

He stood alone. They'd have all left, not that he minded solitude. The fountain was all that was in his line of sight.

The fountain. Centerpiece of the square, it was built in the 1800s. Carved of white marble, lined with golden leafings, it was worn by age. A long crack ran perpendicular to the second tier where the French motar struck. Its age only seemed to make it grander.

The marble angels perched precariously atop the fountain. Each had a kindly expression, ready to serve, ready to save. He stood, gazing at them, a worried furrow on his brow. The white columns supporting the tiers looked sturdy enough.

Kicking off his shoes and peeling off his socks, he stepped into the cold fountain, its waters clear. He wriggled his toes.
Yes, he could feel the cold between them. He waded forward towards the center of the huge fountain where the second tier stood, and heaved himself upon the rim. Seated upon it now, he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a silver crucifix. She had given it to him several weeks ago, before she left. Since then, he had visited her grave for hours each day, oblivious to time.

He fingered the long, delicate chain that was hers, and then slowly placed it on his tongue. It tasted metallic, but salty, as he closed his mouth around it. Then, with a soft smile, he immersed himself in the clear water, his clothes getting heavier as they absorbed the liquid.

From beneath the surface, he opened his eyes to gaze at the night sky. The stars were waiting for him.
He smiled and took a deep breath.

Tuesday, 7th September 2010

It was Insulin.

Why didn't I write that, then?!

Well, that's over. I've had 3 hours of sleep for the past two days. The urge to collapse is so great, but I won't let myself. I can't. I need to study.

Finally caught my breath. 20 minutes to sit at the computer to blog, and then the tuition teacher will be here for Organic Chemistry. That's what it'll be tomorrow, Organic Chemistry.
Inorganic Chemistry and Human Anatomy are done. Last night's studying was torture. I could've given up, I wanted to give up halfway and go to bed, but no, no, there would be guilt. At least I can say I tried my best. It's over now, time to look to tomorrow.

Most worried about Organic Chemistry. Determined to get 8 whole hours of sleep tonight, so gotta rush it all before 11. I need my sleep, I'm half-dead. Half my class turned up the same way this morning, all lost sleep over the past few days. I don't know what to expect. I hope I do well.

No more time. Back to work.

Saturday, 4th September 2010

iLin says:

But oh, I love you honey!
I miss your warm body next to mine!
I miss your lips
I miss your smile
I miss your laugh
I miss your beautiful hair
I miss your hands
I miss your hug
I even miss your towering height over me
I wish, how I wish you were here with me :)

David says:

Aww Honey!
you utterly smelting furnace, melting this tub of lard of your boyfriend

David Ennobleaux:

Hello Xiu Lin. Y'know, I think my girlfriend is the mostest beautifulest girl in the world. Silently captivating, stunningly adorable, and yes, yes yes, verily lovely. :D

Wednesday, 1st September

Where is my comfort?

I feel like such a hypocrite.
You know how I always talk about giving and sacrificing, about how society is so selfish and cold? Have I been kidding myself all these months?

I was never this selfish before. Why have I turned out this way?
My face is hot, the tears are gushing. Disappointment undisguised, maybe I am human after all.
Human like every other selfish person in this virulent world.

I never looked at death this way. "If it's time to die, it's time to die" just doesn't cut it anymore. This emotional roller-coaster is threatening to engulf me, suffocating and bloodthirsty. How does one survive?

He slammed the door, which suddenly reminded me of Dad. Dad has taken to kicking it, although he has been rather sweet these few days. I haven't been home for dinner in months. I'm chasing after freedom but it still evades me. I don't know what to do.

Help me, help me.