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.

Saturday, 28th August 2010

I had so many things I wanted to type about tonight, but when I watched this, all the petty little things just went away.

My tear ducts have been working overtime lately, and the taps wouldn't stop gushing when I watched this about 5 minutes ago. This emotional roller-coaster is undoubtedly exhausting, but I'll deal with it somehow.

Watching this video just filled my blood vessels with warmth, my heart with love, my mind with smiles. It just struck me hard, because it stands for what I believe in:
The elderly only grow old if they let themselves.

I don't know how many times I've reflected on this. Society has always categorised us, making us conform to the standards it sets. You think I haven't been told all that before?

"So old already, why still watch cartoons?" "How old already, still play with toys?" "LEGO is only for babies, you know?" "Aren't you too old for this?" "Where got girl have short hair one?"

Who's to say that adults can't play with toys, that teenagers can't watch cartoons, that girls can't have short hair, that the elderly can't play in puddles?
Childhood seems so far away now, but that doesn't mean I push it away, thinking that I'm "too old" for something. No, childhood is to be embraced.

You never know when life will end.

Tuesday, 24th August 2010

Le promesse che abbiamo fatto,
amore mio,
sono quelle che abbiamo terremo per sempre.
Mi manca il tuo abbraccio, mi manca il tuo bacio.
Te amo, caro miele :)

Sunday, 22nd August 2010

She thought she was going to die of sorrow.

They shot through her veins, in her blood, poisoning her. Her tears rolled ceaselessly as she tried to keep it all in.
Bitter, bitter sorrow.

And yet, as the night went along, what had to be said had been said, what was left to forgive was forgiven, what there was to love was loved.
Indeed, love is the greatest power, not death.

She is now at peace.

Thursday, 19th August 2010 (2)

She stood precariously at the edge, waiting, just waiting for that shove. A little one was all she needed, her heels teetering on the concrete ledge. The others flew high above her in the Spanish square, filling the air with a chorus of chirps. She glanced down again.

It was quite a drop from the top of the bell tower. The sun, friendly and warm, embraced the square with his rays. She felt the warmth on her soft feathered back while she pondered.

It had happened before; her wings always saved her from the fearsome jaws of death. She had leapt off that same bell tower too many times before, but her feathered, light but strong structure always opened against the wind beneath her, swooping her away from the cold, hard concrete so far below.

She smiled.
They won't be able to save her this time.
Only hours ago had she chanced upon some string at the market square, abandoned but still good. The woolen twine was short, there was just enough to tie both wings together. Siesta was always the best time of day, when the stallholders closed their shops and left behind scraps of food to pick at. Sweet melons, small strips of meat, even berries that rolled astray.

The others were picking at them now, feasting greedily. The chirping subsided as they ate, to a murmur barely audible. She got ready to leap, and then sprang forward in one swift movement.

Falling, her wings struggled in their bound state, straining at the twine to break free, but no, the string, however flimsy it seemed, had the strength of a thousand hands. They bound her and they did so tightly, and she fell to the ground, her eyes wide open, her pupils smiling.

Thursday, 19th August 2010

The hospital was breathtaking.

Breathtaking not just in the sense of beauty, but in the environment and order as well. I visited it for the first time today, and got to see the wards. Long, seemingly endless corridors stretched everywhere I turned, the smell of pee lingered in the air. Countless rooms were listed at the lifts, there was even a mortuary.

When I entered the wards, I saw countless beds occupied by elderly patients, each one with a different diagnosis, different drips hanging from above, different machines attached to them. The ward was dim, but there was a constant soft beeping of the heart-rate machines. I tried to imagine a whole team of doctors and nurses rushing around with patients in their beds, wheeling them at top speed to the emergency unit. It all looked so orderly, it was difficult to imagine chaos.

I felt like I was suddenly sucked into "Scrubs". It's strange to think that I'll work in that environment one day. In any case, I hope to be the surgeon or the doctor, not the patient.
I think I was like a child in a candy factory, a child who had never eaten any candy. My eyes wide and my mouth agape, I stood in awe of that beautifully intimidating place, lost in thought, lost in fantasy.

It was a much-needed jolt of inspiration, thanks so much.

Tuesday, 17th August 2010

"Yet he was doing a fine thing- proving on how little the soul can exist. Fed neither by Heaven nor by Earth he was going forward, a lamp that would have been blown out, were materialism true. He hadn't a God, he hadn't a lover- the two usual incentives to virtue. There was no one to watch him, nor did he watch himself, but struggles like his are the supreme achievements of humanity, and surpass any legends about Heaven.
No reward awaited him. This work, like much that had gone before, was to fall ruining. But he did not fall with it, and the muscles it had developed remained for another use."

I had a fantasy in my youth. Perhaps I shouldn't call it that- it was but 2 years ago. I imagined an ideal world with nobody else in it, leaving me free to walk the Earth, wherever I pleased, whenever I pleased. I would live with animals, and I would wear whatever I wanted. I could have gone nude, had I so desired. The freedom is appealing in a way that this world could never deliver to me.
Freedom is gone, banished from society to the pits of earth and stone. Fatigue eats away at me as I type, my senses falling asleep one by one.

Going.. Going.. Gone.

Monday, 16th August 2010

"It was all so complicated.
When love flies it is remembered not as love but as something else. Blessed are the uneducated, who forget it entirely, and are never conscious of folly or pruriency in the past, of long aimless conversations." -'Maurice' by E.M. Forster

In Secondary School, sex was a sacred topic, unbroached, undiscussed. It amused greatly those who attempted to open the discussion, which was always more or less dismissed as rumours. It seemed that the people around me then never really sought to satisfy their curiosity by hankering after literature in the subject.

Strange, that.
Were people simply afraid? And, of what? One shouldn't have to fear another on this Earth, even though society took upon itself, the role of banishing anyone who disagreed with its views, behind bars.

We are at the age when we experience many new and unfamiliar things- things that scare us, things that delight us, things that upset us, things that excite us. Yet, what keeps us from going insane are things we call "belief", "values", "trust", "morals", "respect".

What does it really mean to respect someone?

Wednesday, 11th August 2010

Freedom.

Freedom means so many things to so many different people.

To a prisoner, freedom means walking freely, without being under the scrutiny of guards, to be able to do what he wants, when he wants, to be able to walk where he wants, sleep when he wants, talk to his loved ones without having to fill out forms.

To a child, freedom means playing whenever she wants, to be able to have fun and yet, be taken seriously instead of being pushed aside.

To a student, freedom means studying to her limits, to juggle studying and other activities of interest, to be able to go home to acceptance, support and comfort.

To a teenager, freedom means being trusted by his parents to manage his time between friends, studies, love and life. Freedom means staying out past curfew and going out without being questioned.

To a working adult, freedom means having a job he enjoys, to be able to chat with his peers, colleagues and bosses. To be able to keep within schedule comfortably, to separate work and life at home.

To an elder, freedom means being young at heart, to walk without a stick, to have joints that don't swell and hurt with every move.

To a foreign citizen, freedom means the ability to vote and have a say in the country's well being, government and decisions. To be recognised as a country's own, instead of someone different and apart.

To a couple, freedom means the ability to love without reserve, without factors such as race, beliefs, gender or age. To be able to see each other without fear, to be able to stick together after arguments, to be able to accept each other instead of trying to change.

Freedom.

Tuesday, 10th August 2010

Tu sei il vento che sussurra, che canta agli alberi
che fa frusciare le foglie di gioia
e fa i fiori a danzare al suono brillante

Nei giorni di pioggia si tiene in mano un pennarello
per disegnare un sorriso sul mio viso
di tenere la mia mano nella tua, come ci troviamo ad affrontare la vita insieme

Vieni, rimani con me
aiuto quando cado
per voi siete la luce del mio mondo
il mio amore
il mio amore

Sunday, 8th August 2010

"God won't send you to hell just because you don't convert."

"Yes, he will."