It was all coming together, piece by piece. The multiple sighs, the heavy hearts, the pools of tears…

 

An epiphany; it was me. As I let the emotions bubbled up inside of me and worked their way from my stomach, to my chest, to my throat, and out my eyes, I realized that it was me I cried for. It was me that I've failed. It was anger, it was shame, it was guilt- all me.

 

And the little pieces joined to form a partial picture of it all. Then I saw Hope and she had always been my secret lover. I smiled at her as she cradled my face, wiping the tears that brimmed my eyes.

 

Here she is again to entice me back.   

~Joanna

Hello, dusty world.

That was what she thought as she slowly paced around the empty room. It was dark and lonely. Cloths that were once pearly white were draped across unused furniture scattered across the room. Turning around the room, she saw what once used to be her sanctuary.  That little table at the corner was where she used to write her many thoughts and fantasies. The wardrobe next to it used to be her "secret hide-out". As she shifted across the room, she would occasionally kick up some amount of dust that would dance their way up and disperse themselves around the room. She could picture the time when she would run across the room and jump on the bed, enjoying the trampoline effect her bed gave her. Now, the bed was just another member of the unused furniture.
I missed you.  ~Joanna

It is a race. One where legs pump hard to keep the speed. Faster, faster... she would like to hear the wind flying pass her ears, feel the coolness of the earth's breath on her face and that burn she feel in her legs as she continues to push. 
Then, there is the trip. The one where her feet suddenly could not coordinate and let her shoe hit a part of the ground. With the momentum, it sends her flying forward, feet at an angle away from the ground and hands outstretched to break the fall. Break they did as the skin of her palms scrape against the coarse ground and sand manages to hurt her tender flesh. Soon, her knees followed with impact to the ground and her body rolled twice before it came to a full stop. 
As thick, red blood trickled down her arms and legs, she tried to calm her beating heart that was working overtime both from the run and the fall. She was sitting in an upright position, waiting for the medics to arrive. They took only about a minute, but it was a full minute. 
A minute where she would contemplate if she should have ran as fast as she did and what made her trip. Her own carelessness, or was it a slight obstacle she was unaware of? She looked at her wounds. Damn. It was sure to leave some scars. Her hands were shaking, her breathing rugged. Would she have the courage to get up and run again, or surrender to the care of the medics?
Get up.
A small voice in her head, but it was firm and determined. 
No...
Another, more emotional voice. The two battled for a few seconds. 
And then she was in the air. The wind curled through her hair, whistled at her ears and gently tugged her backwards. She was too fast, too determined to notice. Her legs pumped and her pain forgotten. When she slowed down, she was sure to feel it again, but at that moment, she could not care less. Down the track she goes. It does not matter if she wins, but it matters if she kept going.
That's what she does. She kept going.
~Joanna

Digging up old works stored in my Documents. There is no Chapter 1 with me as the story was a joined effort and it was my role to write up a Chapter 7. Can't recover the other chapters because I don't remember where this was done. Oh wells. 

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“I think- I think my mom needs help,” I said into the receiver, phone pressed hard against my ear.

“What’s wrong with your mom, honey?” she asked me.

“She’s not moving,” I replied through my sobs. My gaze flicked back to the body slumped on the floor to check again if my mother had moved, even an inch, and that I was calling the lady at the other end of the line for nothing. She did not move at all. I remembered that I had found my guinea pig, Jimmy, one day by the corner of his cage and no matter how much I prod or shoved him, he just wouldn’t budge. Mom had told me he had gone off to a place called heaven, where he had all the good things waiting for him. I was afraid that my mother had gone to the place Jimmy had gone and had left me behind.

“Is she breathing?” I heard her ask. I brought my gaze back to the telephone key pads. The white keys were smeared with red, which were slowly turning brown. I swallowed hard, my breath becoming more and more difficult as heavy tears streamed down the apples of my cheeks. I looked at my mother again to check to see, and hoping with all my heart, if she had moved at all. Nothing. Just her, lying in that big pool of red. I knew then, that all hope was lost.

“No.” I breathed and brought my other hand up to hold the receiver steady. My hands were shaking so badly and they were sticky with sweat and blood. “I think she’s dead.”

***

That was years ago, when I was nine. Two years after my father left and dump the burden of his loan shark debts on us, the year that refused to be forgotten from my memory. My hands were shaking as I dialled 911 for Ethan. I was nervous and fearful, but the concerns were not for him, it was for me.

“911, what’s your emergency?” It took a great effort not to start crying like my eight year old self when I spoke to the person at the other end of the line. I guess what helped a little was that it was a male voice this time and I had to tell myself over and over again that I wasn’t calling about my mother’s murder. I managed to give the situation and what little details Ethan had given me and ended the line, happy to be done.

When I arrived at Roxer Park, two police cruisers were already there with its blue lights flashing as well as a medical team tending to a teenaged girl who was seated in their small ambulance. Ethan was by the bench beside the ladies’ toilet giving his account to a salt-and-peppered hair policeman. The policeman’s partner, or whom I presumed was his partner, was busy keeping the ever growing curious crowd at bay, telling them to go home and that there’s nothing to see. It was him who had stopped me from reaching Ethan, so I had the luxury to pace up and down while waiting for the policeman to finish interviewing him.

I shivered. I never liked scenes like this for it reminded me of things I rather forget. I was studying the cracks on the pavement when a hand landed on my shoulder, making me jump.

There was a chuckle as I turned around to face Ethan.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Also, sorry for making you wait.”

 “It’s alright,” I waved it off and scanned him for any signs of injuries. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine. Some old pervert tried to be funny with that poor girl,” he motioned to the teenager in the ambulance, anger flashing in his eyes. “He’ll be spending his corroded mind in jail.”

“Well, it’s a lucky thing you were there or she’ll be scarred for life.”

“Yeah,” he smiled. I could tell he was happy with a job well done. I breathed a sigh of relief and said, “Well, I’m glad you’re not hurt.”

“I owe you for calling 911 and waiting almost an hour for me,” he said. Behind him a cop was guiding a man in handcuffs to the police cruiser. I scrunched my nose. He did look kind of like a pervert- a dirty pervert in combat boots. My heart stopped. Combat boots.

At that moment I was nine again, hiding behind the big potted plant my mother insisted on keeping beside the television set no matter how ugly I thought it was. She was kneeling down on the carpeted floor, pleading for help and not having the money to pay at the moment. Dark brown combat boots walked into view, there was shouting and before I knew it, I saw the glint of the knife and the gush of blood that spurted out from my mother’s throat. Too scared to scream, too frozen to move, I sat there behind that big plant watching the scene unfold until those combat boots walked out of my view and out of the house. It was the only detail that I ever got of the killer. If only I had just moved a little to get a look at the person’s face, I could have my mother’s murderer locked up. Now, he’s just walking free, probably slaughtering someone else’s-

“Lexie? Hey, you alright?” Ethan’s face came into view as he waved his palm in front of my face. I watched the police cruiser drive away. Ethan turned to look at the cruiser too and then turn back to me. “You recognise the guy or something?”

“N-no,” I stuttered and turned back to Ethan whose facial features looked like a cross between worried and puzzled. Feeling embarrassed for acting like a nut case, I pulled my full attention on Ethan and cleared my throat.  “Just that he had something that reminded me of something.”

“What is it?”

“You know what? It’s nothing,” I waved a hand nonchalantly, waving the issue away. “I guess I’m… hungry! When I’m hungry, I act really weird. Let’s get something to eat.”

“Okay…” he said slowly, still checking to see if I was alright. I smiled to reassure him and to my relief, he continued. “As I was saying earlier, there’s this great pizza place just a few blocks from here. They just opened but the food is great! My treat.”

“Fantastic,” I replied. We both walked the few blocks down to a place called Tony’s Pizzeria. Ethan dominated most of our conversations. In fact, I could not remember most of it or what I said. I tried to act as normal as possible wishing that Ethan wouldn’t start asking if I was okay again. The scene that happened years ago had been revived and now fresh in my mind. Where was the killer now? I felt a strong urge to find out, but I didn’t know where to start.

Before I knew it, it was evening and Ethan was walking me to my car. I remember mumbling something about having a fun time and then I was home. I crashed in bed, with a million questions in my mind before I drifted off to sleep and into a nightmare.

~Joanna

Sitting at the ledge, she let her legs dangle and swing. Way below were illuminating lights from passing motorists and cars. The night brought a gentle, cooling breeze and it lightly swept her hair backwards. Her lips curved and her eyes closed, depicting the serenity she felt. This was it. This is what life have come to and she had finally reached the conclusion.

"Tara!" Shocked, surprised, or pained, she could not tell. One thing's for sure, the voice was a little too high pitched and sharp for a time like this. She allowed herself to be brought out from the calm, her eyes fluttered open and searched for the source.

As expected, his face showed a multitude of concern, surprise, worry even. His brows were pulled upward, eyes were widened and mouth was left ajar. It took a moment before it started moving again. "What do you think you're doing?"

Poor Daniel. She wanted to tell him how not to worry, that everything was okay. All confusion, worries and problems will be solved and be done with soon. Just that she could not find the energy to exercise her vocal chords. The serenity that enveloped her previously still held her body captive and her mind adrift from the world inside the apartment. The bright, colourful apartment that she and him furnished together- built a life together.

"Please," he spoke again, a tinge of desperation. "Whatever it is, we can talk about it. We'll figure it out."

"It's already been figured out, Dan," she gave a simple smile.

He shook his head, his brows pulled together. She saw him inch just a little closer toward the balcony. "No, not like this."

"My mind has already been made up."

"There's still space and time to rethink."

"It's been thought out, Dan. It's already been done." She unfolded the paper she held in her hands and set it on the small table that stood beside her.

"W-what do you mean?" This time he was frozen. Too afraid to move. The only reply he got back was her smile. She looked beautiful with that smile. He always loved her smile. Rows of perfect teeth, dimples on each side of her cheeks. Except this time, he was not graced with her beautiful green eyes that would light up whenever she smiled. It was sad, maybe a little judgemental. Then, the next thing he could recall was her hair. Those maroon strands that floated in the wind as she fell forward, out into the open, twenty feet space.

He did not know how he got the ledge. It was as if his body and his mind had separated. His hands were white with gripping the bar tight, his heart was pounding fast, he was sure he heard a really awful sound, only to realise later that it came from him. He did not know how long it was, or how it happened, but he felt a pair of hands grip his shoulders and turned him around. A pair of concerned eyes, which he thought looked oddly familiar, but he could only think of pleading with the person to save her or at least let him go so he could get to her. He managed to get out of the stranger's hold and ran towards the apartment door which coincidentally opened. Two men stepped in and headed towards him. They held him and locked his hands behind him.

"What are you doing?!" He shouted and struggled against their grip. "Let me get to her! Tara! TARA!"

"It's alright," said a voice. He felt a pinch on his arm, saw a syringe before everything went blur and then black.

~Joanna

Anesidora had a little box of treasures. It was made from dark, solid wood that was cleverly designed to only open with a special key it came with. Inside the box held many surprises from day to day. Sometimes, it would contain beautiful jewelleries. Other times, and more abstractly, it would give Anesidora the feeling of joy for the whole day. There are times that the little box of treasures, once opened, contained spells that would give her tears and sorrow.

Anesidora grown to like this little box of treasures, even though there were still suffering, but the joys that it contained seem to please Anesidora more than anything else. There was a time when Anesidora was experimenting with some spells when it backfired and ricochet off the walls of the laboratory. There was a terrible, resonating sound that foretold the crumbling of the room and Anesidora tried to salvage as many precious items as she can from it. One of the items, happened to be the little box of treasures. She had gotten out just in time before the laboratory walls came falling apart and would have killed her instantly were she to stay in.

Saddened by the devastation, Anesidora turned to her little box of treasures. "Perhaps, it would give me some joy," she thought.

She inserted the special key and turned the lock. Only, to her surprise, it did not open as it usually does. Perplexed, she tried to turn the key again and again. It did not open. She cried, "Oh, box of treasures! Are you affected by the failed spell too?"

So comes the trials for Anesidora to open the box. She had tried to prying it open, hammering it, throwing it against the cold hard wall, and even the spells that she knew could work on any type of lock. Alas, it was futile. Not a dent was on the box, save for small scratches after what has been done to it. Truly, the box could only be opened by the special key. And oh, what horror to Anesidora that the special key could not work any more!

Day after day, Anesidora tried opening the little box of treasures with the key, hoping that one day the enchantment would return and the box would open. But day after day, there was only the click of the turn, but not the opening of the box. Anesidora was devastated, but she kept on trying.

One night, Anesidora returned to the little box as usual and examined it pensively. For a long time, the box has given her wealth beyond her imagination. This time, the box was giving her more sorrow. The inability to open it saddened her more than the devastation of her laboratory. Had the enchantment fail because of her experiments? Or was it already the maximum that the box could give her? With a heavy heart, she took the box in her hands and walked to the nearby window. She bundled the special key with the little box and threw it out the window, which fell into the river which carried it away, far away from her.

Perhaps this little box of treasures, would open up to a different person to share what it was to give. Or perhaps, if there ever was fate for her, she would find the little box of treasures again, to enjoy the wealth it was ready to give.

And she closed her eyes, to melt the sadness away. Then she turned and headed to rebuild her laboratory again.

~Joanna

The superhero was always less seen nowadays. At one point when he was gone, the little girl went up to the mother and asked, "When is Papa coming back?"

Her mother, slender in body, hands worn and tried from housework, stopped her chore for a moment to look at the little girl clad in just her pyjamas and bare footed on that cool day. The lady's lips curved up in amusement.

"Soon," she told the little girl. Then, she continued on squeezing wet clothes from the red pail before her and hung them up to dry. There were more things to do after this; to sweep the house, to mop the floor, to cook a meal for her three children, to make sure that the little girl has her bath (for it was strange she dislike going to bath), to boil some water as well as prepare for tomorrow's breakfast for the children to take to school. Endless.

The little girl, not knowing this, still stood in front of her mother, waiting for something interesting to happen. Her mind wandered off to where her father was. She did not know where, but she knew it was quite far. And would he bring back toys like he did last time? Would he hug her? Would he tuck her in bed? She anticipated them. "I miss him," she said, and padded off away to play with her toys.

The slender lady, known as the little girl's mother, looked up from her work one more time to absent mindedly watch her little girl pull her bright yellow toy phone around. She sighed. Her husband was getting more and more busy lately, what with five mouths to feed and wanting a good education for the children. They were so lucky. But none of them realised it yet. She was certain though, that one day soon, they will know. Hopefully, she thought to herself, that one day will come soon.

By night, the family had dinner without the superhero. There were jokes and laughter thrown around by the mother and older daughter. But the little girl sat in silence, poking at the brocolli that looked like miniature trees, wondering when her superhero will be back.

By bedtime, it was the slender lady who tucked them all in. There were no stubles to tickle her, no goodnight kisses, and no fairytales.

The fan whirred at constant speed. The little girl lifted up her wide brown eyes to look at a man sitting opposite her, pot-bellied with a grim expression and focused on the television set. The couch beneath her was getting warmer, the clock showed that it was almost time for bed and she was certain she could not sit still a moment longer. And so she did not for she got up from the black leather couch and went to her room as quick as her short little legs would allow her to. Having reached into her cupboard, she pulled out a thick, hard cover book that was as big as her torso and then headed back to the living room where he man was still intently watching his movie.

"Papa, tell me a story," she asked of him. The man's eyes had finally lifted itself from the screen and down to the little girl hugging the big book, palms just a little too small to fit its width. The corners of his mouth lifted and amused was he of his little girl, he carried her, sat her unto his lap and put his arms around her. He helped open the precious book that was in her hands and turned to a story that he knew she had heard before.

"One day, there was a man whose wife had died and left him a daughter. He had remarried a widow who had two daughters of her own," he read. The little girl listened intently in silence to his low yet clear voice as she read along the text in the book. True, she had heard this before. Who would not have heard of Cinderella? She love though to simply be with him. By the time the story ended she was feeling drowsy. The book closed and she was brought to her room. The little girl gave the man a hug and he kissed her goodnight right after tickling her with his prickly stubble by rubbing his chin against her cheek. She had always giggled whenever she felt that prickly yet ticklish sensation on her skin. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

The day ended just like that. She was happy it was so. Her father, the strong superhero of a man, was the man she loved very much and she felt safe and secure just knowing he was there.

Here's a peek at something I've been working on for quite some time. I've procrastinated, got seduced and lead away from studying and assignment finishing by one simple little character.



Hm, bad graphics. However, I'm quite excited actually. I foresee this will be a long term project. Creativity always ambushes me at the wrong time.

Funny how when you're in a dream and it makes so much sense with so much purpose. Then when you wake up, especially from an exciting dream, you feel the sense of urgency. Later, it slowly fades away as you start to realise that the dream was very silly and you can barely recall what it was that was so important. I was browsing my desktop for study notes when I found a document titled "In a party". Wondering when I managed to write a new story, I opened it.

Scanning through the first few lines, I wondered when I had this particular document. It did not make any sense and there were random people jumping in. Punctuations and grammar were not even in the right place. It had even more action than my other stories. Then, ding! I remembered that I had once woken up in a sense of urgency and quickly typed out what I remember about the dream after washing up. Below is what I wrote...

---

In a party… when Wayne suddenly got this premonition about the earth quake. His head(near his left eye there is a scar) hurts and he explains while crying that he actually got this when Adeline pushed him down last time. Since then he has been able to tell if there was an earthquake. But it was so minor. Until that day that it was so painful… and he sobbed "We’re going to die."

Just then we saw the ground spilt into a small hole and bright red lava was coming out of it. Adeline and I sprang into action. No idea why we didn’t warn people when we should have… we climbed rooftops and went further away from the scene. I warned Eng Yew through SMS while I was maneuvering through the many rooftops. After that we were on the ground and my brother came with a Kancil in full speed. Asked me to hurry get into the car. We were to escape the lava. I went to get Adeline, told her that I was going, hoping she would follow me. I don’t know if she did but once I got in the car, that was it. My brother drove away and we were headed our way to KL. He took a short cut to save time. But we got to a point (somewhere near Tesco) that further down the road, it was already in fire. There was no way to maneuver around it. Lava was catching up in our direction. It already did and went further up. My brother tried to maneuver around the lava, did a U-turn and returned to the place where we departed from to get his wife and other people?.

I wanted to save Adeline. I asked to return. And we tried to get inside but our path was blocked with lava. I found a way. We used motorbikes. And went underground (secret passage) and up to a… bank? And I was screaming to people to get out to get out. The guards helped me as well and showed the way to the underground passage. Almost everyone was out but I saw someone pass a small thing over to somebody else in a discreet way. I predict a betrayal later on. In the passage, there was this old lady, supposedly a wise shaman of that sort. She has passed out and couldn’t wake up. I asked someone to carry her. We went down a half level and there sat two or three kids. Who had fallen from the flights and supposedly got their legs broken. I checked, slowly… but it was only a twist.

I couldn’t remember what happened next.

---

I pressume I woke up after that. I also notice that in this dream, I was being the "heroine". Most of the time with dreams such as these, my top priority was running away. There's a theory I came up with that running away from something means running away from problems. If this theory is true, then what I did in my dream would mean I've started face my problems.

It's a good change, no?

Love, why do you play these tricks on me? You gave me so much joy, yet you gave me equal pain. Love, do you enjoy torturing me and leaving me breathless? Always bringing me to the high cliff and leaving me there to decide what to do next? I can fall or I can just run away. If I fall, I might hurt myself. If I run away, I'll fail to experience that adrenaline rush.

So what do you want me to do? Why did you lead me here? To always, always decide what to do. I fell a few times just for you. And now you're doing it again. Leaving me at the ledge. Do you really think you're so special, Love? You're right. You are. People can't fully live without you. But why do you have to torment me so? People could die just because of you!

And I'm dying inside just bit by bit by your gleeful play. When I least expect you patch me back up, but only to watch me wilt again later on. It isn't fair. You're having all the fun.

So to fight you I came up with a conclusion. I must not feel. I must not feel joy, for I will feel pain. I must not feel you, for Hate will surely come and find me. I must be void. Void of you. So stop your childish games, Love.

I must be emotionless.

It was a sunny day that afternoon. The coulds were clear but it was bound to rain. I could feel it and could sense the looming dark clouds floating towards our direction. My senses of these things are always heightened. These kind of things tend to happen during rain, don't they? Ours happened much earlier. Before the rain clouds even came. I was on the left and he was on the right. Both of us different thoughts but with only one goal. To reach whatever we were thinking of. I felt so different. So out of this world. I could only think of getting to bed.



A flash of a sign to go. I knew it, I sensed it, I saw it. I gave a signal. We both moved. I turned myself to the right, towards him. And he went straight on. He was furious, he was fast, he was eager. Bodies clashed, our eyes widened and heart beats accelerated. Air was sucked in- a gasp. Then, my lips spread apart. A breath escaped. He looked at me and I stared right back. Adrenaline pumped. Heart beats. I heard mine. What about him? What do I do? Could this be happening? Right here, on this very sunny day.
It was a memory that was going to be stuck in my mind.
My very first time.
In the middle of... traffic.



And so both of us pulled to the side, came out of our cars and checked the condition of them. His a broken headlamp, sidelamp and a dented fender. Mine?






Oh, the pain! The pain! I could feel it as my wallet rips!

---

I found this while browsing the net at Natashakhoo.com. It's a heart-warming, meaningful story by a 15-year-old Singaporean student. It was her winning entry for the 2004 Commonwealth Essay Competition. Take time to read it. It's really good.

---

What the Modern Woman Wants
By Amanda Chong Wei-Zhen

The old woman sat in the backseat of the magenta convertible as it careened down the highway, clutching tightly to the plastic bag on her lap, afraid it may be kidnapped by the wind. She was not used to such speed, with trembling hands she pulled the seatbelt tighter but was careful not to touch the patent leather seats with her callused fingers, her daughter had warned her not to dirty it, ‘Fingerprints show very clearly on white, Ma.’

Her daughter, Bee Choo, was driving and talking on her sleek silver mobile phone using big words the old woman could barely understand.’Finance’ ‘Liquidation’ ‘Assets’ ‘Investments’… Her voice was crisp and important and had an unfamiliar lilt to it. Her Bee Choo sounded like one of those foreign girls on television. She was speaking in an American accent. The old lady clucked her tongue in disapproval.

‘I absolutely cannot have this. We have to sell!’ Her daughter exclaimed agitatedly as she stepped on the accelerator; her perfectly manicured fingernails gripping onto the steering wheel in irritation.

‘I can’t DEAL with this anymore!’ she yelled as she clicked the phone shut and hurled it angrily toward the backseat. The mobile phone hit the old woman on the forehead and nestled soundlessly into her lap. She calmly picked it up and handed it to her daughter.

‘Sorry, Ma,’ she said, losing the American pretence and switching to Mandarin. ‘I have a big client in America. There have been a lot of problems.’ The old lady nodded knowingly. Her daughter was big and important. Bee Choo stared at her mother from the rear view window, wondering what she was thinking.

Her mother’s wrinkled countenance always carried the same cryptic look. The phone began to ring again, an artificially cheerful digital tune, which broke the awkward silence.

‘Hello, Beatrice! Yes, this is Elaine.’ Elaine. The old woman cringed. I didn’t name her Elaine. She remembered her daughter telling her, how an English name was very important for ‘networking’, Chinese ones being easily forgotten.

‘Oh no, I can’t see you for lunch today. I have to take the ancient relic to the temple for her weird daily prayer ritual.’ Ancient Relic. The old woman understood perfectly it was referring to her. Her daughter always assumed that her mother’s silence meant she did not comprehend.

‘Yes, I know! My car seats will be reeking of joss sticks!’ The old woman pursed her lips tightly, her hands gripping her plastic bag in defence. The car curved smoothly into the temple courtyard. It looked almost garish next to the dull sheen of the ageing temple’s roof. The old woman got out of the back seat, and made her unhurried way to the main hall. Her daughter stepped out of the car in her business suit and stilettos and reapplied her lipstick as she made her brisk way to her.

‘Ma, I’ll wait outside. I have an important phone call to make,’ she said, not bothering to hide her disgust at the pungent fumes of incense. The old lady hobbled into the temple hall and lit a joss stick, she knelt down solemnly and whispered her now familiar daily prayer to the Gods.

‘Thank you God of the Sky, you have given my daughter luck all these years. Everything I prayed for, you have given her. She has everything a young woman in this world could possibly want. She has a big house with a swimming pool, a maid to help her, as she is too clumsy to sew or cook. Her love life has been blessed; she is engaged to a rich and handsome angmohman. Her company is now the top financial firm and even men listen to what she says. She lives the perfect life. You have given her everything except happiness. I ask that the gods be merciful to her even if she has lost her roots while reaping the harvest of success. What you see is not true - she is a filial daughter to me. She gives me a room in her big house and provides well for me. She is rude to me only because I affect her happiness. A young woman does not want to be hindered by her old mother. It is my fault.’

The old lady prayed so hard that tears welled up in her eyes. Finally, with her head bowed in reverence she planted the half-burnt joss stick into an urn of smouldering ashes. She bowed once more. The old woman had been praying for her daughter for thirty-two years. When her stomach was round like a melon, she came to the temple and prayed that it was a son.

Then the time was ripe and the baby slipped out of her womb, bawling and adorable with fat thighs and pink cheeks, but unmistakably, a girl. Her husband had kicked and punched her for producing a useless baby who could not work or carry the family name. Still, the woman returned to the temple with her new-born girl tied to her waist in a sarong and prayed that her daughter would grow up and have everything she ever wanted. Her husband left her and she prayed that her daughter would never have to depend on a man. She prayed every day that her daughter would be a great woman, the woman that she, meek and uneducated, could never become. A woman with nengkan; the ability to do anything she set her mind to A woman who commanded respect in the hearts of men. When she opened her mouth to speak, precious pearls would fall out and men would listen.

She will not be like me, the woman prayed as she watched her daughter grow up and drift away from her, speaking a language she scarcely understood. She watched her daughter transform from a quiet girl, to one who openly defied her, calling her laotu; old-fashioned. She wanted her mother to be ‘modern’, a word so new there was no Chinese word for it. Now her daughter was too clever for her and the old woman wondered why she had prayed like that.

The gods had been faithful to her persistent prayer, but the wealth and success that poured forth so richly had buried the girl’s roots and now she stood, faceless, with no identity, bound to the soil of her ancestors by only a string of origami banknotes. Her daughter hadforgotten her mother’s values. Her wants were so ephemeral; that of a modern woman. Power, Wealth, access to the best fashion boutiques, and yet her daughter had not found true happiness.

The old woman knew that you could find happiness with much less. When her daughter left the earth everything. She had would count for nothing. People would look to her legacy and say that she was a great woman, but she would be forgotten once the wind blows over, like the ashes of burnt paper convertibles and mansions.

The old woman wished she could go back and erase all her big hopes and prayers for her daughter; now she had only one want: That her daughter be happy. She looked out of the temple gate. She saw her daughter speaking on the phone, her brow furrowed with anger and worry. Being at the top is not good, the woman thought, there is only one way to go from there - down.

The old woman carefully unfolded the plastic bag and spread out a packet of bee hoon in front of the altar. Her daughter often mocked her for worshipping porcelain Gods. How could she pray to them so faithfully and expect pieces of ceramic to fly to her aid? But her daughter had her own gods too, idols of wealth, success and power that she was enslaved to and worshipped every day of her life. Every day was a quest for the idols, and the idols she worshipped counted for nothing in eternity. All the wants her daughter had would slowly suck the life out of her and leave her, an empty soulless shell at the altar. The old lady watched her joss tick. The dull heat had left a teetering grey stem that was on the danger of collapsing. Modern woman nowadays, the old lady sighed in resignation, as she bowed to the east one final time to end her ritual. Modern woman nowadays want so much that they lose their souls and wonder why they cannot find it.

Her joss stick disintegrated into a soft grey powder. She met her daughter outside the temple, the same look of worry and frustration was etched on her daughter’s face. An empty expression, as if she was ploughing through the soil of her wants looking for the one thing that would sow the seeds of happiness. They climbed into the convertible in silence and her daughter drove along the highway, this time not as fast as she had done before.

‘Ma,’ Bee Choo finally said. ‘I don’t know how to put this. Mark and I have been talking about it and we plan to move out of the big house. The property market is good now, and we managed to get a buyer willing to pay seven million for it. We decided we’d prefer a cosier penthouse apartment instead. We found a perfect one in Orchard Road. Once we move in to our apartment we plan to get rid of the maid, so we can have more space to ourselves…’

The old woman nodded knowingly. Bee Choo swallowed hard. ‘We’d get someone to come in to do the housework and we can eat out-but once the maid is gone, there won’t be anyone to look after you. You will be awfully lonely at home and, besides that, the apartment is rather small. There won’t be space. We thought about it for a long time, and we decided the best thing for you is if you moved to a Home. There’s one near Hougang - it’s a Christian home, a very nice one.’

The old woman did not raise an eyebrow. ‘I’ve been there, the matron is willing to take you in. It’s beautiful with gardens and lots of old people to keep you company! I hardly have time for you, you’d be happier there.’ ‘You’d be happier there, really.’ Her daughter repeated as if to affirm herself.

This time the old woman had no plastic bag of food offerings to cling tightly to; she bit her lip and fastened her seat belt, as if it would protect her from a daughter who did not want her anymore. She sunk deep into the leather seat, letting her shoulders sag, and her fingers trace the white seat.

‘Ma?’ her daughter asked, searching the rear view window for her mother. ‘Is everything okay?’

What had to be done, had to be done. ‘Yes,’ she said firmly, louder than she intended, ‘if it will make you happy,’ she added more quietly.

‘It’s for you, Ma! You’ll be happier there. You can move there tomorrow, I already got the maid to pack your things.’ Elaine said triumphantly, mentally ticking yet another item off her agenda.

‘I knew everything would be fine.’ Elaine smiled widely; she felt liberated. Perhaps getting rid of her mother would make her happier. She had thought about it. It seemed the only hindrance in her pursuit of happiness. She was happy now. She had everything a modern woman ever wanted; Money, Status, Career, Love, Power and now, Freedom, without her mother and her old-fashioned ways to weigh her down… Yes, she was free.

Her phone buzzed urgently, she picked it up and read the message, still beaming from ear to ear. ‘Stocks 10% increase!’ Yes, things were definitely beginning to look up for her…

And while searching for the meaning of life in the luminance of her hand phone screen, the old woman in the backseat became invisible, and she did not see the tears.

This is a little something I came up with while praying in church (bad me, mind wondering while praying). It's not edited or checked to I hope it has very few errors. I might change it... when I feel like it. Haha. Other than that, enjoy. =)

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For months I have gotten to know you and I slowly fell in love. My heart, which I kept so guarded, was taken away from its jail and landed up in your palms. But we were too young to start, we both knew it. So we danced around each other instead, randomly playing with each other's feelings. Yet we got closer. And one day I asked you out.

Our first date, something I will never forget. How can I when I loved you terribly so? I have been meaning to ask you to be mine for sometime. However, my fear overtook me and stopped me from doing so. And that day… that day I finally found courage to help me. You said you would think about it. My hope fell. Were you thinking of rejecting me? Why do you have to think if you love me so? For those few days, I was restless, silently praying for the best. I tried to study your actions but that only filled my head with more worries. Oh Samantha, the day you said yes I was so relieved! And I was overjoyed.

This love for you grew, Samantha. It grew and I did not care. Did not see where this would go, did not think about it. All I knew is that I was happy and I felt lucky having you. For years I have waited for you, Samantha. And I finally have you. The arguments that came, I did not pay much heed. After all, what kind of relationship does not have arguments or disagreements? I knew more about you, your talents, your fears, your thinking. I started thinking like you too. I started to be one with you. I did not know how this love would turn out, Samantha.

That day when we broke up over a stupid argument was the day that shattered me. It shattered us both. We did not even get a few things straight. You left with my heart and I was left with a head full of questions. My veins were then filled with anger and depression. Wasn't I good enough? Shouldn't I have done that? Perhaps I could have stopped the break up. Why did I only think about it when everything is over? And you even filled me with the hope that maybe we could get back together again. I was so ready for it. I waited for you like waiting for rain in the desert. My love for you was not broken yet.

Before I realised it, my love turned into obsession over you. You seemed to be doing better than me, Sam. I followed the news about you. I knew where you went, I read about your growing talents. How you became a model to how you were growing as a singer. Your pictures are amazing and your songs are great. I knew your talents would get you far someday. I was happy when you called to ask me how I was. Despite your busy schedule you did not fail to know about your old flame. At that time I couldn't help thinking, "Am I still your flame?"

Unfortunately you disappointed me again and again. I found that you had so many fans, so many suitors, and so many admirers. What am I compared to them? When I needed you, you weren't there. You were busy with your work; practically married to it. And like a foolish man waiting for water to fall from the sky in the desert instead of looking for it, I was slowly dying of thirst.

One day I finally decided I can't do this to myself any longer. I tried to break my habit; my obsession with you. And like a blind man who had just gotten new eyes, I slowly adjusted to my surroundings; my life without you, without being blinded anymore. No doubt, I still look forward to hearing your voice, to seeing your face, to have you smile at me, but I began to let those go, one by one. Obsession is a hard thing to get over.

Then I met her. She makes me smile again, Sam. I'm even laughing for real! You can't imagine how free I feel, released from your binding chains. It feels like I have been underwater for too long and am now taking my first breath of fresh air. She is nothing like you. Not as pretty as you, but I find her beautiful. Not as talented as you, but I can see something growing.

"Come out and spend time with me, Jake."

Why do you want to patch things up now? Of course I don't feel for her what I felt for you. Not yet anyway. Don't look at me that way, Sam. I am happy now and I am cured off my blindness. Or so I think. There will always be this small space for you in my heart. But other than that, I am moving on. Would a blind man go back to being blind again, Sam?

I am running ahead in this race and I wish you well.

Just a slight quiver of the hand. I am there by her side. I wrap the woolen blanket around her. But she continues to shiver. She isn't cold. I watch in helpless silence as she stares emptily at the wall. So obviously lost in her own thoughts. Her eyes are glazed and red from crying. She barely even registers the fact that someone had come by her side and placed a warm blanket around her shoulders. The clock continues to move its hand, announcing every second that passes us by. Every second that containes a moment of pain. Her pain.

"You see!!! I knew you could do it!" she beamed widely at me after four hours of hard practice on one of Chopin's pieces- by which the last few minutes, I managed to perfect it. Well, almost. My fingers felt like Jell-O and my brain felt like someone had stuck cotton in it but I was too happy to care how tired I felt. I did it. I turned my failure to a success. She took one of my tired hands, her smile never leaving her face. "Let's celebrate!"

Our celebration consisted of lying down on the field nearby, sipping Ribena. We were cloud watching. Like how we always do at this time of the day. I had just met her. It was just three weeks but I felt as if we knew each other for over three years. She was great. And I was way below great. I should feel inferior to her and her abilities, her charisma, her attractiveness. But she never made me feel that way. She was always pushing me to believe I could be better than what I am. That there was more than what I really am. And she proved it to me in so many different ways.

But she had a bad life. It was as if her whole smart and charming package had a price to pay. Her parents wanted to run her life like it was theirs. They expected too much from her. Get better grades, get better friends, look better, get a better job, and the list goes on and on and on. She started spending less and less time at home and more and more time trying to find a "family" that she belonged to. Her friends were no better. She had unfortunately mixed with the wrong crowd and they pushed her to do things she didn't want to or she'll be an outcast. And when one day, she couldn't meet to their "standards", they just left her. They jeered her, mocked her, threw insults at her and spreaded rumours about her. She was, in many people's eyes, an outcast. A made believed version of the rumours about her. Since then on, she always spent time at a field, just watching clouds.

That was when she met me. I was having a hard time too. Two lonely, different people at the same place and at the same time. We just seem to click. I told her about my pathetic life, but she never told me about hers. I had to peel off skin after skin, one by one to get to know how deep and hollow she really is. In the meantime, she tried to build up the broken building that I was. She cleaned my wounds and healed my pain. So here we were, under the fluffy white clouds, smiling at each other and not caring if our watches were announcing every second that passes us by.

That had been several months ago. Now, here we are. Life has gotten tougher and more complicated for both of us. I don't deny the fact that I have fallen for her and maybe she for me. Rumours had started and jeers had been made. Her parents found out and were just ashamed. They couldn't accept the fact that their daughter is with someone like me. That she accepts people like me. That she had disgraced herself and her family. They couldn't accept it until they couldn't accept her. She is not their daughter anymore.

Though I had heard her complain many times, though I had witnessed her releasing her anger, I've never seen her cave in, break down and shatter to a million pieces. Like she did just now. No matter what I did or said, she just acted as if I was invisible. Four trying hours of being with a highly emotional female who barely notices I was there. I felt that it was just hopeless being there. I was the cause of all the problems so maybe it was best I leave. But I couldn't leave her. No, not her. I put my arm around her and whisper in her ear, "I'm always there for you like you were for me. You'll get through this."

Her head turns slowly and she looks at me. Her eyes are searching mine. Then, she smiles and turned back to staring at the wall. It is small, barely noticeable. But it is a smile. And for that moment, that brief moment, I want to hold onto that second, wishing it didn't pass us by.