Me circled in red, with my signature cacat fingers and glasses.
On 30th December 2011, I received word of a V for Vendetta-themed flash mob to be held at Dataran Merdeka on New Year's Eve. Basically, they were trying to re-enact the final scene of the movie complete with fireworks and all (fireworks supplied by the Malaysian government in conjunction with Konsert Ambang 2012 TV3). However instead of mysteriously shipping actual masks to homes, soft copies of the Guy Fawkes mask were distributed online for participants to print and cut out. Cool.
And oh, of course there was a purpose to this event. Themed 'Occupy Dataran' (let's just pick one reference and stick with it shall we, organisers?), it was a sneaky protest against the recent Peaceful Assemblies Act and increasingly blatant instances of corruption as the General Elections loomed.
So yeah...I shall spare the details. Suffice to say, it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Awesomest moment ever: when the protesters started appearing one by one at the designated time and place with their concealed masks, amid the sea of countdowners. And then a bright yellow balloon with 'Mature Democracy For Malaysia 2012' beckoning us to follow. That's definitely one off the bucket list.
V For Merdeka indeed!
I appear in the first few seconds of the video, in a black 'WORLD WITHOUT STRANGERS' T-shirt. You can't miss me.
It's been over 7 full years since Twisted Tales came to life.
Back in October 2004, it was just a silly impulsion to start a blog. If I could go back in time, the first thing I would tell my 19 year-old self would be to choose a less embarrassing name.
Though I love the whole concept of keeping journals, I've always been pretty bad at it. I don't even have proper photo albums apart from friends tagging me on Facebook. Rather than apathy, I attribute it all to laziness.
Should I die tomorrow, or with the rest of the world on Dec 21 next year, Twisted Tales will have to suffice as the most accurate and comprehensive life journal that I possess. Sometimes on still nights such as this, I comb through the archives and relive the different seasons life has taken me through. Though my blog consists almost entirely of fiction, I am able to clearly see in each story the circumstances that compelled me to write it then.
When I started my first story in 2004, it didn't even have a name. I naively envisioned an interactive blog where readers would contribute ideas as I wrote, making the story flourish organically. Unfortunately, I possessed neither the writing flair nor social connections for this to materialise. Eventually, the story became a boyish man-versus-machine fantasy that wouldn't be out of place at a Digimon fanfic collection. It was entitled 'Blogspot'.
After that came 'The Secret Room' which was actually an expansion of a story in a book I wrote for someone many years ago. It still fell strictly within my limited repertoire of 'clueless boys trapped seeking for answer to perplexing mystery leading to twisted conclusion' stories. Something notable about this period though - I averaged about two posts every three days. Craziness. I can never imagine getting back into that sort of blogging regularity now, even if I quite my job.
One season I particularly remember is late 2008 to early 2009, when I ditched the wannabe adventure tales and started writing simple stories that spoke of dreams, happiness and love (my favourite: The Toll Gate Girl's Special Ability). This was the latter stage of my working life in CC+J Adhaus (now Joescher+Adhaus), a time which I truly cherished and grew so much in. Of course, as with the best growing experiences, I came close to breaking point. I bore so muchon my shoulders and utterly refused to let anyone else into my life. Eventually, this load turned into emotional baggage that I sometimes still catch glimpses of in myself today.
Around this time, I also started designing fancy 'covers' for my stories - a fun but ultimately pointless endeavour.
2010 was a good year too, as I churned out quite a number of good stories. I guess I was increasingly losing passion in my job and harbouring serious ambitions of becoming a writer. Some might even recall the email I sent to the Publisher Who Shall Not Be Named. Looking back at my submission, I'm thankful that they did not just reply my email with "LOL".
And now at the end of 2011, I don't feel like I have a lot to show for this year. I mean...13 posts? And most of them aren't even stories.
Maybe, just maybe, the time of fiction has passed in my life. In the past, I enjoyed hiding behind the facade of make-believe stories. Whenever I wanted to convey a message, I never needed to be specific. All I needed to do was sprinkle some wise-sounding words over generic characters in a preconceived scenario and voila! A story was born.
Yes, I wrote well but my stories always lacked heart. That's because they never came from my heart in the first place. They came from my mind.
I was never honest with my stories. Sometimes they feel like lies and half-truths.
I was afraid of my feelings, my experiences, myself.
When you write from the heart, it really, really shows.
So...do we have a new year's resolution here? I hereby promise to write with more honesty and sincerity. Ultimately, I still love stories. But I no longer want soulless, twisted tales.
Give me more of Life, One Story At A Time please. :)
Boring. That one innocuous word pierced deep, unearthing a newfound fear that she could, despite being a little brat who knew no better, be right.
"It'll be awesome after we practise, I promise you. The best thing ever seen on that stage. At the end of it all, the crowd will go wild and cheer for us."
Like any well-behaved kid should, she said nothing more.
Unfortunately, unknowingly, she had opened a can of worms and they were squiggling out of control. How dare she use that word on me. I've heard weird, lame, crazy - but not boring. I don't do boring.
"You know, many people told me that this script might be too hard for you guys. But I believe in all of you. I believe that you guys can make this one of the best VBS performances ever."
"Nooooo...no teacher...we can't."
"Ugh. If even you don't believe in yourselves, how can I believe in you?" I spouted the obvious cliche.
"Yeah...don't believe in us teacher."
Double ugh.
Quickly I ran the actors - if you could even call them that - through their parts. It was a lot worse than I was used to. These weren't teens. They weren't even half-teens. They were kids. Kids who wanted nothing more than to chase each other, toss balls around, lie on the floor, ask dumb questions and disappear into the hall.
Halfway through, the main actress S didn't want to act anymore. Her last straw came during a scene where they had to pretend to be in love. All the kids wanted to express it by 'SMSing'. No, I said. Only one can do that. I want variety.
OK, we'll talk on the phone then, they went. I slapped my forehead and attempted suicide.
"So do you still want to act or not?" I raised my voice somewhat. "It's not going to be easy. I never told any of you it's going to be easy. Anyone who doesn't want to act can change to the other show now."
(Earlier on, the kids were given a choice to take part in the sketch or a fashion show. Sketch was the overwhelming favourite.)
To cut a long story short, we swapped S for another girl A who became the new main actress. Personally, I felt A was a lot more main actress calibre.
I might have been exercising my authority, but underneath I was shaking like a leaf. This could be the year I bit off more than I could chew.
Day 2
The guy who was supposed to play Jesus was ill and didn't come.
The speakers I borrowed to play the music during practice weren't loud enough.
The actors were still half-hearted at best.
A's brother watched us and remarked, "Looks like this isn't going too well."
Nearing the end of practice, one of the actresses just refused to act. In that scene, they had to all die. She didn't want to. I told her that she could just sit down and close her eyes. She ran off and hid. When we found her, all she did was shake her head and say "I don't want to die." I committed mental harakiri again.
And I still had no idea where to look for props. Day 3, Morning
30 minutes. That was all that stood between us and the full dress rehearsal. Obviously it wasn't going to be full dress for us, as we had barely begun looking for props and costumes.
Ghosts of VBS past started running through my mind. Tian Mi Mi, David Beckham, Snow Brown and the Seven Lengluis. Did this group deserve a place among those greats?
Frantically - only for me, I guess - we rehearsed as much as we could in those 25 minutes (the first 5 minutes spent looking for a new ball after two boys tossed the original ball down the balcony). This time round, it was a lot better. They were starting to become as urgent as I was.
Rrrrrring! Time for rehearsal. Too soon for my liking of course, but I rest assured that we had done our very best with all we had.
Fast forward to X amount of minutes later, and we were next.
"Go get 'em, tigers!" I imagined myself saying to them.
Day 3, Afternoon
"Hey," one of the Fashion Show kids called out to me. "You told us that they would clap at the end. But they clapped for me!"
Whatever, I rolled my mind's eye.
Was it good? Was it bad?
There were some parts that were reeeeeally long and draggy. It's not your fault. People will either love or hate performances like these.
"You know," my class co-teacher interrupted my thoughts. "For three days, I had no idea what your sketch was about."
Sure, sure. Let it out.
"But today after seeing it, I finally got it. I was very touched when I saw it just now."
"Oh, really? Thank you so much!"
I broke down and hugged him. In my mind.
The performance got mixed reviews, though mostly positive. Unfortunately, someone even asked if I was okay as they had never seen such a B-O-R-I-N-G sketch from me before. This person genuinely asked me if I was going through personal issues and needed help.
Despite the other optimistic feedback, this was the only one I could focus on for the entire day. I'm just that way.
Driven, I listed down six areas that were needed to improve the sketch:
1) Make the whole thing more concise - remove some scenes, shorten some others
2) Add more variety to the songs
3) Choreograph and rehearse the final scene
4) Improve the slides design (since what was going on onstage wasn't that visually interesting)
5) Make certain scenes clearer with the help of subtitles on slides
6) Finalise the props and costumes (this was eventually done with the help of a surprisingly talented girl M)
All right. Time to rock...
Day 4
...and roll.
I woke up the next morning, realising I had not finished the slides.
Thankfully, it was VBS Carnival Day and I could afford to reach later. And very much later I did reach - 9.20am.
But would we have time to rehearse?
No way, tosai.
The kids were coming with their parents and it would be very hard to peel them off. Moreso, I had no idea where they would be in the crowd. Once I found one, asked him to stay and went to look for the others that first one would wander off. It was like looking for sheep in a haystack. Or needles on a seashore. You get the point.
I met a pair of girls and asked them to wait at the balcony, as I tried locating the rest. Nope. Nothing.
Finally, I decided to rehearse with them one by one. As I pulled one boy to the side, suddenly a pair of girly voices called out to me from above.
"Teacher! Teacher!"
Lo and behold! Most of the main students were there on the balcony waiting for me. I couldn't believe my eyes - it was as though someone had Ctrl + Selected and dragged them all into a folder.
Eagerly I scampered up and commenced the Final Rehearsal.
Day 4, Showtime
Now the kids were serious. I could see it in their eyes. They were taking ownership of their roles, their props, their performance. This wasn't something I forced upon them any longer, it was theirs.
I told them something about not having faith in them at first, but now truly believing in them. Let's go out there and make history, I said. I don't think any of them bought it. We finished with a prayer together.
And...our turn!
Neatly the 6 main actors stood in a line, too far behind the stage. I motioned for them to come further out.
Walking with a swagger back to the computer, I did some crappy intro that nobody listened to, clicked play and let the show begin. I'd been here before. The same breathlessness and staring eyes. The same frozen expressions on the actors, as it dawned on them how big the moment really was. VBS magic was about to be made.
At the end, the crowd clapped.
Day 4, After Showtime "Bravo! Bravo!" I applauded and slapped high fives with them. "That was awesome, and I mean it."
They whooped for joy and returned their props to me, glad it was all over.
Slowly I packed the stuff, went downstairs and stared at them trying out the carnival games.
That was it, kiddos, I wanted to tell them. We did it together. They said we couldn't, but we showed them. They'll be talking about us for years to come.
Someone asked me for a ride home. I gladly obliged.
Day 5 I jolted awake at 6am, way too early for church. I tried going back to sleep but couldn't.
Oh well. I brushed my teeth, made a cup of Pak Hailam white coffee and turned on the computer.
Instinctively, I played the performance songs on loop while numbing my brain with Tetris Battle. A sip of coffee every now and then lent a little class to the whole scene.
As the sun's slight rays began flitting through the trees, that was my little slice of heaven.
Purple T block. Shift all the way to the left, drop down.
Green S block. Rotate, shift two steps left, drop down.
Dark blue J block. Rotate, drop down.
Light blue I block. Shift to store.
Yellow O block. Shift three steps right, drop down.
Another I block!
*****
Fumbling, I hurriedly slammed my laptop shut and packed it.
I was late. Again.
For over a month now, I had been playing this Facebook game called Tetris Battle. It was simple - two players battling over a two-minute game of Tetris by sending lines to each other and scoring KOs.
As I grew more familiar to the game, what started as a midnight curiosity quickly sprouted into gnawing obsession. One aspect of this game made it particularly addictive - energy. For each game you played, you had to spend 5 Energy points which were recharged only at the rate of 1 per 5 minutes. Now if that's sending your brain into convulsions, each game requires 25 minutes of charging Energy. Hence, you were inclined to finish your Energy whenever possible so that it could charge while you were away. The games were a precious limited resource.
Evil. So, so evil.
Every morning, I would wake up and...
My energy! It's sitting there waiting for me!
Du-dung! My laptop came to life.
The game makes a very distinctive sound of rhythmic keyboard taps. Hence, my mum would know and suspect that I was playing games instead of, um, not playing games. The zombified look on my face didn't help, I guess.
Whenever she chided me or asked me to do something else, it would snap my focus and make me more prone to defeat. I couldn't help it - with the level of opposition I was facing, total concentration was needed.
It made me terribly annoyed at her, but yet there was nothing I could do. Only dumb kids quarreled with their parents over computer games.
So I did the next best thing. I started blasting songs from Youtube each
time I played. Among my favourites were Hillsong's 'Holy, Holy, Holy',
'It Is Well With My Soul' and 'Hosanna', Ah, yes. Nothing like using
Christian worship songs to fool your parents.
My best-ever record of Lines Sent.
Next, the inevitable occurred - I started seeing Tetris blocks everywhere. It was worst when I looked at people when talking to them. Without warning, multi-coloured blocks would drop down across their face, rotate quickly and fit into spaces. It was horrifying, as the person would just continue talking as though nothing was amiss. Many a time I wanted to grab his or her shoulders and scream, "What's wrong with you? CAN'T YOU FEEL TETRIS BLOCKS ON YOUR FACE?"
Sheesh. Maybe it was just me.
Some statistics to put things into perspective: Each Tetris Battle game lasts for 2 minutes. This excludes logging in, buying stuff from the shop, loading time while it searches for new opponents, and some way-too-long congratulatory screens that pop up after every game. So let's factor that in and assume each game to last 2 minutes and 10 seconds.
At the time of writing, I had played 1437 games. That totals up to 186,810 seconds. Which is 3113.5 minutes. Which is 51.9 hours. Which is 2 days, 3 hours and 54 minutes.
And that's not including the games I played on the fake account I created. What, a fake account you say? Let's leave that story for another day.
So wow...2 full days that could and should have been spent on something better. Like feeding the poor. Reading books. Exercising. Bonding with family members. Playing Restaurant City.
The craziest opponent I've ever encountered. Oh wait, there was this other guy who did T-spins EVERY 2 SECONDS. I'm not sure if that was just a nightmare or it really happened.
In case you're thinking that I lost my mind, I didn't. I was still a perfectly sane and rational person. That was the part of addiction that sucked most - you knew that it was a meaningless game, you knew exactly how dumb you were for throwing away your life, you knew what the right thing to do was, but yet you were utterly powerless to quit.
It was the same story over and over and over and over. If it was made into a movie, it would be the most boring movie ever. Play too much Tetris, suffer some consequence, vow to quit, get bored, play a little Tetris again, play too much Tetris. Rinse, wash and repeat. If I won, I wanted to play more since I was on a roll. If I lost, I wanted to play more to redeem myself. There was no other outcome.
Someone once told me that addiction is like boiling a live frog. The frog sits in cool water which slowly becomes lukewarm. As the water temperature slowly goes up, it becomes increasingly comfortable. It doesn't even notice that the water is being heated up, or is just too comfortable to care. Before you know it...stewed frog is served!
As I drove to my meeting in Bangsar, already 15 minutes late, I made a solemn oath to myself. No more. No more. I want no more of this. I'm smarter than this. It's false happiness being traded for lasting joy.
Tetris Battle, I'm done with you.
"We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and
ambition (and Tetris Battle?) when infinite joy is offered to us, like an ignorant child who
wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what
is meant by the offer of a holiday at sea. We are far too easily
pleased." - C.S Lewis
(Less than a week after this, the author comes out of Tetris Battle retirement, much to the delight of his adoring fans. However, he tries his best to not get carried away with maximising his energy and leveling up. After all, it's just a game right?)
Promo video with generic music and random shots of people having fun that doesn't concern you.
Note: While clearing my computer, I found this testimony I wrote for a Korean pastor about Life Game. And since we're still without a September post...hey, why not!
I first attended Life Game in 2007, having heard lots of great stories from my church friends who previously went for it. Being an avid fan of games of all sorts, it was a very exciting experience to be immersed into this whole new world. I recall how I attended the camp one day late, causing me to skip the whole education stage and start work as a high school dropout.
From there on, the game mirrored life perfectly – each time I thought that I had everything figured out, the unexpected would happen. When I planned my expenses to fit right into my plans, inflation came. When I thought I would lead a long and prosperous life, I died in an unfortunate ‘accident’. When I said to myself, “I know how this game is going to end”, a shocking twist happened.
The finale was so soul-stirring that I couldn’t help being shaken to the core. Yes, it was a very well-crafted game, story and experience, but beneath all that lay a powerful life-changing message. I learned to see how small our lofty ambitions were when held against God’s eternal plan. No matter how much we possessed or enjoyed, nothing was left once the game ended.
From my 2007 Life Game!
A friend of mine played the game extremely well. He aced all his exams, got a high-paying job, shot up the ranks of society and eventually accumulated multiple property lots. Of course, we all knew that it was a Christian game and somewhere down the road we would need to go to church. He believed that once he achieved his financial targets, he would then make time for church.
He never went.
At the end of the game, he was left only with nothing but regrets. No property, money or prestige. Only regrets.
And therein lies the beauty of Life Game – there are just so many lessons to be unearthed from it. Everyone who plays is bound to learn something unique to their own situation. In my second time playing, now wiser, I was taught the urgency of saving souls. As hard and as fast as I tried, there simply was not enough time nor workers. Eventually only a handful came to know God. The vast majority finished the game without hearing the gospel.
On the way home in the bus, many of these lost souls came up to me in jest, “Brother, why didn’t you save me?” I laughed them off, but deep down I prayed that this would never happen in real life. If I were to one day stand before the gates of heaven and look down, my unsaved friends and family members wouldn’t be asking me in jest. They would be screaming at me in accusation. Clawing and begging for a second chance. Weeping eternally at my selfishness.
Of course, these are only a handful of stories from one person’s perspective. Ask ten more and there will be dozens of other wonderful stories. You don’t have to wait till the end of your life to learn such amazing lessons. Life Game is a window from which you can peer into the rest of your days.
To whoever reads this, I hope that you can someday join Life Game as well and be blessed with your own life-impacting story from God.
"But they always have fireworks on Merdeka Day, Mom!"
"Not this year, dear."
The little boy sat down and pouted. For as long as he could remember, Merdeka Day had always been highlighted by the colourful fireworks streaking across the sky. It was the only night of the year when he was allowed to come home past midnight.
There was a little hill near his house where the fireworks display from various locations around town could clearly be seen. As early as 11pm, people from around his neighbourhood would gather to book the best seats. As the hour wore on, more would show up hoping to jostle for a better view.
Then without warning - poof! All restlessness dissipated as the sky lit up with bursts of purple, yellow, orange, blue, pink, green, red drawing oohs and ahhs from the crowd. The little boy would steal peeks at the faces of the people, enjoying their smiles of wonderment captured in brief flashes.
But it was not happening this year. Merdeka Day clashed with Hari Raya, marking the first time in his memory that the sky would be dark.
As the clock neared twelve with nothing but variety shows and heavily-censored movies on the telly, he shut it off and walked to the hill optimistically. Fortunately his mother was asleep - she would never have consented.
Hoping against hope, he strode quickly to his cherished spot. True enough, there was nobody there. No cars. No children. No eager chattering.
He stood there for five minutes, staring at the black sky. It seemed so vast tonight.
Beep beep! went his watch.
Midnight.
No fireworks.
"Happy Merdeka Day, Malaysia." he whispered to the Kuala Lumpur cityscape.
"Why?" She crouched in a corner, bawling to no end. "Why me? WHY?"
The other months stared at her, then at each other. Nobody knew what to say.
This was certainly a curious case, the first of its kind.
"Look at all of you!" She jerked her face up and screamed. "All the way from October 2004 till May 2011. A good six-and-a-half years!"
"Is anyone of you BLANK?"
Uneasy silence.
"TELL ME! IS ANYONE HERE BLANK?"
"Me?" March 2009 squeaked. "I had just a short 3-liner post, totaling 18 words."
"Uhm, I was just a video and a paragraph." August 2009 chimed in.
"Yeah, mine wasn't that great either." added May 2011.
"Same here." April 2011 nodded reassuringly, as did March 2011.
"SHUT UP! I SAID BLANK! DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT BLANK MEANS? IT'S NOT A FEW LINES OR A VIDEO OR A HALF-HEARTED STORY. IT'S JUST PLAIN STUPID BLANK!"
"Hey...it's not your fault really." the 2011 months gathered around June. "No one even reads any more. It's just not the same now."
She remained inconsolable. "I always dreamed of being like all of you. It didn't have to be a five-parter or poem or picture entry. Even a Writer's Block would've made me happy."
They patted her back, only able to afford sympathetic frowns.
"But...nothing. Never would I have imagined..."
She choked.
"What will the other months to come say about me?"
As she continued sobbing, the crowd slowly dispersed. There were simply no words powerful enough to mend her heart. For when hopes are dashed, dreams are murdered. And words simply cannot undo that. Only time can.
Eventually, only one month was left. He stayed by her side stoically, not a single word escaping his lips till her tears had run dry. His own time was coming up, for around the corner another new month peeked.
"Come now," July 2011 helped her to her feet. "We must go. Time waits for no one."
