Twisted Tales

I'm Famous!

2012-01-02T16:45:00.000+08:00

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.

Relearning To Write

2011-12-27T12:07:00.000+08:00

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 much on 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. :)

It's VBS Once More

2011-11-29T19:37:00.001+08:00

Day 1
"Teacher, do you have any other scripts?"

I stared at her, indignant.

"This one seems kind of boring."

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.

All was well with my heart.

Tetris Temptations

2011-10-31T21:45:00.000+08:00

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?)

Fake Life, Real Lessons

2011-09-03T20:29:00.000+08:00

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.

No Fireworks

2011-08-31T15:04:00.000+08:00

"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.

June 2011

2011-07-26T20:50:00.010+08:00

"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."

She shuffled away, still sniffing.

"Oh, and one more thing." He tugged her arm.

"Mm?"

"Thank you for giving me my story."

White Knight, Black Knight

2011-05-31T15:53:00.000+08:00

After half a year of emo posts, it feels good to write something manly again!

It was the time of White Knights and Black Knights in medieval England.

Clearly as day and night, the White Knights were upholders of justice, peace and righteousness while the Black Knights were the purveyors of wrath and wickedness.

So the story is told of a lone White Knight who traversed the land in his relentless quest to defeat and rid the realm of every last Black Knight.

Miles and miles he rode, kept company only by his trusty steed and lance. He seldom stopped for anything but to cook a meal and sleep at night.

He never smiled, never cried, and never once looked behind. The only thing that drove him come rain or shine, day after day, was his unyielding desire to vanquish the Black Knights.

Over the years, he became so honed at his craft that no Black Knight could last more than a solitary minute against him. He knew just by looking into their eyes exactly which way they would attack and the best way to counter them.

Anticipate their attack. Parry their strike. Disrupt their balance. Finish them quick.

It was the same story every time. The steed would rear and whinny, while the Black Knight grimaced in pain and tumbled into the mud. As his horse galloped away, the Black Knight looked up at the White Knight approaching with his lance raised and knew that death was inevitable. He could only pray for it to be swift.

The fear in their eyes as the clutches of death loomed over them - it thrilled the White Knight to see fearsome warriors such as them reduced to whimpering cowards before his might.

One moon-washed night after an evening drizzle, the White Knight rode searching for a place to retire. As he went down an inconspicuous dirt path, an ever-so-slight rustle in the bushes caught his ear.

Wary, he raised his lance and directed his steed to the source of the noise.

"Halt! Are you friend or foe?"

From the shadows a White Knight appeared. Relieved, our protagonist lowered his lance and saluted.

Before the other White Knight pierced through his armour with a fatal strike.

Shocked beyond speech, he fell off his steed onto the muddy earth.

Why did the White Knight attack me? Has he no code of valour?

I always knew no Black Knight could defeat me. How ironic that I should die at the hands of a White Knight.

As he lay there, life seeping out of him, he chanced upon his reflection on a puddle.

He had become a Black Knight himself.

When a man fights evil, he must first of all take care not to become evil himself.

I Wanna Hold Your Hand

2011-04-30T11:23:00.010+08:00

May promises to be a month of ends. The end of my one-year ill-advised gym membership, my almost-two-year stress-inducing retainer copywriting stint at MCK Creative Resources, and the internship of 3 fun girls at Sakae Sushi. :D

As for today's story...this started off more as a dumb joke. I still don't fully consider it a story. It's just something I want to get out of my system as I continue re-learning how to write.

I...hope you enjoy it.

I always feel envious when I see couples holding hands.

There's just something insanely magical about the moment - their hands swinging as they walk, lightly brushing against each other by not-so-accident. Their faces register only a hint of coyness, barely detectable to the untrained eye. Knowingly, they gently bring their hands close, allowing him to slip his fingers around hers as she adjusts to fit snugly around him. Never once breaking in stride, they turn to each other with smiles only those who have been in love will understand, ecstatic in the fact that they belong to each other.

Ah, to love and be loved. How sweet it must be, to know that the one you adore feels the same way about you.

Why am I writing this? Because up till today, I never once held a girl's hand. Unless if you count dumb stuff like forming a circle or human chain during PE in school. It's ironic that you only get to do these things when you're young - too young for holding hands with a member of the opposite sex to matter.

So here, let me say it again - I have never held a girl's hand in a romantic manner.

Up till today, of course!

Her name is Kelly. I met her at a high school reunion, where we were the only two single people. Admittedly there may have been some other single people, but I didn't really care. All I remember was how well we connected that night. I never remember her being so chatty in school before. But there we were, laughing embarrassingly loud at each others' jokes, reminiscing about endless school stories that we never realised we shared, ganging up against the couples and even...flirting with each other?

The others kept teasing us, saying that we were secretly dating. To which Kelly vehemently denied and I played along. At last after continued annoyance, we gave in and made up far-fetched stories of how we got together. Now they were the ones groaning and rolling their eyes. Kelly and I slapped high fives and laughed some more.

At the end of the night, I walked her back to her car. Thankfully, she kept the silence at bay with questions about my work.

"Okay," she turned and smiled widely at me as we reached her car. "Thank you so much for accompanying me!"

"No problem."

"Bye! Good night!"

"Hey...you have Facebook?"

"Yeah, sure! Add me. You can find me from Charles and Lee Fang's page."

"Okay. I will."

"Keep in touch!"

My heart smiled.

The next morning, I added her on Facebook. I had first wanted to add her the night before, but decided against it in fear of appearing desperate.

She approved me that very afternoon, and I waited a good twenty minutes before initiating our first chat. It went quite well, with us rehashing some of last night's jokes and shaking our figurative heads at the silliness of it all.

Unfortunately, I noticed that I was the one doing most of the talking. She seemed somewhat occupied.

The next day, we chatted for a while but she had to rush off somewhere. Oh well.

It was the same for the following few days. Sometimes she didn't even reply.

Gradually, I started feeling like just another online contact of hers.

What made me most frustrated was that she never once said hi first. It made things seem like a one-sided affair. I felt cheated. Didn't we share amazing chemistry together? How could she act as though nothing had happened?

One night I dreamed about walking with her along the beach, giving each other that knowing look. In my dream, our hands slowly slid into each other and we continued without a word.

Hand in hand.

I woke up with a feeling of utter happiness and contentment, only to snap back to reality. But still, the lingering feelings overwhelmed me.

I rushed online to look for Kelly. There she was!

Hi :), I said.

No reply.

Two minutes passed. Five minutes. Ten minutes. But her status still showed that she was Available.

Dejected, I went on Facebook and clicked on her profile.

Only to find her happily engaging in a conversation with another guy on her Wall.

There and then, I did the stupidest thing imaginable.

I called her, not sure what I wanted to say. And guess what - I said nothing. She put down the phone after several hellos, noticeably uncomfortable.

I tried calling to apologise that night, but again didn't know what to say. This went on a few times until she told me sternly not to call again.

Horrified, I left messages on her Wall trying to explain. I was never one for words, though. I think it came out as incoherent rambling.

Next I knew, she had removed me as a friend.

No matter how many times I called her, she refused to pick up.

Texts went unreplied. Emails, Facebook messages. All ignored.

Just 13 days ago, we sat side by side talking and laughing like best friends.

I even felt our hands brush against each other.

I was so sure.

Now, there was nothing left.

She tricked me.

But don't weep! This story does have a happy ending.

Remember how at the start I said that I held her hand today? I wasn't lying.

But of course you're wondering: if things turned out so badly for Kelly and I, how did I end up holding her hand?

I can be pretty resourceful, you know.

Kelly, I'm sorry it had to end this way. I miss chatting with you.

You were such a liar even till the end. I asked you whether you had feelings for me and you said yes. Just because I threatened you.

If you had feelings for me, why did you ignore me?

I'm glad I did it anyway. Now I won't need to be subjected to this agonising false hope any more. I should never have expected anything from you in the first place. I had no right to.

It was a one-sided affair from the start, and it still is.

Even your hand feels so limp in mine now.

Personally, I find holding hands overrated.

Sigh.

Shades Of Grey

2011-03-24T15:37:00.006+08:00

"Why haven't you written any stories for such a long time?"

Dear readers, it's because I've lost it.

"Lost what?"

Lost the clarity and sharpness in my mind. The ability to pick out little mundane things and transform them into larger-than-life Twisted Tales.

And it's not as simple as writer's block. It's because my life is right now shrouded in shades of grey.

Back in college when I learned how to paint (I was horrible at it, in case you're wondering), the lecturer always told us to avoid mixing grey, brown, black or other 'dirty' colours into the paints whenever possible. Doing so would dull a paint's natural hues, making the painting less vibrant and unattractive.

(Bear in mind, this applies only to commercial art. Fine art is a different story altogether.)

When you paint grass, you use pure green and dot it with tinges of yellow or white, making use of dark green for shadow areas. In my amateurish mind, I thought of mixing in a little brown to create a more 'realistic' effect. Bad idea.

In the same way, our lives become a convoluted mess when we attempt to mix in too many colours without an end in mind. I'm learning the hard way now that black needs to be black, and white must remain white. The more grey you allow to creep into your life, the more unhappiness you will endure.

Grey always seems exciting at first. It masquerades as the best of both worlds, freeing you from the need to choose. But just like paints, it eventually runs and smears other previously well-defined areas of your life as well.

You try desperately to fix it. Sometimes it works, if the damage hasn't been done. But if it's beyond repair...

You need to start all over again.

*crumples up paper*

"Sir, may I have more time?"

Writer's Block

2011-02-28T23:27:00.016+08:00

I was bored during a long and boring meeting in church. Suddenly someone passed me a notebook. Thus...

(Pictures taken / edited with Wen Cheng's iPhone. Apple: Simply the better choice.)

Meanwhile, on an unrelated note...I love hymns. They're so rich in meaning and teachings that you need to pay attention to the lyrics, instead of just 'losing' yourself in the melody. Of course, it's doubly awesome that they're written like beautiful works of poetry.

Two of my favourites:

I Gave My Life For Thee

I gave my life for thee,
My precious blood I shed,
That thou might'st ransom be,
And quickened from the dead;
I gave, I gave My life for thee,
What hast thou given for Me?
I gave, I gave My life for thee,
What hast thou given for Me?

My Fathers house of light,
My glory circled throne,
I left for earthly night,
For wanderings sad and lone;
I left, I left it all for thee,
Hast thou left aught for Me?
I left, I left it all for thee,
Hast thou left aught for Me?

I suffered much for thee,
more than thy tongue can tell,
Of bitterest agony,
To rescue thee from hell;
I've borne, I've borne it all for thee,
What hast thou borne for Me?
I've borne, I've borne it all for thee,
What hast thou borne for Me?

I can't recall any other Christian songs being written from the perspective of Jesus himself. Sometimes, it's almost as though we forget that God is very much alive with feelings.

Is Your All On The Altar?

You have longed for sweet peace,
And for faith to increase,
And have earnestly, fervently prayed;
But you cannot have rest,
Or be perfectly blest,
Until all on the altar is laid.

Is your all on the altar of sacrifice laid?
Your heart does the Spirit control?
You can only be blest,
And have peace and sweet rest,
As you yield Him your body and soul.

Would you walk with the Lord,
In the light of His Word,
And have peace and contentment alway?
You must do His sweet will,
To be free from all ill,
On the altar your all you must lay.

O we never can know
What the Lord will bestow
Of the blessings for which we have prayed,
Till our body and soul
He doth fully control,
And our all on the altar is laid.

Who can tell all the love
He will send from above,
And how happy our hearts will be made,
Of the fellowship sweet
We shall share at His feet,
When our all on the altar is laid.

Often contemporary songs only throw questions at God. However, hymns do provide us with simple answers grounded in His word as well.

Thank you, hymns! =D

Practical Magic

2011-02-19T01:54:00.002+08:00

She said the wishing lanterns in the sky were beautiful.

He said they were a hazard to passing planes.

She wanted to light candles along the path they trod.

He said they were bad for the environment.

She longed for dinner in a posh French restaurant, just the both of them.

He said it was a waste of money.

She sighed to herself, as she always did.

However deep down, she knew that he loved her with all his heart.

Lonely People

2011-02-09T17:55:00.009+08:00

We are all lonely people - each travelling down a path uniquely ours.

We rush through our lives, surrounding ourselves with hustle and bustle to dull away this loneliness.

We smile at people, we stop at places, we laugh for a moment or two.

Sometimes we meet other people who are equally lonely. They make us forget too.

Sometimes we fall in love. Sometimes we fall out of it, when we learn that the ones we love aren't perfect. We continue searching.

We laugh and cry, we dance and sing.

On warm summer nights, we lie on the grass and count the stars in the sky.

One, two, three, four, five... endless as the people who enter our lives.

When people enter our lives, they leave a part of themselves in us.

But no one truly stays.

When they leave, they take a piece of our hearts along with them.

Sometimes it makes us more alive. Often times it hurts us deeply.

Once every while, we dream of turning the clock back to simpler times.

When every stranger was a friend waiting to be made.

When the future seemed so far away.

When we were easily satisfied.

We try to pause our lives, only to get left behind by others who look just forward.

Sometimes, we discover new passions.

We give our heart and soul to them, only to realise that they are poor substitutes for our dreams.

We grow weary and unhappy.

But then we wonder, what are our dreams?

Could any one thing possibly sustain us for our whole lives?

And a voice tells us that we are weird. We are different from the people of this world. The contented, comfortable souls scurrying around day after day after day.

We tell ourselves that nobody understands us.

Nobody loves us.

We are truly alone.

Little do we realise that when the dust settles...

When the stars fade into blackness...

When words cease...

We are all lonely people.

Lonely people connected only by mutual loneliness.

We grow up.

We grow old.

We grow lonely.

We die.

ESFP Me

2011-01-26T16:03:00.012+08:00

I recently took the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) test.

Now, I'm not really a fan of personality tests as I always find them overly general and assumptive. However, the MBTI test appears different. Even the way the questions are structured, there seems to be a scientific approach to it. Hence, the results turn out very accurate. Frighteningly accurate, in fact.

Apparently, I'm an ESFP. (Extremely Silly and Funny Person?)

Let's find out more about ESFPs:

First things first, do you know what ESFPs are known as? I'd always fancied myself as an Inspiring or Loving or Positive type.

But noooo...get this. ESFPs are termed:

The Performer.

Performer. Wah lau weh...

And in case you're wondering, this Perform doesn't refer to Prestasi (results-oriented performance). It's the Persembahan or Pertunjukan type of Perform. Think circus acts, juggling, magic shows, stand-up comedy and the like.

TA-DA! ARE YOU ENTERTAINED? ARE YOU ENTERTAINED, PEOPLE?!

It made my heart sink a little. I mean, it's a plain fact that I'm an entertaining person. My mere presence makes people laugh. But I always thought that my entertaining capabilities were means to an end. It was just sad to realise that...they were the end. I was born to perform. Destined to entertain.

Sigh. Let's read on.

Performers are the people for whom it can truly be said "all the world's a stage." Born entertainers, they love the excitement of playing to an audience, and will quickly become the center of attention wherever they are.

Performers aren't comfortable being alone, and seek the company of others whenever possible -- which they usually find, for they make wonderful playmates. Performers are smooth, talkative, and witty; they always seem to know the latest jokes and stories, and are quick with wisecracks and wordplay-nothing is so serious or sacred that it can't be made fun of.

Performers also like to live in the fast lane, and seem up on the latest fashions of dress, food, drink, and music. Lively and uninhibited, Performers are the life of the party, always trying to create in those around them a mood of eat, drink, and be merry.

Agreed, agreed, except for perhaps the third paragraph. Anyone who knows me well will know that I'm not much of an 'enjoying life' type of person. I am perfectly happy with having the same tried-and-tested food over and over again, and always have this nagging desire to go home early.

But I can't believe they mentioned wordplay! That is so so so right up my alley. Valley. Sally. Jelly. Telly.

Now, moving on to career options:

ESFPs are good at many things, but will not be happy unless they have a lot of contact with people, and a lot of new experiences. They should choose careers which provide them with the opportunity to use their great people skills and practical perspective, which will also provide them with enough new challenges that they will not become bored.

Possible Career Paths for the ESFP:
• Artists, Performers and Actors
• Sales Representatives
• Counselors / Social Work
• Child Care
• Fashion Designers
• Interior Decorators
• Consultants
• Photographers

Yikes, where's advertising?

So this explains my perpetual discontent with my work! I can't get stuck doing the same thing for too long. Especially when I'm dealing with soulless words and don't get to build connections with the people I work with. I'm a freelancer, you see. I can't work for overly long hours in the same place. Which is, unfortunately, how most relationships flourish in the advertising industry.

Conclusion: After having let it simmer for a few weeks, I'm starting to embrace this Performer thing. I realise that being a Performer doesn't just mean putting on shows to entertain people. Behind the curtain, there is a sincere motivation to make sure that everyone's happy and well taken care of. It's something that has always been my core since I was young. I love seeing others happy.

So perhaps, I should think of myself less as a clown, and more as a candle. Mmm...yeah.

The more you learn about yourself, the more you can love yourself. And once that happens, you'll never need to fight against yourself any more.

Perhaps I should start writing less fiction.

I'll end with this deep inspiring passage Zhi-Yong wrote about me years ago:

"C.H. Mok, Daniel is the author of the international best sellers as well as numerous other equally interesting but unequally selling short stories, poems and personal accounts of his life stories that both inspire, amuse and entertain to various degrees.

They are available on the world wide web from his personal web log that draws international criticism and acclaim in equal parts. Although irregularly updated, his readers await with bated breath the next chapter of his 'short' stories, listen adoringly to his poems and eagerly consume accounts of his inspiring life that revolves around... cendol, church and baja hitam.

Ok la... actually that guy ah... very nice wan... although he looks like a clown but inside... is also a clown... deeper inside... his life ambition is to be a clown... if u dig deep enough and reach that small little engine that runs the whole body you find out that it's quite warm inside actually. Yeah, nice and warm. And that's what counts."

2 Years And 8 Months

2011-01-04T23:10:00.007+08:00

If you think falling in love is scary, wait till you try falling out of it.

There he stood in front of me, unsure, unprepared, almost reminiscent of that breezy afternoon 2 years and 8 months ago.

Similarly today, the dandelions swayed in chorus to the wind's unseen fingers, watched over by a passing parade of cotton clouds. A hint of sweetness from the grass wafted in the air. I always loved the feeling of ticklish grass under my bare feet. It was such a pity I had to have shoes on today.

To the eyes, ears and nose, nothing had changed. But to the heart, everything had.

"Why do you keep saying things are different?" he inched forward. "What is?"

I avoided his gaze. I didn't know what to say.

2 years and 8 months ago, everything was so much simpler. He was my best friend who told me that he had a crush on me. At that time, I was just so tired of boys and relationships. The more he cared for me, the more I found him annoying. But the more I couldn't get him out of my mind.

One fateful afternoon amidst the dandelions, I said yes to him.

Everyone said that we were perfect for each other. The couple who were meant to be. Even our teachers said that we would get married.

As girls usually do, I fell headlong into love. Though I was a pretty awful cook, I would make him his favourite sandwiches and spaghetti for breakfast from time to time. In return, he gave me sweet cards with cute doodles and scribbled poems that made absolutely no sense to anyone but the two of us.

Unlike normal couples, we didn't quite fancy shopping malls, cinemas and the like. Instead, our favourite pastimes consisted of incredibly boring activities such as eating ice cream, taking walks in parks and trying different mamak stalls (yes, MAMAK STALLS). As one may observe from our choice of interests, one thing we shared in common was our love for talking. Most of my friends found me annoying as I had this tendency to ramble on and on about utterly random and incomprehensible topics. However, he was one of the few who always could make sense of me and keep our conversations alive. His energy, wit and intelligence were nothing short of inspiring.

Deep down, I always had this fear that he would someday change and find me annoying. He was a man destined for great things, I knew. He would probably want to study or work overseas. I didn't want to be a stupid girl clinging on and holding him back.

Life's funny that way sometimes. Eventually I was the one who changed. I was the one who left.

After we graduated, I was sent to an outstation university while he managed to continue his studies locally. I immersed myself into this scary yet exciting new world out on my own. New friends, new sights and new experiences left their mark in my life. Though I always held on dearly to the memories of school, it was very clearly a past chapter. And he was a very huge part of that chapter. My heart didn't know how to take him along into this new beginning.

We continued to keep in touch through SMS, MSN, Skype and all. Nine times out of ten, he would be the one who said hi to me first. I tried to respond lovingly, but I knew I wasn't sincere. He knew too. Most of our calls became nothing more than formalities and an exhausting cycle of arguments and apologies. I would always blame busyness and adjustment for acting this way, but in truth I was hopelessly confused. I didn't know why I no longer missed him or felt reluctant to pick up his calls. Many nights I just cried and wish things hadn't become so complicated.

"I know we're going through a tough time." One of his SMSes read. "But I promise I won't ever change the way I feel for you. I will give you all the love and support you need, and wait for you back here."

Please don't, I thought. I don't deserve such love. I'm a horrible person.

And he kept his word. He never changed. Through his blog and Facebook, I constantly caught glimpses of his joy and passion for life that attracted me to him in the first place. The lame jokes, the heartwarming creativity, the wisdom behind his words, the way he loved others as himself.

But I had changed. I was no longer a schoolgirl in a prefect's uniform holding hands with him, sipping bubble ice tea and chasing dragonflies. I stopped looking forward to his SMSes or calls. I hated the way he always wanted to fix problems in our relationship. I felt tired of trying so hard to become a better girlfriend, and supporting him in becoming a better boyfriend.

I...fell out of love.

Now as the dandelions watched, I had to let go.

"Please," He was almost about to cry, but I knew he wanted to stay strong for me. "I still love you."

"I do, too...but..."

"But what?"

"We can't go on like this."

"We can. Just trust me. We can."

"No. No. Not for now."

He sniffed, pretending it was a runny nose.

I tried my best to stay expressionless. "I need to go home now. Bye."

He mouthed bye.

As I turned and walked back to my car, a mischievous breeze ran through my hair and made it fall messily over my eyes. I paused and realised that I had to fix it myself.

Just like that, 2 years and 8 months passed.

A Story For My Dad

2010-12-16T22:56:00.006+08:00

I've never had an easy relationship with my Dad.

In fact, most times I just hate him.

I think it started from when I was a kid and everyone told me not to grow up to become like him.

You see, I resemble my Dad greatly. We look the same. We walk the same way. We share certain undesirable traits like talking faster than we think, a tendency to make fools of ourselves in public, indecisiveness and being overly happy-go-lucky.

But no doubt about it, my Dad is a deeply flawed person. A flawed Dad as well. Hence, I was conditioned to never follow his footsteps. To become a better person. And in my young mind, this equated to not respecting him.

In my early schooling years, I hated it even when he touched me. It just felt awfully disconcerting. Almost as though he had no right to do so.

His inability to communicate in a proper and dignified manner also made me want to tear my hair out. He was always a hit among coffee shop apeks and sundry shop ah sohs, but he wasn't exactly someone you would bring to a Parent-Teacher conference.

And of course, there was his embarrassingly loud booming voice. No matter what time of the day it was, whatever occasion, he would speak in the same crass volume.

In fact, if you've been reading my stories for some time, you'll realise that I never mention Dad. My characters always have Moms.

I've never truly, personally understood the concept of a Dad.

So fast forward 20 years later, and here we are still. I've mellowed somewhat, but he still irritates me when he asks me to do a few things.

One, logging on to the Internet.

Two, reloading his handphone credit.

Three, writing cheques for him.

It frustrates me that he's almost into his sixties and he still can't do simple things like these. Granted, he only studied till Standard Six and has never worked in the corporate world before. But still. It makes me feel like he doesn't appreciate my time.

I know, I'm a sorry excuse for a son.

I tried teaching him many times, but he's not very keen on learning. Over time, I realised that we're both happier if I just do it for him instead. And the worst part is when he says "Thank you" with this extremely dumb grin, like a child who just escaped passing up his homework.

I really hate that.

This past Monday, I went to meet a client near my house. We met at a mamak stall.

After the immensely boring meeting, we walked back to our cars together.

"Where did you park?" I asked him.

"There." He pointed to some car just 10 metres in front of us.

Then he pointed to a car in front of his. "Whose car is this ah...never turn off the lights one."

I gulped. It was mine!

The utter stupidity.

After some fiddling around and triggering the alarm system umpteen times, we came to the obvious-from-the-start conclusion that the battery was dead. I decided that I needed help. I told my client to go back first. I would call my Mom.

So I did. And Mom said, "I'll call your Dad."

He's the only one in my household who has an inkling about cars.

So I waited for 15-ish minutes by the roadside, each passing car making me feel more foolish.

Finally he came. Coincidentally, the same time as my Mom.

I was expecting him to berate me for wasting everyone's time with my carelessness. But he only chided me gently for parking in such a deserted spot. "It's dangerous... sometimes there're people fighting in these back alleys."

"Oh."

As the orange streetlights washed over him bent over my car bonnet, I couldn't help but feel... small.

And stupid.

I could use the computer, reload handphone credit and write cheques. But I was clueless when it came to changing car batteries.

Dad could've been rude at me, like how I usually acted when he needed my help. But here he was, patiently fixing my problem.

On that starless night, in the silent back lane of Restoran BRJ Kuchai Lama, I uttered a prayer.

Lord, forgive me for dishonouring my father. Grant me patience and strength to love as You loved.

"OK, done. You check and see whether it's working."

I think I caught a glimpse of the dumb grin.

Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat. The car started perfectly fine.

"Uh...thanks Pa."

I sunk into my driver's seat, relieved.

And guess what? He asked me reload his handphone credit AND write a cheque the next morning. I did it, with a smile...somewhat.

A Doodle Speaks A Thousand Words

2010-12-06T15:01:00.026+08:00

I'm currently hooked on MSN doodles. They're great conversation pieces and make me look like I'm artistically talented.

Here's a sample of my works featuring the incredible Miss Hilary from a conversation this morning.

"Emo"

"Tiffany's surprise birthday party at 8am"

"Tiffany after being woken up"

"Hilary's reaction" (to my doodles, at this point of the conversation)

"Dinnertime @ the Tan household"

"Daniel @ March 2010 (by Hilary)"

"Hilary & friends"

"Mystery portrait (by Hilary)"

"Jhow Weh @ 1pm every Sunday"

"Jhow Weh (by Hilary)"

"Angela speaks" (FAIL)

"Angela / Marilyn Monroe (by Hilary)"

"Tiffany studying for SPM"

"Like a G6" (or chu sek, meaning 'pig eat' in Cantonese)

"Peter talking to Peter at Deric's wedding (by Hilary)" (Btw, Deric's my brother. He got married last Saturday.)

"Daniel marches in like a robot at Deric's wedding" (Sorry to Jane the bridesmaid, for making you look pregnant. This doesn't usually happen.)

CONTINUED:

"Hilary plays, Tiffany studies"

"No, this is what Tiffany's actually doing" (by Hilary)

"Tiffany blanks out during SPM"

"Hilary VS Daniel: 'No, I'M Tiffany's best friend!'"

"Alice Lee screws up" (Alice Lee is a waitress at the McD we went to for lunch. She was extremely tense and carefully arranged our drinks and stacked our burgers on top of each other. Then Hilary called out a little too friendlily at her "Hellooooo.". Doesn't the picture make SO MUCH SENSE now?!)

Special feature: "Eyebrows are like clouds for eyes" (from conversation with Li-Shia)

Let's all draw more, speak less and make the world a beautiful place! Hehe. =)

The Asylum (Part 5: Conclusion)

2010-11-29T10:08:00.023+08:00

I'm back! Together with fresh memories of this year's VBS (Vacation Bible School) which just ended on Saturday.

So how was it? For starters, it ended abruptly. VERY abruptly and anti-climatically. Just a memory verse competition, prize giving, and the grand finale of... GOODBYE SONG. Then we took down all the decorations, cleaned the church and normalcy resumed.

Just like that.

Seriously?

Yes, seriously.

But I must say, it was awesome while it lasted! Though I'm shy to admit it, I actually had the time of my life worship leading and acting (as bad guy summore) onstage. Add to the fact that I finally managed to memorise all the dance steps to the songs this year, taking away the need for awkward glances at the dancers while leading. Need to pro sikit okay.

One thing VBS has taught me again is to truly enjoy worship. Not just children's worship, but any worship. It's good to show passion and joy in worship, and in life. The Lord delights in it.

*End of VBS recap*

So here we arrive at the finale of The Asylum!

Is anyone actually reading this?

Low self esteem. Haha.

Enjoy!

The Asylum (Part 5: Conclusion)

"Hi, Ling."

Amanda's childlike voice greeted me as I stepped onto the grey cement of Corridor 6B-11. There she stood directly opposite me, in her dowdy ward clothes streaked with strands of loose hair and one slipper missing.

An almost surreal ambience painted the scene. It felt like I had known her all my life, yet was meeting her for the first time.

"Where are they?" I spoke, trying to make myself brave. "Crystal, Bala and Grace."

Her thin lips curved upwards. "They are not important now. They are only props in this story about the both of us."

"You remember me, don't you, Ling?"

You remember me.

We met in Kuala Lumpur.

"Yes, miss?" The nurse came into the room, unaware of what I was going to do to her.

"Can you come over here? I want to show you something." I slowly reached for a pillow from the bed of the child, whom I had conveniently locked in the washroom.

"Mm hmm?"

Before she could react, I quickly overpowered her and pressed the pillow over her face.Caught by surprise, she fell over backwards and knocked her head against the drawer. As she thrashed wildly, desperately, trying to get me off her, I felt glee rushing through my veins. The slut was getting what she deserved.

I have no idea how long she lasted. It could have been 1 minute. 5 minutes. 15 minutes. 1 hour. I don't know. Time had long lost all meaning to me.

She looked so ugly when I removed the pillow. Purple veins all over her face. I hope I never die this way.

Who was that girl?

Don't you remember?

No I don't.

It was you, Ling.

Me? How could it be me? I'm here.

No you're not. I murdered you in Kuala Lumpur. But a part of you never left me. I had been following and watching you for 4 weeks. I knew you so well. We even fell for the same guy. The more I understood you, the more of myself I saw in you. The more I became in love with you. But at the same time, I hated you and I knew I had to murder you. When I killed you, it felt like a part of me died as well.

So when I arrived here, I recreated you in my mind. I am Amanda, the bad girl who killed Ling. I am also Ling, the good girl who Amanda killed. We should never be apart. I need to hate you forever and ever.

But I'm tired, Ling. I really am. I'm so tired of hating and missing and wishing and longing. I just want everything to be over and to be normal again.

But how can I ever be normal again?

Slowly, I climbed up the railing and struck a match, illuminating the small area around the balcony. My eyes darted in tune with the dancing flame, drawing a smile from my lips.

Already I could hear people coming. They knew I had escaped.

Six long storeys down. If I landed right, I would have no problem killing myself.

Time had stopped. Everyone around me was frozen, leaving me free to examine their faces slowly and clearly.

There was Grace, the bubbly and animated girl who always had a story to share. She was the diary that had kept me company all the nights as I scribbled down notes on Ling's schedule and mannerisms.

Crystal, the sweet Barbie-looking darling of the hospital. She was the doll I used to pose as a parent to sneak into Ling's hospital, insisting that I had to pass it to my child though visiting hours were over.

Bala, the big goofy guy who never failed to look huggable. He was, of course, the pillow that I smothered Ling to death with.

And of course Ling.

The one I hated the most.

"Amanda, please." A voice called out, I wasn't sure whose. "Get down now."

Selfish. They all needed me for their own selfish reasons. That was why they didn't want me to die. Nothing else.

Because if I died, they would die as well. Grace, Crystal, Bala and Ling would no longer be living, breathing characters but inanimate objects and a dead girl in Kuala Lumpur.

I was just so tired of all these games. So so so so so tired. I needed a break.

"See you all in hell."

I jumped to my death.

*****

"Amanda Ling Kar Yin, ID 3361." Dr. Rizan ran his finger through the report. "Time of death: 11.42pm, 25th October 2010. Reason of death: Head trauma from fall caused by suicide attempt. Well, another one bites the dust."

"What happened actually, doctor?"

"I treated Amanda for two and a half months." He removed his glasses and sat. "She suffered from a combination of both advanced schizophrenia and dissociative identity disorder, or what you would commonly term split personality."

"Her emotional instability was first triggered by a break-up with a boyfriend, whom she referred to as Thomas. This led to an obsession with Thomas' new girlfriend, Cheah Sze Ling, whom she eventually murdered. But before killing Sze Ling, Amanda actually observed her for weeks. This was when the split personality began."

"As she observed Sze Ling, she associated Sze Ling with all the perceived good qualities that Thomas liked. She wanted to be like Sze Ling, and to be with Thomas just like her. Eventually she made the decision to murder Sze Ling, as a logical consequence of stealing her boyfriend. But emotionally, she was unable to dissociate herself from the consciousness that Sze Ling was a girl she aspired to become."

"This is when she came into our hospital. It took some time for me to identify this section of her history, and the root of all her problems. I believe there were also some other characters involved. She could have been dealing with more than one split personality."

"I thought we were making good progress. Unfortunately, it's gone now. Perhaps all the multiple personalities were too much for her to handle."

His assistant sighed.

"Oh well," Dr. Rizan shrugged. "Sometimes you never know what's going through an insane person's mind."

He got up, strode over to a wooden drawer and unlocked it. Inside lay a inconspicuous light brown notebook, slightly tattered around the edges. He flipped it open, searching for the last written page.

"This was Amanda's final entry."

My name is Cheah Sze Ling, or Ling for short. This is the story of my first-hand encounter with the mysterious circumstances surrounding the suicide of Patient 3361 on the night of 25th October 2010.

THE END.

The Asylum (Part 4)

2010-11-22T22:43:00.004+08:00

A lot of emotional upheaval going on this past week! Which explains the sudden slowdown in updates. More so, the once-a-year VBS (Vacation Bible School) is here again! And my brother's getting married. And work's coming in fast and furious. Bring it on, world! But ain't no mountain high enough, ain't no schedule busy enough to keep me from writing! Only 2 more chapters to unravel everything. Something's. Gotta. Happen. Soon!

BTW, I've recently fallen in love with The Twilight Zone series. I wanna write for it! I mean, come on - Twisted Tales meets the Twilight Zone? Gold, baby, gold.

The Asylum (Part 4)

Without warning an overwhelming fear came over me. I felt - no, I knew - that the three of them were hiding something.

They were part of Amanda's plan to kill me.

It didn't make sense. But it was the truth.

I couldn't stay here any longer. I turned and ran.

Like guided by an unseen force, I fled down the hospital's dark hallways, slowly allowing their surprised cries to fade into quietness.

In the stillness of the night, each step echoed with a haunting melody, as if leading me to some unknown destiny.

Still, the very real and raw sensation of fear lingered.

Crystal.

Bala.

Grace.

Amanda.

The letter.

The vision.

The SMS.

Somehow, everything was connected. I could sense it.

Suddenly, nothing seemed certain any more. I wasn't even sure who I was.

I shut my eyes, trying to recollect my thoughts.

Blank.

I couldn't remember anything.

What's happening to me?

I needed someone to talk to. Someone I could trust.

Fumbling, I dialed Thomas' number.

One ring. Two rings. Three rings.

Come on, pick up already.

Twelve rings passed without reply. He never waited so long before picking up. He must have left his phone somewhere.

I pushed the phone back into my pocket and slumped against the wall, drained of all hope.

I had never in my life felt so lost and depressed. And yet tears refused to come out of my eyes. I had no way of explaining this emotion I was feeling. It was most parts fear, but also with tinges of anger, disappointment, loneliness and sadness.

Yes, a very, very deep sadness.

Rrrr. Rrrr.

It was my phone vibrating!

Thomas! It had to be him.

Without even checking, I pressed to receive the call.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Ling." It was a girl's voice, not much different from mine.

It was Amanda.

"Amanda, where are you?" I tried my best to remain calm.

"I am at the corridor on Floor 6B-11, East Wing. You know where that is."

"Yes I do."

"Good. Come quick. We have lots to talk about."

"Amanda, I need you to just stay there okay? I'll be there in 3 minutes."

"I know you're thinking of calling the doctors. No doctors. You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because," a loud interference was heard on the other end, as though she had switched the phone to loudspeaker mode. "Your friends are with me."

A muffled Help us could be heard over the background. I was pretty sure it was Crystal's voice.

"If you bring someone else, I will kill them." Amanda explained in a most polite voice, almost like a teacher explaining something to a child. "I'll see you in 3 minutes. Bye."

She hung up, leaving me even more confused than ever.

How could she have abducted all three of my friends in the short space of 5 minutes?

How could she have wandered all the way to 6B-11 without anyone noticing?

How could she even have obtained a handphone, or my number for that matter?

It all pointed to a simple yet glaring conclusion.

The incidents of tonight had all been carefully and deliberately orchestrated for one reason alone - to murder me. Amanda wasn't alone in this game. A much greater, more sinister force was at work.

The best thing for me to do now would've been to ignore all the questions and run.

But I just couldn't.

Something had to be accomplished at 6B-11. Something that required me.

Slowly, fearfully, one step at time, I made my way there.

To be concluded.

The Asylum (Part 3)

2010-11-09T17:00:00.006+08:00

And here we go! Right smack into Part 3.

Was actually thinking of extending the story by an additional chapter or two. Unlike Murder in 5sc1, this one thrives on building up suspense and mystery while Murder throws you straight into the action. I'm just afraid that the story ends before anyone actually understands what's happening.

But after much thought... nah.

I suck at long stories. I really do.

Gotta cut to the chase.

So...enjoy it while it lasts!

The Asylum (Part 3)

I snapped out of my daydream, horrified.

Where on earth did that scene come from? I had never in my life seen someone die. Not especially in such a disturbing manner.

Did it have something to do with Amanda?

Amanda.

By the end of tonight, you will die.

"Hey," A soft hand patted my shoulder, making me jump.

It was Grace, with Bala behind her.

"I'm so sorry girl! Didn't mean to scare you like that."

"I'm fine," I replied, obviously lying. "You guys saw Crystal?"

"Yeah," Bala pointed his thumb behind. "She went to get the guards. Heard Amanda wasn't in her room."

I nodded.

"What's that envelope?"

"Oh, this? We found it in Amanda's room."

I handed it over for them to read.

"Wow. This is bad."

His grim tone made me anxious. Bala was rarely so serious. "Why? Our hospital isn't big. Surely we can locate her easily."

He seemed unsure whether to continue. "A few days ago, Amanda had a really bad fit. She was screaming at everyone, throwing things around - it took quite a number of us to hold her down. Dr. Rizan said he had never seen her this way before. She was always so calm."

Bala glanced quickly at the letter again. "In her fit of rage, I heard her scream that she was gonna escape and...kill somebody."

Grace gasped.

I felt my pulse quicken. "Why me?"

"I-I...how would I know?"

"Maybe it has something to do with her past. What do you know about that girl she killed?"

"Ah, this I can tell you clearly. Dr. Rizan tells me all the time. Amanda had this boyfriend who went to work in Kuala Lumpur. During his time there, he fell in love with this girl and eventually broke up with Amanda over the phone. Heartbroken, she travelled all the way down to look for him and beg for a second chance."

"However, he had covered up his tracks so well that she couldn't find him. This was when she started becoming unstable, alone and depressed in a big city. Then finally after a few months, she found him by accident. She was at the hospital seeking treatment when she saw him leaving with the girl."

"That girl was a nurse in the children's ward."

My heart skipped a beat. Wasn't the girl in my vision just now dressed in white and surrounded by kids?

"And the best part is, you know how Amanda killed her?"

I waited for him to continue.

"She was plain psycho, man. She stalked her for weeks to understand her schedule. Then she posed as a parent to one of the children, sneaked into that girl's room and smothered her with a pillow. Suffocated to death. It wasn't pretty."

"Did they catch her?"

"Yah, of course. The cops were all over the place. But of course, they couldn't sentence her to death or anything. She was judged insane. And that was how she landed up here."

But it still didn't explain why Amanda would want me dead.

Suddenly an incoming SMS tone rang out. It sounded deafening in the surrounding silence.

It was mine. From an unknown number.

Be careful of your friends. They're helping me to kill you. Don't trust anyone. See you soon. Love, Amanda.

I looked up from my phone.

Bala seemed strangely anxious.

Grace nodded by herself. She had been fiddling with her phone since just now.

Crystal was still nowhere to be seen.

To be continued.

The Asylum (Part 2)

2010-11-05T00:30:00.008+08:00

I'm so dead tired from work, but I still want to finish Part 2 before I sleep.

I think I'm spending too much time in front of the computer these days. Haven't finished a couple of books I bought. Happy Deepavali or Divali to all!

The Asylum (Part 2)

"See? It's empty!"

"Yeah." I took a good long look around the room. It was spotless as usual, with the curtains drawn back to keep it cool at nights. On the bed, there was nothing where the pillow usually lay propped up against the wall.The sheets were neatly folded without a single crease. Just the way Amanda liked.

Only she was nowhere to be seen.

"Wherever she went," Crystal opened Amanda's personal cupboard, revealing it to be bare. "She took her favourite things with her."

"And that would be?"

"That doll of hers. And a diary."

Now I remembered. She was always carrying that creepy plastic doll everywhere she went. Couldn't recall much about the diary though.

"Wait," Suddenly Crystal produced an envelope from the cupboard. They had somehow missed it previously.

"It's got your name on it." Her eyes grew wide, staring at me.

A little unsure, I tore it open. It read:

Dear Cheah Sze Ling, (can I just call you Ling?)

You may not think you know much about me. But you do know a lot about me, just as I know a lot about you.

By the time you read this, you are worried where am I. You should be worried! I could do something really dangerous to you and me.

You are concerned about many things. But maybe the one you should be most concerned about is yourself. Because I know you very well. Because by the end of tonight, you will die.

From,
Amanda

My fingers grew cold as I handed the letter over to Crystal.

*****

"I'll contact security at once." Crystal reassured me while we walked back to our posts. "Don't let it bug you. She's just a crazy person. Crazy people say crazy stuff all the time."

I shrugged, too disturbed to speak.

"Let me get Grace or Bala to accompany you. They'll make you feel better."

I sat myself down behind the comfort of the nurse's counter and took a long sip from my tumbler.

"Crystal," Suddenly I spoke. "What else do you know about this Amanda?"

"Huh? I told you, she's crazy."

"No, tell me more. She murdered someone previously didn't she?"

"I-I'm not too sure of the details. All I heard is that the girl was a third party in her relationship."

"And then? She murdered her just like that?"

"I don't know. Seriously."

"Okay, never mind."

"Sorry. Be right back." she scurried off.

I cupped my head against my hands. It felt numb and throbbing, like the prelude to a massive headache.

Why was the letter affecting me so much? I had heard mental patients say some pretty nasty and scary stuff before, and I always was able to brush them off easily.

Perhaps this one was chillingly personal.

Or because Amanda could be anywhere.

Or because of her history.

As I shut my eyes to let my mind wander, words stopped appearing.

Instead images took their place.

In my head I saw a shimmery, almost unreal scene with a girl around my age and size. She was dressed in white, smiling and talking to some children. They seemed happy to see her.

Nothing happened. She kept laughing with them, playing silly games together.

A little boy clapped and bounced on his bed.

Next I knew, she was lying dead on the floor with eyes rolled back.

To be continued.

The Asylum (Part 1)

2010-11-02T01:09:00.011+08:00

Sadness. So October passed with hardly a beep on the radar. Don't blame me - I was actually planning to get this up by end of last week, but had to keep re-writing to make everything fit nicely into place. You see, I am now highly fearful of long stories without a solid pre-planned ending. Especially after last year's not-so-magical October Special Feature, ahem ahem.

Yes my lovelies, it's been a while since a sexy 5-parter saga. Let's hit it one more time!

P.S. For the 25th consecutive year, I failed to celebrate Halloween.

The Asylum (Part 1)

She struck a match, illuminating the small area around the balcony. Her eyes darted in tune with the dancing flame, drawing a smile from her lips.

Six long storeys down. If she landed right, she would have no problem killing herself.

It felt like time had stopped. Everyone around her was frozen, leaving her free to examine their faces slowly and clearly.

There was Grace, the bubbly and animated girl who always had a story to share.

Crystal, the sweet Barbie-looking darling of the hospital.

Bala, the big goofy guy who never failed to look huggable.

And of course Ling.

The one she hated the most.

"Amanda, please." A voice called out. She wasn't sure whose it was. "Get down now."

Selfish. They all needed her for their own selfish reasons. That was why they didn't want her to die. Nothing else.

"See you all in hell."

She jumped.

*****

My name is Cheah Sze Ling, or Ling for short. This is the story of my first-hand encounter with the mysterious circumstances surrounding the suicide of Patient 3361 on the night of 25th October 2010.

It was exactly two and a half months from the date I started working as a full-time nurse here in the mental hospital, or asylum as the local folks like to call it. Since my first day, rumours had been circling around of this strange patient known only as Amanda.

This Amanda, who arrived around the same time I did, had supposedly undergone severe trauma after an incident involving an ex-boyfriend and the murder of a young lady. What made her special was how extremely normal she appeared. My close friends had spoken to her several times, and mentioned surprise at how she was able to hold a proper conversation, even repeatedly showing intelligent awareness of her circumstances. However, numerous psychiatrists had examined her with the same conclusions - she was an extremely deranged and dangerous individual who required special attention.

The story began earlier in the night as I was on the phone with Thomas, my boyfriend of 7 years. I would usually call him during night shifts, as there rarely is anything to do after the patients' bedtime.

Midway through our call, Crystal interrupted me with a frantic message.

"Amanda's not in her room!"

"Sorry dear, something urgent came up. Call you back later kay? Bye." I hung up.

"Come again?"

"I said, Amanda's not in her room!"

"Impossible. I checked her just now. The door was locked shut."

"She pried it open, somehow."

"Did you check with Bala and Grace?"

"Yes! None of them saw her."

"Relax," I grabbed a torchlight from my desk. "Come with me. We'll find her in no time."

I had no idea what lay in store for me that fateful night.

To be continued.

I Dreamed A Dream

2010-10-13T23:06:00.009+08:00

Oh my my, it's October already! The month where Twisted Tales gets Twisted To The Extreme! Ideas, anyone?

Mustering all her courage, she stepped onstage and patted down her shimmering gown for the umpteenth time. From up the stage, the hall appeared much bigger. And there were so many people.

I will not be afraid, she nodded to herself. I'm up here already. Give them the performance of a lifetime!

As the first strains of the familiar melody played, she gripped the microphone tighter and softly cleared her throat.

I dreamed a dream in time gone by
When hope was high and life worth living

A smattering of cheers and applause greeted her. She looked up proudly to realise that the entire hall was hushed and listening.

I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving

Every note was pitch perfect and every gesture rehearsed to its best. Slowly but surely, the butterflies in her stomach were flitting away.

Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used and wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung, no wine untasted

Smiling, she closed her eyes and let the moment sink in. Up above her, she could feel the chandelier glowing almost like tender arms reaching from the heavens.

But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder

A knot grew in her stomach as she neared the dramatic high note. Please, please, let it happen!

As they tear your hope apart
As they turn your dreams to shame

Yes! Her voice soared in flawless harmony with the stirring note, climaxing in a brilliant crescendo of violas and cellos.

And still I dream he'd come to me
That we would live the years together
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather

As the orchestra played her out, the stage was set for a rousing finale.

I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I'm living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed... the dream I dreamed

She did it! It was over! In her heart, she knew that she had given one of her best performances ever. Singing onstage always made her feel so alive and talented, worlds apart from the plain Jane demeanour everyone saw. Here, she was the queen of her universe. Nobody could touch her in sheer vocal prowess.

Beaming, she placed the microphone back on its stand and stepped carefully off the stage, half-expecting the audience to break into rapturous applause.

Of course, they didn't.

They were all too engrossed in their stupid shark's fin soup.

A pudgy lady next took to the stage with a brutal rendition of Yue Liang Dai Biao Wo De Xin.

Receipt Stories

2010-09-25T14:39:00.007+08:00

"With receipt stories anyone has a chance to be a published author. If you have a short story, a poem or even a haiku to share, please send it to us. As long it's no longer than 100 words long, you're welcome to contribute as many as you can write..."

"After you've submitted your entry, it will be uploaded and posted on the receipt stories website for everyone to read. If your story grabs our attention, we'll print it out on our BookXcess receipts for all our customers to read. You'll win a prize as a token of our appreciation, and claim bragging rights for being an official receipt stories published author!"

(Read more in today's The Star, Weekender Page 7 & 8, or visit their site at http://receiptstories.my)

Enough said. World, here I come!

Atlis Disease

2010-09-24T20:47:00.005+08:00

I have Atlis disease.

When I first found out that I had it, I was shocked. Devastated.

In just that short instant, my life turned completely upside-down.

I had to wake up every morning with this realisation that my organs were degenerating. My systems were shutting down. My body was dying.

It was hard to imagine, but my life could end at any moment. Every new morning was a gift, as I never knew whether I would be able to climb into bed that night.

From that point on, every day mattered. I couldn't bear to watch any of my limited time slip away.

I wrote down all my dreams, and my fears that were holding me back.

I listed down all the dear friends I stopped keeping in touch with.

I recalled all the things I wished I could do with my loved ones.

I cut out pictures of all the places I always wanted to go to.

I learned to sing, dance, paint and cook.

I laughed louder.

I loved harder.

I lived fuller.

Funny thing is, I'm still alive and well today. All without the need for medicines or therapy. I like to call it my personal miracle.

I haven't beaten the disease yet, though. And I hope I never will.

You see, this Atlis Disease I have actually stands for Awareness That Life Is Short.

Once I diagnosed myself with it, there was no turning back. My one life meant everything, and I had to make it count.

You don't need a real disease to realise that you're dying. You are.

Have you contracted Atlis Disease yet?

Will You Marry Me?

2010-09-03T18:14:00.009+08:00

In case you haven't noticed, I've recently sorted out the old stories in my blog according to genres. Loads of gems included, even those old 'So You Think You Know' series and Cendol Stories. Quite amusing to see how I used to preface every non-long story posting with 'Writer's Block', and the dreadful lack of paragraphing. Having said all that though, my sheer volume of genius still amazes me.

Which brings us to today's story. I noticed that I have a surprisingly low amount of stories under the 'Romance' category - extremely unbecoming for a sentimental sop such as myself. This is my desperate attempt at increasing my Romance numbers, complete with sweet-as-candy chic lit-style cover. Prepare to be swept away.

"Will you marry me?"

She felt her cheeks flush red.

There he knelt in all earnestness, diamond ring in one hand and bouquet of red roses in another. How very old-fashioned. And sweet.

It was pretty much how she had always imagined it to be. Just more... for lack of a better word, embarrassing. Out of the corner of her eyes she could sense people looking and gushing. One side of her wanted to slowly savour the moment. Another wished to just quickly get it over and done with.

Yes?

*****

In no time they were walking down the aisle, reciting their vows in church. He lifted her veil and kissed her, and all their friends and family clapped.

Gosh, I can't believe it's been so fast. We're actually married.

Married life brought with it all the bliss and aches of living together. Sometimes they yelled at each other, but every time they kissed and made up. She was a carefree and whimsical soul; his was a meticulous mind. It seemed a recipe for disaster, but they always found common ground to share a part of each others' lives. She loved cheering him up with little thoughtful surprises, while he always made her feel really special on those big days.

Then came their first child.

How quickly their lives turned! Now the attention was no longer on caring for each other - everything went to the child. Over time problems started to surface. She complained that he was never there for their child. He was annoyed at her seeming obsession over the child.

"We never spend time together any more." he grumbled. "Like we once did."

"You're blaming me!" she retorted indignantly. "When was the last time you changed his diaper?"

Things became worse as his business suffered. As much as they both hated it, they found themselves constantly bickering over bills and spending habits. She found herself making one too many compromises, each layering her heart with more bitterness. Many a night she slept in silent tears, torn between the duties of a supportive wife and doting mother.

It frustrated him even more to see her like this. He felt angry at her for not trusting him enough to share her feelings, and angry at himself for being unable to make her happy. The more they tried to talk things through, the thicker the walls between them grew. Eventually they learned not to talk about it, preferring to revolve their conversations around the child.

Without warning, the years crept by and the child was moving out to college. They bade him goodbye without a single tear, though their hearts silently sank. He had been very much the centre of everything for almost two decades. It hurt deeply watching the meaning of their lives slip away.

It was strange speaking to each other again without the child. For the first time in years, they were forced to look into each others' eyes and talk about themselves.

It wasn't easy to reopen old wounds. And it wasn't necessary, they decided. Holding hands, they took a stroll down the beach where they first met and sat dreamily before a glorious sunset.

He held her chin up and smiled. "We've known each other for 26 years."

She rested on his shoulder. "Yeah."

"Remember when I proposed to you at the chalet grill? I wonder if that place is still around."

"Mm hmm."

"You were blushing!"

"Of course I was, silly," she giggled. "Everyone was looking at us."

"Did you...expect it then?"

She paused, unsure. "Actually...I kind of guessed."

"I knew it!" he laughed. "But come to think of it, it's better you guessed. Otherwise you might've given the wrong answer."

She stroked a loose hair on his forehead and smiled. "I would never."

He returned her smile. "You'll always be that same silly girl I knelt before that day."

*****

"Will you marry me?"

She jolted back to reality. He was still on his knees waiting for her answer.

"Y...yes."

The other diners clapped and cheered wildly.

It was the beginning of a beautiful love story.

Cacat Parking

2010-09-02T10:39:00.009+08:00

I attended a funeral last night. Suddenly it reminded me of Ju Liang. I guess becoming numb to death and funerals is another part of growing up. In the first 20 years of my life, I never attended any significant funerals. Then came my ex-boss. Then Ju Liang. Then my grandmas. Somehow, funerals always have a way of drawing me closer to God. =)

Anyway, enjoy the following story which I thought of at... the Mid Valley car park.

2.25pm, Mid Valley Megamall car park

"June, text Ida to tell her we'll be 15 minutes late." Stan made an umpteenth turn into Zone C, patience wearing thin.

"Okay."

Suddenly a Kancil cut into his lane from left.

"HOI! BODOH!" he slammed on his horn. "MAU MAMPUS KAH?"

Ignorant and now ahead of Stan in the queue for parking, the Kancil driver starting yapping on his phone.

"These moron Malaysian drivers. Brainless pigs."

June pursed her lips and thumbed through the documents again. She knew it best to remain silent when he was in one of his moods. Well, at least Ida was one of the nicer clients who understood how hard it was to get parking at Mid Valley during lunchtime. They had a nasty Chinaman client who once made to a big fuss to their boss when they showed up 10 minutes late for an appointment.

Finally the cars started moving again. Stan stuck his neck out to seek any vacant parking spots, though it made no sense. If there were any vacant spots, one of the many cars in front would have taken it already.

He turned up the air conditioning. He always did this when he was in a hurry.

June glanced nervously at the car clock. 2.35pm already. Even worse, Ida had replied: "Ok. Im already there. C u."

She was probably waiting there in boredom, twiddling with her Blackberry. Wondering why they were never on time.

"YES! PARKING!"

Amazing! So they didn't need to be that late after all.

In one smooth flick, Stan signaled left and turned in.

Only to discover a huge yellow painting on the floor.

It was a disabled parking space.

Stan cursed till no end. June just sighed and continued to observe the clock's blinking seconds.

*****

3.45pm, Mid Valley Megamall car park

"Remember to get that contact report done and send it to her by today. She didn't seem too pleased." Stan reversed his car out, to the delight of a waiting car behind.

"Sure."

"Now I'm late for my next appointment with Mr. Ho." he fastened his seat belt. "What a screwed up day."

As he sped towards the exit, they passed another section of disabled parking spaces.

"Just look at that," he shook his head in anger. "6 good parking spaces turned into 4 cacat spaces."

"If they had the sense to allocate more spaces for normal parking, we wouldn't need to have these stupid jams and parking queues. Instead, they keep wasting space on these stupid cacat parking. Which are empty almost all the time."

"Well, disabled people can't come out often. That's why they're usually empty." June interjected.

"Exactly. Since they stay home most of the time, the cacat spaces should only be open at certain times. Like weekends for example. So it doesn't interfere with us working people."

"But many disabled people work too."

"Surely it's easier for them to take public transport. Some more, they have the government to support them what. Who supports us?"

"It's all the Malaysian mentality lah. Just because some NGO makes noise about cacat rights then they will give in to it. If 10 NGOs make noise, then they need to run 10 different campaigns. How to progress like that? Everything also must accommodate everyone."

"Eventhough it's just a small thing like parking, it reflects our whole country's mentality. Wasting resources on unimporta-"

Stan was so engrossed in his speech that he didn't see the oncoming trailer as they exited the car park.

Crash! It rammed straight into him from the driver's side, paralysing him waist down.

Dear Malaysia

2010-08-30T20:23:00.002+08:00

Click to enlarge!

Facets Of Facebook

2010-08-24T23:11:00.026+08:00

My my! Haven't cracked my head at rhymes for some time. Now all I need is to write 200 more of these, and I can publish a book!

We're buddies, lovers, siblings and more
We've said all the mushy things before
We're not a couple, just friends infatuated
We're in a relationship and It's Complicated.

I check your friends, they sure look fine
In return, you can look through mine
Though I'm a loner and don't go out often
I'm real glad we have 500 friends in common.

Today I saw a video that touched my heart
It was touching, inspiring - a work of art
I clicked 'Share' and scrolled on to my dismay
24 other friends had already shared it today.

I am a boy, she is a girl
We fell in love playing Cafe World
Eventually, I found out it was all a bluff
She was just using me to send her stuff.

Some suspect you're falling for another
Others think you fought with your father
But I see through your status update clearly,
You're just quoting dumb lyrics from Katy Perry.

Wow, you created a group out of nothing
That's like, so awesomely super amazing
Of course, I must join and invite 200 more
After all, that's what friends are for.

That night I got drunk in a pub downtown
I woke up naked in my bed face down
Boy, was I relieved no one saw that tragedy
Until I realised someone tagged a photo of me.

Once I liked "OMG who's that jerk?" "It's my dad."
It seemed witty, creative and totally rad.
Alas, I wish I never became a fan that moment
Because now everyone likes random statements.

You plead with tears, beg with sorrow
Again and again my answer is clear - no.
You promise me riches, power and glory
But no, I will not unlock your panda in Country Story.

No more pics or videos with mature content
No more inappropriate posts or comments
Indeed, it was the day my Net life became a joke
The day Mom added me on Facebook.

I say hi, I await your reply
Silence, you leave me high and dry
I tell myself you're busy, it's all fine
But I see your green status on 'Friends Online'.

61 friends commented and asked what's wrong
38 Liked my status, one dedicated a song
Even my BFF called, sobbing and emotional
All because I accidentally changed to Single.

The Final Step

2010-08-19T15:20:00.007+08:00

I think I've finally found my niche as a writer. It's writing kiddy-themed stories in an adult way.

It's always the final step that's the hardest.

That darned final step.

She had already come so far, driven by dogged assurance. And now doubts lingered.

Can I really do it? Maybe yes. Maybe no.

She took a long hard look at herself. Here she was, a 14-year old girl so insignificant in the big world. No one ever gave her much credit for anything. Well, not like she deserved any. She was pretty average in all she did, unlike those sweet young things everyone else fawned over. She had some friends. Her parents treated her like any other would. She did quite okay in her studies. She was rather plain looking. She wasn't a loser or failure. She was just...there.

Sometimes, she wished that she could be a really bad girl. At least people would notice. Like this girl in her school, Serena. She was a real troublemaker and every parent's worst nightmare. But she was the sort that everyone shared their problems with.

But it's all going to change! Today is a new day. Yesterday is history.

Silly thoughts ran through her mind. Things her friends said. Words of those who never believed in her.

I can do it!

She wanted no more to wrestle with these energy-sapping emotions.

I can make a change!

She was no ordinary 14-year old. She would no longer moan and whine about petty troubles like her friends did.

I want to be different!

She would stand up and do something. Sure it would hurt, but everything would be worth it in the end. There would be no regrets.

One by one the voices in her head faded. Gradually a still peace took hold of her as she surveyed the view.

It was beautiful, majestic - the splendour of the world laid before her. Orange and pink streaks creased the sky, giving the day its final rays as the sun dipped into the horizon. The laughter of playing children breezed through the air, interrupted by the occasional honking.

Ever so gently, all her cares dissipated. She had been through a lot. It was now time to let the past go.

How could I ever have been so childish. To think that silly little feelings made me cry.

She smiled and nodded, assurance renewed.

I am strong.

She dialed the number.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Leon? Remember me? Mich?"

"Uh...yeah. What do you want?"

"Remember when I said you would regret cheating on me?"

He was speechless.

"Remember that, Leon. You're gonna regret it. Big time."

"He-"

Click. She hung up.

Taking in one last breath, she flung the phone to the ground.

Yes, I can do it.

She jumped to her death.

Commercial Recollections

2010-08-04T11:05:00.016+08:00

Wow! Time sure is in a hurry.

It's been exactly 1 year since I left CC+J Adhaus (now Joescher+Adhaus), an ad agency I worked in for 2 years as a copywriter. Looking back, every person I met and lesson learned there fitted so perfectly into the pieces of my life. There were lows indeed, but all the lows put together were worth the highest highs.

Thanks for the memories, guys.

Ding Dang...Datang Lagi!

2010-07-29T13:46:00.010+08:00

Last night I bought a box of Ding Dang at 7-11.

Quietly it lay there, a memory of a bygone era, surrounded by the bigger, better and yummier snacks of today alongside its big brother Tora. As I spent a fair part of my childhood growing up in a kedai runcit, these were extremely familiar friends who kept me company after school every day. And the ads. Who could ever forget the ads.

I picked up this quaint little snack and examined Tora too. They both looked exactly the same as I remembered them. They could have been transported here directly from 1994 and nothing would be different. I almost shed a tear.

Suddenly, after over 20 years, I realised both came from the same manufacturer.

It was like realising that Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny are the same person.

Never mind. I'm too old to mope over such things.

Another thing that caught my eye was how crazily expensive it had become. Almost double the price. Ding Dang, once 50 sen, was now 90 sen. Tora - from RM1 to RM1.70.

Poor kids these days, I thought. 90 sen was about my daily pocket money back then.

But it's okay, there's always a price to pay for indulging in nostalgia. Happily I set down the Tora and paid for my first Ding Dang in a decade.

With all the eagerness of a nine-year-old waiting for Kesatria Baja Hitam to start, I ripped open the plastic covering and opened the box.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Five measly chocolate biscuit balls.

Each the size of a 5 sen coin.

Ah wait, my mind told me. You're missing the point. Ding Dang is never about the chocolates. It's all about the toy.

Oh goody, there it lay under the chocolates in a separate pack. I opened it up, hoping for the best.

A balloon, so seriously flimsy I was afraid to blow it up. Plus a cheap yellow plastic noisemaker that produced a shrill fiewwwwww which sounded like a cross between a chicken laughing at me and a Mat Rempit whistling at passing girls.

All for a good 90 sen.

Disgusted, I threw the box away. After finishing the chocolates in 10 seconds and chucking the noisemaker into my car.

Childhood memories aside, I hereby declare that Ding Dang SUCKS!

Choki Choki is way much better.

Rojak

2010-07-28T11:06:00.005+08:00

Was reading this delicious lil' book last week - Rojak by Amir Muhammad. If he sounds familiar, he's the guy who directed Lelaki Komunis Terakhir, a local film that was banned here and created some controversy.

I came across this book by accident actually, hearing it during an afternoon interview on BFM. Always having a soft spot for short stories, I thought it sounded interesting. Summor Malaysian write one hor!

So I ended up at MPH, and there it was. Now, the struggle with short story books is always between kiamsiap-ly reading them in the bookstore and actually buying them because you enjoyed them. Bless my indecisiveness, I actually walked to the cashier and back with the book twice before parting with RM35.

So one week later, any regrets? None at all! It's the sort of book you can't stop reading. Some stories literally made me laugh out loud, while most were really creative in a made-in-Malaysia context.

For example: You know those sign language broadcasts that appear during the RTM news? There's a story about a girl who used it to start a 'rebellion' against the government. Loved the ending line: "It took 14 years, but I'm glad I lived to see it. Change comes slowly... and it often starts in silence." Some very recent happenings are touched on as well, such as the January church arson. Best of all, the stories are only about 350 words long. That's less than 2 pages.

Intrigued? Go get it lah. Or better yet, borrow it from me. =p

Well of Shadows

2010-07-15T16:37:00.015+08:00

Too many story ideas at the moment, too little motivation to write them. So you'll have to settle for this average-at-best tale, which I half-stole from a Youtube short film and seems more at home in a Form 5 school magazine.

Last night I met a man who wasn't there
He spoke not words but the death of his stare

*****

"This is the place." Jonathan whispered to Drew.

"Wow. Scary."

It was Halloween night, and the streets were lined with streams of trick-or-treaters. The two boys had only just met by accident, and here they were standing in front of this supposedly haunted Well of Shadows. It was a long-abandoned well tucked behind an unassuming spot in the woods, where the moon cast its haunting fingers from behind the fringes.

Drew peered over into the endless blackness. "Hellooooo."

Looo looo looo looo, replied his echo.

"So this is where everyone died?"

"Yeah."

"What happened? And take off that silly mask. Nobody's watching."

"No way! A true trick-or-treater never takes off his costume." Jonathan laughed, adjusting his Power Rangers suit.

A sudden rustle in the bushes silenced him. It was only then that Drew realised how quiet the woods really were. Unnaturally quiet. The only sound he could clearly hear was that of his increasingly thumping heart.

"This place gives me the creeps."

"That's because it's...haunted." Jonathan set down his bag of candy. "So, you wanna hear the story or not?

"Uh, sure."

"Good. I figured you would chicken out."

"Nuh-uh!"

A soft, soundless gust blew as Jonathan began his tale.

"Twenty years ago," he gestured dramatically. "Two boys just like you and I came to this well."

"Being curious, they wanted to know how deep the well was. So one of them had an idea to light a match and throw it all the way down. But something went wrong."

"Once they threw the match in, it never went out. It fell down and down, down and down, then... WHOOSH! A great fire lit up from inside the well, and burst out straight to the top."

"They became frightened and tried to run, but they couldn't. The flames jumped out from the well and danced around them, growing taller and taller. And that's when it happened."

"As one of the boys fell, he saw in horror that his shadow was still standing. It came alive, stepped out of the ground and grabbed his leg. He called for his friend to help, but he couldn't move. Something was pinning him to the ground. They watched, screaming for their lives, as the boy's foot fizzled into a stump, and then appeared - poof! - on the shadow's foot."

"Next, the shadow grabbed the other boy's arm. He struggled and shouted at the top of his lungs, but the raging fire drowned everything out. Before he knew it, his arm was gone too and attached to the shadow."

"No one is sure what happened next. The town people found these two boys dead beside the well next morning - one missing a foot, the other an arm. Later, some kids found tracks of a single foot leading deep into the woods, and tried following them to catch the shadow. They never returned."

Drew gulped, wincing in fear.

"They say that shadow is still out there somewhere - stealing body parts from kids unlucky enough to meet it, hoping to someday become a complete human."

"W...what happens when it does?"

"No one knows, because it hasn't. There's still one part it's missing."

"What's that?"

Jonathan motioned for him to come closer.

"A face."

Suddenly a deathly chill ran down Drew's spine, paralysing him.

Jonathan tore off his mask, revealing a gaping hollow where his face was supposed to be. No eyes, no nose, no mouth. Only an eerie black space.

It was the last thing Drew saw before everything went dark.

*****

Last night I met a man who wasn't there
He spoke not words but the death of his stare
I searched with my eyes but he was nowhere
Only in the darkness of my nightmares

Colours Of Nips

2010-06-29T15:43:00.008+08:00

Help! I can't stop thinking of Nips-related stories.

I was watching TV this morning when the Nips in my hand started talking.

They were squabbling over who was the best Nip of all.

"Red is always the leader!" declared the Red Nip.

"Says who?"

"Says the Power Rangers!"

Everyone else rolled their eyes.

"Orange tastes the best! And it's rich in Vitamin C!"

"So what! Yellow is rich in Vitamin C too, and we're bright and colourful!"

"What-everrr." Green flicked her hair back. "You guys sure got a lot of class, and it's all low. Unlike moi."

"Shut up, you kids!" growled Brown. "Go play with your toys or something. Grown-ups like me have lots of better stuff to do."

The other Nips started shouting angrily at each other.

"Guys, GUYS!" I yelled into the pack.

They stopped and stared daggers at me.

"Why are you even fighting? Nips don't come in flavours! Unless you're talking about Peanut and Peanut & Raisin."

"We don't?"

"You kidding me?"

"Man," the Red Nip slumped. "I always figured I was Apple."

"No you're not." I affirmed. "Though all of you look different on the outside, deep down you're all the same - chocolate."

"Yes!" Brown Nip pumped his fist, drawing dirty shots from the others.

"So my dear Nips, there's really no reason to argue who is the best. All of you are equal. You just gotta accept your outer differences. Don't let your silly little colours divide you. They mean nothing!"

"But," quipped the Green Nip. "That's what you humans do."

All the Nips giggled.

Embarrassed, I sank into my couch and changed the channel to TV1.

The Man Who Could Hear Nips Speak

2010-06-28T17:51:00.007+08:00

Because I was bored at work, and I always love a pack of Nips after lunch. Nothing wrong with that right?

There once was a man rushing for a meeting who bought a pack of Nips.

As he tore open the pack, he heard a very audible gasp from inside.

Brushing it off as a figment of his imagination, he proceeded to toss the first Nip into his mouth.

"Please, no!"

Astounded, he lowered his hand and stared at the little red Nip. It was speaking to him.

"Don't eat me. We can be friends."

"Wow," he thought to himself. "I must have really been working too hard lately."

Without a second thought he popped it into his mouth and chewed. How weird.

The rest of the pack went down without incident.

*****

Three days later, the man bought another pack of Nips.

"Stop!" A chorus of voices greeted him.

What? He peered into the pack. All Nips. Was he hallucinating again?

"You ate our friends!"

"Now are you going to eat us too?"

He took a deep breath. The Nips were very clearly the ones speaking to him.

"Don't do it! Set us free!"

Having lost his appetite, he threw the whole pack into the trash.

*****

That night, the man had a dream. He found himself floating in a strange empty space, surrounded by Nips of all colours and flavours. When he reached out to touch them, he tasted the sweetness of every single one. The more he touched, the sweeter they tasted, yet never making him the slightest bit ill.

When he woke up, he had a very real craving for Nips.

On his way to work, he drove past a sundry shop to get a pack of Peanut & Raisin Nips.

"Hello." A voice greeted him friendlily.

This time, he didn't feel so taken aback. "Hello?"

The other Nips cheered. "He's speaking! At last!"

"I...I had a dream about you last night."

"Really? Did it make you want us more?"

"Yeah...I feel so hungry now."

"But remember your dream? You don't need to eat us. You can just touch us to taste us."

"For real?"

"Yes! Try it!"

He poured out a handful of Nips and strangely, it was true. All the Nips tasted as vivid in his hand as they had in his dream.

"Wow...looks like I never need to buy another pack of Nips ever again!"

"No! You must buy even more!"

"But why?"

"You must free our friends!"

He nodded and started driving.

*****

"Seventy two linggit."

The moustachioed Chinese shopkeeper whistled as he handed him the change. "Buy for your chil-len ah?"

"Er...ya loh."

"OK, thank kiew."

He hurriedly stepped into his car with two bulging bags of Nips.

"What now?" he asked the pack he bought earlier.

"Free them all!"

One by one he opened the packs, all thirty-six of them.

"Now pour them out."

"What? In my car?"

"Yes! Do it!"

Almost in a trance, he dutifully emptied each pack onto the back seat. Red, yellow, green, brown, orange; they all looked so alluring in the glistening sunlight.

He sat back and admired his masterpiece. What a picture perfect scene.

"Thank you so much! Now we can all be together."

He was so happy that he fell asleep in the car without realising it, and had another dream. This time, he was standing in a circle with all the other Nips, who were as tall as he was. Packs of Nips descended from the sky, and each time they touched the ground they burst open to reveal more Nips. These new Nips would then join them in the circle and watch the whole process being repeated.

It was a silly dream, but it made him inexplicably happy. He felt at peace watching his colourful friends swirl around and adding to their numbers.

*****

"Hey."

"What? Who's that?"

"It's us. Your friends."

It was the next morning. He had slept through the night in his car.

"We feel lonely. We want more friends."

"That means?"

"Free all our friends."

"You mean buy them all?"

"No. Free them from the truck in the factory."

He thought for a moment how this was possible. "Where's the factory?"

"It's at the back of the pack, silly."

"Oh."

"Will you do it for us? Please?"

"Okay."

*****

"Over there. They're inside that container."

He nodded at the Nips and slipped them into his pocket. They had sneaked into the factory after operating hours. Quietly he retrieved a saw from his bag, and prepared to take apart the locks bolting the container.

"Faster! Someone could see us!"

Wiping sweat from his brow, he continued sawing carefully. He couldn't work too quickly, as this would create noise. These locks were extremely difficult to break.

After almost an hour, he finally succeeded. Placing the damaged locks on the ground, he removed the metal fasteners one by one. Again, he could not make the slightest sound. If a guard chanced upon him now, he would surely be dead meat.

"We're almost there! Just open the doors!"

Glancing around nervously, he laid down the last of the metal fasteners.

"Open the doors!"

It took a lot of strength, but eventually he managed to pry open a space wide enough for him to slip in.

"Get in now!"

It was empty.

"Where're the Nips?"

The Nips didn't answer.

"Hey...where're the Nips?"

Suddenly he felt an overwhelming drowsiness cloud his mind. For the first time since his friendship with the Nips, something felt wrong.

But it was too late. The doors slammed shut.

Then he fell asleep.

*****

When he woke up, he was surrounded by Nips as tall as himself. It was like his dream last night, but much darker. He could barely see himself.

"Wh-where am I?"

The Nips said nothing.

"Hello? Anybody there?!"

Silence.

"HELP! HELPPP!"

A rustle sounded above him.

"HELLO! HELP ME!"

Rip! The ceiling parted.

A giant hand reached down to pick him up. And moved to toss him into a giant mouth.

"Please, no!"

The giant stared at him in shock.

"Don't eat me. We can be friends."

Screaming, the giant threw the pack to the ground and ran off.

The Man Who Could Hear Nips Speak looked at himself, then his friends in the pack. They smiled back at him, and he now understood his fate.

"We must free the rest."

Meeting Of The Gods

2010-06-18T00:19:00.017+08:00

Yawn. Enjoying the World Cup so far, people?

Once in a fabled land far beyond the seven seas, the Gods of this world convened for an important assembly.

They had all been summoned by their King, the Supreme Deity Of The Universe to address a grave situation. Apparently an usurper to the royal throne had been arrested on the grounds of impersonating the king. Now the Gods had to decide the measure of punishment to be meted out upon this vile pretender.

First the God of Sight, Youtube spoke. "My fellow Gods, understand that this is no petty crime we can afford to overlook. This impostor has deceived the masses into believing that he is the One True Supreme Deity, superseding even the sovereign rule of our King. I call treason of the highest order."

The God of Personality, Blogspot shoke His head solemnly. "I fear it may be too late to reverse the damage. What is done is done. Regardless the scale of our punishment, confusion has already settled in the midst of the people."

"Be not quick to judge, lest we be judged." opined MSN, the God of Conversation. "This criminal, as you all call him, was once a God just like us. He must be judged in the same way any of us would. Open your ears to his defense, I plead."

"You are mistaken," snarled Blogspot. "He cannot be tried as a God, for he is no longer one of us. Once he commits a crime, he loses all rights to divinity."

"Ahem."

All eyes turned to Google, the God of Knowledge. "There is more to the story than most of you know. This impostor was more than just a common God. He once ruled the land of the mortals too."

A faint gasp resonated around the ivory hall. Most of the younger Gods were unaware of this.

"Ah, yes. Like our King, the nature of his powers ensured that he found much favour with the common folk. Very quickly, he brought the people together and commanded their reverence from realms far and wide. As days passed, more heard about this powerful new God and they too journeyed to present their offerings. For the longest time, his supremacy was unrivalled."

"Until the day our current King came into existence. Though similar in appearance, it wasn't long before the people realised how much more he could do. He met more than their present needs; he opened their eyes to new yearnings they never realised before. He blessed them with bountiful farms, loving creature companions and more."

"Over time, people stopped worshipping the old God as their hearts were captivated by this new One. And when Gods lose their worshippers, they lose their powers. Thus, he became a fallen God."

"His attempts at masquerading as You, O Great King, are mere visions of glory past."

All the Gods stared in stony silence at the accused.

"What is on your mind?" queried Twitter, the God of Brevity.

"I need no words." declared the accused, Friendster. "For my conscience is clear."

"Silence, traitor!" the Supreme Deity Of The Universe, Facebook could hold his calm no more. "I gave the people everything they needed. In return, they rightly turned away from you, an inadequate God. Now you dare mock me and deceive my worshippers with cheap imitations of my powers, swaying their pure minds!"

"You will never be half the God I am, you hear me? I am the greatest of all, now and forever more. The people need me. They never needed you. Beg for your mercy, brave fool, or forever suffer my wrath."

Friendster remained expressionless. "I believe no God is greater than the other. The people are free to choose."

All the other Gods shook their heads in unison at this remorseless blasphemer. Surely there was no justification for his pardon now.

"Very well then," seethed Facebook. "I condemn you to an eternity in wretched captivity."

At his command, two fearsome angels appeared beside Friendster, binding him in chains of fire. "Where shall we take him to, my Lord?"

"Throw him into the Dungeon of Irrelevance." his voice boomed. "Beside ICQ."

Uh-oh! thought the other Gods.

Love In A Sandwich

2010-06-15T14:46:00.013+08:00

So everyone's asking me what I've been up to. No, I haven't been depressed and suicidal after being rejected by the publisher. Just been up to a lot of stuff, two of which are eating very often at Subway (a healthier lunch alternative to the convenient McD Drive-Thru) and checking out soppy love stories posted by kids on Facebook through this LoveGivesMeHope-something-something website. So put two and two together, and I thought of writing my own soppy love story set in a Subway outlet. You've been warned.

"Hi sir, would you like to try our Sub Of The Day? It's Tuna Delight today."

"Nah, Spicy Italian please."

Their eyes glanced at each other nervously over the counter. This was his third straight day coming over. He was sure she could guess his crush on her.

"Bread?"

"Parmesan Oregano."

A subtle smile formed over her lips as she neatly arranged the pepperoni slices on his sliced bread. "Toasted?"

"As always." he smiled back at her.

She placed it in and set the oven for 20 seconds. Great. All the time he needed to ask her out.

"So...what's your favourite Sub?"

Her heart skipped a beat. Finally he was talking to her!

"Hmm...well, I love meat. So, that pretty much means I have a thing for them all. Except the Vegetarian one, of course. Definitely not that. So to answer your question... probably the Italian BMT."

"Ooh, Italian BMT, that's a good one. Hey anyways. I've always wondered what BMT stands for. Any idea?"

"Take a guess." she winked.

"I dunno! Bacon, Meat, Tomatoes?"

"Keep guessing, keep guessing." her finger twirled.

"Big, Meaty, Tasty? Best Made Today? Argh, I dunno!"

"Frankly," her voice became serious. "Nobody knows. Personally I think it's Black Mushy Things."

They burst out laughing together.

"You know, I've seen you here for three days and I don't know your name yet." she giggled.

"So you noticed me after all." he smirked. "It's Jon. And hey... I don't know your name too."

"It's here, Mr. Observant." she pointed proudly to her name tag which read 'Layla'.

They nodded at each other shyly.

Ding! The timer on the oven went off.

"Your choice of dressing?"

"Sexy."

She laughed politely.

"Okay, that was a bad joke. Say, Layla... you wanna go for a movie tonight?"

Please say yes. Please say yes. Say anything. Just don't say no.

"Sure. What time?"

"Eight?" He tried his best not to sound too excited.

"Ahhh... would love to, but I finish at ten. Maybe we can have some coffee instead?"

"No probs. I'll be here at ten?"

"See you then." her eyes sparkled. "Mayonnaise?"

*****

"Layla?" he called out. The usually bustling shop was now perfectly still, the last customers having long left.

"Back here."

He followed her voice to find her sweeping the floor in the kitchen, hair tied neatly into a ponytail.

"Mind giving me five minutes? Everyone else left early. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, no hurry. Need any help?"

"Hmm." she peered around. "Sure, that would be great. Mind getting me a trash bag? Over there."

"Okay."

He took two steps towards the bags.

She glanced as he walked past her.

With one powerful swing of the broomstick, she knocked him out cold.

*****

An hour later, she emerged from the kitchen, hands bloodied and carrying a fresh tub of meat.

She peered outside to check tomorrow's Sub Of The Day.

Meatball Marinara. Great.

Writer's note: You were warned. :O

First Email Of The Morning

2010-05-27T23:14:00.009+08:00

Dear Mr Mok:

Thank you for emailing us sample chapters of your proposed book.

Our editorial and marketing people and distributors have taken a look at it and we sincerely regret to inform you that we have decided not to pursue it any further as it does not meet with our requirements at the present time.

We wish you all the best.

Best regards

XXX Publishing

Malaysia

After that, the rest of my day turned out fine.

The Ad Of Awesomeness

2010-05-18T17:13:00.015+08:00

The other day, I chanced upon this must-share ad on Malaysia's No. 1 station, TV1.

(Some details may have been slightly modified or exaggerated, because I have better things to do than fully remember a TV1 ad. And it wasn't available on Tiub Engkau.)

It starts with a group of multi-racial colleagues entering a mamak shop and sitting down at a table. Let's hear it for 1Malaysia!

Fat moustached mamak bos comes along to take their order.

"Wokay, mahu minum apa?" he asks while shaking his head, like all Indians on non-violent TV programmes are compelled to.

"Teh tarik satu." grins the dashing young Malay executive.

"Teh tarik satu, wokay. You miss?"

"Mm...Milo ais kurang manis satu." the lass smiles sweetly.

At this point, I quickly dismiss the ad to be some Utamakan Kesihatan tripe about reducing sugar intake, eating fruits and running around parks with an attractive member of the opposite sex 60 times a week.

"Bagi saya teh ais limau satu." says the next girl.

"Teh ais limau satu, wokay." Mamak bos turns to a final Indian dude who is frowning for some reason. "Awak, bos?"

After some dramatic glances at the television, the dude proclaims:

"Berikan saya...TV SATU."

I swear, I almost fell off the chair laughing.

In one stylo-milo sweep, the mamak bos points a remote at the TV and it switches on to reveal the TV1 logo, followed by a football match where of course someone scores a...

GOALLLLL!!!!!

All the colleagues and the mamak bos randomly start jumping up and celebrating with each other. Over the goal, I think. Or the fact that this mamak had TV1. Or because they were united in multi-racial harmony. Or because they appeared in an ad. I think it was probably the goal.

Ending super/jingle:

SATU MALAYSIA! SATU DUNIA! DI TV SATU!

Gotta hand it to these fellers lah. Just when you think you've seen all the kerajaan ads.

Someone give this ad an award please!

Elisa & Ilisa

2010-05-17T20:40:00.038+08:00

A story inspired by a beautiful song. Went through loads of character and plot tweaks before I settled on this.

There once were two doll sisters who grew up in the toyshop together - Elisa and Ilisa.

Since they were little, Elisa always fantasised about living the life of dreams - meeting big fancy toys, bright lights, bustling cities far away from the toyshop. Ilisa, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than the simple pleasures of being cared for by a Child.

Different as day and night, both waited patiently for the day they could venture their lives down the paths their hearts chose.

It came sooner than expected.

One morning, Ilisa woke up to see Elisa scrambling out the door, suitcase in hand. She stopped just long enough to explain that she was joining a traveling toy fair leaving for the next town today. A hasty goodbye later, she left the shop for good.

Ilisa would never see her again till three years later, when the fair returned to their town. By then, so much was different. Ilisa had eventually found her Child and moved to a cosy new home, where she spent her days dressed up for pretend tea parties with other toys.

Elisa, on the other hand, was quite changed. Decked in fine jewellery and expensive clothes, she spoke with a posh accent about places and people Ilisa could barely comprehend. She described her travels on a cruise liner along the isles of Scilly where the people sipped champagne and danced the Viennese waltz all night long. Ilisa's eyes widened as she elaborated about the gourmet wonders of Toulouse and glitzy street carnivals of Andalusia.

"...ever so gently their feet kissed the floor..."

"I tell you, sis," she paused to powder her face. "You have no idea what you're missing out on."

Ilisa wanted to share about her Child, but was cut off by the loud chime of a bell.

It was time for the fair to get moving, taking Elisa away.

This time, another five years would pass before they met again. The Child had now outgrown Ilisa and passed her down to her Sister, teaching her the little games they once shared for hours. The Sister was a loud, boisterous girl who fancied rougher games and was careless with her toys, but Ilisa loved her all the same.

The passing of time, however, had been much kinder to Elisa. Looking hardly a year older than the day she left, she bubbled over about meeting the Queen in Copenhagen and the larger than life toys of Amsterdam. Through the peaks of Switzerland, over the unending pastures of Scotland to the serene bliss of floating on the Danube under the stars. Truly her life was a never-ending storybook of dreams lived and loved.

"...floating beneath the stars of paradise..."

"Wow," sighed Ilisa. "It all sounds so lovely."

"You should follow me, sis. Look at yourself. You're becoming so...shabby."

"It's okay. I have my Children."

"I've seen more Children than you'll ever have, dear sister. And they're all the same. You're not going to be around forever. Live the sweet life while you can."

With those words they parted ways once again. This time, they never met again for many years, more than both could remember. After the Sister, Ilisa had several more Children. She was sold at a flea market to a Child who kept crying for her Brother's toys, then given to some Orphans who always had grimy hands.

The seasons changed swiftly, silently, each turning her into an old doll and making Elisa an increasingly distant memory. Nonetheless, she loved every Child she ever played with and could only reflect with a smile on the days gone by. Such is life - you spend your days of youth looking ahead and days of age looking back.

Elisa and Ilisa's final meeting came in the most unlikely of places with the most improbable of endings.

After an unfortunate accident that left her squashed beyond repair, Ilisa was chucked to the dumpster where she calmly awaited her fate. Looking left and right at the sprawling pile of unwanted objects, she prepared to shut her eyes one last time when another doll landed beside her.

It was Elisa!

She was still dressed to the nines, but a far cry from the ever-smiling, ever-youthful Elisa of days gone by. Where there once was radiance in her eyes, now only hollowness remained.

"My sister," Ilisa cried. "What happened to you?"

Elisa shook her head, weeping bitterly. "I woke up one day, and there was this younger and prettier doll in my place. The People at the fair said I had gone out of style. Nobody wanted to see me any more. So they threw me out."

"All those years, I never realised how lonely I really was. After I left the fair, I had no one to turn to. No Children or homes or other toys. Just my pretty clothes and precious memories."

Ilisa smiled at her sadly. "You'll always have me."

"Thank you. I missed you."

As the two sisters sat there in embrace, life's final lesson dawned upon them - their life of dreams existed not in People, Places or Toys. It was there all along - in their hearts.

"You know what, sis? It was all a lie. In the end, none of those cities or adventures mattered. I saw all these Children and People crowding around me, taking pictures of me. They admired me and talked about me. But none of them ever loved me. All those other toys - living lives as empty as mine. Putting on our best faces and enjoying the attention while it lasted. But deep down, I simply wished to have wonderful Children like you did. Children who would love me in return."

Ilisa shut her eyes, nodding.

*****

The next morning, a man dutifully collected both dolls for disposal. Some say that Ilisa was never seen again, but Elisa was passed to the Orphans who cared for her till she too left the world.

Senyum Seindah Suria

2010-05-11T18:15:00.008+08:00

All right, since everyone's complaining that my blog is getting depressing and twisted and all!

A song to put a smile on your face. =)

Senyum seindah suria
Yang membawa cahya
Senyumlah dari hati
Duniamu berseri

Senyum umpama titian
Dalam kehidupan
Kau tersenyum ku tersenyum
Kemesraan menguntum

Senyum... kepada semua
Senyumanmu amatlah berharga
Senyum... membahagiakan
Dengan senyuman terjalinlah
Ikatan...

And if that's not enough to make you smile, the Magically-Appearing Agong now has his very own Facebook fan page! Join now and make a bitter old man happy!

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Magically-Appearing-Agong/120459717971651?ref=ts

Mother And Child

2010-05-06T23:57:00.010+08:00

A post dedicated to Angela, because you made me start writing this. Looking forward to reading your version of it. ;^)

And no guys...Angela is not my mother. ==

Happy mother's day in advance, by the way!

"Hi, Mummy. I made you a card." he beamed the widest he could manage.

She flipped it open and browsed through his note. "That's sweet." Quickly putting it down, she went about her business, not even sparing him a second glance.

He pouted. He wasn't used to not getting her attention. "Mummy, where are you going?"

No reply. She acted as though he didn't even ask the question.

"MO-MEEEE...where are you going?"

She stopped for a moment to wipe something from her eye. Without a word, she started opening a suitcase and throwing his clothes in.

"Mummy?"

"You're leaving."

"What? When?"

"Today."

He peeked at her face. It wasn't her angry face. But it wasn't her happy face either.

"Mummy...did I do something wrong?"

She choked for a while. And started crying. It made him feel even worse.

"Mummy," he tried to hug her. "I'm sorry if I was bad."

"No," she pushed him away. "Go away. You're leaving."

"But why? Why can't I stay?"

She sobbed even harder. It broke his heart to see her this way. Someone must have hurt her badly.

"Mummy, please don't cry. I hate it."

"I'm so sorry," she buried her face in her hands. "I'm so so sorry."

"For what, Mummy?"

"Don't ask any more. Just go away."

"What's happening Mummy? Is Daddy taking me away?"

She shook her head and shut her eyes, willing him out of her sight.

"Mummy," he put his hand on hers. "Just tell me the truth."

"I-I don't know where your Daddy is. I miss him terribly too."

A harsh series of knocks on the door made them jump.

"Mummy," he peered out of the window. "There's a strange man outside."

She pulled her hand away from his. "He's here to take you away."

"What?!" he shrieked. "You can't let him do that!"

She covered her ears and turned away from him. Her tears, however, betrayed the depth of hurt hidden in her heart.

"Mummy, please!" he ran and tried to cling to her, as the door opened. "I'm scared!"

She fell onto her knees and let loose a wail of anguish. This was her child whom she had suffered much for. Like all mothers, she had once promised him a lifetime of love and protection in her arms. She had on countless nights held him dear and watch this sweet angel sleep away in his own world. She had given so much of herself to give him life, hope and affection.

But now, by her own will and against it at the same time, this child was being taken away from her.

"I'm so sorry," she cried till no tears were left. "Forgive Mummy."

"Why? Did I do something wrong Mummy? Just tell me."

"No, no, no. It was never your fault. Remember that. It was Mummy's fault."

With wide unblinking eyes, he was snatched away, innocent till the end.

*****

"Miss?"

"Yes, doctor?"

"Your abortion was successful."

"Thank you."

She stared lifelessly back at the grey ceiling, drained of all emotions. Deep in her heart though, she wept softly for the child she never knew.

3 Guys At Work

2010-05-03T18:49:00.007+08:00

There once were 3 guys working a long, boring shift together.

Type, type, type went their fingers like feelers on a songless piano. After a while they stopped and waited together for a cue to start again.

"Guys," Roy, who manned the Motion Discontinuation department, yawned. "We've been doing this for 3 full years. 36 months. 1095 days."

"That's nice to know." replied Oliver, head of the Advancement Suspension Preparation department dryly.

"Incoming, Oliver." Greg, Initiation of Passage department leader called out routinely. "In five, four, three, two, one."

Oliver worked his controls nimbly. "Roy. You next."

Click, click, click. I could do this in my sleep, sighed Roy.

"Over, over, central headquarters. This is Greg, No. 24. You are clear." Greg droned over the phone. An affirmative later, he hung up. Predictably.

"How long do we have, Roy?"

"Thirty."

"Great. Time for a cold one." Greg tossed them a couple of beers.

"No. Not this time." Roy put down his unopened beer firmly.

The other two raised their eyebrows.

"I've lost my passion."

They didn't know what to say. This was a highly inappropriate time for career talk.

"I want a change. Something more challenging and meaningful."

"But you're good in what you do."

"No, it's not about me. I just feel like... we're wasting our time here. Day in and out, we sit here waiting for cues and pressing our buttons. I mean, any idiot could do this job. I don't think anyone even knows or cares what we're doing here."

"The headquarters know." Greg retorted.

"Yeah right." Roy snorted. "There're tens of thousands of other guys like us everywhere. What makes you think we matter so much?"

"Everyone is important, dude."

"Well, suit you guys. I'm outta here. Time to rediscover my life purpose."

"Hey! Our next shift is starting soon. Can't you wait till they find a replacement for you?"

"Are you kidding? I'm physically, mentally and emotionally drained out. I just can't take another second of this. Besides, like I said, it doesn't really matter. The world will go on fine without one little insignificant guy like me."

"Er...I don't..."

"You can fill in for me." Roy slapped Oliver's shoulder, hopping out of his desk. "Go for it, pal. See y'all around."

Oliver and Greg stared at each other, scratching their heads.

*****

"Oi DBKL! Itu tlaffic light ah, sudah satu minggu losak. Lu mau tunggu sampai bila balu lepair? Mau tunggu accident ah?"

No matter how boring your job seems, it plays a very important part in making the world tick smoothly. So stop reading my blog and get back to your work!

Happy Belated Labour Day to all!

The Agong Speaks

2010-04-29T23:32:00.019+08:00

In light of the recent hoo-ha surrounding him, the Magically-Appearing Agong sits down with Twisted Tales' Bobo to speak candidly about life after RM1.JPG and other stuff.

Bobo: First off Your Majesty, thank you...

Agong: Ugh. None of that crap, please. Just call me Agong. Or Gong for short.

B: Um...never mind, we'll just stick to Agong. So anyway, thank you so much for taking time out of your packed schedule to do this interview today.

A: My pleasure.

B: When we last saw you, you were transforming people into money notes as part of a worldwide scheme to balance out the greed of humanity. So, what have you been up to since RM1.JPG ended in January?

A: Nothing.

B: Nothing?

A: Nothing at all of significance. That's what you get for being a joke.

B: Which brings us to our next topic. In recent weeks, many readers and even Mokkies himself have poked fun at you in the just-concluded Murder In 5sc1. Your thoughts on this?

A: I don't blame the readers for it. They were just following Mokkies' lead. I see it as a cheap publicity stunt for extra mileage on his new story.

B: How do you deal with these negative remarks?

A: I don't. They just sink deep into me and fade away. Kind of like how you digest food and, you know. Life goes on. I spend lots of time with my family. They make me feel more appreciated.

B: At this juncture, how is your relationship with Mokkies?

A: I'll admit, I'm not the biggest fan of his work. However, we do still talk. In fact, he called me up a couple of weeks ago asking if I was keen to be a part of Murder In 5sc1.

B: You are not serious.

A: I am.

B: And you told him?

A: A flat out no. I mean, the script was fine, but I just didn't see how I could contribute to it.

B: Looking back, I think most readers will agree that you made the right call. Now, going back to your break-out hit - RM1.JPG. Started out strongly, loads of interest generated, but ended with mixed reviews. Do you feel your character was used correctly in that story?

A: I'll put it this way - I had very different expectations for my character than what actually turned out.

B: How so?

A: When Mokkies first pitched the script to me, I assumed that my character would play a larger part in the whole story, starting even from Chapter 1. There was supposed to be an entire back story building up to my appearance in the end. All of which never happened, taking away substantial continuity and logic from the ending. And if you ask me, that was what the story ultimately failed to deliver - continuity and logic. It just wasn't something any reader above the age of 12 could believe.

B: Who do you think should take the blame for this?

A: My only responsibility was to tell him what I thought. Ultimately, he's the main man. Whatever he says goes. It's his blog. I can't be blamed for him using the same format for every story, and expecting it to pay off without proper planning and structuring.

B: Would you be keen to work with Mokkies again anytime in the future?

A: I'm all for it if the right script comes along. My passion is in becoming a great character, not being a part of backstage politics. Having said that, I am also considering deals from other authors. I mean, Twisted Tales will always be my home, but sometimes when the time comes it comes.

B: Who are some of the authors you dream of working with?

A: I'm a huge fan of J.K. Rowling. Does she write any more?

B: Sure does. Just not Harry Potter stuff.

A: I bet I could be her next best-selling series. Agong and the Sorcerer's Stone - nice ring to it, don't you think?

B: Excellent. Lastly, any upcoming gigs you would like to share with our readers?

A: I'm planning a reunion with the other characters of RM1.JPG sometime next month. But, not like our readers will remember who the other characters are anyway. We'll just party away and catch up like grumpy old men.

B: Well, you could always invite the cast of Murder In 5sc1 to liven things up.

A: Phooey. Those kids can kiss my butt. If I had one.

B: Ah well, that concludes our delightful interview. Once again, thank you for your time.

A: You know how sometimes weird files mysteriously appear in your pendrive, and nobody has any clue how they got there?

B: Nobody cares.

Murder In 5sc1 (Conclusion)

2010-04-27T14:47:00.016+08:00

It's here, it's here, IT'S HERE!

Eight days since the murders started, we now come to the end of it all. Grab your front row seats, we're gonna get up close and personal with the Murderer.

To make things even more exciting, today's finale will be presented in special Black Text to prevent spoilers. You know what to do - highlight the text, scroll down and gasp in horror. If you haven't read the first 4 parts yet, hello, go do so now!

Enough talk. Someone's getting blood-thirsty.

This is it.

Murder In 5sc1 (Conclusion)

Sathia fell first to the ground with a sickening thud.

Dead from a direct headshot.

Philip stared next at Kim, who was bleeding profusely from her stomach where a bullet had gone in. She gazed back at him in confused shock and pain.

"Wh-why did you..." she collapsed to the floor, wheezing as the life seeped out of her.

"No!" Philip cried out. "It wasn't me! I swear!"

Kim's eyes fixed back at him glassily. She wasn't sure what to believe. Did Sathia shoot her before killing herself? Or was Philip lying to her?

There was no strength left to think. She was slowly slipping into unconsciousness.

"Kim..." Philip knelt beside her, tears welling in his eyes. "Don't die..."

"She will die. And then you."

Philip felt the blood in his veins run cold.

"I planned it all, Philip. Hope you liked it."

Now everything made sense to him. The note in Boon's pocket. The lights going out. The gunshots.

The body lying near the teacher's desk.

"I'm the killer." Cassandra got up, dusted her skirt and peeled off the bloodied slit at her neck.

"Made this at home with starch and food colouring." she gestured at it. "It's easy."

The sheer detail of her scheme ran through his mind like a sadistic film reel. She had much earlier convinced Boon to help her rig the fuse and door. Then she came to class before any of them, put on the makeup and created an elaborate murder scene. In the midst of the chaos and darkness, she was able to shoot Vivian without any of them noticing. Boon had obviously been poisoned earlier in the morning. Then finally, the rest were shot while a pre-hidden smoke device was activated. All while he was keeping an eye on the rest of his classmates.

"I loved you, Philip." she smiled and slid another pistol out of her pocket. "But you only paid attention to girls like Sathia and Kim."

"I did everything to make you notice me. I became a prefect. I tried to call you before your birthday."

"I hope I finally got your attention, Philip."

His feet buckled, making him tumble to the floor paralysed.

"I'll kill her first." she pointed the gun at Kim.

Bang! A second bullet finished off the already-unconscious Kim.

"Th...the police will be h-here soon. They'll a-arrest you."

"Sorry dear, dead men tell no tales. They'll only hear my side of the story."

She turned the gun to him.

"I love you."

Bang!

*****

2 Weeks Later

"Some part of me actually blames myself for all that happened." Cassandra testified calmly before a packed courtroom. "I never imagined that he was trying to get my attention all along. He was the class monitor, the popular guy, always surrounded by girls. I was the quiet one. We were from different worlds."

"If I had known his feelings for me, I would never have started dating Khee Boon. I imagine the jealousy he must have felt when he found out. It must have been hard on his ego too. The popular guy losing out to the class nerd."

She paused, trying not to let her voice break up.

"It was my fault. I should have been aware of the signs. Especially the way he suddenly brought soup for Boon that morning. It was poison. He was a genius. He purposely chose a day forecast with thunderstorms, and rigged the fuse to trip easily. The guns and smoke device...all hidden in the room beforehand."

"M-my classmates," Tears began rolling down her cheeks. "He murdered them one by one in cold blood. Then he turned to me and asked whether I loved him. I...I lied and said yes."

She cried, unable to continue.

"Cassandra, look at me. Tell us what happened next."

She breathed in deeply.

"He shot himself in the head."

A deathly silence filled the room.

"I don't know why. I should be dead."

*****

3 Months Later

"Psst."

"Hm?"

"A note. From that new girl...what's her name again."

"Cassie."

"Oh, yeah. Weirdo."

"That's not very nice."

"Haha. Who cares? Sorry anyway, but I accidentally took a peek. She's asking you for a movie."

"Uh oh."

"Think she's got the hots for you, man."

"Yikes. How am I gonna turn her down?"

"Just tell her no. What's she gonna do - murder you?"

THE END.

Murder In 5sc1 (Part 4)

2010-04-25T23:13:00.010+08:00

I had a thought that day. What if I die before this story is completed? Then nobody will ever know the shocking end I have in store. Perhaps they'll get someone to ghost-write (pun in your face!) the ending for me. And maybe that guy will just assume I was planning to do a triple-swerve by REALLY making the magically-appearing Agong your Murderer of The Day.

*shudders*

I better get writing quick.

Murder In 5sc1 (Part 4)

The group shuffled cautiously towards the windows at the far end of the class, never once taking their eyes off each other. One of them was the killer, and they all knew it.

"Oh my," Sathia peered out at the relentless rain. "We're so gonna get wet."

"Looks dangerous. Someone could slip and fall."

Philip shushed them. "Here's the plan. I'll throw a chair at the window to break it, so you guys stand back to avoid getting hurt. Then we form a straight line by holding hands to exit through it. There's some space along the ledge which we can use to get to the main balcony. Once we get there, we'll re-form the circle and wait for the police together."

"Another thing." he added. "Everyone's hands must be holding someone else's when we're moving in a line. One hand holding the person in front, one hand behind. The first and the last person must hold with both hands. This way, we can be sure the killer's hands are occupied."

"Agreed." Kim nodded, prompting the rest to follow suit.

"Good. We can outsmart the killer. I promise there will be no more killings."

Another streak of lightning flashed across the sky, drawing a low rumbling of thunder. Ten minutes had passed since the first phone call to the police. Whoever this killer was, he was running out of time.

"Everyone, stand back." Philip readied himself with the chair. "On the count of three."

"One..."

Kim and Sathia placed their hands over their ears.

"Two..."

"Hey, wait!" Gary shouted. "What's that?"

He pointed to the teacher's desk, where a big cloud of gas was rapidly spreading to the rest of the classroom.

"What the..."

"Cover your noses and mouths, quick!" yelled Philip. "That gas might be poisonous!"

Quickly the rest followed his orders, inadvertently breaking the circle. The gas was filling up the room at a frightening speed. They could barely see each other anymore.

"Philip!" A muffled voice called out. "Break the window!"

Fumbling, he felt for the chair and grabbed it. In one swift motion, he held his breath, lifted the chair and flung it at the window with all his might.

CRASH!

As quickly as it had enveloped the room, the gas escaped through the gaping window. In less than a minute, it had almost completely drained away.

Slowly two other standing figures came into Philip's focus.

Kim.

And Sathia.

Where were the rest?

"PHILIP!" Kim shrieked. "SHE'S THE KILLER!"

Horrified, Philip observed a small pistol in Sathia's hands. It was then he realised that the rest of their classmates were lying on the floor.

With bullet holes through their heads.

"It-it was you." Philip turned to Sathia, trembling. "You killed them."

BANG! BANG!

Two ear-splitting gunshots rang in the air, hitting their intended targets.

To be concluded.

Murder In 5sc1 (Part 3)

2010-04-23T23:38:00.003+08:00

As you may be able to guess from the speed of updates, I'm seriously hyped up for this story. Just a few things to clarify before we move on:

a) This is only going to be a 5-parter. Because anything beyond that SUCKS.
b) It won't end as a dream.
c) It won't end as someone's imagination.
d) It won't end as a movie or drama being acted out.
e) It won't end with them being a part of some dubious 'scientific experiment'.
f) The murderer will not be some alien / monster / evil spirit that hunts school kids BECAUSE IT CAN.
g) Brilliant idea, but I, the writer, am not the murderer. That's too twisted even for Twisted Tales standards.
h) And for the last time, there will be no magically-appearing Agongs.

Okay, cool? Glad to get that off my chest.

Murder In 5sc1 (Part 3)

"Sh-she's dead." Kim hugged Nora, sobbing uncontrollably.

An air of disbelief lingered as they gathered around Vivian's body. A steady stream of blood trickled from the side of her head where the bullet entered. Frozen in eternity, her face betrayed a total oblivion to the fact that she was no longer alive. One would almost expect her to get up, walk out of the door and go home with her Mom.

Grimly Philip turned them away from the scene. "Guys," he spoke, almost choking on tears. "Did anyone see where the shot came from?"

Most of them shook their heads in between weeps.

"It...it was too dark. And the gun was silenced." Boon grimaced. "Could have come from anywhere."

"This proves just one thing. Someone here has a gun."

The sobs died down momentarily. Everyone shot uneasy glances at each other.

"We're going to have to search everyone."

"You're crazy." Gary retorted.

"Oh, shut up Gary!" Kim yelled at him. "Just do as he says before we all die!"

"Thank you, Kim." said Philip. "Guys, I'll search you. Then you can search me too. Kim, you do the same for the girls."

Reluctantly everyone divided themselves and lined up.

*****

"You first, Boon. Pockets."

Boon turned his pockets inside-out. To his own surprise probably, a tiny slip of paper fell out. Very quickly he picked it up and slipped it back inside.

"Wait...what was that?"

"Oh, it's, erm, nothing."

"Show me."

"It's...hey, I don't feel so well."

"I don't care. Show me the paper NOW."

Boon scrunched his face and handed Philip the paper. It was some sort of passed note.

heyyy, dont forget to show me the fuse box later kayss. =)

"Fuse box?" Philip frowned. "Boon, who is this from?"

"I-I-I..." he started making funny sounds in his throat.

"TELL ME NOW! Who passed you this note?"

Boon tried to say something, but no words came out. His breathing became laboured as he fell and started twitching violently like a dog with rabies.

"Kim! Kim!" Philip called out in horror. "Something's wrong with him!"

She glanced around, shocked herself at the situation. Boon was vomiting massive amounts of blood and thrashing around in desperation, trying to shake off an intensely searing pain from within.

"Someone get an ambulance!"

"The phone! Where is it?"

"Calling, calling!" Philip fumbled it out from his pocket and punched the numbers.

"GAHHH!" Boon clawed repeatedly at his stomach till it became bloodied. "H-H-Hel..."

Another gush of thick red liquid spurted from his mouth.

"Hello? Hello? Why isn't it getting through?!" Philip checked the phone anxiously.

Each passing second felt like an eternity. Through the corner of his eyes, Philip could see Boon's movements reducing to occasional spasms. He wasn't going to last long.

"Hello? Ambulans? Ada kes emergency kat sini. SMK Taman Bakti, Off Jalan Klang Lama."

Boon coughed up a final choke of blood before his head hit the floor awkwardly.

"Cepat ya. Cepat. Kawan saya sakit kuat."

Hanging up, he feared the worst.

"Philip," Kim cried. "He's dead."

*****

"This is crazy man!" Eddy shouted. "FREAKING CRAZY! Where is this killer?"

"Shut up," Philip held up the note. "Boon was in on it too. He helped the killer blow the fuse box. Who was he close to?"

Gary shook his head. "No one, man. The guy was a loner."

Philip studied the note again. "It looks like a girl's handwriting. Anyone can recognise it?"

They passed it round for inspection, but to no avail. The virtual absence of light certainly didn't help things.

"If Boon helped the killer, why was he killed too?" Sathia asked.

"I don't know." Philip shrugged. "Let's analyse. First, Cassandra was killed. We don't know why. Then Mr. Bala, though that was probably intended for the first person who opened the door. Next was Vivian. Then Boon. Perhaps the killer had no more use for him, and didn't want Boon to reveal his identity."

"So...does this mean that Cassandra and Vivian were part of the plan too?"

"Maybe. But Boon's death was different. He was poisoned beforehand. He was in contact with the killer. The others could be random murders."

"No way. There's nothing random about this killer. Just look at how well he planned everything! The lights going out, the door, the gun, the poison..."

"You know what," Gary took in a deep breath. "We should all leave before the killer strikes again. He's somewhere here, and he's got a gun. Anyone of us could be next."

"But remember what happened to Mr. Bala when he tried to open the door? I'm not going first, man."

"Yeah, we could just wait here. The police will be arriving soon anyway."

"Police my foot. We wait here, we die. Comprehendo?"

"Guys, guys, guys," Philip silenced them. "Listen. We're going to leave, but not through the door. It's obviously rigged. We'll go by the windows."

"In this weather? And from the third floor? Are you mad?!"

"Not as mad as you'll be when someone else dies." he glared. "Now, I need everyone to stick together. Everyone. We'll all be facing each other, since we can't trust anyone. Is that clear?"

All nodded.

"To the windows, then. Circle facing inwards. Do not break it."

To be continued.

Murder In 5sc1 (Part 2)

2010-04-22T00:56:00.011+08:00

No time for self-indulgent rambling now. On with the killings!

Murder In 5sc1 (Part 2)

"Hey! Does anyone know our school address?"

"Obviously not. Just tell them the name of our school, smarty."

"Ah...OK, nama dia SMK Taman Bakti. Kat Taman Bakti, dekat Jalan Klang Lama."

Philip was calling the police with Vivian's phone while the rest remained glued in silence.

"Ya. Ya. Betul. Dekat bangunan Telekom. OK. Bye"

He hung up, glancing nervously at the other students who were now huddled in a circle.

"So? What did they say?"

"They'll be here in 15 minutes."

Everyone nodded blankly.

"Meanwhile," Philip added. "We need to talk."

He raised his voice as the rain continued to grow louder. "The killer is definitely still here among us. Nobody left the class after Mr. Bala was killed. And judging by the method of murder, it was the same person who killed Cassandra."

"Who would want to kill Cassandra?" Lina wept.

"He would." Gary the class joker snickered and pointed at Philip. "She had a crush on him."

"Please. No time for jokes."

"Guys," Boon cut in seriously. "Let's go through the details. Is there anyone else in school today?"

"Nope. This week's our class' turn for that Saturday extra class thing, remember?"

"Then," he stared upwards. "We all came into class together. And Cassandra was already there dead. So, whoever killed her must have slipped back out to join us."

"YOU!" Kim suddenly turned to Sathia. "You went somewhere before we came to class!"

"Eh, hello. I was in the toilet lah."

Kim fidgeted away from her, unconvinced.

"And anyway, why the heck would I want to kill her?"

"Because...she was always pestering you to let her join the prefects' committee. And you held her back."

"WHAT!" Sathia's eyes bulged in anger. "Rubbish! Who told you that?"

"She did. She said you were always sucking up to the teachers."

"Well, she can go to hell for all I care. I did all I could for that ungrateful girl. It's not my fault nobody likes her in the first place. But I swear, I DID NOT KILL HER. I have no reason to."

"All right, chill. I was just saying."

"In fact," Sathia was becoming increasingly agitated. "I recall you once got mad at her for spoiling Philip's surprise party."

"EXCUSE ME!" Kim shouted in her face. "Everyone was mad at her. We spent a whole week planning the surprise."

"Oooooh, we. I think you were the only one who really cared enough to scold her till she cried."

"Girls, PLEASE!" Philip interrupted. "This isn't the time."

"Okay, okay." Sathia rolled her eyes. "Behave yourself, girl."

Kim looked like she was about to punch someone's head off. Most likely Sathia's.

"I've had enough of this!" Vivian stood up without warning. "I'm asking my Mom to fetch me home now."

"No, no, I don't think that's a good idea." Philip tried to get her to sit back down. "The police might need us to explain stuff."

"Are you kidding me? I have to go shopping with my Mom later."

"Look, our teacher and classmate are dead. And all you can think about is shopping?!"

"I don't care. This is just too weird."

She pushed her way past the other students to the front of the class. As she headed for the door, she suddenly stopped, felt her pockets and turned around.

Everything happened so quickly next.

"Philip," her lips opened.

"My phone."

Swoosh! A bullet ran through her skull, killing her instantly.

To be continued.

Murder In 5sc1 (Part 1)

2010-04-19T18:02:00.019+08:00

Ah yes, hope I got your attention. Just when you thought my stories were becoming a wee bit predictable.

Murder in 5sc1 (pronounced '5 Science 1' for those who really must ask) was a silly little story I wrote back when I was...no prizes for guessing. What started off as a joke in between periods eventually become a dramatic 5-parter-complete-with-epilogue ridden with cliches and inside jokes which some of my classmates read and claimed to enjoy.

Now 8 years older and wiser, I shall courageously attempt to refresh this old-school tale minus the kiddy insider jokes. It's gonna be darker and more sinister than most of my recent works, but still a thrill of a ride as always. To make things more exciting, this time I've actually thought of the ending before I start and will sneak in bits and pieces of it as we go. No magically-appearing Agongs here okay.

So buckle your pinafores and tuck in your shirts kiddos...it's time for Murder In 5sc1.

Murder In 5sc1 (Part 1)

The wailing sirens blared incessantly, a sweet symphony of relief to her. Finally!

Two sturdy officers stepped down from the first patrol car.

"Cik, kami menerima panggilan kecemasan dari sini. Apa kejadiannya?"

"Dia...dia...bunuh mereka semua. Classmate saya."

"Okay, bertenang cik. Kami akan menyiasat dan mengambil langkah-langkah yang diperlukan."

He turned to another approaching colleague. "Razif, kau jaga dia dulu. Ini kes pembunuhan."

*****

25 Minutes Ago

Click. Click. Click.

Everyone stared in speechless horror as the lights flickered on to reveal Cassandra sprawled under the desks.

As the title of the story suggests, a crude slit ran across her neck, releasing an outpouring of dark blood that seeped into her light blue prefect's uniform.

She was, for all intents and purposes, dead.

"Dah...dah mati, cikgu."

No one said a single word. Outside, the rain started pouring violently, delivering what the grey skies had been threatening all afternoon.

"W-we should check her first." Nora whimpered. "Maybe she's not dead yet."

"Let me check." Kim stepped forward. "I'm a qualified first aider."

"No. Hands off." Eddy held her back. "Don't you dare touch her. This is a police case."

"Did anyone call the police yet?"

"Is the killer still around?"

"Teacher, I want to go home now!"

"EVERYONE QUIET!" Mr. Bala boomed. "I'm going to get the police."

He gingerly stepped over Cassandra's body, clearly trembling himself. In the back, a few girls huddled and started crying. Philip, ever the class monitor, was trying his best to remain composed while doing a head count.

"That's strange." Mr. Bala repeatedly twisted the door handle. "Why is it lock-"

BOOM! A deafening bolt of lightning simultaneously cut him off mid-sentence and blew out the lights. Hysteria ensued as the girls started screaming in the near-darkness of the now full-blown thunderstorm.

"Stay calm! STAY CALM!" Philip's voice rang out. To very little effect.

"What happened to the lights?"

"Fuse tripped." Boon the class geek studied the wiring sternly. "And the fuse box is outside."

"Mr. Bala!" Sathia called. "Where are you?"

The sky had become dark very quickly, making it hard to see. Philip strained his eyes at the door, but could make nothing out. Mr. Bala wasn't standing there like he was before the lightning flash.

"It's too dark."

"Here, I have a handphone! Use the light." Vivian pushed her Sony Ericsson W518a into Philip's face.

"What the...why are you bringing a handphone to school?"

"Hey! Do you want to look for Mr. Bala, or not?"

"Hmph." He took the phone and repeatedly pressed the middle button to keep the light on as he inched towards the door.

"Mr. Bala? Mr. Bala...are you there?"

A lump steadily grew in his throat. This can't be good. Why isn't he answering?

"Philip...where are you? Did you find him?" some girl asked.

"Wait."

Like ships to a beacon, a dozen pair of eyes trailed the solitary light of the handphone across the room. Slowly it went around the teacher's desk, over Cassandra's body, past the blackboard...

Plonk. Philip clumsily tripped over something, dropping the handphone and making Vivian shriek in the process.

"You IDIOT! My phone!"

"What?!" Philip shot back crossly. "It was an accident, okay?"

To his surprise, she started screaming. Not out of anger, though.

It was a scream of utter terror.

His eyes followed where her finger pointed, and before he knew it, he was screaming and scrambling like a madman too.

There, lying in a pool of fresh blood, was Mr. Bala with his throat slit open.

To be continued.

In The Hospital

2010-04-12T22:04:00.003+08:00

A poem inspired by my 3 stays in the hospital in the past 2 months.

In the hospital,
Strange people sit around me.
They cough, they moan.
They wheeze, they groan.
They find it difficult to pee.

In the hospital,
Everyone has a defect.
Some have bandages, some cannot walk well.
Some are in pain, why I cannot tell.
One way or another, everyone's imperfect.

In the hospital,
It's okay to look terrible.
No one checks their breath or combs their hair.
Every morning, any clothes are okay to wear.
Only the nurses need stay presentable.

In the hospital,
You're allowed to be a brat.
Push a button, summon a nurse.
Smile for Milo, ask for breakfast.
Don't forget soap, hot water and stuff like that.

In the hospital,
Nobody's ever in a hurry.
Days are spent waiting for meals,
Doctors, nurses, thermometers and pills.
Then dinner, and a self-told bedtime story.

In the hospital,
You don't have to smile.
Who cares about being friendly and sociable?
It's fine to remain in your little world.
And embrace your inner emo child.

In the hospital,
There's something new about every morning.
Hope abounds in every corner,
Of going home and getting better.
You look and realise that suffering is fleeting.

In the hospital,
Bad things make everything else good.

Sometimes I wish,
The world could be more like the hospital.

Life Is A Cartoon

2010-03-25T18:47:00.001+08:00

If you're a child of the 80s or early 90s like I was, the pictures above may serve to rekindle some fuzzy memories. Ah yes, those were the days when everyone wanted to become a cat superhero in tights or glamourous lead singer with the flick of an earring.

Some time back, I was bored in office and decided to search up these classic 'toons in Wikipedia. It's a highly recommended experience. There's just something special about reading these kiddy stuff from a bygone era in the factual confines of Wikipedia.

Take for instance:
ThunderCats follows the adventures of the eponymous team of heroes, cat-like humanoid aliens from the planet of Thundera. The series pilot begins with the dying Thundera meeting its end, forcing the ThunderCats (a sort of Thunderean nobility) to flee their homeworld. The fleet is attacked by the Thundereans's enemies, the Mutants of Plun-Darr, who destroy all the starships in the "ThunderFleet," but spare the flagship hoping to capture the legendary mystic Sword of Omens they believe is onboard. The sword holds the Eye of Thundera, the source of the ThunderCats' power, which is embedded in the hilt.

Or how about:
The central "secret" of the series is that Jem is in fact the alter ego of Jerrica Benton, owner/manager of Starlight Music, who adopts this persona with the help of Synergy, a holographic computer designed to be the ultimate visual entertainment synthesizer (built by her father, Emmett Benton, who left it to her on his death), to acquire more money to not only support Jerrica's own company, Starlight Music, but to also support the Starlight Foundation for Girls, a foster program founded by Jacque Benton, the mother of Jerrica and Kimber Benton.

Wow. It seemed much simpler when I was watching back then.

When we were kids watching cartoons, all we cared about who the good guys and bad guys were. Eventually the good guys would surely win. But we didn't know that.

Often, we didn't even know the names of the characters, why they were fighting or what they were talking about. All that mattered in those 30 minutes was who would win in the end. And the pretty colours!

In fact, if you re-watch these old cartoons now, you'll probably spot loads of plot details that make you go, "Ohhh...now I get it."

Doesn't life sometimes seem like a cartoon too?

When you're young, you do many things without knowing why you do them. Because they just feel right. Along the way, you may cut some corners, hurt some people or make some mistakes. And before you even realise it - bang, you're old. One day you just pause and look back at the things your younger self did.

You start, "Oh my, how could I even have thought of saying that?" "What on earth possessed me to do that?" Just as you're about to brush them off as the follies of childhood - click - it all magically makes sense.

Every friend you made. Every love you had. Every deed you performed. Every cause you championed. Every decision you made. They all happened for a reason that was beyond you at that time. You didn't know how or why, but life has a way of pulling us without strings. All you need to do is sink yourself into the present.

Like my animated friends taught me so many years ago, sometimes we need to think less and feel more. It'll all fall into place in the end.

Men's Restroom Etiquette

2010-02-08T15:38:00.013+08:00

I was going through my old Hotmail junk when I remembered this email from almost 5 years back. One of those Funny Bone subscription things. Read it again, and just as hilarious and insightful as the first time. So I'm sharing it with you guys. You know it's gonna be good!

Men should ace this test ... women may have a little difficulty.
There IS a code of "Restroom Etiquette" that MUST be followed.

The following is the urinal configuration in a sample men's room.
An "X" above the number indicates "urinal is in use."

(Sample):

|---|---| x |---|---| x |
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |
-------------------------------

(Indicates urinals 3 and 6 are occupied.)

You are to identify correctly, based on urinal etiquette, at which stall you are to stand. Good luck!

#1) Easy

|---| x |---| x |---|---| (Urinals 2 and 4 occupied.)
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |
-------------------------------
Your choice: ___

#2) Easy

| x |---|---|---|---|---| (Urinal 1 occupied.)
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |
-------------------------------
Your choice: ___

#3) Kind of tricky

|---|---|---|---|---|---| (empty)
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |
-------------------------------
Your choice: ___

#4) Kind of tricky

|---| x |---| x |---| x | (2, 4 and 6 occupied)
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |
-------------------------------
Your choice: ___

#5) Subtle, tricky, but important to know

|---| x |---|---| x | x | (2, 5 and 6 occupied)
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |
-------------------------------
Your choice: ___

#6) VERY tricky indeed

| x | x |---|---| x | x | (1, 2, 5 and 6 occupied)
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |
-------------------------------
Your choice: ___

Correct Answers:

#1: Stall 6
It's the ONLY one to go to and every guy instinctively knows this.

#2: Stall 6
Stall 5 is acceptable, but you run a greater risk of being next to someone who arrives later.

#3: Stall 1 or 6
You are tacitly saying, "I don't want anyone next to me."

#4: Stall 1
You're stuck being next to at least ONE guy, so you minimize the impact and get a wall on your left. NEVER go between TWO guys if you can help it. Exceptions to this are stadium restrooms where the herd thunders in.

#5: Stall 4
Believe it or not, 1 and 3 "couples" you with the guy in stall 2. And we wouldn't want THAT now, would we? This differs from question 4 in such a subtle way that the nuances cannot be explained. Suffice to say, only we men would understand!

#6: Stall - NONE!
You go to the mirror and pretend to comb your hair or straighten a tie until the urinals "open up" a bit more. If you have to go REAL, REAL BAD, for goodness' sake... use a doored stall!

Other parts of the Unwritten Code of the Urinals:

-- NO Talking, unless it's a good friend... but even then, keep it terse and unemotional. This ain't no clubhouse.
-- I don't think I need to tell you, absolutely NO touching of anyone other than yourself. A touch of another's elbow is of the highest offense.
-- NO Singing. Period.
-- Glances are for purposes of acknowledgment only..."Yeah, I see you there. I will not look again".

Generation R

2010-02-03T17:14:00.009+08:00

What the heck does a picture of 3 kittens have to do with this post?! Oh wait...

R for random, that is.

Ever noticed how common the word random is becoming these days?

When someone cracks a joke that's not funny, we go "Eh, don't be so random lah."

When someone dresses inappropriately, we say "Why wear so random today?"

When someone falls down, we laugh, "Hahahaha. RANDOM."

In fact, the word random doesn't even really mean random anymore. You just use it when something is generally:

a) Funny ("Hahahaha! That's random!")
b) Not funny ("Er...okay. That was random.")
c) Weird ("Wait...don't you find it very random?")
d) Unplanned ("I feel random today.")
e) Stupid ("OMG. Random.")
f) Inexplicable ("I dunno lah. Random I guess.")
g) Illogical ("That was just...random.")
h) Unexpected ("His presence at today's party was very random.")
i) Confusing ("What're you guys talking about? I feel so random.")
j) Annoying ("Hey, stop being so random okay!")
k) Crazy ("Whoa, I can't take it. It's too random for me.")

Believe it or not, the word random has become random itself. What a cruel twist of fate.

It's the anthem of the generation. Where we once had groovy in the 70s and cool in the 90s, this decade is heading straight down the highway of randomness.

Don't believe me? Just take a look at any blog from someone aged under 18 these days. More often than not you'll find the following titles:
a) A Random Day
b) Random Pictures
c) Something Random
d) Random Stuff
e) Randomness
f) Random Thoughts
g) r@NdOm~!!

Or horrors, it could even be the title of the blog itself. If it's not 'My Life' or 'Story of my life' or 'Welcome to my life'.

But hey, no hard feelings there. We can't all be called Twisted Tales.

You know what? I blame it on computers. In a world where the Internet and computer games seem more real than life itself, you can't blame Generation R from thinking that the world is a series of random occurrences where everything happens, un-happens and re-happens with just a click.

Continuity is becoming a lost art. Nothing ever needs to happen for a reason these days. You can have any combination of anything you want just like that. And once you're bored of that, reboot and pick another combination. Facebook. Online games. MP3 downloads. Streaming movies. Think about it - every form of entertainment associated with this generation works according to the theory of unlimited choices within minimal structure. Which largely translates into random fun.

So you see, random is more than just a word. It's an entire state of mind. When Gen R-ers laugh over random, it's not as simple as a joke. It's a proclamation of what they stand for.

Don't say I didn't warn you. Randomness is here to stay. No one can say why or when it'll last till. It just happened.

Now that's random.

Special October Feature: RM1.JPG (Conclusion)

2010-01-07T16:46:00.014+08:00

Finale update in yer face!

My my, what a year it has been. Fastest and most eventful one yet. But that's another story for another day.

For now, I have a great story to complete. So to all, TA DA and WELCOME TO 2010!

RM1.JPG (Part 5, Conclusion)

They both stared disbelievingly at the gone-case laptop in stunned silence.

Nothing showed on the screen.

The only remaining copy of the RM1.jpg file was in the laptop.

"No. No. No." Ray frantically scrambled over to it and pressed the Power button repeatedly.

Still nothing.

He tried again and again and again and again. All to no avail.

It was gone.

"Hey, we can fix it I think..." Leong tried to examine the laptop.

"AGHHHHHH!" Ray screamed. "IDIOT!!!"

Leong was completely caught off guard as a stiff punch struck him square on the jaw.

Before he could even fathom what was going on, the same fist hit him again at the exact spot.

And another. And another. He didn't even have time to retaliate mentally.

Quickly the metallic taste of blood seeped all over his tongue and out. The energy was literally draining out of his body, masked only by the overwhelming sensation of pain coursing through his head.

Then he fell unconscious with fear of the worst kind - would he ever wake again?

*****

"Leong? Leong?" Ray shook him violently.

What have I done? Please don't tell me he's dead.

Anxiously wiping beads of cold sweat forming across his brow, he stared in horror at the bloody, motionless mess.

What have I done? What have I done?

"He's not dead yet."

Ray whirled around in complete shock at the alien voice and almost passed out.

Standing before him was a life-sized moving, breathing, blinking figure of the RM1 Agong. Yes, the exact same face that stared back at him from every Ringgit note he had ever used, just IN FREAKING PERSON!

How could any of this be real?

The ceremonial headgear. The enormous eyebags. The stern gaze. Every inch-perfect detail. It was the Agong.

Ray's hands and feet trembled and grew boneless. What was going on here?

Was he dead himself?

"Are you waiting for an explanation?" The Agong spoke sternly. "Does none of this make sense to you?"

He could only manage a breathless half-nod in his paralysed state.

"It makes perfect sense to me. You were corrupted by absolute power, and you tried to murder a fellow friend."

"I...I...he-"

"You almost killed him."

Five seconds of deafening silence passed.

"You see, money is a mere concept. It is a tool created by governments to lend some semblance of value to what they do. It is neither physical nor real. Only the people who use it are."

"Who are you?" Ray blurted.

"Consider me the conscience of economics, sir. The reconciliator of man and greed itself. It's physics really - an equal and opposite reaction for every action. I exist in every coin, note, card, cheque, share, asset, bond, land and form of human wealth."

"Let me ask you this, Ray. Have you ever imagined a world without money?"

He shook his head.

"Liar. You thought about it every second you were chasing after it like everyone else. But truth be told, I have never believed in the existence of money."

"After all, what is money but sheets of paper we use to determine our place in the world? You call yourself rich; I call you a greater puppet of this religion than others."

"You see this?" The Agong held up an RM1 note and pointed to the Agong printed on it. "This is not just a fancy illustration. Behind every Agong ever circulated in the world lies the story of one who failed to overcome."

"Overcome what?" Ray could hardly breathe.

"The test."

"What test? What?!"

"Why sir, surely you did not consider yourself a unique case. The test has been running for over six hundred years now. A thousand random individuals around the world daily. They are given access to unlimited wealth and monitored to see how they interact with it. If they are deemed worthy possessors after 12 months, they get to keep the money."

"Who's behind all these? I'm going to-"

"Ah, ah. You're going nowhere. Since the day man has sought to covet, a delicate balance needs to be kept. Those who harbour excessively must be removed and converted into another form. Just like energy."

"Ray, do you know what happens to those who fail to overcome?"

He shook his head in utter fear.

"They," The Agong placed a sprawling palm over Ray's face. "Become part of the balance."

With those words, Ray was eternally frozen into an Agong on a crisp new RM1 note. He himself had become a part of the greed he brought into the world.

Just like that, the Agong vanished in the midst of an unconscious body, scattered notes and a damaged laptop.

And Ray was never heard of again.

*****

You know how sometimes weird files mysteriously appear in your pendrive, and nobody has any clue how they got there?

This is about to happen to Erica.

THE END

EDIT: Okay guys, I have no idea whether that was the crappiest or coolest ending ever. I think this story suffers from the 'Matrix syndrome', where expectations are built so insanely high on the back of a super-cool premise that there's no way the ending can fulfill the plot. After spending many quality brain cells, this was the best I could come up with - yet. Just be honest and let me know what you think. If it's utterly awful, we could always - you know - rewrite it. Suggestions most welcome!

Special October Feature: RM1.JPG (Part 4)

2009-12-29T17:52:00.005+08:00

Back from Singapore. It's nice and all, but you just kinda miss how much Malaysia sucks after a few days. Ah, home sweet home.

And are we still at October? Good grief.

RM1.JPG (Part 4)

"Let's see," Leong adjusted his glasses one more time. "And what did you say this was for again?"

"What do you want to know for?"

"Whoa, chill man. Just trying to make sure I give you what you want."

"Just remove the words."

"How detailed do you need it to be? That's why I need to know what you're using it for."

"As detailed as possible."

"Ho boy." he patted his brow. "Not gonna be easy. How on earth did the text get there anyway? You don't have any layered files?"

Ray had to bite his tongue to keep his temper from lashing out. After much effort in vain to remove the words himself via online Photoshop tutorials, he finally relented and sought the help of Leong, his ex-colleague who also happened to be a part-time graphic artist.

"I don't know. Just remove the words."

*****

"What do you think now?" After over 2 hours and no less than six separate amendments, patience was running thin in the room. Ray was proving to be a very difficult customer indeed.

"Er..."

"Looks fine to me."

Ray widened his eyes and stared at the touched-up file for a full minute. The colour was fine. The texture was fine. The shape was fine. There should be absolutely no reason anyone would suspect it had been tampered with.

But it was just so obscenely obvious that there was something wrong. It looked horribly different from the original.

This was one of those things his logical mind hated. There was nothing - UTTERLY NOTHING - that he could put a mental finger on. Something was horribly different, disfigured even, about it and there was nothing he could do about it.

"Still not there yet."

"You must be kidding me!" Leong retorted indignantly. "We've been going back and forth a million times already. I think it looks fine."

"Trust me, it doesn't. Looks very, very strange."

"What is? Tell me."

"I don't know. Just do your job, okay?"

He heaved and fiddled a little more, clearly unhappy.

"How's this?"

"No. Even worse."

"Ugh! That's it man. I just don't get what you want." he threw his hands up in desperation. "What is this for anyway?"

"Just. Do. The. Job." Ray snapped, trying hard to maintain his composure.

"Is this even legal?"

"SHUT UP AND DO IT!"

"Hey, hey," Leong stood up. "You're acting weird here. Sure everything's okay?"

"Everything's OKAY. Remove the words. Just remove the words."

"I can't, man. We've been trying for hours now."

"I PAID YOU!"

"Yes I know. But I just can't do it. Maybe you should pay more for someone better. I know this guy-"

"I should pay more? PAY MORE? HOW MUCH MORE DO YOU WANT?"

"It's not even about me! It's about how much you're willing to pay for someone else!"

Without even realising it, Ray gave Leong a hard slap across the face.

He staggered and tumbled over slowly, more out of shock than pain, before a heated glare escaped his eyes.

Like possessed, he leapt and tackled him to the ground, forcing slaps on a covering Ray. Ray tried to fight back, but Leong was surprisingly strong for his size. They scuffled for a while, trading blows in an increasingly intense manner, when everything halted to a deafening CRASH.

The laptop cable, caught in the chair wheel, had dragged the laptop off the table to the shiny marble floor, where it now lay motionless and picture-less.

To be concluded.

Special October Feature: RM1.JPG (Part 3)

2009-12-02T11:15:00.007+08:00

My apologies if you've been kept waiting for far too long! Been very caught up in the annual whirlwind that is VBS (Vacation Bible School) these past 2 months, which explains why updates have been even fewer and further in between than usual. This year's VBS was an especially tricky affair, with the storied Graduation Concert replaced with a Carnival on the last day. So instead of handling a group of rascals, I now had to work with about 20 groups of rascals. Okay, so some of the rascals did turn out very helpful after all. Throw in the task of directing SIX separate sketches (English and Chinese versions over 3 days of VBS) for the Storytelling session, and there you have a load that I would surely have collapsed under if I was still working full time.

I guess the lesson this time around was on working with people. Many of life's little lessons over the past 2 years came ringing back in my mind, in the process revealing sides of me that I was surprised to see. Surprised in a good way, but still surprised nonetheless.

Well, it has been nothing short of wonderful. But now that the dust has settled, it's time for life to move on. Such as updating my blog and satisfying the millions of readers out there.

P.S. I know I know, it's really horrible having to wait 1 whole month for a single update. Not like it's a Lord Of The Rings trilogy or what. I PO-RO-MISE that the RM1.JPG story will be completed by this month, okay? Lots of love.

RM1.JPG (Part 3)

"Here," Ray smiled broadly, dumping a whole bag of RM1 notes on the counter. "Seven thousand three hundred and ninety-nine. Count them all."

The bewildered salesman sifted through the notes one by one. After an hour and half, they finally verified that his notes were real and there were 7399 of them in total. With that, Ray was able to take home his brand new Bravia Plasma TV amidst suspicious glares from every worker in the shop.

He couldn't care less. He just loved the feeling of superiority money brought him.

It wasn't even like he had to live with guilt or fear. For one, his money wasn't illegal and the police could never come knocking on his door one day. Also, his income was inexhaustible. If anyone robbed him or anything, he could just - you know? - print some more.

With each note he printed and cut, he felt himself growing into someone different. Someone with less worries. With more freedom to do what he wanted. Someone who need not care too much about what was right to others.

And of course, this is where the story has to take a turn.

*****

It all started when Ray got home after buying the Plasma TV. Having installed and tested it, he felt bored and decided to print more money first, just in case. After all, it wasn't every weekend he got the chance to be alone. His wife was at her mother's.

As always, he double-clicked to open the file. Then he saw it.

There, in bold black type, sprawled across the Agong's face:

THE LOVE OF MONEY IS THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL

"WHO DID THIS?!" He slammed his fist against the table in uncontrollable anger. "WHO??!"

There was no way anyone could have known about it! He had been extremely careful every step of the way. No one could possibly have been able to access his files. Not his co-workers. Not his boss. Not his friends. Not even his wife!

"ARGHHHHHH!!! I SWEAR, IF I EVER FIND OUT..."

Wait! Didn't he have a Plan B?

Of course! He backed up all the files! He was a genius!

*****

Unable to read. The file might be corrupt or incomplete.

"Impossible." Ray mouthed and inserted another CD.

Unable to read. The file might be corrupt or incomplete.

He cursed under his breath. This couldn't be happening.

Unable to read. The file might be corrupt or incomplete.

Surely there had to be just one working file. Just one.

Unable to read. The file might be corrupt or incomplete.

"NO!" He flung the entire stack of CDs against the wall. "NOT A SINGLE ONE! NOT A SINGLE ONE!"

He had gone through every single file in his Recycle Bin, C and D drives and external hard disks. Even the original file in his pen drive was missing. All he had left was the disfigured file in his private folder.

He racked his mind over and over to study if anyone could've somehow touched his files. Nothing. Nothing. There was absolutely nothing. It was just a gigantic black whirl of nothingness.

*****

After three hours, Ray managed to list down all his available options:

a) Discontinue printing.
b) Continue printing notes with additional text.
c) Ask his wife to find out what happened.
d) Try to find someone to Photoshop the words away.

B and C were almost immediately struck off. B was almost sure to land him in prison, while C was both not a solution and highly damaging to his marriage.

"No," A voice in his head said. "I cannot stop printing the notes. I'm already halfway to becoming rich. I can't stop now. Not now."

So it became clear. He had to either Photoshop the words away himself, or find someone to do it.

To be continued.

Special October Feature: RM1.JPG (Part 2)

2009-11-03T14:53:00.002+08:00

By the third day, Ray had cleverly figured out a way to print more notes nightly and yet still catch up on his sleep. He would leave the printer on for the night to print one side, and then flip every sheet over the next night to print the other side.

It worked perfectly well. All he needed to do was sleep a little later than his wife, and wake up before her to hide the printed notes.

Using this method, he was able to print 450 over 2 nights (his printer could only fit in 1 ream of paper at a time). That worked out to RM225 per night, which was RM59 better than the first night he did it manually.

All while maintaining a relatively healthy schedule of sleeping at 2am and waking up at 6.30am (his wife slept at 12am and usually woke up 7-ish). He needed to stay up late, as it took a fair bit of time to cut the printed notes. However, cutting was needed only on alternate nights. Otherwise, all he only had to load in the paper and clock in to bed at 12.30am.

After a month of madness, he sat down bleary-eyed to count his earnings.

MONTH 1 RESULTS
Printed: RM6624
Spent (Printer ink, paper): RM320
Profit: RM6304

"Six thousand and three hundred!" Ray could hardly contain himself. "That's even more than what I make!"

He kept counting again to make sure. Ah, the sweet, sweet smell of accomplishment. And money.

Now, he had to plan ahead. This golden goose needed to work overtime.

*****

"Another printer? What on earth for?" Ray's wife was in a fit upon seeing a brand-new printer beside their old one.

"I told you I need it. Anyway, I paid for it myself okay?"

"Are you mad or something? I've never even seen you use it. And now you buy a second one!"

He pretended not to hear her.

"You're hopeless with money."

He couldn't let petty squabbles get into his head. He was already setting his sights on a cutting machine.

*****

Soon another month passed.

"Yes!" Ray put his pen down on the final amount.

MONTH 2 RESULTS
Printed: RM16428
Spent (Printer, printer ink, cutting machine, paper): RM2040
Profit: RM14388

"Well, who's hopeless with money now, huh?" he mocked his wife in his head.

Speaking of which, he hadn't spoken to her in over a week. Not out of choice, but necessity. At the same time, his boss had issued him two warning letters for being late to work. Social life was also pretty much a thing of the past.

But none of it mattered, for he was RICH! Legitimately filthy rich.

And there was going to be more from where it came from.

To be continued.

Special October Feature: RM1.JPG (Part 1)

2009-10-05T15:24:00.017+08:00

Oh lookie! October crept up to us again without anyone noticing. And if you recall, October is always *supposed* to be a very special month here in Twisted Tales, seeing that it marks both birthdays of the Creator and Creation. Author and Authored. Blogger and Blog. Whatever. It crossed my mind to do a 'Best of Twisted Tales' retrospective, which would make even more sense this year seeing that it's the 5th full year of Twisted Tales' existence now. Though posting has drastically slowed down these past 3 years, there're still a ton of gems for us to revisit. Sounds like a yummy proposition.
But no, says I. Don't get me wrong, though. It wasn't because I didn't want to come across as a self-absorbed egomaniac who harped solely on past glories. I still am. It was because I came up with this really cool piece that refused to be condensed into a throwaway Story of The Day.
It's been a while since we've done this, but... here we go!

RM1.JPG (Part 1)

You know how sometimes weird files mysteriously appear in your pendrive, and nobody has any clue how they got there?

It happened to Ray.

This is the story of a man who one day found two new files in his pendrive, RM1_front.jpg and RM1_back.jpg.

Mystified, he tried printing both files front and back.

The results were unbelievable to say the least. The printed copy perfectly resembled a new RM1 note, down to the squinting Agong and double serial number. Even more amazingly, the file could somehow transform the texture of ordinary A4 paper into that of an RM1 note, complete with silver-coloured lining on the back.

He couldn't believe his eyes. He tried printing a couple more, and there they were - crisp and fresh-smelling as from an ATM machine.

Determined to put this anomaly to the test, he went to the mamak stall downstairs, ordered a packet of limau ais and handed the man two of the notes he had printed and cut out himself. Surely he would notice something strange about it?

He didn't. He just took it, gave Ray 80 sen change and continued bobbing along to generic Hindi music blaring from the cheap speakers.

Ray felt his hands grow cold.

He had, literally, printed money.

*****

Now being an accountant by profession, Ray was careful and calculated in preserving his new-found treasure.

Of course, the first thing he made sure was not to tell anyone about this. Not even his wife. Especially not his wife.

Next, he made copies. Scores and scores of copies, as many as it took. This was not going to be a story that ended with the pendrive becoming corrupted, that he was sure.

Once all the copies were safely stored and his wife safely in bed, he went to work. Working overnight, he managed to print 166 notes before dozing off at 5am. That was RM166. Not bad for a night's work.

*****

The next day at work was hell for Ray. Something's got to give when you sleep for 2 hours before getting through an 11-hour day. He zombied his way through, before plonking asleep at 7pm at home without even taking dinner. Next thing he knew, he was awake at 1am, sleeping wife beside.

With a mind of their own, his feet led him beside the printer.

Time to get to work again.

To be continued.

A Dim Sum Love Story

2009-10-01T20:03:00.009+08:00

"So you like her, huh?" Loh, the resident taikor (big brother) of the dim sum place winked. "Go get her then!"

"But... she's always with her friends." he sighed.

"That's the way girls are, mate. You just gotta get to them."

He stole another glance at her. There she was, lovely as ever, bubbly as usual and surrounded as always.

Like him, she was new to the dim sum shop and all its hustle and bustle. The steaming buns, puffy tarts, clattering saucers and frantic pace - it all took some getting used to. He was glad to have an angel like her to make the passing hours easier.

But she never looked at him. Maybe once or twice, but he was sure it was just a normal look that she gave to everyone else. The sort that she could also give to the passing customers or scurrying workers. Or anyone else in her sumptuous life which sadly, he didn't feature much in.

"Someday I'll talk to her." he told Loh with a tinge of resignation.

"You can't think that way! She might be gone someday, and so might you. You gotta make that someday today."

"Really? How? Do I ask her out or something?"

"Course not! You really are inexperienced huh?"

"That's why I'm talking to you."

"You said that she's always with her friends. Why don't you get to know her friends then?"

"Um...okay. Sure you can't come with me?"

"Wish I could, but you know I gotta stay here."

"Oh yeah. Behind the counter."

He took a deep breath and tried to act normal. Perhaps now would be a good time, she didn't seem too busy. Though she was still with her friends. Sheesh.

But wait! She was going somewhere. He would have to be patient first.

His eyes followed her to one of the tables with a lone gentleman. She smiled at him, and he did so likewise. Oh wait... he wasn't smiling at her. He was on his mobile phone. Jerk.

The blabbermouth continued to yak away into his cheap phone, laughing embarrassingly loud at regular intervals. All the dim sum on his table went untouched, while she strangely continued to wait for him in silence.

A full three minutes later, enough time for his tea to become cooler than it should be, he put down the phone. And proceeded to do the single most disgusting act he had ever seen.

He locked lips with her.

Right before his very eyes, he pressed his lips against her unabashedly, face devoid of emotion.

She looked happy.

It was more than he could take. The next chance he got, he left his place and jumped to his death.

*****

"Alas," lamented Loh as a diner emptied him into a plate. "Their love was never meant to be - a siu mai and a har gao."

Facebook Fantasies

2009-09-07T22:57:00.001+08:00

2.15pm in the office, after lunch.

Everyone typed and clicked diligently, eyes fixated on glowing screens. Presumably working.

Tap-a-tap-a-tap-a-tap. Nobody asked, nobody told. It was the unspoken code of the After Lunch Hour. It wasn't started or taught by anyone in particular. You just knew.

2.30pm.

"Stop it! I say everyone, STOP IT!"

Sure enough, they did. Why the sudden outburst?

It was Jeff, the extremely ordinary guy.

"You!" Jeff pointed at Ling, who was on the verge of adding her 627th friend. "Have you forsaken your friends in real life for virtual ones?"

Her face went red like a virus alert.

"And you!" He turned to June, who was uploading photos from her latest date. "Has your vision of reality been so obscured, that you see events only in photos and images? Were you really present and living in the moment of your dates? Or were you too busy just snapping away?"

She was so tempted to digicam this absurd moment, but stopped short.

"And you!" He grabbed Siva at the shoulders, who was restarting an umpteenth round of Typing Maniac. "Don't you have a job to perform here? A career to build? A world to conquer? What happened to that gung-ho intelligent executive who impressed me so? Has he been reduced to #4 among his friends in Typing Maniac?"

Siva hung his head in shame. After pausing the game, of course.

"Listen, all of you!" Jeff folded his arms. "Enough of this madness, I say! Have we become slaves of the digital age? Look at our relationships. Our work. Our homes. Our lives, for Google's sake! Thing weren't always this way. When was the last time you remembered someone's birthday by yourself? Caught up with an old friend just because? Took the time to really ask others how their lives are? Or is there no more need for such things, because friends are now a click away, and every detail of their lives cheaply displayed for all?"

"All I ask of you today, brothers and sisters, is that we take a moment to ponder what we want our loved ones to remember of us when we're gone. Shall we be loving brothers, sisters, spouses, children, friends? Or mere photos and names, indifferent to the people we claim to connect with? Don't be just another contact. Go home today and make someone who matters smile."

He slumped back into his chair, exhausted from the impromptu speech.

The others just shot each other confused glances and minimised their Firefoxes. Back to work. It was almost 3pm, anyway.

4.45pm.

"NOOOOOOO!!! JEFF STOLE MY HARVEST!!!"

House of small cubes

2009-08-31T23:38:00.001+08:00

Ack! I'm not dead yet, people. A lot has been happening these past nearly-two-months. So much so that I ALMOST went an entire month without posting. ALMOST.

Well actually... this is being posted 2.40am, 1st September. Tweaked the date on Blogger. Guess that counts as cheating.

Anyway, I'm working on another piece at the moment. Hope it'll be ready by tomorrow. For now, here's a really sweet and touching short film I found on Facebook. Some Oscar 2009 winner to boot too. It kinda reminds me of the Pixar animation UP, though I haven't watched UP yet.

Enjoy it with a loved one!

The End

2009-07-07T00:54:00.003+08:00

Today, it finally happened.

I've come to the end of a 2-year dream.

A dream I've shed and shared much tears over.

Dreams are nice and blissful.

But at the end of the day, they prove that you're still asleep.

Guess it's time for me to wake up and face the truth.

Farewell, sweet dream.

They say all ends are merely beginnings to a new story.

Let's see.

Dreams On Paper

2009-06-30T22:54:00.021+08:00

It was an action-packed afternoon in the office. I was rushing out for a meeting when this Twisted Tale came without warning.

The story is told of a pile of different papers telling tales of their vivid dreams.

"I shall capture the moments of the world." bragged Photo Paper.

"That's nothing." Tracing Paper cut in smugly. "I'm going to see through things of the world."

"Your dreams are all but thin and flimsy," boomed Art Paper. "I, on the other hand, create the space for imaginations to come alive."

who're you calling thin and flimsy.

The papers turned around.

"Oh lookie," Sand Paper barked. "It's Tissue Paper."

"Hey... that's not nice. Be kind to him, will you?" Sugar Paper frowned at such rudeness.

Mahjong Paper snickered. "I can bet you that's not going to happen."

fine then. i'll just go away and wipe my tears.

"No... come back!" Sugar Paper called after him. "See what you've done?" She pouted at the other papers.

Everyone glared at each other.

"Ah. If only she was me, she could erase all the wrongs of the world."

Everyone turned to see who it was who spoke so powerfully.

"For indeed, it is only I who possess the powe-"

"SHUT UP! YOU'RE NOT EVEN A PAPER!" Everyone yelled in unison.

Poor Liquid Paper slunk away, white in embarrassment.

"Ahem." Came another voice from behind. "Want to know what I can do?"

A collective groan arose.

"Let's not even go there, Toilet Paper."

And so the story went. It is, after all, every paper's dream to change the world with what he or she is created for. Simple though they may be, folk stories abound of individual papers who have made all the difference in history. Take for instance the Declaration of Independence. An unassuming piece of papyrus milled from the remote forests of Pennsylvania, bred and selected from hundreds of thousands of its kind. Who would've ever imagined it was this one piece of paper that liberated the world's greatest power of today. It is the hope of someday becoming the Paper That Changed The World that drives every paper to give the best in all they do.

But as they say, many things in life are unequal. Even as the papers stood there engaged in petty squabbles, one paper amongst them all stood in still confidence. Far from being the strongest, biggest, thickest or fanciest sheet, he nonetheless possessed the captivating aura of a paper that was like no other. He had no need for witty rhetoric or impressive fronts. All he needed to do, simply, was to be himself and allow the people of the world to work their magic on him.

He was A4 Paper.

And he knew that he did not have to fight for attention like the other papers. No matter what fate had in store for him, he was destined for glory. He could end up in a school being part of a future inventor's thesis. Maybe in a research lab as part of a revolutionary blueprint. Or even a major political agreement in the hands of world leaders.

But as things turned out, he ended up in the most promising place of all - a multi-million corporate office.

He arrived one inconspicuous Monday morning, part of a family of 500 per ream. A young lady set them beside a huge printer that churned out dozens of his kind daily. Some of them gave their lives to proposal sheets, some project agreements, the less fortunate ones invoices. But all of them made a difference in the world.

Within three days, his turn came. Our A4 friend could hardly catch his breath as he was loaded into the machine, eagerly watching those at the bottom get printed one a time.

20 went into a tender in the morning. Another dozen to a stack of department reports. Some more and more, more and more...

Until it came to no more.

Next up was him.

This was it. His turn to change the world.

"Judy, can you print the construction contract for me? Client requested for a hard copy."

A construction contract! Fancy that!

Those were worth millions at least!

He was so excited he almost crumpled himself.

As she pressed Ctrl + P, he inhaled deeply and waited for the printer to set things in motion.

*****

TIT! TIT! TIT! TIT! TIT!

"Judy, what's that awful noise?"

"Aiyah! Sorry ah boss. Printer jam. I print another copy yah." Judy frowned as she scrunched up the misprinted copy and threw it into the wastepaper basket.

If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans.

A Starbucks Story

2009-05-23T10:32:00.007+08:00

"Can I have a Starbucks coffee, please?"

I glared disapprovingly at him. "What? Are you mad?"

It was a lazy Thursday afternoon after lunch. We were walking back to office when he suddenly got this idea from goodness-knows-where.

"Well..." he gazed longingly at the glass entrance. "I was thinking that it's been a while since I had a Starbucks."

I marched in, took a good look at the price list and almost fainted.

"Fourteen bucks! Do you have any idea how much that is?!"

"Yeah...that's pretty expensive I guess."

"If you're really feeling thirsty, can't you get something cheaper instead? It's just liquid anyway. Maybe a soft drink from 7-11."

"Or we could, you know," I made the sarcasm in my voice apparent. "Walk up a flight of stairs to the office and drink some water FOR FREE."

He looked down. Trying to hide his disappointment. Badly.

"Okay."

"Argh," I slapped my forehead. "You're making me feel bad on purpose. I know you are."

"All I'm saying is that... I deserve a treat after having worked so hard lately."

"Worked hard? Excuse me? Did I miss something here? Didn't you leave office early yesterday?"

"Says who! I left at seven-thirty. And that was because I had somewhere to go."

"Excuses. You usually work much later than that."

"And I don't want that. Is it wrong to not work like mad for once?"

I kept silent and took a good look at him. There he stood before me, barely 24 of age, a proud young man with his own hidden frailties and insecurities. He had no problems giving his best, but lately I could tell it was eating into him. Cracks were beginning to show on his glossy surface.

Perhaps I had been pushing him too hard. Expecting him to always do the right thing. Know the right words. Carry out the right tasks. Go that one extra mile, exceed that one expectation.

He was only human, after all. As highly as I thought of him sometimes, he couldn't be perfect. He shouldn't.

"All right," I said to him. "We'll get your cup of coffee. My treat."

"Thanks!"

A strange feeling of lightness came over me as I handed the fourteen bucks for a chilled Java Chip with whipped cream on top. It made me happy to see him happy for once.

Taking the stairs back to office, cup in hand, I couldn't help smiling to myself.

Have you given yourself a treat lately?

A Girl & A Wedding Dress

2009-05-02T11:02:00.014+08:00

Oh no. I think I'm addicted to designing chic lit book covers. This story came to me during a drive by the renowned SS2 bridal street. Didn't turn out the way I expected it to, though. See what you guys make out of it. Credits to Wen Cheng for helping me touch-up the last part! =)

This story begins with a lovely girl who just turned 28 last month. She's attractive, smart, chic - and she's picking a wedding dress!

"How about satin white? You can't go wrong with that." Wanda the shop assistant beamed at her.

"Really? You think so?"

"Uh huh."

She stroked her cheek for a while, envisioning the ceremony in her mind. Weddings were always so hard to plan for. Sometimes people told her that she was too much of a perfectionist.

But it was a wedding! The sweetest day she had dreamed of since a little girl. It had to be perfect.

The adorable flower girl and ring boy stepping down the aisle.

Will they forget their steps? Will that boy just blank out?

Oh, don't be such a worry wart, you.

The rows of smiling guests, all rising to greet the soon-to-be Mrs. Taylor.

Mrs. Taylor. Oh gosh, what a name.

She couldn't help giggling a little. How inappropriate.

And of course, the blushing bride, gorgeous in her flowing dress, the radiance of every day of her life spent picturing this moment reflected in her eyes. This moment, so simple yet beautiful in execution, the purest of leaps of faith, the most perfect of beginnings and endings.

She would walk up beside the man she chose to belong to. They would recite their vows together, both willing this moment to both be done with and yet somehow last forever. They would then whisper their "I do"s, not sounding quite as articulate as they had always imagined themselves in front of so many. Finally, he would turn to her, lift up her veil, gaze knowingly into her eyes and share with her the first lover's kiss of many to come.

Not a single soul in the hall would be seated. This was, indeed, the story they had all been waiting to see. A story that was starting and finishing right before their eyes.

How lovely, she gushed in her heart.

"Hello? You've been thinking for a long time." Wanda snapped her fingers at her face, concerned.

"Huh? Oh, I..."

"Or perhaps lavender? That's very elegant too."

"No," she shook her head. "White. It has to be white."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Okay then. Miss Carrie!"

A timid bride-to-be, all 26 years of her, stepped in.

"We think this dress suits you best."

Miss Carrie clasped her hands in joy. "Oh, it's lovely! Thank you so much, Wanda. And thank you too, Ally. You're the best wedding planner ever."

"My pleasure, darling." Ally smiled in return. "Every girl deserves to look unforgettable on her wedding day."

Another happy girl. Wonder when my turn will come.

This story ends with a lovely girl who just turned 28 last month. She's attractive, smart, chic - and still single.

The Funeral

2009-04-10T00:56:00.002+08:00

They stepped forward in an unwavering line, solemnly paying last respects.

"He was so young."

"He always seemed so happy."

"He never failed to make me laugh."

That's nice to know.

"Remember the jokes he used to tell?"

"Of course! And those silly faces."

"I remember his stories."

"Ooh...yes! He used to write a lot, didn't he?"

"There was this story... about some girl... what was it again?"

The Toll Gate Girl.

"Can't recall. I like the one about the pencil."

"Didn't read that."

"You should have. It was hilarious."

"But then again, most of them are."

"He's probably meeting those ghosts he wrote about."

They all laughed at once.

They like my stories.

Uncomfortable silence ensued.

"Well. There goes another fine young man."

"Yeah. That's life."

More awkward shuffling.

"I wonder what he really was like."

"Yeah."

"He was funny."

"And cheerful."

"But I sense there was more to him. Beneath the laughter, the jokes and the stories."

"He just never told us."

"Yeah. The other side."

"What a pity."

Heaving sighs as downcast as the morning itself, they threw in a final clump of dirt and turned to leave.

They never really knew me.

My Life Is A Mess

2009-03-24T10:49:00.001+08:00

My life is a mess now.

And the last thing I need is more advice.

I need time.

Procrastination

2009-02-28T09:30:00.004+08:00

Do you enjoy procrastinating?

Putting off till tomorrow what you can do today?

I am the world's biggest fan of procrastination.

I tend to only do things when I feel like doing them.

If I don't enjoy it, then it can wait.

The story is told of a drunk man who reached home late one night.

As he was reaching for his keys to open the door, he dropped them by accident.

The keys fell somewhere dark, away from the glowing street lamp.

"Oh my," he thought. "How on earth am I going to find those keys in the dark."

"Maybe I'll search for them under the light first. That'll be easier."

So he searched, searched and searched under the light.

He couldn't find the keys, not even after an hour's work.

Of course not! The keys were out there in the dark.

But he would rather search in somewhere he was comfortable first.

Which, if you think about it, translates into a waste of time.

It's funny how the little things eventually trickle down to the big things.

Each time we procrastinate, do we in some way procrastinate our happiness?

Each time we say "It will settle itself", do we leave our happiness in the hands of others?

Each time we continue searching under the light, do we miss out on the keys to happiness hidden in the dark?

It is one of life's tough lessons.

I guess I'll sleep over it tonight.

People At A Park

2009-01-31T11:51:00.003+08:00

They say this story was told by Nelson Mandela, the former South African president.

It begins, as inspirational stories usually do, on a cool breezy morning in a park. Several early birds jogged round an asphalt path as others sat admiring nature's handworks.

Mr. Mandela observed a jogger looking increasingly frustrated. Sure enough, he stopped a few minutes later and took off his shoes in a huff.

Our president strode over and patted this young man's shoulder. "What is the matter, son?"

Startled, he paused to catch his breath. "I've been a winner all my life."

"That's good."

"But not today."

"And why is that so?"

"See that old man there?" he gestured. "I've been trying to catch up with him the whole morning. I can't. He's just too good."

Mandela nodded.

"I beat everyone else. Even that sprinter guy there. He was behind me the whole time."

"But not the old man." He shook his head and gulped from his cooler.

The sun's rays caught a glimmer in the president's eye.

"Son," he said. "You did not see the full picture."

"That old man you were trying to beat - he came in much later than you did. In fact, while you weren't looking he cut in ahead of you."

"And that sprinter you thought you beat? He actually ran a whole round faster than you. That's why he was behind."

The young jogger lowered his gaze.

"In my time, I have seen people from all walks. Different races, communities, upbringings, financial backgrounds, opportunities. But the funny thing is this - they like comparing themselves with one another!"

"You cannot compare yourself with others! You have no idea where they started and where they're headed to. That sprinter could have easily outran you. But he was training for endurance. That's why he kept his pace."

"In life, some people start off wealthier, more privileged, more educated. Some want to be the best in the world. Some want to be the best in their family. Some want a simple life. They all will get there in their own time."

"You have to know where you came from and where you're going. Acknowledge every victory and defeat against these. That way, the only person worth comparing to is yourself."

Mandela put an arm round his shoulder and winked. "Now go run again, like you're running for your life."

He smiled as the lad put on his shoes and ran once more, intent only on maintaining his pace. And Mandela couldn't help smiling as he eventually overtook the old man without even realising it.

Kamen Rider Black

2009-01-10T15:03:00.015+08:00

Sometimes, 30 minutes is all you need to save the world.

The Seven Deadly Scenes

2008-12-29T21:45:00.017+08:00

2 weeks ago, I had the pleasure of dropping by to witness the theatrical debut of the Lovely Miss APLE ANG in "The Seven Deadly Scenes". For the uninformed, APLE ANG was a secondary school junior of mine, one of those bright kids you just couldn't take your eyes off.

So there I was, leaving office at 8.20pm (show starts at 8.30pm) and having no dinner plans. Knowing that this would be my only chance to catch APLE ANG in action, I threw caution to the wind and foolishly decided to catch the show. Mercifully, KLPac was only 10 minutes from my office. Couple that with a wrong turn, ticket buying plus some mad dashing, and you had me 5 minutes early at 8.35pm. In true Malaysian fashion.

(Note to APLE ANG: Up to 5 MINUTES before the show, I was still undecided on whether I should rush for it or just go home. 'Cos I've been late for a theatre once, and it sure sucked. Just thought you'ld like to know. =p)

Upon reaching, we were ushered into a room the size of 2 bedrooms and made to sit on the floor. Ever being the pampered theatregoer, I expected a theatre hall with big-time stage and lights. Kind of a letdown. But in the end, the small venue made for much more intimate and in-your-face drama.

Moving on to the story synop - oh what the heck, let's hear it for the SPOILERS! You've been warned.

This drama-ah, very creative-one. As the title suggests, they split it into seven scenes, each depicting one of the seven sins 'in a Malaysian context'. Though almost everyone was conversing in perfect gweiloh-accented England.

Scene 1: LUST
See the girl on the left? That's APLE ANG! Though she doesn't appear in this scene, just the promotional poster.

Truth be told, my mind was wandering throughout this entire scene. Maybe it was from the dash from office. Revolves around this young guy who's insecure-yet-appears-macho and his older girlfriend who regards him a toyboy. They share some not-Umum moments, then argue about his smoking, her disrespect towards him, his father, her exes, and more. And proceed to kiss and make, um, out. Suddenly he says something wrong and she storms off.

Highlights: My first time watching a live actor smoke, French kiss and have pretend sex. Hip hip hurray.

Verdict: Like I said, my mind wasn't into it. Tak paham lah, beb.

Scene 2: GLUTTONY
Before each scene begins, a short clip plays, ending in a quote. This one's was the delicious "Heaven sends us good meat. The devil sends us good cooks."

It all started normally enough. A young married couple having a meal at the dining table. They engage in some idle chatter before he presents her with a box of Belgian chocolates. As they continue blabbering away, she continues pigging out on the sumptuous spread. They go on about how she once fell in love with his cooking, an old friend who dropped by in the afternoon and vacation plans. But for some reason, something is amiss with the guy. He keeps a fake smile plastered on his face, as though hiding something, continually asking her about the food. She loves the chicken intestine soup. The meatballs. And the special red lady's fingers.

Finally the shoe drops.

He: "Where's your wedding ring, dear?"

She: "Uhh...I left it upstairs."

He: "You lie. You were having an affair with Ravi (the friend who dropped by) and took it off, so he wouldn't know you're married."

She: "What are you talking about? You're scaring me."

He: "So...how did you like Ravi's intestines?"

She: *pukes*

Scene ends with him knocking her to her knees and raising a knife to chop her fingers. Lights off. Aiseh.

Highlights: The guy's acting. At first he was sooo nice to her it became creepy. Then he kept getting this faraway look in his eyes. And at last he shouted at her lah.

Verdict: Looking back, the ending wasn't really hard to expect. However, I was so engrossed with the guy's acting and totally meaningless dialogue that it slipped me. Nice.

Scene 3: GREED
One thing unique about this drama is that they utilise seperate 'stages'. So you had everyone looking in front for Scene 1, then lights off and voila! Scene 2 starts behind, making everyone turn around on their butts.
This was one of only two scenes that used BOTH stages. I think it was the longest too.

Courtroom drama. What more can I say? A young starry-eyed lawyer teams up with an Ah Lian politician in an effort to win the judge's favour before a big case. In the end, the cunning ol' judge turns the tables on them, pocketing double their generous offers.

Highlights: During the court proceedings, the judge was on the front stage while the prosecutors pleaded their case from the back stage. Halfway through, he asks them to approach and they both walk THROUGH the audience, peppered with excuse mes and sorry-ahs. I had a really strong urge to push them and see what happened.

Verdict: Not my thing, and not their fault either. My mind just isn't cut out for these legal stuff.

Scene 4: SLOTH
Hands-down the best pre-show quote of the night. Clip depicted a guy just sitting there staring at an apple, cutting back and forth between a close-up of his eyes and the fruit for at least a half-minute. Finally: "I'm too lazy to quote anything. - Anonymous", leaving the floor in stitches.

Very innovative and visually impressive, this one. Scene starts with two slouches on beds, male and female respectively, each on an opposite stage end. Both exhibit ABSOLUTE laziness, rolling around and pretty much refusing to budge. When suddenly a frantic series of knocks on the door interrupt their slumber.

First it comes from the guy's side. He tries to reach for the door (while still lying on the bed!), but can't. So he tugs on this rope above his bed, metaphorically signaling the girl to get it instead. Eventually, the knocking shifts to her side, where she also buries her head under the pillows to drown out the noise. She tugs her rope too, passing the buck to the guy. This continues for some time, with the knocking going both sides and each tugging their rope in increasing frustration. Gradually the knocks become punctuated with desperate calls for help which they blatantly ignore.

Then swoosh!

Nobody saw it coming. A sudden green light shines in a far corner of the room, revealing a pale-faced girl, neck trapped around a noose. She is still alive.

"Help...me." she whimpers.

Once again, the two slouches tug at the rope, tightening the noose till she drops dead.

Highlights: The deadening chill in the air as the resounding knocks grew louder and louder with not a single word of dialogue uttered. And I still can't, for the life of me, figure out how the girl managed to sneak in there without anyone noticing.

Verdict: Sheer brilliance. Visual communication at its best.

Bonus Fact of The Day: That dead girl was APLE ANG~! Though I first failed to recognise her.

Scene 5: WRATH
After Scene 4, there was a 15-minute intermission. During the break, I managed to run across Jeremy, an old friend of mine and APLE ANG. Apparently, he was helping out in some finance stuff for the play.

Another of those 'did I get it or didn't I?' ones? Focus of the scene is on a blindfolded soldier being interrogated by his Sir Commander (both played by ladies, curiously). In the background, four spirits drift around aimlessly. It appears that the soldier is being charged for killing civilians in the name of war. As he incessantly protests, the spirits speak on behalf as his 'conscience', revealing the murderous rage within him. Curiously, the spirits are themselves the civilians he killed. As the interrogation reaches boiling point, the spirits finally remove his blindfold and shackles and watch as he strangles the commander to death.

Highlights: Some pretty cool acting, with the spirits saying their lines in unison with the soldier.

Verdict: More style than substance. If there were any underlying messages, they sure eluded me.

Scene 6: ENVY
Ladies and gentlemen, presenting... APLE ANG!

Scene opens with two sisters, Summer (APLE ANG) and Autumn, sitting beside each other on a bed. Summer is packing her suitcase furiously, ready to run away from home. Autumn tries consoling her, and they start reminiscing their childhood days. Summer was always the active one who got involved in everything from digging worms to ballet, while Autumn was always sickly.

Summer: (staring at a photo of an ex) "Remember what Mom always said to me? Don't get too close to boys, because they're all after only one thing. But you were the one who was sleeping beside a boy all the time!"

Autumn: "You mean Bert right? Hehe."

Summer: "Yeah! You got Bert while I got Ernie. Actually I always preferred Bert. But every time I sneaked into your room to get Bert, Mom would always ask me to put him back, saying, "That belongs to Autumn."

Sadly, Summer never got the parental love she craved for and always felt that their parents gave more attention to Autumn. Even her ambitions were stifled when the folks only sent her to an 'Ah Beng college in Wangsa Maju' (nice one, har har).

Summer: "They never loved me! All they cared for was you! They never even bothered to attend my graduation ceremony!"

Autumn: "But Jie, it happened to coincide with their 25th wedding anniversary mah."

Summer: "Oh, how convenient. And what did they say when I showed them my graduation photos? (mimicks parents' voices) "Autumn would look sooo nice in this." Autumn this! Autumn that! There's only so much I can take!"

Autumn tries consoling her some more but to no avail. Scene ends as Summer delivers her killer line: "Oh well, I guess it won't matter. Since you left after our first birthday party."

Highlights: Truth be told, I didn't get the ending at all. Not until I caught up with APLE ANG after the show and she told me, "Autumn was dead all along."

WHOA~!

Verdict: Shades of The Sixth Sense here. I love the way the dialogue dropped hints of Autumn's death, while playing nicely to the sisters' very real struggle with sibling favouritism.

Scene 7: PRIDE
Last one! Sob sobs.

Story of an old Kopitiam franchise owner preparing for a press interview. He goes through his polished PR lines, recounting the traditional secrets of his signature coffee. Suddenly a young chap pops in and blackmails him with knowledge of the true secret of his irresistible coffee - opium lacing. He strong-arms the old man into a 'business deal' which he grudgingly discusses over drinks. As soon they seal the deal and the young man prepares to make a clean getaway, he suddenly collapses in melodramatic fashion. Yeah, his drink was laced with poison.

As the old man and his lackey cart away the lifeless body, a young lady reporter steps through the door.

"Hi sorry, I'm Siti from - YA ALLAH!"

THE END!

Highlights: Ending was funny, and good to end the night on a light note. Gotta give props to the young guy for pulling off the old man role believably as well.

Verdict: A little draggy at the end, as the old man kept drawling for at least a minute too long after the guy died. Pretty ordinary.

THREE CHEERS for APLE ANG! Look forward to seeing you more on the big stage. =)