Ghostopia (Chapter 3)

Another month passes without ABSOLUTELY NOTHING happening in the world of Twisted Tales! A lot has happened in the real world, though - namely, the 12th Malaysian General Election. And boy, am I proud to have contributed to this unforgettable chapter in national history. And though wrongly skeptical, my poem 'There's Something In The Air' shall always be one that perfectly captured the emotions of the moment.
Ghostopia (Chapter 3)

"Anytime now," Mortie whispered to Darren. "You're a patient one."

They were in a dingy bar with neon lights screaming THE HAUNT. Several rows of tables with lifeless onlookers bordered a stage, where a solitary girl strummed and sang along to Nirvana's Come As You Are, face half-hidden in the dim lights.

"Here in Ghostopia, we only have music from dead artistes." Mortie winked at him. "Your John Denvers, Freddie Mercurys, Selenas, Aaliyahs and Pavarottis."

Darren nodded, genuinely interested. "Tell me again. When do we meet this group of yours?"

"This should be her last song," he gestured onstage. "Then we can start. Lester should be here already."
So she's one of the members too, Darren thought to himself. Will the surprises never end.

"And in case you're wondering," Mortie added. "We call ourselves Ezisa. It's Greek for life."

*****

"Fellow believers of life," Mortie sat them down around a table in a smoke-stenched room backstage. "May I introduce to you Mr. Darren."

Silence. Except for perhaps an inaudible sneer by the girl.

"Mr. Darren is the Luckbearer that I've been talking about. Mr. Darren, this is Mr. Lester, our Strongman."

Darren nodded at a long-haired brute opposite him. Like what Mortie said, he sure looked slow of mind.

"And this is Ms. Kat, our Swiftling."

"Don't call me that. I hate it." she snapped back. She was a girl of medium build, no older than twenty, with a noticeable penchant for gothic-inspired fashion.

"So long as you are in the Ezisa, you shall abide by my rules." Mortie reiliterated in a stern tone.

She kept silent, visibly displeased.

"Now that we're all finally here, it is time for the Great Ghostopia Escape to begin." Mortie handed everyone a sheet. "Pass this round."

It was a detailed blueprint sketch of a tower of some sorts.

"In 14 days, the Tower of Souls opens. The most massive construction project ever undertaken by the Ghostopian authorities. A central meeting point for soul collection, enforcement, administration and research."

"Inside the Tower lies a top-secret Exorcism Chamber - and therein is our key to escape. For he who steps into the Chamber shall gain powers of walking backwards through the gates of Ghostopia."

"Now," Mortie unfurled the blueprint across the table. "As this will be only time the Tower is accessible to public, security shall be at an all-time high. There is no way we can waltz in and out alive."

"But on the other hand, security shall be at an all-time low too, if you know what I mean. The sheer size of the crowds and traffic - an unimaginable logistics nightmare for the big boys."

"How do we magnify this advantage?" Mortie smiled. "We create more chaos and disorder. We blow up the place."

There's Something In The Air

There's Something in the air
Everyone's well aware
The fireworks, the sparks, the fanfare
And suddenly we all care

A special Something that makes us believe
That we alone elect how we live
A certain Something that wasn't there before
Not I believe, since two-thousand-and-four

This little Something,
It sustains us, entertains us,
Gives hope to the common man
That he most certainly undoubtedly can

The Something that burns in all
A will to build bridges and break down walls
To see through immeasurable pains
To stand up, speak up, and fight against

The coffee shops are a-mumbling
The streets are a-rumbling
The people are a-grumbling
The mighty are a-trembling

Will justice ever be propagated?
Equality reinstated?
Freedom legislated?
Corruption eradicated?
Wise leaders nominated?
Difference created?

Someday, maybe thus changes Her fate
Just not, I believe, after March 8th two-thousand-and-eight
But it's always nice to hold on to that special Something
It keeps us alive and kicking

Happy Voting, Malaysia!

Ghostopia (Chapter 2)

Happy Valentine's Day, Chinese New Year and Federal Territory Day, all rolled in one!
It's been a difficult few weeks, with Ju Liang's leukemia relapse and Uncle Phua's passing. Didn't have time to blog about those two items.
Been Internet-less for the past week in office, as the tenants moving out took the router with them. Posting from Starbucks. Sigh. How elegantly chic. And yet hopelessly sad.

Aside note: You know how it once was uncool to be single for Valentine's Day? Then for some time we had year after year of 'Celebration of Singles' day, and suddenly it became the in thing to be date-less for V-Day. You know, stuff like "Who needs to be in a relationship to be happy?", "At least we don't need to pay a bomb for roses that're gonna die.", "Hey okay... GIRLS NITE OUT! I will survive...I WILL SURVIVE...!"

Hm. I could be wrong. But I have a teeny feeling that those statements, once so anti-mainstream, have ironically become clichéd themselves. At the risk of ruffling more feathers than I can chew, it's only cool if you're single BUT deliciously boyfriend/girlfriend material. The rest? Just stay neutral, people. Don't pretend it's fashionable and go all anti-relationship.

So what's cool, you ask me? As V-Day has the tendency of becoming the most unromantic day of the year to go for a date, take that special or let's-pretend-to-be-special someone for a Ramli Burger! No crowds, no bleeding wallets, no strings attached! Remember to bring your own drinks.

Ghostopia (Chapter 2)

Darren stared back sharply at Mortie. Unsmiling. Unamazed. But most definitely not uninterested.

"We were waiting just for a final candidate as yourself."

"I'll show you the rest later. We have Kat, the fastest pair of hands you've ever seen. Lester, slow of mind but unimaginably strong. And myself, the brains of the team."

He paused to check if Darren was still listening.

"You must be wondering what talent you possess to warrant a place. You were a gambler in your past life, no?"

"And a pretty spectacular one, I reckon. Nothing of sleight of hand, anticipation, foresight and that mumbo-jumbo. Only unadulterated blind luck."

"That's why I need you, Darren." Mortie smiled. "I can't leave anything to chance. What say you?"

"You're insane."

"Perhaps, a little. But that is beside the point, really. Now are you in, or not?"

He gazed at the ceiling. "This is a joke."

"Again, perhaps. But are you willing to take that chance for Emily?"

Silence.

"You've been taking chances all your life."

"Don't you bring Emily into this."

"Why should I? You'll do that for yourself."

Mortie sat beside him. "Son. Do you know what hurts most about dying?"

"Not the things you never got to do for your loved ones. That's regret. We all carry regret, even when we were alive. What hurts most is what your loved ones never got to do for you. When someone dies, you lose just that someone. But when you die, you lose everyone."

"She was your fiancée. You may not care about losing her. But maybe she cares deeply about los-"

Darren grabbed Mortie's throat, unflinching. "Enough,"

Mortie flailed about, trying to free himself. "All right. All right."

He shifted uncomfortably, casting long shadows across the flitting evening rays. Somewhere from the next room, a queer fragrance wafted towards where they were.

"Newcomers!" Mortie darted up.

He muttered something inaudible as he hurried to the other end.

"Wait."

Mortie whirled around abruptly, almost smirking. He knew he would change his mind.

"Take me to meet the rest."

"Sure."

"Now."

"Soon as I'm done with these newcomers." He continued with a merry spring in his step, whistling Leaving On A Jet Plane.

Ghostopia (Chapter 1)

The re-writening is finally upon us, folks! After nearly 3 years since the world first saw Ghostopia Chapter 1, here we go again. Of course, it's worth noting that I haven't done any story-writing for 6 months. So, what has changed? I've been doing a fair bit of dusting off my old material, and one thing becomes evident: I need to stop making my stories well-written, well-structured or any self-gratifying nonsense, and first of all ENTERTAINING. A couple of years in advertising have been rather helpful in this aspect, I venture. If you've read the first Ghostopia, enjoy the fun of spotting characters and plots I've killed. And if you haven't, just enjoy it anyway.

It's taken three years, but it'll be worth the wait. I promise. =)

Ghostopia: Chapter 1

"Welcome to the afterlife."

"What?"

"In case you haven't realised yet, you're dead, my friend."

Darren clutched his side. It hurt. Where was he, and who was this strange man?

The man stared silently at Darren for almost a minute. Finally he spoke.

"I'm Mortie."

"Mortie," Darren nodded unsurely. "Who are you, and where am I?"

"You died this morning in a car accident," Mortie clasped, then unclasped his hands. "And you are now at the borders of the afterworld - or Ghostopia as we call it - where I am the gatekeeper."

"You gotta be kidding me."

"Afraid not," Mortie sniffed. "5.44am on the State Express Highway, 6th mile. Headlong crash with a stalled lorry. Died on the 13th minute to the hospital."

"No. No."

Mortie gazed at him grimly. "I'm sorry. Sometimes these things just happen."

"No. That was...a dream."

Mortie shook his head. Darren started shaking uncontrollably.

He put a hand on Darren's shoulder. "Get up."

"N-no," Darren whimpered. "I-it was a dream."

Mortie, still stone-faced, strode to his desk and picked up an eight-by-eight-inch box.

"What's done is done. Take this and live well in your new home." He offered the box to Darren.

Darren pushed his hand away.

"Maybe I should come back later." Mortie sighed and started walking away.

*****

"Feeling better now?"

Darren had been lying there motionless for days. Weeks, maybe. One thing about being dead is you never feel hungry, tired, bored and all those trivial things that living people feel for no reason.

"Listen here, Darren," Mortie retrieved the box and passed it to him again. "You may think yourself unfortunate for dying so young. And perhaps you are right."

"But suppose you were today given an opportunity to become the luckiest man alive. Or rather, make that luckiest man not alive."

Darren glared at him with a look that spoke Not Funny.

"In 14 days, the Great Ghostopia Escape shall commence. And I am extending you the offer of a lifetime to join me."

Darren turned away, uninterested.

"You should be paying more attention, really. Let me tell you where we're escaping to."

He leaned closer forward.

"The world of the living."

Life Lessons From... Futsal

Don't interpret too deeply. I just Googled 'soccer'.

All right, so the idea for this post came from Chern Lye's 'Life Lessons I Learnt Playing Counter-Strike Source', which in turn was inspired by a popular online article '7 Life Lessons I Learnt Playing Halo'.

And since I dare not boast of any extensive gaming experience on the World Wide Web, let us instead talk about something more down-to-earth, more humanly, more, more...

PRIMITIVE! Ah, yes. Futsal.

The much-hallowed game of 10 sweaty guys simultaneously trying to put a ball into a goal as often as possible, in as many ways as possible. A game I've been playing almost every Sunday for the past 3 years, sometimes even twice on the Lord's Day itself.

Hit it, monkeys!

Life Lesson #1: Sometimes you need to pass the ball backwards in order to move it forward.

How true! So often I've been guilty of getting the ball, searching in vain for someone open in front to give it to, and try desperately to dribble past the entire defence in hope that a scoring chance would magically appear. Of course, almost every time the ball ends up with the opposition.

But lo and behold! A simple backpass, and immediately oodles of space open up. Players start running here and there into position, the opposition fidgets nervously to stick to them, and the guy with the ball can take his time in picking out a great pass.

Just as in life, many times we keep our eyes only on the things and people ahead, trying to keep up with them. And frustratingly fail over and over. When this happens, often it takes just a backpass to open up your mind. You see new options and perspectives, missed when you were focused solely on dribbling past players one by one.

Life Lesson #2: Passers beat dribblers.

It's happened too many times to be coincidential: Pit a team of 5 mediocre players who pass the ball well against a team of 5 skillful but one-man-show players, and the 5 mediocre players will win almost every time.

And unfortunately, life is a team sport. No matter how fast you can run, or how silkily you can weave the ball through everyone else's legs, there is only so much you can do on your own. A pass is the shortest distance from one end of the field to another.

So pass the ball. Even if the other guy is a mediocre player. He just might slip it back to you.

Life Lesson #3: But there are times to go for glory, too. Decide quickly.

So many times I find myself with the ball, wondering, " Who can I pass it to?". Only when the ball has been snatched away due to hesitation do I realise that I was actually close enough to shoot.

At the end of the day, it doesn't matter whether you passed or kept the ball for yourself. What matters is that you make the choice quickly. Maybe your teammate will screw up your pass. Maybe your shot will end up as a hilarious miskick. But it sure beats losing the ball before you figured out what to do with it.

Life Lesson #4: People can tell if you really, really want the ball.

I used to play solely as a goalkeeper in high school. On those rare occassions I played outfield, I would naturally fancy myself as a lone striker upfront. However, it dawned upon me that no one would pass the ball to me. No matter how clear I was, they would keep dribbling and look for someone else to pass to.

I could argue that it was because my friends knew I was actually a terrible striker. But strangely, players I was playing with for the first time reacted in the same way.

Eventually, I discovered that I never really wanted the ball in the first place. I was content to stand aside and watch the others do all the hard work, blaming them for any shortcomings. Deep down, whenever they had the chance to pass the ball to me, I was really thinking, "No! No! Don't pass it to me! Please!"

So you see, people know if you're worth the ball. Real goal-getters scream at the top of their lungs and wave madly.

Life Lesson #5: No one remembers who played best. They only remember which team won.

I used to track and compare my weekly personal goalscoring count. At the end of every match, the quality of the game was measured by how well I'd played.

Then one week came, when I scored a grand total of zero goals. Hanging my head dejectedly, I sighed to my friend.

"What's wrong?"

"Duh!" I replied. "I didn't score a single goal."

"Oh, really?"

What? He didn't realise it? Didn't he and everyone else cheer for every goal? How could he have not realise that I didn't score?

But it was the truth. Many times we amass our personal trophies and pedestals, expecting others to lavish us with praise. However, as the title goes, no one remembers the best player. They only remember the best results. Praise is good, but let it not be the single motivator of your life. The best players celebrate when they extend a foot to poke the ball into the net, not when they dribble past 3 players, swirl and hit the post.

...And we're done! The start of a highly marketable series, perhaps?

FINALLY! Writer's Block

Off the record, I would hereby like to publicly state that...

RUMOURS OF MY DEATH IN LANGKAWI ARE COMPLETELY UNTRUE.

I have, in fact, been alive and creaking - as scheduled - four days after my Langkawi escapade.

It has been so, so long since I've written, however.

Written anything that isn't a branding proposal, project timeline, website copy, ad copy or VBS drama. No prizes for guessing my favourite pet project of the past month.

Oh yes...VBS drama was fantastic, utterly fantastic. Believe me, I've never felt so proud of anyone in my life before. Even more so than last year, this year's was a truly by-God's-grace affair. Under-staffed, under-talented, over-rated, over-scripted, expectations galore. You name it, the brilliant Inter class conquered it! Even my own working schedule, where I was allowed only 3 half-days. Meaning I would be there from 9am-9.30am for praise and worship, drive to office from 9.30am-10am, work from 10am-1pm, drive back to church from 1pm-1.30pm, rehearse with the monke..oops, children from 1.30pm-3.30pm, cendol-ise from 3.30pm-4.30pm, drive back to office from 4.30pm-7 something. WAH. LAU. WEH!

Though all seemed doom and gloom for the 3 days of rehearsals, with our main man Clement still doubtful about his lines, everyone - and I mean EVERYONE - was pumped up on steroids on the real day. Those who couldn't sing sang, those who couldn't dance danced, those who couldn't act...well, they looked cute trying. Even two girls playing medics, who stood out to Ju Liang and myself as being terribly uninspired, played their roles with more gusto than I could've mustered myself. Pity they forgot their first aid kits.

Here's to you, Inter Class VBS 2007!

And oh yeah...the Special October Feature.

You know what? Coming soon. =p

When I find the time, AND the resolve.

Vacation Time!

Am going away to Langkawi for 4 days, starting tomorrow.

Not that my dear readers may notice anyway, with the embarassing lack of recent updates.

Guilty, guilty, guilty I plead! Work's been a killer lately. I won't say it's overly draining or anything, just that it takes up too much space in my head. I actually have tons of half-written drafts floating around, of which a small percentage gets filtered through to proper drafts. And from that tiny group, we have another select few which get put to paper. Or keyboard. You get the idea.

Say for instance, my Special October Feature. I already had parts of a slam-bam story "Three Days To Live" drafted, but it's been lying there so long it's grown moldy.

I miss writing stories. I really do! Reading the Twisted Tales hardcover book took me back to a happier place, a much more wonderful time when everything was a story or poem waiting to be told.

All ritey then! 4 days of no creative copy. No A&P proposals. No ads. No WIP meetings. No church. No housestuff. Let's hope the floating words find a cosy spot to settle down and form stories.

Fun stuff I need to think about at Langkawi:

1) What to do for the upcoming TU Pyjamas Nite.
2) A GREAT performance for VBS Graduation Day, by the Intermediate Class. Was officially asked today, not that I needed to be. =p
3) And of course, the overdue Special October Feature!

That's it, kiddos. Stay safe!

Just for kicks, here's 'Ultraman Vs Pikachu', a short nonsensical (you've been warned) film some friends and I made a couple of years back:

Happy Birthday To Me!

Before we proceed, let me first give a big MUAKS and TERIMA KAH-SAY! to all who made my 22nd birthday such a memory. Especially dear Wen Cheng, who was nice enough to make me a printed hardcover version of Twisted Tales Volume 1, to make me feel like an accomplished author. Haha. It's great to syok sendiri!

Now available in hard cover! *smiles in glee*

And check out this back-page excerpt Zhi Yong was so kind to provide:

"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."

Anyone sticking around for Volume 2? =p

Stripped Away

Came across this interesting piece last week to share. Hehe don't worry, it's not that sort of 'interesting piece'. =p

Suggestive as it seems, JC's Girls is in fact a Christian ministry dedicated to spreading the word of God to strippers. Yes, strippers.

How did it start? Heather Veitch, herself a former Vegas exotic dancer and porn actress, left the industry and gave herself to Christ in 1999. Working thereafter as a hairdresser, she became a stay-at-home mother and vowed never to keep in touch with her sinful past.

Then one day, and old friend dropped by and shared about one of Heather's girlfriends, whom she used to work with in the strip club. The poor girl had died recently of alcoholism, with no friends or family. At the time of her death, she was dating a man 40 to 50 years older than herself. The only people she had were her fellow stripper girlfriends. At her funeral, they didn't know what to do and poured alcohol over her grave to remember her. Saddened greatly by such a loveless death, Heather's only thought was, "I could have told her about Jesus."

In an interview, Heather details how she once lived a similar lifestyle of sex, drugs, alcohol and emptiness. Making 1200 to 2000 dollars a night was the norm, at the price of constantly pushing away - in vain - hands of men eager to touch and degrade you. She would purposely perform drunk almost every night to dull such pain away.

"It broke my heart, that I know what it's like for that girl. And because I had turned my back on it, I forgot that all my friends are still there. They were still there, and I left. It was like there was a burning house, and I escaped. The house is still on fire, while my friends are still inside, and I'm not willing to go back inside and try to pull them out."

And how could she carry across this message with impact? Having worked in such joints in the past, Heather deduced that if someone came in, bought her time and only wanted to sit down with her and tell her about God's love, she would have been touched. Maybe she wouldn't have made a change there and then, but there was no way she would forget such an encounter with God.

A burning passion to minister to sexual sinners as Jesus did, she gathered a group of girls from church and made their way to a local strip club. Each of them would choose a girl to buy a private dance from. However, unlike any request the strippers had ever received, all these girls wanted to do was pray for them.

Says Lori Albee, another member of JC's Girls about her first experience approaching a stripper:

"I asked a girl for a dance, and she said yes. This girl was adorable - she looked like any girl on a college campus. We started walking back to the booth and she said, "I've never had a girl ask me to dance before." And I said, "I've never asked a girl to dance before."

We were laughing and building a rapport before we even got to the booth, and once we did, I told her, "I really don't want you to dance for me. We're just here because we love you girls and we want you to know that there's a God out there who loves you, too." And she said, "I cannot believe that girls like you would come to a place like this to tell us about God."

I said, "We just want you to know that if you want God in your life, he's there for you. There's nothing you've ever done that's so bad that he would not forgive you." Her eyes instantly started welling with tears, and she went, "Thank you so much. I keep feeling like I want to go into church, but I feel like I'm going to turn into a pillar of fire."

I told her, "Absolutely not. There is nobody in that church who is better than you are. God wants you as much as he wants anybody." I then asked her if I could pray for her, and she said, "Please, pray for me." Then she grabbed my hand, and I just prayed that she would remember this moment in time when God came to her right where she - and that God would protect her, because she's in a dangerous job. That was really it. It was very simple and short - the length of one song, about three minutes.

Amazingly, the girls have been pretty well-received for evangelists. They stirred up quite a buzz lately at a porn convention in Las Vegas, distributing gift-wrapped Bibles, teaser postcards and T-shirts to visitors. All items were snapped up in short time.

What makes JC's Girls such a success? Respect. Having gone through a similar experience, Heather understands the tremendous judgement women in the sex industry receive from Christians. Therefore, she makes it a point to respect their culture of glamour and physical beauty, earning their trust in return. She never expects them to leave their jobs before being allowed to step into church. Rather, they are encouraged to first develop a relationship with God and gradually let Him take charge of their lives. Most times, instead of ending up feeling morally policed, they experience love, forgiveness and salvation.

"If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go to look for the one that wandered off? And if he find it, I tell you the truth, he is happier about that one sheep than about the ninety-nine that did not wander off. In the same way, your Father in heaven is not willing that any of these little ones should be lost." Matthew 18:12-14

God bless you, JC's Girls!

October

Crap.

I swear, last night I dreamt of an ENTIRE story. Cover to cover. No kidding.

When I woke up, I could only remember bits and pieces. A girl, ping pong balls, a floor with wooden planks. And some holes.

By the time I finished brushing my teeth, the only memory left was some girl dropping some balls. Nothing by the time I started up my computer.

It was like Alzheimer's on fast forward.

But trust me, it was a bestseller.

And it's the splendid month of October. Where great things are supposed to happen at Twisted Tales.

Crap.

Stories Of Naivety

Happy 50th Merdeka to all! Expect a Malaysia-centric post sometime soon, but for now here're some delightful lil' shorts I unknowingly compiled last week.

Story Of Naivety #1:

This cute little boy, not more than 7 years of age, steps into his auntie's lavish bungalow. It is quite obviously his first time in such a big house.

"Wahhh..." he exclaims to his cousins. "Auntie's house is so big and beautiful, it must cost at least 100 bucks."

Story Of Naivety #2:

Another cute little boy, 8 years old, give and take a few years, buys a box of Tora chocolates. You know, those chocolates we ALL bought when we were young, that came with a free toy that always looked SO MUCH BETTER on TV.

If you remember clearly enough, Tora costs 1 ringgit, for both the chocolate and the toy. The time I bought it, they gave this green plastic crab-like top. Quite cool for 8-year-old standards.

And along comes EvilWeaselFriend.

EWF: Wah, your toy so nice lah!
Boy: Yeah...
EWF: I buy it from you, okay or not?
Boy: *mind starts going blank at the thought of making money* How much, how much?
EWF: Hmm...20 sen lah! Can buy a bowl of noodles, you know.
Boy: Yeah...noodles...
EWF: Deal!

And ta-da, the incredible spinning crab was sold for a mere 20 sen. Till the boy's sister yelled at him "You think the chocolates will cost 80 sen kah?" did he come to realise his folly.

Story Of Naivety #3:

On Day One, EWF borrows 20 sen from the same boy. Though more cautious this time around (though not necessarily wiser), he lends it to him. After all, EWF is his best friend and wouldn't suddenly migrate to North Korea over 20 sen.

Day Two:

Boy: So where's my 20 sen?
EWF: *hands him 10 sen* Nah...
Boy: Wait...I lent you 20 sen rite?
EWF: Yeah...so now I give you back 10 sen loh.
Boy: Huh?
EWF: You see...I have lesser 10 sen now, and you lesser 10 sen also rite?
Boy: Mm...yeah. *still feels uneasy*
EWF: It's the same one! Just a different way of counting.
Boy: Okay...

At home...

Sister: WHAT?! HE'S SUPPOSED TO GIVE YOU 20 SEN, YOU MORON!!
Boy: No jie...you don't get it. It's a different way of counting.
Sister: Different your head!! *smacks*

Ah, to be young and gullible with a capital G...

P.S. All the above stories are 100% true accounts. They might or might not have happened to yours truly. Thank you for reading.

The Pewter Lady

Two Saturdays ago I found myself in the Royal Selangor pewter factory with my colleagues. Company outing, don't ask me...

There we were in the musty production line, surrounded by the clings and clangs of deft pewter-shaping hands. Suddenly an unassuming bespectacled Indian lady caught my eye.

And so, in the quaintest of ways, this tale begins.

Have you ever seen those pewter cups with tiny dotted textures completely covering the surface? Amazingly, the dots aren't machine-made. They are actually hand-made.

Our jaws dropped in sheer incredulity at seeing this simple Indian lady hammer away at the cylindrical metal sheet, each nimble stroke leaving an impression, dots forming lines, lines forming rows.

Each dot fell perfectly in place, guided by impossibly accurate timing and force. She was far better than any mock-up artist we'd seen in college or office.

"Hey," I snickered to my colleague. "Imagine doing that eight hours a day, five days a week."

We shuddered in mock fear.

Tok tok tok tok tok. She finally finished one cup. It couldn't have taken her more than three minutes.

Quietly she took a new sheet, wrapped it around the tube mould, and repeated the process. Tok tok tok tok tok. No glancing at the clock. No sighing.

"Kak," we asked. "Sudah kerja berapa lama?"

"Dah sepuluh tahun dik."

Our eyebrows shot up.

We stared at her for a couple more minutes, simply mesmerised at how easily her hands moved. "Berapa lama kak belajar buat ini?"

"Setahun baru mahir."

One whole year! I would've given up after a few days.

Strangely, all the other factory workers were also aunties, some looking no younger than 60. All were equally skilled. Our tour guide explained how they'd worked here for ten, twenty, thirty years. Still, you saw smiles on their faces and joy in working. Whatever part of the process they played, they were eager to craft the best pewter masterpieces to sell. That was because, the tour guide explained, the company treated them well. Though they didn't earn a lot, they were given frequent incentives, trips and recognition.

I couldn't stop thinking: How on earth did these people find the desire to wake up everyday? What drove their lives?

Whatever amazing things we think we do in our lives, they eventually become no more than a fine pewter cup textured with dots. The Indian lady might have been praised the first or second time she completed a perfect cup. But from then on, the only thing she could hope for was to not create an imperfect cup.

We all want to be remembered for eternity. The one who was kind and compassionate. The one who was so talented he could get any job he wanted. The charismatic leader who was respected by thousands. The one who was pretty and everybody's darling.

But just like the pewter lady, our glories all end up as a dotted pewter cup. The people who praise us will one day forget and perish as well.

So how do we be remembered for eternity? By seeking praise from the only One who is eternal. Work hard, serve joyfully, and look forward to someday hearing 'Well done, good and faithful servant". It'll be best words of praise you ever hear. =)

Slumber (Finale)

It was almost 11. I had just finished the longest post in Twisted Tales history, was showering, when...suddenly! Inspiration struck.

And I simply couldn't stop writing. Wouldja believe it, the humble tale of Slumber now gets a nod as one of my finest ever. =)

Slumber (Part 10 of 10)

Little Jenny. Was she still trapped in the dream?

"In today's local news," the radio continued. "Police have arrested Lenny Williams for the suspected abduction of his daughter Jenny, who was reported missing yesterday. Williams, who is currently separated from his wife, calmly surrendered to police officers as they raided his residence following a tipoff. Jenny, who had been kept for thirty-six hours in Williams' residence, has been returned safely to her mother. Investigators are still uncertain of the motive of the abduction."

Huh? Two consecutive reports on the same item?

"In today's local news. Lenny Williams has been sentenced to seven years in jail for abduction of his daughter Jenny. The verdict, widely seen as-"

Mom turned it off. She continued driving, never once taking her eyes off the road.

Oh. I forgot. It was the cassette Mom played all the time. Recordings of the broadcasts when Dad and Jenny was in the news. I never could understand why she listened to them over and over so joylessly, as if hoping to hear something she'd missed the past hundred times.

Things never had been the same since that strange day. I came home from school to find police cars surrounding our house. Mom crying her eyes out. The twins unusually mopey. And Jenny wasn't there. As well as that yellow dragon she carried with her everywhere.

It hit Mom the hardest, I think. Especially so soon after the quarrels, the divorce, the custody battles. I hated how she went from being a cheerful soul to such a...witch. Honestly, I never once saw her smile since Dad left.

******

That afternoon, I ended up in the lawn playing with Jenny. It felt like it had been such a long time.

"But you're always King." Jenny pouted. "It's my turn."

"You gotta get the crown." I stuck out my tongue at her, holding the paper crown Dad folded just out of her reach.

She made a face like she was about to cry, but at eight years of age crying didn't come as naturally as it once did.

She's becoming a big girl, I smiled to smyself.

Sighing softly as the April breeze, I sat ourselves down on the velvety grass, curling and tickling our bare feet. The scent of freshly-cut grass wafted in the air, what Dad would call "the smell of grass growing".

Jenny's eyes danced as I placed the crown on her head.

"Tell me a story. Please."

"Hmm...there was this weird dream I had last night..."

THE END

My Life Movie Soundtrack

Here's an interesting lil' tag, fresh from Ee Lyn's blog. (You better pay me for free credit mention, gal!)

How it works:

1. Open your music library
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that's playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button

Hahaha...simply irresistible!

* For convenience's sake, only English and Malay songs will be considered. Crazy Frog songs are another story altogether.

Roll the tape, monkeys!

Opener Theme:
20th Century Fox theme

DUM DUM...DUM DUM...DA DA DA...DA DA DA, DA DA DA...YADDA YADDA...

Falling in love:
Sephia - Sheila On 7

Hey, Sephia
Malam ini ku takkan datang
Mencoba 'tuk berpaling sayang
Dari cintamu

Hey, Sephia
Malam ini ku takkan pulang
Tak usah kau mencari aku, demi cintamu
Hadapilah ini
Kisah kita takkan abadi

S'lamat tidur kekasih gelap ku (ooo.....Sephia)
S'moga cepat kau lupakan aku
Kekasih sejatimu takkan pernah sanggup untuk melupakanmu

I once knew a friend who had a maid called Sepia...

Sex Scene:

JENG JENG JENG~!

Murder On The Dancefloor - Sophie Ellis Bexter

It's murder on the dancefloor
But you better not kill the groove Dj,
gonna burn this g*ddamn house right down

Oh, I know I know I know I know I know I know
About your kind
And so and so and so and so and so and so
I'll have to play

If you think you're getting away
I will prove you wrong
I'll take you all the way
Boy, just come along
Hear me when I say
Hey

It's murder on the dancefloor
But you better not kill the groove
Hey, hey
It's murder on the dancefloor
But you better not steal the moves
Dj, gonna burn this g*ddamn house right down

Erm...so am I the one murdering, or getting murdered? And what's this DJ guy doing on my bed?

Breaking Up:
Butterfly - Crazytown

Come my lady
Come come my lady
you're my butterfly
Sugar, baby

Come my lady you're my
pretty baby I'll make your legs shake
you make me go crazy

Eh...I got sound so desperate meh...

Life's OK:
Don't Cry Out Loud - Diana DeGarmo (from American Idol 3, yes I do have weird songs in my list)

Baby cried the day the circus came to town
'cause she didn't want parades just passin' by her
So she painted on a smile and took up with some clown
While she danced without a net upon the wire

I know a lot about 'er 'cause, you see
Baby is an awful lot like me

Don't cry out loud
Just keep it inside, learn how to hide your feelings
Fly high and proud
And if you should fall, remember you almost had it all

Not the uppity-est of songs, but I love it! =)

Mental Breakdown:
God's Will - Martina McBride

I've been searchin', wonderin', thinkin'
Lost and lookin' all my life
I've been wounded, jaded, loved and hated
I've wrestled wrong and right

He was a boy without a father
And his mother's miracle
I've been readin', writin', prayin', fightin'
I guess I would be still
Yeah, that was untilI knew God's Will

And I was afraid Sean Kingston would drive me nuts...

Driving:

*Just for laughs* At this point 'Sei Xing Bat Goi' by Twins plays. At one point in the song they go:

"Why must like that?"
"Why cannot like that?"
"Don't you feel it's agonising?"
"Agonising...but I like."
"Forget it lah."

Of course, it's in Cantonese. If you've heard the song, you'll prolly be laughing your head off.

*Just for laughs 2* The Star Wars opening theme plays. I kid you not.

The Blower's Daughter - Damien Rice

I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes...

Keep your eyes on the road when driving? One of my favourite songs, neway.

Final Battle:
Truly Madly Deepy - Savage Garden

I'll be your dream
I'll be your wish
I'll be your fantasy.

I'll be your hope
I'll be your love
Be everything that you need.

I love you more with every breath
Truly madly deeply do..

I will be strong I will be faithful
'Cos I'm counting on a new beginning.
A reason for living.
A deeper meaning.

I want to stand with you on a mountain.
I want to bathe with you in the sea.
I want to lay like this forever.
Until the sky falls down on me...

It's weird, but I picture a slow-mo battle in a lush green field which ends up with me getting stabbed through the heart. No kidding, try listening to the song.

Death Scene:

Ahahahahahaha.

Presenting...Canon in D by the Vienna Boys Choir~!

Though it's technically not an English or Malay song, the appropriateness brings a tear to my eye. Pass!

Funeral Scene:
She Believes In Me - Jon Peter Lewis (some other American Idol 3 dude)

And she believes in me, Ill never know just what she sees in me
I told her someday if she was my girl,
I could change the world
With my little songs, I was wrong

But she has faith in me, and so I go on trying faithfully
And who knows maybe on some special night, if my song is right
I will find a way, find a way...

Die until so cham??!

End Credits:
You And I Both - Jason Mraz

Was it you who spoke the words that things would happen but not to me
Oh things are gonna happen naturally
Oh taking your advice I'm looking on the bright side
And balancing the whole thing
But often times those words get tangled up in lines
And the bright lights turn to night
Until the dawn it brings
Another day to sing about the magic that was you and me

Cause you and I both loved
What you and I spoke of
And others just read of
Others only read of the love, the love that I love.

Cause you and I both loved what you and I spoke of
and others just read of and if you could see now
well I'm almost finally out of.
I'm finally out of, finally, deedeeededede
well I'm almost finally, finally, finally out of words.

~THE END~

ENCORE, ENCORE!
What a life, huh? =p

* Feel free to tag yourself...this tag comes HIGHLY RECOMMENDED from me, the tag-hater! Thanks Ee Lyn!

Writer's Block

Zhi Yong's grandma passed away last afternoon. I always knew her as the nice old lady who smiled when I came to his house.

In the past months, she had been suffering quite a lot from diabetes, anemia and a fracture. Selfish as we are in wanting to keep her here, God made the best choice. She's now in a place of eternal joy and peace, waiting to see her loved ones again.

Zhi Yong seemed rather gloomy when I talked to him on MSN yesterday. Guess God is giving me more reasons to pray every day. =)

Slumber (Part 9 of 10)

Okay...by all accounts, this story should've been dead by now. I just haven't been able to 'get' into it. As poetically lame as that sounds, it's the intangible bit which separates stories from ramblings. For a story which held such great promise, I strangely haven't been able to muster any inspiration to make it different from past writings. And if I can't even excite myself, nobody's gonna be fooled.

Now now, a final 2 chapters to make good. Here's at ya:

Slumber (Part 9 of 10)

Black.

Eyes opening.

Still black.

Lips parting, trying to make a sound.

Nothing.

"Bo."

Where was this?

"Bo!" Louder.

My eyes started registering a room. A ceiling. Walls. A window. Drawers.

I felt beside me. A bed. I was lying on a bed.

"Bo! For the last time, YOU'RE GOING TO BE LATE!"

A frizzy-haired woman slammed open the door, and literally dragged me out of bed in the most inconsiderate manner.

"Get dressed. Downstairs. Breakfast. FIVE MINUTES." Her arms waved comically at every pause.

*******

Groggily I made my way downstairs. There was still this dreamy, dazed glaze on everything. As though a lot had just happened, but there was frustratingly no way to tell what.

"For heaven's sake, hurry up," Mom barked from the breakfast table. "The twins are in the car already.

Two slices of yellow bread packed neatly in a lunchbox. Breakfast, apparently.

"I'll be in the car." she threw some scraps to Blackie.

*******

"Mom?"

"Mm?"

"When are we visiting Dad again?"

She continued driving intently. Out of the corner of his eye, I saw her mouthing Stupid Lenny.

Sigh. I hated it when she was in this mood.

Trying to break the icy silence, I turned the radio on. News. Before I could change stations, she stopped me.

"In today's local news," read a surly voice.

"Investigations are still being carried out on the mysterious disappearance of eight-year-old Jenny Williams. Williams was found missing from her residence this morning, with no signs of forced entry. Also missing is a yellow soft toy which belonged to her. Williams was last seen by her mother in her bedroom yesterday night."

Little Jenny! My mind whirled in shock.

Crab Tales

I've been posting some pretty amusing stuff on my company blog lately, making Twisted Tales the faithfully ignored first wife. Poor thing...

One of the most interesting things about CC+J - yours truly aside - is the two crabs we rear in a tank. Not those big kinds that taste good with chilli, mind you, just teeny fellas twice the size of a 50 sen coin.

Unassuming as they are, these two nameless crabs have provided us with many, many hours of entertainment. Well, it is the first time I've been so close to a crab. Not counting my mouth.

So well, I just couldn't resist a crabby tale or two...

Episode 1:
The Crab Speaks

Episode 2:
The Crab Speaks... Again

Episode 3:
The Incredible Mystery Of The Crab

What can I say? It sure beats writing about some dumb girl and her evil imaginary dragon =p

Things Always Seem Worse In The Morning

"Things always seem worse in the morning."

This line has been appearing in my mind for the past few weeks, the moment I roll out of bed and start assembling the number of tasks that need to be accomplished for the day. And they always seem impossible as I brush my teeth. Always.

As lunch time approaches and I reflect on a wonderfully slow morning, however, they start appearing more possible. There's a reason why there're more hours after lunch time than before, you know. Afternoons have a way of drawing all the nasty stuff to themselves, leaving you to enjoy your mornings and evenings.

Always have, always will.

When you were little, mornings were the best time to be awake.

Honey Stars in milk. Homemade tuna sandwiches with too much mayonnaise. Sunny egg tarts. Bustling morning markets. Steamed dim sum with your parents. Cartoons, cartoons, and more cartoons.

When you were little, you slept afternoons away.

Hot, scorching sun. School buses. School lunches. Household chores. Homework. Tuition. Waiting for parents to come home.

When you were little, evenings were almost as wonderful as mornings.

Football. Badminton. Running around. Climbing about. Bicycles. Kites. Slippers. School buses (not your own). Woks clanging. Setting sun. Coming home to the whiffs of dinner.

And nights, a cherry to top it all off.

Dinners. Television. Homework. More television. Computer, maybe. Sleep.

Now that you're older and wiser, are your mornings still mornings?

Indeed, things always seem worse in the morning.

Black Button

A great movie on temptation, choices and morality!

"Mr Roberts finds himself awoken inexplicably in a white room. A man sits before him at a desk and in between them stands a black button. If Mr Roberts pushes it, he will receive a briefcase filled with millions of dollars. Or he can take the key to the door and leave penniless. The catch? Pushing the button will result in the death of a human being. What would you do?"

Simply riveting from start to end. And would you believe it, it was shot on only 200 bucks in an old school stage. Wish I could make a movie like that some day. Come on, guys!

Slumber (Part 8 of 10)

Been in the office 12 hours a day for the past 3 days (not necessarily working). It's nice to spend a slacker-ry afternoon reading on Wikipedia about everything from The Fly to Pacman to Dino Riders.

And yay! CC+J's first-ever above-the-line ad appears in The Star Classifieds today. It's for a moving company Myrelo, and will be running 30 days in 3 versions. I don't care, this time I'm taking full credit for the copy! It's portfolio-worthy work, I know. My my, how selfish. :p

But still, it's nice feeling talented once again. :)

Slumber (Part 8 of 10) - Let's just get this story over and done with! It's tasting like a bloated bowl of Maggi.

The Scatter Witch's eyes grew round. "You're mad."

Bo snorted.

"You'll kill us all." the Witch whispered.

"I won't die," Bo sneered. "I'm no longer some silly dream. I'm becoming real."

"And you," he turned to Lenny. "You pitiful mutt. You were doomed the moment I became King."

Lenny growled fiercely, trying to get up. Bo stepped over and kicked him in the sides, causing him to fall. "You're pathetic."

"How fitting, that the almighty Scatter Witch drains her powers to grant me Black. Which I eventually use to defeat the great Lenny. "

The Witch was absolutely seething. "You...you had a plan..."

"What can I say? Planning is everything."

"Someday," Lenny gritted his teeth. "Someday you'll return to Slumber, and someone else will be King. That'll be the day. I promise you."

"Pitiful talk. Pitiful, pitiful. But of course, I truly admire your heroics for Little Jenny. Look how well everything turned out. She'll be going back!"

In a fit of rage, Lenny tried to break free and tear into Bo. Alas, Black was too strong for any of that.

"Enough! You shall sing." Bo smirked hatefully and pointed at Lenny. Clearly against his will, an uncomfortable tune escaped Lenny's throat.

"Hush little baby, go to sleep
When you sleep all things are sweet
Fancy shoes and ribbons dear
Don't wake up till morning's here"

"The Dream Song," the Witch exclaimed in disbelief. "How could you have known..."

"You see," Bo stated. "More than a dream or fantasy, I was her friend. She trusted me."

It was the song her parents always sang her to sleep with. So enchanting. So haunting.

Jenny's eyelids begged to shut one more time, surrendering to the stillness enveloping her.

What will I wake up as, a part of her wondered.

You'll be safe in your bed, ready for school, Bo snuggled beside.

You'll be in another strange land, running away from snarling witches and dragons.

You'll be like what Bo said - nothing.

"Bo..." she cried.