Writer's Block

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

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

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

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

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

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

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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

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

"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

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?

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

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.