Doing what's right

Write a story that begins with: "Thirty minutes had passed and..."

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Thirty minutes had passed and still no sign of him. I glanced at my phone once again, and there wasn't any notification from him. Maybe my phone is glitchy again, so I unlocked it and launched my Messenger app. Nothing. Check my Whatsapp, nothing. My message inbox, still nothing. There isn't any traffic where I'm at, but maybe there's a massive jam somewhere nearby? I launched Waze, and find not a single red line on any road in my area. Where the heck is he?

"I'm on my way dear, wait for me at the bus stop, okay? I'll be there in 5 minutes," he said over the phone, half an hour ago. He doesn't life far away from me, a 10-minutes drive at most. So why is he taking this long again?

This was not the first time he's been late. In fact, he's been late on-and-off these few weeks, and whenever I asked about his reasons, he'd always either said that he was held up at work or brushed it off, telling me that I'm paranoid and that he didn't take that long. But I know for a fact that I did not over-react, and his constant tardiness and borderline neglectful behaviour is pushing me over the edge. He's not like how he used to be, and whenever we're together I felt more alone than all the other times that I'm actually by myself. The feeling is just different than how it was between us. 

Whenever I feel doubtful of our relationship, I've always liked to think back to how we got to know each other: We met at this very bus stop, both waiting for our respective school buses at 6.15 a.m. every single weekday. I went to an all-girls' school, while he attended an all-boys' school. I always wore my hair in a ponytail, while he'd always have his shirt just slightly untucked because he wanted to look a little less of a geek with his short spiky hair and black-rimmed glasses. We ignored each other at first, as a couple more students arrived to the bus stop for their rides to school, but one month after school reopens, he finally break the ice between us. He introduced himself then asked for my name, and I asked about which school he went to. He didn't need to ask about my school, my uniform told it all, with my red tie and red skirt. "You must be very smart then," he said. I sneered at him and told him not to stereotype me based on my school. He laughed and told me that it was the first time someone got offended when being called smart. I looked away in embarrassment. What is so good about being smart anyway, people always find excuses to make you help them do things because you're smarter than them. I hated that.

We got close over the months, and went on our first date the day after our last SPM paper. He drove his old, beaten-up Toyota to my school and waited for me to come out of the examination hall. I had told my father that I was going out with my friends to celebrate the end of our high school life after my last paper, because he wouldn't have let me stay out after my exams, what more to go on a date with a boy that I've secretly been chatting with till late at night every couple of days since months prior to SPM. Two months after our first date, I brought him home to meet my parents, and he brought me back to his home to meet his. My father was skeptical about him, but my mom liked him, while his parents took me in like their own daughter. His mother had always wanted to have a daughter, but the family decided that it would not be financially possible to do so, so she was more than thrilled to finally have a 'daughter' to have girl-talks and cook with once in a while. 

We did well in our exams, and passed the interview for scholarships to the same college. He slaved through chemistry and physics, while I was always covered in charcoal and paint from my art projects. After college, we each went to a different university; the first time we're apart. We Skyped each other every night no matter how late or how tired we were, because it's the only way we can bear being thousands of miles away from each other. Semester-breaks were bittersweet, because they were never long enough for us to be together, then we had to be separated once again. We worked part-time and saved enough to attend each other's convocation ceremonies, and decided to move to KL together for better job opportunities. Finally, we're together again. We were so excited to finally be 'adults' and take care of our own lives. We'd even talked about our plans and maybe even marriage in two or three years' time, when we're settled in with our careers. 

I got a job in an advertising company, while he worked as an engineer for a big electronics company. Although we're now in the same state, we still barely got to see each other as we were both busy with work. It was fine at first, because we've been through this. "It's just like uni all over again, but we can make it through this with no problem, right?" he asked, with a confident smile on his face and I nodded without any hesitation. We've made it through three years, what's another couple of months, right?

Some days were great, because it made us appreciate each other's presence even more whenever we got together. But some days were depressing, when I see my colleagues getting off work early for dinner with their families and loved ones while I had to work overtime due to last minute changes ordered by my boss. Sometimes when I actually got to get off work early, it was his turn to stay back in his office due to some technical issues with the machines in the factory. Most of the time when we got home from work, we were too tired to even turn on our laptops. It was hard, and eventually we got used to catering to our hectic schedules instead of each other. In a blink of an eye, we've lived like this for two years. Daily phone calls turned to weekly chats, turned to nightly 'goodnight' messages, I can't help but feel that we're drifting apart, and told him about it. So we discussed, and decided that we should try to have dates at least once a week. It worked for a couple of months, until recently when he started to turned up late to our dates or the occasional cancelling of the date altogether due to his work. 

"Does you work have to take over your life?" I asked him in one of our dates. He works in a big company, there can't be just him working on cases and tasks to fix problems. Can't he just pass some things over to his subordinates or his colleagues to handle them? He doesn't like me bringing up his work, sometimes we would end up arguing with each other because of it. 

"Do you think I just work for fun? That I can just walk away whenever I like? I don't own the company, Jane! I just do my best so I can stay employed in this economy!"

I glanced at my watch; It's been 40 minutes now, and far out in the distance a white Honda appeared and grew closer, and stopped in front of me. I opened the door and got into the car. 

"I'm sorry dear, there was some matters that I needed to settle back at the office earlier, so I was late a little."

A little, I thought.

He went on, telling me things about his work, stories about his colleagues and his boss, as if nothing was wrong. We watched a movie, had a quiet dinner and took a short stroll by the night market nearby before we called it a night. It was our typical date night: movies, dinner, a short walk, home. Except, today was our anniversary, our 10th year together.

As we sat on a bench by a playground, I reached into my bag and pulled out a small package neatly wrapped by a maroon-coloured wrapping paper. As I hand it to him, I saw his face froze upon realizing what just happened.

"I don't think I can do this anymore," I said, as I placed the present on his lap.

Tonight I finally realized that I don't have to continue to suffer from this pain and loneliness I've felt for many months. I've come to a realization that this relationship has evolved into nothing more than a burden in my heart and it messes with my emotion every single time I remember that I have a boyfriend that doesn't seem like a boyfriend anymore to me. I can't take anymore broken promises, empty words and heartaches. I can live without this man. And I finally could summon enough will power to break this ball and chain from my ankle.

He stayed quiet for a very long time, and eventually I figured that I'll just leave; I don't need to listen to any excuses from him, I've made up my mind. But as I got up he reached out to grab my arm.

"I'm sorry, Jane. I really am. I didn't mean to forget our anniversary. Please, don't leave me. I can do better. Please..."

"We've been through it many times, Dan. And every time it ended up the same. I don't want to feel disappointed anymore."

"We've been together for 10 years already, I remember this, Jane. I do. Ten years is not a short time, not many people could be together for this long. I promise I'm working my hardest so I won't have to work anymore late-nights, I will be there for you more. Just give me two more months, when I get promoted I won't have to be away as much. We've stayed strong so far, why would you give up on us now?" he asked, with a heavy voice and tears in his eyes.

"That's what you said three months ago, last December, last May. Don't you know it yet, Dan? It's never going to end. I worked hard too. I got promoted too. I'm busy too. But I made sure to make time for you, just as we promised each other. One date each week, that's all. One day, out of seven in a week. I asked for favours, changed shifts, even changed projects just so I can clear one day out for you. But you never seem to do the same. Two years we've been this way, and every year you only got more and more occupied with your work. You're oblivious to it, but it's clear to me that work is more important than the person you claimed you love. I'm tired, Dan. I've had enough."

I shook his hands off mine, and walked towards the bus stop as a bus arrived and got on it, leaving him at the bench with his head in his hands. I don't care where this bus takes me, as long as I'm moving forward towards a better life for myself.

*******************

Word count: 1,916

An OCD's Experience of Burglary.

Written based on the question: "I keep thinking about it, and the more I think about it the more..."

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I keep thinking about it, and the more I think about it the more it doesn't make sense. I locked the windows and the door, I'm sure of that. I made sure everything was in its place before I went up to bed. The living room was tidy, the curtains were drawn, and the kitchen was spotless. Not forgetting the alarm system: it was DEFINITELY activated. So why am I greeted with all this filth when I came down this morning?

I was never a messy person. "Neat" would be an understatement when it is used to describe myself. I MUST have order, and I must be clean at all times. I was always the one that came to school in the whitest blouse and the straightest pinafore, and I went home looking exactly the way I entered the school grounds every single day of my schooling life. Every. Single. Day. Some days my blouse was so white that it almost glowed under the purplish-blue hue of the early morning sky. My belongings were always where I liked them to be, all categorized and placed strategically so I could keep them back as easily as I would take them out. You might think, a freak like me, surely there would be countless times that I'd been bullied, and you would have suspected wrongly. Who would dare disturb a 1.9 m, 90 kg girl who easily towered over even the tallest teacher in school, and was famous for being the (unofficial) MVP of all Tarik Tali events in every Sports Day for five consecutive years? So, yes, everybody left little OCD giant alone to her book-arranging and pencil-sharpening. I just love being organized, and all my life I've been organized, until this faithful morning. So, you can just imagine how horrified I am, finding things where they should not be. 

The freshly-bought magazines are all torn out of their plastic wrappers and spread all around the coffee table, WHICH, has a mug of half-drunken coffee placed dangerously close to the edge of the table, WITHOUT A COASTER. NO. Just, NO. As quick as lightning I dashed to the living room to save my beloved white rug from destruction, if God forbid an earthquake had to happen right at this moment and shake the damn mug over the edge. So I picked up the cool ceramic mug off the table, and saw the unmissable coffee ring on the white marble table, and right next to the stain, on the rug (which I saved from a potential coffee spillage!), dirt. I have never felt so enraged that I actually felt nauseated to the point of vomiting, but of course, I wouldn't do that. Not on my rug, even if it's already ruined with a snot of the planet. 

There are some fingerprints left on the television screen, which is strange, because which burglar would be dumb enough to not wear a glove when they break-in to houses. Also, who touches the television screen?? I can never understand the minds of criminals, but I would expect them to at least wipe their fingerprints off with a napkin, which I'd conveniently provided in a nice little Hello Kitty tissue box right beside the television. Nevertheless, the alarm did not go off, I just realized. I turned to my front door, where the controls for the security system are. "Activated", it said. Then I went around the house, pulling back every single curtain and check on every single window pane. Nothing. All windows are shut, just the way I left them last night. No footprint, not even a speck of dirt anywhere. So, how did this bottom-grade burglar who's foolish enough to leave fingerprints and evidence on every single thing he touched and did, manage to enter my house unnoticed?

You would be thinking: Well, check the CCTV! Yes, I would've, but then you didn't see the disaster in the kitchen. My cereal boxes are all toppled over, Koko Krunch is mixing with Fitnesse is mixing with Cheerios on top of a pile of Corn Flakes. The fridge door is opened (I try not to think so much about the electricity bill that I will be receiving very soon), so is the oven with some brown slime splattered all over the interior, which is also where I find the partially melted bottle of Nutella. The hand towel is on the floor, in a mangled state and soaked in what appears to be pasta sauce. The table towel is found on the stove, which, I'm glad it was not turned on by the burglar last night otherwise I would be waking up without a house to live in anymore, IF I survived the fire, that is.

By now, you must be thinking: Have you checked your belongings? Is anything valuable missing? Well, nothing is missing, I can tell you that. Because the place where I hid my valuables was not even touched. But just to make you feel better, I will check it out.

Yep, everything is still there, all in their organized boxes and piles.

I must call the cops now, before I start cleaning up all this mess. So I dialed 999 and reported the incident, and it will take about 10 minutes until the police arrive to investigate everything. 10 minutes of living in this chaos; I have to keep myself calm.

My phone started ringing; it's 9 a.m., I should be at work now, so I'm guessing it should be my boss, Karen. And I was correct. Karen called and questioned me on my tardiness and of course asked about the Lee-Wong deal. 

"I've done the proposal yesterday and emailed it to Brian to triple-check them," I said, as calmly as I can.

"What?? I just saw Brian and he did not receive email from you," replied the panicky Karen. We have been working on this deal for over two months and the long hours and late nights for a deal on one stupid piece of land is taking its toll on us, especially Karen being the main PIC of this deal. You see, Mr.Lee is a cut-throat man, while Mr.Wong is your typical kiasu uncle, so it had to take us a long time before finally agreeing on all the terms and conditions for Wong to finally pay for the land he so desperately wanted.

"Well, you have to ask him to check again, I am sure I've sent him a copy, I can see it right now in my 'sent' folder," I said, staring at my computer screen in a corner of the living room.

"Got ah? Okay okay I will find him again, bye," answered Karen, and the call was cut off.

Two police officers turned up at my door a little bit later and made their rounds around the house. They find the whole situation odd, as clearly nothing was stolen; it seems like the burglar really just wanted to watch some TV and have some breakfast. They then asked for my CCTV footage, so I brought them to my computer and pull up the recordings:

11.30 p.m, that's me, turning the lights off and the alarm system on, then head upstairs. 

12 a.m, the whole house is dark.

12.30 a.m, still nothing. Se we fast forwarded the footage and suddenly there's some movement in one of the screens and we slowed down the recordings to the original speed. 

Wait. What?

That's me!

That's me coming down the stairs, turning off the security system, opening my front door, turned, and walked straight to the couch in front of the TV and sat down. Just sitting and staring at the blank television screen. I don't even remember doing all that. Was I sleep-walking? Have I sleep-walked before? Have I been opening my front door wide for anyone to come through every night? When did this started? Suddenly a chill creeps up my spine, to the back of my neck; have I always behaved this dangerously?

"Ah, miss ah, you sure this is a break-in ah? You opened the door wor," said one of the officers.

"Arr, wait. Wait. Let's continue watching," I said. I can't be the one who caused this entire catastrophe, could I?

I was wavering on whether I have lost my mind and then we saw someone passed by my front porch, and very quickly took some steps back, and peeked into my living room. That was Beng, my neighbor. Also known as my arch nemesis. So why was he on my property?!

Beng walked into my living room, where I was, and appeared to be talking to me, but I was not responding. He must've realized that I was sleep-walking, because he started taking the magazines on the coffee table and ripping the plastic wrappers right in front of my face, one at a time, taunting me, and I showed no response to whatever he was doing at all. Well, that explains the mess on the table.

He then proceeded to the kitchen and begin to make a mess everywhere, as we've seen the aftermath earlier. It seems like he was trying to test his limits on how loud and messy he can be before I woke up and catch him in action. But no, still no response. 

Eventually he grew tired of terrorizing my house and decided to make himself a cup of coffee and sat down RIGHT BESIDE ME and began sipping his beverage, IN MY FAVORITE MUG. Then he tried to turn on the television but couldn't find the remote, so he went towards the device and touched all over it, hoping to find the 'On' button. "It's voice-activated, you idiot," I thought to myself. Fool.

After failing to turn the television on, he decided that it was time to head back home. He'd even waved his hand right in front of my face before strolling out of my house like he just wont the lottery!

"Officer! You saw what he did! Isn't this considered as invasion of property?!" I exclaimed. Beng HAS to be arrested for doing this to my house!

After he left, there was just me, just sitting in the living room staring at the television, with my front door still opened wide. We fast forwarded the footage further, and when the time showed 5 a.m, I was seen geeting up from the couch, walked to the front door to shut it, turned the alarm system back on, and walked up the stairs, towards my bedroom.

The three of us fell into an awkward silence after we finished watching the CCTV footage. I can feel that they're confused at what's happening too: is this even a legitimate case of a break-in?

"Err, technically, you opened the door lah...but then... that doesn't mean your neighbor can simply masuk and buka party here. You sure ah, you didn't allow him to come in?" asked the second officer, finally breaking the silence.

"Of course not! Where got people open their front door big big late at night wan??"

"Okay, miss. Then we will go to your neighbor's place and get his testimony, okay?"

"Ya ya okay, then my house like that, can I clean up or not?"

"Hmm, not yet la, my partner contacted the station just now. Since you still insist to lodge a report then we still have to collect some evidence of your neighbor entering your house and carry on with our SOP. So, you have to wait a bit for our team to arrive can?"

Reluctantly, I waited for more officers to come over and collect everything that they needed. They took pictures of the 'crime scenes' and took fingerprint samples. I would've asked them to get Beng's DNA from the mug he drank from too, if I didn't give in to my condition and decided to wash the mug first. Taking DNA samples might be too much, but it's Beng, so I don't really care. 

I called my mother and asked if I have always been sleep-walking since young, but she confidently told me that I have no such problems growing up:

"Girl, make sure you get a check-up at the doctor's soon, okay? Ask about the sleep-walking and if there's any way you can stop it. Dangerous lo, if this continues," my mum advised, clearly concerned.

"Okay mummy, I will go soon. Either tonight or tomorrow," I answered, trying to provide some comfort.

It was a weird day. 

Well, at least Mr.Lee and Mr.Wong finally signed the agreements, as a very excited Karen told me over the phone later that day.

********

End

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Word count: 2,104 

Clearly, I am an over-achiever. D:

For more stories I've written previously, click here.  

I'm creative like that. Or maybe I just have a sick masochistic mind.

I've been researching. 

Yes, I have.

Researching on what, you may ask?

Well, researching for inspiration, in the form of exam questions.

You see, I had so much fun writing the story from my student's English paper the other day that I thought, 'Hey, what if I did a whole series of stories based on these questions?' Seems fun, right? I mean, it could be fun, I can use this as a way to keep my creative juices flowing in my mundane-routine-like life. It's a good way to make sure that I'll consistently update this blog and my website; no reason to slack off now.

So the next time my student brought his stack of past year papers to me, I'd taken the liberty to copy down all story-writing questions (without neglecting my student's work, of course. I'm a responsible teacher at the very least). And a couple of days later, I decided, well, I should narrow down the topics that I'm interested to write on. And oh, what about the past year papers from actual SPM papers? So I googled them up and downloaded them; not all, but enough to keep me occupied.

There are so many titles that I wanted to write on, but just in case I bit off more than I can chew, I've decided to take it slow, and start with 13 first. Let's call this...Series I:

1) Write a story beginning with: "My legs were hurting and I could not continue walking..."

2) Write a story ending with: "...thank goodness, it was only a case of mistaken identity."

3) "I keep thinking about it and the more I think about it the more..."

4) Write a story ending with: "As I walked away, I knew that I would never come back to this place again."

5) Write a story ending with "I should be more careful about my choice of friends."

6) Write a story that begins with "Thirty minutes had passed and..."

7) Write a story ending with: "We had never laughed so much in our lives."

8) Write a story with the title: An Unexpected Visitor

9) Write a story beginning with: "Kim was nervous when the door opened..."

10)Write a story beginning with: "It had been raining all day..."

11)Write a story that ends with: "They looked at each other and smiled meaningfully."

12)Write a story beginning with: "The teacher walked into the classroom. It was the first period..."

13)Write a story about a fisherman beginning with: "The wind blew strongly. Out at sea, ..."

(Source: Chung Ling High School past year trial papers and SPM past year papers)

If I managed to go through this whole list consistently, then we shall revisit those past years for more titles to play with, and if I've finished writing THOSE, well then I guess I should grow up a little bit and challenge MUET and IELTS questions, although, I have to say, I prefer fiction over opinion-based writing tasks, not because I have nothing to write for these topics, but because I can never pick a side. I'm indecisive that way. There's just too many things to consider, and each side of the equation has their reasons that made me want to support them. I don't know man, I'm just the worst decision-maker ever. 

Or, I can just ask my friends for titles. Or, if you have any title you'd like me to write, feel free to leave them in the comments section too! I don't discriminate (:

Nevertheless, coming back to Series I essays, I understand that these are questions meant for teenagers, and I'm further than a far cry from my teen years. These essays are also meant to be written within one hour, which, I obviously have more than that. So to make things fair, instead of essays around 350 words, I should be writing more than that, as shown in my recent essay based on my student's trial paper. Hence, I've decided to write at least 1000 words for the first 5 titles that I choose to write on. The sequence for this whole series would be chosen at random order. As for the 6th-10th titles, I'd like to push myself towards 2000+ words and if I'm able, I'm going to further increase the word-count to 3000+ words for 11th-13th titles. I find this benchmark acceptable.

An as for the duration, I would very much like to post a story every two to three days, but because I'm not a risk-taker and I'm also a big-a** coward, I'll settle for 1 each week. But, who knows, I might throw in two titles a week if I can find the time to write. heh.

This is so exciting. I'm going to pick a title now and start writing. Then post it up tomorrow! 

Wait, no no no. Too soon, too soon. Okay, I'll post it up by Monday. YES.

So yeah. Let the stories begin!

It's serious when I can feel that it's serious

It's not often that people, especially Asians admit that they have some mental discomforts. I'm not sure if I should call them 'discomforts', but I'm definitely not calling them diseases or disorders. Calling them the latter two just makes them seem deadly, when sometimes they're not. Seeing a psychiatrist seems to be one of the taboo things that we can do, well, at least in my opinion it seems to be the case.

I feel like sometimes we're to self-critical to admit that perhaps there's something that bothers us mentally; somethings that prevent us to be the person we could've been without these discomforts. Some of us feel uncomfortable not cleaning up after themselves and double checking things, some people feel extra sensitive to their surroundings because what if the one time that you let your guard down would be the last time you'll ever walk down the street safely. Perhaps, it's a good thing; it makes us different, makes us unique. I choose to look at it in a positive light.

Sure, I don't have a psychiatrist I can consult with, but I know something is wrong when I feel my heart racing when my surroundings get loud and people started shouting, and I'd feel small all of the sudden and so powerless. I'd get tensed up and put myself on pilot mode so I could escape and protect myself from a full-blown emotional breakdown.

When places begin to get chaotic and loud, it feels like I'm standing in the middle of a very large field with no shelter and no weapon to protect myself, while all around me dark clouds are rolling in and as I take steps backwards, I can never sense any kind of wall or solid object that I could rest my back upon so I can feel at least a little bit safer because at least my back is safe, even though I'd probably suffer quite badly from the winds blowing from my north, east and west. Then it begin to seem like the thunderstorm is starting and the thunder is rumbling and everything gets dark. Then the lighting struck and I felt myself crouching down and hiding my head into my arms and shrinking into a round meatboulder, just waiting for the storm to hit and hope that the flood doesn't come and wash me away or drown me. It gets cold, and I felt alone, helpless, useless. The world in my head is crumbling, and nobody around me is noticing the catastrophe but me. Sometimes, it gets too overwhelming that I have to hide somewhere and give myself a good cry to release some of these tension in my mind.

No. I don't have a psychiatrist, but it doesn't mean that I can't say that I have anxiety. I don't have to go to the doctor and be clinically diagnosed as having 'chronic anxiety' in order to know that I'm uncomfortable in certain environments. I know myself well enough to say that loud places stress the heck out of me and I can't take it sometimes, to a point where I stopped responding to people for days before I can finally feel comfortable enough to join in to the society again. And I know that I need time for the storm to pass, so I can gather my thoughts and calm myself down enough so I can function as a proper human being once more. 

I know myself well enough that it's always going to be a little bit tough for me to meet people because I can't find the right words to say and the right things to do at the right time. I know myself well enough that part of the reason of why I'm the way I am is because I think too much about everything, and hence couldn't properly decipher anything. I'm not oblivious about it and I know the best way to solve this is to take a step back, take a deep breath and stop caring for a little bit. Textbook answer, right? So, you know, they don't usually work. Easier said than done, don't you think? If anyone can be fixed by just a simple advice, everyone would be perfect. We suffer from what we suffer because our bodies and minds just can't find the right knobs to push so logic can be interpret into actions and we'd do the right things and be functional.

So yeah, it sucks to suck at being the perfectly functioning human, but that's life, right?

Reminiscing on Form 5 essays

So last night my student showed me his SPM trials English paper, while he went on to work on his Add Math exercises. 

English Paper 1 had always gotten me excited during exams, because that's about the only paper that I can confidently sit for without worrying if I'd answered well enough, or scored enough correct answers to earn myself an A. And while I have no problem writing my opinions on whether if it is a good choice to learn Math and Science in English, or what I think can be done to reduce obesity among our youths today, what I really wanted to do was to answer the last question: the question that asks me to write a story based on a given beginning/ending.

So I read through the questions on my student's essay paper, and immediately zoomed in to the story-writing question: 'Write an essay of about 350 words. Please start your essay with "When I saw tears in his eyes, I knew he had realized his foolishness..."'

It got me excited, and immediately I pulled out a piece of foolscap paper and began writing while my student completes the exercises I've given to him. Of course, I might have exceeded 350 words a little, but I can't help it when I have so many ideas to pen down. So here's me story based on the title:

When I saw tears in his eyes, I knew he had realized his foolishness. Tom has never been the kind of person who plans ahead before deciding to do anything. Not only that, he has to be the most stubborn person that I'd known throughout my whole life. I guess this time his destructive personality has really gotten him into deep trouble. Nothing can be done to bring those lifeless little paws back to life now.

Tom has always pride himself for being the independent one in the family -- He could cook himself a meal when he was a mere child of 5. Then, he started earning some pocket money here and there by helping the neighborhood adults to run some small errands and help out with some house chores. Well, nobody could expect otherwise from an orphaned little boy who lives with his grandparents. Life was not easy, and every little dime and quarter helps in the small household of three.

When his grandfather died, the two remaining family members were in distraught. In fact, Tom's grandmother was so wrapped up in grief that she was bedridden within the same week his grandfather was buried and passed away soon after that, leaving the then 15-year old teenage boy to fend for his life. By then, Tom had accepted his fate that life will always be tough for him, until one day a lost little puppy discovered the boy and followed him home. 'Maybe God isn't so cruel after all,' Tom thought, as he watched the little fur-ball licking her small bowl of milk that Tom had placed on the floor in front of her. A companion was what he needed; someone he can call his family. Sunshine, he named her, and  she stayed by his side ever since that faithful day. He would even let her followed him to school. The staff at school were not happy to see a dog roaming around the school grounds at first, but eventually gave in to the little pup's friendliness and let her stay at the guardhouse while Tom went up to his class.

He took care of her like any father would take care of his child. It had become an instinct for Tom to care for others, as he had to take care of his two grandparents back when they were alive. Patient, tender and protective, nobody could have been more dedicated as an owner to Sunshine than Tom. They became each other's pillar of strength, and as Sunshine grew and matured into a loyal and faithful dog, Tom grew up to be a fiercely independent and spirited young man. There isn't anything in the world that could break his spirit, because Sunshine was always there to comfort him. She would know when Tom was stressed or when he was feeling down, and she would lay by his feet and be by his side to provide any form of help or comfort so he could feel better.

No stronger bond had been forged like the one Tom and Sunshine had. He always know what Sunshine needed and made sure to provide her the best that he could afford. However, because Sunshine was born with asthma, it's a struggle for Tom to save up enough money to treat her ailment sometimes. So over the years, Tom had researched and studied about her condition so much that he could differentiate between serious and mild asthma attacks when Sunshine had them, and even learnt up some home remedies so he could treat her himself rather than sending her to the vet.

One day, Sunshine was playing in the field outside of their home when she had an attack. My friends and I, who were on site, saw what happened and tried to coax her back home to Tom, and finally resorted to carrying her home when she refused to move as she was wheezing and struggling to breathe. Tom immediately dashed into the kitchen to get the herbal medicine he had kept in his pantry when he saw us carrying his sick dog up to his front door. He tried to coax Sunshine to take a few sips of the medicine as soon as we placed her down, which she did with much hardship. She then laid down and fell fast asleep. However, occasionally, she would twitch a little.

"Is this normal?" I asked.

"Yes, yes, she does this sometimes," he answered as he stormed off into the bedroom.

"Doesn't look normal to me. Should you bring her to the vet instead?" I asked again. She looked like she's struggling really badly to catch a breath. It seemed to me that his medicine did not work on her at all.

"No! Now get lost and let my dog rest!" he shouted furiously.

Reluctantly, we left Tom and Sunshine and returned to our respective homes. It wasn't until much later that Tom finally decided to bring her to the vet, when she was twitching profusely, as if she was having a seizure. He carried Sunshine in his arms and came banging on my door, asking for my help to drive them down to the vet.

When we arrived, he rushed into the clinic, right into the doctor's office without registering themselves first. It was only then when I found out the main reason of why Tom refused to send Sunshine here at first notice when I heard him begging the doctor to save her: He could not afford to pay for her medical bill. He was let go at work a few months ago and couldn't find any available job on the market that he could apply for. With his savings drying up faster than the desert sucking up moisture from the air, he had been struggling to pay for everything and put food on the table. 

The doctor tried his best to do whatever he could, but it was too late. With a final twitch and one last glance on her beloved owner, her eyes rolled upwards and her body fell limp. I walked up to Tom, feeling nothing but regret and disappointment on how things turned out.

"You should've told me, I would've been willing to help. Even if we're mere neighborhood acquaintances. Sunshine is my friend too," I said.

He nodded, tears streaming down his cheeks as he clung on to his lifeless companion for one last time.

For more stories I've written previously, click here.  

Journey towards Understanding

"My goodness, why is your hair so long?"

"Wow! How long did you take to grew out your hair to this length?"

"Isn't it troublesome, taking care of such long hair?"

"How long do you intend to grow your hair?"

Questions that I usually got asked when my hair was long. I wouldn't say that my hair was immensely long; many people have got longer hair than mine. But I guess people were curious mostly because they don't have many friends who have long hair, waist/butt-long hair I mean.

This isn't the first time I kept it this long. In fact, growing my hair out has become a method to set milestones for myself -- a reminder of how long I've been in my present stage of life. Six years ago, I decided to cut my hair short, right before entering uni for my degree. Halfway through my studies, I'd decided to keep it long, you know, just to see how long I could keep it for. Towards the end of my studies, I figured, well since I've had it for this long already, might as well keep it until graduation. Who knows how long it will take before I'll have such long hair again.

After that, I'd decided to pursue my MSc, and one day decided to chop my hair off because my hair was getting quite heavy and it was giving me neck sores. So off it went.

Some asked me why did I cut my hair off. Some thinks that it's a shame, chopping it all off after years of growing it out till my waist. Some liked my look better when I had long hair, but some complimented how young I looked with short hair. Either way, I just did what I felt comfortable and what I think it's best for my well being. And it was time to get rid of the baggage that I was carrying: the good and bad times that is beginning to weigh myself down, memories that my hair reminded me of, memories that I'd like to let go once and for all so I can move on to better things.

I really liked my long hair though, and on contrary to what most people think, long hair is actually more manageable/low maintenance compared to short hair, at least for me it is. There's less fuss of where the ends of my hair will curve towards, because the natural wavy hair has its own 'romantic' theme going on, but a messy short hair with its ends going everywhere is an annoyance. Nevertheless, short hair saves me time and resources; I don't have to spend much time nor use much shampoo to wash it. And it's lighter on my head so no neck-sores is always a plus in my book. 

You might or might not understand it, but what I realize about something as trivial as hair, is that although it doesn't seem like a big deal, it can actually affect the way you look at your life. Subtly at first, then gradually shapes your personality. Perhaps for you, it's not hair, but something else: clothes, watches, the way you do your make up, or the one pair of shoes that you've been wearing to everywhere you go. The things that you don't realize that you've grown so attached to that a deviation from how you usually experience that one thing, would change you as a person. Long hair is great, and very manageable and versatile, but when I cut it off and settled in to my short hair, I just felt this sense of freedom and lightness. And that made me a happier person in an instant. I suddenly wanted to go out, whether if it's to a mall, or just a walk around the neighborhood with my dog; I just felt this rush of liveliness in my blood. What I needed was spirit. So spirit is exactly what I got.

You may say, it's probably in my head, and you'll probably be right. It IS in my head, and what's in my head stems from the actions I took after consulting and thinking it through in my mind. Though I do understand if you mean to say that it's probably a one-time thing, chopping off your hair and having a different perspective to life. So I repeated my experiment: I grew out my hair for two more years and watch how life goes by and how I experience it.

What I find, is that as my hair grows, I grew more and more aware of the time I spend on one thing: my MSc, and this awareness, coupled with financial struggles, wore me down. First year went fine, I was working my hardest trying to complete my studies so I can graduate as soon as possible. Then two years went by, and still I'm in the same spot, doing similar things, finding myself getting more and more lost by the day: what am I doing, why and I here, what is all this for. So I tried doing other things; tutoring, business, make up, art. But they all took time, they all took lots of effort and left me feeling helpless, because if they don't work out, how am I supposed to support myself, and pay my school fees? For a moment there I got weak; I wanted to give up. Research is not an easy line of work, and I just got to the point of finding out just how tough it is. I don't think I'm strong enough to fight this battle. I don't know how to fight this war. The neck-sores are starting again. Everything feels heavy again. 

I was about to give up; I got really close to the exit door. Then I took a step back and realized that life is not meant to be perfect, it's not meant to go the way you planned. It's okay if I can't finish my studies in 2 years, maybe I just need a little more time to do more, do better. I've also realized that whatever hurdles I came to, I've always jumped pass it when it's time to take the leap. I've never really failed. So really, what I needed is to pull myself away from everything and look at the bigger picture. Put everything into retrospect. I may not be the person who graduates and makes RM2-3k per month, like many of my friends who are already well into building their careers, but what I have nurtured and compiled over the two years is knowledge of different industries and a better understanding of myself. It's not something that I can put on the table now and say "Look mum and dad, aren't you proud of me?", but in the long run, I know I'll be one of the minority that survives the apocalypse. So I stop micro-managing and over analyzing thing. I stop over-caring. Then I chopped it off once more.

Something as trivial as the length of your hair shouldn't dictate how you live your life. But how you choose you live life is shown by how you present yourself as a person. In my case, I choose to be free, and to care just the right amount. Not too much, not too little. 

uugh, stop posting stuff like that already...

Ever have that one friend who somehow seems to always post about his/her feelings on social media? When they're angry, they post a status about it. After that, post something with quotes in it and apparently is feeling inspired, or motivated. The next day they might post something upbeat, following the motivation from their previous post. Check-in a few days later, and they will revert back to anger or maybe depression, and they'll post a status about how bad their day was and how terrible they're feeling, somehow discreetly (actually not really discreet also la) asking for their friends' comfort and kind words.

Don't deny it, everybody's got that friends in their lives, unless, YOU are the one who does these things. If so, then, whoops. 

I'm actually not against people doing this, I see why sometimes conditions may drive one towards seeking solace and comfort in the virtual world. It's just that when one keeps posting the same kind of things in social media, it does makes me wonder if it's really necessary to share negativity or small little matters and cause an eye sore to others, you know?

My question is though, what is the extend of your pain that determines whether or not you should share it with your friends online. Take note that I only mention pain: stuff that hurts you, makes you sad, or makes you upset. I'm not going to discuss about posting things that makes you happy, because hey, spreading happiness is always nice (though I must say, there are cases where people over-share and these particular instances do annoy me as well, but I might just be a pessimist and a downer in general so maybe it's just me detesting joy in general).

For a couple of years now I've been somewhat controlling and filtering things I put on my SNS*, not because I'm selfish, but because I think about the impact that will be caused by those updates that might or might not be good, whether it's towards myself or the people I love and care about.

Sometimes when I feel down, and alone, in the corner of my brain there will be a small voice saying, "I could pm this friend of mine", or "I should post this, it can't be just me that felt this way". Most of the time I don't listen to these voices, and the few times that I do, I'd go as far as typing out the post, but discard it before I tap on the "update" button because let's face it, I'm not important, I bet nobody will notice my posts anyway.

Sometimes, I'd feel depressed and helpless, to the point where the only thing I'm capable of doing is cry and hope that my eyes will eventually get tired enough that they'll let me drift off into my dreams. That's when I wonder, will anyone notice and came for my rescue? if people know about my current weak state of mind. Will anyone understand what I'm feeling? Will anyone share the pain I feel in my heart?

You might say, "Well, since you have a problem, surely you know the cause of it. So why not just go to the source and solve it? Talk to the person, or change the way you do things, whichever that fits the situation." You guys are smart and sensible, I know, because entry after entry I've posted long essays, and you read it, and here you are again, reading yet another long essay that may or may not help you in anyway other than adding good karma points to your ledger for being such a nice person to have spent your time reading my blogs.

Anyway, back to what I was saying. I agree that it's always better to go directly to the source and try to sort things out, but you can't expect things to go the way you wanted it to go, right? Sometimes, the fault is our own, and no one else's, and it sucks. Because you know you're wrong, but it's the way you've been operating all you life, so it's going to take time for your brain and body to accept that you have to change, and that messes up your whole being and render you helpless. So for me, whenever this happens, I tend to resolve to crying. There's no better feeling than the sense of release after a good, wholesome, bawling.

But one can only cry so much, before coming back to reality that I still have to fix my twisted mind. Then I wondered once more, do I really have to change? Is there no other person that share my thoughts? I wonder if anyone resonates with my opinion, if only I posted something about it online.

But alas, I know that if I posted, the only thing I'm really doing is justify my selfishness and resist fixing my flaws. And that is not a good thing to do to myself.

So how? Hao (cry) loh...then wake up a brand new person and be stronger that you were yesterday. 

How about that for self-motivation and inspiration eh? (:

*SNS: Social Networking Site(s)