Pockmarked Revelations

Day 146: Goodbye little girl

2012-02-10T17:55:00.003+08:00

Stepping out of the apartment together for the first time, they realized that a fundamental shift has happened. It wasn't because that today's sunny weather was extra bright, or the flowers were more sweet-smelling, or neither was it the fact that there was no dog crap to step on while walking down this cracked pavement of a gentrified BoHo neighbourhood. No, none of that nonsense. It was the mere fact, and they had - in the past twelve hours - shared a bed, and refused to leave it. Oh the joys of the first sexual encounter. The exploration, the shyness melting away and the limbs a little more flexible than your weekly pilates classes. Nothing could come between them both, and nobody could pry them apart. At one point or another, their bodies were always in contact. Call it what you may: a crush, a rebound, a fling, a fuck or even the L word, a lick. Oh yes, so much body, so limited time between the thighs. As cheesy as the John Mayer song sounded, to him and to her, they were each their wonderlands. As they crossed the street together, her hand in his coat pocket, he pulled her in for a quick kiss on her forehead. And there planted, the seeds of ... disillusionment within a perceived relationship. For she would be shipped off to college next week, and it was his last hurrah for a memorable romp before she meets another boy and those multiple first sexual encounters would continue ad infinitum. Till, the one, that is - provided you believed in love stories.

Day 145: Early Start

2012-02-10T08:15:00.000+08:00

*Replacement story for 9 February

She heard some light tapping sounds, echoing at intervals beside her ears. Something told her that it was Andrew working on his computer, in bed. She turned to her right, and mustered her tired eyes to open, but Andrew's side of the bed was empty. So she turned to her left and looked into the bathroom, but she wasn't sure if he was really in there, even though the door was ajar. She turned on her back while pulling the covers tighter around her neck, and shut her eyes again. There it was "tap, tap, tap, tap....tap, tap." She reached for her phone at the top of her pillow, and checked the time. 4.35 a.m. What the hell is Andrew doing up at 4 in the morning? He just flew in last night from Milan, and they had too much sex that she must have begged him to stop so that she could get some sleep and wake up by 7 a.m. She placed the phone on her bedside table and sat up, listening. "tap,tap............tap,tap,tap...taptaptaptap, tap,tap." She heaved a deep sigh at her boyfriend, and got out of bed. Reaching for his t-shirt on the floor, she put it on, as a temporary cover for her nakedness. She walked towards the study, and peeked in. There he was: sitting in the dark, hunched over in a grotesque pose of computer worship, the screen casting a ghostly light on him. She could see that he was writing, and decided not to disturb him. Tip-toeing back to bed, she thought: what an odd man I have let into my life.

Day 144: Caught

2012-02-08T19:29:00.002+08:00

It was dusk when they reached the camp site, so the first thing they did was to switch on their portable lights and they lit some candles to add to the ambience. While Joel was pitching the tent, Mark slowly poured powdered sulphur around their site to keep out snakes or any sort of pest that might find sulphur unappealing. It was getting chilly, and as they set up the cooking utensils, Mark suggested starting a fire. "Why? We have the bunsen burner to heat up the food," Joel pointed out. "Having a fire feels more like camping. Don't you think?" He was already collecting twigs from around the site, and waved them in the air. "See, all done." Joel didn't say anything, but silently decided that he wouldn't help Mark start the fire. After five minutes - while heating up the canned food - he heard crackling sounds from behind him. "Ta-dah! It's easy." Mark had a stupid grin on his face. "How did you start the fire?" Joel asked. "With dried leaves, sticks and a lighter, DUH!" Joel stared at him. "A lighter? Why are you carrying a lighter?" For a split second, Mark had an "uh-oh" look, but he came back with a cover line. "Because we're camping, and I thought we would need a lighter to build a fire." Joel was still staring at him. Then he said: "You promised me that you quit! Hand over that pack of cigarettes now!"

Day 143: Sick

2012-02-07T23:01:00.001+08:00

She felt a pressure on the back of her left calf, and it seemed be pushing her forward. The pressure came again, with the same force, accompanied by a rolling sound. She was sleeping, and could not imagined what could be pushing her. It came again, and she started stirring. She turned onto her back, her head coming in contact with the hard surface, and the rolling sound was gradually getting louder. She placed her hands beside her, and realized that it was not a bed, neither was it a clean floor. She raised a hand to her head and felt a sore on her forehead, while slowly opening her eyes.... she was staring at a fluorescent lamp. Where is she? Again, she felt the pressure on her calf and she looked ahead of her, only to realize that it was a door that was trying to close. Her feet were in the way. It looked like an elevator door. Then it struck her: she was lying on the floor of the elevator of her apartment block. She got up and tucked her legs in. The door rolled to a shut, but the elevator didn't move. She stood up gingerly and pressed the sixth floor. When she got into the apartment, her housemate Lilian saw her and asked: "Are you alright? What happened to you? You don't look so good." She sat down, saying: "I think I fainted in the elevator."

**************
N.B. This is an adaptation of an incident which happened to a friend. Am also writing this because I am sick, and this seemed kinda apt for today, considering my headache was so bad I couldn't even write last night.

Day 142: Science camp

2012-02-05T18:45:00.000+08:00

Maggie scanned through the names quickly on the list, and realized that Monroe's name wasn't there. She fished out her cell phone and texted him: "Not this time, honey." She knew that he would be disappointed to miss out on the special science camp again, and decided to pick up a treat before she got home. He had been so excited the night before that he came knocking on her door three times, and probably didn't get much sleep either. Before she drove out this morning, he said to her: "Mommy...." She could see that he was waving his left hand uncontrollably. "Mommy, can we know what happens? To the camp?" Although deep in her heart she knows that he probably won't make the cut because of his type of handicap, she smiled back while saying: "Sure thing, sport!" She had reluctantly signed him up for the camp, so that he would stop asking her. His reading was fine, but he was showing dyslexic symptoms. This was on top of his autistic behavior of occasional hyperactive bouts. She had to list down all his behavioral tics the registration officer, and was embarrassed for her son as she handed the form over. The lady looked at her and smiled, "He's a curious boy, isn't he? You do know we can't have someone like him at camp, but I understand what you're doing."

Day 141: A Woman's Tale

2012-02-04T19:12:00.001+08:00

We have been debating on whether Wendy should switch moisturizers, considering that she has just breached the four-O threshold and is beginning to reconsider wearing bikinis to the beach. The girl at the counter had whipped out a wrinkle measurement machine and took a photograph with a computer to show the complexities of the age spots, and when I saw Wendy asking more questions about the ingredients of the cream and had more than one of them tested on her hand, I knew my feminist friend was crossing the line. Those were the days when Wendy was the sterotypical bra-burning feminist, backed by her degree in gender studies and her NGO work with women's groups. She never married, but she chose to carry out an open relationship with Greg that lasted for a decade but ended in a fit of jealousy - when she realized that she could no longer withstand how much younger his other lovers were and how much they reminded her of herself when she was younger. One day she turned to me and said: "Alexis, I've decided that being a woman is not such a bad idea." From that day onwards, she embraced anti-aging moisturizers.

Day 140: Battlecry

2012-02-03T23:08:00.001+08:00

There was an urgent knock on my door and Ashtrid swept into my room even before I had time to respond. "Gwendlen, I wished I was not the bearer of grave news, but the time has come for you to leave us." I looked up at her sad grey eyes, and saw at once the day of my reckoning. She came towards me and held me wordlessly, the roiling emotions in her heart transmitted through her touch to my soul. I could feel that it pains her to see me head into battle, but I could also feel that she was proud to send me off to continue my father's fight. He had just been killed on the Plains of Dokkura, by the enchanted arrow unleashed by the strongest warrior of the Oceris Clan, Prince Osteem. To me, he is but a coward who does not engage in a sword battle on the bloody frontlines, but chooses to aim his arrow from afar. My blood boiled with rage, and I have spent my past week offering sacrifices to Ma-as, the God of War, preparing myself to enter the battlefield and to take my father's spot and lead the men. I might be young, but I am ready to be King of the Elves. I unlocked from my nanny's embrace, and looked her in the eye. "I swear, upon my father's blood, that I will slay his murderer and destory the Oceris. They are nothing but scums who have pillaged Elven villages, leaving havoc and misery in their trodden paths. I swear upon the Sword of Edlin. WE SHALL PREVAIL!"

Day 139: Driving

2012-02-02T23:26:00.002+08:00

I realized quite suddenly that I have taken the wrong turn, and am now venturing into unfamiliar territory. This part of the road gently curves upward, and begins to wind itself around the lush verdant hillside. I had seen this road before, and wondered if it was a short cut to the other end of the hill. Today feels a little different. I decided that I will keep on driving until I find an exit. There were few cars on the road, and I could feel the tyres hugging each bend as every turn opened up my vista to a new scenery. Cars that passed me by felt as if they were three inches away, and I slowed down as a consequence of that. In my head, I knew I wouldn't be lost. I would just take a little longer to reach my destination. This strong commandeering of the vehicle gave me a little thrill, and an almost blind confidence with every preceding corner that I have past. I was beginning to speed up at each twist in the road, and made a mental note to show this to my dad when he came to visit. I remember the days when he would excitedly come home and announced that he has found a new route, and that he will bring us along to explore the very next day. We would often come across beautiful landscapes and sometimes even find a picnic spot or two. Now that he can't drive because of his deteriorating eyesight, I enjoy showing my father new roads that I have found.

Day 138: LDR

2012-02-01T22:19:00.002+08:00

The waiter walked past with a fully loaded tray, with what looked like yellow globes of semi-translucent bobbles of food. She looked at the food, a little greedily, and wondered if they were actually edible or just merely the garnish. It went to a table of four, and looked like a family dinner to celebrate grandma's birthday (since a grandpa was conspicuously missing). She glanced at her watch, and noted that he is now fifteen minutes late. She was sure that his evil boss had given him extra work, knowing that dinner was scheduled, eroding into what little time that they get to spend together. It was the first time for both of them, this long distance relationship. While they breezed through the "I'll always love you" period too quickly, they have now reached the "would he/what if she" phase of distrust seeping into the silent days when neither a phone call nor a text message would beep on their phones. This dinner had been planned two months ago, and he only warned her about the looming deadlines last week. She texted him to say that she was ordering a soup first, because she was getting hungry. He wrote back to tell her to eat, and that he'll be there in ten minutes. The waiter came by to remove her empty soup bowl, asking: "Would you like to have anything else?" She looked up at the waiter, and shoke her head sadly. Her phone beeped, and she looked at the message, it said: sorry babes, I'm going to be another twenty minutes. She called for the check.

Day 137: Mad Women

2012-01-31T23:57:00.001+08:00

"It was worth it, every guilty pleasure of it. As I put it in my mouth, the way it felt on my tongue and the sensations of tastes - explosive!" I put down the draft that the copywriting team dreamed up five minutes ago, and looked at the two young men sitting in front of my desk. I looked straight at them. "Are you kidding me?" I yelled. "Did you think you were writing a script for some bad dialogue from the third installment of Sex and the City? Which will be very very bad?Because I know it???" They laughed sheepishly. I didn't cackle with them and continued my stare down. "Is this funny?" I asked coolly. The grins were wiped off their cocky young faces, and the mood in the room was taken down fifteen notches. I took a deep breath, and reminded myself to stop bullying the punks. 12 years ago, I was a punk like them. I would have thought that was funny too, but facing those crazy deadlines and bitchy, back-stabbing co-workers have wiped any sense of humor I used to have. Maybe it could have helped if I had more nurturing bosses, instead of self-centred bastards who built their career advancements on MY work. Must I drown into that same vicious cycle I was subjected to when I was fresh-faced and bushy-tailed? "Boys, please rewrite this. I know you can sell ice cream a lot better than to succumb to pseudo-dirty copy. You have until tomorrow morning." I would have some explaining to do to the account manager on why we can't meet tonight's deadline.

Day 136: The Exit

2012-01-30T20:52:00.000+08:00

The morning presented a perfect opportunity for me to speak to her, just before I left the house for work. I had packed my bags the night before, and didn't want to take away too many clothes, in case she suspected something. The suitcase filled with half of our lives, sat waiting in the coat cupboard next to the door. She had her back towards me and was absent-mindedly preparing our standard breakfast of toast, bacon (or sausages) and eggs. The yogurt was on the table, and the coffee was dripping through the funnel. "Alison," I called her, all dressed up and ready to leave. "Be right there, just give me three more minutes.." Her presumption was too much to take. "Alison, I'm leaving." She turned around quickly and was about to say something until she noticed my expression. "What do you mean, leaving?" The sizzle of the bacon was deafening. "I mean, I need to leave... this house." She looked straight at me, her face empty. Without a word, she turned off the gas on the stove and poured a cup of coffee for herself. She sat heavily at the kitchen table, and stared at the yogurt. It was a beautiful morning, but this had to be done. "So?" she started. "Go then, if you want to." Her voice was shaky, but resolute. I decided it wise not to say anything else, and went to get the suitcase. From the hallway, there was no sound from the kitchen.

Day 135: Party poopers

2012-01-29T20:07:00.000+08:00

When the scooter turned the corner, the right rear view mirror caught a glint of sunlight, reflecting right into her eyes, and momentarily giving her a blind spot where the mirror was. It was steered confidently by a pregnant woman, dressed in exercise gear, presumably leaving the parking lot where the shoplets were. She was sitting in the car, waiting for her sister to grab some extra food and condiments for the barbeque they are hosting. The hum of the engine matched the drone on her mind, of the scenes from last night when they decided to hit the pool at their brother's place. Masquerading as a family dinner, the occasion was to show off his new mainland Chinese wife, in his newly renovated mansion. Being the more successful sibling of the family, he always made a point to impress on his sisters that the status symbols he had collected were a reminder of their constant mediocrity in life. The new wife, Sherry, wore a mask of oriental charm sprinkled with tinkling laughter. Sherry made a show of her skills in a Chinese tea ceremony (if there was even such a thing), and took pains to explain the whole ritual in Chinese-accented American English. Stealing a glance at their mother, the septuagenarian was staring at the ceiling with the expression that one wears to a wake. When she looked at her sister from across the table, the 100 watt glare that she was giving Sherry was unusually nasty and laced with envy. As they were leaving , they resolved to organize tonight's party for the family as an early birthday for their mother -- without the company of their asshole brother and immigrant wife.

Day 134: Car game

2012-01-28T19:33:00.001+08:00

It was a hot day, and she was fanning herself with the magazine she brought to read. Except that now she isn't reading, but is desperately trying to fend off the heat from the busy road in front of her. Her phone was running low on battery, and before she reached her destination, she has to conserve power and is having some Facebook withdrawal symptoms. She has however, found a temporary past-time at the bus stand. Hidden behind large shades, her eyes were busy scanning the faces of every person who sat in the backseat of the cars crawling in front of her. Traffic was heavy - it was a long weekend, after all - and the roads are clogged up, spewing noxious gases into her system. Since she was bored, she might as well make 3-seconds analysis of every face she sees. Red Honda Accord: bored kid staring blankly at bus stand, probably at me, and wondering why he isn't running amok on a football field with some mates. Silver Subaru Impreza STI: girlfriend of fly-boy with spiky hair tapping away on her iPhone. Bitch. Black Mercedes Benz E330: jowl-cheeked woman with baboon lips talking (presumably very loudly) to her be-spectacled and blank husband. If you look left, woman, you will realize that I am young and you are old. White Mazda 6: acne-ridden boy playing with his PSP. Could be quite cute, if not for the zits. Yellow VW Polo TSI: no backseat driver, and I can't see the male driver who has a cap on. Probably hasn't bothered to comb his freaking hair. White Lexus CT200h: great blown dry hair on a young woman, who is talking to her girlfriend in the backseat, her manicured hands waving wildly around - must be talking about a disaster date from last night. This is fun!

Day 133: To wait, to shoot

2012-01-27T21:20:00.002+08:00

A crow's cawing overhead momentarily broke the silence in the field. He looked up, but his reflexes just as quickly pulled his eyes back to the viewfinder, where his lenses are trained on a pair of nesting eagles about 100 feet away from where his camouflage tent stood. A photographer must recognize the moments that are his money shots, whereas a hunter must stay focused on the target to get a bullet cleanly through. As a sniper would study wind movements and stalk, so does the photographer. Perhaps that is why both actions warrant the same use of the verb, 'to shoot'. He had been observing this pair for the past month, and it seems that new eggs have just been laid. The female has been guarding her nest more than usual, with the male occasionally taking turns, but mostly off hunting for food. He managed to get some great shots of them feeding each other, and figured he need to wait another month for some shots of the hatchlings. He might as well extend his stay, and change his flights, as he hadn't expected to be out here this long. Even then, these long days of waiting and stalking the birds were far better than sitting back home in Houston - better than feeling the heavy inertia of being a new widower.

Day 132: Curiousity

2012-01-26T23:04:00.000+08:00

"Leonard, what if I die before you? Would you marry again?" she suddenly asked me. I looked at her through the morning after haze, not entirely shocked but not entirely believing what she just said. All I did was look at her with my mock shock expression - gleaned from the days I was cheating on my ex - and shook my head. "OK, did that question just freaked you out? I'm sorry, too early. " She gathered the sheets around her, and pulled it to her neck. The strategy worked, but now she has inched away from me a little. It's a cold morning, and I do appreciate a warm, naked body. I had to try something though, before she decides not to make me any breakfast. "I didn't think you would ask me that..." I started. She turned back at me, inching closer to my chest. "Well...I was just thinking out loud. Because most days I can't believe that you would choose me. I'm so plain and normal." Women are delusional. No man naked in bed with you, would be worried of abstract questions about future scenarios, especially when you toss them a question about death. I grabbed her closer to me, and wrapped her body with mine. "Well I happen to know... that you make an awesome french toast breakfast..."

Day 131: Island escapades

2012-01-25T21:21:00.001+08:00

She tried to fight off her drowsiness, but it was creeping up on her. Literally, from behind, because the open window invited the wind which is fluttering her hair, in an oh-so-tingly-cooling-on-this-fricken-hot-summer's-day feeling. The bus was cruising at a steady pace, and suddenly the angst from missing the flight wasn't so bad after all. This was the second bus that she has to board, as a transfer service from the terminal in the tiny town to the jetty. This was for the holiday that she has been waiting for the past six months. The lure of sun(sets), (salty) sea, sand (irritating, but endearing on the toes) and .... possibly sex? Her last trip was surprisingly frisky, because she hadn't expect to share her tiny wooden "villa" (all 210 square feet of it) with two different, but equally becoming, boys. Note: they were younger, but weren't younger than six years, so she didn't quite feel like a cradle snatcher. Though she would not admit to it, not even to her bestie, that one of her intentions to repeat this island trip was to snare another one (or two...) hook-ups. She was too proud to admit that her sexuality was a raging hormonal sea, just like that summer of contentment (read: lost her virginity) when she was sixteen. The bus came to a gradual stop, and the doors slid opened noisily. Jetty!

Day 130: The writer

2012-01-24T22:40:00.002+08:00

She was a loner at school, and often ate her packed lunch below a tree next to the football field. She was far enough to be ignored by anyone who saw her, and it was near enough to the school to remind herself that she still had to return to class after this brief solitude. She was always reading something as she chews away patiently on her sandwiches - nobody knows what they are, because nobody has taken a serious interest in her, let alone her lunch - her skinny legs, clad in black tights sticking out under her narrow frame. She had perfect eyesight, but prefer to hide and frame her face with a pair of brown shades. They were a shade lighter than the color of her hair, which she always wore in a braid. The only people that anyone ever saw her talking to are Miss Barnes the literature teacher and Cooper, who was the star batter on the school's baseball team. Nobody was sure if they were seeing each other romantically, but he would sometimes wait for her at the halls, and some have seen them take the bus together. Although she wasn't popular as a person, the serialized stories that she writes for the school paper have attracted some attention. Even then, nobody really talks to her because they sensed that she just wants to be left alone. In that respect, she was quite happy with that public perception.

Day 129: Spying

2012-01-23T17:28:00.002+08:00

The car came to a stop at the junction, and I switched off the engine. Lowering the windows by just a crack - large enough to let some air in, small enough to deter crazy people from trying to reach in - I sat in silence and watched house number five-three-O. Yesterday was Mabel's turn, and she reported the usual. The girl went out for a jog at five in the evening, but otherwise remained in the house. A red car came back at seven, and he target went in and only left at midnight. We supposed there was dinner involved, but couldn't prove that they had had sex. Our other pair of eyes noted that the lights in the kitchen was on from six thirty to eleven thirty. In our notes, we wrote: possibly a quickie from 2330 hours to 0000 hours. The plan was for me to be here till midnight, with Jenny joining me from ten onwards. It was a cold night, and my stomach was still feeling toasty from the bowl of soup I had at dinner. I knew that sometime in the next hour, I'm going to regret having the soup because I will have to leave sentry to the nearest gas station to use the public loos. I looked at my watch, it was only eight. Two hours of silence till my stakeout partner arrives. It was exciting to collect evidence, even if it resulted in boring stretches of blank hours. We had to get enough photographs to prove that he's sleeping with one of our students, or else we can't get him off the university Board.

Day 128: To do tasks

2012-01-22T16:28:00.002+08:00

The cold was seeping into the house, and she felt as if every tiny crevice, every unseen nook, has succumbed to the frosty fingers of the cold North wind and allowed itself to be pried open. It was the middle of the afternoon, and she had more faith in the bright, sunny day as she thought that with the sun being out today, it could at least shed some warmth on her little house. But even then, it was still cold and she got up from the work desk to switch on the heater. She had been working all morning, and took a short break an hour ago to brew a cup of coffee. As she waited for the drip coffee (primitive, but tasty), she looked out at the tiny backyard and reminded herself that come Spring, the fence sorely needs a coat of paint. Maybe in a Pollock-inspired fury and impatience, she could splash on some primary colors and account for that later. Or perhaps it was a better idea to hire a professional to deal with it. But she worked from home, and usually didn't like workmen lurking around the property, even if she sorely needed it. This paranoia explains why the house has always been in this disheveled condition forever. The easier solution was to call her ex-husband, who is always willing to help, but she didn't want to falsely give him any hope that she still needs to rely on him. No, she will figure it out come Spring.

Day 127: Teenagers

2012-01-21T22:46:00.001+08:00

Ten minutes after most of the children have left the language school, Sharon was still waiting for her son. He had been acting strange lately: staying in his room for long stretches of time, refusing to join Alex and the gang for softball, dropping out of his taekwondo classes. The only constant were his grades, which were OK for a boy of fourteen. She never pushed him too hard, trusting that his adolescent mind would need time to figure out what he's good at. Even then, it worried her a little. At night, she would go online and read up about teenage behaviors, and discussing with Andrew what he might possibly be going through. "You've been a teenager once, what would make you change your behavior so drastically? Well for one, we're the parents and we're fine. I don't think we're hard on him..." she mused. "It's just a phase, he'll get over it," said Andrew from behind a book. He only made one request: he wanted to learn Japanese. So she sent him for classes, and would pick him up after the lessons. As she sat in her car, she saw a familiar blue hoodie coming out of the doorway... with a girl in tow. They were holding hands! Sharon smiled to herself.

Day 126: New arrangements

2012-01-20T23:51:00.000+08:00

The newspaper in his hand was fluttering in the wind, and for a split second he chided his own optimism and romantic ideas of reading in the park. He could have at least checked the weather, and he did not like the look of the dark clouds heading his way. When he left the house, he had cheerfully told his mother that he'll be reading outdoors this afternoon. She only said: "Are you sure?" It annoyed him that his mother was still right, after all these years. He is a well-known author, goddammit, and why can't he read in the rain if it fancies him? He couldn't concentrate anymore, and folded his newspaper.

Getting up from the bench, he walked towards the nearest building for shelter. The rain began patter very very lightly, almost like scattering snowflakes, and barely dampen his jacket. At least he had the sense to bring along a decently warm jacket, but he knew that he had to be indoors soon. The rains, for some reason, tend to pour very suddenly and last an hour on average. Maybe he could duck into a cafe, and grab a cup of black coffee.

He pushed open the heavy doors, and entered a bistro. It seemed half closed, as most of the chairs are still flipped over on the many tables. "Come in, we're just opening." The bartender beckoned. He went over and sat down, slightly uncomfortable with the musty air indoors. "Thanks, I'll just get a coffee? Black." The bartender nodded, and started the grinder for the beans. As he looked around the bar, he watched the bartender-cum-barista prepare the coffee. He wondered why he hadn't jumped on the bandwagon and bought one of those espresso machines for the house. Simple: he had an expensive divorce and is now living at his mother's apartment until he gets a new place. The only problem is that New York is such a fucking expensive city.

Day 125: Different lives

2012-01-19T23:16:00.000+08:00

The cat jumped down from the railings of the side balcony where it had been sunning, and proceeded to walk down the steps. There was a plastic bag on the landing of the steps, and as it walked around it to avoid the discarded red plastic, the cat ignored the unfamiliar smells emanating from the bag. It knew where it was going, and no empty plastic bag which smells vaguely like food will deter it.

When it got to the second floor, it walked past the first door which was wide open. There was a woman inside, her hair in curlers and with make up intact, watching a drama series on TV. She was munching on some cookies, and this attracted the cat's nose, but it kept on walking.

It passed a second door, which was closed all the time. There was a pair of sandals out front, which indicated that the owner was home. The air-con fan hummed as the cat walked past this unit.

The third door was open too, and there was a boy of eight doing his homework at the dining table. His mother could be heard preparing dinner in the kitchen, and calling out to him a reminder to drink the herbal soup she has given to him earlier: "It's bitter, but it's good for your memory. Finish it!"

The cat walked past the devoted mother, onto the fourth door which was swung wide open. A man was sitting at the door, picking the leaves off a bonsai tree, his forehead beading with sweat. He turned around to see the cat, and ignored it as It ignores him. The cat was nearer to it's destination.

It passed the fifth door, which was closed, but one could hear a sonata played on a piano by a pair of determined hands. The cat does not know what to make of the sound, except that it doesn't sound like it.

Now the cat was passing the sixth door, and it was closed as well. It seemed quiet from the outside, but behind the door, a woman was crying as she spoke on the phone. Whoever it was whom she was talking to, the person was giving her pain. The cat's sensitive ears could hear the sobs, but it didn't register in the animal's mind.

It arrived at the seventh door, and it walked through the steel bars of the grille, into the entryway. The door was closed. The cat sat there and meowed. It was calling out to it's owner, to open the door for it. It meowed again and again. It's ear twitched, and it meowed again. The lock on the door shifted, and a child's head poked out. "Stripes! There you are!" The little girl bent down to pick up the cat, and shut the door. As the lock slid into place, the corridor was almost as silent as:
the woman crying
the piano playing
the man's gardening
the mother's love
the A/C humming; and
the TV's dialogue.

Life goes on.

Day 124: Morning start

2012-01-18T22:17:00.000+08:00

She was awake, but remained under the covers with her eyes closed. She could see what was happening around her by listening to the sounds in and out of the house. Toby was padding around the house, his claws clacking around the wooden floorboards, probably following Harry from the kitchen to the back patio where he prefers to have his breakfast. The roads were very quiet this morning, but she could hear some bicycles riding past. She turned sideways and opened her eyes, looking into space but not looking at anything at all. In fact, she was looking straight into the bathroom, but it didn't register in her mind. Rather, she was still listening. She was waiting for another sound. Maybe Harry will switch on the TV. Maybe Toby will jump up onto the breakfast table, and beg for some bacon. Maybe the phone will ring. Maybe the back door will open and Harriet would be back from her basketball practice. She listened. Toby was not to be heard. Harry was flipping his newspaper very slowly. A car drove down the drive. She listened. There were no other sounds this Sunday morning. Propping herself up with the left arm, she pushed away the covers from her body and sat up. Then she lifted her lifeless legs to the bed side, and reached for the wheelchair.

Day 123: Night time surprise

2012-01-17T22:20:00.000+08:00

The TV volume was muted, the flashing images on the screen reflecting off her glasses, as her right middle finger scrolled up and down the windows that she had opened. Her eyes scanned the texts from left to right, sometimes stopping to write some notes with her left hand. Her right hand sometimes left the mouse to reach for the glass of water that stood beside a stack of opened books. She heard a ruffling of some papers from the other room, and figured it was her cat Mika making himself comfortable among the old newspapers. It was a little past midnight, and she was beginning to feel tired. She only had 36 more hours to finish her paper, but she wasn't even half way through it. She had been bottling up her anxiety until now, and a thought crossed her mind that she hadn't even had her lunch. She straightened her back, and hung her arms by her sides, letting the blood drain back into her cold fingertips. She decided to refill her almost empty tumbler of water, and headed into the kitchen. Once in there, she spied her housemate's bottle of vodka and spontaneously decided to fix herself a drink. Throwing a couple of ice cubes into her glass, she poured the clear liquid over the ice and shook the glass a little. Looking out of the window into the dark street, she saw a car drive down the street slowly. She sipped the vodka, feeling the warmth of the alcohol going down her throat, and keeping an eye on the car. It stopped three doors down from her house, and a hand reached out from the darkness of the interior and threw something into the bushes. As it drove away, the bush started to glow. The burning bush, just like in the Bible - she thought. Burning bush? The alarm bells started going off in her head.

Day 122: Opponents

2012-01-16T22:18:00.000+08:00

They worked very quickly, and deftly in the cold room, their gloved fingers deftly slicing off the hardened butter with knives and fashioning it into a galloping horse jumping over a fence. One of the junior chefs was cleaning away the excess butter slivers from the work table, careful not to get in the way of the two master carvers. The taller one, Demir, was working on the horse's mane and was etching out the lined detail on the butter creature's neck. The plump carver, Nadire, was carving the details on the fence to try to make it look like real wood. Demir threw a glance at the clock and noted the time. "Three hours Nad," he said. "Mm-hmm." she replied nonchalantly. They were part of the Golit siblings, who are renowned as chefs and often took part in culinary art fairs to show off part-time skills. This was merely a hobby, and they didn't need the extra accolades. All this sculpture would serve was a reminder that the Golit family was still tops even if all the chain of events that happened in the past year marred their reputation as the leading chain of food purveyors and restaurants in Istanbul. Even if their traitor of a sister, Ahla, defected to her husband's family - the rival chef Abas clan - to compete with them in this competition.

Day 121: Encounter

2012-01-15T21:53:00.001+08:00

The moment their eyes met, there was a realization that neither of them were supposed to be there. It was about to get worse, because their spouses were walking towards each other. "Andy! Hey how are you doing?" Grace said. Andy forced an awkward smile that looked both like relief and like a rat caught in a trap. He leaned in to kiss Grace on the cheek. "Hi Grace, how are you? Fancy seeing you here!" Apparently Grace was here to pick Patrick up from work, and incidentally so was Andy, here for Melissa. Patrick shared a look with Andy, and the men nodded in acknowledgment. As the women exchanged pleasantries, the men took care not to pay attention to each other. What the women didn't know, was the earlier rendezvous the men had in a hotel room one block down. If it hadn't been the case, then this meet up would have been pure coincidence.

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Day 120: Bedtime

2012-01-13T23:51:00.001+08:00

It was 11 p.m. and they were in bed, each next to their own nightstand and reading. Naomi was reading up a report on real estate valuation, and Mark was reading that week's Economist. So far, so yuppy. They did not put any music on, like they usually do, because Naomi wanted some silence to read. Apparently next week's budget meeting depends some what on her ability to digest the report, and ensure that the assessments on the company assets - of course they will hire professionals to help her - will make it a fair case to divest some of those sticky, slow growth properties. She was struggling at work, but she did not show her frustration to Mark, because she didn't want to look like she had lost to him. She did not want him to smile benevolently at her and assure her that they are well taken care off on his salary, because he was the one who recently closed a $330 billion takeover of a major electronics company by a Chinese state-owned enterprise. For years he had insisted that she quit her job, and start thinking about having a family, and for years she had resisted. On his side of the bed, he snucked a glance at his Blackberry and saw the red LED blinking. He picked up the phone, and saw that it was a text message. It read: "Mark, I'm pregnant."

Day 119: Trying

2012-01-12T23:51:00.002+08:00

"I can't decide." She looked at me, expecting me to answer for her. I was in the classic catch-22 situation of the shoe salesperson: whatever I was going to say ("take the black patent ones! always classic and it'll never go out of style!" or "take the fuchsia ones, I read that it was this year's HOTTEST color!") was not going to help me make my sales, because this woman does not know what she wants. The hardest part of being a salesperson is lying through my teeth, and perhaps that just proves that my DNA is not hard-wired to be a salesperson. I can't fucking lie through my teeth all the time, because on some days I just really wanna scream "YOU HAVE CANKLES!! NOTHING THAT YOU PUT ON WILL ELONGATE YOUR FAT LEGS!!". She continued umming and ahhing in front of me, and tried on both pairs of shoes again. "Maybe you can get them both?" I beamed the most ridiculous grin I could summon that morning. It was only 10:30 a.m., and this might or might not be my first sale of the day. "Really? You think I should?" Oh, I can feel a hook, line and sinker coming. "Definitely need two pairs for the versatility. One for work, one for parties. Your shoe shelf is updated for the season!"

Day 118: Boots

2012-01-11T22:49:00.001+08:00

Every morning when I walk pass Apartment 4-03, I could see two pairs of men's shoes, a pair of work boots, two pairs of sandals, a pair of rain boots, a pair of hi-tops and a pair of running shoes. Judging from the rock music that I could hear from downstairs, and the occasional crowding of trainers every Wednesday night (I'm guessing it's poker night), I can safely guess that said neighbor is a single, white male. Occasionally, I see some women's shoes in the morning, but I do not recall seeing the same pair. Either, it is one woman who has an interesting shoe collection or it's many women. Curiously, I have never bumped into my neighbor, so I'm guessing that he probably works on shifts - unlike my 9-5 schedule. One evening, as I was walking up the stairs with grocery bags, one of them gave way and a plastic packet was beginning to slip out through the hole. I had to set down the bags, and wondered if I could leave them there and return with a bag. But I was two floors down, and I cursed myself for renting a cheap walk-up apartment. Just then, I heard work boots behind me and turned around. It belonged to the feet of a young Asian man, wearing a cap and carrying some heavy bags. He looked at me, and walked past me without saying a word. As I was transferring the groceries over from the punctured bag to the other, I realized that this was Apartment 4-03. He went in, but he did not lock the door. Half a minute later, I could hear the work boots clomping down the stairs towards me. "I brought you a bag," he offered one of those recyclable bags. "This will make it easier for you." When he smiled, I saw he had a gold tooth.

Day 117: Whirlwind

2012-01-10T22:38:00.001+08:00

When he asked me to plan a trip to Kyoto, I didn't think much of it and said "yes!". Even though the trajectory of our friendship had only been limited to acquaintances for a few years, we had plenty of meet ups when our mutual friends got together. During one of those group lunches, we sat next to each other and found that we shared a love for wooden architecture, and I was surprised to learn that he was writing a thesis on vernacular wooden architecture that were able to withstand seismic shocks. Hence, Japan was a natural study area for him. I happened to also have some work contacts that I was supposed to be following up in Kyoto, so I casually mentioned that my visit was long overdued. Two weeks on, we had already booked the flights and picked out a hotel that was situated near the Higashiyama area - which had relatively well preserved wooden houses and shops, although we both thought that mass tourism has killed some sort of authenticity for a lay man shopping district. Nevertheless, a month later we were on our way to Japan. Little did I know that three months from the date we set foot in Japan, I would be standing next to him at San Francisco City Hall, signing my name on the dotted line next to his. Call it madness, but the fact that we survived an earthquake in Kyoto and in that moment realized that it felt right to be with each other, only confirmed my long held belief that sometimes what you are looking for was right in front of you all this while.

Day 116: Strategem

2012-01-09T23:21:00.001+08:00

The joint effect of the groove and the champagne wove an invisible mist of cool. Even if there was no such thing - though her mind was also floating in a mist, so it must be real - she was at once light footed, confident and oh-so-sexy. It was the right place, and there was a Mr. Right, but the question was when will be the right time? As a waiter offered her the fourth flute of the evening, she looked straight at him from across the room and commanded all of her will power to make him look over to her. If their eyes don't meet in the next five minutes, she knows that she would have lost him to this crowded room and possibly to another woman. As she stared at him, with her mind working on overdrive to send him tonnes of positive vibes from twenty feet away, she wondered if a woman can get a hard-on just like a man can. After all the clitoris does harden under a skillful hand, so why not? Why hide the fact that a woman can also be hard, except that said appendage does not try to jump out of your loins like a wild, stiffened worm. Look at me. In my eyes (c'mon). She took another sip of champagne, and decided that perhaps an offensive move should do the trick. She glided towards him, her every step brushing on her hardened clitoris, determined to do more than just stand in a corner and drink. "Hi, I'm Dyana. Can we get a room, because there is something I really have to show you." With one swift action, she poured the champagne on his pants while her other hand hooked onto his elbow, and they were moving towards the stairs.

Day 115: Mourner

2012-01-08T14:56:00.003+08:00

Her instrument stood silently in a corner. She has forgotten to touch it, let alone play it. Ever since her father left the house, ever since he has left along with her feeling of wanting to make him proud of something that she has done in her young life, ever since she realized how little time she has ever spent with her obsessive father whose back is hunched into an indulgent, narrow world over his desk in the library. She would choose to practice her violin and take her lessons in the room beneath the library. Although the door would be shut, she would always leave one window open (no matter the temperature), because she wanted her father to hear her. Whether or not he did realized that it was his daughter playing, and not a record on the grammaphone, it didn't matter so much to her. She only wanted him to hear the music that were produced from her slim, white fingers. When she practiced, she would usually shut her eyes and see the notes in the dimness of her mind's eye, her fingers obeying her every note and nuance. Even though she has never played in front of him, the absence of him from this house and from her music, has made the sound of the violin very hollow and her notes uncertain. Even touching the calluses on her fingertips made her want to cut them off.

Day 114: Fight or Flight

2012-01-07T22:44:00.001+08:00

When I saw her coming around the corner, I ran towards her and asked eagerly: "Mum, why are we alive?"
She smiled at me, and stroked my hair. "And why would you ask that?"
"I don't know. Maybe it's because.... I killed some ants today."
"Well, that's not.... too bad I suppose. There are many many more ants around, and well....just, don't do it again, promise me?"
"Even if the ants bite me?" I showed her a red mark on my left foot.
"Goodness Josh, did it hurt?" She immediately knelt down and inspected my foot. The next thing she did was weird. She spat on her palm and started rubbing my foot.
"MUM!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"
"I'm just helping with the swelling, stay still..."
"NO! NO!" I wrestled away from my mother's grip and ran down the pathway. I do not like other people's spit on my skin! Especially when that weird girl at day care keeps on spitting in my shoes and making me cry!

Day 113: A shared moment

2012-01-06T20:58:00.001+08:00

The car engine droned on, a mechanical and artificial addition to the night sounds on the hill. We came to the lookout point because it was a clear night, and it was an opportunity to get some panoramic snapshots of the city. The tripods were set up, aligned to allow us to get three wide shots, and to stitch them up digitally. "Esther, could you check the metering...." Steve gestured to me. "Set. It's ready," I responded almost too eagerly. I looked through the viewfinder again, and though it was close to midnight, the blazing lights of the San Fernando Valley burned into the grid of my camera as if it was telling me that I should be up to something more interesting on a Friday night. Instead of partying somewhere on the grid line of streets, I am bundled up in winter wear, standing in the semi-darkness behind a very handsome and intense man, who was only concerned with inanimate objects. "OK," he said. I took another step back to give him space, but in truth he only had to press the shutter trigger he was already holding in his hand. I stared at his wide shoulders and the expanse of his back wrapped up in a puffa jacket. If only I could hold him for just five seconds, I closed my eyes as the image floated in front of me. When I opened them, I saw jacket buttons. "Are you alright? Is it too cold?" My face was burning as I murmured a "I'm OK", and hurried to take down the camera in silence. I was sure that right then, my face was burning brighter than the Valley lights.

Day 112: The Beach

2012-01-05T19:04:00.000+08:00

My family had a ritual for the 1st of January: we go to the beach and have a picnic. Usually we'll get there at four in the afternoon - four eager kids almost bursting from the excitement of sand, sea and sun - the smell of just-fried noodles still lingering in the backseat, wafting from the front passenger seat where it's sitting on banana leaves, ready to be gobbled down. Although the food is supposed to be for post-swimming replenishment, we always beg our mother to let us have it before we hit the water. In any case, nobody will be doing any real swimming. I just like to sit beneath the shade of a coconut tree and watch my siblings. Sometimes I will bring a comic to read, or when I get bored, I will wander around the beach with a plastic bag to collect oddities and shells. On one occasion, I found a gold ring with some stones, but I didn't tell anyone about it. I kept it with my secret box stash, and the only person who knew about it was my Grandmother. She was the only person that I showed my box to and she told me that it was the most interesting box she has ever seen because there were so many things in it. I trusted her, because she gave me granddad's pocket watch, to keep in my box. Now that she is no longer with us, I miss her a lot because I can't show her my new secret stash stuff anymore.

Day 111: Pillow talk

2012-01-04T23:37:00.001+08:00

She turned around and put an arm across his chest, clutching his body tightly and nestling into his warmth. "What are you thinking?" she asked naively with a smile. The look on her face is at once girlish and slutty. "Nothing, but you," he lied. What could he tell her? That he had to bail out of an appointment today, and texted an apology message to his business partner, because he was 'held up' with 'family matters'. He might as well said, "hey man, my dick's in this hot naked chick, whom I have forgotten her name - because I was so high when I picked her up at the bar, and I don't even remember which bar it was, ah forget it - but you know she has great tits and I'm still in bed with her, so could you brief me on the client's wishlist later because I really cannot make it for this appointment. No, he said none of that. He wanted to remain that warm, manly body (also naked), exuding the manliest musk that he can muster. He knows that he will see her probably two more times, and then he will stop calling her and replying to her text. Just because he can, and he will probably find a replacement for her in another bar in two week's time. Life can be simple when you make it such, he thought. With that, he turned to her and traced his fingers into her warm, wet hollow.

Day 110: Lipstick

2012-01-03T22:34:00.002+08:00

She walked gingerly down the flight of steps, balancing the stack of files on her hip, while navigating the narrow steps in her stacked platform heels. They were proving to be the wrong choice of footwear for her first day as an intern at the newsroom. The sub-editor overseeing her duties did not look very impressed with her or her dressing. What struck her as odd was why there was such an extraordinary amount of files to be moved today, because other than reporters heading in and out of office between assignments - nobody seemed to lift their arses off their chairs. Never mind that. Her more immediate fear was whether the entire internship will be based on manual labor or whether her ass will balloon to the size of the sub-editor's bum. Both scenarios are equally scary but at least one can come to work in more sensible shoes. She shuddered to the next six months of unforeseen intern experiences. As she reached the last step, her head bobbed lightly towards the files and she was horrified to find that her bright red lipstick left a stain on one of the pristine white paper folders.

Day 109: Memory

2012-01-02T22:38:00.002+08:00

"Have you ever felt that you have forgotten something, and that niggling feeling just never leaves you? Like.."
"Oh yeah, sometimes I get it too."
"Do you think it's to do with deja vu? Or some sort of sixth sense thing? I mean, how would we know that we have forgotten something?"
"Because you have planned to do something earlier, and when you forget it, something in your subconscious is telling you to turn back and retrace your steps."
"Really??!"
"I thiiiink so."
"Hmm...."
(silence)
"Ya, I think you're right Mum!"

happy new year dear friends

2012-01-01T21:02:00.000+08:00

I'm on a two day break :- ) have a good new year's day. Stories will be back on 2 January onwards.

Day 108: Snoop

2011-12-30T21:23:00.002+08:00

"Jonathan! Clean up your room!" she shouted into the backyard through an open window. Even with the threatening tone, her hands were already at work picking up the clothes strewn on the floor and the toy cars scattered between them. She placed the toys on top of the shelf of drawers, and dumped the clothes into the laundry basket. There was no answer from her son, he might have cycled off with Sam or gone to Sam's house. Whatever it is, the laundry beckons. She combined the load of his clothes with the clothes from her room, and headed to the washing room. Sorting the clothes, she got to the end of the pile in Jonathan's basket and saw a note book stashed in between the clothes. She picked it up and open to read it, a little surprised to find out that her son keeps a journal. Her eleven year old, who is a mediocre student, and has never been seen with a novel or even a comic book in his hands - he keeps a journal?? On one page, the entry read: "Today, we were told to write about what our fathers did for a living. Miss Bell asked me why I wasn't writing, so I told her I don't know what my dad does because he doesn't talk to my mom or me anymore. I think he went off to Hawaii or some island to study volcanoes, or something like that. This sucks. I don't even know where he is."

Day 107: Crash Boom Bang

2011-12-30T00:39:00.004+08:00

The production crew was finishing the prep work, when there was a sudden crash from behind the sound stage. What greeted them was the sight of the lead actress, dressed in her movie costume, and oddly she was wearing a green wig. "What's happening here? Oh my god...." the second director's shock spread through his face. He knelt down immediately and felt for her pulse, and gently cradled her neck to check for injuries. He flipped open his cell, and dialed for the producers. "Ronnie, something just happened to Eva, but we're going to get her to the hospital....No, no, it shouldn't be too bad. Just...let's just get her to some medical help." Someone in the studio had called for an ambulance from the studio's medical centre, and a stretcher had appeared in no time. After she had been sent off, the second director sat down to look at the production schedule and started worrying about when they will finish this phase of shooting if Eva was going to be away for an indeterminate amount of time. Two months? Three months? The ringing of his cell, from his producer, brought him back to more immediate worries. "Hello? How is she?" There was a long sigh from Ronnie. "Too late, she's gone. They found arsenic in her blood. We don't know what it is, suicide, murder. Who knows?"

Day 106: Patricia

2011-12-28T23:09:00.000+08:00

The little girl skipped down the path in her new shoes, which were shiny, red patent mary janes. Her daycare centre teacher looked at her with a contented smile on her face and called out to her to hurry her in. Her name was Patricia Healey, and she was twenty six. She had been working at the daycare centre for the past three years, but had not planned to stay on when she joined initially. It was a job that came in handy when she was retrenched at the bank, and it was a tough market. Her aunt, who knew the lady who runs the centre, asked if she was interested to take up the job - though it would be a waste of her economics degree. "It's an honest living, Pat. You might as well keep yourself occupied?" Her aunt was right about keeping herself occupied, and it was the first time that she has had to deal with so many young shrill, and even downright demanding voices. She has lost count of the days when the children would be screaming for blue crayons although there are twenty other colors in the box, or if someone took somebody's lunch away. Today, it marks her third year at the centre, and as she ushered in the little girl with the red shoes, she wondered if the baby growing in her tummy would be as cheerful and beautiful as this girl is.

Day 105: Waves

2011-12-27T15:05:00.003+08:00

We sat on the shoreline, on one of the huge boulders and looked at the sea in silence. Although darkness is swiftly falling around us, neither of us moved, neither of us wants to miss this moment. It is the days that I spend with my father that made me realize that we can pass our time in quiet contentment. That it doesn't have to be filled with words all the time, and that any word that we speak, has already been measured and weighed for it's importance and it's effectiveness. Beneath our dangling feet, the water breaks lightly on the rock into thousands and thousands of light particles. I am sure there are thousands of reflections of us in those breaks, the image of us broken into thousands of pieces, yet remaining as one. It is an almost apt mirror of us: that while we may hold many many thoughts, and have seen many different things, in essence we are one person. I am of him, and he is of me. We continued sitting in silence and looking at the water, noting that the tones are changing from a deep blue to a grey slate. As another day ends, we await the first break of day.

Day 104: Flowers

2011-12-26T21:32:00.000+08:00

Davidwas a great help around the garden. He knows that I have a pathetic ability totake care of that small patch of front yard, even though I judiciously waterand fertilize, as instructed by the guy at the nursery. After three more tripsto replenish the same plants, he asked if I needed someone to tend to thegarden for a small fee. I think he sensed the desperation in my eyes. So hesuggested that his part time gardener David, who is also a part time housepainter, who is also a part time graffiti artist, who is also a part time poet.All this I found out in the first 10 minutes of meeting him. Twice a week,David will come to keep my tiny garden in check. He recently planted some flowers,which I forgot the names of, but they seem to bloom pretty consistently. Somuch so, my sister made a remark about the garden the last time she visited,and asked if I could recommend my gardener to her. I felt a bit possessive andjokingly said I won’t share, but I did pass her David’s number anyhow. "Maybe he's trying to tell you something? That you need some color in your life?"

Day 103: Puppy

2011-12-25T20:34:00.002+08:00

I want a puppy, but Mom says I can't have one because I'm too young to take care of it. I try to show her that I can be responsible, and I can take care of it, because I always volunteered to take care of Mrs. Newhouse's dog Mandy. I never had any problems when we went for walks, even though Mandy likes to bark at other dogs, and she often picks the larger ones. I always pull her away and sometimes, I even have to carry her and run when the dogs start chasing us. Once, Mandy got really excited and ran into the back lane which connect Russet Street to Brown Street. When I caught up with her, I could see her sniffing at something behind a bush and wagging her tail. I thought it was some trash that attracted her, but I saw it was my brother Kelly. He was patting her head, and his eyes were watery. His nose was red, and he was sniffing a lot. In his hands he was holding a cup, with a lid on, and he even smiled when he saw me. "Hey....Damian." It took him a long time to say the next sentence. "You won't tell Mom that I'm here, won't you?" He smiled at me, but I could see that it was wiser to obey him. I nodded silently, and scooped Mandy to go back to Mrs. Newhouse's. "Bye," he waved us off. I never told Mom, because I think it's better she doesn't know it, and besides I need to be in everyone's good books to get a puppy.

Day 102: Brandy Alexander

2011-12-24T19:35:00.000+08:00

He opened the door at the second ring, and the first thing that hit me was his cologne. I cannot even remember what it smelt like, because the swoon level has just gone up a notch, and I entered a dream world. He had on a button-up white shirt and dark blue jeans, the first few buttons undone to show his beautiful shoulder blades. Yes, I am even swooning over this man's shoulder blades. I was so excited when he invited me over to his place, as a mini celebration for getting the ID job at the new mixed development centre downtown. It was a big project and we fought hard as a small company to muscle our way in through the more bombastic proposals thrown in by the big architecture firms. I know it is absolutely wrong to be love with your boss, but I enjoyed spending every day (and some nights) at work with him, because of his sexy determination and verve for the work we do. "Would you like a brandy alexander? Its my specialty cocktail" he offered. "I'm good for anything as long as it is alcohol, HA HA HA." I sounded like an idiot. He had mid-century furniture and large pieces of modern art hanging from the unfinished brick walls. "Wow, I really like this," I pointed to a huge abstract painting in vivid red, green and blues. "Oh, you like that? Its done by my partner Louis Jorge, you will love him. He's on his way back from the studio as we speak.... " I stopped listening.

Day 101: Rival

2011-12-23T17:45:00.001+08:00

As she walked back to the apartment, she saw a familiar car parked on the side road. She wasn't sure if this was who she thought it was, but it was worth a double take. 55643. That's him. She stood there for a moment, staring at the license plate, brain neurons firing at five hundredth of a second. Why is he here again? Didn't they break it off cleanly? Why is he here to ruin our lives again, when he was the one to say it's not worth it and none of us were worth his time. True words of a drama queen. At that point of time, she was so frustrated with Chad that she couldn't have cared less, and had thought that it was an opportune time to break it off. However just as she thought it would climax into a volcanic break-up, the queen retreated - little did she know that it was a smokescreen to plot and launch the next attack. So, this is the next steps of his attack. Clandestine visits in the afternoon now, eh?

Day 100: A gift

2011-12-22T17:23:00.002+08:00

My luggage bag was already in my hands, all six kilos of it, when suddenly she pulled a package out from her tote and handed it to me. "Put it in! And you can only unwrap it when you reach home." Her grin worried and excited me at the same time. I had a three hour flight before I get home, and there's another hour before I get to retrieve my check-in bag, and get through the taxi queue, onto the expressway, to vomit the contents of this trip onto my apartment. That includes two weeks of dirty laundry, status reports on this godforsaken-puke-inducing project, and said mystery gift. "Promise me!" she grabbed my large hands in hers. "You mean I can't even open this in the cab on my way home?" "NO!" she pounced. "No," much calmer. "It is a private gift, and you can only see what this is in the privacy of your own home." I assured her that I will only open it at home, and will not peek through the flight. The last I saw of her face, was accompanied by a crazy wave, almost as if she was shaking a broken wrist about violently. I will never fly into Salt Lake City again, because we have terminated the project and I was sent to end it. I will probably never see her again, because I never left her my number. We met at the hotel bar last night and had wild sex in my room. For all I know, the package could be anthrax or some weird shit like that. I threw the package in the trash can at the boarding lounge. I think she said her name was Parker.

Day 99: The Red Woods

2011-12-21T20:39:00.002+08:00

Very early this morning, my mother took a walk in the woods behind our property. It took longer than usual for her to come back, but she did not mention anything to me until we were enjoying our post-lunch coffee at the cafe next to the farmer's market. "Cindy," she started "Have you been walking around the red woods recently?" She was using the nickname that our family used to describe the trees, as they bore picturesque red leaves in the autumn and that was when we come here to spend our Thanksgiving and winter breaks (although the trees would have been bare by then). "No, not really. I've been holed up in the library writing away. Why do you ask?" She was quiet for a while, and a smile played on her lips. "I think I might have made a friend this morning, a friend who lives there." I recalled her flushed face as she came in through the door. "What do you mean? Hardly anyone walks there." She threw her head back and laughed. "Well, that is if you don't see them!" I eyed her suspiciously, not daring to venture. "You do know what I meant, do you? What I saw this morning?" she leaned in to me, but still I dare not believe that we were probably thinking about the same thing. "I saw them. I really did!" In a low whisper, she added: "Fairies!"

Day 98: Best Friends

2011-12-20T22:20:00.001+08:00

As the phone rang on the other end, I started picking up a pen and drew spirals on the newspaper. I was fidgeting, and I had to do something other than listen to the dialing tone in my ear, while waiting for Alice to pick up the phone. I hung up, and redialed, feeling slightly frustrated. I knew she would be off her shift by now, and she was usually quick with her mobile. Just as I was about to hang up again, the phone clicked and she breathed a hasty "hello??" into my ear. To be honest, my heart was pierced right through the moment I heard her voice. "Hello? Jenny? I saw your caller ID, is that you?" her tone was controlled, but sounded slightly alarmed. "Hi yes, Ali it's me. I need to talk to you now. It's urgent." A brief moment of silence. "I'm actually in the middle of something now, but umm, go ahead." A little impatient. "Ali, I'm sorry for what I've done to you. I shouldn't have, but you're my best friend and I couldn't go on being friends with you without telling you this... I've been sleeping with Jim." Another pause. "I'm sorry! I know, it's really bad of me!" I began. "Jenny! It's alright, Jenny. I know that."

Day 97: Down in the dumps

2011-12-19T22:52:00.001+08:00

"You can't choose a more opportune time, can you?" I sighed into the mouthpiece. I heard a giggle through the phone, but I knew she wasn't in the least sorry that she had called me just as my design had been thrashed by the boss. "Aww, come on. It'll be OK. I know I shouldn't say this, and make you even more upset but it's work. Work is work, don't take it personally." I know she was trying to be kind, and place my fallen head back on level shoulders, but I am feeling really pissed off that two weeks worth of sleepless nights, fights with my co-idea partner, and a screwed up digestive system from the erratic eating hours DOES not feel just like work. It was an assault to my guts. Like I've been thrown-a-mean-left-hook-right-into-the-softest-part-of-my-gut kind of assault. "Jeremy? Are you still there?" she coaxed. "Yes." I tried to sound as dejected as possible. "You haven't answered my question, what do you want to have for dinner tonight?" she was trying to get my mind off the shitty design. "I don't care." Again, that playful giggle. "That means pasta, right? Ooookay!" My girlfriend, the problem solver.

Day 96: The Ballet Recital

2011-12-18T12:01:00.002+08:00

Cynthia watched the strawberry blonde head bobbing up and down, up and down. The wobbly knees sheathed in pink opaque tights buckling and straightening to the staccato of the piano notes, calculated moves beset by a teacher whose tendencies with four to five year olds carried a tinge of the dominatrix in her. She relished their pain and exhaustion. But it must be made clear that these are thoughts formed only in Cynthia's mind, doubtless tearing into her heart as she watches her baby girl falling asleep very quickly after every ballet class in the backseat, her little head dropping into her chest in a disturbingly dislocated fashion. Today is the fruit of all the hard work that this class of Cherubic Angels (that's what the dominatrix named these twenty five little girls) dance their little knees out, tiptoeing and prancing lightly around the flood-lit stage, forgetting some of their steps and remembering their favorite parts with aplomb. By the end of the recital, all the mothers (including Cynthia) had welled up tears in their mascara-ed eyes. Their babies, resplendent in their pink and white tutus, settled into a chorus girl formation and threw open their arms at the end of the song. The smiles of the Cherubic Angels, capture in a million flashes of the digital cameras of their parents, signaled the end of recital and... lunch!

Book Review: "Freedom" by Jonathan Franzen

2011-12-18T11:50:00.002+08:00

While the book was riveting from the get go, I didn't like it much in the first few chapters. It had a nasally, whinging, self-loathing voice that I didn't like. It was much too pessimistic, too vocal about everything, and just...too American. However, I was undoubtedly fixated to continue reading the self-destruction of a family and the causes that led to it. I will admit, that some parts of the book, was played out in eerie parallels to my own relationship with my mother. To read that on paper, and felt the mirror effect, was very painful. At the end of the book, I salute Franzen's genius. His delicious twists and clever refraction of each character's state of mind. It was real life, cloaked in fiction. Even though he tied up the end in a bittersweet note, I would have forgave him had he took a harder stand, and continued to smash the Berglund family into smithereens as would a drugged up guitarist would do to his Fender in a flash of insanity. Yes, it was that flash that Franzen did such a good job of outlining. It was also the suppression of self that he managed to tease out of the characters he was writing about. It was almost as if it were a real American family, not living in the American dream.

Rating: 8.5/10

Day 95: Morning Drive

2011-12-17T13:22:00.002+08:00

It was a four car convoy heading to the hills. That morning, the sky was a clear blue, streaked with graceful wisps of cirrus clouds reaching for the highest heavens, the sun a blinding disc on its throne - looking down at us. Four little vehicles, incidentally all black cars, driving towards the same destination where it had already been chosen. Five months ago, there was a debate in the family: should it be a cremation or should more money be spent so that Grandfather could have a burial plot? Somebody suggested buying a larger plot, so that Mama will "accompany" him later. Through a lifetime of being ingrained with passivity and patience, Mama didn't say a word, letting her children discuss about the topic openly in front of her and her husband lying in a coma at the hospital room. As a grandchild, I didn't dare participate in the discussion, but I secretly thought it would be cool to hold the ashes of somebody who was once flesh and blood, and scatter it through the wind to the sea. In the end, Big Aunty surmised that it would be better to bury. And here we are, with Mama sitting next to me, on the way to bury her dead husband. It had been a good day to die.

Day 94: Sweet

2011-12-16T18:01:00.002+08:00

My son David is affable, a good listener and a seasoned social butterfly at age six. The teachers at the day-care center fawned over him, and put him on their imaginary pedestal for 'sweetest boy of 2011'. I know this because they told me so, and David knew he was receiving extra special treatment. Constant attention from women was not something new to him - he had been a favorite even among the grandchildren, and both Nanas made sure their David was well supplied with candy, remote-control cars and thermal underwear. Not that he cared for those, because David has a singular mind. That behavior in an adult would be praise-worthy of being able to stay on course to accomplish and achieve his target. A focused mind. In a child of six, I sometimes worry if he is idling on the side of stubborn-ness. Perhaps I'm the mother, and am over-reacting. But really, on some days, his determination to win the heart of fair Gabrielle - all sugary sweet and pint-sized five year old blonde - scares me a little. Again, perhaps I am just worrying too much. But which little boy saves his allowances to buy roses and cookies everyday for a five year old blonde? Every-freaking-day.

Day 93: Enlightenment

2011-12-15T18:23:00.002+08:00

Little by little, the sound of the trickling water didn't register audibly anymore. The stillness of the air at this altitude, the crisp chill that surrounds oneself as you choose to either empty your mind or fill it full to the brim with swirling, endless thoughts. Thoughts are almost like bubbles, formed by organisms in the depths and finding their way to the surface. They are finite and infinite, a paradox unique to the human mind. As he pondered on all this, swaddled in crisp white cotton garb, it made him realize that his arrogance in the past to laugh at people who spoke about soul-searching and self-enlightenment, was very misguided indeed. There are some days when he wants to surround himself with so many strangers, that cocooning of his mind amid a crowd, only solitary detachment can offer. There are some days when he wants to be alone, to allow his mind to expand as wide as the natural surroundings were, only loneliness can carve a clarity through his cluttered mind. He was glad that he signed up for this retreat in Bhutan, for just last week, he had stood at the rooftop of his 25-storey apartment building. In his depression, he still considered how cute and tiny the cars looked on the street. Like little colored matchboxes running around the grid - the very same grid which locked his life in. It was at that point that a plane flew overhead and he lifted his tear stained face to greet it. He thought that perhaps, he should fly out of the country, rather than fly out into 53rd Street.

Day 92: Unspoken

2011-12-14T17:26:00.000+08:00

It had been a wonderful night, and she could hear the pounding of her heart in her ears as he walked her back to her apartment. "I had a great time tonight," he said, trying not to sound too eager. "Yeah me too, I thought the band was good. I mean, this was the first time I heard them. I'm pleasantly surprised." she smiled back at him, her whole body open to him. "They sort of remind me of The Smiths, don't you think? A slight melancholy to their songs, almost longing for a permanent autumn. It's awesome," he tried to come up with a diagnosis that would impress her. She smiled, thinking how smart he is, and how much she wants to touch him. "Well, this is me," she half expected a goodbye kiss on her cheek. Just as suddenly he leaned in and kiss her on the lips. It only lasted five seconds, but to them, time stood still for 10minutes. "Will I see you tomorrow?" she asked. "Yes. Let me call you after my part-time job at the store," he lied, already planning to see her after his lunch with Caitlyn.

Day 91: Too Late

2011-12-13T22:49:00.000+08:00

While scrolling through the playlist on his iPod, a long-forgotten album flashed through his downward moving thumb. He stopped the motion, and retraced his scrolling upwards. "The Reminder", by Feist, ah yes it was a summer of reckoning. She had insisted that he copied the songs into his iTunes, by plugging in her thumb drive into his computer and saving it into his music folder. They were working on an assignment together, and she had complained that he was too boring and should listen to some 'light music'. "Excuse me, but I need complete silence when I am writing," was his retort. She laughed it off, and took the liberty of making sure the album was buried into his hard drive. He never listened to it, until now "...we don't need to say goodbye, we don't need to fight and cry, we could hold each other tight, tonight..." He was struck with melancholia, so deep-seated it was in his mind, that when it is now stark naked in the light of his reflection, it was painful to behold. She had been trying to tell him something, but he pushed her away. By the end of that winter, she passed away after being diagnosed of hepatic cancer. Books over girls, my ass, he thought.

Day 90: The Ship

2011-12-12T23:01:00.001+08:00

For two years, they saved up for the Caribbean cruise package, anticipating every dollar's worth of sunshine, enormous pool decks and exotic locales. By then, their bottled up expectations of the three week holiday had already bored all their friends, because they were proud that their hard earned money was going to take them very far away from Wisconsin. To get to the south east coast, was already a three day bus-plane-motel-plane-bus journey, depositing some home sick pangs for the wide open country and comfort food. The nearer to Cape Liberty Cruise Port that they got, the more expensive things seem to get. By the end of the first week on the ship (which was the second week of the entire holiday), they were already past the point of home sick, and nearer to the brink of claustrophobia. The cruise had 3,000 people on board, cramming every corner of this sailing behemoth which also helpfully had an ice-skating rink to remind them of home. Home, and how much they missed it. Nancy turned to Rob one day: "Baby, I wanna go home." He nodded, not because he couldn't say anything else, but that he was dreading the final week.

Day 89: Rejection

2011-12-11T18:38:00.001+08:00

It was far too easy to wallow in self-pity, and he wasn't going to succumb to his moment of weakness. She had made it clear and simple that she was not interested to go to the wedding with him, because it wasn't "the right time". Perplexed, his face red with shock as if he had been slapped a hundred times, he couldn't even bring an appeal to his lips. She anticipated it, and kept a straight face as she said in a voice so calm that if she had been a cold-faced killer, she would have escaped scot-free: "Brian, weddings are a delicate matter. We've only been seeing each other for two months, and I am being honest when I tell you I am not comfortable turning up as your girlfriend at your sister's wedding. I don't want the anxiety of meeting not only your parents, but your entire extended family; furthermore you expect me to be around them 24/7 for a whole weekend? I want us to work, but I cannot see myself at your sister's wedding, I'm sorry." At least, he felt, she was being honest and the reproach was considerably gentle - by her usual sardonic standards. It is not the end of the world, he consoled himself, she said herself that she wants us to work. I can live with that.

Day 88: Remove after Flight

2011-12-11T18:37:00.001+08:00

*replacement story for 10 Dec 2011

She kept her eyes closed, as she listened to the inane advertisements on the radio. It had been a relatively good flight: no crying babies, whiny children, intrusive attendants (because she was asleep the whole way), obese cabin mates who always disgust her with their seemingly gargantuan appetite for airplane food. But that's just one of her quirks, that when we boards a flight, she embarks on a zen-like fast. In truth, she is terrified of flying and her inability to eat on board has given her the belief that her senses have been sharpened. Just in case, anything were to happen on flight, she would be the first to alert the attendants. She only drank water, to ensure she was hydrated, but it sometimes made her feel sick. Now, the sensation of sitting in the cab and enjoying (yes, enjoying) the mundane drone of pop music has the calming effect equivalent to a couple of prozac tablets. Believe it or not, it was now, her sanctuary.

Day 87: Tree

2011-12-09T22:51:00.001+08:00

He sat under the large, reaching branches of the raintree, listening to the patter of the raindrops. It had gotten too unbearable to stay inside, and he needed to get out even if it means getting wet. They had a big fight in the tea room, about Esther. It was so trivial that he doesn't even remember what it was in hindsight, but it was very much like her to pick a fight over Esther. It didn't matter that Esther was languishing away in a small bed at the hospice, mostly alone and drugged. Every breath was painful, but apparently not as painful as what her mother goes through. Yes, that's what her mother insists. The more she says it, the more she believes it. She's going insane, that's what she is. He is sick of her, sick of the fighting, sick of the sickness. Sick of himself.

posted from Bloggeroid

Day 86: Awkward dinner situation

2011-12-08T23:13:00.001+08:00

That old saying that you never know what you have until you lose it, has never sunk through this thick skull of mine, till now. It sucks to see her out on a date with someone else, and it is made worse that I'm having dinner with my parents. They were visiting for the weekend and have never met Jamie. It had been one of her pet peeves that I never made an effort to introduce her to them. But then again, it was awfully convenient that they lived in the next state and I had the excuse of not trusting my old car to a five hour drive. Granted it was a lame excuse, but it worked. I hope she didn't see us and wouldn't come over to say hello. Which would have been an indirect snide, because i just saw an older couple sit down at their table. Yikes! She's already meeting his parents! That made my guilt bite into my heart even more. Just then, I realized she saw me. Oh no, she's getting up. She is not walking over. She is. I might as well wish the chair swallowed me whole.

posted from Bloggeroid

Day 85: Territory

2011-12-07T11:28:00.001+08:00

"Why are you doing this to me?" she asked. "Do you enjoy watching your mother apologize to all your female classmates, because you happen to want to squirt ketchup on their dresses? What compelled you to do that?" I kept quiet, although I didn't understand what 'compelled' means. All I wanted to do was to scare them a little, so that the girls will not come over to the boys corner. What I didn't tell Mother, was that I have taken a responsibility to take care of the boys corner, and I took my duties seriously. Mark had said last week at the boys meeting behind the school building that the girls have way too many stuff, just like his sister at home. Most of us had sisters at home (except me), so we all nodded solemnly. Mark had said: "We must stand up for our corner, it is ours! Only boys can hang up their art and we can even keep our spiders in one of the desks. Miss Maine won't know, because she probably forgot that the desk has a drawer." We agreed on patrol duty, and that afternoon was my turn. Besides, the girls have so many dresses, their mums can just wash them and they can wear another one tomorrow. What's the big deal?

Day 84: At the Beauty Spa

2011-12-07T00:04:00.001+08:00

I had checked in early for the morning shift, and since we didn't have any appointments until 11, I thought it would be a good opportunity to get to know my colleagues at work. It has only been a week at the spa, and I have been kept busy with customers wanting facials and scrubs. While I haven't spoken much to the other ladies, it does seem that there is a sort of hierarchy. Right now, I'm not sure how it would benefit me, but I better get on the good side of the other therapists - or else, I won't be able to get my preferred off days and swap easily. I sat down and pretended to scan the appointment book for the week, next to this older therapist named Judy. Trying to make small talk, I asked her how long she has been working here. "Long enough to know that if God made you ugly and your momma gave you fat genes, no amount of caviar treatment or miracle herb will keep you a husband," she deadpanned. I couldn't help myself from laughing, and she gave me a smirk. "Did you know that we keep an eye on the appointments, and make sure the wives don't bump into the mistresses? Now that's part of our miracle work as well!"

Day 83: The Vanities Fell

2011-12-06T00:15:00.001+08:00

We had been working on the deal for the past three months, churning out the hours at the office, the fluorescent glare overhead lighting our pallid, sleep-deprived faces. It was, only slightly better than a living hell of redrafting and rechecking piles of documents. Till that fateful evening, after dinner and back at the office, the assistant VP suggested a digestif to quieten the nerves and give us that extra boost for the night. Notwithstanding the lack of any real logic - drinking on the job, really? - everyone said yes and a bottle of cognac appeared in the room. Somebody must have prepared it, because we were 90% sure that the deal was in the bag. Just as everyone was taking their first sips, suddenly the legal counsel collapsed. We all stood around him, stunned. He was a young, healthy man of 25 who runs marathons, keeps up a three-times-a-week gym regime even with this much work, and put us all to shame. My VP was on the phone with emergency services, and was literally shouting into the mouthpiece: "We NEED an ambulance here, fast! This man is helping us redraft details of a $40billion deal and I'm not letting him die on it!! Godammit!!"

Day 82: A lost mind

2011-12-04T22:26:00.001+08:00

"It could have been an honest mistake, don't you think?" she asked me. I knew that my sister meant well, and she wanted to reassure me that everything was not what it seemed. I called her right after I saw Barry with who I thought was Yvonne, my best friend. Although I wasn't sure, I just needed someone else to tell me that what I saw wasn't Barry. Maybe it was a ghost, because I haven't seen Barry for ten years. Even so, I wished it was him. Was it even Yvonne? Did she still have long, brown hair? Wouldn't she have a head full of grey, just like mine? "Tess. Tess? Are you here? Oh Tess." I turned to look at my sister, who had the eyes of a doe, except that now they have lost their youthful shine and she looked tired. She was tired of me, and my sightings of Barry. "I'm sorry, Clare." I said quietly. She hugged me, and held me. "Tess. Tess, a lot of things have changed Tess." She ran her fingers through my hair, and continued speaking. "Barry's gone, Tess. He died in the fire on the boat. So did Yvonne. They were cheating on you. Nobody knew how the fire started on the boat, but..."

Day 81: Birthday

2011-12-03T23:48:00.001+08:00

Last Saturday morning, I could hear a tinny,high-pitched sound through my open windows. At first I dismissed it as some alarm clock, somehow forgotten in an empty apartment, abandoned by it's owner. When the sound extended beyond the morning, I stood at my window to listen carefully. It was the tune of the age old 'happy birthday' song, which was odd for an alarm. I could usually hear my neighbours, and it was highly unusual for anyone to leave an alarm ringing.

When night fell, I thought the alarm had been switched off. In the morning, I was proven wrong, birthday and all. Maybe, it could be a music box of some sort switched on for the dog upstairs. I have grown accustomed to the sound, but it continued to irritate me nonetheless. That night I was out for dinner, and came back late. As soon as I stepped into the parking lot, I heard it again, this time clearer and louder. I was determined to locate the source of the birthday song. I walked around the lot till I could hear it louder and louder. The determined birthday song.

It sounded like it came from one of the cars, but when I went forward, it came from the low wall separating the lot from the service road. I went up to the wall and realized that there was a card, cover facing down on the wall. Turns out that it was really a singing birthday card, but the wiring had gone out of whack, and sung even when the card was closed. Curiously, the handwriting in the card was from a child's. It said: To my Good Son, Happy birthday and I love you very much. From Daddy. Beside that, the child had drawn a broken heart in pencil and scratched out the above message.

As the card sang to me, I could not help but feel slightly sad. I don't know if the birthday ever happened for the child, or if the card was ever given to the recipient it was meant for. Could the card have been a ruse? I tore out the wires, and the card was silenced. In the quiet night of the parking lot, I threw the card into the bin next to the elevator, and walked up to my floor - there was only the sound of my footsteps.

*this is a true story

Day 80: Workhorse

2011-12-02T21:46:00.001+08:00

She cracked the seal open on the medicine pack, and picked out two white pills. Gulping them down quickly with a glass of water, the only thought on her mind was for this darned flu to leave her body. It has only been three days, but she had to miss an important work trip and the project closure was delayed. Although nobody at the office has been complaining, she felt that recently her health had been steadily deteriorating. After every trip to the doctors, they always say the same things: have enough hours of sleep, keep your body hydrated, cut down on processed foods, more fresh fruits, do some light exercise. The truth is, she needed to get off the project, because it has been sapping the life out of her. The deal, which was structured in a complicated manner, and had five different parties, has taken over every waking hour and has forced her to work on weekends, and cancel long planned holidays. She was even dumped last month, because her boyfriend was complaining that they do not spend enough time together. It was then that the migraines started. Now, this insufferable flu is plaguing her. Maybe I should fall into sickness so deep that they will take me off this deal!

Day 79: Cramped spaces

2011-12-01T19:02:00.001+08:00

It has been half an hour since the door last shut on us, and we've made three calls to the lift operator. Every five minutes or so, a man's voice would assure us that the maintenance crew are working hard to get us out. That we had nothing to worry about, because the fan is still working, and the cables are fine. The only problem was to lower the lift by another ten inches, so that the door can be opened at the next floor. By then, the panic had drained out and the adrenaline rush had ebbed. Everybody had sat down in the elevator, and some have even started working. In that cramped space, our motley group was made up of three lawyers working on a merger deal, a cleaning lady on her tea break, an ad executive who only wanted a five minute smoke break, a secretary from the CEO's office of a publisher who was the first one to hyperventilate and made some of us promised to be her witnesses if her boss gets angry by her unforeseen delay. And me, a model leaving a casting agency's office. At first, the lawyers made small talk to me. But when they realized that it was going to take some time before we were rescued, they decided to get some work done. Suddenly, there was a jerk and the elevator inched downward. *kkrrrrtthh* The speaker came on again: "You'll be out in ten minutes, maintenance has resolved the problem." Marisa woke up, and crawled out of my backpack. The secretary and the cleaning lady started screaming their heads off. I hurriedly pressed the button to speak: "You better hurry, my pet iguana is awake and she is grumpy. Plus, these women are getting way too noisy to remain here!"

Day 78: Victim

2011-11-30T21:36:00.001+08:00

He was stroking her hair absent-mindedly as she rested her head on his shoulder. She was already fast asleep. He was looking out of the window, but he wasn't paying attention to the streets that they were passing. The cab driver had the radio on softly, and his ears picked up snippets of songs, advertisements and public service announcements. Nothing was happening out there, nothing of note. Everything that was his world is seated next to him, this warm bundle of a girl. Who barely survived a stabbing four months ago; who was so traumatized that she spent two months in the psychiatric ward; who cannot go anywhere by herself now, because she has developed a phobia. It was how her attacker had made sure that they were entirely alone in the parking lot, before he launched his brutal assault on her. The psycho was a complete stranger. The defense pleaded insanity and he was admitted into a medium security asylum. He was so exhausted caring for her that he didn't push for a harsher punishment in the courts. He had to lie to her, telling her that the mad man was sent to Rikers. But what does a white lie matter, when she is still alive and next to him, his dear sweet seventeen.

Day 77: The next chapter

2011-11-30T00:03:00.001+08:00

It was the way she said it, that drew us in. She was confident of results, and told us that her success rate was a proven track record. In our moment of exhaustion and desperation, we could only imagine what her help would do for us. So, we said yes. We prepared for the big day, putting on our best behavior. We even made sure that the table cloths matched, and that there were fresh flowers. When the door bell rang, I made sure the lemonade was adequately chilled while Gerry opened the door. After a quick introduction, we asked young Evelyn some questions, about what she liked to do in her spare time, her choice of music, the ambitions she had, and what was her favorite food. Her mother was very quiet, and did not say much, other than to correct some information on dates and places that they have been travelling to. After about an hour, we felt comfortable enough to agree to the arrangement. We will adopt the child that Evelyn was carrying, and raise the baby as our own.

Day 76: Marked

2011-11-29T00:25:00.001+08:00

She hurried along, her heels clicking on the pavement with the same urgency in her tensed body. The veins on her neck was visible to any passerby who cared to look, but she was oblivious. She breezed past the crowds, her eyes hidden behind large shades, her expression neutral. She had wound a large silk scarf around her neck, ostensibly for warmth, but it wasn't a chilly day. She wasn't carrying anything in her hands, but one supposes that her mobile phone should be in the pocket of her blazer. When she reached the intersection, she turned left and kept on walking down the block. She passed a chocolate atelier, where the box of pralines were from, wrapped in pink bows on her desk this morning. It didn't register in her mind. When she reached the end of the block, she stopped. A black Mercedes slid by and stopped next to her, the back passenger door opening almost automatically. "Hop in, Celeste. You can't leave me," a man's voice said from inside the car. She looked in with a wry smile, shaking her head at the unseen man. "Fine, you can have your scarf back." She whipped off the scarf and threw it into the car, uncovering a love bite on her neck.

Day 75: Dark nights

2011-11-27T20:08:00.001+08:00

The nightmare was always the same. Some strange men would be after her, carrying old fashioned pistols and dressed in black. Their faces obscured, they never shouted or even tried to pin her down. Even if they were very near, they were always five steps behind. She ran from them, but her feet were suddenly cast in lead. It took an enormous will to keep trudging forward, but with each step her fear increased. Her heart would be stuck in her throat. She would try to scream. She can't. No sound would emit from her, no matter how forcefully she tried. She would try again, and the black fear would be edging closer. The guns would soon be on her. Her feet would not heed her desire to run away, it was torturous to see death charging at you. She screamed silently, yet again. It would be lifted, the veil of the dream, so lightly. She opened her eyes and made a sound: "ah!" She existed, after all.

Day 74: Blogger

2011-11-26T23:32:00.001+08:00

"I think you're cultivating an unhealthy obsession," he said to me one night. I looked at him, half knowingly and half in denial. "I don't know what you're talking about," defiant, I was. "This thing about the blog, following it every other hour. I mean, I'm sure you have other things to do and furthermore, what this person does it really up to him. You don't actually know him...do you?" I wanted to lie to my boyfriend; I wanted to say that this is a person that I have known for a long time, that has shared a cherished friendship with me, that I had every right to find out what's happening to him. "Actually, I do. That's why it's interesting to read about his spiral into depression and the experimenting with drugs." The truth was, the blog writer was my ex, who gave me an agonizing break-up because the drug habit wasn't new, and it was the most painful period in my life. To watch a person waste away into a shadow of his beautiful self. "Its research. I'm observing him as part of my paper on manic depression, and he fits all the criteria." I could not bring myself to tell my boyfriend that I am watching a person die online because I felt he totally deserved it. For putting me through hell.

Day 73: Midnight

2011-11-26T00:26:00.001+08:00

Maggie howled at the door quite suddenly. I was hunched over the computer, deep in concentration. Maggie doesn't usually howl, and she knows better than to bother me when I'm writing. I had to go look, so I went to fetch my bat from the coat closet. Just in case. I peeked out from my window, and looked at the front lawn but I couldn't see anything. Time to head out. Switching on the light gingerly, I stood at the door, letting in the draft which pierced through my cotton pajamas. Maggie stood by my side, panting away. There was nothing out there, not a sound, just the shadows cast by the street lamp that fell on my car. I closed the door, and knelt down to Maggie's height. "Why did you do that girl? You gave me quite a fright! Huh? What is it girl? Huh?" She looked at me with her soft, brown eyes, then she looked at the door briefly. She turned away from me and went back to the kitchen, lying down under the dining table where I worked. I went back and sat down again, taking a moment to gather my thoughts to continue writing. Truth to be told, I was no longer concentrating and almost dozing off. That walk to the front door helped to keep me awake. Darned thesis...

Day 72: The Walkers

2011-11-24T18:23:00.001+08:00

Any woman who cares enough to always have manicured hands and a neatly combed ponytail for twenty five years must have been raised to understand that first impressions exuded by your bearing does influence a stranger's opinion of you. Often, a person would have decided what sort of person you are in the first ten seconds. Based solely on how you look. This, she knew and therefore she was always immaculately dressed for her walks. Sometimes, she would carry a little Chihuahua in her arms. It would sit quietly, ears cocked and alert, looking at the world from it's privileged, manicured perch. Behind her, strode a tall, stately black gentleman. He always wore a hat, a starched white shirt and a navy waistcoat. His shoes were always shined. Occasionally, she stopped to talk to him, but mostly the lady kept up an amble that suggested the familiarity of the route and the routine. Joggers at 6 a.m. would often do a double take at these two figures: an elderly chinese lady and the black man walking half a step behind her. He was probably her butler.

Day 71: Missing person

2011-11-24T00:22:00.001+08:00

My father left the house on a Friday. I remembered that clearly because I had been looking forward to a date with Kenneth on a Saturday night. He left with a small over-nighter, with very few clothes. He told Mum that it would be a short weekend trip to the coast, to paint the waters, where the light and mist interspersed to play tricks on the human eye. Sometimes you'd almost expected a monster to rise out of the waters and look you in the eye, daring you to touch it or speak in a forgotten Gaelic tongue. He never came back as he promised. Mum made countless police reports, and even went to the district to appeal for help from the various communities to launch search parties. After three attempts, the local district officer told my mother that it was wise if she were to return to London and accept what fate had dealt her. I always attributed Dad's disappearance to her depression which consumed her later in life while her body was gradually ravished by cancer. It crept up on her, while she tried to remain strong to fight the disease. "Find him," she implored me on her deathbed. I couldn't bring myself to tell her that I don't want to.

Day 70: The House

2011-11-22T22:29:00.001+08:00

He didn't think it was very wise of me to invest in the house, especially in that dilapidated state. I paid no heed, and signed the sale and purchase agreement two weeks after the viewing. I was suspended in that dream state between what could be, and what would be. In fact, what turned out was very far away from what I had imagined. When the contractors moved in to clear away the rubbish and hack off the wall tiles, one of the workers had a freak accident - a piece of the wall tiles had broken off and cut into his foot, requiring a few stitches. Then, we discovered that a small tree had been growing at the back portion of the roof, and it had to be poisoned. Again, my father came and had a look with me. Although his face was clouded with concern, he didn't say a word to me. He only spoke to my contractor, and advised that the best way to get rid of it was to poison it gradually, but not to cut it off forcefully as the roots have begun to grow into the structure. The next day, my contractor called to tell me that he is resigning from the job. One of his workers, who spent ten minutes trying to saw through the small trunk swore that the tree couldn't be cut. He claimed that there was a spirit residing in the tree, that was protecting the house. It has been ten years since, and nobody could do anything with the house. I should have listened to my father.

Day 69: Nostalgia

2011-11-21T22:12:00.001+08:00

Back in the days, when Mum was still driving that battered, rattling Mitsubushi Galant around, I used to hate it bitterly. I hated how it sounded. I hated the feel of the seats when you sank into it. I hated the doors which you have to slam because the rubber strips on the sides have hardened and the catch doesn't lock as properly as before. Most of all, I hated the bittersweet feeling when Mum came to pick me up after school. I usually waited at the bus stop, because there was shade, and she always told me to wait amid a crowd, so that there's "safety in numbers". Even over the din of traffic, I will always hear the car approaching. The loud rumbling of the engine, which brings a tinge of embarrassment and joy. I hate the car, but I love going home from school and talking to Mum about my day. On days when traffic is heavy, the air-conditioning would fail and we had to roll down the windows. Now that Mum has passed on, the car still sits in the garage. My husband loves using it around the farm, because "nobody would give a damn" about how he drove it - once, he even backed into the fence because it was pitch dark and he had a slip of judgement. I looked at the dent, and thought of Mum. And my bygone days of hate.

Day 68: Sacrifice

2011-11-20T23:50:00.001+08:00

Susan kept herself busy in the kitchen as Henry played, the sound of the piano floating in the house. She could hear the metronome's tock-tock-tock-ding! She was proud of her nephew, who had been a strong little boy when his parents had to leave to work overseas. They went off to work in Dubai, as construction worker and domestic maid, because they want to send him to an American university. He lifted his chin up and hugged his parents goodbye that day at the airport, and told them that he will be a good boy and listen to Auntie Susie. Suddenly, he stopped playing. Must be the teacher, giving Henry some pointers, she thought. He was a quiet boy, but he loved music. She did not think much about it, till she observed that he was glued to music programmes on TV, whenever they went over to Uncle Oscar's house. One day, she asked him: "Henry, would you like to learn how to play the piano?" Henry looked down at his hands, then he looked up at her: "But Aunty Susie, Mom and Dad don't send back enough money for piano classes." She smiled at his response. She found the courage to ask Uncle Oscar if they could borrow his piano, if she paid for a teacher to come every Tuesday evening. He had always liked Henry, he said, and readily said yes. It was the least she can do for Henry.

Day 67: Takeaway

2011-11-19T22:44:00.001+08:00

"Did you wanted takeaway?" Liz asked. Scott peered over his reading glasses, and shrugged. "Well?" she asked patiently. "Hmm..... how about some Thai? We haven't been having That Thai Corner for some time, haven't we?" Liz stood up and went to the menu stuck on the fridge, and removed the magnet. "Pad Thai and mango salad?" Scott nodded and said: "Whatever you want, baby..." She dialed the number and waited, but it kept on reaching an engaged tone. "I can't get them, that's odd. Let me try again," she said aloud, half talking to herself. She went back to the fridge, scanning the safari of the menus on various magnets bought from far flung places. "How about the Dae Jung place? We can always get the kimchi jigae and a pa-jeon?" She looked at the menu for another appetizer, and thought about ordering some barbecue pork belly. "How about some pork belly as well! Yum, yum!" There was no answer. She put her head around the wall and looked into the lounge: the TV was still on, but Scott had lied down and taken up the whole sofa. "Scott!" she shouted. Still no response. She went over the couch, and realized that not only was he lying down, he was convulsing and shaking. He was having a seizure.

Day 66: Hanging on

2011-11-19T00:13:00.001+08:00

She cupped the child's tiny hands, marveling at how soft, vulnerable and pink the little palm was. The soft, almost pliable limbs, lying among the white and green sheets of the pediatric ward. Herman's little chest was heaving sharp and short breaths, he had too many rubber tubes hooked into and out of his tiny body. It has been three days since, when the pediatrician accompanied her gynecologist, both men looking grave. They had told her that the baby's condition wasn't uncommon, and all he needed was some time in the incubator. There was a dead weight in the pit of her stomach, digesting the news painfully, her mouth was dry and she couldn't bring herself to say anything. She insisted on staying in the hospital, even though the nurses told her that she needed more rest. Rest? She thought. With his condition? It was a difficult time, that she had to face alone. It was barely six months that Herman's dad had died in a car bomb attack in Iraq. Herman was all she had left of Leonard, and she is not going to rest till she is sure that he doesn't leave her.

Day 65: Identity

2011-11-18T00:18:00.001+08:00

He came over with a glass of wine while I was talking to Sam; I could feel him inching closer. He waited for Sam to walk away to refill our glasses, and came over immediately. He asked: "Sorry, but I just had to ask you. Did you go to school in Waverley? Cause you really seem familiar, and I believe we went to the same school..." I had to confirm it, because as much as I was trying to be inconspicuous, I could not lie about my alma mater. He seemed pleased, and pushed on: "What year were you?" I wondered if he ever thought that this sort of sizing up would make me uncomfortable, but it was clear that this man had nagging questions. "1995. I left just before graduation though, to follow the family. Dad decided to migrate just about two months before school was officially out." He looked like he was thinking, then he asked me quietly: "Is your name Cindy? Cindy Lee?" I was shocked, as I did not think I saw him before. He took a sip of wine, then said: "No wonder you looked familiar, you were my third grade crush."

Day 64: Park life

2011-11-16T22:50:00.001+08:00

I had been mixing my paints and started sketching when I realized that there was a person watching me work. When I turned around, I realized that it was a little boy. He looked at me silently, and was clutching a toy car in his left hand. It was very common for people to watch me paint, so I didn't mind him and concentrated on my canvas. Five minutes later, I heard some plopping noises. I looked down and realized that he was dipping the nose of his car into the green paint that I had mixed. "Hey, can you not do that?" I reprimanded him. He looked up at me, holding the car in mid-air, squatting on his haunches. "Why not?" he asked. "Because I mixed the color and I don't want something foreign getting into it." He looked through me. "What is fur-rain?" I was caught off guard. "Pardon me?" He let out a sigh. "The word you said. Fur...rain?" Oh. "Foreign. It means, uh, something or someone from elsewhere. Something that, err....like you. You're not supposed to be here." He stood up. "Your painting sucks!" With that piercing pronouncement, he ran off around the bend.

Day 63: Surprise

2011-11-15T22:41:00.001+08:00

"Do you want to see a magic trick?"
"Ok! What do you have?"
He fished out a box from his pocket.
"Open it!"
"Is this a ...NO. No! Is this what I think it is?"
"You have to open it to know what's inside!"
She smiled demurely, expecting to see a......it turned out to be a pendant.
"It's a nice pendant." She said quietly, and took it out of the box for a closer look.
"Look at it! Look inside the pendant," He urged.
She peered into the pendant, feigning interest to mask her disappointment.
"I don't see anything... except some, is that a fly?" her face distorted with disgust.
"Its an amber that has fossilized an ancient insect! Isn't it amazing? It's nature's magic and gift to us!"
She uttered not a word.

Day 62: Cafe

2011-11-15T00:18:00.001+08:00

The bookshop was always somewhat crowded, attracting the types of creatives that one often finds hanging around wine bars and art gallery openings -- a group of people who want to be seen, but don't really care about the setting they are in, as long as it has been deemed hip by people-in-the-know. Which begs the question: who really bothered, then? Postulating snobbery aside, we are also drawn to the musty wooden shelves, the scandinavian chairs and the hum and whoosh of the mini coffee bar, which dominates the back of the shop and perfumes the entire philosophy, history and gender politics shelf. It was in this mise en scène two weeks ago, that Percy encountered the most attractive young lady he could ever imagine. She was hipster moody and had a flat willowy body. What attracted him was her crystalline voice, which pierced his very spine the moment she said: "Can I take your order?" Her name was Eva, and she was a part-time waitress/ store assistant at the bookshop. He had pointed out to her that her face reminded him of a young, albeit brunette, Brigitte Bardot. But she was too young and ignorant to know who the French siren was. Never mind, he told himself, she is young and malleable.

Day 61: Wish

2011-11-14T00:27:00.001+08:00

Staring into the dark, she waited for flashes of lightning. It came in hesitant, horizontal flashes across the sky, skimming the heavy clouds that seem to want to hug the land closer and closer. Like the smothering love of a mother, who when triggered, can unleash an oscillating downpour of love, fury, anguish, abuse, tenderness, compassion, apathy. The night stretched into her mind, dimming the flickers of hope that she tried to protect from being snuffed out. Her eyes, luminous and large, searched for continuous flashes in the sky. It wasn't because that she loved looking at thunderstorms erupting from a pitch black sky, precipitated by majestic howling winds that threatened to blow your memories away. She has always had this superstition about the number of lightning spotted in a space of one hour: it has been recorded that if she made a wish and there were ten beautiful flashes across the night sky, the wish would materialize the next day - without fail. She never told anyone about it, but she believed it. To top it off, she lived it intensely and past incidences have strengthened her faith. Now, she was waiting for the last one. She could feel it coming in her bones.

Day 60: Communicate

2011-11-13T00:01:00.001+08:00

The moment she entered the room, his gaze was trained on her. She was talking on the mobile, and sprinkled laughter liberally as she spoke (although he couldn't hear her clearly) a carefree HA-HA-HA ringing throughout the cafe. Some people turned to look at the girl in the queue, who was tall, tanned and athletic. She had a pleasant face, and wore no make up. He noticed that the other men in the room were doing double takes, even craning their necks to look at her long legs, clad in gym shorts and running shoes. The flushed look on her face indicated that she just popped in after a workout, for her morning coffee. Her presence in the room was like a sunny addition to the buzz of the handful of patrons. Now, they had a queen to admire and love. He wondered if he should speak to her, it wasn't something that he was shy about. His ability to pick up girls and obtain phone numbers was legendary among his circle of friends. Most women find his confidence charming, and he usually got what he asked for. He stood up, and went to her. She had already stopped talking on the phone. He tapped her on the left shoulder lightly and asked: "Hi! I'm Steven, maybe I can buy you this cup of coffee?" She looked at him quizzically, and turned to the attendant at the cashier saying: "Yo no lo entiendo. ¿Puedes decirleque no hablan Inglés?" His heart sank.

Day 59: Fight or Flight

2011-11-11T23:08:00.001+08:00

While what happened wasn't totally unexpected, the shock from the slap has locked her into a trance-like state, immobile and mute. She could not make out what the woman was saying, her arms gesturing in exaggerated actions and her shrill voice carried through the thin night air. Although nobody stopped, everyone was looking. She could hear the woman, but she did not listen to her words, because she already knew why she was making a big fuss. It was pure chance that they would meet here, considering that she only came into town once a month. "...you filthy BITCH!!!" That was when she was awoken from her stupor. She looked up at her oppressor, dressed in black leggings and hiding her fat body under a baggy red blouse. Without saying a word, she picked herself up, examined her arms for scratches and saw that her left elbow has been scrapped and bleeding slightly from the impact of the fall. She dusted herself off on the haunches, and looked blankly at the woman in red. "What the fuck is wrong with you!? I'm asking you a question!! Answer me!!" Despite her aggressiveness, she did not attempt to physically assault her again. She looked through her and walked away calmly.

Day 58: Innocence

2011-11-10T22:51:00.001+08:00

The young mother led her child into the room, and stood in front of the doctor's table. The doctor looked at her and the child with an unspoken, yet apparent, paternal gaze. He smiled and spoke to the child without addressing her first: "Hullo! I'm Dr. Benett, what's your name little boy?" There was no reply, only a head of blonde curls buried into his mother's legs. Looking up at the mother, he asked again: "Come now, it's just Dr. Bennett. I will show you a magic trick and let you sit on my large leather chair if you tell me your name?" This time, the little head turned, with curious blue eyes in tow. Dr Bennett beamed and held out his arms to the child, indicating that he wanted to pick him up. The child open his little chubby arms in turn, and was scooped up onto the doctor's big leather chair. The good doctor placed a rack of pendulum balls on the table and whispered into the child's ear: "Watch this!" He lifted up one metal ball at the end and let it go. *TWACK* Then the ball on the other end lifted into the air automatically. The boy's jaw dropped and he let out an audible gasp. He looked up at the doctor and then at his mother with wonderment shining in his eyes, his hands cupping his mouth. He was entranced by physics.

Day 57: Questions

2011-11-09T23:12:00.000+08:00

He packed the map into his reporter's bag and made sure he brought all his reading materials along. He had been given an address by the secretary, which will bring him to an older part of town, among the narrow pathways of the urban village that hasn't been swallowed by the gentry in Istanbul's Tarlabasi district. The subject of his interview had been a recluse for many years, choosing to spend her retirement living with her cats and tending to her flowers. He was also advised not to ask about her children, who have died before her. The voids left by their untimely demise, have only invited rude attention and a contrived kindness that could only stem from pity and condescension. She didn't need any of that, but she felt a need to tell her story. When he had written in, she wrote back to say his energy reminded her of Andre, her grandson who is a chef in America. He had bought some pastries from her favorite patisserie, for tea time, hoping that it will improve her mood. He wanted to be the first reporter, to speak to Madame, and find out why she stopped singing at the height of her fame.

Drowned, in her gaze

2011-11-09T16:26:00.001+08:00

From Terry's Diary

Day 56: Talk

2011-11-08T23:48:00.001+08:00

Her incessant praise about that boyfriend of hers, as if he's the last man on earth. "Oh my god, do you know how he surprised me on my birthday?? He got me a custom made nameplate necklace, and got my favorite DJ to called me on live radio AND DJ Aaron got the guest artiste to sing me a birthday song!! This is the BEST part. It was my favorite band, Maroon 5!!!" I don't fucking believe her, I listen to DJ Aaron and he didn't get Maroon 5 to sing anybody any birthday song. Why must she lie? "Like, how AWESOME is that?? He's so sweeeet and Oh my god....what can I say?" I wanna punch away that smugness in her voice. "He loves me, and I think..." Really...?? "I think he's going ask me to marry him next year. He has been dropping hints!" God forbid a man to live with this creature. "Oh, here's my stop! I'll see you soon. Ciao!" With that, the loud girl behind me got down from the bus.

Day 55: Incognito

2011-11-07T15:30:00.003+08:00

As the child looked curiously into his lens, he snapped a few shots and gave a little wave and smile to the young monk sitting on the stone steps. Smiling back broadly, he thrust his wooden monk's bowl into Sean's face, eager and sincere. At first, Sean didn't know how to react. Then he took out some change and notes, not even counting them, depositing them hastily into the bowl. The child monk looked at the donation with awe-inspired eyes, and put his palms together while bowing and thanking Sean profusely. It felt good to Sean. This was exactly what he was searching for, this trip alone to Indochina. He wanted to mingle with simpler and happier people, and eat food off the streets without worrying about hygiene. To wander aimlessly in side streets, peeking into homes where mothers are cooking while keeping their half-naked children in sight, who in turn were playing with whatever they could get their hands on in the kitchen. Old people idling in parks during evenings, their sing-song gossip chatter permeating his ears like a never-ending melody. The puttering of three-wheel motors zipping on busy intersections, lost in a chaos of traffic. If there was a place that Sean McClerk the famous porn star can do some soul searching, it's in cities where they can barely imagine the size of his dick.

I want black walls too

2011-11-06T15:23:00.001+08:00

Never expected black walls to work out so well in a bedroom

Day 54: Five Blocks

2011-11-06T15:02:00.000+08:00

He walked out of the museum and breathed in the cold, crisp air. Winter had crept in earlier than usual. The bare brown branches along the pavements cast a stark silhouette in the overcast skies, as the remaining light is gradually snuffed out. He made his way to Aileen's, and hope to be there before it turns completely dark. As it is, the cold is piercing into his bones. He berated himself for wearing such a light jacket. At least he had a scarf on, he thought, and quickened his pace down the five blocks to her apartment. He passed a few restaurants, which exuded a siren call of hot food, heated spaces and wine glasses filled with ruby red elixirs of indulgences. He turned his collar up and wound the scarf more snugly around his neck, breathing out clouds of hot air. Just then, the pedestrian crossing turned red and he waited next to the lights. An electronic billboard across the street was showing a movie trailer, but the sound was drowned by the sound of whizzing cars. All he could make out was a man and woman who were running away from men in black trench coats. He looked at the time, it said 5:53pm. She would not be happy, as he promised to be there at 6pm. Grandaunts do not like tardy grandnephews.

Day 53: Airport

2011-11-06T14:49:00.002+08:00

"That'll be $3.50," I said to the owner of the manicured hands. She rummaged through her roomy designer bag, and extracted a designer coin purse. After paying, she flashed me a toothy grin and walked away with the bottled water. My life is a never ending merry-go-around of people handing money over to me, and then leaving me. Strangely enough, I enjoy meeting people this way. Although it is nothing more than a boring, dead-end job. Maybe because all the airplanes zipping around gives me a sense of purpose, that these people who buy whatever they bought from my shop - mostly essential items - are heading onto a destination where they will fulfill something. Indirectly speaking, those items I sold them, are fused into their journeys and helped to ease their transit. There is some credit to be claimed here.

*replacement story for 5 Nov

Day 52: The Rockstar

2011-11-04T17:56:00.000+08:00

He once looked me in the eye and said: "You have the mind, of a rockstar." It was so intoxicating, to hear him say that. In my mind's eye, the word became R-O-C-K-S-T-A-R. A billboard in bright, blinking lights. As if everywhere I went, the sign was there to herald my pre-arrival. All because I had told him that I loved looking at the white lines at the shoulder of the roads, as the vehicle I'm in sped along the highway. But I loved him, and everything he said rocked my world. He was my rockstar, but little did I know that the feeling wasn't mutual. Unfortunately that insight will only be realized a few years later, shattering those rockstar perceptions that I had of myself. Talk about retrospective self-esteem bashing! That'll teach me to accept sugar-coated words, and choke dramatically on them. Nevertheless, I still enjoy looking at those white lines as I travel in a speeding car. See, I never lost my rockstar personality.

Day 51: Being Precise

2011-11-03T19:06:00.003+08:00

The young man marched into the florist, and went up to the lady at the counter, who was busy cutting some stalks off a bunch of daisies - prepping up for a flower arrangement. When she turned to look at him, his eager face and purposeful, firm gaze made her put down the daisies. "What can I do to help you today? Are you looking for some specific flowers?" she asked. "Yes, do you have magnolias?" She paused for a moment. "I don't think we have any pots of magnolias this time of the year. I'm sorry." The young man looked slightly dejected, and asked a second question: "How about camellias?" She peered over his shoulder at the second tier of potted plants, and realized that she just sold the pink camellias to a customer last week. "I'm sorry, we sold them recently and there won't be a re-stock till next week. Could you return next week? I could order a specific color for you, if you have something in mind?" she offered. He thought about it - he was a pensive young man - and said: "Oh, never mind then. I won't be needing them now. I only wanted to smell them, as I'm writing a poem and I have to know if they can fit into my stanza. The previous word in the second line was 'familiar'." With that, he left the shop, leaving her looking slightly bemused.