I'm Gonna Miss You

"You know," he halted his strides towards the door and turned, "I'm gonna miss you."

She paused. Taken aback, her finger that was grazing the edge of her wine glass stopped.

He froze, caught surprised by his spoken thought. After weeks of conflict between his mind and his heart, he thought that his logical self had got the better of his emotional self. It seemed the war wasn't over. Or perhaps his reasoning was at its ebb being caught up in the moment?

"I AM going to miss you," he repeated in a much softer tone and with much assurance to her and, maybe, to himself too.

His sight fell on the girl sitting head down in front of him. She seemed submerged into the soft ambiance of the restaurant.

Patrons were chatting, laughters were being blurted intermittently, dinner utensils were tinkling, song was being played, but his words came across crystal clear. Her heartbeat suddenly raced up. A sense of hope swept through her. Her hitherto calm and focused eyes welled up.

Although it's not the exact words she had secretly wished for, perhaps these were the opening line to something more? She lifted her head slowly. Meeting his gaze, she could sense her longing reflected in his eyes. She dared not take her eyes off him, waiting for him to continue.

~

She's not sure how many people in that restaurant remembered the song that was accompanying them that night, but for years, whenever the song played, it wouldn't end quickly enough to stop her tears from flowing ...

~

"I've always wondered what would happen if I had stayed that night," he says. A question directed to the lady in front of him, as well as to himself; a question that lives twenty long years in his mind.

It's the same restaurant where he waved his last goodbye to this town and left for the city twenty years ago. Same place, different ambiance. Different food, different owner, different company, same him, different her.

Her eyes, her exuberant youth and charm, her demeanour and her smile - are just like her mother twenty years ago. Just like how he has always remembered her, and that song ...

.

Would You?

He turned the ignition key. The engine spluttered. After a few more coughs, the engine reliably revved into a familiar drone. He looked at his watch and gave two quick hoots to hurry up his passenger in the house. The reminder broke the silence of the seven o'clock morning in the single storey terrace housing area.

A teenage girl rushed out from the house in a blue and white school uniform. "Morning, Mrs Lim," she gestured to the lady next door as she got into the car.

"Aren't you a bit late this morning?" the father asked as he reversed the car out of the house.

"Sorry, Ba. Lots of homework last night, " the girl replied while munching on her bread.

He had always enjoyed the drive taking his daughter to school. It took roughly half an hour to weave out from their residential area, through the small town and to her school not far outside the town. He didn't mind the traffic going through the town. It gave him extra times to chat with his daughter.

"What happened to your bag?" he noticed a tear at the side of her bag.

"Oh, this? Got caught against the rail of the stair at school yesterday," she replied, trying to sound nonchalant about the damage.

"Oh..."

He remembered the bag. It was her birthday present two years ago. She was never one who would be rough with her belongings. She had been brought up knowing the value of cents and the time and effort that make it go round.

"How's your preparation for the coming exam?" he changed the subject.

As they chatted, the car stopped in front of the school.

"Sweetie," he beckoned as she got out of the car, "we'll go shopping tonight for a new bag."

The girl hesitated for a while. "It's Okay, Ba. It's still usable."

"We'll go. I got extra from work this past two months. Anyway, it's been two years with the bag," he insisted.

With that, the face of the girl blossomed into a smile and beamed with joy. "Okay then," she waved goodbye and closed the door.

He smiled as he watched his daughter walked towards the school gate. The sense of satisfaction and accomplishment from raising this girl for twelve years overwhelmed his heart. All other successes in his business or career paled miserably in comparison. He knew, as he had always known, he made the right choice.

He was still wearing the smile, and savouring the overwhelming sense of satisfaction when he stopped his car in front of a gated factory.

The guard gave him a salute before raising the bar and let his car in. He drove past a myriad of shinny BMW and Merc before shoving his old timer into a vacant slot amongst them.

As he got out from the car, he found himself whistling.

"Morning, Mr Lu," the lady walking ahead of him looked back as she heard the happy tune.

"Morning, Mrs Lee," he gave the lady a playful salute.

She waited for him before continuing their walk towards the office.

"I've booked the hotel at the beach resort as requested. It'll be a five hours drive before you'd reach the resort. But ...," she hesitated.

"But what, Mrs Lee," he inquired, in the happy tone of his, blending his words into the tune he's whistling.

"You sure you don't want a trip to the Disney in Japan, or even Hong Kong for this holiday?"

He paused for a little while, pondering on the question. "Not yet, Mrs Lee. Not yet," he replied. "But soon," he added with a knowing smile.

As they walked towards the office, the lady couldn't hide her admiration for her boss. An admiration reserved for a father who owned a multi-million dollars business, with more than one hundred workers, branch offices in six countries over three continents, and yet, would live a lifestyle of moderation befitting not one, but many notches below his income level. A sacrifice he and his wife would willingly make for ten odd years without any complaints, for nothing but the sake of their daughter and her upbringing. In her opinion, they were probably the greatest, most unselfish parents ever walked on the surface of this earth. Ever.

~

If you are a parent, would you?

As a parent, would you?



.

Envious

It was a welcomed rain. After a scorching day, the air needed a change. The downpour managed to flush out what was left of the day's oppressive heat within minutes and coolness set in. But to some, the refreshing rain was a curse.

The weather had grooved into the familiar pattern of tropical June - torrential rain closing the curtain on a day of excessive heat and humidity. However, the expected rain didn't stop the crowd from buzzing along the road on a Saturday's night earlier. But much to the despairs of the owners of the makeshift stalls lining the road, as expected, it poured. The night market heeded the cue from the weather and took an unwilling break.

Sitting in a coffee shop facing the once crowded place, it would be fun watching people scurrying for cover when the rain started, but my attention was caught by a little girl behind a stall located in front of the coffee shop.

She seemed the same age as my nine years old daughter. I didn't notice her until the rain started and she rushed out from inside the van behind the stall. Needing no instruction from her parents, she swiftly moved around the stall. She helped to shift and cover the tables used to display shoes of various shapes and sizes from raindrops that escaped the big umbrella. Just when they were about to finish, the parents shooed the little girl back into the van. Under the generator-powered yellow light, the little girl took a few moments to regain her concentration and continued her homework.

While the rain continued to pour, her work was interrupted when her father handed her a plate of food. Together they sat at the back of the van, chatting while nibbling on the food. I couldn't hear their conversation over the distance and through the noises of the rain and the generator. But I could certainly feel the warmth between them - giggles interlaced with hearty laughs, gentle nudges on the shoulder exchanged with cheeky facial expressions, playful teases replied with puffing faces in pretence - it all seemed so familiar.

The string of my heart resonated warmly to the picture portrayed by the pair of father and daughter under the fluctuating yellow light. My daughter and I share a similar kind of relationship, interactive and fun loving. But I doubt ours will ever plumb the depth of theirs.

I am lucky that I earn enough to provide my children an environment where they can spend their times mostly between studies and recreation activities. At this stage, they know we have to work to get the food, the clothes, the shoes, the books, the Gameboys, and etc. But it's nothing to concern them directly. In facts, we shield them from the hardship of life and ask them to concentrate on enjoying their childhood. Reality has never forced us into a partnership of any kind through any hardship, unlike the shoe peddling family. For that, I am thankful.

Hardship of any nature is never our choice of destination. But, guess what? We never have a choice but to face them when they are at the doorstep knocking on the door. Having gone through forty plus years in life in a not-too-hard environment, compared to our parents, I am still fairly confident that I'll be able to withstand any austerity that dare comes my way. Stay away! But my children? Are they growing up in an environment that is "too comfortable" to face any possible adversity in the future? Have we prepared them adequately?

Of course, we will never push our children into formally earning any sort of money at this stage. We will continue to try and create a safe and comfortable environment for them to grow. At best, we will create simulated environments where they are required to work hard to earn rewards of monetary nature or otherwise. But it is simulated. Without the monster of life breathing down the necks, they will never comprehend the magnitude and the weight of the "hardship".

I guess my daughter will not grow up to be as good a fighter in life as the shoe peddling little girl. To compensate what is lacking in the "early training", as parents, we'll try to instill in her characteristics that'll prepare her for the anticipated challenges in her future. While I'm not exactly yearning for the situation of the shoe peddling little girl for my children, I am envious of the shoe-peddling father.

As a father, I'm sure this is never what the man intended for his child. But having to go through life's obstacles hand in hand, bearing the burdens of livelihood on their shoulders standing side by side, the bond growing between the father and daughter will be strong. Their understanding of each other fabricated by comradeship, the successes they enjoy in overcoming difficult times together, the sharing of fruits from their hard work are all special ingredients for a unique father-daughter relationship that will carry them far in the challenges of their lives.

Of that, as a father, I am envious.


.

Jump

His heart was beating fast, knocking furiously against his chest. He had never felt his heart thumped so violently, and loud. So violent, he swore his shirt was fluttering because of it, and not the high wind. So loud, it was the only audible sound amid the screams of fear within him.

He dared not look beneath his feet, lest his strength would be sapped away from propping him up. He didn't want to fall out of dizziness, or wobbling feet. Trying desperately to calm his racing heart, he took a deep breath, and another, and another ... trying to inject a dose of sedative calm into him. One more inhale, and he held it. He opened his eyes and casted his sight forwards, careful to snap the view in front, and not below. Then he let out his breath slowly.

It was not the most magnificent view he had ever seen. But without a barrier of any solid form to prevent him from taking a step into thin air atop two hundreds feet, it was breath-taking.

From afar, the different shades of blues of the sky and the ocean drew a perfect horizontal line. The crashing waves splashed a vaguely visible white wriggly line between the ocean and the beach. The greens of the few rows of tress guarded the sandy white beach from the encroaching civilisation of roads, tall buildings, houses, cars and their occupants. Under the morning sunshine, above two hundreds feet, it was grand. But could it be the last scenic view of his life? He did have his fear.

As overwhelming as his fear was from two hundreds feet, his worldly worries were always lurking behind his mind. A sudden, but not unexpected, loss of job was the trigger to his predicament. Its entailing loss of income magnified his financial burden to a suffocating level. The mortgage loan grew in its weight on his shoulders. Installments on the cars, the piano, the home theater system which once seemed insignificant hung heavy. The insurance premiums, his mother's medical bills, the kid's tuition fees and school supplies, the credit card debts, the uncertain future ... were all simmering his heart.

"Arrrghh ...." an anguish shout rang through the air.

He drew in another deep breath of the thin air, focused his eyes squarely to the front, clenched his fists, muscled up his guts, knelt slightly, spread out his arms and pushed his leg back with all his might. He jumped.

For a brief moment, everything around him seemed frozen in time. But two hundreds feet above the earth with nothingness beneath his feet, he started to fall.

As the earth pulled him towards the ground in accelerating speed, he forced open his eyes. Whoosh! He saw only blur. He heard nothing but the howling air. Whoosh! His face twitched uncontrollably. His internal organs were being churned. Whoosh! His limbs were stiff. His fists clenched tight. Whoosh! Million thoughts flew by his mind, millions thoughts crushed. Whoosh! His fear was so overbearing, it crushed itself. Whoosh! His mind went blank. Whoosh! Then he let go ...

The surface pressed towards him fast, as was his rush of adrenalin that displaced his fear. He could only scream towards such concoction of extreme sensations. As the surface crashed into him, he closed his eyes. Then it happened.

He felt a tug at his leg. His fall broke. As the grip on his legs get tighter, his dive slowed. Then he stopped. The howling stopped. His thoughts stopped. The world stopped. He opened his eyes.

Before he could give out another shout, he was yanked back towards the sky. At the top of his flight, he finally managed to shout again, in delight. He punched his fists in the air. He laughed. He did it.

After a few more bounces in the air, he was hanging about ten feet above the ground above a huge airbag. His feet tied to an elastic cord dangling from the top of a two-hundreds-feet high crane. At that point, he was looking at the world from an unfamiliar angle - upside down. As he hung waiting for the bungee jumping crew to get him, his worries seemed distant and minute. In fact, nothing seemed insurmountable.

When he finally stood on the ground looking upwards at where he was a few minutes ago, his wife and kids rushed towards him, and gave him a supportive hug. He is ready to take on the world again.

.

The Void Within

The night was late, the street deserted. The air was cool, the sky pitch dark. Tall buildings surrounded her, hiding the moon. The traffic light was red, her face void of emotion.

With her hands casually on the wheel, she was staring blankly at the front. Her hollow gaze reflected her hollow mind. She looked at the red light, couldn't care less if it never changed. Yet, despite her indifference, the red made way for the green, hurrying her on. Without much of a thought, she lifted her foot off the brake and gently put it down on the accelerator. Mechanically. Much like how she got through her days recently.

For more than a year now, she had realised she had been going through the same set of daily routines without much of a ripple in her heart. It certainly wasn't like this when she started working in this big city.

Even after the initial exciting buzzes fizzled out within a few months, she still found herself enjoying the experiences of working in a big city - stylish office wear, walking on streets covered by a sea of hurrying strangers, mirrored lift to 15th floor office, personal cubicles, mega shopping mall, pizza joints that's not named Pizzahut, hangouts at Starbucks, Coffee Bean, and other big city glitters. Problems arose when she got the hang of her job and put herself one-hundred-and-one-percent into her job, as she only knew how.

"Hey, I know what you did! Next time, mind your own fucking business!" her colleague walked past her cubicle and dropped her a nasty remark with an angry stare and a livid finger.

"That's one angry bitch!" looking at the back of her colleague walking away, she murmured to herself, neither in an angry tone nor an apprehensive pitch.

The hostile remark didn't bother her, at all. She had mastered the skill to shield off such offensive attacks over the last year so perfectly, her heart barely beat any differently upon such provocation. But she had never learned how to let a mistake pass her without doing something about it. And such attitude had caused her much anxiety at her job and lost a few colleague friends. At first, she was upset about it, in tears even. Then she decided once and for all to side with her principle and learned how to deal with the consequences.

However callous she thought she had become towards such provocation, her mind would remind her otherwise by popping up the unpleasant scene occasionally as she was driving home from work.

She enjoyed the drive home at this time of the night. With the windows down, cool air brushing her hair, and no traffic in her way, she was able to clear up all the frustration built up during the day with the smooth drive. The ability to control her speed and direction with the slightest movement of her feet and hands gave her a sense of control, which she felt sorely lacking at times. She was seemingly able to clear her mind of any negative thoughts and regain her sense of tranquility. The empty street that was jam-packed with vehicles during the day gave her a much-needed sense of space. And it was the same sense of desired space, or the lack of it, that led her to leave her hometown two years ago.

"I want to try something different", "All my friends have left to work in the city", "I'm so bored here", "I feel trapped", "I want changes", "I want more than this", "I'm so unhappy" - with the last few remarks, her parents finally yielded to their daughter's desire. And that's how she left the town in which she had lived for twenty years and started a life in the city as an OL - Office Lady.

She had never regretted that decision two years ago. She is not one who looks back whenever she goes through a rough patch; although she's not jumping with joy at the moment either. She didn't mind all that much of the shoulders turned against her because of her way of going about her job. She's not happy about it, but she wasn't perturbed by it. But no matter how she tried, she could never let the emptiness within her pass.

Praises from her superiors and appreciation from her colleagues could not fill the void within her. An emptiness she was made aware of lately. She felt no satisfaction from her job. She couldn't feel the fruits of her work; she wanted to touch the products of her creativity, like when she used to help out in her parent's bakeries.

She was good at the bakeries. She loved the bakeries, of the smell of fresh flour, butter, eggs, chocolate, cinnamon, and the freshly baked cookies, bread and pastries. The magic of transforming these raw materials into something so alluring to the nose, the taste buds and the eyes had always managed to capture her imagination. The satisfaction that came from opening the oven door - the aroma that escaped the oven and filled the room, the tantalizing golden brown on the oven tray - could have made her stay all day in the bakeries. And there's nothing more satisfying than the positive feedback from the patrons. But that wasn't enough to keep her in the bakeries at that time.

When she stopped at the next red traffic light, she finally lifted her eyes from the road ahead. She turned towards the sky. It's been a while since she had the moon in her mind. And despite the surrounding tall buildings, the moon was able to smile at her at that particular spot. And it's a full moon too. Her heart was truly at peace now, perhaps due to her being able to release the bottled up weariness, or perhaps she knew she was finally on the verge of taking a step forward at a crossroad that she had long stood.

She was lost in the serenity of the moon. And she would have stayed lost in it too, but for the honk from a passing car. She turned towards the traffic light. It was already turning yellow from the green.

She couldn't care less though. She's more than willing to wait for another green light at that spot. She was smiling, the suddenness of the honk had managed to push her another step forward.

~

"Bea, I think you've done it again. This is de...licious!" an elderly woman bursts out with her mouth nibbling.

"Really? Thank you, Mrs Lee. You don't think it's too sweet?" she asks, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, as she put down a tray of freshly baked cookies on the counter.

"No. Not at all! Perfect!" the woman replies, gesturing with her hands to her mouth.

Sitting down behind the counter, she takes a sip from her cup of tea. Her face is glowing with fulfillment.

.

Thoughts Of Innocense

The three of them were wandering in the woods. Their thick clothing made the cold winter morning much enjoyable. The air was still, heavy with the early chill. Every breath of cold air that they drew in was released back into the atmosphere in a puff of light mist. The sky was clear, hindered in sight sparingly by the barren tree trunks that were reaching towards the blue heaven. Traces of the long winter still covered most parts of the woods. Though sporadic spots of green were starting to surface.

"Careful, Samantha!" the old man called out to his 3-years-old granddaughter who had hopped happily ahead of them. She was busy looking for small animals that were as eager as her in welcoming the arrival of a new season.

As the old man walked slowly and quietly with the little boy, he casually asked, "Jack, what is snow after it's melted?"

"Water!" the little boy answered without hesitation, proud to show what he'd learned from his parents.

The old man smiled at the answer and gave the little boy an encouraging pat on the back.

The little girl in front heard the slight outburst from her older brother and ran back towards the two of them.

"What? What? What's that, Grandpa?" she asked, with her big curious eyes looking at both of them, slightly out of breath.

The old man looked at his granddaughter fondly and reached out his hand. As they continued walking hand in hand, he repeated the question, "What's snow after it has melted, dear?"

With a smile as bright as the sunshine in a winter morning, the little girl shouted happily, "Spring!"


.

A Man, A Bike And Fresh Air

It was a welcomed rain after a hot tropical day of sweat and more sweats. Stepping out of a non-air-condition working environment, the refreshing cool air did wonders to the tired body. It's almost as soothing as a puff of cigarette after a meal - or not.

Driving home with the windows down, my hairs was dancing to the disco song from the radio, while my face was collecting mixtures of dust, dirt and moisture. A surprised find by the road side made me stop my car.

I saw one of my customers, who is also my father's friend, getting ready to mount a bicycle outside his house. Since our eyes met, I stopped my car and got out for a polite chat.

I was surprised because a bike and this man formed a picture that had never appeared in my mind as a match, like an elephant holding an iPod. I know he plays golf. But that's more of a social activity and for the excitement of the side betting. A bike just seemed "too healthy" for him.

The chat lasted for quite a while, during which he talked about the cooling fresh air after the rain; how it was really refreshing to have a ride around the neighbourhood; how cycling was preferred over jogging as it's easier on the legs; how he would be out of breath easily by jogging; how he needed more exercises as he grows older, etc, etc.

I was totally absorbed during his speech. But I only vaguely remembered what he said.

All those time during the exchanges (if you consider me nodding incessantly and uttering "uh-ha, uh-ha" to the rhythm of "That's The Way I Like It" as one end of an exchange), I was observing how he could smoke out his wise words with both his hands on the bike's handles, and never attended to the smoking cigarette dangling from his mouth.

He huffed, he puffed, he squinted his eyes, and the ashes would drop off from the cigarette as the cigarette kept bobbing when his lips moved to speak.

Finally, he mounted his bike. I waved goodbye, admiring how he could maneuver his cigarette like a natural extension from his mouth.


.

Nothingness

Zen stands not upon words. Zen is about intuition.

I hope I can let the wisdom shine through the clumsiness of my words in this anecdote. The first time I read this anecdote, which has one of my favourite Zen quotes, my eyes were wet at the conclusion, deeply touched by the revelation.

~

The Master was getting old. As such, he wished to select a suitable candidate from his group of disciples to teach all he knew.

One day, he gathered his disciples and announced his planned retirement. Along with his knowledge, he would pass on his leadership of the movement to the one disciple who could best capture the meaning of Zen in words.

One of his senior disciples, who commanded the respect of his fellow disciples with his vast knowledge, wrote his grasp of Zen on a wall:

Our body is the tree of Bodhi; our mind, a reflective mirror. We must clean the mirror of our mind diligently to rid it of any dust of worldly thoughts.

That elicited praises and admiration from other disciples. Not quite, the Master thought. In fact, it wasn't close. The Master conveyed his opinion to the disciple in private.

Meanwhile, another disciple who was of lower rank learned about the proverb. On the same wall, he wrote his thought.

When the Master read the junior disciple's words, he summoned him to his room and taught him everything he knew.

On the wall, next to the first proverb, were these words:

Bodhi is no tree; the reflection, shone not from a mirror. When all is only Nothingness, upon what will the dust gather?

~

I recently came across zenBananas (zen stuff and stories) during my Entrecard escapade. It inspired me to share in this blog my encounters with Zen and my enlightenment from it, however dim it is from whatever that has managed to slip through the thick skull of mine.


.

Can You Tell Me?

It was a cold winter night. Freezing. Last night's blizzard was evident by the thick blanket of snow covering the roads and the roofs. Dark heavy clouds hanging low above the roofs and the biting wind warned of yet another imminent storm. Still, there were people hurrying up and down the street, with their heads buried deep within their coats, who were all too eager to get to their destination and out of the cold.

"Sir, matches for 50 cents?" the little girl's voice trembling in the cold, as she approached a gentleman walking passed her.

In their hurried pace, nobody seemed to notice the little girl, crouching besides the street. Those who saw her would just smile and continue on their journey. Some shook their heads.

"These are special matches, ma'am. See its bigger head? And its special kind of red? It lasts longer. And it gives out more heat too. You can fry an egg with just one stick, ma'am?" for those who were willing to stop and listen, the little girl would give her very best to reduce her stock level.

Smell of delicious food was drifting out from a house nearby. Hmm ... garlic bread, glazed ham, roast turkey, honey ducklings, baked potatoes, and ..., the little girl's nose twitched as she drew in a deep breath, ... and cranberry chicken stew. She curled the corner of her lips smugly at her sharp sense of smell. Her stomach was starting to growl in protest.

After some futile sales technique, the girl was starting to give in to the cold, and the boredom. She took a match out and struck it against the wall. As she warmed her little hands with the small fire, she suddenly noticed on the cold damp wall images of freshly-baked bread, beside the juicy roasted beef tenderloin, medium. They looked so real that she could almost smell the aroma of the hot bread mixing deliciously with the still-sizzling tender beef. But the saliva-inducing picture was all too brief with the short match. And her saliva dropping right from her mouth onto the flame didn't help either.

Sensing something magical with the matches, she struck another one. A fireplace, red Christmas stockings, and warm rug appeared. She could see the fire dancing in the fireplace. She felt warm just by looking at the picture. Before she could reach out and touch the Christmas stockings, the wind blew out the flame.

Damn, she cursed.

Another match struck. This time, she carefully protected the flame with her free hand. Christmas tree; gifts wrapped with colorful shinning wrapper; color balls, Christmas lighting, plastic snowflakes, angel figurines, and Christmas star that decorated plentifully on the tree were the images of the moment. As the images roll around the room, she quickly struck another match before the first match ran out. Best to think ahead, she thought. But the wind had other idea. Another blow from the wind, the flame went out.

Darn. The little girl stomped her feet, fretting.

She frowned, her fingers rubbing her chin thoughtfully. Five seconds later, she snapped her finger. A cheeky smile crept onto her face.

She put her hand into her pocket, felt for her intended object, took it out, and gave it a good flick with her thumb. Walla! A perfect bright flame jumped out from the lighter.

Take that, you shitty wind, she snorted.

Just as the flame were lighting up the darkness, she closed her eyes quickly and made a wish.

She smiled as she watched the images on the wall - a villa by the beach; beautiful sunshine; fine white sand; girls with bikini and perfectly-tanned skin walking around; people lying on mattress under the shades of big umbrella scattered all over the beach; summer music from radios filled the bustling paradise; children splashing water in the crystal clear water; blue sky, no cloud, sunglasses and ice cream everywhere. Ahhh ... she gave a satisfying grin.

As she was basking in the imaginary sunshine, she noticed a familiar figure walking towards her. Clad in a two-piece, with wrinkled skin one layer on top another for protection, and her back hunched, the figure approached her slowly.

"Grandma!" the little girl cried out. Stretching out her hand, the one that's not holding the lighter, she reached for her grandma's hand and held it affectionately. Tears in her eyes, "I miss you, Grandma," she murmured gently.

Slap!

The girl rubbed her reddened cheek with her hand, grimaced. She looked at her grandma through teary eyes.

"You little rascal. What the hell are you doing here? Your parents are worried sick about you," the old lady blasted.

"I'm sorry, Grandma. I was bored to death in the house. There's no good show on TV, and I'm tired with all the old games on Playstation, and, and ..." the little girl sobbed in apologies, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, dear. Did it hurt?" Grandma caressed the little girl's face softly, feeling regret for her overreaction.

"C'mon, child. Let's get you home," she bent over to adjust the little girl's Armani overcoat, gave it a nice pat, and took the Dupont lighter from the little girl. The old lady then adjusted her own Prada fur coat. With one hand holding her LV handbag, she held the little girl hand with the other. And the little girl skipped happily in her red Gucci boots towards their house of 9-room, 2-kitchen, 3-bathroom, 4-garage (that housed a Mercedes, a BMW, a Ferrari, and a lowly Rolls Royce limousine), with a 10-acre-garden, and a heated swimming pool; all attended by 3 butlers.

Moral of the story?

Well ... I'm not so sure. But whatever it could be, I'm sure it'll be better than the original Little Match Girl.

I read a lot of bedtimes stories for the kids. Although we have the book on Little Match Girl, I have never read it to them. Apart from "If the going tough, follow your dead relative that appears at the end of the light to the other side of the world. Or, the best way to die is being frozen to death, painless. That's how you can go with a smile," I can never think of a better conclusion to tell the kids after the story, so that they can go to sleep with a warm and happy feeling.

What actually is the moral of the Little Match Girl story anyway?


.

What's In A Song?

"Everything", he thought. "This is everything I dream of," he took a deep breath, greedily drawing in the sweet fragrance that's filling the air around him. “And more,” he concluded with a new found sense of peace within him. He rested his head lightly on the girl's silky hair, which was draping down his shoulder. Not too strong, enough to tingle. Lavender? Rose? Lily? He couldn't tell.

They were sitting at the back of the passenger van, on a summer holidays trip with a group of university mates. After a tiring fun-filled day, it was getting dark. It would be another hour before they could lay down their tired bodies to recuperate for another day. But, to him, it was an hour too soon, and he didn't want another day to arrive, as he caressed her soft hand.

He had been exploring boundaries within their friendship ever since he sensed his longing feeling for her. It's more than a crush. Her sporadic subtle hints convinced him so. Or were those his whimsical thoughts? Being younger than her, he's hesitant in making a bold declaration, until that night.

As they dragged their exhaustion onto the van for the trip back to their motel, their friends conveniently left the two back seats vacant. They were just happy to ignore all the teasing glances and walked towards the vacant seats.

It was after dinner. The air was cooling into the summer night. His body was tired, but his heart was undulating with emotions. He took out his walkman, tentatively offered one earbud to her. To his delight, she accepted. He put on the other one, hands shaking slightly with excitement. He pressed Play, hoping the music would have a calming effect on his racing heart. But the bumpy road had other ideas. Well, at least she didn't mind the ensuing intimate physical contacts of their shoulders, he was pleased. Finally, the bumpy road did him a favour. On one tiny bump, their hands touched. He seized his moments.

It was the softest hand he'd ever held. In fact, it was the first time he's holding a girl's hand with a gentle, romantic touch. This would be his first love.

At that magical moment, darkness painted the inside of the van with colors. The stars of the night were winking at them, blessing them. The summer breeze was not just cooling, they were harmonizing to the song playing from the walkman. Our song, he declared fondly to himself. Even the loud snores from one of the passengers sounded romantic.

That marked the start of what seemed to be a trip to heaven for him. They were finally a couple; holding hands openly everywhere they go; sharing drinks, food, and loving gazes.

The last day of the trip marked the end of an enjoyable trip for the group of friends. It also marked the abrupt end of their brief romantic relationship.

There were too many obstacles, too many problems she could foresee, she said. Disappointed, he was, but not upset. Neither did he appeal for another chance. Too proud, perhaps. The few days of loving feeling was never strong enough to slit a cut that deep, he explained to himself, amazed by his readiness and calmness in accepting her decision. It was good while it lasted, he conceded.

They were still friends. They still got together. He still tried to cross over the boundaries in subtle ways, testing waters, hoping she’d change her mind. But the boundaries were never crossed again.

After university, they went their separate ways. Both got married, at different time, to different people, at different places.

As time passed, those few days of romances were slowly buried under the sand of time, along with their song. On rare occasions when he caught the song being played on radio, his mind would trigger off a warm fuzzy feeling and plunge him into deep sentimental thoughts. It had become a fond memory of his youthful days.

The song would have stayed in his memory's wilderness too, had he not chanced upon her in their hometown many years after that. They had coffee, they talked - about old times, old friends, careers, families, kids, schools, etc. They had a good time catching up, filling gaps in between.

After waving goodbye, on his way home, he couldn't stop humming that romantic tune, their song. For the first time, after many years wandering in his oblivion, the song was recalled into his memory voluntarily. Sitting in front of his computer, still humming, he turned to YouTube for some sweet reminiscences. Lyrics of chorus, that's always the title of the song, he thought, shaking his head, smiling - after all these years, he had never bothered himself to find out the song's title. As he was keying in the words of the chorus into the search box, something that had never crossed his mind as anything meaningful, something that was so blatantly ironic, suddenly flashed before his eyes. His fingers hovered above the keyboard, paused. Eyes widened, he stared at what he'd just typed, in disbelief. After a long while, he chuckled, in amazement, and hit Enter ...











.

A Face With No Name

“Oh, let there be a fire break out somewhere; or some masked men running out of a boutique amidst blaring security alarms …”

Those evil thoughts are slowly emerging while my mind is working into my memory.

It’s Saturday night and we’re strolling in the shopping mall after dinner. My wife and kids are somewhere shopping for new shoes, while I was happily sitting on a bench observing the people traffic, trying to come up with my next blogging materials.

While one part of my brain was trying to be creative, the other part was trying to come up with a name to match a face I met ten minutes ago. The lady smiled at me while we were going up on the escalator as she traveled the opposite direction. I smiled back politely, knowing she’s an acquaintance of some sorts but can’t match the face with a name, a place and a time, and felt relieved for not getting myself into an embarrassing conversation in which I don’t know who I’m talking to.

Later, I regretted I smiled. For smiling back means I recognize her and she’s now standing in front of me, in a conversation with me.

While my mind’s trying to dig up a name, I dare not miss a word she says. Hoping to find a gap within her stream of words to counter attack and pry open some information to unlock my memory.

As my mind is flipping through names and places all the way back to my primary school years, I’m getting a little bit uneasy.

Until now, I can only be defensive and stop the flow of exchanges by answering her every question without countering with a question. Fearing the question would expose my failing memory.

By this time, three minutes into the engagement, it would already be too embarrassing to ask, “You are … “ and let her complete the sentence.

However, knowing I won’t retain any memory while I was floating in my mother’s womb, I stop my futile search and start to work on another strategy to get away from this what-her-name person.

I reach my hand into my pocket, trying to feel the button on my handphone and try to make it ring by changing the ringtone. But the complexity of the correct key sequence stops me half way, and makes me drop my planned conversation into a non-responsive equipment.

Plan B.

I take out my handphone and try to look not too casually on the time shown, hoping she’d catch the hint.

None taken.

By now, I’d have guessed that with her unrelenting, strong tenacity on the conversation, she’d most likely be an insurance agent whom I met not too long ago. The assumption that she’s not a personal friend makes my participation in the mostly one-way exchange easier.

Finally. At long last, she looks at her watch.

One last hurdle though, “Don’t mention my name, just say goodbye and go.“ I know I won’t be able to respond in kind.

Then, it strikes, “I gotta go. See ya, Michael,” she waves her hands, while I stand still.

Barely twenty seconds later, my wife and children appear. Surprised to observe my pensive expression, she taps my shoulder, “What’s wrong, Peter?”