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February 23, 2012 @11:56 pm

This story first appeared on my Tumblr.
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Amelie curled up on the floor and cried. She pulled the old teddy bear that was by her leg and clutched it to her chest. Her mother lowered herself onto the floor, and ran her fingers through Amelie’s hair.

Hey puppy, what’s wrong?

I dowan go school.

Why not?

Dowan go. I want Mummy play with me.

If you don’t go to school, your friends will be very sad.

Dowan go. I want Mummy play with me.

Her mother took the little girl’s chin in her hands and gently wiped the tears. She lifted the cherubic face, criss-crossed with streams of tears.

Does Amelie want to play ‘Simon Says’?

Simon says… touch your nose. Amelie touched her nose. Simon says… wipe your nose. Amelie ran to get a piece of tissue, wiped her nose, threw the tissue in the dustbin, and then lay down on the floor. Simon says… cycle your legs in the air! Amelie shrieked with laughter. Mummy legs up too! Simon says Mummy legs up up up! Her mother moaned softly as she cycled her legs in the air, as a dull pain coursed through her back.

Simon says… stop cycling and sit up. Amelie, jump on the sofa! Amelie ran towards the sofa, then screeched to a stop. But Simon din say. Her mother laughed.

Simon says… Mummy loves Amelie! Amelie ran into her mother’s outstretched arms, and nuzzled her face in her mother’s unwashed hair. Her mother stole a glance at the clock. Ten minutes to eight. Perfect.

Simon says… Mummy and Amelie take their bags and go for a walk. Simon says… Mummy and Amelie take the lift downstairs. Simon says… Amelie will go to school today and have lots of fun. Simon says… Amelie will tell Mummy all about school when she comes back.

Amelie pulled back. Amelie must go school? Her mother squat kissed the toddler’s forehead, and hugged her tightly. Simon says Mummy will always love Amelie. Always.

Amelie pushed her away. Always? Always.

Amelie smiled and boarded the school bus. Her mother waved as the bus drove away. A single tiny hand could be seen waving frantically from inside the bus.

Her mother turned, sighing. Firstborn settled. It was now time for her newborn. She wondered how many more times she would have to play Simon Says before normalcy returned.

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scripted by me

@11:54 pm

This post first appeared on my Tumblr. And yes, I had a mild fascination with the name Emma then. I think I might want to name my daughter Emma, if I ever get married and have kids.

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Emma had a couple of hours before the dinner party tonight.

Everyone was looking forward to Emma’s sehr gut bread and butter pudding, courtesy of Marie. “Who knows,” she said, “a really cute German guy might fall for you after that pudding!” Emma raised her eyebrows. She knew that Marie was doing this for the British lad who was missing home terribly.
Alright, she would make a lovely pudding because Marie had so generously let her crash in for her month-long holiday.

She looked at the map in her notebook, and decided to spend the day at the farmer’s market.

Brilliant colours competed for her attention as she walked past racks of fruit picked just the day before. Spoken greetings of Guten tag played off shouts of Frischer fisch! Frische brot!,creating a wonderful cacophony that sounded sweeter to Emma’s ears than many modern symphonies. Mothers and grandmothers were out in light cotton dresses, their littlest offspring in tow. It was a photographer’s heaven! Emma ran around, trying to capture all the sights before the sun got too bright.

At noon, Emma ducked into a little bakery, and looked around for a young person. Marie said that they were more likely to have studied English. No luck. A middle-aged woman beckoned her over. “Guten tag Fräulein!

Guten tag Fräu! One baguette please.”

Was? Das brot wollen sie?

Emma tilted her head, her brows frowning slightly.

The woman asked, “Sprechen sie Deutsche?

Nein. Pommes Deutsche.

“Ahhh…” The woman pointed at the loaf of bread in front of her. “Das brot. Zu essen?” She took two pieces, swiped her hand over it, and pretended to eat it. “Landbrot, sonnenblumenbrot, fünfkornbrot,mit schinken sehr gut.Ich mag bein picknick essen.

Emma’s eyes widened. The woman was asking her if she was going for a picnic. But Emma had no idea what everything else meant. She decided to try her luck, and pointed at the bread. “Brot?"

“Ja.”

Emma took out her notebook. She pursed her lips, flipped to an empty page and doodled. She drew a pie dish filled with buttered bread slices. She sprinkled raisins over them. She drew a bowl, into which milk was poured and eggs were whisked. She drew an oven, with the pie dish inside.

The woman’s face lit up. She pointed to the bowl, and said “Eier? Milch?” Emma pointed at the eggs and clucked. She then pointed at the milk bottle and mooed. The woman laughed, “Ich weiß! Sie machen Ofenschlupfer.” She took some hard bread rolls and wrapped them. “Ofenschlupfer, sehr gut. Mmmmm.” Emma chuckled, thanked her and went in search of milk and eggs.

Emma did not have to walk far to find what she wanted. She approached the shopkeeper, mentally preparing herself for another pantomime, “Guten tag, Herr! Ich einen eiers und milch.

“Guten tag Fräulein! Wie viele?”

“Sprechen sie Englisch?”

The shopkeeper laughed and called someone from the back of the store. “Jakob, diese Fräulein spricht Englisch.” A young man emerged. “Hi, my name is Jakob. My Uncle said you speak English? What do you need?”

“Hi Jakob, I’m Emma. Oh good! I think I’ll need two eggs and a bottle of milk. I’m making something like Ofenschlupfer.”

“Ah… For your family?”

“Oh, no no. I’m making them for some friends.”

“I love Ofenschlupfer. My colleague from the Universitat mentioned that they call it bread and butter pudding back in England.”

“Oh, yes! I’m making that tonight. You work in the Universitat?”

“I am sorry, I study there. Maybe there is another word for colleagues?”

“We usually say ‘classmates’ or ‘coursemates’ back home. Perhaps it is different here.”

“Perhaps. Here are your purchases. That will be 3 Franc please.”

“Danke! I hope the pudding turns out well. Guten tag!”

“I am sure it will be delicious. You have a beautiful voice so I think you have a lot of love. Your friends will be able to feel the love in the food you cook. Guten tag, Emma, I hope we meet again!”

Emma blushed and escaped to the anonymity of the streets. All the sights and sounds had tired her. She bought a simple kebab for lunch, and she made her way back to Marie’s apartment.

Marie was already back, stacking piles of magazines and books, and dusting all the furniture. She worked quickly, putting back in place what Hurricane Marie had thrown everywhere. Emma was secretly glad she could just cook – Marie was not synonymous with neat, and Emma only liked dust when it showed the sun’s rays. They finished up with just enough time to freshen up before the guests arrived.

As the guests streamed in, Emma heard at least five different accents. Marie kept on playing with the beads on her necklace and stealing glances in all reflective surfaces, all while talking non-stop to the guests. Emma had to rescue the guests with little snacks, and by asking some to help out with the food. They obliged, and gave each other knowing looks. They too, knew why Marie was behaving out of sorts.

Marie’s British lad, Andrew, finally arrived. He was indeed very charming, as those that attend Eton College usually are. Emma wanted to turn away when Andrew arrived, she was so afraid that she would grin like a Cheshire cat when Marie went into a fluster. But she knew it was rude, and forced herself to keep a poker face.

Instead, Emma blushed. Andrew brought along a good friend, a Swiss-born German. His name was Jakob.

scripted by me

@11:39 pm

This was inspired by the prompt "Write one leaf about scanning bar codes" on WriteOneLeaf. It first appeared on my Tumblr.

Cassie never liked library duty. Oh, she enjoyed being around books, but not doing all the mundane things like scanning barcodes and stamping due-dates on the book receipts.

“Hello Miss Cassie!”

“Oh, hello Emma. Here to borrow some books?”

Emma nodded.

The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe… Charlie and the Chocolate Factory… Charlotte’s Web… Island of the Blue Dolphins… Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. Good choices!”

Have you read these books before, Miss Cassie? Are they any good?”

Well, no I haven’t, but I’m sure they are. These books were written by some really good authors. The movies were really good too. I enjoyed all of them.”

That’s what everyone says. But good movies have bad books. I wish someone could tell me what the good books are. It is so difficult to find them.”

Well, our library has many good ones. Miss Chen is always saying that we have one of the best school libraries around.”

Miss Cassie, which are the good books? I don’t think I can finish reading everything in this library, but I want to find the good ones.”

Cassie paused. She had no clue. “Hmmm… I need to look around. Tell you what, look for me once you’re done with these books. I’ll tell you then.”

Emma’s eyes twinkled with glee. “Thank you Miss Cassie!” She gathered her books and skipped out.

Cassie’s face reddened. She couldn’t recommend a book. She, an English teacher who told her students that reading opened worlds. She, who initiated daily mandatory reading periods. She, who once was active at book club meetings. “I need to read,” she muttered.

Cassie selected a book from the library catalogue, opened her literary review notebook, and sat back for a good read.

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scripted by me

@11:37 pm

This was inspired by the prompt "Write one leaf about something you can't ignore" on Writeoneleaf. It first appeared on my Tumblr, The Little Jotter Book.

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Hi Mum, what are you cooking for dinner tonight?

Su-May bit her lip as she read the message. She opened the fridge door and ran her eyes over the different bottles. There was a black bottle with a yellow cap, a string of thick brown sauce gleaming in the yellow fridge light.

Jason must have made Marmite soup last night, Su-May mused. The boy had recently gotten into the habit of making snacks late at night. He was certainly growing,she chuckled. Soon, he would be taller than his father. Su-May wiped the bottle of Marmite, and saw another bottle right at the back of the fridge. The clear bottle with a green cap held an orange-yellow jam, thick with the pulp and peel of the yuzu fruit. The tangy-sweet mixture would expire in three days.

Three days?! Su-May’s mind whirled. Her grandmother had always taught her not to waste food. She had to find a way to finish using up the yuzu jam. She could not let this bit of citrus goodness go to waste!

Su-May rummaged through the rest of her fridge for inspiration. Let’s see… I could make a gazpacho salad with yuzu jam in the salad sauce… a beef and onion stir-fry in yuzu sauce… baked fish drizzled with yuzu jam… And the after-dinner drink will be hot yuzu tea. She would also work the citrus jam into the cheesecake that she promised Old Mrs. Jones she would make, and make vanilla yuzu muffins for the children’s Obentos. That should see the last of the jam.

Su-May picked up her phone. Hey baby, it’s rice and some dishes tonight. A yuzu feast.

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scripted by me

@11:32 pm

This was inspired by the prompt 'Write one leaf in which you describe the shape of a heart' on WriteOneLeaf. It first appeared on my Tumblr.
 
“Mummy, draw me a heart,” Ethel said. She held out a piece of white paper and a red felt-tip pen, her fingers making many creases in the paper where she was gripping it tightly.

“What must you say?”

“Please, Mummy.”

“Sure, darling.” Her mother drew a shape that looked like a Fuji apple. Full, yet with a certain delicateness aura about it.

“Mummy, that looks like the apple I like to eat. Can I have a skinny heart?” Her mother drew another heart.

“Mummy, this one looks like a dancer! The type that waits for the man to come and sweep her off her feet and looks shy. Can you draw something like the hearts they show on TV?” Her mother sighed and drew yet another heart. Ethel was extremely persistent when she wanted something, and she was not going to stop until she got what she wanted.

“Mummy, now this looks like the momotaro from the book I’m reading! I need to give this heart to my teacher!” Ethel stamped her foot.

“Oh? And why?”

“Because she said so! We need to draw hearts and give them to her, and then she will give them to the children in the hospital who cannot go home and sleep in their beds and play with their toys.”

“Ethel darling, that is a wonderful thing to do. My, my, there are so many ways to draw a heart. I want to draw a nice one. Why don’t you show me what you are thinking of?”

“But Mummy, then I will have to draw, and I CAN’T DRAW.”

“You can write, can’t you? Well, drawing a heart is like writing the letter ‘M’, only you have to make the tops rounded, and join the bottoms. Come on, show me what you are thinking of.”

Ethel furrowed her brows and drew an M. “It isn’t working Mummy.”

“Try a few more times. If you can’t show me what you are thinking of, I won’t know what to draw.”

Ethel picked up the pen, stuck out her tongue in concentration, and started writing-drawing. She drew grass patches, a king’s crown, a fluffy cloud, and a series of squiggles that looked suspiciously like symbols that came straight out of the chapter on Electricity and Circuits.

Finally, Ethel got it. It was a slender symmetrical heart that looked fun and tall. She coloured the shape, and outlined it with a black Sharpie marker.

“Mummy, this is the heart. Can you help me to draw more on a nice piece of paper?” She paused. “Please?”

“Sure. Will you draw with me?”

“No.” Her mother raised her brows.

“But I will write some hearts.” Her mother smiled, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

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scripted by me

April 03, 2008 @2:58 pm

Author's note: alright i haven't been writing stories for ages... almost 3 years already. thanks J for helping me remember i've got this story blog and for making me get down and write a story. haha... without it, this story would probably have been relegated to the "Yarns" folder in my computer where it would sit, unfinished until the end of times.
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A great rumbling sound erupted. She jumped.

Drats it. Why now?

The great rumble turned into a great clatter, one so great it sounded as though thousands of pots and pans were being thrown gleefully down the stairs by an unruly spoilt child. She groaned, swept her purse off the table, grabbed a grey umbrella, and stormed off to work, her mood matching the weather in its foulness.

Work was uneventful. Except for little excitements: irate customers who called about lost phones (couldn’t they just have been more careful), a boss in a bad mood because it was promotion time (he hadn’t been promoted in ten years), and lunch food that resembled green slime. Even the advent of five o’clock did nothing to improve her mood. Nor did a dinner of her favourite foods. Nor a deliciously sweet dessert. Her mood was so sour, everything tasted acrid.

Alone in her room, she fingered the scar. It was long, snaking along her torso. The scar mocked her.

Selfish prig.

Don’t call me selfish! I didn’t have a choice.

Self-serving prude.

I didn’t ask them to choose me! It’s not my fault I had more liver than her.

Murderer.

Her eyes reddened.

She’d always wanted a twin sister because the twins she knew always seemed so at-one, and loneliness never seemed to be in their vocabulary. She knew she had a twin somewhere out there, and that one day they’d find each other. They’d be sisters and soulmates.

One day, she realized she had a twin. She should have been jumping for joy, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. That fateful day, she opened a lavender-scented letter written in her mother’s handwriting. She read how she was one half of a pair of twins joined together at the sides with two hearts and one liver. She read how doctors battled to keep them alive because the smaller of the two hearts had stopped. She had the bigger heart. But as much heart as she had, it wasn’t enough to keep them both alive. Doctors told her parents the twins had to be separated for one to live. Her parents had to choose. They chose her. After the operation, her parents told her she had fallen and hurt herself badly as a child and had to be sewn up. Now, “you’re old enough to understand the situation and our pain as parents.” And so they told her. She was miserable. Her joy at finding out about her twin was short-lived.

Just then, a familiar tone sounded.

Hi girl, are you ok? Sorry I couldn’t reply to you sooner – just saw your email.

Hi girl. No I’m not... It’s my scar.

Girl, you have to stop doing this to yourself. It’s no one’s fault. Not yours that your parents chose you. Not theirs for choosing you.

I know. But that doesn’t erase the guilt I feel.

Yes but it’s been what, a year now? You’re going nowhere with these thoughts. Frankly, I think you’re indulging in self-pity.

*Gasps* I’m NOT having a self-pity party.

Then tell me. Would your twin sister want you to think this way? I mean, come on. And I think that since she died so that you can live, you do owe it to her to live your life to the fullest instead of moping around all day. Do you think she’d want you behaving like an angsty teen, thinking the whole world’s against you?

Some friend you are. You’re not being very nice. I’m going to bed now.

She used an obscene amount of force to shut off her phone. And shut that chatterbox up.

She pulled the covers up and sulked. Turned up the radio to drown out those words. But it was no use.

Am I indulging in self-pity? But if I were, I wouldn’t be calling myself a murderer… would I? No I mustn’t think that. She’d not have wanted this. I do owe her. Maybe… this could be a way to make it up to her. Yes. I carry our heart and liver. I’ll live for us both. God, if you really are there, help me live my life to the fullest, to repay the one who died so that I can live.

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

A great rumbling sound erupted. She jumped.

The great rumble turned into a great clatter. She peered outside, grabbed her purse and dark grey umbrella, and opened the door. The sharp scent of freshly-washed grass wafted up her nose. She saw her neighbour’s twin daughters skipping by in sunshine yellow raincoats, with fire red boots to match. The little girls waved at her. She felt a twang of sadness, but still waved back.

How happy they look. We could have been like that. Well, we still can. We can live it through me. I’ll be the proxy.

Suddenly, the weather didn’t seem quite as stormy anymore.


scripted by me

November 08, 2005 @12:06 am

Shannon sank into the thick pink and green goose-feather pillows on her inviting chocolate brown couch. A cup of deliciously cold grapefruit juice on the table, ethereal music floating through the air, and a solid paperback completed the look. For the next hour or so, Shannon’s nose was buried in the paperback as she devoured the pages, stopping now and then to sip some juice. As the clock struck four, Glenn Miller’s ‘Little Brown Jug’ reverberated shrilly around the room.

With a quick swoop, Shannon snatched her mobile from the table and shut off the sound. A message had come in, and with just enough luck, her baby girl would have heard the tune and gotten up to clap to it. She loved that song, always clapping her hands and shaking her head to the rhythm.

Shan, still got that curious spark in you? Call me.

She had not seen Karina for a long time now, mostly due to her baby girl. Shannon missed the girl times they had over high tea or dinner-dessert, where they shared their lives and gave each other advice. Karina had always been enigmatic, but this was the most curious thing she had heard from her in ages.

Gurgling from the baby monitor – Tabitha was awake. Shannon pushed aside the message, and went to welcome her baby back from her sleep.

“Good afternoon Tabitha! Had a good nap? Come, let’s get you bathed and all dressed up so we can go to Big jie jie’s birthday party. You like that, don’t you?”

So Shannon bathed her daughter, dressed her up, then dressed herself up. They went downstairs, met Justin as he turned his car into the lobby, and went to the party. At the party, they played games, sang the birthday song, ate cake, jelly, and other finger food typical of a six-year-old’s party. When the clock struck nine, the party ended, and everyone made their way home. Shannon sang to Tabitha as she tucked her to bed, knowing full well that when Justin came in to tell Tabitha her bedtime story, so full of swash-buckling pirates, brave gurkas and quick-witted meepok men that Tabitha would be bouncing with energy instead of sleeping.

A quick hug and ear nibble from behind announced Justin’s presence. “You’ve been looking very preoccupied this whole evening. Everything all right?”

“You remember Karina, my netball kaki?”

“Hmmm… the one who has a musician boyfriend who plays a mean game of soccer?”

“No… that’s Colleen. You know… biscuit girl? Karina is the one who has a pixie hair-cut and who loves Kogepan. Does that ring a bell? Anyway, she sent me a message today and I’ve been wondering what it’s all about!”

“You definitely still have that curious streak about you, jumpity girl. Go give her a call, I’ll enthrall our little creation here with some bedtime stories.”

Shannon gave Justin a mock glare, her hands on her hips. “She needs to sleep, not be energized.”

“Oops, did I say enthrall? I meant I’ll tell her stories to give her sweet dreams. Now shoo, go and call Karina.”

Shannon laughed silently. In five minutes, Tabitha was going to be so full of energy the Energizer bunny would pale in comparison. Shannon stole out of the room and gave Karina a call. Pleasantries exchanged, Karina dropped the bombshell.

“You know how retailers prioritize making money that they do not check credit cards properly? I need you to help me check that they are not slack in their checks.”

“Why me? You have a whole horde of people under your charge!”

“True, but some of the more deviant and sneaky ones know all of my people. They comply when they check, but once they turn their backs… whoo hoo… all safety checks go out of the window. So what do you say you help your old friend out? You can write it up as a story and send it to your editor. You free-lancing now right?

“Yes, but…”

“I’ll throw in some durian puffs, chicken pie, and a whole tub of Ben’s and Jerry’s ice-cream. Surely you can’t say no to that?”

“Oooo you devious girl…”

“Well, you know me. So, when can I have the report?”

“Give me the list of retailers and two weeks.”

“Righty-o. So, girlfriend, I’m waiting to hear from you!”

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Shannon glanced at her list. She had 50 stores to cover. Now that was not a majority, but that was already quite a large sample of shops. The words Central Limit Theorem scrolled through her head, with the full definition, like those scroll-bys at the bottom of any respectable news channel. That’s quite enough. I do not need academics messing about with my brain while I’m on this!

She stepped into the first store, BloomingSocks, one claiming to sell extremely comfortable and trendy footwear. As she looked at the shoes, she could see the shop assistants fawning over a middle-age lady who was dripping with gold and diamonds. As they praised her for her good taste in choosing certain designs and colours, Shannon’s stomach churned. Shannon finally settled on a few designs, and approached one of the shop assistants. He looked at the shoes, and told her he did not have her size.

“What about in other colours?”

“I’m quite sure we’re out of stock. This particular design would also not look good on your feet. How about this range? They would show off your legs better, and would go easier on your pocket.”

A mild wave of irritation washed over Shannon. So she was wearing a simple T-shirt and jeans ensemble with ballet pumps, but that did not warrant such a comment.

“Ok. Could you help me get this in white and that in blue please?”

Shannon tried on the shoes, and they were a perfect fit. Both designs showed off her feet, and she was sure there would be no problem if she wore those sandals with shorts. She decided on the pair with a backstrap in the end, as that could go with a sundress as well. While making payment, Shannon noticed that the gold and diamond lady paid by card and that the shop manager took nary a look at the signature. When it came to her turn, she signed Paddington Bear. Now Paddington Bear looks very different from Shannon Tay.

“That signature is wrong. Are you sure you are the card holder?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I’ll need to see some ID.” He picked up the phone. “Security, I think we have a thief here. One of those students.”

“Excuse me?” Shannon explained that she was writing a story on credit card security, and that this was part of her mission. The manager looked at her in disbelief. Shannon could feel all eyes in the store boring down on her.

“I’ll be keeping that card. Get out of my store.”

“Return me my card.”

“It is not yours. It’s mine now, and security is going to get you to the police for this.”

Shannon’s head was now throbbing with anger. She whipped out her phone and dialed Karina. “Karina, cancel my credit card. Some self-righteous irrational store manager refuses to return it to me. He doesn’t even want to let me sign again.” Turning to the store manager, “You can keep the card and your shoes. I’ve just cancelled MY card, and don’t be surprised if you read about this in the papers.”

On to the second store. While browsing through the books, Shannon was musing about the good choice she made in using the credit card from Karina’s company, so she would not have to pay the fees for a lost card. In this shop, the sales assistant took a hard long look at the signature, which still said Paddington Bear, and returned the card to her.

“Thank you for trusting Manyana Publishing. Hope to see you again!”

Of the remaining forty-eight stores, only five picked out the wrong signature and asked her to sign again. They did not make her feel embarrassed, and handled it with finesse. The rest? They either had the same response as Manyana Publishing, or simply did not look at the receipt just as the store manager from BloomingSocks had done for the lady dripping with gold and diamonds.

Finally, Shannon sat down at her laptop to write her report and story. Karina had earlier given her the training materials, so she knew full well what retailers were supposed to do when the signature on the card and the signature on the receipt did not match. She detailed every single excursion from her mission, and did up an executive summary. Next, she wrote her stories. She had planned on writing one story, but with the experiences she had had, her editor told her to write a four page expose on credit card security.

Leaning back, Shannon sighed with satisfaction. She wondered how the self-righteous man would react to the story. Probably with indignation. Leaning forward, she navigated her way to BloomingSocks’ website and ordered that pair of sandals. It was cheaper anyway, with all her other friends’ purchases.

Gurgling came from the baby monitor – Tabitha was awake. Shannon clicked the “Purchase” button, sent the report and articles, then pushed aside the laptop and went to welcome her baby back from her sleep.

scripted by me

September 22, 2005 @7:04 pm

In memory of Jingyi…
~~~~~~~~~~~

She sat at her desk, staring at her laptop. The radio was blaring behind her, the angst-filled words screaming through the still of the night. Clothes were strewn all over her bed and floor, as though a massive fitting session had just taken place.

“June, turn the volume down. It’s almost midnight. You don’t want the neighbours calling the police do you?”

She sighed, leaned back and fiddled with the knob. June was not a very attractive girl, but neither was she unattractive. Yes, her eyes were small, but she had a natural ability to make them dance with life when she smiled. Her chin was round, but in a way that enhanced her bubbly (though cynical) character. Such was the irony about her.

Yet now, her eyes emitted this weary charm. They no longer were bright and sparkly. Clouds rolled over them. Her outgrown pixie haircut and amber highlights spoke volumes about her once feisty nature that seemed to have disappeared suddenly. Perhaps it was the junior college exams which drained her. No one knew, because she told no one.

June’s laptop toolbar flashed orange.

aichi_gurl: Hey June

juniper: Hi

aichi_gurl: You know tomorrow’s outing? Yah… I can’t make it. So sorry…

juniper: Oh. Why? I thought we agreed on this for weeks already!

aichi_gurl: so sorry… you know how it is with projects and all. They’re piling up. I’ve got a presentation next week and my group mates want to meet tomorrow.

juniper: Ok. Perhaps the next time we can meet up with Angela and the rest.

aichi_gurl: Yup!

juniper: Oh, have you seen Scarlet lately? Her new hairdo is so ugly…

aichi_gurl; Er… no. She’s in your school remember? I don’t even see any of our classmates anymore! Ok, perhaps except the rat coz he's same fac as me.

juniper: It’s really ugly. And I heard that she and Joi had a falling out. Big quarrel!

aichi_gurl: They did?

juniper: Yup. My friends were telling me about it.

aichi_gurl: Icic… Hey girl, you know what, I’ve got to go. Got an early class tomorrow.

juniper: Ok. I think I can get free tickets to Jay Chou’s concert next month.

aichi_gurl: Really? I think you’d really enjoy it! You’ve been his fan for eons!

juniper: So you’re going right?

aichi_gurl: For?

juniper: Ok I’ll count you in for the concert.

aichi_gurl: Wait a min… when is it? You know I don’t appreciate all these songs… Get Lydin to come along! I think she’ll enjoy it too. She’s another fan just like you.

juniper: Didn’t you say you have to go?

aichi_gurl: Yah, but you brought up Jay Chou’s concert…

juniper: Nights! Sweet dreams! Don’t be late for class ok?

aichi_gurl: Nights girl!

June leaned back in her chair. She thought of the shouting match she had with Keith. It was so long ago, but it felt like yesterday. She remembered all the words they used. Heated words that should never have been said. She also remembered how she felt at the end of the incident. Sad. Dejected. Rejected. Since then, she had never liked anyone, nor felt loved.

June’s thoughts swirled back to college, when she would always eat with the girls during recess. And how they liked to talk about themselves. She would walk away after a while, because she felt that no one was listening to her. Even in the mornings, her study buddies were just there studying with her. They were close, but she thought that they had told Eddie that she liked him. She fell out with them after that. When she realized they said nothing to Eddie or the other guys or girls for that matter, it was two years later. June tried to patch things up, but the damage was done already. They had grown further from her. How she missed all those times studying at Bishan community centre.

Thoughts from her past life overwhelmed her. She changed her MSN nick to “Calling it quits”. June spiraled into the depths again, thinking that everyone hated her and that no one liked her enough to be her friend at all.

Just then, the radio started playing a song she loved.

I believe I can fly
I believe I can touch the sky
I think about it every night and day
Spread my wings and fly away
I believe I can soar
I see me running through that open door
I believe I can fly
I believe I can fly

I believe I can fly

The urge to soar, to touch the sky took hold of her. She knew that the song sang of going on, of spreading wings to achieve some miracles.

Perhaps she could be free. To fly, to soar, to be free of all worries.

A gust of wind blew and caressed her face. June froze. Then she turned and looked at the window. She walked over, to fly, to soar, to be free.

scripted by me

September 09, 2005 @10:51 pm

by Tish Hinojosa

Wonderfully dreamy song...

Here’s a song for the journey as we draw near the line
Though our heart bears a tear as we wave our goodbye
May the clouds pass before you, may the stars kiss your eyes
Rolli-o, rolli-ey, rolli-aye

There are days made for wonder and laughter and wine
May your dreams take you places, through river wind
If we don’t count our blessings, we’re wasting our time
Rolli-o, rolli-ey, rolli-aye

Heaven knows where road falls before me
May the angels call those left behind
When I think of the treasures and pleasures we find
There are many and many were mine.

If the road makes you weary and you can’t face the night
I will give you my shoulder for the weight on your mind
If we don’t count our blessings, we’re wasting our time
Rolli-o, rolli-ey, rolli-aye

Heaven knows where road falls before me
May the angels call those left behind
When I think of the treasures and pleasures we find
There are many and many were mine.

Heaven knows where road falls before me
May the angels call those left behind
When I think of the treasures and pleasures we find
There are many and many were mine.

scripted by me

July 24, 2005 @11:46 pm

ASIAN EYES

Inspired by a late-night episode of Nip/Tuck

Mum is always full of advice. Full of warnings and naggings too. But I know it is for my brothers’ and my own good. To repay her, I strove to be the proverbial Asian daughter: the obedient waif – the jade and gold of the family. It was a common Chinese saying that girls who are obedient and who make good wives are the treasure of the family – it is as if they are jade and gold, precious treasures that are worth loads.

So, I did my chores with nary a grudge. I buried my head in books instead of climbing trees and scraping knees like my older brothers did. I studied harder than anyone in my class to emerge top in class just so Mum could be proven right that we Asians are better than the gweilos. I never wore tube tops nor went partying because that would be indecent and unbecoming of a young Asian woman. I dated only Chinese boys because of Mum’s belief that gweilos are foreign devils who suck your soul dry and are unworthy of the beautiful creatures from the East.

Until now.

Dave is a decent and honest young man who treats me like a princess. He holds a 9-to-5 job as an auditor, earning big bucks for pointing out others’ mistakes and potential to improve. He splurges on me and makes me feel so cherished and loved. He takes me out for walks along the beach where we count the stars and point out constellations. And he is the first person to give me a bouquet with a dozen salmon pink roses (my favorite), and to ask me to marry him. Dave iswas a dream come true.

The problem? He is not Chinese. Worse still, he is a gweilo. That, and he was meeting Dad and Mum for the first time at my eldest brother’s engagement. Dad would be no problem. He would approve of any guy who treated his baby girl like a princess, even if they were gweilo. Mum would be the tougher nut to crack. She was dead set against any gweilo.

Mum had threatened to kill herself when second brother brought a gweilo girl home for dinner one day. Of course, she did this after the dinner. Asian pride, she would say. Cannot lose face in front of guests. My second brother just brought home a girl he was dating. I was bringing home a guy I was marrying.

Dave knew the torture I was going through. Being the sweet guy he is, he made me lots of hot chocolate to keep my spirits up against the chilly weather. But hot chocolate can only do so much. No amount of hot chocolate would change Mum’s mind. In fact, hot chocolate in her mind is an uncultured drink unlike tea which is so full of art and culture. So one day, Dave sprung this surprise on me – he was going for plastic surgery to make his eyes look Asian. It was a crazy idea, but he convinced me to go along with it. After all, he was tanned, had olive skin, and rosewood brown hair.

~~~~~~~~~~~

My Mother always said, “Never trust gweilos. They take away China treasures. They give us flowers to smoke. Then they fight us and take our land. Never trust the gweilos.” So I listened to her, even though the teachers in school told us that Imperial Court gave the treasures to the British. It is terrible idea to defy your parents. You defy them, you give them no face. My mother liked face. So I give her face. After all, she gave birth to me. I owe her.

So I was very obedient to her. I talk little to the gweilos. Quite easy actually, because we stayed in Chinatown above my father’s restaurant. My father would always boast that the gweilos do not know their left from right, because he could sell them fake Chinese food, and they loved it. He made chicken chop suey, chow mein with lots of cabbage, moo shu pork with more cabbage, chicken flour balls and egg roll with cabbage. Any self-respecting authentic Chinese restaurateur would not cook that in China. Or Hong Kong. Or Taiwan. Or even Singapore. But here, these fake Chinese food sold well. So my father sold it. It was a good way of making money.

Life then was simple – you have a family, you make money to raise them; your children are naughty, you discipline them. Now they have all those rules and books about family life. Cannot scold your own children, or beat them, or it will be abuse. These gweilos do not know what they are talking about. They think that everything must be hugging and kissing. Then the world will go round and everybody will be happy. They do not know anything.

That is why I do not like the gweilos. They pretend they know so much. But actually what they know, hmmmph! My own mother and father ate more salt than they ate rice. Who would be smarter?

I remember this customer who liked one of the waitresses in my father’s restaurant. He always came and ordered fried rice. When my mother put the fried rice in front of him, he would say how nice the fried rice is, then douse it in soy sauce. My mother makes the best fried rice in town. But it is off the menu, and only for special customers. What does the special customer do? He insults her with the soy sauce. Where we came from, you only added sauces if the food was not delicious enough. My mother always walked back to the kitchen muttering under her breath after making fried rice for him.

So you see, gweilos are no good. That is why I told my daughter not to date them. I did not tell her to talk little to them, because I wanted her to succeed and earn big money. To do so, she had to talk to the gweilos. But a gweilo as a boyfriend or husband is a no. I will never agree to it.

That is why I am so happy that Ming is getting married to a sweet Chinese girl. They call it an engagement, but in my thinking, engagement is marriage. Why get engage if not getting married? Waste your time and money and effort. Then you end up crying. Yin told me she will be bringing along her friend Dave. Dave is Ming’s friend, and is helping to set up the place. I like that. Friends should help each other. It has been a long time since Yin brought any boy home. She is of a marriageable age. My daughter will not be left on the shelf. She is pretty, just like her mother. She can attract any Chinese boy she wishes to get.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a cool evening. With the sun setting over the horizon, the poolside looked fantastically romantic. White lilies were tied on waist-high bronze candle stands that held lavender-scented and –colored candles. Masses of soft white and lavender silk draped the pillars of the pavilion and covered the chairs. It all looked so surreal.

The food was carefully laid out on long stretches of tables. Avocado-shrimp salad, chow mein, deep-fried dumplings filled with shrimp and chestnut, scallops baked in extra virgin olive oil, tiramisu cheesecake… The spread was amazing. I could not wait to sink my teeth into them and taste the wonderful mix of flavours.

Chinese people must have food at their functions: birthdays, weddings, Chinese New Year, and even funerals. Food features heavily in all of these contexts. Each dish also has a special meaning. But big brother’s engagement was different. It had glorious food alright, but the food was not so full of meaning. It was food to cater to the tastes of his and Ling’s friends.

Yin. My heart did a little dance when I heard that familiar voice. Dave came over, put his arms around my waist and gave me a quick peck on my cheek. He asked for my opinion on his workmanship. He was in charge of the food. I put my arms around his neck and gave him a kiss for a job well done. The delight in his eyes at the affirmation from his dearest was so sparkling clear. You look really beautiful. I smiled. It could have been us being engaged today, we were just so excited about big brother’s engagement.

Then I sobered quickly. Yes, big brother’s engagement. Mum and Dad would be here any minute, and they would proclaim their judgment on Dave. I felt like a young girl who did something wrong and was awaiting her punishment outside the principal’s office. Dave knew how anxious I was and gave me a warm, reassuring hug.

Xiao mei! (That’s little sister in Chinese). Mum and Dad are here. Put on your best front Dave, Ling and I are behind you!

Mum, Dad, this is Dave, my boyfriend. I had to soften the blow. Could not call him my fiancé.

Hello Uncle and Auntie. Silence. It was obvious that Mum and Dad were not fooled by Dave’s Asian-metamorphosis stunt. They shook his hand.

Hi Dave, we’re Yin’s parents and we’re Chinese.

Now what would you make of that?! But they had turned around and left to talk to big brother and Ling. My heart sank. They knew… they knew! And they did not accept him. But I love him! My mind swirled. I had to do something, and I had to do it fast. No, not fast. At the right time. Yes, I will talk to Mum when the time is ripe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three months later, I was back at the same poolside. This time, the flowers were pink roses and the candles were white and vanilla scented. The silk drapes were pink and white. Very feminine. And this time, the engagement party hosts were Dave and I.

Big brother had seen Mum and Dad’s reaction when I introduced Dave to them. They were expecting a Chinese Dave who loved their daughter and treated her like a princess. They thought he had good taste and did the place up nicely for big brother and Ling’s friends. That is, until they saw him in full flesh.

Big brother and second brother both knew I was in for it. But they had also seen how impressed Mum and Dad were with Dave before they met him. Big brother had also seen how wonderfully gentle Dave was with me. And, big brother and Dave were fast friends. So my two wonderful brothers rallied together and debated with Mum and Dad about Dave and me. Actually, big brother did more talking because he was the ‘spotless one’ when it came to relationships – he had never brought home a gweilo girlfriend.

When my parents refused to budge, big brother dropped a bombshell. Stop being sticks in the mud you two. Dave loves Yin so much that he went for plastic surgery to make his eyes more Asian. All this just so you would not get angry with Yin for choosing a gweilo boyfriend. Think about it. He went for an operation to change his looks just to win over his girlfriend’s parents. Then my brothers left to entertain the guests.

Two days after big brother’s engagement party, Mum and Dad asked me to bring Dave home for dinner. After dinner, they told us that they have a rule: none of their children are allowed to date or even marry gweilos. Our hearts sank. But Dave has shown himself worthy of Yin. We approve.

And that was how Dave and I got permission to flout the ‘no gweilo’ rule.

scripted by me

July 19, 2005 @8:44 pm

"Unimaginative."

"So heartlander."

"No style..."

Ok, so it's unimaginative. The moniker came from a trip to Mr. Teh Tarik in Far East Square one rainy day, where yours truly saw smartly dressed Raffles Place office folk sitting by wooden tables, slurping teh tarik and scooping nasi lemak off a banana leaf.

Heartlander, yes. But I say, deny any local his teh tarik and/or nasi lemak, and be prepared to face the consequences!!! But i exaggerate. These have become so much a part of local fare and daily life that you take it away, and there'll be something missing.

Well, the real reason why I set up this blog is to write things that were inspired by the talks over dinner, supper, coffee, tea, whatever. It'll not be so much about the meetings, but rather, things that are inspired by it. I might put in stories. Or poems. Or dreams. Or reviews.

In short, I'll be putting in my more 'arty-farty' things here. I think they deserve a space of their own, so that they won't be cluttered by the day to day happenings.

So... sit back, kick off your shoes, relax, and enjoy!

scripted by me

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it is here where thoughts flow free and words describe some reality

Before I grew up I saw you on a cloud I could bless myself in your name and patch you on my wings "Life is hard and so is love, child, believe in all these things"

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