untitled 2

a story - a statement

The room was lit in red light for as long as I have been held captive. I don't know for how long have I been kept in confinement and for what reasons. I am only a courier despatch guy. Your regular guy on the street trying to make a living. I have no criminal records, I don't smoke and I don't do drugs. I only drink some beers on friday nights with Pete and his crazy friends. But I swear to God that I don't do any of the crazy stuff myself. I am as clean as a baby's bottom.

One day after delivering the final parcel, I was driving the van back to the headquarters. I was on the freeway and I heard a buzzing sound that seemed to be coming from above me. However it was impossible because there was absolutely nothing above me that could cause such sound effects. I thought there was something wrong with the engine. It was about 6.30pm and I noticed that it was pretty dark for that time of the day. Maybe a major storm was hitting. So I drove faster because it was going to be nasty getting caught in a storm.

The buzzing sound grew louder and it started to irritate my ears. Looking at the gloomy sky I hessitated for a while if I should pull over. The entire atmosphere was eerie. I looked at the side mirror and saw that no other vehicles were in sight. But the damn buzzing was breaking my eardrums. Left with no choice I pulled over.

I switched off the car engine but the buzzing sound remainded audible. This time I was certain that the sound came from right above my head. It was like a symphony of millions of bees.

Slowly I opened the car door and walked out to an abandoned road. I felt at that time as I do now to be the only person alive. I looked up at the roof of the van and that was when I saw "it" for the first time. I don't know if it was a man or a woman. I didn't know if it was human. What in the name of God would have created a thing like that? Leaping off the roof like a beast, it landed on with a thud on the ground.

I couldn't move because I was too scared. I have never seen anything like that. It was like looking evil in the eye. If evil could take a permenant form I guess it would look like what just attacked and bit me on the neck. I think something was injected into my body. I felt contaminated.

When I awoke I found myself in an iron cellar with no bars. Everything was lit in red but I could find no source of light. No bulb - nothing. It was as if the red light appeared from no where. Twenty inches above the floor was a lid where food and water were pushed through to me. What was suppose to be food and water tasted like uncooked meat and diluted blood. I starved myself for what seemed like 2 days. I couldn't keep track of time. My watch and cellphone were taken.

Finally a growling stomach and a devastating thirst betrayed my sense of humanity. I looked around the cellar to see if I could find something to start a fire to cook the meat. But there was nothing available - just cold iron walls.

I found my pen and a few pieces of order forms in my coat pocket. I was never a writer in English class. I barely wrote over 3 paragraphs for compositions. But strange things happen to a man in confinement and fed with raw meat. If I die I want others to know what happened to me in here.

I remember screaming for help. I recall kicking the iron walls and even tried peeping through the lid and saw nothing except evil. I cried, I laughed, I sang and even danced. I pray. I pray so hard that God must be bored with my pleas for mercy. Why? Why me?

There were many times where I bit fingers to check if I was dreaming. The pain was real. But after a few times of biting my fingers even the pain disappeared. I was numb.

Not much of space left for me to scribble my thoughts. The paper is running out. And after what seemed like an eternity only did I notice that I said not a word about my family. The red light makes me forget and the alien fluid in my body made me heartless.

This is the last bit of words I can squeeze in. I forgot to tell you my name. What is my name?????

wesak

a fiction - a contemplation

Two novice monks named Chi and Wai were performing their daily chores in Lord Buddha's garden. They picked all of the brown leaves, collected all of the wilted flowers to ensure that their skills as self-acclaimed botanists were not put to waste.

Chi thought to himself that in 10 years time he would master every sutra and teaching in Buddhism. He can then acquire the status of an Honoured Teacher and spread the dharma to all who crosses his path. He will be the next World Honored One. He smiled at the thought of his success because Buddhism was his passion.

In the meantime Wai was waiting for the right time to find flaws in the teachings of Lord Buddha. Perhaps planning for a revolution because he was sick and tired of the five precepts, the four noble truths and the meditations. Wai wanted freedom; his sense of freedom. He said that in order to live in this world, one has to participate in it. Live life to the fullest. So he was quietly waiting; in silence he was collecting enough ammunition to fire back. Wai was never been happy with anything in his life.

While they were busy focusing on their 10-year-plan, they didn't realise that Lord Buddha and another guest were in the garden for an evening walk. Immediately they dropped all at hand and rushed to the World Honored One to prostrate before him.

Chi
Master, how pretty a sight to see you during sun set.

Wai
Master, I have none to offer you except for my humble service.

Lord Buddha
Now the two of you. Please rise. I ask not to be prostrated to. I ask for no words of praise nor do I seek humbleness in service. I ask for nothing.

Chi
Oh! Master. But you must know we volunteer our hearts and souls to you because your teachings are of the truth and of supreme order. We honour no one except for you.

Wai
I am born of no parents. You are like a dear father to me. I wish to only follow your footsteps.

Lord Buddha
Please don't follow because I do not lead. My teachings are of the truth only as far as you test them. I am merely a signpost. You decide on walking the journey. Don't worship or destroy the signpost. It is useless.

With that Lord Buddha and his guest left the garden.

Guest
It seems it will take a long time for mankind to learn.

Lord Buddha
That is why we come back. When I go, it is you who may shed some light.

Guest
But my dear friend. When my time comes, men will be more lost. I am afraid the ground will be red.

Lord Buddha
We can only show them where the moon is and how to build a raft. We can't bring the moon to them and build them rafts for crossing rivers. I am sure there will be some who understand. Very few but there will be.

Guest
There is still hope. In darkness, when one is calm one can see clearer than with lights turned-on.

Lord Buddha
Silent

Guest
Silent

doolb

I was never there physically as I am now the time frame my parents were born. I don't know how my dad and mum respectively felt when he fell off his tiny bicycle at 7 or when she scratched her knees while climbing the hills to go to her friend's house. I can pretend that I do but I have no sight or recollection of such incidents. There isn't a faintest clue inside the memory bank.

In the evenings after dinner I would sit with my grandfather to listen to his stories. He was a mighty big man; tall, good looking, intelligent and he had a natural flair for languages. He didn't go to school for a very long time and then the Japanese invaded Malaysia. It was the devastation of World War II for 3 years and 8 months. I read about the Japanese occupation from books and prior to the infiltration of the Japanese, the British colonised us.

I am not going to regurgitate facts and dates for I am not a historian. The air that we breathe and the water that we drink is the same air and the same water that fed this Earth and is still sustaining its residents this very moment. If we are ashamed of our history, our ancestors and our identity then we are not only undermining our existence but we are effectively denying who we are. It is not about being an American, a British, a Chinese or an African. It is about being an Earthian - someone who lives on planet Earth, in the universe. This entire population contributed to and built this world. We are responsible for what we do. We are the makers and the destroyers.

The blood that flows in my body is the same blood that flows in yours. I can never turn back time to when my parents were teenagers; to know about their first date or where they met the first time. I have never experienced a war; never forced to watch innocent children killed and 12 year olds trained to throw grenades at the enemy's tanks. Perhaps even launched a missle at a bus load of women and children. What is the worth of a life in a battle? Can life even be measured? Should it be?

As I type this paragraph and as you read each word, somewhere on this planet, our brother or sister is dying. Another brother or sister of ours is responsible for waging endless wars. But what I am and are you doing to stop or to accelerate their deaths? There shouldn't be a choice. There shouldn't be an "or". The answer is obvious - everything.

If only we don't care so much about preserving our identity by changing the past, we don't have to prove to the world that we are somebody great. If we accept our identity as it is, we will know that no one gives a damn where we come from and what color we are. But the problem is that we are extremely cautious because we are actually ashamed of being who we are. Someone else is better because they have oil and gas or they don't have the brand of car we drive or they have a car but we don't.

My question is SO WHAT if we can't even afford a steering wheel? I remain my parents' child.

Good night and good luck.

untitled

a fiction - my imagination

The last thing I remember was shooting myself in the head with her gun. I had to die because I can't bear to live with the sin of killing her. But then I have to kill her because if not I can't bear to live with the fact that I am an unlucky SOB who did everything I possibly could to win her heart. She still thinks me invisible. The point here is this, no one wants to be a sucker. No one wants to be a natural born loser either. You see, I have this vibe about me that scares all the women I like away. I did everything I could to get rid of this vibe, this bad luck; whatever you call it. I hate IT and I hate falling for women who can't, won't and wouldn't respond. Is it my fault? To be honest, it ain't my doing because they were all good to me at the beginning but things always go wrong. I call it a 3-day-glory. Just 3 freaking days and it's over. I can sense her running away, twitching her body in disgust as I walked past or shifting her eyes as I look into them. The awkwardness is enough to drive me mental.

I saw the gun that she carried in her handbag. She needed it for protection seemingly. Kiss my arse and I won't believe that she dares to pull the trigger. Her yakuza-type ex-husband could send an army of soldiers from Israel to attack her but that baby remains a virgin. I am still talking about the gun by the way.

So I thought, what a waste. A beautiful semi-automatic baby shouldn't be a nun. I am not kidding. You should see the way she wraps the gun in white silk and black velvet. When I knocked her out with a baseball bat, it took me some time to unwrap those damn cloth before the baby revealed herself. After she regained her consciousness I asked why did she need to conceal the gun this way. It was meant to be easily accessed and not layered in complication. Her reply was shocking and it must be the same reason why I love her so much! It takes two nuts to click. Oh! She said that the gun is brand new and she doesn't want it scratched.

I didn't know where to shoot her at first because I don't want to damage her pretty face. Close-range firing may blow out her entire head or any part of her body for that matter. Maybe I should stand a little further but I am an amateur shooter who could possibly miss the target. I don't want her to suffer too long upon my pulling the trigger.

After much hesitation and calculation, I decided to take a clean blow at her heart. That should be perfect and so it shall be. I took 5 steps away from her. Lifted the gun with my right hand, cock the gun, aimed and on a count to 3 - my index finger pulled with all its might and failure hits like shit.

The gun was not loaded.

It can't be. This cannot be true. How can the gun have no bullets? This is not funny. Confused, sweating, bewildered I trembled in fear. Again the awkwardness in her eyes drove me insane. I hate that look. Can't she have a little compassion for a killer who failed at his first job?

She laughed.

How could she laugh at me? I was trying to kill her. I felt humiliated. I cried.

She laughed harder.

I have to end this. I pointed the gun at my head this time because I can no longer look into her eyes. They were demeaning and cold. This is the woman I love. I loved.

I close my eyes. Tears streamed down my face like urine down the toilet bowl.

I pulled the trigger.

Bang.

corner seat

I proceeded with my tray of food to the busiest corner of the food court. I sat down and meticulously put my bag on the chair next to mine. The couple sitting beside who was munching on pizzas looked at me with strange eyes. I smiled. The guy curiously smiled too. The girl was a little reluctant but she forced one out eventually.

The spot where I glued my butt to was the table right next to the elevator. Therefore shoppers going up and down and to the cinema would see me and I would see them too. This spot is cursed for loners like me who enjoy the company of strangers. And who wouldn't feel embarrassed when caught with greasy fingers and a mouth full of fried chicken. Occasionally a kind soul would glimpse over as they parade about with closely related human beings such as boyfriends, girlfriends or next-of-kin known as family to send me a sympathetic smile.

But my secret paradise is just about at the busiest and yet the loneliest spot in the entire world. The quiet moments give me ample time to think and to watch. Young couples holding hands as if they will be seperated permenantly if they let go, a group of school girls giggling innocently, children screaming at the top of their lungs when they dropped their tigthly-clutched bottle cap on the floor. Very efficiently they will bend down to pick-it-up only to place the cap in their mouth! I wonder if I put anything non-edible into my mouth before? Chances are I won't because my sense for tasty food was acquired since birth. As far as I can remember I only ate food. Whether they were healthy or not, it is an entirely different question.

While sipping a can of Coke Light, I paid attention to everyone's style of eating. Have you ever noticed how some people eat their food in order? For example, they would eat the salad first, next attack the burger and lastly nibble on the fries. They would stop in between when the pickled cucumber filled-up their air pipes to consume a full gush of Coke to clear the passage ways. On the other hand, the less organised ones will eat a little of this and a little of that. Poking their greedy fingers into all they could eat. At the end of the pole of messy-eaters are the all-in-one grinders. These folks store the first bite of food in the mouth, holding it for a juggled-up mixture with the second, third, forth or even the fifth bite. I know it can be quite disgusting but then the all-in-one grinders have a rocket to catch.

The company of oneself allows one to enjoy the company of all present.

Namaste.