Nonsensical Philosophy

Ahem ahem, a leetle announcement.

2009-08-25T06:05:00.000-07:00

O levels! Thus, I will not be posting here for even longer...eep.
I'll post when I can but as I said two posts back, with the fanfiction Wasurenai, I have been doing a lot of writing but of nothing but Arashi fanfiction. Yes, maybe I should admit that it is taking over my life, somewhat.

And well. Prelims have already started, and I'm still as lazy assed as ever. So well. I shall be posting another short fanfiction, this time based on the Japanese drama The Quiz Show (Season 2). Just as a FYI, Sakurai Sho from Arashi plays the host, Kamiyama Satoru and Yokoyama Yu from Kanjani8 plays Honma, the creepy director of the Quiz Show.

So. Last post till next time? Maybe.

On to the fanfiction...yay? Oh. Contains slight spoilers.

---

Onomatopoeia

Drip. Drop. Clatter. Roll. Shhhh. Clang. Bang. Drip. Pant. Gasp. Cry. Pant.

Sound. It was sound that echoed in the room when the man, dressed in black (he always dressed in black, but why?), pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside. The sound of his shoes on the floor vibrated in his ears and he looked up in trepidation. And gasped. The man's eyes were narrowed, a sneer on his face as he stepped closer to the bare bed. The walls seem to close in on him as the fragile man in white tried to cower into a ball on the bed. Fingers clung to the thin fabric, eyes turned to the floor to hide the fear in them. The man in black stood by the bed, waiting; just waiting.

A head tilted up, cold eyes met frightened ones. Full lips trembled and parted, then closed again.

"Do you remember?"

A short nod. An acknowledgment of the question. An answer. A raised eyebrow replied, a head cocked to the side, lips upturned in a sadistic smirk.

"Oh?"

Another short nod, a short futile scramble off the bed (that ended in a fall and a roll on the floor; as usual), and a scuttle to grab at the black fabric on the man's legs.

"Misaki. Her name is Misaki."

The man in black's face contorts in anger, and he kicks the whimpering man away in disgust. He's heard those words before. He already knows; the information is redundant. He growls and leans down to grab at the flimsy non-existant collar of the man's shirt. Their faces nearly touch, and the man that is called Kamiyama can hear the breathing of the other. He can feel the hot breath on his face, the short inhales and exhales. The low growl that is rumbling in the man's throat. Kamiyama whimpers. His body shivers, jerks, and he turns his face away. He's afraid, his heart thumping in his chest, his fingers trembling. His toes curl and uncurl, his legs shift and he wriggles under the man's hold.

A loud cry as he's hauled up and slamed back down on the floor. Kamiyama cries out in pain. The man's hand gently strokes a line along the side of his jaw. Kamiyama tries to jerk his face away. He squeaks when he's pulled up to eye level with the other again. The man's lips brush against his, the man's eyes clouded over with an unreadable emotion. Kamiyama shudders. He squeaks and sobs when the man lets go and the hot hands pressed against his skin leave and all he feels is the cold, hard floor. He slides and hits the freezing surface of the bed's legs. There is a clang when the man's foot meets the hourglass and it hits the wall. There is a clang and the rustling of when the sand slides.

He curls his legs up to his chest, sobbing quietly. The man huffs in disgust and closes the door, slamming it as he leaves, using more force than necessary. It rings; the metallic throb when the metal latch slides close. The tap drips water again. Kamiyama uncurls himself and paces to the mirror, his footsteps soft, almost as if he didn't exist and he were walking on air. He feels like he's in a dream. Everything around him is a blur, unclear and fuzzy. He stares at his relflection in the mirror, hair unkempt, skin pale and eyes lifeless.

Is this what he had become? What he had been reduced to? His palm reaches out and rests on the mirror image. His face is blank as a memory floods back and plays vividly in his mind's eye. He hears the pitter patter of the rain falling against the rocks. He hears the rushing of water, the sharp, yet high pitched ting the sharp object makes as it clatters to the ground. He hears the squish of wet ground underneath feet, the loud swoosh when the raincoat fabric rubs. The sharp cry and holler of "Are you okay? Is everything alright?" and the panicked loud breathing as he stares down at his hands. His chest heaves, and a word rolls off his tongue over and over.

"Misaki! Misaki!"

He screams.

His hands clutch at his head and he screams again; louder this time, drowning out the other sounds in the too-small room. He screams again and again until his throat is raw and dry, and until his voice nearly leaves him and all he can do is choke out breathy moans and groans. He gasps again then crawls and tries to make his way to the bed. His fingers grip onto the sheets. He rocks against the bed, crying, sobbing, whimpering. Finally, sleep takes over; his world fades gradually to black and silence rings in his ears.

The room is quiet. Or is it?

Drip. Drop. Clatter. Roll. Shhhh. Clang. Bang. Drip. Pant. Gasp. Cry. Pant.

Tracks

2009-08-25T05:56:00.000-07:00

Not too long ago, *cough* LAST YEAR, we were given topics for the 2009 Commonwealth Essay Competition. And one of them was this, Tracks. This was my entry (it was compulsory for the whole cohort to write one). Word limit: 1500 words.

Inspired by Marathon, a SP featuring Ninomiya Kazunari as the lead actor, an autistic boy.

I got a few things wrong, mainly the reaction of someone with autism. They wouldn't know what they were being called, and would most probably not cry. Blame me for doing this the night before submission was due...and not doing any research whatsoever except for watching that said TV SP.

So yeah.

-----

His eyes were focused on the track ahead of him, shutting out anything that could distract him by just staring there; on one solitary spot. His heart was pounding, hammering, in his chest, each ‘lub dub’ loud and distinct in his ear. He could hear his own panting, the way he was gasping for air and taking it in with big mouthfuls. He could feel the strain in his leg muscles as he pushed and willed himself to run further, to strain himself harder. He was exhausted but he did not stop. He could hear the sounds of his feet hitting the hard ground, the pounding of each step on the gravel and even the soft pitter patter of when his sweat dripped off his brow. He made no effort to brush the accumulating sweat off and instead focused on the rhythmic action of his feet. They were moving to an invisible beat, only audible to himself – the creator and manipulator of the melody.

He turned his face to the sun and all at once felt the breeze hit him in the face and the heat of the sun upon his skin. He could hear the cry of the birds in the distance and the soft rustle of the grass swaying in the wind. Caving in to exhaustion, he fell back onto the waiting grass patch by the pavement and let his eyes close, allowing his other senses to take over as waves of relief and experiences, sensations, washed over him. The intimate touch of the wind upon his cheek, it’s sweet and welcoming voice whispering his name; the caress of the grass beneath him, hesitant and gentle. But suddenly, all too soon, the sensory overload was gone as a single word pierced through the peace (and his revere) to strike like an arrow in his heart.

“Freak!” the intruder taunted, laughing at pointing. He had not come alone, with friends standing by his side and sneering at the limp body in the grass.

“Why don’t you do the world a favour and just disappear? No one will miss you anyway!”

Silently, he watched them leave, trying his utmost to hold back tears. He was special, he had been told. Special. Pushing himself off the grass, he made his way back home, steps heavy and heart pounding with dread. He tried to wipe the warm flowing tears off his face, ignoring how the salty mixture of sweat and tears stung his eyes.

Running gave him a sense of exhilaration, and it took his mind off everything else. When he ran, all he thought about was just the running, pushing himself, faster, faster. When he ran, he did not need to think about anything else. He could shut out the taunts and the jeering; could forget all the mean actions and comments. He could clear his mind, and just think of nothing. It thrilled him to run, to push himself to the brink of exhaustion and then fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

He cannot recall how his obsession with running had begun; only vaguely being able to remember that he had been running all his life. Running away from people, from social interaction and ultimately, running away from himself. He was running away from everything, fleeing like a coward from the reality of the situation instead of facing it like a man would. He knew that he should have the courage to face up to his demons, but he just could not. Running became his escape. Running became his refuge. Leaving his footprints on the sand (or anywhere, for that matter) gave him pleasure, a feeling of accomplishment. It made him feel like somebody.

He was a special boy, his mother had said. He was a special boy, with a plain, normal enough name. He was called Sam, and ever since he was young, he always seemed to have more needs than the other children his age. He needed more help with eating than normal, with finding his way around. He even needed people to talk for him when his words failed him. He had special needs, which had to be taken care of. Special needs that ostracised him from the “normal people”. The needs which had lost him any friend he could have made, and needs which labeled him ‘useless’ and without a future.

It’s not that he was not smart. Sam was perceptive, always being able to see small details most would miss. He was obedient and always listened attentively to anything the teacher may be conveying to the class. But he couldn’t keep up with them when they learnt Sciences and Mathematics. He couldn’t even speak properly and his pronunciation always led to him being the butt of most jokes.

It made Sam hate life; hate his own life. He spent the time spent running wondering why he was placed on planet Earth. Did he have a greater calling? Would people like him even find their way in the world? Or would the prejudice just keep spreading? He hated being called ‘stupid’ for he knew for certain that he wasn’t ‘stupid’. He knew left from right, right from wrong and his A-B-Cs from his 1-2-3s.

It was just about at that point in his life where he was running from the bullies at school and in the neighbourhood when he realised just how much he enjoyed it. He was even more fascinated with the way his feet met the concrete, how the soles of his shoes impacted on the ground, pushing off so that he could have the momentum to take another step. Each step formed a pathway, a pathway led by the melody of his running, a track that he was leaving behind. His track. His mark. It was something that was uniquely his and his only. It made him feel accomplished; it proved to people that he could do something.

His mother had signed him up for a marathon. Sam was apprehensive at first, not knowing how others would take to his participation. Would they ridicule him? Would they tease him, imitate the way his hands jerked and spasmed this way and that? Would they guffaw at the stray trail of drool that would occasionally run down his chin? Nonsense, his mother had chided him. What mattered was that it was an opportunity, his turn to shine and bask in the limelight. His time to mark his tracks on the ground, to start the road that would lead him on his own life’s journey.

He ran. He ran it like a race, running with all his might. He had trained for it, in the weeks leading up to the marathon. He had run at the nearby park, building up his stamina, learning how much he could push his body before he collapsed.

He was aware of all the eyes upon his back, staring at the number that was pinned on his running suit – 1076 – watching and eyeing him as he ran. He ignored them all, just pushing, himself, step by step. One at a time. Slow, and steady.

“I can do it!” he repeated in his head, motivating himself. He was going to prove to all of them that being special was not a crime. That he too, could leave tracks and footprints behind in people’s hearts. That he too, was important. The he meant something, and was no just like a speck of dirt someone could just flick away.

It was just him; running, but this time, not to escape. He was not running away anymore. He was running towards his demons, against them. He was forging ahead diligently, carving his path and shaping his destiny.

He was panting; breathing rate accelerating. It was there, the halfway mark. His suit was soaked with sweat, his hair dripping wet as if he had just stepped out from the shower. Still he pressed on, continually persevering. He was not going to give up now; he had come so far.

It was near now; and in sight. He could hear the cheers of the crowd awaiting just further up yonder. He could not wait. With a final spurt, using energy reserves that he never knew he had, he made a dash for the finish. Just a little more, now. Push harder! Don’t give up!

As he crossed the finish line, a smile beaming on his face, he looked back at the path that he had taken. The road he had run upon. And right there, he could see behind him, the steps he left on the track. His tracks on the ground, leaving his mark in the world. Even though the calloused hand of the man who shook his hand to congratulate him scraped against the baby smooth skin of his hand painfully, Sam couldn’t help but smile.

Wasurenai (Cannot Forget)

2008-12-30T22:41:00.000-08:00

A/N: This is Arashi fanfiction because all I've been writing lately is fanfiction. (I know, totally patheticly fail, isn't it?) Oh, and there's umm, some strong language in this. You have been warned. And I don't own Arashi in any way.

---

Wasureru (わすれる or 忘れる)
1. Forget
2. Leave behind

He was the one who had caused them to break up. He was the one who wanted it. He was the one who couldn't stand another day in the entertainment business. It had been, what, more than ten years since they had debuted. To be honest, he was sick of it. Sick of everything that the fame brought along with it. There was only so much one could take, and after so many years, he wanted nothing more but a quiet, peaceful life. Now if only the damned paparazzi would leave him alone. He had been the one to initiate and suggest to disband, so why did he still feel guilty about it? Guilty about that one descision he had made a year ago.

It's not that he missed the entertainment bussiness. He was happy, elated actually, to have left it. Or was he?

When he walked in the streets, whether it was to head to the nearby combini to buy some snacks or to head to the news stand to buy a magazine, people stared. Girls, in particular, stared hard. They would whisper to each other, and give him icy glares.

"There he is, the one who broke up Arashi."

"How could he do such a cruel thing?"

"Why someone would want to leave Arashi is one thing, but causing it to disband is another."

"Selfish bastard."

He could hear their accusing words ringing in his ears, and feel their glares upon his back. Damnit, was it too much to ask just to be left alone!? He didn't want to cause so much upset, heck, Arashi could probably have done as well without him anyway. Trust those idiots to decide that Arashi would not be Arashi without him. It was either he stay or nothing. In a way, it had been a joint decision, but his conscience kept nagging at him that he had been the catalyst. He had been the one to break up the group.

He slammed his fist against the wall. He cursed. Was it too much? Was it too fucking much just to ask for peace? His mailbox contained angry hate mail again, and he flung it to the floor. How fans had reached him where he lived was simple enough to figure out. Most mail had come care of the jimusho (office), probably sent to him as a cruel joke. He picked up the letters, not bothering to open them (he had received enough to know it contained slander about him; and the occasional photoshopped picture), and ripped each one into tiny little shreds. A small, minuscule more like, smirk appeared on his lips but disappeared almost immediately as he heard an Arashi song played on the radio. He recognized the catchy tune almost immediately.

"Happiness." he whispered grimly as memories flooded back to him.

Flashes of their variety shows played in his mind, of C, D and G no Arashi and the newer ones, VS Arashi, Himitsu no Arashi-chan and Arashi no Shukudai-kun. Flashes of their concerts, of the crowd screaming their names, waving their uchiwas frantically and screaming for encores.

"ARASHI! ARASHI! ARASHI!"

He could hear the shouts clearly in his mind, as if he was standing on the concert stage again, and he remembered how they had fed off the energy of the crowd, of the screaming fans. How they had fed off their presence and gave them one heck of a show. He could remember it clearly, all too clearly. He could picture the five of them dancing, jumping on stage, grining, laughing and having a ball of a time.

He sighed, ruffled his hair (which was as unkempt as it was since he woke up that morning) and plonked down in front of his laptop. He found the days passing by slowly, and had turned to the internet to wittle his hours away. It was difficult to resist the urge to type 嵐 into the search box. What popped up was expected, fans asking for a comeback tour, appeals for Arashi to return and of course, complaints about him. He sighed, surfing through random forums, reading what fans had to say about them.

He found the occasional fan supporting his and the rest of Arashi's decision.

"If they've decided that they've had enough, they've had enough. The paparazzi can be bad enough but if we, their fans do not support their decision, then who will? We have to respect their wishes for a quiet, peaceful life, a life away from the entertainment business. Please stop slandering him for initiating the break up."

But for each supporting comment or post he found, there were dozens more that condemned him, that called him all sorts of names. He felt a growl leave his lips. Was he not human too? Did he not deserve to be respected? He was not trash that was thrown into the streets - he was human and had feelings just like them.

He slammed the laptop shut, the last straw being ten successive direct insults at him and a photoshopped picture of him as Hard Gay poledancing. He was cursing now, slamming his fists against the wall again.

"Those fuckers, why can't they fucking leave me alone!?"

Alone. That was all he had wanted in the beginning, to be left alone,and have quiet and peace. The hectic schedules were torturing, and it felt as if there was a never ending list of things to do.

Filming in the morning. Appearance on a television show. Filming for an advertisement. Another appearance. Interview with a magazine. Dinner with potential partners or sponsors.

There was never time for sleep, alone time, let alone searching for a wife. It was as if no one considered their feelings, their desires as a kid to settle down and have families of their own. It was difficult enough to find someone to like him for himself, not the celebrity he was. It did not help that the paparazzi liked to make up ridiculous stories and scandals that were never based on truth.

He knew that he had been living a facade, all those years. When the cameras were on, it was as if someone has pressed a button and the "celebrity" in him would appear, his own personality passively lying dormant. On camera, every move is exaggerated, and of course, there is need for fan service every now and then. On camera, things you say have to be funny, you need to fit the "personality moulds" that have been created for each member.

Ohno Satoshi - The leader, spaced out and dreaming most of the time; quiet and can eat almost anything.
Ninomiya Kazunari - Game addict, never far from his DS and always touching Ohno. A snarky remark is never far from his lips, and he's stingy as hell, never offering to pay. Never. The prankster of the bunch.
Matsumoto Jun - The 'hime' of the bunch, ever popular and the one who attracts fangirls to Arashi in the first place
Sakurai Sho - The smartest of the bunch, a Keio graduate and the one who acts the most 'leader-like', often the one who has to salvage losing situations (not unlike the Haneru no Tobira SP epic fail of a tragedy)
Aiba Masaki - The most baka (stupid) and energetic of them all, and undoubtedly the most hentai/perverted of the group. Honestly, who could forget that mushroom incident on Arashi no Shukudai-kun?

The fans want to see them do embarassing things, the fans want to see them when they're high and the fans expect to be entertained. They expect them to be able to dance, to be able to sing and to be able to have the perfect body in photoshoots. They're expected to be gorgeous twenty-four hours, seven days a week.

They're supposed to be prefect, or at least try their utmost to acheive perfection one way or another.

The entertainment industry was fucking screwed up. It was no wonder he had wanted to leave. But would anyone see it his way? No. Would anyone reason with him? No. Would anyone bother to ask if he was alright? No. Would anyone want to keep in his company? No.

His cellphone buzzed and he picked it up, eyes widening as he read the contents of the text. They were having a gathering, for old times sake. Arashi was meeting again.

The ramen shop was noisy, as expected, with five boys crammed into a table and food all spread out and ready to be eaten. The shop wasn't exactly packed, but not empty either, with just the right amount of privacy for them to go crazy with the sake and not have to worry about appearing as an idol.

They weren't idols any more, just shadows of their former popularity.

A glass was raised in the air. A toast.

"In honor of Arashi, and what fun we had back then!"

The clink of glasses rang melodiously in his ears and he grinned. Meeting each other like this, gathering here like this was fun. It was nostalgic too, recalling the times they had been like this, as one whole unit, one group.

It was times like this, times when they were not there as Arashi, but there as a group of friends. A tight knit group of five friends. Friends who had become so close that nakedness was nothing. Please, they had showered and been to onsens together countless times. They even compared underwear brands.

It was good, it felt good, being there as friends and not having the pressure of being Arashi on their shoulders. They could eat, drink and be as rowdy as they wanted.

They talked of what they were up to now, some embarking on solo projects, some deciding to take things easy and try to settle down. He was smiling as he heard of what the rest of them were doing. When they turned to ask him what he was up to, he took a while to reply.

"Nothing much," he began, before realising how empty his life felt. "Nothing at all, really."

He was about to leave it at that, but decided to spill what had been lingering in his mind for the past year.

"It's lonely, being all alone. It makes me feel lost."

The rest of the members, hearing what he had to say, looked back at him, pity and understanding in their eyes.

"I get what you mean. I used to hate being so busy, having so little time to sleep. But now, I miss being busy. I miss filming together, it's like being busy was a fundemental part of our lives. A huge part. It feels like something is missing now, like a crater is there. An Arashi shaped hole."

"It's not fun without everyone. I remember waking up thinking that we've got a photoshoot together, being so happy and looking forward to seeing everyone again. Then I remember that Arashi is no more and I can no longer smile."

"It feels...void, without Arashi, doesn't it?"

"Life used to be for Arashi, with Arashi as the pushing force, but now that what was Arashi is now gone, I don't know what there is to do now, like the meaning to live each day passionately is gone."

He purses his lips, and contemplates for a moment.

"What is life after Arashi?" he asks.

The mood has turned grim, and no one is laughing, or smiling anymore. Trust himself to kill the mood. The beer and sake seemed to dry up quicker than expected as the five boys downed five more rounds. The burning sensation of the sake down his throat is comforting and he thinks naught of the hangover he is likely to have the next morning.

They toast one last time, to discovering a new purpose after Arashi, to a fresh start in life. And then, they say their goodbyes and head their own individual ways.

What used to be one, is now five.

Back home, his gaze lingers on the photo of Arashi he has on the table. All five of them are grinning at the camera, beaming and glowing with pure happiness. Other photos of them are framed and line the shelves in the living room of his apartment, and he gazes wistfully at the reminders of the past. He feels wave after wave of deja vu sweep over him as he looks at each photo.

Finally, his eyes land on an old photo of them, when they had just debuted. Five innocent faces stare back at him, pure joy radiating off their faces. He smiles, tears blurring his vision.

Yes, Arashi is no more. They are now five individuals struggling to find a new way, to find their new path. Arashi is no more, but his life had been Arashi, his life had revolved around Arashi. His life was Arashi.

He placed the photo face down on the shelf. The memories would always remain, and no matter how hard he tried to shut them out, they would remain there, deeply embeded in the crevices of his mind. He may try to forget, but he never will. He wants to forget, but he cannot.

"Wasurenai." he hoarsly whispers, slamming his left fist onto the already well battered wall.

"Wasurenai." he repeats again, and his other fist slams into the wall.

---

{{END}}

Teh Intarnet- I PWN YOU NOOBXZ

2008-07-25T11:18:00.000-07:00

The Internet, or Teh Intarnet.

It surprises me the kind of spelling that appears in online forums. It surprises me that I use broken and weird English on those very forums itself.

Broken grammar, "s"-es in the wrong places, and weird spellings.

This appears in online games as well.

With please as plox, fail as phail, fear is phear, money is moolah...what next?

I PWN YOU NOOBXZ.

One thing I don't get is how people can read 1337 speak. I can't. My eyes roll back into my head and my brain fries. They look like a whole new language- oh wait, it sort of is.

I'm not condemning this, but what happens with all the influence of this? I bet I'll begin to use this kind of language in -God forbid- compositions. (I think it's already beginning to happen.)

Along with Shizzymoomoo and Ploxnora. (which I think is an MMPORG), I've begun to have an affinity to "YAH MAN" which I hear LSE spout and then I picked it up too. And just recently, it was heard on the radio.

YAH MAN is my Yeah man!

Speaking of teh- opps, I mean THE Internet, have I mentioned how much I've come to depend on it?

There's MSN, Gaiaonline, Fanfiction.net, Youtube, Veoh and of course, Blogger.

Information is abound at your fingertips.

And this is the part where a huge booming voice echoes in the background.

"Immortality, it's yours, take it!"

Oh wait, that was Brad Pitt aka Achilles in TROY. Ahem ahem, R-E-W-I-N-D!

"With great power comes great responsibility." -Uncle Ben, Spiderman

What is with me and movie quotes? Ahh well.

The Internet, use it as you please, be it for good intentions or an ulterior motive, it's something we've come to heavily rely on in this modern era.

So up for a game of Internet Reversi?

Be warned,

I'm 1337, I PWN YOU n00bxz. Phear me! Rawr!

/phail.

Blood Ties- Part 1

2008-07-22T05:31:00.000-07:00

Blood Ties

Foreword:
Blood Ties is the story of Dylan, (aka Ah Hock) and his life. As the title implies, it has something to do with family. It is set in Singapore, hence the use of Singlish ever so often.

"Blood is thicker than water." Remember.

Enjoy!~

Part ONE.

***

"Hey, so, your girlfriend, how good is she?"

"How good in what sense? She's great at fashion design."

"Aiyoh, not that. I mean, how GOOD she is."

"Huh?"

"In THAT. You know."

"No, I don't know."

"Liao, Ah Hock, your Bella lah. Is she good in bed?"

"Isobel. And that is none of your business."

"Hah! I bet you didn't manage to get her. Lousy."

"As if."

"You don't dare to tell us if she's good or not. I bet you chickened out!"

Dylan, or Ah Hock to his friends, shook his head and sighed. It was old news that Isobel and himself had hooked up, say, a month ago. He was twenty-two, she was nineteen. They met at a bar, she had asked for a vodka ribena and he had been the bartender. He never believed in all that love-at-first-sight crap but he had to admit that she had mesmerized him. His eyes never left her that night, and she of course, took the opportunity to sneak a few drinks for free.

Isobel was a fashion student at NAFA, and quite a good one at that. She was rich, very rich, but there was the downside of her parents forever working overseas. She had never been happy, materialistic pleasures did nothing for her. She was laid back, humourous and every ready to help out no matter what. Qualities Dylan loved about her.

His phone vibrated and the melody of Anna Tsuchiya's Rose - Isobel's customized ring tone, blasted. His friends raised their eyebrows and made all sorts of kissing sounds.

"Oh Dylan, hold me closer!"

"Shut up you idiots," he snapped, before answering her call.

"Hey Dylan," there was no need for her to identify herself; he knew the sound of her voice, its sweet ringing in his ear.

"Want to come over? I'm really bored and my parents aren't home, as usual."

"Hmm?" he replied nonchalantly, not wanting to seem desperate to see her. In actual fact, he had been dying to see her all day.

“You mean you don’t want to come over? Don’t play coy with me Dylan.”

He laughed, she knew him inside out.

“All right, I’ll be over soon.”

He heard her giggle over the phone and the sound of her blowing a kiss. In his friend’s standards she was average, but Dylan liked the way her body had curves in all the right places. She wasn’t stick thin and Dylan was thankful for that. What was the use of hugging skin and bones?

“I’ll be waiting with ice cream,” she said with a slight purr.

He grinned sheepishly, but a thought ran through his mind that wiped the grin off his face.

“I’ll need to get an errand done first, so I’ll be tad late.”

“Okay, I’ll try not to let the ice cream melt.” and she hung up.

Dylan quickly gave an excuse to his friends and scooted off. They really irritated him sometimes, always joking about sex. They hadn’t done it, yet. He hailed a cab. Isobel was waiting for him, but he had to get something done first.

He got out at the same green block. The paint was a mouldy green and the block was about give or take thirty years old. He climbed the familiar steps to the third floor; steps covered with paint and reeked of stale beer and urine. The corridor wasn’t any better, litter everywhere and empty beer bottles lay forgotten.

He walked up to the same unit, with the same brown grille door. A cross hung below the unit number and the translucent glass window louvers were closed. Dylan approached it apprehensively, and hesitated before knocking on the door five times. Two quick knocks and three slow knocks. Just like the way he used to do so, those five years back.

No one answered the door. Nothing unusual, except that it was quite obvious that someone was inside. Dylan could see the glow of the fluorescent lights through the windows. He sighed. It looked like he wasn’t going to get an answer that day. He was used to this disappointment and it had even become a numbing ache in his heart. He decided to wait. One minute, then two, five and all the way to ten.

He sighed again before methodically taking a red packet out of his shirt pocket and sliding it under the wooden door. It contained half of his monthly salary as a bartender and he felt that it was the least he could do. After all, he was the one who left.

Dylan turned and walked off, but stopped and turned back to gaze at the door, harbouring the futile hope that something would happen. But nothing did. He walked on, climbing down the stairs slowly. He would just have to come back again next month.

But till then, Isobel was waiting. He checked the time on his handphone and cursed. She had been waiting for close to an hour. He messaged her before running out to hail a cab. Isobel hated being alone.

Back on the third floor, the wooden door creaked open. A middle aged woman picked up the red packet and counted the money inside it. It was exactly the same amount she received last month. She gazed at the corridor hesitantly, to make sure that there was no one around. She stepped outside and stood before her door. She paced about, slowly placing each foot meticulously before the other, imagining how he would have, those few minutes ago. She finally went back inside, and closed the door, locking it behind her. Five minutes later, she let the tears fall.

“My son, my precious son.”

THE END of Part ONE.

Betrayed Emotions

2008-07-12T08:29:00.000-07:00

"This world will never be
What I expected
And if I don't belong
Who would have guessed it
I will not leave alone
Everything that I own
To make you feel like it's not too late
It's never too late"

Honestly, I feel betrayed. Well, a feeling sort of close to betrayal but a feeling so complex I've found no better word to portray it than betrayal.

I guess you could create a word equation for it:

loneliness + betrayal + angst + sad = ???

If there is a word to explain that, I'd like to know.

I feel so alone, even the ones I think are close to me aren't even all that close after all. No one tells me anything and when I find out something, no one is there to explain anything to me, I'm left alone. I'm the only one online in the guild. I feel so abandoned.

Have you ever felt like that before? Like you know a person yet not know him/her? Have you talked to someone, felt like you've known that person for so many years and then a day later the person changes completely and leaves you lost and confused?

I don't know who I can turn to anymore. I miss the old days when I would talk to some people on the phone, when I was all smiles and it was so blissful. Where did those days go? Where have those people gone?

Why do the good times pass so fast and the sad times stay with me for so long?

Does anyone even know how I feel? Has anyone even felt like this before?

"Even if I say
It'll be alright
Still I hear you say
You want to end your life
Now and again we try
To just stay alive
Maybe we'll turn it around
'Cause it's not too late
It's never too late"

At times like this, I keep wondering about emotions and the huge part they play in our lives.

Emotions are what make us human, what makes us think, what makes us reflect. Emotions alter our attitude, change our perspective on issues.

The emotion I was most used to was being happy, but lately, another emotion is taking control of my life.

I'm hurt. Angry, sad, lonely and confused. I'm a lost little puppy in a world that's leaving me behind.

Emotions are overwhelming and they affect your judgement from time to time.

Is it wrong to want to turn back the clock of time? Time, the most illusive and precious 'object' of all, more precious than a 24-carat diamond I suppose.

Sometimes I feel invisible, like no one cares I exist at all, because all they do is ignore me. They make me feel like I'm unwanted, as if I'm prying.

Has anyone done that to you? Make you feel so small and insignificant, as if you don't matter to them at all? As if all that you've done for them is nothing?

"No one will ever see
This side reflected
And if there's something wrong
Who would have guessed it
And I have left alone
Everything that I own
To make you feel like
It's not too late
It's never too late"

I mentioned I'd give up a lot for my friends, I'll stand up for them because I care and love them loads. But is it too much?

Are my emotions taking too much control?

How much have you given up for someone, your close friend, maybe. What have you sacrificed? Time? Love? Patience? Care and concern? Money?

If you died today would anyone care?

If I died today, would anyone care?

"The world we knew
Won't come back
The time we've lost
Can't get back
The life we had
Won't be ours again

This world will never be
What I expected
And if I don't belong..."

Where is the laughter? The joy? The bliss?

Where is the love?

As someone said,

For even the closest of friends betray...

Remember.

-Bernie

I (heart) my FRIENDS

2008-07-09T04:43:00.000-07:00

Friends, the one part of my life I'm so grateful for.

Friends, (not music) are my life.

Friends are the reason I go to school with a smile on my face and friends are the ones I care about a helluva lot.

I love all my kick ass friends, even if you haven't talked to me in ages or I haven't seen you or had a decent chat with you in forever.

I love them like how one would love a sibling (ignore all the times when siblings make you wanna kill them). Honest.

Friends are my life.

Please, who else but friends will dress up in clothes at a certain Boutique in the middle of Singapore and act like Professor Trewlawney from Harry Potter?

Who else but friends will do all this crazy stuff with you, pose for the camera, strike some silly pose and yet not regret it 2 seconds later?

Who else but friends will play with you in the arcade even though you both don't have money?

Who will pose with you for a random picture to send in to LIME?

And who will be daring enough to pose for you when she knows that you're going to post that picture on your blog?

Who will celebrate your first perfect 7 Eleven slurpee?

Who will eat lunch with you and share Gelato later?

Who will specially waste a Saturday and film silly, super lame videos with you?

No one but your friends, kick ass friends, that is.

Who will lend you money when you need it? (Okay, loan sharks will but....)
Who will accompany you when you are down?
Who will listen to your rantings?
Who will help you in your problems?
Who will be there to console you after you get a horrible haircut?
Who makes you laugh?
Who do you miss most of the time?
Who makes school bearable?
Who helps you with your homework?

FRIENDS.

Love them and treasure them.

Before they leave you, or they're lost, forever.

-Bernie

P.S. Did I mention I love my friends?

TIME FLIES, ORLY!?

2008-07-06T20:20:00.000-07:00

Lottery scams. You've got those before, haven't you? I sure have. Take a look (click to enlarge).

Honestly, where do people get so much time to send all these lottery scams, and to a 15 year old at that. I think it's because they have waay too much time on their hands.

Ever had a boring day with nothing to do?

LET BERNIE TELL YOU HOW TO MAKE TIME FLY. Yes, time can fly.

Here are some easy, cheap ways to entertain yourself silly.

Play Reversi on MSN

Online Reversi requires no downloads, nor does it require much skill (but skill would be better). Play with your older friends, and beat them. Hah! Age doesn't matter, does it?

Take the example in the screenshot, I'm black and I beat my 17-year-old friend hands down...(well, not really). It was epic.

Items needed:

MSN
Internet
Computer
An older friend

Time consumed: 1+hour, 15+ minutes a round.

Have an umbrella "knighting" in school

An Umbrella Knighting is a solemn event. You need an umbrella, a willing Knight (in this case it was the Kitsune Warlord), and someone of a high enough stature to knight the knight. Just grab a prefect, or two, but if none is to be found, just get a random stranger to do it. Teachers work fine.

A tap on the shoulder will suffice, and clapping is very very necessary.

And thus, Sir Tiky the Kitsune Warlord was born. All hail Sir Tiky!

Items needed:

A Knight in shining armour
An umbrella
School
Someone of authority

Time consumed: 0.5 to 1 hour

Go to the library

And stack up the stools in the kids section, regain your childhood! Play the "stack up the chairs before the librarian returns" game. And yes, do bring textbooks along, they'd help to remind your guilty conscience that you were there to S-T-U-D-Y and not to play.

Try not to make too much noise, do NOT follow my example of getting Shush-ed by the Librarian FOUR times. Ye-owch.

Ahh the library. After all, there's free air-conditioning!

Items needed:

Library
Stools
Daring friends
Librarians

Time consumed: 2+ hours

Do YOGA

Yoga. It's relaxing, and somewhat easy to do. I call this the Standing On One Leg Studying Chinese. Or you could just call it SOOLS. The more complicated ones, such as the Lotus or yada yada, may sort of stress you out and leave you tangled up. Get a manual before attempting this.

And good luck!

Bet you can't stand in the SOOLS position for more than 5 minutes.

Items needed:

Chinese textbook/notes
Flexible body
Yoga manual

Time consumed: 10 minutes

Photoshop a birthday card

Tee hee. For this one, it makes an easy (and cheap) birthday present for all you broke people out there. Get a handsome photo of your friend and get a super uber spiffy font for their name. DO NOT SPELL THEIR NAME WRONGLY! And at least say sweet things about he/she (even though you may not mean it whole heartedly).

P.S. Get their age right too. You wouldn't want to wish a 16-year-old "Happy 14th Birthday". Oops.

Items needed:

Photoshop (this one ain't all that cheap)
Photoshop brushes
A Birthday boy/girl
Photos of him/her
Information on him/her

Time consumed: 1.5-3.5 hours (to create the card and download/searching for brushes)

Attend a concert

This one, unfortunately, is NOT cheap. The above picture is The Click Five concert, and the mosh pit tickets set people back by $100 dollars including Sistic fee.

A concert, especially one of your favourite band, is a great way to pass time. You'll be bobbing your head to the music, jumping, screaming and swooning over the band members. You'll need the moolah but most of the time, it's worth it.

Yatta!

Items needed:

Money (about $68-$100+)
Friends to go with you
Your favourite band

Time consumed: 3.5+ hours (including dinner and waiting for the cab/bus after)

Play Online games

This is by far the most common option to pass the time away. In the screenshot is Ragnarok Online, Deliverance private server. There are multiple online games you can play, for free, that is. MapleStory, RO Private Servers, Audition SEA, Darkness and Light and Cabal Online.

There are also the pay-to-play ones like World of Warcraft.

You can make friends, join a guild, engage in guild wars (see screenshot).

All in all, a BALL of a time!

Items needed:

Internet (Broadband recommended)
Computer (with good graphics card, etc)
Bittorent (for torrenting download clients with HUGE sizes)
Hand-eye coordination (to attack monsters)

Or you could just go to a LAN shop, then money is required.

Time consumed: 1-10+ hours (torrenting/downloading etc) and 9074823866456476 hours playing the game.

***

There are of course other ways, but these are Bernie's few ways. Share with her yours! She'd like to know.

Till next time,

-Bernie

Alter-Egos, hell yeah.

2008-07-02T00:40:00.000-07:00

I have alter-egos. Yes, multiple split personalities.

It is said (in Anime and Manga) that people with AB blood have split personalities. I, however, do NOT have AB blood, but instead was blessed with O+ blood. Yes, my blood is the universal donator, I know, vampires come knocking on my door all the time. *Huge sigh* I have to admit, the vampires are sexayye though.

Okay, no more digressing.

Wait. Didn't you know I had alter egos!? You didn't? Alright, let me introduce my lovely other halves to you.

Nerdy Bernadette

Nerdy Bernadette enjoys showing off her supreme "nerd-ness" by showcasing her unique LVL 10 "Upside Down Reading" Skill. She has been known to have an IQ of 142 or higher and likes to speak with a British accent when she is in the presence of her peers. She guzzles down and digests books with ease and likes to use big words that she doesn't really know the meaning of.

Take for example the "Cacophony Incident" back in Sec 2. She used cacophony to describe a scene, when cacophony was for noise. Tsk, Nerdy Bernadette has her "un-nerdy" moments too.

Spastic Bernie-Kins

Spastic Bernie-Kins has the tendency to act like a 5 year old. She grins sheepishly at every single thing, not unlike the bubble tea she's grinning at in the photo, and she has been said to have an IQ of -34. She jumps, she screams, she dances and she basically makes a fool of herself but doesn't care.

This one is all action, no thought and only thinks about what she has done AFTER she has done it and then reaps the consequences. She once began dancing the fabled Caramelldansen in public, and talked extremely loudly about it in public transport.

And then, 15 minutes later, she regretted it. "OH CRAP SHIZ, WHAT DID I DO!?"

Poor girl.

Oh and P.S. this is the Bernie that lurks online, unless I AM NOT BERNIE dominates, that is.

I AM NOT BERNIE

I-AM-NOT-BERNIE aka "Emo Bernie" loves black. Black black black black black. She's sleepy all the time, doesn't give a shit about the world and the world doesn't give a shit about her. She sleeps most of the time, and wears black black black black black.
Black black black.
But she's cooler than you'll ever be.
It's all the black, y'see?
Peace out.

BERNIE DARLING!

Bernie Darling is your all round goody two shoes. She hugs, she pats and she wants to spread love and peace everywhere. She's marginally smart and can't help but help anyone and everyone who's in need. She loves getting SMSes, yes, she practically squeals with joy everytime her handphone vibrates.

"An SMS! Yay-ness~"

Bernie Darling loves her friends to bits and will do anything for them, well, anything to her ability that is. Bernie Darling has been dubbed a Squishable Lump O' Joy and she loves hugs. Give her a hug when you see her.

She demands it.

***

And there you go. My alter egos. I want to know about yours too.

Cheerios, and till next time, darlings,

-Bernie

SPECIOUS

2008-06-29T22:16:00.000-07:00

The following poem, SPECIOUS, was penned on the 20 March 2007.

It was quite hilarious how this poem came about. I remember my (then) classmate coming to school one morning and proceeded to ask everyone in sight what the word "Specious" meant.

When she asked me, it sounded as if she were speaking a whole new language. I never knew such a word existed and even asked her plainly, "Did you mean to say special?"

She denied it, quite fiercely too, and went on her Discovering Specious journey. By the end of the day, the poor girl was resigned to the fact that specious never existed and it was just a term she had coined by pure luck.

And poof! This poem was born.

SPECIOUS

A single word
She heard
Years ago
A word she knew
Yet wanted to understand

She asked friends
The word flowing
Off the tip
Of her tongue

Frowning faces
Stared back at her
Confused stares

"Specious! Specious!"
She cried in anguish
How could they not know?
That simple word
The one she heard
So many years past

Or could it be
That the word
Only she could see
Had been erased
From all minds
But hers?

She sighed
It was a mystery
Specious was not to be

A word never known
Never understood

It turns out, specious does exist. And it in no way means anything along the lines of special, as my classmate (and myself) originally thought.

A quick search on Dictionary.com produced this:

spe·cious /ˈspiʃəs/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[spee-shuhs] –adjective

1.	apparently good or right though lacking real merit; superficially pleasing or plausible: specious arguments.

2.	pleasing to the eye but deceptive.

3.	Obsolete. pleasing to the eye; fair.

It's weird how deceptive English words can be, which is why I'm fascinated with the language. I'm fascinated with how it's used differently in different parts of the world.

Three good examples are British English, American English and of course, good 'ol Singlish.

British pronunciation is of course, also different. Butter, is Buh-Uh and water is Wart-er instead of waw-ter. (perhaps it's a bit exaggerated)

Another example is ass vs arse. Both refering to the gluteus maximus.

Anyhow, I'll be signing off before I rant on about English.

Till next time,

Cheerio!

-Bernie

NEW BEGINNINGS

2008-06-29T03:55:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone! I'm Bernie and this will be the first post of Nonsensical Philosophy, my spanking new blog for Renaissance Publishing Singapore's Project Blook.

As all new blogs begin, there must be an author typing all this behind the computer, so, common as it may be to begin with a self introduction, I shall do just that.

So please bear with me as I prove to you out there that I am not someone behind a computer injecting subliminal messages to brainwash your thinking (or maybe I am).

Anyhow, you must be asking yourself this very important question right now.

WHO IS BERNIE?

She's Bernadette, and she's the ripe ~~old~~ age of 15 this year. Bernie was specially coined as a short and sweet term to catch her attention.

The irony of it is that she used to dislike people who called her Bernie in kindergarden. Weird, ain't she? Everyone calls her that now.

Which would you prefer?

"Hey Bernadette!" or "Hey Bernie!"

I'm sure the latter is your choice.

She has a multitude of other nicknames, which range from Bern, to Barnie and to the lovable purple dinosaur, Barney, who she will proudly proclaim now to be her cousin.

She is also affectionately known as a Squishable Lump 'O Joy to some of her peers.

Her name means grim/fierce bear but don't worry, she's not all that grim or fierce. You'll usually find her grinning away sheepishly.

First things first. She loves Bananas.

And, she's sort of, ahem, crazy. Crazy is a good way, I suppose.

She's so crazy, she thinks she's Super~~man~~ woman and has super-strength.

Yes, that's who she thought she was (far left, people), even though all clad in green like a grasshopper.

And oh look! There she is again trying to lift the swing with her ~~amazing~~ arm power.

Bernie is so very interesting and her friends can't help but follow her everywhere she goes, and snap pictures of everything she does as they find it utterly fascinating. It's like she has a mob of paparazzi following her as if she's royalty.

Well, she'd like to think that she's royalty. (Did I mention that Bernie can be slightly egoistic too?)

Here's some paparazzi shots of her in her most unglamourous best.

Its quite coincidental that both pictures are shots of her guzzling food.

Food, ahh, another important aspect of her life.

Bernie is as I mentioned, egoistic and likes to stand out from the crowd. She doesn't like blending into the background and being left unnoticed. She likes to make crazy gestures or do something insane that makes people stare, gape or laugh at her.

She likes, no, loves the attention.

And while everyone was smiling nicely at the camera, she had to go and break the conformity by putting on the most unique face ever. The "OMG LOOK AT ME!" look that she's perfected after ~~years~~ minutes of practice.

Bernie also loves to experiment on photoshop, though she's not very good. Take a look and judge for yourself.

There is so much to tell about Bernie, so many interesting tidbits and random facts about her. But all good things must come to an end. Thus, I shall summarize who Bernie is.

She is.... Bernie.

There is no word in the dictionary that can describe her, unless they create one, that it.

Bernie-ology (Burr-nee-oh-lo-gee)
The study of mimicking the unique behaviour of Bernadette Low.

So that is Bernie. I hope you've gotten to know her better in this short span of say, 5 minutes?

Till the computer crashes,

Bernie signing off!~