Tuesday, July 31, 2007

a paper crane

i think i overdid this story with too much drama and expressive words, so it might seem a little/lot weird.

hope you enjoy it though! (:

a paper crane
Part 1
They had come. My heart froze for a second.

And then I caught up with reality.

I quickly grabbed the photo, and a neatly-crafted piece of origami from the table. Other than those two items and the element of time, everything in this old shack would have no more value to me. They were approaching nearer with every heart-quaking second. I had to hide.

In my best effort to secure myself, I lay there, motionless. The sweat didn’t help. I looked at the two items in my hands. The paper model of the crane looked as beautiful as ever, and I tried my best not to spoil it with the sweat beads in my hands. The crack of broken wood rang in my ears, more traumatising than when I first heard the soft pounding of bomb shells a few months ago. The sounds of hurried footsteps and tongues speaking in Japanese were presented. The Grim Reaper’s greeting. The sound of metal clunked as they presumably, took all my stores of food away.

My location was not to be spared. The unlocked door was slammed open, followed by half a dozen of legs clad in a yellowish khaki material. Wardrobes fell onto the floor, each deafening crash making ripples in my heart.

And as the mattress was lifted off the finely-carved wooden structure, light spilled onto me. And I was exposed. As I closed my eyes, my heart froze in time, and all sound faded. I ignored the chances and odds, held the simple reed cross that was tied to my neck, and prayed like never before.

My eyes opened, and the light was gone. My shock overpowered my happiness. Had he not realised? My hope grew, only to be smothered again when the above mattress was once again lifted up, this time not in their hope to find goods. But me.

The man clad in a different uniform slyly grinned down at me. He did not have flaps hanging next to his ears, and he had on a different headgear. His smile then faded, and he shouted something at a nearby soldier. I identified him as the one who had first lifted up the mattress. He then turned to face me, and shouted something I could in my best efforts, not identify by knowledge, but by inference. I slowly crawled out, and bowed in insincere respect. The seemingly superior officer pulled me up by my hair, and more instructions were barked. Shortly after, I found myself as an oddity in a group of Japanese soldiers. My hands were tightly tied behind my back with rope. I was brought onto a truck with them, and was roughly tossed onto the ground like an inanimate object. I had not the slightest clue what they were going to do to me. But as the engine of the vehicle sinisterly chuckled, my depression lightened as I remembered the photo and paper crane I had hastily stuffed, but with great care, into my pocket before I was found.

At least I had those.

The truck stopped, and I was brought out, into an atmosphere of sheer dullness. The concrete-based compound was bordered with similar trucks, and lines of Chinese men were slowly filing out. Out of the blue, a flour bag was tossed on top of me, completely covering my head and neck, resting limply on my shoulders. Holes were present for me to see and breathe though. I could not understand why I was to be alone, and not along with the countless files of other Chinese men.

I had not known then.
I had not known then of their purposes.
I had not known then of my use to them. I had not known then that that bag around my head was my protection from humiliation.
I had not known then that that bad around my head was the fuel of my disgrace.
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Part 2
I was still there. The bag was never taken off my head. Only when I took that ever-seldom bath, and when I caught that precious pinch of rest every night. It had been three months, and it had felt like my lifetime’s worth. I was never knowing what to feel. Only knowing what to do.

And that morning would have been no different.

I woke up at 5.35am.
No bath, no change of clothes that day. There were no extra clothes anyway. The only attire that was ever shifted on and off my body was a brown flour bag, that had gotten mouldy and more grim-looking with the rain’s encouragement.

They were not on patrol yet. Feathers on my feet, I crept to the wood plank at the corner of the room. I lifted it, my stomach flipping. And I took out the treasures of my life. He was so young then. I wondered where he was now. How did he look like? I tried to imagine.

And the only thing he left with me has not been easy to keep in best condition. The crane was crumpled and creased, over its months of sweat and hopeless repair. It’s head could be barely seen; at least what was left of it. What used to be a faint pink crisp material had become soft, and well-rubbed with dirt.

Footsteps and shouting. My heart took a freefall. The corridor lights flickered on after I threw the board back down. A figure of fear stepped in and curtly shouted a phrase of Japanese. Hearing it every morning, I inferred that it meant, “Get into gear, and get down to your job.”

A depressing odour filled my head as my world’s lights were limited to two small holes. Routine took place. I heaved down the grey sullen steps, with the commander pushing me with no hint of compassion from behind.

Soon enough, the lines of men appeared over the pale blue horizon, giving my heart the same regretful feeling. They halted in unison, as if there was a barrier that the limit of my current sight could not see. One by one, they were pushed in front of me. Each face, each man, had been conditioned in my eyes as one and the same.

They’re all a deck of cards. The first and second cards drawn are bad. The third would be the one shot down. My sense of justice was The-Third-Apple-Was-Always-Unripe. I had not any sense of righteousness in my mind. I used to break down at the thought of what happened to those I chose at random. Now, it didn’t matter anymore.


Not until time froze, and noise shivered away. The Ace of Spades flicked in front of me. The picture’s background grew increasingly blur, was this really him? I looked at his right ear. My pupils narrowed. That scar was unmistakable. His nose and mouth were streaked with dry crimson, and his forehead was dust grey. His eyes were steady, brave. “Torment” was not in his vocabulary, as he stared into my unknown eyes. Because if he knew, those narrow suspenseful eyes would broaden. And I would see the life I once knew in him.
Part 3

I breathed. This was the third card. This was the Ace of Spades. The gears in my mind back winded, and it seemed as if the universe was sucking in on me. The chances were 33%, why must it be now? The stars were falling and no one else was affected by this sudden central apocalypse.

And then my mind broke its shackles. The suction of the universe slowed to a stop, and reversed its play, shooting out of central. I had a rush of energy, and I felt like I was energized by all the darkness that had willed me to summon it. My hands could crush the universe to powder. I was a god. Nothing could stop me.

I swung the bag off my face. Humiliation could not reach a god. Humiliation would not care to a god. I grabbed the nearest officer, only to find my face smashing into the dirt. I could not care. I flailed and kicked, and the shouts were nothing but mere babies’ noise to me.

No, I won't let this happen.

I hit the dirt again. Only this time, it was grainy, rougher dirt. I looked up for a split second, and then was shoved in the back, an action that only pushed me forward. Blood trickled down the right side of my face, as the vision of the waves grew closer. They were so calm. So calm, yet so deadly.

I looked to my right, and there he was. I smiled; the calm after the storm. He could not smile back, but in my worst of hope, turned away. I knew that in the mixture of sweat, blood and dirt, there were tears. Tears not of regret, not of sorrow, but of disappointment.

We stopped, and the soft subtle crash of the waves calmed me. I had nothing to be afraid of.

Faraway, the Japanese were unloading some heavy chunks of unidentified metal from the truck, and placing them in a linear pattern about 50 metres off. I had already known what they were. Men began to crouch behind the hunks of metal, and the last few hunks were assembling.

“What’s that you’ve got in your hands?” The Ace of Spades turned to me and questioned in spite.
“Not much that would concern you,” I said, and opened my cupped hands, revealing the photo and paper crane inside.
And I saw him start to cry again. I looked at him with love, and he looked back at me with crystal eyes. This would be the last time I saw this Ace. This crystal. My one and only son.

And then, one by one they began to fall. The dominos ladder came up till it hit him. I only heard his cries, my eyes being closed in preparation. But there was no impact. I opened them two seconds later, first I saw the blood of my son staining the ocean, and then I looked up to see the black chunk being filled with pellets.

I cupped my two hands and drew them up to my heart. I closed my eyes once again, but that couldn’t stop the tears from coming. I felt nothing, but fell to the ground.

Not now… don’t miss me now. Out of all the times I had to survive, why now? Out of the corner of my eyes, I checked my condition. My elbow had been smeared by a bullet. I looked straight. And saw his eyes for the fourth time. They were open and blank.

But in it flashed a twinge of happiness. Which was all that mattered to me anymore.

As a shadow fell over me, my face lifted to meet the enemy. He pointed his gun to me, tipped with an intimidating metal, but just another harmless helper.

“You can make me serve you. You can make me your prisoner.”

I grabbed his gun.

“But you can never take away my heart. I am free.”

I drove it deep into my darkness.

My head fell. There was no pain. The paper crane was freckled crimson, and was slowly drifted off by the waves. Drifting, drifting…like the light of my mind, until nothing existed.

I am free.

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

indigestion

hey people.

birthday

the usual. cut cake, sing song, blow candles, eat cake.
however this year, i had more presents!
i still remember how i lost one of my last year's present at a hawker centre (supposedly).

thanks to bimbo heather for the coin bank + card.
thanks to poet tricia chee for the card + gatsby moving rubber (quite a waste on a poor hairstylist) haha, kidding, it's a great gift.
thanks to artist gracelynn for the painting! (relax about the smudges, it's genuine!)
thanks to hanya for the fruitcake (still enjoying it).

thanks to bluggy jeremy tan for the name tag. (haven't attached it)

and of course, thanks to my heavy cell for the rubberband/towel-wrapped load of candy! Not forgetting the 185-kg gift.

haha! thank you all!

next day, ate Genkhi sushi for lunch (or something like that. sorry nong.)
bought a new pair of white canvas shoes and sandals.

yippee! i've never had white canvas shoes.

hungry?

birthday cake and candy aside, a new type of hungry has been opened to my eyes.

i went for vocal training on sunday, and was taught the usual about stage presence.
then luke said we had to be hungry for God, which was, simple as it sounds, a thing that was not consciously apparent to me.

worship on saturday, was full of happiness in the songs, but as they travelled through my ears, eventually became a stinging message.

i had missed friday night prac due to Battle of the Bands prefect duty.
and i was supposed to sing for saturday night worship, but they covered most of the songs on friday night.

so i missed my first singing chance.
my first chance to serve God in TNG.

and all the songs on Saturday were about giving all to God, and truly always desiring to worship him, which didn't help my guilt for not being up there looking down instead of down here looking at each striked bolded yellow word on the screen.

i was in a dilemna.

was it God's plan that I had missed this chance for the one and only special prefect event?
or did God want me to go for His ministry instead.

i felt quite bad about the whole thing on Sunday, when luke emphasized the importance about being hungry for God.

i realise i'm never truly as hungry for God as I should be.
QT nowadays consist of a simple reading of the bible and/or a prayer.

and i realise i sometimes don't feel like doing QT.

why? why am i not hungry even when i want to be?
why do i not have the holy spirit?
why do i many a time not feel as touched as I should be?
even when i want it.
is there something blocking it?

personalities

have i talked about this before?

i seem to have different personalities in different places.

at home - i'm normal, i do thinking, i do homework.
at school - i'm normally high, and i go bouncing round and talking heck a lot of random stuff.
i act like a small child, like a reuben. i think the highness is to neutralise the
boredom of school.
at church - depends. normally happy and a little talkative.

i normally like my home personality. that's probably the real me anyway.

alright it's 6.20, so i'd better get going.
did i mention i started writing a short story during the mid-year-exam preparations?
i finished it a few weeks ago, i'll post it up soon.
it's a bit weird though.

give me spiritual digestive tablets...or something.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

murphy's law

i just ate right out of a soup pan.

this sucks.
the downstairs comp is too laggy, and it's hard to do anything cos' none of my documents are here except a few main ones.

yes, my laptop has been confiscated, because in a spot check they found games inside.
and if i could swear to God, I would say here that the only times i've played games in class was way back last year during recess (fifa), and after school (can't remember when, NS shaft).

The main games they found were maplestory and Warcraft!

i deleted maplestory long time ago!
and warcraft? heck, i've never touched the thing!

i dunno why it showed up, but warcraft was downloaded by my brothers.
but upon returning home (easier with a lighter load), russ said he deleted it and shared my sorrow. whee.

murphy's law.
seriously, I'M the one going around switching people's computer off when THEY play games.
and it so happened as i was doing my irs project today during recess, the spot check happens. ARGH. my fftactics advance... and they're gonna reformat the whole thing?

I HAVE TOO MANY DOCUMENTS IN THERE!!!

then i look back a few days ago, to when i was singing on the stand, the 30 people with me and thousands looking back. i had just served.

and now i've been served. when i just served.

i feel so unjustified ( a feeling i've been feeling a lot these days).
why me? i don't even play the damn games in class.

then i remember the sermon.

so i thanked the Lord for taking away my laptop.
maybe he's got some plan in this? (there better be?)

maybe my laptop will be less laggy, and viruses will be deleted?
this all sounds damn weird i know.

another piece of unjustice

i get reprimanded for not greeting teachers, and am asked whether i'm serious about being a prefect.

"you're forgetting the habit, ryan..."

what the pong?
he sees it happen once and he says that

ok, so maybe he's seen it a few times.
still, i normally greet teachers!

unless they're talking seriously or busy or i forget.
but very often i do.

and it so happened i didn't greet those teachers at that time because they were discussing some seemingly important issues!

i mean, if i were a teacher, i wouldn't want a student disturbing me with a greeting in the middle of an important conversation.

elimination

i know i'm the worst of the group, that's why i'm left out.
i always don't do anything, even if i want to.
and they don't wanna make me feel bad, but who would want a slacker?


what is He gonna do with me when i grow up?


dang it.
6 more days till i get it back with no more files.

keep holding on.
tell me to keep holding on to you Lord.

Tuesday, July 3, 2007

i'm so shitpissed right now.

i haven't felt so pissed for quite some time.
HOW THE HELL CAN ANYONE BE SO SELFISH!?

i just can't understand it.
do they get damn brainwashed until they have no sense of moral?
or do they punk themselves so bad to put on a facade of absolute lack of concern, replacing that inner guilt inside of them?
just so they can get that time of self-pleasure?
caring about no one else.
- - - - - - - - -
sighh. i felt more justified at dinner.
i think he knows he's wrong, but doesn't want to admit.
his face is very important to him.
and the other one? too spoilt...

i just hope they grow in time.

Sunday, July 1, 2007

mood.

what's your style to do homework?

for me, i normally have to play first.
it gets me into the mood.
or sometimes, if i'm in a good enough mood,
i can just have music to start me on the wood.

so i'm playing the ds, and my mum knows i have work.
so she asks me to do it.
and i say i have to save the game first.
but of course, parents hardly care about 'saving data' in games.
so she gives ten minutes.

and while my ears hear the number,
my mind is trying to kill the pesky mario bugs.
which are annoying. and eventually bring my number of lives down.

so i die for the first time in the last 8 worlds in mario.
and then i get to my last saved point.
so i try to stock up lives by going to previous worlds.
well, my mum says 'off now'.

"no, but i lost my data."
"well, just do it again."
"yeah, i am doing it again."
"ryan, i mean 'do your homework now'!"
"oh. what about my game?"
"it's just a game!"

pause. IT'S NOT JUST A GAME!!! I SPENT MANY HOURS GETTING TO THE 8TH WORLD!
so fine, i buy a 5 star hse and save. (you probably won't understand the 5 star part)
and i switch it off.

this is when i feel super uneasy.

cos my game is to lift up my spirits, so i can concentrate on work.
but if someone disrupts this process, i'll feel indignant.
like, somewhat pissed? but not really.
i guess it's really hard to explain.
i start having these spasms to control my very... unjustified, yes!
unjustified feeling.

my spasms are either to shake off the cold (ask dwight chew)
or to press down my tantrums and anger.

cos i normally need play to inspire me to do homework.
and you might be thinking, 'what you need is an asylum'.
cos i know all this sounds real whacko.

oh well, blogging about it has made me feel better.
this post wasn't philosophical, deep or cheem right?
so hope you all heave a sigh of relief.
haha.

i'm hungry. rawr.