Life Is A Series Of Small Moments

1) Dreamed. Terrified.
2) Awake. Try to sleep.
3) But remembered the dream. Then, lost it. Irritated.
4) Waited. Recalled. Wife's water broke. Pause. Lost it.
5) Light on. Sat up. Remembered. Wife screamed "Where is your Passport?" What a dream. Light off.
6) Try to sleep.
7) Rolled around. Left Right Left Right.
8) Moment 6 & 7 reoccured. Frustrated.
9) Rain.
10) Called wife. Told her about the dream. She laughed.
11) Relieved.
12) Drank milk. Ate cookies. Received call.
13) Water broke. For real.
14) Tried to change flight. Failed.
15) Watched Youtube instead.
16) Dozed off. A while.
17) Headache. No Panadols. Upset.
18) Checked mail. Inbox (1). Clicked.
19) Subject: Shion Is Already In This World.
20) 2 attachments. Right clicked, save attachments.
21) Opened with Preview. Shion in the pictures. Looked sticky. And hairy.
22) The world suddenly looked new.
23) Familiar, strange, and fast.
24) Or something.
25) Give me strength.

Silent Treatment vs Silent Treatment

Your colleague, Dave, not his real name, you think, is a very hateful character. He is awful not just during work, but also before work, after work & in fact all the gaps in between the day. Dave enjoys putting people down. Usually people like you who are too flimsy to protect the bitter words from his mouth.

There were times that you tried to learn that the Dave you know is just a little playful. But lately the the playful Dave that you tried to think he is has gotten worse. Dave has come to you and said bitter things that wound you very bad. And you do not feel it is wrong to hate him anymore.

So when Dave came to you for the computer password just now. You decided to give him the silent treatment. Although it is not the nicest thing for you to do. You did it anyway.

Dave has tried a couple of combination for the password since. You wish him no luck.

The Boy In The Bed Time Story Is Upset

The boy is upset. He hopes to pick up something. A book. A surprise. Or Television. Something to takes his mind over. But he is too upset to pick up any of those. Perhaps the narrator can write in a different way. Something to show us the happier side of the boy. Having said that however, the narrator thinks he already set the tone of the story at the beginning. It will take time to change. And its already 15 minutes over the narrator's bed time.

Is there any way to make the boy happy? No. The narrator does not write something that he does not feel right. Maybe. Just maybe. We can be wrong, but it is possible that there is this little boy underneath the narrator who was really distressed by the you-know-what-but-can't-tell.

The narrator does not wish to make a whole out of this yet. When the time comes, we will find out more about the boy's trouble. But unfortunately there are many, many days that the narrator doesn't even go near to any story. If you are serious about the ending, I suggest you ransack your personal experience and write one yourself.

It Must Have Been A Slow Death

The cats live in our workshop. Somebody said one of the them was crushed under the shutter door. Nobody was entirely sure of the cat that somebody was talking about.

Was it the dirty face? Or not?
Or the one with muscle spasm?
What? Which one?
The one that got stuck in the car's engine? No?
What was the cat thinking? Or not?
Or wanted to? Or didn't have time.
Or the cat nearly did? Or too late?

I don't know if we were all talking about the same cat. Then we worked and worked. Until six. We said goodbye. And nobody talks about the cat anymore.

Now It Looks Worse with Shorter Legs

The girl made it back home at last. She's had missed her life back home.

Except months later after she made it back home, she becomes aware she hasn't missed much of her life back home really.

What is this for? said the girl. The girl's father brought back a chair that she has trashed earlier. The girl's father did not answer. He sawed the legs. It is a nice stool, said the girl's father.

Nobody will sit on it, said the girl. It is ugly.

You are ugly, said the girl's father.

The girl went to her room. Not exactly her room. The family has made it into a store room after she married the boy. Hurt. She cried for a bit. She had spent time clearing things that did no purpose in the house. Especially the chair.

Now it looks worse with shorter legs, says the girl over the phone. I know, says the boy.

The boy wants to tell the girl to forget about the chair. But he chokes.

What? the girl asks.

I am boiling the water, says the boy.

It Is What It Is (Part IV)

The ring tone ended and it went to the voice mail. Now I am glad my Property Manager did not pick up the call. What he would have told me? I was just trying to get this giant tumor thing off my chest. That was the frame of mind I was in. I knew my Property Manager couldn't have done a thing at 4am in the morning. Not until somebody died.

I tried to think positive. That how lucky that I've lived. How lucky that my pregnant wife wasn't around with me to experience this horror. If I believed in God, I would thank God for how lucky I have been. And thought I deserved a beer. And cigarettes, which I've had previously quit for a week. I walked out to the petrol kiosk to buy what I wanted.

I sat down on the curb outside the pavement. I lit the cigarette and sucked it in deep. I looked up to my little apartment. How am I going to sort this out? I thought as I puffed it out slowly. Can my Property Manager explain what happened? Is it a sign from God? Will the Poodle ever bark again? When can I seriously quit smoking?

I had no answers. Only questions.

It Is What It Is (Part III)

I took my laptop and ran out of my apartment. I stood in front of the pavement. I looked up to my little apartment on the second floor. Thinking the time spent in this little apartment. How I brought the furniture over with a borrowed vehicle. How my wife cried when she found out the water from the heater wasn't hot enough. How we finally managed to settle down with her getting a job. How we could afford to put better food on the table while watching TV together. How sad that you only think about the beginnings when things come to the end.

Time went past. The gruesome noise did not seem to wake anybody up from the building. It occurred to me that I should probably get the attention from my neighbor below. Before he is crushed to death with my living room on top of him. But I wasn't completely sure if my apartment was going to collapse. So I decided to have another look on the floor.

I went back in. The bang bang have seemed to quiet down. I could still hear the cracks when I stepped on the tiles. The whole carpet have popped up. I lifted the table carefully. And I rolled the carpet over. It looked like a giant tumor coming out from the floor. And there were cracks all over it. I did not know how long will my living room stayed where it was. So I made calls to the 24 hour Emergency Management Service.

"A giant tumor came out from the floor?" said the operator. "Yes" I replied. "I'm sorry, but we do not cover your area. Can you try 1800-560-6060" The operator hung up.

"A what?" asked the other operator. "Giant tumor" I said. "Where are you calling from again? I don't think its under our area. Try the other town council." said the operator. "Is there by any chance that you know where ..." "No" the operator hung up.

I sat on the staircase outside the door. Wondering if I should call the Property Manager. To tell him a giant tumor has just popped up from the floor. It would probably sound too insane for any Property Manager to manage that 3am in the morning. So I waited. Until 4am. I called my Property Manager.

It Is What It Is (Part II)

With streak of lights from outside hitting the living room. I could see it was still in one piece. Great. The rack looked untouched. The door. The couch. The television. The dining table. Everything looked where it was before. I went to the kitchen. I had a probe into the shoulder high window facing the backyard. If anyone was to break in. That would be the most vulnerable spot. Safe. It was locked. I had my fear under controlled.

Bang Bang. The sound came from the living room. Right under the floor. Jeez. It sounded like someone below hammering the ceiling. The hammer would be triple the size of a normal one gauging by the sound of it. Bang Bang. It continued. I was agitated. I went a level down below my apartment. Stood right in front of my neighbor's door below. As agitated as I was, it wasn't enough to exert myself into knocking his door. I'll wait around for a few minutes I thought. Bang Bang.

I looked underneath his door. It was pitch black. It did not make sense for anyone to hammer the ceiling in the dark. I stood in front of his door. Puzzled. The bang was so loud and I was surprised it failed to get anyone's attention in the building. There wasn't even a bark from the brainless Poodle next door. The brainless Poodle would bark every single time I walk past the door. Follow by the owner's never ending line "Its a friend, Winner. Its a friend"

I went back to my apartment. I looked closely at the floor. Bang Bang. The carpet was moving. I looked again. Bang Bang. Yes, the carpet moved. The carpet was literally breathing on its own. Then it was crack crack cracking sound all over the living room. As you can undoubtedly tell by now, my living room was going to crumple.

It Is What It Is (Part I)

In my small apartment. I was in bed asleep. If not, I was probably half way there. Then I heard the nasty bang. I got up. Waited. Bang Bang.

It was coming from the living room. I was frightened. Bang Bang Bang. The noise rose above my expectation. It sounded like things falling apart from the rack. I jumped out of my bed. It was just too much of a shocker for anybody to handle 3am in the morning.

I looked around my room. There was nothing I could grab to keep myself from any harm. Things that came close were the hangers in the closet, the ironing board & as hopeless as it is, my wedding photo frame from Daiso. I was convinced that the glass on the frame could be pretty fatal if I was to hit someone with it.

The bang continued in the living room. It was getting odd. It didn't make sense for anybody to break into a house with this level of noise. Bang Bang. I looked at my bedroom door. Pondering what was happening at the other end. This was all too peculiar for me. On an impulse, I thought I would rather have a vengeance spirit tearing up the place than a mad intruder.

I tried to put my hand close to the knob. Bang Bang. I backed up. Before I realized I was already at the end of the wall. Fuck I said to myself. Be strong idiot. I breathed in a stomach of air. I frowned hard to make myself as muscular as I can be. And then I let the air out all at once. With nothing in hands, I turned the knob the kicked the door open.

The Man Doesn't Feel Like Going To Work Today

In fact, the man felt that way yesterday too. And also the day before yesterday. He thinks he could have done so many things if he wasn't at work. Things like hanging the bedsheets out in the sun. And takes it down before it pours. He thinks it will be way significant than going to work. He could have read something in the span before taking down the bedsheets. And could even be inspired to write something inspiring. But no. Be it rains or shines. He has to go work. Even by meaning of leaving his bedsheets damp for a week. He has to go work.

Things would be easier if the man's wife is around. She could have hung the bedsheets. And tucks it up nicely. It will be sensational for the man to come home knowing the bedsheets are nicely tucked in the closet. Life would be perfect. But the man's wife isn't around. Will she ever be back? Of course she will. Silly you.

Do I possibly think the man will get a day off tomorrow to hang his bedsheets? I don't know. Will he take the risk to hang the bedsheets without keeping an eye on it? I don't know. And I don't think any one of you should bet your house on that. But if there's anything else you want to bet your house on. Let the man know.

Amitabh Bachchan, Pravin & The Snow Leopard

"Pravin!" at the top of Amitabh Bachchan's voice. Pravin scurried to his Big Boss with a mirror and put it up for Amitabh Bachchan to fiddle his hair. "This is not your first day." Pravin bowed in shame. "You should know better!" Amitabh Bachchan pressed down the sideburn. "All right I am good to go!"

When Amitabh Bachchan was young they called him The Angry Young Man. It was the nation's love to see the angry young man being angry. The anger saw him rose to the stardom and became the most celebrated celebrity in the history of Bollywood.

"Cut" called the director. "Thank you so much sir, Lets see the playback!"

"No!" a soft cough followed by a husky voice. " This is too dramatic" claimed Amitabh Bachchan. "I shouldn't look into the camera with such deliberation" The Amitabh Bachchan's clan, the producers, the agencies, the clients, the make-up artist, even the lady owner of the residential location, nodded their heads severely. There wasn't any one who can say no to Amitabh Bachchan.

"I want to do it again." insisted Amitabh Bachchan. He waited, and waited. "Pravin!" Pravin chopped chopped to the Big Boss with the mirror. But Amitabh Bachchan did not look into the mirror. He was cold starring at Pravin. Pravin's eyes were filled with fear and immediately sensed the message to tidy up the Big Boss's trouser's legs.

"And action!" called the director. Amitabh Bachchan did the 45 degree turn to the camera. Looked into the camera. With less deliberation, as he would claimed. Hold up the product. And said his line. "Cut" called the director. "Yes sir, Yes, that's the one sir! Thank You"

Pravin went up to the Big Boss with the mirror again. Amitabh Bachchan brushed him off and went straight to the TV monitor. He watched the playback. "This is definitely better!" he contended. He turned to the still photographer at the other corner. "Can I have the pictures?"

"Yes sir" said the photographer. He looked up to his assistant. And the assistant looked up to Pravin. "Do you have a Thumb Drive?" "No, no, no!" Amitabh Bachchan interrupted. "I have my laptop here, can you just transfer to my laptop?" "Yes sir" said the photographer while muttering to his assistant. "I would have to process them first."

"What process?" Amitabh Bachchan was intrigued. "Hmm...because the files are in RAW sir, and.." said the soft spoken photographer. "What do you mean by RAW?" Amitabh Bachchan wanted the pictures immediately so he could blog'em first hand. "I have my laptop here" he argued. "It is very easy to open it in Adobe" "And I'll have the Snow Leopard very soon, maybe tomorrow!" He looked over to Pravin. And Pravin answered the Big Boss with an assuring nod.

"Great, Snow Leopard." the photographer trying to put Amitabh Bachchan at ease. " But I still have to process it" explained the photographer.

"Ok" still not knowing what a RAW file is. "Pravin!!" he shouted.

Pravin came to his Big Boss with the Mirror. Amitabh Bachchan fiddled his hair and whined. "Do they not know what a Snow Leopard is?"

"Move my blogging time after my swim" muttered Amitabh Bachchan.