Reflection on burdens of life
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
I'm going to post my reflection on my story. please pardon me because I have no idea how to do the reflection. It's supposed to be about why you chose the subject or what technique you were trying to achieve. give me a hand here..
Reflection
I found that many people, especially I myself, hold up an illusion of themselves, whether it is intentional or not, whether it is a positive mask of a negative person or a negative mask of a positive person. I have chosen to paint a picture of someone who looks beautiful on the outside but yet is ruins on the inside because in the fast-growing business world, people have to, more often than not, keep up a good image of themselves. Reputation becomes increasingly important as competition grows. Thus, the theme of this story—illusions can destroy a person.
Wonder what I should write about next.. anorexic idea came back into my mind.. maybe I should post my candle story. well, i will. here's whatever sketch i've got anyway. i can't believe i'm doing this, i never post first sketches on my blog.
A candle in a sea of lights, its flame steadily burning, constantly pushing the other candles to burn brighter. Their melted waxes drip down their sides, before solidifying with each other to form one large piece of hardened wax on the surface.
However much the candle may want to move away into isolation, it can't, for its melted wax has already solidified onto the surface. The only way to move, is to let the lighter choose to cut out that candle. But if that ever is to be, some of its melted wax will still be left on the surface, left behind with the waxes of the other candles; and some of the wax from other candles, may have been brought away with that candle.
A candle in a sea of lights, snuffed out. No reason for other candles to go out because of that one. No one will notice, only the lighter of that candle. But it is not for the candle to control whether the other candles may quiver from the wind of the snuff. Nevertheless, the candles have to burn even brighter, to make up for the lost of that powerful light. It may be good, for when new candles come in, it won't be too hard for them to catch the flame.
Don't blame you guys if you don't get what on earth i'm talking about here. nevertheless, it'll be up. cya till i get inspiration again.
Reflection
I found that many people, especially I myself, hold up an illusion of themselves, whether it is intentional or not, whether it is a positive mask of a negative person or a negative mask of a positive person. I have chosen to paint a picture of someone who looks beautiful on the outside but yet is ruins on the inside because in the fast-growing business world, people have to, more often than not, keep up a good image of themselves. Reputation becomes increasingly important as competition grows. Thus, the theme of this story—illusions can destroy a person.
Wonder what I should write about next.. anorexic idea came back into my mind.. maybe I should post my candle story. well, i will. here's whatever sketch i've got anyway. i can't believe i'm doing this, i never post first sketches on my blog.
A candle in a sea of lights, its flame steadily burning, constantly pushing the other candles to burn brighter. Their melted waxes drip down their sides, before solidifying with each other to form one large piece of hardened wax on the surface.
However much the candle may want to move away into isolation, it can't, for its melted wax has already solidified onto the surface. The only way to move, is to let the lighter choose to cut out that candle. But if that ever is to be, some of its melted wax will still be left on the surface, left behind with the waxes of the other candles; and some of the wax from other candles, may have been brought away with that candle.
A candle in a sea of lights, snuffed out. No reason for other candles to go out because of that one. No one will notice, only the lighter of that candle. But it is not for the candle to control whether the other candles may quiver from the wind of the snuff. Nevertheless, the candles have to burn even brighter, to make up for the lost of that powerful light. It may be good, for when new candles come in, it won't be too hard for them to catch the flame.
Don't blame you guys if you don't get what on earth i'm talking about here. nevertheless, it'll be up. cya till i get inspiration again.
Burdens of Life: Draft 2
Monday, November 28, 2005
My dear readers of this blog, I'm so sorry for having to bore u with reading draft after draft. but here is draft 2 of that horrible draft u read earlier on. I think i'd better send this draft to ms tan. erm kylie, we need to do a reflection on every story right? and the reflection is to be about what we feel of the story, what skills we were trying to develop in our writing and what else? haven't done a reflection on this yet. foreshadowing is, at any rate, not used in this story as far as I can tell. reflecting the past with the present or vice versa? I won't make it on time for next year's cap. 2 full stories and many bits and pieces (strewn over my notebooks) later, I still write nonsense. still need more practice... nevertheless... and before I forget, if u do get bored and don't feel like continuing on anywhere along this story, stop short and just tell me where u stopped.
Burdens of life
Life
A tall shapely figure stepped into the conference room. The woman’s entrance immediately captured the attention of all the other consultants, as well as that of the manager, with whom the consultants present were trying to clinch a deal with. The frown of impatience disappeared from the manager’s face.
What exactly was it that made her so attractive, it is hard to say. Maybe, it was her silky long hair resting on her slender shoulders. Maybe, it was the fair, blemish-free face that this ebony hair framed. Or maybe, it was the pair of deep-set amber eyes, enhanced by dark, long eyelashes, that seemed to hold a somewhat enchanting beauty. Or could it just be the calmness that one can feel in her presence, the calmness in the knowledge that everything is under control? Where could this calmness come from then? Probably, it came from the sure steps in her strides, or probably it came from the confident posture of the woman. Needless to say, this gorgeous woman could summon beauty beyond description.
“So sorry for causing such delay Mr Parker,” the woman apologized, her voice heavy with the stress of her work. “Ah, Mrs Shanter; it’s good to see you. Take a seat,” the manager replied with an extra touch of professionalism. “It’s Ms Davelle,” she whispered the correction. With as much grace and poise as she could muster, Ms Davelle placed her laptop and bag on the table, before sitting herself down across the table from the manager. “Alright! Let’s begin!” the manager’s pompous voice filled the conference room.
The first consultant went up, presenting his shaky proposal about his services. This presenter clearly could not clinch this deal, and Ms Davelle knew that. Her mind began to search for a flaw, or at least a point in his presentation that would not be able to meet the manager’s expectations. Jerking herself to full alertness, though she had had a very long dreary night, she surveyed the room of consultants. So young and inexperienced these people are, she thought to herself, her judgmental heart kicked into action. It shouldn’t be too hard to clinch this deal... Surely I cannot fail; I have spent a whole night of effort on this. Or can I? The whole night of events began replaying in her mind.
Burdens
“My dear, you have been very caught up with your work these days. We haven’t gone out for dinner together for a very long time.” Her husband told her, as she took another bite of the food that he had brought to her on a plate from the dinner table. For a moment, only the “tap,tap” sound of the keys could be heard as Mrs Shanter swallowed her food. “Then what do you expect me to do? Neglect my work and we’ll just depend on that measly sum that you bring in every month?” She retaliated out of spite for the possible implications of his words, but more for her life that had been getting more and more out of her control. No matter what her anger was directed at, her husband felt the pain. He had always prided himself in being able to comprehend her feelings and emotions and give her the premium help required to pull her out of whatever trench she landed herself into. Now, he felt useless; he was unable to reap in a good income, and yet, he expected his wife to split her time evenly between him and her work.
“No, I don’t mean that. It’s just... argh, just try to spend more time with...” Mr Shanter tried explaining, his usual gentle nature taking over. But this time round, his ability to find the correct words to comfort her failed him. He stumbled over his words. “Oh never mind. Don’t bother explaining. I don’t expect you to understand me. No one can. I’ll try to change. It’s just that the painstaking process that I have to go through is not that easy-going all the time,” Mrs Shanter replied. Noticing the wince on her husband’s face, her sensitive side added, “Ok, I’ll sit down with you guys for dinner tomorrow”, before escaping the conversation by going to check on her son. She thought she could glimpse a wretched look pass over her husband’s face, a painful scrunching up of his face as he muttered, “I just hope that it’s tomorrow and not tomorrow’s tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow’s tomorrow, or maybe even the day after that.”
Unneeded additions
“How do you expect to understand me? I see you are feeling very stressed from work; but please, bear in mind that I am not your stress ball which you can vent your anger and release your frustrations on.” Her teenage son had answered back to her. Her heart crumbled at his harsh, piercing words. Now she understood how her husband must have felt when she said those similar words to him. “It’s just that I get very worried when I see you unable to cope with school and all. Have I put you into the wrong school that has too high a standard for their students? Do you want to change to another school?” She asked, trying to come from a point of genuine concern for him. How on earth was she supposed to show concern to this life that had suddenly grown so different from all other lives that she understood; she had no idea.
“No mum. I told you already; I am happy in this school. The problem lies in me; I can’t manage my time properly. But I will try to change. You only see the outcome of my efforts. But of course, how are you supposed to see the processes that I so painstakingly try to go through?” Her son replied, trying to sound mature and understanding of the complicated world of adults. Sadness clouded over the one in the position of mum. “Ok mum, I know you are worried about me. But seeing you so tired out by your work, I really don’t want to add to your burdens. Go on with your work and care lest about me,” her son’s voice suddenly softened, as if he detected the cloud of sadness.
Ms Davelle jerked her wandering mind back into the present meeting in the conference room. Whose turn was it now? Ah, the first guy is done with his presentation. Ms Davelle frantically searched her mind for a good question to hurl at the consultant. From experience, she knew that good intelligent questions at other consultants are best for creating good impressions on the potential clients, as well as for highlighting the mistakes of other competitors. Clicking her mind back into analytical mode, she posed a question regarding a flaw that she had noticed around the start of his presentation. The question stumped the consultant. After stuttering over his answer, the he slunk back to his seat. He earned a judgmental nod from the manager, as if whatever bad impression that the consultant gave him was being registered into his memory. Phew, that was rather on impulse, Ms Davelle felt relief wash over her for a moment, before her disturbing memories crept back into her mind.
Sunk
Leaving her son’s room, heavy thoughts of rejection began to cloud Mrs Shanter’s head. Even my son thinks that I have cared too much about my work. What have I done? Have I done wrong by working hard to support my family? Maybe I should just quit this job and find a less stressful one. Maybe being a teacher in my son’s school would allow me to better understand his learning environment. Maybe a life of simplicity and frugality is better than one of high-class living if the former is filled with peace and close bonds. Maybe… oh, but how can I regain the trust of my family?
Carrying these burdensome thoughts, she went back to her study. Her proposal laid, half-typed out in her laptop. Back to work. The proposal was due for presentation the next day. Last minute work; that’s what most of her recent work ended up as. What with the increasing amount of proposals accepted by the various clients that need to be executed and of proposals that need to be churned out for the various clients. Business was booming, mainly because of the professional services offered by Ms Davelle to the different companies. Her pay was rising with her rank, as well as her workload. The three came in a package. Thus, the great amount of tasks Ms Davelle had to do. She had to squeeze more tasks into the 24 hours that she had every day. Sleep, exercise and family time were compromised.
Deeper
Rubbing her tired eyes, her sore fingers began to move over the keyboard again. She stopped for a moment. What am I doing? What’s the point now? My family much rather me spend more time with them than doing all these proposals? Haven’t I done more than enough for boss to keep me in his company, to keep promoting me? I couldn’t get fired even if I didn’t do this one proposal, or maybe a couple more others? I play a key role in the company’s success; everyone in the company knows that. No point toiling and losing sleep over this? Yea, why bother? A voice inside her kept on whispering words to her. Frustrated, she closed the word document without saving it. Gone; she’s free from the burden of that proposal. Or so she thought.
Wait, what am I doing? If I don’t want to work too much on this proposal, I might at least come up with a little sketchy one. It doesn’t have to be high standard, just something to tell the boss that I have at least typed out something. He ought to understand that success rate is not 100%. Yea, I’d better get started on it. With that thought in mind, she began on her work again.
Done, she thought to herself half an hour later. How free she felt, as if she had just gotten rid of a large burden that she had been balancing on her head. She had just saved the document and was about to close it when the perfectionist in her suddenly screamed “error!”. She began to re-read her proposal and true enough, she found a flaw in every single line. Almost every sentence could be improved. Delete, re-type. Delete, re-type.
She was so absorbed in her work that she did not notice the door creak open silently to reveal a worried Mr Shanter, with her son peering over his shoulder. Before her son could open his mouth to let out a greeting of “good night”, Mr Shanter pulled the door closed again. Son looked at father with a questioning look. Reading from his father’s face, her son could tell that Father wanted Mother to remain undisturbed in her work. Flashbacks of mother getting frustrated at her “pesky family” played back in the young man’s mind.
Truly, at that moment, Mrs Shanter was indeed very frustrated. So furiously was she correcting the proposal that the final piece turned out very different from the first. Much more refined, it truly was, but it had taken her a long time to re-read and correct her proposal many times over so by the time she was done, it was already well into the morning of the next day at 2a.m.. Nevertheless, she still had another proposal to do and hurried to open a new word document.
Unfound solutions
At this recollection, a grim look passed over the face of Ms Davelle, whose face was getting more and more sour as the scenes played back in her mind. She nearly forgot her half-done proposal. In her lethargy, she had fallen asleep as her laptop clicked into “energy-saving mode”. Wait, did she even save the half-done proposal? Oh no, oh no, thoughts raced through her mind at a frenetic pace, as she hurriedly pulled out her laptop and carried out a search for her “missing” document. Just before she could enter in the search, the manager called out, “All right Mrs Shanter, it’s your turn now!” Oh no, how did my turn come to be so fast? She did not even have time to go through the breathing exercises that had been learnt from a yoga master at the start of her career and had stood the tests of her various presentations; not to mention, she did not have time to worry about not asking questions about other consultants’ presentations. She panicked; for the first time in her long successful career, she panicked during a presentation.
As expected, the manager did not look too happy. Thoughts of failure clanged in the perfectionist mind of Ms Davelle. Whatever wonderful first impression she had made on the manager seemed to have been washed off by her lousy presentation. But for some strange reason, probably it was her adequate preparation the night before, or probably it was her well-trained voice that could work reasonably well regardless of her inner turmoil, the manager accepted her proposal and took her on for the job. She was afterall, known throughout all the companies in that line of business for her professionalism and efficiency. Ok, one more proposal to be executed. I guess I’ll be busy again tonight. Then, I guess I’ll join them for dinner tomorrow. Ms Davelle thought with a sigh, as she rushed out of the conference room back to her office building, where she sat typing out her next proposal while munching on the wholemeal sandwich she had packed for lunch.
just threw in some additional edits and chapter headings. crazy names I give my chapters. nevertheless, hope i get inspiration to start on a new story, be it refreshment of my old ideas or new inspirations. au revoir! all the best for ur DELF kylie!
Burdens of life
Life
A tall shapely figure stepped into the conference room. The woman’s entrance immediately captured the attention of all the other consultants, as well as that of the manager, with whom the consultants present were trying to clinch a deal with. The frown of impatience disappeared from the manager’s face.
What exactly was it that made her so attractive, it is hard to say. Maybe, it was her silky long hair resting on her slender shoulders. Maybe, it was the fair, blemish-free face that this ebony hair framed. Or maybe, it was the pair of deep-set amber eyes, enhanced by dark, long eyelashes, that seemed to hold a somewhat enchanting beauty. Or could it just be the calmness that one can feel in her presence, the calmness in the knowledge that everything is under control? Where could this calmness come from then? Probably, it came from the sure steps in her strides, or probably it came from the confident posture of the woman. Needless to say, this gorgeous woman could summon beauty beyond description.
“So sorry for causing such delay Mr Parker,” the woman apologized, her voice heavy with the stress of her work. “Ah, Mrs Shanter; it’s good to see you. Take a seat,” the manager replied with an extra touch of professionalism. “It’s Ms Davelle,” she whispered the correction. With as much grace and poise as she could muster, Ms Davelle placed her laptop and bag on the table, before sitting herself down across the table from the manager. “Alright! Let’s begin!” the manager’s pompous voice filled the conference room.
The first consultant went up, presenting his shaky proposal about his services. This presenter clearly could not clinch this deal, and Ms Davelle knew that. Her mind began to search for a flaw, or at least a point in his presentation that would not be able to meet the manager’s expectations. Jerking herself to full alertness, though she had had a very long dreary night, she surveyed the room of consultants. So young and inexperienced these people are, she thought to herself, her judgmental heart kicked into action. It shouldn’t be too hard to clinch this deal... Surely I cannot fail; I have spent a whole night of effort on this. Or can I? The whole night of events began replaying in her mind.
Burdens
“My dear, you have been very caught up with your work these days. We haven’t gone out for dinner together for a very long time.” Her husband told her, as she took another bite of the food that he had brought to her on a plate from the dinner table. For a moment, only the “tap,tap” sound of the keys could be heard as Mrs Shanter swallowed her food. “Then what do you expect me to do? Neglect my work and we’ll just depend on that measly sum that you bring in every month?” She retaliated out of spite for the possible implications of his words, but more for her life that had been getting more and more out of her control. No matter what her anger was directed at, her husband felt the pain. He had always prided himself in being able to comprehend her feelings and emotions and give her the premium help required to pull her out of whatever trench she landed herself into. Now, he felt useless; he was unable to reap in a good income, and yet, he expected his wife to split her time evenly between him and her work.
“No, I don’t mean that. It’s just... argh, just try to spend more time with...” Mr Shanter tried explaining, his usual gentle nature taking over. But this time round, his ability to find the correct words to comfort her failed him. He stumbled over his words. “Oh never mind. Don’t bother explaining. I don’t expect you to understand me. No one can. I’ll try to change. It’s just that the painstaking process that I have to go through is not that easy-going all the time,” Mrs Shanter replied. Noticing the wince on her husband’s face, her sensitive side added, “Ok, I’ll sit down with you guys for dinner tomorrow”, before escaping the conversation by going to check on her son. She thought she could glimpse a wretched look pass over her husband’s face, a painful scrunching up of his face as he muttered, “I just hope that it’s tomorrow and not tomorrow’s tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow’s tomorrow, or maybe even the day after that.”
Unneeded additions
“How do you expect to understand me? I see you are feeling very stressed from work; but please, bear in mind that I am not your stress ball which you can vent your anger and release your frustrations on.” Her teenage son had answered back to her. Her heart crumbled at his harsh, piercing words. Now she understood how her husband must have felt when she said those similar words to him. “It’s just that I get very worried when I see you unable to cope with school and all. Have I put you into the wrong school that has too high a standard for their students? Do you want to change to another school?” She asked, trying to come from a point of genuine concern for him. How on earth was she supposed to show concern to this life that had suddenly grown so different from all other lives that she understood; she had no idea.
“No mum. I told you already; I am happy in this school. The problem lies in me; I can’t manage my time properly. But I will try to change. You only see the outcome of my efforts. But of course, how are you supposed to see the processes that I so painstakingly try to go through?” Her son replied, trying to sound mature and understanding of the complicated world of adults. Sadness clouded over the one in the position of mum. “Ok mum, I know you are worried about me. But seeing you so tired out by your work, I really don’t want to add to your burdens. Go on with your work and care lest about me,” her son’s voice suddenly softened, as if he detected the cloud of sadness.
Ms Davelle jerked her wandering mind back into the present meeting in the conference room. Whose turn was it now? Ah, the first guy is done with his presentation. Ms Davelle frantically searched her mind for a good question to hurl at the consultant. From experience, she knew that good intelligent questions at other consultants are best for creating good impressions on the potential clients, as well as for highlighting the mistakes of other competitors. Clicking her mind back into analytical mode, she posed a question regarding a flaw that she had noticed around the start of his presentation. The question stumped the consultant. After stuttering over his answer, the he slunk back to his seat. He earned a judgmental nod from the manager, as if whatever bad impression that the consultant gave him was being registered into his memory. Phew, that was rather on impulse, Ms Davelle felt relief wash over her for a moment, before her disturbing memories crept back into her mind.
Sunk
Leaving her son’s room, heavy thoughts of rejection began to cloud Mrs Shanter’s head. Even my son thinks that I have cared too much about my work. What have I done? Have I done wrong by working hard to support my family? Maybe I should just quit this job and find a less stressful one. Maybe being a teacher in my son’s school would allow me to better understand his learning environment. Maybe a life of simplicity and frugality is better than one of high-class living if the former is filled with peace and close bonds. Maybe… oh, but how can I regain the trust of my family?
Carrying these burdensome thoughts, she went back to her study. Her proposal laid, half-typed out in her laptop. Back to work. The proposal was due for presentation the next day. Last minute work; that’s what most of her recent work ended up as. What with the increasing amount of proposals accepted by the various clients that need to be executed and of proposals that need to be churned out for the various clients. Business was booming, mainly because of the professional services offered by Ms Davelle to the different companies. Her pay was rising with her rank, as well as her workload. The three came in a package. Thus, the great amount of tasks Ms Davelle had to do. She had to squeeze more tasks into the 24 hours that she had every day. Sleep, exercise and family time were compromised.
Deeper
Rubbing her tired eyes, her sore fingers began to move over the keyboard again. She stopped for a moment. What am I doing? What’s the point now? My family much rather me spend more time with them than doing all these proposals? Haven’t I done more than enough for boss to keep me in his company, to keep promoting me? I couldn’t get fired even if I didn’t do this one proposal, or maybe a couple more others? I play a key role in the company’s success; everyone in the company knows that. No point toiling and losing sleep over this? Yea, why bother? A voice inside her kept on whispering words to her. Frustrated, she closed the word document without saving it. Gone; she’s free from the burden of that proposal. Or so she thought.
Wait, what am I doing? If I don’t want to work too much on this proposal, I might at least come up with a little sketchy one. It doesn’t have to be high standard, just something to tell the boss that I have at least typed out something. He ought to understand that success rate is not 100%. Yea, I’d better get started on it. With that thought in mind, she began on her work again.
Done, she thought to herself half an hour later. How free she felt, as if she had just gotten rid of a large burden that she had been balancing on her head. She had just saved the document and was about to close it when the perfectionist in her suddenly screamed “error!”. She began to re-read her proposal and true enough, she found a flaw in every single line. Almost every sentence could be improved. Delete, re-type. Delete, re-type.
She was so absorbed in her work that she did not notice the door creak open silently to reveal a worried Mr Shanter, with her son peering over his shoulder. Before her son could open his mouth to let out a greeting of “good night”, Mr Shanter pulled the door closed again. Son looked at father with a questioning look. Reading from his father’s face, her son could tell that Father wanted Mother to remain undisturbed in her work. Flashbacks of mother getting frustrated at her “pesky family” played back in the young man’s mind.
Truly, at that moment, Mrs Shanter was indeed very frustrated. So furiously was she correcting the proposal that the final piece turned out very different from the first. Much more refined, it truly was, but it had taken her a long time to re-read and correct her proposal many times over so by the time she was done, it was already well into the morning of the next day at 2a.m.. Nevertheless, she still had another proposal to do and hurried to open a new word document.
Unfound solutions
At this recollection, a grim look passed over the face of Ms Davelle, whose face was getting more and more sour as the scenes played back in her mind. She nearly forgot her half-done proposal. In her lethargy, she had fallen asleep as her laptop clicked into “energy-saving mode”. Wait, did she even save the half-done proposal? Oh no, oh no, thoughts raced through her mind at a frenetic pace, as she hurriedly pulled out her laptop and carried out a search for her “missing” document. Just before she could enter in the search, the manager called out, “All right Mrs Shanter, it’s your turn now!” Oh no, how did my turn come to be so fast? She did not even have time to go through the breathing exercises that had been learnt from a yoga master at the start of her career and had stood the tests of her various presentations; not to mention, she did not have time to worry about not asking questions about other consultants’ presentations. She panicked; for the first time in her long successful career, she panicked during a presentation.
As expected, the manager did not look too happy. Thoughts of failure clanged in the perfectionist mind of Ms Davelle. Whatever wonderful first impression she had made on the manager seemed to have been washed off by her lousy presentation. But for some strange reason, probably it was her adequate preparation the night before, or probably it was her well-trained voice that could work reasonably well regardless of her inner turmoil, the manager accepted her proposal and took her on for the job. She was afterall, known throughout all the companies in that line of business for her professionalism and efficiency. Ok, one more proposal to be executed. I guess I’ll be busy again tonight. Then, I guess I’ll join them for dinner tomorrow. Ms Davelle thought with a sigh, as she rushed out of the conference room back to her office building, where she sat typing out her next proposal while munching on the wholemeal sandwich she had packed for lunch.
just threw in some additional edits and chapter headings. crazy names I give my chapters. nevertheless, hope i get inspiration to start on a new story, be it refreshment of my old ideas or new inspirations. au revoir! all the best for ur DELF kylie!
Burdens: Draft 1
Thursday, November 24, 2005
I'd better post this up before I become like the woman in this story.
Burdens of life
A tall shapely figure stepped into the conference room. The woman’s entrance immediately captured the attention of all the other consultants, as well as that of the manager, with whom the consultants present were trying to clinch a deal with. The frown of impatience disappeared from the manager’s face.
What exactly was it that made her so attractive, it is hard to say. Maybe, it was her silky long hair resting on her slender shoulders. Maybe, it was the fair, blemish-free face that this ebony hair framed. Or maybe, it was the pair of deep-set amber eyes, enhanced by dark, long eyelashes, that seemed to hold a somewhat enchanting beauty. Or could it just be the calmness that one can feel in her presence, the calmness in the knowledge that everything is under control? Where could this calmness come from then? Probably, it came from the sure steps in her strides, or probably it came from the confident posture of the woman. Needless to say, this gorgeous woman could summon beauty beyond description.
“So sorry for causing such delay Mr Parker,” the woman apologized, her voice heavy with the stress of her work. “Ah, Mrs Shanter; it’s good to see you. Take a seat,” the manager replied with an extra touch of professionalism. “It’s Ms Davelle,” she whispered the correction. With as much grace and poise as she can muster, Ms Davelle placed her laptop and bag on the table, before sitting herself down across the table from the manager. “Alright! Let’s begin!” the manager’s pompous voice filled the conference room.
The first consultant went up, presenting his shaky proposal about his services. Ms Davelle tried to pay attention but it became boring and rather sickening the more she listened to this “amateur” consultant. She surveyed the room of consultants. So young and inexperienced these people are, she thought to herself, her judgmental heart kicked into action. It shouldn’t be too hard to clinch this deal... Surely I cannot fail; I have spent a whole night of effort on this. Or can I? The whole night of events suddenly began replaying in her mind.
“My dear, you have been very caught up with your work these days. We haven’t gone out for dinner together for a very long time.” Her husband told her, as she took another bite of the food that he had brought to her on a plate from the dinner table. For a moment, only the “tap,tap” sound of the keys could be heard as Mrs Shanter swallowed her food. “Then what do you expect me to do? Neglect my work and we’ll just depend on that measly sum that you bring in every month?” She retaliated out of spite for the implications of his words, but more for her life that had been getting more and more out of her control. Still, no matter what her anger was directed at, her husband felt the pain. He had always prided himself in being able to comprehend her feelings and emotion and give her the premium help required to pull her out of whatever trench she landed herself into. Now, he felt useless; he was unable to reap in a good income, and yet, he still sounded as if he expected his wife to split her time evenly between him and her work.
“No, I don’t mean that. It's just... argh, just try to spend more time with us...” Mr Shanter tried explaining, his usual gentle nature taking over. But this time round, his ability to find the correct words to comfort her failed him. He stumbled over his words. “Oh never mind. Don’t bother explaining. I don’t expect you to understand me. No one can. I’ll try to change. It’s just that the painstaking process that I have to go through is not that easy-going all the time,” Mrs Shanter replied. Noticing the wince on her husband’s face, her sensitive side added, “Ok, I’ll sit down with you guys for dinner tomorrow”, before escaping the conversation by going to check on her son. She thought she could glimpse a wretched look pass over her husband’s face, a painful scrunching up of his face as he muttered, “I just hope that it’s tomorrow and not tomorrow’s tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow’s tomorrow, or maybe even the day after that.”
Ms Davelle jerked her wandering mind back into the present meeting in the conference room. Whose turn was it now? Ah, the first guy is done with his presentation. Ms Davelle frantically searched her mind for a good question to hurl at the consultant. From experience, she knew that good intelligent questions at other consultants are best for creating good impressions on the potential clients, as well as for highlighting the mistakes of other competitors. Clicking her mind back into analytical mode, she posed a question regarding a flaw that she had noticed around the start of his presentation. The question stumped the consultant. After stuttering over his answer, the he slunk back to his seat. He earned a judgmental nod from the manager, as if whatever bad impression that the consultant gave him was being registered into his memory. Phew, that was rather on impulse, Ms Davelle felt relief wash over her for a moment, before her disturbing memories crept back into her mind.
“How do you expect to understand me? I see you are feeling very stressed from work; but please, bear in mind that I am not your stress ball which you can vent your anger and release your frustrations on.” Her teenage son had answered back to her. Her heart crumbled at his harsh, piercing words. Now she understood how her husband must have felt when she said those similar words to him. “It’s just that I get very worried when I see you unable to cope with school and all. Have I put you into the wrong school that has too high a standard for their students? Do you want to change to another school?” She asked, trying to come from a point of genuine concern for him. How on earth is she supposed to show concern to this life that has suddenly grown so different from all other lives that she understood; she has no idea.
“No mum. I told you already; I am happy in this school. The problem lies in me; I can’t manage my time properly. But I will try to change. You only see the outcome of my efforts. But of course, how are you supposed to see the processes that I so painstakingly try to go through?” Her son replied, trying to sound mature and understanding of the complicated world of adults. Sadness clouded over the one in the position of mum. “Ok mum, I know you are worried about me. But seeing you so tired out by your work, I really don’t want to add to your burdens. Go on with your work and care lest about me,” her son’s voice suddenly softened, as if he detected the cloud of sadness.
But Mrs Shanter just left the room, her head heavy with thoughts of rejection. Even my son thinks that I have cared too much about my work. What have I done? Have I done wrong by working hard to support my family? Maybe I should just quit this job and find a less stressful one. Maybe being a teacher in my son’s school would allow me to better understand his learning environment. Maybe a life of simplicity and frugality is better than one of high-class living if the former is filled with peace and close bonds. Maybe… oh, but how can I regain the trust of my family?
Carrying these burdensome thoughts, she went back to her study. Her proposal laid, half-typed out in her laptop. Back to work. The proposal was due for presentation the next day. Last minute work; that’s what most of her work ended up as these days. What with the increasing amount of proposals accepted by the various clients that need to be executed and of proposals that need to be churned out for the various clients. Business was booming, mainly because of the professional services offered by Ms Davelle to the different companies. Her pay was rising with her rank, as well as her workload. The three came in a package. Thus, the great amount of tasks Ms Davelle had to do. She had to squeeze more tasks into the 24 hours that she had every day. Sleep, exercise and family time were compromised.
Rubbing her tired eyes, her sore fingers began to move over the keyboard again. She stopped for a moment. What am I doing? What’s the point now? My family much rather me spend more time with them than doing all these proposals? Haven’t I done more than enough for boss to keep me in his company, to keep promoting me? I couldn’t get fired even if I didn’t do this one proposal, or maybe a couple more others? I play a key role in the company’s success; everyone in the company knows that. No point toiling and losing sleep over this? Yea, why bother? A voice inside her kept on whispering words to her. Frustrated, she closed the word document without saving it. Gone; she’s free from the burden of that proposal. Or so she thought.
Wait, what am I doing? If I don’t want to work too much on this proposal, I might at least come up with a little sketchy one. It doesn’t have to be high standard, just something to tell the boss that I have at least typed out something. He ought to understand that success rate is not 100%. Yea, I’d better get started on it. With that thought in mind, she began on her work again.
Done, she thought to herself half an hour later. How free she felt, as if she had just gotten rid of a large burden that she had been balancing on her head. She had just saved the document and was about to close it when the perfectionist in her suddenly screamed “error!”. She began to re-read her proposal and true enough, she found a flaw in every single line. Almost every sentence could be improved. Delete, re-type. Delete, re-type.
She was so absorbed in her work that she did not notice the door creak open silently to reveal a worried Mr Shanter, with her son peering over his shoulder. Before her son could open his mouth to let out a greeting of “good night”, Mr Shanter pulled the door closed again. Son looked at father with a questioning look. Reading from his father’s face, her son could tell that Father wanted Mother to remain undisturbed in her work. Flashbacks of mother getting frustrated at her “pesky family” played back in the young man’s mind.
Truly, at that moment, Mrs Shanter was indeed very frustrated. So furiously was she correcting the proposal that the final piece turned out very different from the first. Much more refined, it truly was, but it had taken her a long time to re-read and correct her proposal many times over so by the time she was done, it was already well into the morning of the next day at 2a.m.. Nevertheless, she still had another proposal to do and hurried to open a new word document.
At this recollection, a grim look passed over the face of Ms Davelle, whose face was getting more and more sour as the scenes played back in her mind. She nearly forgot her half-done proposal. In her lethargy, she had fallen asleep as her laptop clicked into “energy-saving mode”. Wait, did she even save the half-done proposal? Oh no, oh no, thoughts raced through her mind at a frenetic pace, as she hurriedly pulled out her laptop and carried out a search for her “missing” document. Just before she could enter in the search, the manager called out, “All right Mrs Shanter, it’s your turn now!” oh no, how did my turn come to be so fast? She did not even have time to go through the breathing exercises that had been learnt from a yoga master at the start of her career and had stood the tests of her various presentations; not to mention, she did not have time to worry about not asking questions about other consultants’ presentations. She panicked; for the first time in her long successful career, she panicked during a presentation.
As expected, the manager did not look too happy. To herself, Ms Davelle seemed as if she had failed the manager’s expectations. Whatever wonderful first impression she had made on the manager seemed to have been washed off by her lousy presentation. But for some strange reason, probably it was her adequate preparation the night before, or probably it was her well-trained voice that could work reasonably well regardless of her inner turmoil, the manager accepted her proposal and took her on for the job. Ok, one more proposal to be executed. I guess I’ll be busy again tonight. Then, I guess I’ll join them for dinner tomorrow. Ms Davelle thought with a sigh, as she rushed out of the conference room back to her office building, where she sat typing out her next proposal while munching on the wholemeal sandwich she had packed for lunch.
Forgive me for the wierd spacings. It seems that the blogger format for posts is rather diff from the word format and I copied everything from a word doc. Nearly added a page turner at the end of the story. I dunno whether i'm missing anything, or if the story doesn't flow. Tell me if this ought to be chucked aside like Charms.
Burdens of life
A tall shapely figure stepped into the conference room. The woman’s entrance immediately captured the attention of all the other consultants, as well as that of the manager, with whom the consultants present were trying to clinch a deal with. The frown of impatience disappeared from the manager’s face.
What exactly was it that made her so attractive, it is hard to say. Maybe, it was her silky long hair resting on her slender shoulders. Maybe, it was the fair, blemish-free face that this ebony hair framed. Or maybe, it was the pair of deep-set amber eyes, enhanced by dark, long eyelashes, that seemed to hold a somewhat enchanting beauty. Or could it just be the calmness that one can feel in her presence, the calmness in the knowledge that everything is under control? Where could this calmness come from then? Probably, it came from the sure steps in her strides, or probably it came from the confident posture of the woman. Needless to say, this gorgeous woman could summon beauty beyond description.
“So sorry for causing such delay Mr Parker,” the woman apologized, her voice heavy with the stress of her work. “Ah, Mrs Shanter; it’s good to see you. Take a seat,” the manager replied with an extra touch of professionalism. “It’s Ms Davelle,” she whispered the correction. With as much grace and poise as she can muster, Ms Davelle placed her laptop and bag on the table, before sitting herself down across the table from the manager. “Alright! Let’s begin!” the manager’s pompous voice filled the conference room.
The first consultant went up, presenting his shaky proposal about his services. Ms Davelle tried to pay attention but it became boring and rather sickening the more she listened to this “amateur” consultant. She surveyed the room of consultants. So young and inexperienced these people are, she thought to herself, her judgmental heart kicked into action. It shouldn’t be too hard to clinch this deal... Surely I cannot fail; I have spent a whole night of effort on this. Or can I? The whole night of events suddenly began replaying in her mind.
“My dear, you have been very caught up with your work these days. We haven’t gone out for dinner together for a very long time.” Her husband told her, as she took another bite of the food that he had brought to her on a plate from the dinner table. For a moment, only the “tap,tap” sound of the keys could be heard as Mrs Shanter swallowed her food. “Then what do you expect me to do? Neglect my work and we’ll just depend on that measly sum that you bring in every month?” She retaliated out of spite for the implications of his words, but more for her life that had been getting more and more out of her control. Still, no matter what her anger was directed at, her husband felt the pain. He had always prided himself in being able to comprehend her feelings and emotion and give her the premium help required to pull her out of whatever trench she landed herself into. Now, he felt useless; he was unable to reap in a good income, and yet, he still sounded as if he expected his wife to split her time evenly between him and her work.
“No, I don’t mean that. It's just... argh, just try to spend more time with us...” Mr Shanter tried explaining, his usual gentle nature taking over. But this time round, his ability to find the correct words to comfort her failed him. He stumbled over his words. “Oh never mind. Don’t bother explaining. I don’t expect you to understand me. No one can. I’ll try to change. It’s just that the painstaking process that I have to go through is not that easy-going all the time,” Mrs Shanter replied. Noticing the wince on her husband’s face, her sensitive side added, “Ok, I’ll sit down with you guys for dinner tomorrow”, before escaping the conversation by going to check on her son. She thought she could glimpse a wretched look pass over her husband’s face, a painful scrunching up of his face as he muttered, “I just hope that it’s tomorrow and not tomorrow’s tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow’s tomorrow, or maybe even the day after that.”
Ms Davelle jerked her wandering mind back into the present meeting in the conference room. Whose turn was it now? Ah, the first guy is done with his presentation. Ms Davelle frantically searched her mind for a good question to hurl at the consultant. From experience, she knew that good intelligent questions at other consultants are best for creating good impressions on the potential clients, as well as for highlighting the mistakes of other competitors. Clicking her mind back into analytical mode, she posed a question regarding a flaw that she had noticed around the start of his presentation. The question stumped the consultant. After stuttering over his answer, the he slunk back to his seat. He earned a judgmental nod from the manager, as if whatever bad impression that the consultant gave him was being registered into his memory. Phew, that was rather on impulse, Ms Davelle felt relief wash over her for a moment, before her disturbing memories crept back into her mind.
“How do you expect to understand me? I see you are feeling very stressed from work; but please, bear in mind that I am not your stress ball which you can vent your anger and release your frustrations on.” Her teenage son had answered back to her. Her heart crumbled at his harsh, piercing words. Now she understood how her husband must have felt when she said those similar words to him. “It’s just that I get very worried when I see you unable to cope with school and all. Have I put you into the wrong school that has too high a standard for their students? Do you want to change to another school?” She asked, trying to come from a point of genuine concern for him. How on earth is she supposed to show concern to this life that has suddenly grown so different from all other lives that she understood; she has no idea.
“No mum. I told you already; I am happy in this school. The problem lies in me; I can’t manage my time properly. But I will try to change. You only see the outcome of my efforts. But of course, how are you supposed to see the processes that I so painstakingly try to go through?” Her son replied, trying to sound mature and understanding of the complicated world of adults. Sadness clouded over the one in the position of mum. “Ok mum, I know you are worried about me. But seeing you so tired out by your work, I really don’t want to add to your burdens. Go on with your work and care lest about me,” her son’s voice suddenly softened, as if he detected the cloud of sadness.
But Mrs Shanter just left the room, her head heavy with thoughts of rejection. Even my son thinks that I have cared too much about my work. What have I done? Have I done wrong by working hard to support my family? Maybe I should just quit this job and find a less stressful one. Maybe being a teacher in my son’s school would allow me to better understand his learning environment. Maybe a life of simplicity and frugality is better than one of high-class living if the former is filled with peace and close bonds. Maybe… oh, but how can I regain the trust of my family?
Carrying these burdensome thoughts, she went back to her study. Her proposal laid, half-typed out in her laptop. Back to work. The proposal was due for presentation the next day. Last minute work; that’s what most of her work ended up as these days. What with the increasing amount of proposals accepted by the various clients that need to be executed and of proposals that need to be churned out for the various clients. Business was booming, mainly because of the professional services offered by Ms Davelle to the different companies. Her pay was rising with her rank, as well as her workload. The three came in a package. Thus, the great amount of tasks Ms Davelle had to do. She had to squeeze more tasks into the 24 hours that she had every day. Sleep, exercise and family time were compromised.
Rubbing her tired eyes, her sore fingers began to move over the keyboard again. She stopped for a moment. What am I doing? What’s the point now? My family much rather me spend more time with them than doing all these proposals? Haven’t I done more than enough for boss to keep me in his company, to keep promoting me? I couldn’t get fired even if I didn’t do this one proposal, or maybe a couple more others? I play a key role in the company’s success; everyone in the company knows that. No point toiling and losing sleep over this? Yea, why bother? A voice inside her kept on whispering words to her. Frustrated, she closed the word document without saving it. Gone; she’s free from the burden of that proposal. Or so she thought.
Wait, what am I doing? If I don’t want to work too much on this proposal, I might at least come up with a little sketchy one. It doesn’t have to be high standard, just something to tell the boss that I have at least typed out something. He ought to understand that success rate is not 100%. Yea, I’d better get started on it. With that thought in mind, she began on her work again.
Done, she thought to herself half an hour later. How free she felt, as if she had just gotten rid of a large burden that she had been balancing on her head. She had just saved the document and was about to close it when the perfectionist in her suddenly screamed “error!”. She began to re-read her proposal and true enough, she found a flaw in every single line. Almost every sentence could be improved. Delete, re-type. Delete, re-type.
She was so absorbed in her work that she did not notice the door creak open silently to reveal a worried Mr Shanter, with her son peering over his shoulder. Before her son could open his mouth to let out a greeting of “good night”, Mr Shanter pulled the door closed again. Son looked at father with a questioning look. Reading from his father’s face, her son could tell that Father wanted Mother to remain undisturbed in her work. Flashbacks of mother getting frustrated at her “pesky family” played back in the young man’s mind.
Truly, at that moment, Mrs Shanter was indeed very frustrated. So furiously was she correcting the proposal that the final piece turned out very different from the first. Much more refined, it truly was, but it had taken her a long time to re-read and correct her proposal many times over so by the time she was done, it was already well into the morning of the next day at 2a.m.. Nevertheless, she still had another proposal to do and hurried to open a new word document.
At this recollection, a grim look passed over the face of Ms Davelle, whose face was getting more and more sour as the scenes played back in her mind. She nearly forgot her half-done proposal. In her lethargy, she had fallen asleep as her laptop clicked into “energy-saving mode”. Wait, did she even save the half-done proposal? Oh no, oh no, thoughts raced through her mind at a frenetic pace, as she hurriedly pulled out her laptop and carried out a search for her “missing” document. Just before she could enter in the search, the manager called out, “All right Mrs Shanter, it’s your turn now!” oh no, how did my turn come to be so fast? She did not even have time to go through the breathing exercises that had been learnt from a yoga master at the start of her career and had stood the tests of her various presentations; not to mention, she did not have time to worry about not asking questions about other consultants’ presentations. She panicked; for the first time in her long successful career, she panicked during a presentation.
As expected, the manager did not look too happy. To herself, Ms Davelle seemed as if she had failed the manager’s expectations. Whatever wonderful first impression she had made on the manager seemed to have been washed off by her lousy presentation. But for some strange reason, probably it was her adequate preparation the night before, or probably it was her well-trained voice that could work reasonably well regardless of her inner turmoil, the manager accepted her proposal and took her on for the job. Ok, one more proposal to be executed. I guess I’ll be busy again tonight. Then, I guess I’ll join them for dinner tomorrow. Ms Davelle thought with a sigh, as she rushed out of the conference room back to her office building, where she sat typing out her next proposal while munching on the wholemeal sandwich she had packed for lunch.
Forgive me for the wierd spacings. It seems that the blogger format for posts is rather diff from the word format and I copied everything from a word doc. Nearly added a page turner at the end of the story. I dunno whether i'm missing anything, or if the story doesn't flow. Tell me if this ought to be chucked aside like Charms.
BOG and OR outing
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Oh man, internet suddenly failed and I have to retype my post! sigh... anyway, I found the botanic gardens a very inspirational place. Probably even more inspirational than church, which is already beautifully inspirational. But it took so long for me to get used to the orchard environment. The crowd, the whizzing traffic... signs of rushed living. But I find that it can be a very good place for character development, if one begins to concentrate and get focused; because there are so many people!
Majesty (Here I am) lyrics- Delirious?
Here I am humbled by your Majesty
Covered by your grace so free
Here I am, knowing I'm a sinful man
Covered by the blood of the Lamb
Now I've found the greatest love of all is mine
Since you laid down your life
The greatest sacrifice
[Chorus]
Majesty, Majesty
Your grace has found me just as I am
Empty handed, but alive in your hands
Majesty, Majesty
Forever I am changed by your love
In the presence of your Majesty
Here I am humbled by the love that you give
Forgiven so that I can forgive
Here I stand, knowing that I'm your desire
Sanctified by glory and fire
Now I've found the greatest love of all is mine
Since you laid down your life
The greatest sacrifice
[Chorus]
This song really touched my heart. Though it never really got registered into my mind, every single time I hear it, I am once again touched by the never-failing love of God. wow.. really. Sorry for all who raise an eyebrow at my craziness for having posted so many psalms and christian songs. It's just that God's love is too good and great to keep to myself. Pardon me for a minute and I'll get straight back to my stories.
Upon re-reading the comments for my latest story, I realised that I'd better get on with finishing this story asap. I think you guys might be sick of me calling the story "my latest story" so I shall finally give it a name-- "Crash" (even though I call it "illusions" in my word doc). nevertheless...
Crash: Extract 3
Majesty (Here I am) lyrics- Delirious?
Here I am humbled by your Majesty
Covered by your grace so free
Here I am, knowing I'm a sinful man
Covered by the blood of the Lamb
Now I've found the greatest love of all is mine
Since you laid down your life
The greatest sacrifice
[Chorus]
Majesty, Majesty
Your grace has found me just as I am
Empty handed, but alive in your hands
Majesty, Majesty
Forever I am changed by your love
In the presence of your Majesty
Here I am humbled by the love that you give
Forgiven so that I can forgive
Here I stand, knowing that I'm your desire
Sanctified by glory and fire
Now I've found the greatest love of all is mine
Since you laid down your life
The greatest sacrifice
[Chorus]
This song really touched my heart. Though it never really got registered into my mind, every single time I hear it, I am once again touched by the never-failing love of God. wow.. really. Sorry for all who raise an eyebrow at my craziness for having posted so many psalms and christian songs. It's just that God's love is too good and great to keep to myself. Pardon me for a minute and I'll get straight back to my stories.
Upon re-reading the comments for my latest story, I realised that I'd better get on with finishing this story asap. I think you guys might be sick of me calling the story "my latest story" so I shall finally give it a name-- "Crash" (even though I call it "illusions" in my word doc). nevertheless...
Crash: Extract 3
"How do you expect to understand me? I see you are feeling very stressed from work; but please, bear in mind that I am not your stress ball which you can vent your anger and release your frustrations on." Her teenage son had answered back to her. Her heart crumbled at his harsh, piercing words. Now she understood how her husband must have felt when she said those words to him. "It's just that I get very worried when I see you unable to cope with school and all. Have I put you into the wrong school that has too high a standard for their students? Do you want to change to another school?” She asked, trying to come from a point of genuine concern for him. How on earth is she supposed to show concern to this life that has suddenly grown so different from all other lives that she understood; she has no idea.
"No mum. I told you already; I am happy in this school. The problem lies in me; I can’t manage my time properly. But I will try to change. You only see the outcome of my efforts. But of course, how are you supposed to see the processes that I so painstakingly try to go through?” Her son replied, trying to sound mature and understanding of the complicated world of adults. Sadness clouded over the one in the position of mum.
"No mum. I told you already; I am happy in this school. The problem lies in me; I can’t manage my time properly. But I will try to change. You only see the outcome of my efforts. But of course, how are you supposed to see the processes that I so painstakingly try to go through?” Her son replied, trying to sound mature and understanding of the complicated world of adults. Sadness clouded over the one in the position of mum.
Sorry, that's just about as far as I got. better finish it asap. man... stress stress. so much to do, so little time. and I'm really doubting that I can finish 5 good proses in time for the CAP next year. Might have to wait until another year. oh well.. time is not on my side but I'll try. I've not one completed prose of yet, if you haven't realised yet. And my voice is still too strong! My characters are talking like me! sheesh...
btw, does anyone remember what Ms Tan said about the story I came up with in the botanic gardens (which i shall call "The sweeper")? She said that it sounded like someone with a positive mindset of his negative working environment or something like that.. I can't remember for sure. Anyone recalls? Thank you in advance to all who will comment!
Disappearance
Monday, November 21, 2005
I see more and more illusions in life.. not only in mine.. but in others as well. just a thought: My presence goes unnoticed by the person who would be most concerned with it. in response to that, "then why don't you go tell her?" "I don't want to. I like it that way." Kinda cool... hiding behind computers, scurrying away from the art room every thurs by the time 12p.m. comes, sneaking away from the canteen...
Wanna know why God sometimes hides from us? To receive the joy of seeing us search high and low for Him, before finally finding Him. Then, the pursurer becomes the pursued and vice versa. Cool eh.. Praise God.. I smile at that thought... wow.
Wanna know why God sometimes hides from us? To receive the joy of seeing us search high and low for Him, before finally finding Him. Then, the pursurer becomes the pursued and vice versa. Cool eh.. Praise God.. I smile at that thought... wow.
Crashing down
Sunday, November 20, 2005
Psalms 142
vs 1 I cry aloud to the LORD;
I lift up my voice to the LORD for mercy.
2 I pour out my complaint before Him; before him I tell my trouble.
3 When my spirit grows faint within me, it is you who know my way. In the path where I walk men have hidden a snare for me.
4 Look to my right and see; no one is concerned for me. I have no refuge; no one cares for my life.
5 I cry to you, O LORD; I say, "You are my refuge, my portion in the land of the living."
6 Listen to my cry, for I am i desperate need; rescue me from those who pursue me, for they are too strong for me.
7 Set me free from my prison, thast I may praise your name. Then the righteous will gather about me because of your goodness to me.
Really nice psalm. and it ties in with the extract I shall post today.
vs 1 I cry aloud to the LORD;
I lift up my voice to the LORD for mercy.
2 I pour out my complaint before Him; before him I tell my trouble.
3 When my spirit grows faint within me, it is you who know my way. In the path where I walk men have hidden a snare for me.
4 Look to my right and see; no one is concerned for me. I have no refuge; no one cares for my life.
5 I cry to you, O LORD; I say, "You are my refuge, my portion in the land of the living."
6 Listen to my cry, for I am i desperate need; rescue me from those who pursue me, for they are too strong for me.
7 Set me free from my prison, thast I may praise your name. Then the righteous will gather about me because of your goodness to me.
Really nice psalm. and it ties in with the extract I shall post today.
"My dear, you have been very caught up with your work these days. We haven't gone out for dinner together for a very long time." Her husband told her. "Then what do you expect me to do? Neglect my work and we'll just depend on that measly sum that you bring in every month?" She retaliated out of spite for the implications of his words, but more for her life that has been getting more and more out of her control. Still, no matter what her anger was directed at, her husband felt the pain. He had always prided himself in being able to comprehend her feelings and emotion and give her the premium help required to pull her out of whatever trench she landed herself into. Now, he felt useless; he was unable to reap in a good income, and yet, he still sounded as if he expected his wife to split her time evenly between him and her work.
"No, I don't mean that. It's just that... argh, just try to spend more time with us..." Ms Davelle's husband tried explaining, his usual gentle nature taking over. But this time round, his ability to find the correct words to comfort her failed him. He stumbled over his words. "Oh never mind. Don't bother explaining. I don't expect you to understand me. No one can. I'll try to change. It's just that the painstaking process that I have to go through is not that easy-going all the time," Ms Davelle replied, before escaping the conversation by going to check on her son. She thought she could glimpse a wretched look pass over her husband's face, a painful scrunching up of his face.
"No, I don't mean that. It's just that... argh, just try to spend more time with us..." Ms Davelle's husband tried explaining, his usual gentle nature taking over. But this time round, his ability to find the correct words to comfort her failed him. He stumbled over his words. "Oh never mind. Don't bother explaining. I don't expect you to understand me. No one can. I'll try to change. It's just that the painstaking process that I have to go through is not that easy-going all the time," Ms Davelle replied, before escaping the conversation by going to check on her son. She thought she could glimpse a wretched look pass over her husband's face, a painful scrunching up of his face.
"Arguments are universal; couples argue. But it's the way that they solve the problem that differs." true.. really. But if a relationship still stands strong through an argument, man, I tell you that that relationship has already been strengthened. Hear however, my character doesn't seem to good at solving relationship problems... not to mention, she's brilliant at solving business problems. I have changed the names here from my original to aid the readers in this blog. editing goes on backstage but I have no idea whether to continue with this story or concentrate on Charms.
My initial plan was not for Charms to twist but nic is looking forward to a twist. Kylie and royston, they want emotionx, description... me? I dunno what I want. And I think that it's pathetic for the author to not know what she wants in her story. oh nvm..
Life
Saturday, November 19, 2005
I wish I could type the whole of Psalm 39 here but I have limited time. So I shall just post part of it.
vs4 Show me, O Lord, my life's end and the number of days; let me know how fleeting is my life.
5 You have made my days a mere handbreadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you. Each man's life is but a breath.
6 Man is a mere phantom as he goes to and fro: He bustles about but only in vain; he heaps up wealth, not knowing who will get it.
7 But now, Lord, what do I look for? My hope is in you.
vs4 Show me, O Lord, my life's end and the number of days; let me know how fleeting is my life.
5 You have made my days a mere handbreadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you. Each man's life is but a breath.
6 Man is a mere phantom as he goes to and fro: He bustles about but only in vain; he heaps up wealth, not knowing who will get it.
7 But now, Lord, what do I look for? My hope is in you.
burdens
Friday, November 18, 2005
Psalms 23
The Lord is my shepherd,
I shall not be in want.
He makes me lie on green pastures,
He leads me beside quiet waters,
He restores my soul.
He guides me in the paths of righteouness
For His name's sake.
Even though I walk through
The valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil
For you are with me;
For you rod and your staff,
They comfort me.
You prepare a table before me
In the presence of my enemies.
You annoint my head with oil;
My cup overflows.
Surely goodness and love will follow me
All the days of my life,
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord
Forever.
I dunno how to bring out the meaning of this in my prose. Help! And i'm still wondering; am I actually supposed to pursue writing? maybe not.. well, i'm just taking whatever oppurtunities I have. "No matter what the outcome may be, success of failure, it is still a good learning oppurtunity. Your essay about yourself was chosen, remember?" Well, that was helpful.
Psalms 55: 16-23
But I call to God,
And the Lord saves me.
Evening, morning and noon
I cry out in distress,
And he hears my voice.
He ransoms me unharmed (man, he RANSOMS us. there's a price involved! now isn't that powerful?)
From the battle waged against me,
Even though many oppose me.
God, who is enthroned forever,
Will hear them and afflict them--
Men who never change their ways
And have no fear of the God.
My companion attacks his friends;
He violates his covenant.
His speech is smooth as butter,
Yet war is in his heart;
His words are more soothing than oil,
yet they are drawn swords.
Cast your cares on the Lord
And He will sustain you;
He will never let the righteous fall.
But you, O God, will bring down the wicked
Into the pit of corruption;
Bloodthirsty and deceitful men
Will not live out half their days.
But as for me, I will trust in you.
oh well... so many psalms today. btw kylie, can I reveal personality and intelligence later in the story. Can I reveal it in a more subtle way?
The Lord is my shepherd,
I shall not be in want.
He makes me lie on green pastures,
He leads me beside quiet waters,
He restores my soul.
He guides me in the paths of righteouness
For His name's sake.
Even though I walk through
The valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil
For you are with me;
For you rod and your staff,
They comfort me.
You prepare a table before me
In the presence of my enemies.
You annoint my head with oil;
My cup overflows.
Surely goodness and love will follow me
All the days of my life,
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord
Forever.
I dunno how to bring out the meaning of this in my prose. Help! And i'm still wondering; am I actually supposed to pursue writing? maybe not.. well, i'm just taking whatever oppurtunities I have. "No matter what the outcome may be, success of failure, it is still a good learning oppurtunity. Your essay about yourself was chosen, remember?" Well, that was helpful.
Psalms 55: 16-23
But I call to God,
And the Lord saves me.
Evening, morning and noon
I cry out in distress,
And he hears my voice.
He ransoms me unharmed (man, he RANSOMS us. there's a price involved! now isn't that powerful?)
From the battle waged against me,
Even though many oppose me.
God, who is enthroned forever,
Will hear them and afflict them--
Men who never change their ways
And have no fear of the God.
My companion attacks his friends;
He violates his covenant.
His speech is smooth as butter,
Yet war is in his heart;
His words are more soothing than oil,
yet they are drawn swords.
Cast your cares on the Lord
And He will sustain you;
He will never let the righteous fall.
But you, O God, will bring down the wicked
Into the pit of corruption;
Bloodthirsty and deceitful men
Will not live out half their days.
But as for me, I will trust in you.
oh well... so many psalms today. btw kylie, can I reveal personality and intelligence later in the story. Can I reveal it in a more subtle way?
Extract 1
Urgh.. Charms is not turning out too good. Might consider just retyping all the ideas I have developed in my drafts into a new document, totally not caring about what I hav typed in the first place. then, after I rechecked the new doc, I'll just trash the current one I'm using. I currently have 2 docs containing all the extracts I have posted, each leading the story in a different direction. I worked on this story line cos I this easier to bring across my point, so the other is not finished. Nevertheless, Charms will be retyped.
Meanwhile, to keep up with posts, I shall post this extract of yet another story. I'm not gonna post the title this time round, though one ought to have at least a rough idea of how this might turn out. The story is undergoing construction in yet another word doc and this extract is from 2 of the paragraphs.
A tall slim figure stepped into the conference room. The woman’s entrance immediately captured the attention of all the other consultants, as well as that of the manager, with whom the consultants present were trying to clinch a deal with. The frown of impatience disappeared from the manager’s face.
What exactly was it that made her so attractive, it is hard to say. Maybe, it was her long silky hair resting on her slender shoulders. Maybe, it was the fair, blemish-free face that this ebony hair framed. Or maybe, it was the pair of deep-set amber eyes, enhanced by dark, long eyelashes, that seemed to hold a somewhat enchanting beauty. Or could it just be the calmness that one can feel in her presence, the calmness in the knowledge that everything is under control? Anyone could tell that this gorgeous woman could summon beauty beyond description. But a professional would tell you that she is of “model quality”.
Qoute of the day (not from me though): Royston types immediately into his posts without having to first go through it many times on a word doc; and his works are of supreme quality.. I didn't say that but nevertheless, I shall put it here.
Meanwhile, to keep up with posts, I shall post this extract of yet another story. I'm not gonna post the title this time round, though one ought to have at least a rough idea of how this might turn out. The story is undergoing construction in yet another word doc and this extract is from 2 of the paragraphs.
A tall slim figure stepped into the conference room. The woman’s entrance immediately captured the attention of all the other consultants, as well as that of the manager, with whom the consultants present were trying to clinch a deal with. The frown of impatience disappeared from the manager’s face.
What exactly was it that made her so attractive, it is hard to say. Maybe, it was her long silky hair resting on her slender shoulders. Maybe, it was the fair, blemish-free face that this ebony hair framed. Or maybe, it was the pair of deep-set amber eyes, enhanced by dark, long eyelashes, that seemed to hold a somewhat enchanting beauty. Or could it just be the calmness that one can feel in her presence, the calmness in the knowledge that everything is under control? Anyone could tell that this gorgeous woman could summon beauty beyond description. But a professional would tell you that she is of “model quality”.
Qoute of the day (not from me though): Royston types immediately into his posts without having to first go through it many times on a word doc; and his works are of supreme quality.. I didn't say that but nevertheless, I shall put it here.
Charms- Draft 1
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Finally! My full draft for "Charms". Comments please? It's still sketchy so feel free to give me any suggestions for change. and, ignore my previous post on anorexia. It is of brainstorming stage and seriously lacking any purpose. Still, you can see my style in that writing.
Charms- Draft 1
Kirono sat by the kitchen window. The sweet tinkling sound of her wind chime rang throughout the house. It had been given by Father last year on her 10th birthday.
"Wind chimes signify good luck in Africa. May the blessings of peace and prosperity be upon you." The warm voice said. Father had always given Kirono good luck charms from around the world, each birthday a new charm from a different part of the world. Amongst them was a handmade dream catcher from the States hung around her bedpost, as well as a Maneki Neko, a ceramic figurine of a beckoning cat carefully positioned on her desk. The rest, Kirono kept in different parts of her cosy room.
"Oh thank you Father!" Wrapped in her father's embrace, Kirono was quite so sure that this peace would last. Without hesitation, she ran to the kitchen with the chime and hung it by the kitchen window. "You're not going to hang that in your bedroom?" Father questioned, with eyebrows raised in surprise. "No, I have more than enough good luck; this is for our whole entire family." "Ah very well! That's nice of you." The cheerful curtain of happiness covering Father’s eyes seemed to have been suddenly pulled open, revealing a sad look that glazed the windows of his eyes. For a moment, the air seemed to tense up and grow so cold that even the young Kirono could sense it. "Let's start preparing dinner together!" Kirono's chirpy voice pierced the gloom. She most certainly did not want anything to destroy the cheerful atmosphere of celebration. "Ok ok. Let's begin." Father seemed to be struck dumb, and Mother, in an effort to prevent Kirono from suspecting anything, replied in his stead.
Kirono now understood why. Father had been called to war. He had claimed that it was the will of the gods that he must fight for his country as a samurai. As far as Japanese tradition instructs, a wife must be supportive; therefore Mother, however unwilling she was, had aided him in his preparation for leave.
“Why can’t you explain to the gods that you don’t want to go to war? Haven’t you always taught me that war is cruel?” The indignant Kirono had questioned. “Some things are just not meant to be understood.” Now that was an answer that Kirono was not satisfied with. She wanted explanation, not facts stated out plainly in front of her. As Kirono was about to repeat her question, Mother tried to explain, “Kirono, all you have to understand, it that the will of the gods is not for us to control. We have to obey them. If Father’s going to war is in accordance to the will of the gods, war is good.” “But…” “Someday Kirono, you will understand. Not yet now, but someday,” Mother interrupted.
Just then, a soft breeze blew by. The melody of the wind chime seemed to bring a little hope, a little joy to the people in the tensed atmosphere. “You see Kirono; the charm will bring good luck to your father. He will not come to any harm,” Mother said in an attempt to lift Kirono’s spirits. Kirono nodded her head slowly but thoughtfully.
“Alas, duty calls. I have to leave now.” Father stood up straight. Picking up his bag, he turned to his family, “Bye dear. Bye Kirono.” “Bye Father! May the blessings of peace and prosperity be upon you!” Kirono said with a deep longing in her eyes, hoping that Father would notice and embrace her again. Mother was also trying to exchange one more loving glance with him. But he just turned around swiftly and marched out of the door, as if he is already in the military.
A year had passed. Kirono's 11th birthday came. Mother was hunched over the dining table, reading the letter that had been so briefly written by Father. The wind howled furiously, getting colder and colder by the minute. Sitting by the window, Kirono could plainly tell by the look on her face that the contents of it made her sad. She shook her head and released her grip on the letter. It fluttered towards the tabletop before being thrown off course by a gust of cold wind, landing it in the living room. Kirono sprang up from her seat by the window and ran to where it had landed. Just as she was about to pick it up, the wind swept it up again, as if wanting to prevent her from reading the letter. She waited for the letter to land on the floor before snatching it up with one swift motion.
Kirono’s heart began to fill with dread as her eyes moved to the beginning of the letter. This sickening feeling continued to accumulate in that young heart as her eyes moved slowly across the letter.
My family,
I write my last letter to you. I am honoured to have received a call from General Hiroto to train as a Kamikaze pilot. You might question my delight at this call, but for the sake of living up to the Bushido, I shall lay down my very life.
For loyalty to my superiors, personal honour and the virtues of austerity, self-sacrifice and indifference to pain,
Sergeant Kanzi
For loyalty to my superiors, personal honour and the virtues of austerity, self-sacrifice and indifference to pain. These words kept playing in Kirono’s head. What about honour for the family? What about sacrifice for the welfare of one’s family? Are they not just as, if not, more important? And training to lose you life is most certainly not a very austere way of living. Kirono’s angry thoughts fired at Father. Indifference to pain… Does Father not feel pain upon seeing us suffer without his physical presence? Does he think that we too should feel indifferent to the pain that we would experience at his parting? She wanted to hurl questions at him, demand answers, and give him a good piece of her mind. But yet, she knows that she can never see him again. Not even say a prayer over his dead body, for the lifeless body would be somewhere at the bottom of some rubble or salty ocean.
She felt hot angry tears welling up from within her, but yet, they seem to just crystallise inside her, unable to flow out. Probably it was the respect for Father that made her not shed tears for his painful (someone give me a hand with this word) decision. I guess that for her, Father’s decisions, no matter what kind, are still “Father’s revered decisions”.
Kirono walked up to the kitchen window. A bitter wind rushed through the window. The tinkling of the wind chime rang a melancholic tone in her ears. The cold tinkling and the sharp wind chilled her once warm heart.
From within that heart, a sudden desire to give Father a hug stirred up, overcoming the initial bitterness and resentment towards him. "War is cruel," a heartbroken voice cut the hard silence. "Yes Mother, war is cruel," Kirono replied softly, more to herself than to Mother. I always knew it; war was, is and forever will be cruel. No charm can change that.
Kirono sat by the kitchen window. The sweet tinkling sound of her wind chime rang throughout the house. It had been given by Father last year on her 10th birthday.
"Wind chimes signify good luck in Africa. May the blessings of peace and prosperity be upon you." The warm voice said. Father had always given Kirono good luck charms from around the world, each birthday a new charm from a different part of the world. Amongst them was a handmade dream catcher from the States hung around her bedpost, as well as a Maneki Neko, a ceramic figurine of a beckoning cat carefully positioned on her desk. The rest, Kirono kept in different parts of her cosy room.
"Oh thank you Father!" Wrapped in her father's embrace, Kirono was quite so sure that this peace would last. Without hesitation, she ran to the kitchen with the chime and hung it by the kitchen window. "You're not going to hang that in your bedroom?" Father questioned, with eyebrows raised in surprise. "No, I have more than enough good luck; this is for our whole entire family." "Ah very well! That's nice of you." The cheerful curtain of happiness covering Father’s eyes seemed to have been suddenly pulled open, revealing a sad look that glazed the windows of his eyes. For a moment, the air seemed to tense up and grow so cold that even the young Kirono could sense it. "Let's start preparing dinner together!" Kirono's chirpy voice pierced the gloom. She most certainly did not want anything to destroy the cheerful atmosphere of celebration. "Ok ok. Let's begin." Father seemed to be struck dumb, and Mother, in an effort to prevent Kirono from suspecting anything, replied in his stead.
Kirono now understood why. Father had been called to war. He had claimed that it was the will of the gods that he must fight for his country as a samurai. As far as Japanese tradition instructs, a wife must be supportive; therefore Mother, however unwilling she was, had aided him in his preparation for leave.
“Why can’t you explain to the gods that you don’t want to go to war? Haven’t you always taught me that war is cruel?” The indignant Kirono had questioned. “Some things are just not meant to be understood.” Now that was an answer that Kirono was not satisfied with. She wanted explanation, not facts stated out plainly in front of her. As Kirono was about to repeat her question, Mother tried to explain, “Kirono, all you have to understand, it that the will of the gods is not for us to control. We have to obey them. If Father’s going to war is in accordance to the will of the gods, war is good.” “But…” “Someday Kirono, you will understand. Not yet now, but someday,” Mother interrupted.
Just then, a soft breeze blew by. The melody of the wind chime seemed to bring a little hope, a little joy to the people in the tensed atmosphere. “You see Kirono; the charm will bring good luck to your father. He will not come to any harm,” Mother said in an attempt to lift Kirono’s spirits. Kirono nodded her head slowly but thoughtfully.
“Alas, duty calls. I have to leave now.” Father stood up straight. Picking up his bag, he turned to his family, “Bye dear. Bye Kirono.” “Bye Father! May the blessings of peace and prosperity be upon you!” Kirono said with a deep longing in her eyes, hoping that Father would notice and embrace her again. Mother was also trying to exchange one more loving glance with him. But he just turned around swiftly and marched out of the door, as if he is already in the military.
A year had passed. Kirono's 11th birthday came. Mother was hunched over the dining table, reading the letter that had been so briefly written by Father. The wind howled furiously, getting colder and colder by the minute. Sitting by the window, Kirono could plainly tell by the look on her face that the contents of it made her sad. She shook her head and released her grip on the letter. It fluttered towards the tabletop before being thrown off course by a gust of cold wind, landing it in the living room. Kirono sprang up from her seat by the window and ran to where it had landed. Just as she was about to pick it up, the wind swept it up again, as if wanting to prevent her from reading the letter. She waited for the letter to land on the floor before snatching it up with one swift motion.
Kirono’s heart began to fill with dread as her eyes moved to the beginning of the letter. This sickening feeling continued to accumulate in that young heart as her eyes moved slowly across the letter.
My family,
I write my last letter to you. I am honoured to have received a call from General Hiroto to train as a Kamikaze pilot. You might question my delight at this call, but for the sake of living up to the Bushido, I shall lay down my very life.
For loyalty to my superiors, personal honour and the virtues of austerity, self-sacrifice and indifference to pain,
Sergeant Kanzi
For loyalty to my superiors, personal honour and the virtues of austerity, self-sacrifice and indifference to pain. These words kept playing in Kirono’s head. What about honour for the family? What about sacrifice for the welfare of one’s family? Are they not just as, if not, more important? And training to lose you life is most certainly not a very austere way of living. Kirono’s angry thoughts fired at Father. Indifference to pain… Does Father not feel pain upon seeing us suffer without his physical presence? Does he think that we too should feel indifferent to the pain that we would experience at his parting? She wanted to hurl questions at him, demand answers, and give him a good piece of her mind. But yet, she knows that she can never see him again. Not even say a prayer over his dead body, for the lifeless body would be somewhere at the bottom of some rubble or salty ocean.
She felt hot angry tears welling up from within her, but yet, they seem to just crystallise inside her, unable to flow out. Probably it was the respect for Father that made her not shed tears for his painful (someone give me a hand with this word) decision. I guess that for her, Father’s decisions, no matter what kind, are still “Father’s revered decisions”.
Kirono walked up to the kitchen window. A bitter wind rushed through the window. The tinkling of the wind chime rang a melancholic tone in her ears. The cold tinkling and the sharp wind chilled her once warm heart.
From within that heart, a sudden desire to give Father a hug stirred up, overcoming the initial bitterness and resentment towards him. "War is cruel," a heartbroken voice cut the hard silence. "Yes Mother, war is cruel," Kirono replied softly, more to herself than to Mother. I always knew it; war was, is and forever will be cruel. No charm can change that.
The 3-min programme
Monday, November 14, 2005
today, during the prose workshop, we did a couple of exercises on developing different parts of our story. Didn't have quite much energy left by the time we did the Shakespeare exercise on Character development so it wasn't done to the best of my abilities. Nevertheless, I took the chance during the 3-min programme to develop the plot that I thought of last night but put aside to concentrate on my current piece on Kirono, which I shall call "Charms". Title may be subject to change.
Anyway, presenting "Anorexia Nervosa": Draft 1. (and I mean draft 1 cos I haven't finetuned it through research)
I entered the train, looking for a place to sit. To my dismay, all the seats were full. Oh well, I thought to myself, and grabbed on to a handrail. My stomach was rumbling violently. that stupid stomach; it keeps getting hungry. Nevertheless, I pulled my belt one notch tighter. I looked at my bulging stomach. I have worn a belt as I make my way towards the day when I can fit into that size four pair of jeans. I do not have enough money to afford jeans that go down the decreasing sizes, thus, the belt that can be tightened.
Ah, the hunger will go away, as always, I thought, frantically trying to ignore the grumblings of my stomach. But my efforts proved to be in vain as the pangs of hunger never seemed ceased. My head started to swirl. I tightened my grip on the handrail in an attempt to steady myself. Man, why am I so weak? Is two hours of running in the park in addition to 4 hours in the gym insufficient? My vision began to blur and my legs proved unable to support my body any longer. Have I really become so fat that even my legs are unable to support my weight? Yuck, these detestable fats stuck to every inch of my body like caramel to teeth. As to how I should get rid of them, I have not a clue.
A lady stood up from her seat and just in time too, as cold sweat broke out on my face. When I managed to gain enough consciousness to once again be aware of my surroundings, I noticed an elderly woman glaring at me. I guess that she was the warm body whom I had so hurriedly pushed away from the seat. It was only then that I noticed that many people in the train cabin were also casting their stares at me. I must have really looked like a chicken desperate to escape from the slaughter house as I scrambled to my seat.
A thought suddenly struck me with horror.
I shall stop here. It's geting late here. Anyway, since I ended it this way, what do you think will happen next? Have I been too long-winded here?
Anyway, presenting "Anorexia Nervosa": Draft 1. (and I mean draft 1 cos I haven't finetuned it through research)
I entered the train, looking for a place to sit. To my dismay, all the seats were full. Oh well, I thought to myself, and grabbed on to a handrail. My stomach was rumbling violently. that stupid stomach; it keeps getting hungry. Nevertheless, I pulled my belt one notch tighter. I looked at my bulging stomach. I have worn a belt as I make my way towards the day when I can fit into that size four pair of jeans. I do not have enough money to afford jeans that go down the decreasing sizes, thus, the belt that can be tightened.
Ah, the hunger will go away, as always, I thought, frantically trying to ignore the grumblings of my stomach. But my efforts proved to be in vain as the pangs of hunger never seemed ceased. My head started to swirl. I tightened my grip on the handrail in an attempt to steady myself. Man, why am I so weak? Is two hours of running in the park in addition to 4 hours in the gym insufficient? My vision began to blur and my legs proved unable to support my body any longer. Have I really become so fat that even my legs are unable to support my weight? Yuck, these detestable fats stuck to every inch of my body like caramel to teeth. As to how I should get rid of them, I have not a clue.
A lady stood up from her seat and just in time too, as cold sweat broke out on my face. When I managed to gain enough consciousness to once again be aware of my surroundings, I noticed an elderly woman glaring at me. I guess that she was the warm body whom I had so hurriedly pushed away from the seat. It was only then that I noticed that many people in the train cabin were also casting their stares at me. I must have really looked like a chicken desperate to escape from the slaughter house as I scrambled to my seat.
A thought suddenly struck me with horror.
I shall stop here. It's geting late here. Anyway, since I ended it this way, what do you think will happen next? Have I been too long-winded here?
Simple Things: Extract 2
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Kirono sat by the kitchen window. The sweet tinkling sound of her wind chime rang throughout the house. It had been given by Father last year on her 10th birthday.
"Windchimes signify good luck in Africa. May the blessings of peace and prosperity be upon you." The warm voice said. Father had always given Kirono good luck charms from around the world. Just to name a few: a handmade dreamcatcher from the States that was hung around her bedpost; a Maneki Neko, which is a ceramic figurine of a beckoning cat that was carefully positioned on her desk.
"Oh thank you Father!" Wrapped in her father's embrace, Kirono was quite so sure that this peace would last. Without hesitation, she ran to the kitchen with the chime and hung it by the kitchen window. "You're not going to hang that in yourbedroom?" Father questioned, with eyebrows raised in surprise. "No, I have more than enough good luck; this is for our whole entire family." "Ah very well! That's nice of you." Father exchanged a sad glance with Mother. For a moment, a sad atmosphere came over the house. "Let's start preparing dinner together!" Kirono's chirpy voice lifted the gloom. "Ok ok. Let's begin." Mother replied, for Father seemed to have been struck dumb.
Kirono now understood why. He had been called to war. He had claimed that it was the will of the gods, that he must fight for his country as a samurai. As a supportive wife, Mother had aided him in his preparation for leave.
A year had passed. Kirono's 11th birthday. Mother was hunched over the dining table, reading the letter that had been so briefly written by Father. Its contents did not seem to be any bit of good news to Mother. She shook her head sadly and released her grip on the letter. It was supposed to drop on the tabletop, but a strong cold wind blew it out of the kitchen into the living room.
I'm feeling very tired now. I shall stop here for the moment. Comments please? This ought to go to the front of my story.
"Windchimes signify good luck in Africa. May the blessings of peace and prosperity be upon you." The warm voice said. Father had always given Kirono good luck charms from around the world. Just to name a few: a handmade dreamcatcher from the States that was hung around her bedpost; a Maneki Neko, which is a ceramic figurine of a beckoning cat that was carefully positioned on her desk.
"Oh thank you Father!" Wrapped in her father's embrace, Kirono was quite so sure that this peace would last. Without hesitation, she ran to the kitchen with the chime and hung it by the kitchen window. "You're not going to hang that in yourbedroom?" Father questioned, with eyebrows raised in surprise. "No, I have more than enough good luck; this is for our whole entire family." "Ah very well! That's nice of you." Father exchanged a sad glance with Mother. For a moment, a sad atmosphere came over the house. "Let's start preparing dinner together!" Kirono's chirpy voice lifted the gloom. "Ok ok. Let's begin." Mother replied, for Father seemed to have been struck dumb.
Kirono now understood why. He had been called to war. He had claimed that it was the will of the gods, that he must fight for his country as a samurai. As a supportive wife, Mother had aided him in his preparation for leave.
A year had passed. Kirono's 11th birthday. Mother was hunched over the dining table, reading the letter that had been so briefly written by Father. Its contents did not seem to be any bit of good news to Mother. She shook her head sadly and released her grip on the letter. It was supposed to drop on the tabletop, but a strong cold wind blew it out of the kitchen into the living room.
I'm feeling very tired now. I shall stop here for the moment. Comments please? This ought to go to the front of my story.
Simple things: Extract 1
So sorry for not posting quite so often enough. I write more often in my journal where one can see the most sketchy of all drafts. Brainstorming, planning.. a lot takes place in my journal. I think my idea for the entanglement of words would develop into a bit too complicated a plot for me to handle at my young writing stage. I shall attempt something a little bit simpler for the moment and chuck that idea away. I've still a good deal of research to do on this topic but nevertheless, i'll post this extract that I came up with.
Kirono walked up to the kitchen window. A cold, bitter wind rushed through the window. The tinkling of the wind chime rang a melancholic tone in her ears. The cold tinkling and the sharp wind chilled her once warm heart. (am I being too descriptive here?)
From within that heart, a sudden desire to give Father a hug stirred up, overcoming the initial bitterness and resentment towards him. "War is cruel," a heartbroken voice cut the hard silence. "Yes Mother, war is cruel," Kirono said softly, more to herself than to Mother. I always knew it; war was, is and forever will be cruel.
Which part of the story do you guys think that this extract will go into? It's very short, I don't deny that. I shall take this time and space to take Kylie and Royston for their insightful comments. Royston, am I using too many "her" and cutting the flow of the prose? Kylie, am I being confusing again? Should I continue with this story? I think I shall. Extract 2 will come up soon enough. Momentarily, this story shall be called "simple things". Thank you!
Kirono walked up to the kitchen window. A cold, bitter wind rushed through the window. The tinkling of the wind chime rang a melancholic tone in her ears. The cold tinkling and the sharp wind chilled her once warm heart. (am I being too descriptive here?)
From within that heart, a sudden desire to give Father a hug stirred up, overcoming the initial bitterness and resentment towards him. "War is cruel," a heartbroken voice cut the hard silence. "Yes Mother, war is cruel," Kirono said softly, more to herself than to Mother. I always knew it; war was, is and forever will be cruel.
Which part of the story do you guys think that this extract will go into? It's very short, I don't deny that. I shall take this time and space to take Kylie and Royston for their insightful comments. Royston, am I using too many "her" and cutting the flow of the prose? Kylie, am I being confusing again? Should I continue with this story? I think I shall. Extract 2 will come up soon enough. Momentarily, this story shall be called "simple things". Thank you!
The Entanglement of Words
Thursday, November 10, 2005
urgh.. this blog really looks disgusting. ah heck. Let's see who'll still come to this ugly blog.
The Entanglement of Words
Her lips cracked open,
Her muscles twitched nervously,
Her tongue lifted shakily
In preparation of producing.. words.
All strengt left her mouth;
It just dropped open.
Deep within her,
She is undecided, lost f0r words.
Oh how to express
The emotions that are churning so.
Unable to put a word
To describe the groanings of her heart,
She rushes in frantic attempt
To put them into meaningless chains of.. words.
The more the torrents
Rush out of her mouth,
The more she brought confusion
To others and herself.
How limiting
The vocabulary of this world;
It forces us,
More often than not,
To communicate with the heart.
Very unfinished. Like an unfinished unrefined symphony. Gosh... BUt I praise God that He send His Spirit to intervene for us, that when we experience hurt that is impossible to explain through words, the Spirit intervenes to God on our behalf, that we may be healed. Praise God!
The Entanglement of Words
Her lips cracked open,
Her muscles twitched nervously,
Her tongue lifted shakily
In preparation of producing.. words.
All strengt left her mouth;
It just dropped open.
Deep within her,
She is undecided, lost f0r words.
Oh how to express
The emotions that are churning so.
Unable to put a word
To describe the groanings of her heart,
She rushes in frantic attempt
To put them into meaningless chains of.. words.
The more the torrents
Rush out of her mouth,
The more she brought confusion
To others and herself.
How limiting
The vocabulary of this world;
It forces us,
More often than not,
To communicate with the heart.
Very unfinished. Like an unfinished unrefined symphony. Gosh... BUt I praise God that He send His Spirit to intervene for us, that when we experience hurt that is impossible to explain through words, the Spirit intervenes to God on our behalf, that we may be healed. Praise God!
Purpose
Gosh, the stress from the CAP! ok, I know i'm not supposed to be stressed over it. Man, writers must be creative, imaginative and original. OH gosh.. I start this blog empty-handed. Not a single writing talent to call in my name. And btw, the skin is so ugly because I'm so sick of looking for skins that I gave up on it. Nothing looks proper for this blog. Can't find a skin that matched the purpose of this blog and everything must have a purpose.