Search: Extract 2
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Next part. Might be crumbly and all. boring too. once again, if u do get bored along the way, stop and tell me where u stopped. Thanks for all your comments! They're much appreciated.
“What are you doing?” A curious voice questioned. It was now my turn to look up in surprise. The teenage girl was now looking over the table. A sudden sense of comfort filled my heart. Smiling, I lifted my notebook up from where it usually sits on my lap. I placed it on the table and re-positioned my pen above it. “I am writing. Well every working woman does have to relax once in a while right? Though I get busy with my teaching and stuff, I let my imagination run wild in my notebook ever so often. It’s my own world in here,” I replied, eyes shining with excitement.
The girl raised her eyebrows in question. Oh dear, do I sound weird to her? I hesitated for a while. But my talkative friendly nature soon took over me and I began again. “Ha-ha, yes, I still do have a bit of a child in me. Don’t mind, do you? I’m not that old… Erm, here, you can have a look at my notebook.” I passed my precious notebook to her. Not pausing for long, she reached out her hand for my notebook. “I don’t usually let people read through what I’ve written in that notebook. No one knows what I write inside actually. These are but only my first drafts, the sketchiest of all my works. I am now only about halfway through my latest story,” I now began to reconsider whether I should have let her into my little secret world of imaginations.
No one had ever managed to unlock my house of secrets; no one, save the giver of the most powerful love. But here I am passing out letters from the cracks under the safely locked door. No, no, that won’t do. I’m going back to my old locked-up self. That won’t do, I managed to coerce myself to think otherwise.
The girl flipped through the pages. To what exact page, I have no idea, but she seemed to be settling into my latest story. Yikes, my life story. First I’m showing her my notebook, and then she ends up reading my life story. I never expected to draw this young lady so much into my world but somehow, I found myself doing so. Or maybe, she immersed herself unknowingly into mine. As she flipped through the pages of my notebook, she seemed to look no longer like the wayward teenage drunkard, but instead, I seemed to have glimpsed a soft yet crumbling chamber inside her heart beyond the hard covering of rebellion.
Search: Extract 1
Friday, December 09, 2005
Kinda sick of poring over my word doc for so long. so i shall post my story in parts. well.. part 1..
She looked up in surprise, before lowering her gaze again and taking another sip of the bottle of beer. Ok, that was expected, I took in a deep breath to gather more courage and wits. “Hello!” I repeated chirpily. “My name is Li Ren. What’s yours?” I put out my hand in greeting. She eyed me warily with an icy glare. I tried to keep up the warm smile on my face. “Well then, what are you doing here? Waiting for your friends? Or are you just enjoying your solitude?” I pulled an impromptu question out of my mind in an attempt to soothe my nervousness. “Well, I think you should mind your own business and I’ll mind mine.” A coarse threatening voice replied.
A sudden wave of emotions rushed over me. I could not tell if it was pure sadness, a pinch of bitterness, or a sense of hopelessness. Here I was, staring at a perfect reflection of my youth and yet, I could not approach it appropriately. What have I gained or lost along the way that made this soul in front of me so distant yet so close to my heart? I guess I can summarize my gains, all the kindness, concern, courage, determination etcetera into one word—love. I have lost resentment to make space for love. I wanted to pass on what I have gained to this soul here.
But I’m doing just that, my unspoken reply was straightforward. However, I just took out my notebook and began writing. I was working on my latest piece. It was a story; a story of death, of love found in the wrong places, of betrayal, of perfection lost and hopes forgotten. Most importantly, my pen was telling the story of a long search for a never-failing, ever-present, unconditional, perfect love. It was telling my life story.
that's not what I have thus far but I guess I should stop here. I don't even know if my readers would wanna continue from here. and I've no idea how to counsel teenage drunkards so I've gotta do loadsa imagining here. and I'm also now trying to imagine what the writer in my story would write about. gosh...
She looked up in surprise, before lowering her gaze again and taking another sip of the bottle of beer. Ok, that was expected, I took in a deep breath to gather more courage and wits. “Hello!” I repeated chirpily. “My name is Li Ren. What’s yours?” I put out my hand in greeting. She eyed me warily with an icy glare. I tried to keep up the warm smile on my face. “Well then, what are you doing here? Waiting for your friends? Or are you just enjoying your solitude?” I pulled an impromptu question out of my mind in an attempt to soothe my nervousness. “Well, I think you should mind your own business and I’ll mind mine.” A coarse threatening voice replied.
A sudden wave of emotions rushed over me. I could not tell if it was pure sadness, a pinch of bitterness, or a sense of hopelessness. Here I was, staring at a perfect reflection of my youth and yet, I could not approach it appropriately. What have I gained or lost along the way that made this soul in front of me so distant yet so close to my heart? I guess I can summarize my gains, all the kindness, concern, courage, determination etcetera into one word—love. I have lost resentment to make space for love. I wanted to pass on what I have gained to this soul here.
But I’m doing just that, my unspoken reply was straightforward. However, I just took out my notebook and began writing. I was working on my latest piece. It was a story; a story of death, of love found in the wrong places, of betrayal, of perfection lost and hopes forgotten. Most importantly, my pen was telling the story of a long search for a never-failing, ever-present, unconditional, perfect love. It was telling my life story.
that's not what I have thus far but I guess I should stop here. I don't even know if my readers would wanna continue from here. and I've no idea how to counsel teenage drunkards so I've gotta do loadsa imagining here. and I'm also now trying to imagine what the writer in my story would write about. gosh...
Stamps
The stamp collector placed a cut-out corner of the envelope on top of the dish of water, being mindful to bend the paper slightly downwards lest it curls up on the water. He watched the paper slowly absorbing the water. Waiting until the edges of the stamp had just started absorbing the water, he gently picked up the cut-out corner with the stamp stuck onto it. Using a pair of tweezers, he lifted the stamp off the paper, millimeter by millimeter, fearing the worst—that his precious stamp would tear or even crease. The stamp curled up in between the grasp of the tweezers in proud freedom from the piece of paper. A triumphant smile spread across the stamp collector’s sweaty nervous face. The most crucial stage was over. Now he just simply had to dry it. He loosened his grip on the tweezers and the stamp promptly slipped onto the table. Wait, something looks wrong. Peering through his thick glasses, the stamp collector noticed, to his dismay, a missing corner of the stamp. He lifted the pair of tweezers in front of his eyes and carefully pushed out a tiny piece of wet paper. The horror of this realization soon hit him hard. He had another failure stamp.
This was inspired on the spot as I lifted my own stamp off a cut-out corner of an envelope. Yes, not many people go into stamp collecting these days but nevertheless, one lesson I picked up from peeling stamps of envelopes is that one needs patience, patience throughout the whole entire painstaking process. well, received many books for my birthday so i've quite a lot to suffice for one yr of reading.
This was inspired on the spot as I lifted my own stamp off a cut-out corner of an envelope. Yes, not many people go into stamp collecting these days but nevertheless, one lesson I picked up from peeling stamps of envelopes is that one needs patience, patience throughout the whole entire painstaking process. well, received many books for my birthday so i've quite a lot to suffice for one yr of reading.
Time: Slightly edited
Friday, December 02, 2005
I put my hand under the powerful falls. The waters were of a glistening silver under the gentle rays of the morning sun. So great was the force of the rushing curtain that my hand, try as I could, could not remain still as the waters pushed down my hand before slipping through my fingers. I began to skip lightly from rock to rock down the river, the excited waters rushing around my feet. Young and small-footed I was but nimble I was too.
Soon, I came to a clear cool stream. The gentle waters of the stream gurgled over the rocks before joining up with its powerful older brother. A rock stood at this junction where the two waters meet, facing the crashing of the river with one side and urging on the quiet stream with the other. How beautifully shaped this rock was, almost perfect round and smooth except for a little dent at the side facing the rushing waters. The crashing waters were slowed down as they rushed over the rock, flowing down the other side. The water tickled me gently as it flowed over my little hand that was placed on the side of the rock, down the smooth surface of the rock.
I shifted my feet onto that very rock. My gaze following the flow of the river, out of my heart a joy that could still be of reality in my innocent days surged. Not caring any longer about wet clothes and a telling off from Mother, I leaped into the river and let it carry me further downriver. I could not care about where it might lead me to; I just cared enough to dodge any obstructing rocks and let the river take me wherever it might.
___________________________________________
Great is the speed of time. Time allows glimpses of hopes and dreams, whether these glimpses be few or many. Time unveils friendships and betrayal, sometimes veiling them soon after. Time reveals tears and laughter, whether they are lasting or temporary.
Time is fast. Time cannot be held back. Time moves on, not to be bothered by anything else. More often that not, time slips through careless fingers. How long does it take for one to train enough focus to make the most of time? How much time would slip by one’s fingers before one is swift enough to grab it?
Time tests, carving and shaping just as the waters carve and shape each rock that it passes. Whether or not a rock still holds it shape depends much on its hardness. Maybe sometimes, or maybe just a little more often than sometimes, the waters carve out a beautiful rock. Though the rock may have been cut deep, it turns out of a shape beautiful among rocks, before once again, the waters carve it into a different shape altogether, be it for the better or for the worse.
____________________________________________
Attempt not to stop time! Move with it; let it take you wherever it may! Grab the opportunities that time offers; overcome the obstacles that time throws! Worry not about the result, for who can be certain of what’s to come?
Ok, that was my latest piece. Changed it a little. Royston, mind telling me which part doesn't flow, the first, second or third?A very much unedited version you have there. Please pardon me. Yes, been puzzled recently about time. So swiftly it has gone by and yet, what have I done with it? It's so.. silent. Oh well. Another piece on time. Not mine though. It's by Enya.
Only Time- Enya
Who can say where the road goes
Where the day flows
- only time
And who can say if your love grows
As your heart chose
- only time
Who can say why your heart sighs
As your love flies
- only time
And who can say why your heart cries
When your love lies
- only time
Who can say when the roads meet
That love might be
In your heart
And who can say when the day sleeps
If the night keeps all your heart
Night keeps all your heart
Who can say if your love grows
As your heart chose
- only time
And who can say where the road goes
Where the day flows
- only time
Who knows - only time...Who knows - only time...
Next another piece on time. This highlights more of the negative side of time. Time traps. Time trips, not over itself but others, whether they be cautious or not. Time deceives. Time changes, whether for the better or for the worse. Ok, that was not copied from the following piece. It's just what I understood out of it.
Timeless. That was his mind. Seated pickled in a small glass box. It never changed. Once in awhile, he would scrape off the dust encompassing his little arena. Others would walk by and exclaim, “Ah! You've changed!” But, it them who changed. Their view changed, their view of him. He watched the ages go by. Timeless.
It was like one of those fancy time-lapse movies he saw. One man stood there, never moving, while everything around him changed. People zipped by, the clouds hovered and glided away, the sky turned dark. Still that one man stood, waiting, held perhaps not by his own will. Timeless.
Delving deeper. His heart ached. He saw, a valiant warrior, in the midst of a battlefield. His comrades fell, one by one. All of them fell, and new soldiers came to replace them. Then they, too, fell. The cycle repeated. Over and over. Too fast for him to learn about the others. Yet, he himself felt no blows. He could not be touched; he was invincible. Timeless.
Then it repeated, only differently. He saw a cloud of flies. Many, oh so many. Yet one by one, as all things do, they fell. One by one passed on. Yet one remained. It hovered, then joined another group. Then they, too, fell. The cycle repeated. Yet that one fly remained. It was afflicted not by what did the others. It just remained. Timeless.
He took advantage of this time. It was, after all, time. All would be learnt in time. He looked around, about the void of time. Looking, searching for something to spend his time. Nothing, nothing but time. Timeless.
And it kept coming. Just like that, it came, over and over again. Appearing and disappearing, to appear again. It haunted him like a shadow. It moved with him, even when he couldn't see it there, he felt it. Haunting. Following. Haunting. Like a shadow. Following. A shadower. Ready to consume. Moving, closer, then distancing, then closing in. Timeless. It knew him, controlled him, manipulated him. It used him, befriended him, acknowledged him. It was him. It was him, and more. His hopes and dreams. His joys, his pain. His regrets, his acclaims. Timeless.
Ok, I don't know whether you guys are sharp enough but no, this piece was not written by me. I cannot, of yet (or maybe of forever), write anything of such depth. Not easy to understand, this piece... Not for me at least. Now my dear friend Christopher (if u ever get to read this), who's cheem around here? No, not me.. I'm a very shallow person. Next, off to check on whether Emma's story can be read in 5 minutes. Thank Emma for me will you Kylie?
Soon, I came to a clear cool stream. The gentle waters of the stream gurgled over the rocks before joining up with its powerful older brother. A rock stood at this junction where the two waters meet, facing the crashing of the river with one side and urging on the quiet stream with the other. How beautifully shaped this rock was, almost perfect round and smooth except for a little dent at the side facing the rushing waters. The crashing waters were slowed down as they rushed over the rock, flowing down the other side. The water tickled me gently as it flowed over my little hand that was placed on the side of the rock, down the smooth surface of the rock.
I shifted my feet onto that very rock. My gaze following the flow of the river, out of my heart a joy that could still be of reality in my innocent days surged. Not caring any longer about wet clothes and a telling off from Mother, I leaped into the river and let it carry me further downriver. I could not care about where it might lead me to; I just cared enough to dodge any obstructing rocks and let the river take me wherever it might.
___________________________________________
Great is the speed of time. Time allows glimpses of hopes and dreams, whether these glimpses be few or many. Time unveils friendships and betrayal, sometimes veiling them soon after. Time reveals tears and laughter, whether they are lasting or temporary.
Time is fast. Time cannot be held back. Time moves on, not to be bothered by anything else. More often that not, time slips through careless fingers. How long does it take for one to train enough focus to make the most of time? How much time would slip by one’s fingers before one is swift enough to grab it?
Time tests, carving and shaping just as the waters carve and shape each rock that it passes. Whether or not a rock still holds it shape depends much on its hardness. Maybe sometimes, or maybe just a little more often than sometimes, the waters carve out a beautiful rock. Though the rock may have been cut deep, it turns out of a shape beautiful among rocks, before once again, the waters carve it into a different shape altogether, be it for the better or for the worse.
____________________________________________
Attempt not to stop time! Move with it; let it take you wherever it may! Grab the opportunities that time offers; overcome the obstacles that time throws! Worry not about the result, for who can be certain of what’s to come?
Ok, that was my latest piece. Changed it a little. Royston, mind telling me which part doesn't flow, the first, second or third?A very much unedited version you have there. Please pardon me. Yes, been puzzled recently about time. So swiftly it has gone by and yet, what have I done with it? It's so.. silent. Oh well. Another piece on time. Not mine though. It's by Enya.
Only Time- Enya
Who can say where the road goes
Where the day flows
- only time
And who can say if your love grows
As your heart chose
- only time
Who can say why your heart sighs
As your love flies
- only time
And who can say why your heart cries
When your love lies
- only time
Who can say when the roads meet
That love might be
In your heart
And who can say when the day sleeps
If the night keeps all your heart
Night keeps all your heart
Who can say if your love grows
As your heart chose
- only time
And who can say where the road goes
Where the day flows
- only time
Who knows - only time...Who knows - only time...
Next another piece on time. This highlights more of the negative side of time. Time traps. Time trips, not over itself but others, whether they be cautious or not. Time deceives. Time changes, whether for the better or for the worse. Ok, that was not copied from the following piece. It's just what I understood out of it.
Timeless. That was his mind. Seated pickled in a small glass box. It never changed. Once in awhile, he would scrape off the dust encompassing his little arena. Others would walk by and exclaim, “Ah! You've changed!” But, it them who changed. Their view changed, their view of him. He watched the ages go by. Timeless.
It was like one of those fancy time-lapse movies he saw. One man stood there, never moving, while everything around him changed. People zipped by, the clouds hovered and glided away, the sky turned dark. Still that one man stood, waiting, held perhaps not by his own will. Timeless.
Delving deeper. His heart ached. He saw, a valiant warrior, in the midst of a battlefield. His comrades fell, one by one. All of them fell, and new soldiers came to replace them. Then they, too, fell. The cycle repeated. Over and over. Too fast for him to learn about the others. Yet, he himself felt no blows. He could not be touched; he was invincible. Timeless.
Then it repeated, only differently. He saw a cloud of flies. Many, oh so many. Yet one by one, as all things do, they fell. One by one passed on. Yet one remained. It hovered, then joined another group. Then they, too, fell. The cycle repeated. Yet that one fly remained. It was afflicted not by what did the others. It just remained. Timeless.
He took advantage of this time. It was, after all, time. All would be learnt in time. He looked around, about the void of time. Looking, searching for something to spend his time. Nothing, nothing but time. Timeless.
And it kept coming. Just like that, it came, over and over again. Appearing and disappearing, to appear again. It haunted him like a shadow. It moved with him, even when he couldn't see it there, he felt it. Haunting. Following. Haunting. Like a shadow. Following. A shadower. Ready to consume. Moving, closer, then distancing, then closing in. Timeless. It knew him, controlled him, manipulated him. It used him, befriended him, acknowledged him. It was him. It was him, and more. His hopes and dreams. His joys, his pain. His regrets, his acclaims. Timeless.
Ok, I don't know whether you guys are sharp enough but no, this piece was not written by me. I cannot, of yet (or maybe of forever), write anything of such depth. Not easy to understand, this piece... Not for me at least. Now my dear friend Christopher (if u ever get to read this), who's cheem around here? No, not me.. I'm a very shallow person. Next, off to check on whether Emma's story can be read in 5 minutes. Thank Emma for me will you Kylie?