Killjoy #1 - The Morbid

11:30am: And so, the trip came to a halt. I shall name this failed attempt Killjoy #1 – The Morbid, for lack of a better word. At this precise moment, I am sitting at the junction of Rokeby Road and Roberts Road, sipping a warm mug of San Churros’ hot milk chocolate. The route map and my gloves glaring at me, mockingly; the Great MIA Escapade was never intended to be so enjoyable.

I’m jogging my memory to retrace the series of stuff ups I’ve had since the morning, more or less all due to my unsatisfiable curiosity, and my inability to keep my butt on the wheels.

8:30am: Karen, brimming with anticipation, chokes herself on the last bit of muffin and downs the remaining soy milk to get her breakfast down. With her morning staple done, she slaps on her headgear and funky shades, ditching those gloves because they look gay. She takes a step out the door and is immediately greeted by the bitter morning chill. The gay gloves come in handy after all. Ready to Rumble!

The trip starts by backtracking 30metres to the junction at Broadway and Princess Road. She’d never imagine her whole journey forth would be full of contemplating decisions – to detour or to de-route. In her mind, she conjured images of miniature dancing penguins rallying around their unquestionable Queen – Penguroo.

She conquered her first uphill battle before reaching Stirling Highway. “Many more to come, ENDURE!” she reminded herself. The cold wind diffused with smog and road dust, clouding her vision and caused her to wheeze. “That’s why I planned the shortest route along the major highway, Wahahaha!” she proudly praised herself mentally as she cuts into a random small road, off her marked path.

LESSON NUMBER 1: Why spend 1 hour plotting a route with Google maps if you are not going to follow it? Damnit Karen.

“General Direction, general Direction!! No worries!!!” she reminded herself confidently. Yet her confidence proved short lived. 10minutes later, she stood pondering at her first dilemma point – Left (General Direction) leads to a path right into the cemetery; Right(one way) leads in a general direction back to the start point.

It’s not difficult to guess which route she chose then because we know that she spent the next 1 and half hours, give and take a little, cycling in loops within the cemetery.

“There’s an odd serenity about this place, and it’s actually quite scenic in the morning.”

A few other joggers and retired brisk walkers shared her view. But unlike the others, who had a route, and diligently adhered to theirs, she went off track onto the dirt paths, on track, on roads and finally off track again. Signs that she first used for tracking soon became proof of her despair. Soon, she couldn’t distinguish any of the paths anymore. Words like “Orthodox”, “Reserve”, “Catholics”, “Anglican”, “Salvation” and “Gardens” didn’t seem very tranquil anymore.

LESSON NUMBER 2: Don’t bother trying to find your way around in a cemetery. It’s useless if they all look the same.

When she finally got out of the maze designed for the dead, literally, her navigation has gone severely haywire. There’s no telling which direction goes where. She dedicated the next 45minutes cycling in random directions based on gut – something she usually sucked at. Street names such as “Carrington Street”, “Aberdare Road” and “Railway Road” were like totems she circled continuously. By the third time she passed “Smyth Road”, her patience had worn so thin something drastic needs to be done.

So she did what she thought she had to do - anyhow, anyhow la!

Thomas Street loomed ahead. It was a location she was familiar with. Half glad she finally got her coordinates back but the major part of her yelled “Sianzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....” as she sped closer and closer. This meant she’s now in an area that is even further behind start point, totally off course. She visioned personified alphabets F-A-I-L waving poms poms at her and throwing confetti with mini ‘give-up’s and ‘wahaha’s in her face.

LESSON NUMBER 3: If all else fails, a little bit of cheating is justified, right?

But Karen does not give up just because a great half of her day is burnt identifying headstones and angel statues. She decides to cheat a little. Since [time spent peddling] is relative to [distance covered], or so she’s trying hard to convince herself, had she stayed on track in the beginning, she would well be approaching Freemantle by now. But Karen will not skive off her calories busting regime. She will hitch a train at Subiaco, alight at Cottesloe and regroup from there on. Sounds like a plan?

With that planted firmly in mind, the alphabets and their deplorable, discouraging props diminished into dust. She knew her way too well from here. It was going to be a fruitful trip after all she tried to convince herself one last time. As she sped down the all-so-familiar Rokeby Road, Distractions flanked both sides. The smell of freshly cooked soup and baked baguette wafted through the air and boutiques started opening their fronts for business. At that juncture, she remembered the reason why her route was charted as distant from civilisation as possible.

Her final glimmer of hope for this expedition snuffed out when she and The Wanderer stood in the station, gawking bleakly at the notice that stared back – “There will be no train service from Perth to Freemantle on 26^th and 27^th June...” She took a peek behind her. Then she knew she lost it. San Churros was beckoning with open arms, full of warmth and comfort, and always so ready to soothe her angst with cocoa. =D

LESSON NUMBER 4: Even cheating failed? Give up. Replan, Reorder and Retry. Good Luck.

Enough of your Shortcuts, Karen?

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The Wanderer took 2 hits. First when Karen crashed straight into a 5inches kerb sticking out of the ground, obviously distracted when Mr Bee decided to play around. Why did they build these things anyway! Second hit when Bee flew closer and The Wanderer crashed to the ground. All Karen could do was root to the ground and shout "OH MY... gosh.. oh.. MY GOSH.. OH my goSH.. OH My goshhh......" till it flew away. The caps and the distance (between Karen and bee) are relative.

Circle of Chase

My shoulders stayed plastered against the wall. 10 minutes and I stood rooted, deliberating. Thank goodness the partition kept me hidden from his view. I was a stalker again. It was the usual gym, his regular day of the week, my perfect chance.

I braced myself and took a peek of his side profile. He's Mike McLean, my heartthrob crush and definitely charming. 6 feet tall, toned arms glistening with perspiration, a torso sculpted to perfection and placed winner of every major teen modeling competition. He is every woman's dream.

A wayward pink towel flutters across his working biceps and lands on Mike's thighs. “Oops! Sorry!” I heard her say. My head switches upwards instinctively. Flashing sparks of green and red at this intrusive queue cutter. It was her again. Alice Kell, the rival. She has done it intentionally again, twice this month. I caught her grin as she bent forward to retrieve it, flashing her cleavage in his direction. I battled the desire to hurl my bottle in her face. I would have uncapped it as well to drench my burning fury all over her taunting outfit but at that exact moment, Mike waved in my direction. “BREATHE...” I instructed myself before returning a toothy smile.

“Hi Mike!” I waved as I strutted across, tripping over a stranded 10lbs dumbbell and falling into Mike's arms. His sweaty touch was like a live wire. Adrenaline raced through my vessels and I could feel my face flush instantaneously. Clumsiness was my thing. I was born with neither a flare in sports nor a killer physique like Alice Kell- the girl from hell. Like my name, Jane, I was a plain.

I heard a few hushed gasps of “Ooos..” and “Ahhs..” from a few girls huddled in a corner. Clearly it was not a one-member fan club that Mike was drawing. I was just a classmate, his lab partner and an average good friend.

“You alright dude?”

“Dude?! You got to be kidding me!” I thought to myself, yet it was prove that our rapport was that of brotherhood. And brotherhood being thicker than acquaintanceship, I acknowledged in delight.

“Hey Mike. What’s up?”

“Remember the last time in the school canteen? We were hanging out and there was that girl you introduced me to, Beatrice. Well... we're kind of.. 'involved' right now and I seriously need your help. Oh she's just so amazing the things she tells me. She's so nice and sweet. Her eyes practically twinkle every time I see her. I don't know why! We've been talking about a jogging date but... … … ”

Mike rambled on, oblivious that my inner thoughts have washed out every stimuli around me. Just a split second ago I was still cruising on my fantasy space boat with Prince Charming but at this juncture, my hopes were crashed. It felt like meteorite shards from a nearby blast burrowing under my skin and fracturing my bones while an alien ray gun tortuously sublimates my very existence. I wished I was deaf or Mike would shut up.

“Jane! Are you even listening?” he cut me.

With the best of my ability, I shrugged nonchalantly and answered, “You're in love with my friend. You need an alibi to ask her out. I get it! ”, though every cell egged me to turn my back and run straight for the pillar.

“Alright, here's the plan. I'll tell her you're going too. This Saturday. But you're gonna give us the scoot while we're there so I can make a move right? Pretty Please..”

I really do not need this talk now. But it's Mike. How can I EVER say no.

“Ooook....”

“Right on! That’s why I love you Jane!”

That was the most dreadful week I ever experienced. The weather sucked, my food lacked appeal, schoolwork seemed tougher than usual and I was plagued with constant nightmares of a man eating grizzly. Even my plants started to wilt in correspondence to my sinking mood. I found myself semi-consciously following the footsteps of a clown. My friends proclaimed me delusional when I was caught eating ketchup using a fork, sharpening a pen, walking into people and standing up randomly during lectures.

Saturday came too fast. I was going to be a date decoy for the man I loved so much. Dejected as I may be, it was my final chance to let Mike know my feelings. I had no time for letups. If it had been any other girl, I would have a slight flicker of confidence, but my female counterpart was tremendously strong. Even without the additional advantage of mutuality, Beatrice was just like how Mike complimented. She was pretty, smart, always smiling, humble and assisting. I could not imagine a halo any brighter than this girl that Mike adores to the core. I was going to throw in my chips today.

“Hi Beatrice! Hi Jane!” Mike was beaming. So was Beatrice.

“Hmmm… What a nice weather. An ice cream sundae would make a nice wager don't you say?”

“I'll take your challenge anytime, lady. 20km and make that a double. I'll charm the wits out of you.”

“Your chunks don't scare me dude. Bring it on!”

My presence was tactlessly tucked away, just like how I could not care less about the weather. I was sweltering bullets from watching their playful romantic exchange. We did our stretching exercises silently yet I could not help but notice Beatrice stealing glances at Mike, bashfully. Mine was a futile gamble, I know.

“First to the cracked red bench! Let’s Go!”

And Beatrice was gone, sprinting with quick lithe steps towards the lush green path. As though amused, Mike faltered a 5 seconds before prancing behind her. I froze momentarily, letting my gaze stalk his back. Further and further he went, till his silhouette was nothing more than a tiny speck of brown, bobbing rhythmically to each step and swing of his arms.

My job here was done and my one-way love story had also concluded tragically. Just like a virus, the infections circle of unrequited affection expanded it's radius to include my chase. As I let loose a long, tedious sigh of empathy for myself, a wayward blue towel fluttered across my face. My ears blanked out all sound as I slow motioned the scene play of a gorgeous, apologetic guy walking up to me.

“Wow.” I thought, “This may be the start of another.”

The Old Man and his Nightingale

This is a story that I have narrated to quite a few already. I still think a version of this story on this blog would be a great addition. Inspired from a story I once read somewhere... ...

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Far away in a quiet, forested land, an old man lived in solitude with his pet friend - a white nightingale who sang the most beautiful melody across all lands. The nightingale loved the old man for his gentle soul and kind treatment. The old man loved his friend for the unwavering company it provided.

Every morning, the old man would hang the cage of the white nightingale on a low branch of the apple tree outside his door. The nightingale would sing. Then, he would lay down on a chair by the patio, immersing his soul into the melodious chirping.

One day, the old man's granddaughter came for a visit. She saw the caged bird became sorrowful.

"Grandfather, why do you lock such a beautiful bird in a sad cage?"

"Because I love my nightingale and he loves me too. If the cage is opened, he will fly away from me forever. " the old man replied.

The little girl as innocent and naive as she was, replied," But grandfather, if the white nightingale loves you too, why would he fly away and never come back?"

The old man was stumped.. He had never placed himself in the position of his pet. It had been tyranny that kept the bird with him. He was sad. It was a test. His fingers were shaking as he unlatched the door. It was really the final test.

Once the hook was free, the nightingale took to the air. Freedom lashed about his wings and he flew further and further and further away. The old man waited till there was only a speck of gold in the air, but the nightingale never flew back... ...

The old man waited everyday by the patio. At dawn when the light rose, he would be searching the skies for any faint glimmer of hope but it was always disheartening.

A year..

Two years..

Three years later..

A chirp. It was definitely a chirp, no, many chirps.. The old man was feeble and slow but he rushed to the window. Perched on the low branch, his old friend - the white nightingale; and there was another. A pair of white nightingales nestled against each other, singing that familiar old song. The old man laughed and cried.

The Old Lady by the Sea by Karen Lim

Looking outside her window, she felt a surge of unrest churning within her brittle bones. She could taste the salt in the air as the breeze tickled her cheeks. She shut her eyes as a droplet formed at the corner of her lids. Slowly, it trickled down her weathered wrinkles and splattered on the windowsill. Then, she smiled. It had been long time ago since she felt this vigor.

The lady did not speak her thoughts aloud for she knew there were none around to give humane comfort. Tabby was nestled snugly beside the door, purring softly, oblivious to her mistress’ sudden ambition. It was a cool, quiet night in Hawaii, like any other time on this side. But tonight, she could hear echoes beckoning from the shadows beneath the darkness. The old lady inclined forward, head outside the frame. She was desperate to hear more. It was a presence that brought unrest to her yearning heart but peace to her melancholic soul.

She had adapted well to living alone. Ten years of seclusion in Kauai taught her the essentials of a hermit. Do not leave home without Tabby. Do not talk to tourists. Do not try any outdoor activities. Do not keep dreams. Once a month, the grocer’s boy would send her deliveries down from town but conversations were limited to lackluster words of appreciation. She had no company, no friends and no family anymore.

Years of arthritis has caked up her joints and it was hard to cross her cottage as hastily as she wanted to. Her trusty walking stick had been her favourite outdoor accessory but not now. It would be too much of a hassle for the feat she was attempting tonight. The door opened, allowing a noisy waft of sea breeze into the cottage. Like any other mindless pets, Tabby darted away from her comfort zone, apparently irked by her mistress’ lack of consideration as she crossed her path recklessly. The woman knew her way well despite her notorious label for aloofness. It was a short walk to Shipwreck Beach. That was where she was headed tonight.

There was enough illumination to determine that she was the only creature out on this silken white carpet of sand. With warm saline trailing from her eyes, she tilted her head towards the pale moon and bellowed, “DEAR LORD, LET THIS BE MY LAST!” With that she broke into a lopsided scamper along the receded shoreline towards the cliff; her knees were not cooperating.

“…Peace. Regrets. Complaints. Dreams. Courage…” Each word whistling in the wind pierced into her soul. It ached. Time could not compensate for her losses. “Peace... Regrets... Complaints… Dreams... Courage... PEACE... REGRETS… COMPLAINTS… DREAMS…. COURAGE……” the voice shouted in her head. All her life, she had been living a deception. All the major decisions she made in her life were mistakes, or so she always thought. It was this self dejection that pushed her to make her final desperate move - to live in solitude till the day her Dear Lord called upon her.

But yet again tonight, she heard the words that brought back déjà vu. The last words her husband left her minutes before cancer took his last toll. He was only forty-seven. For fifteen years, she lamented her partner for leaving her so alone, so early. She blamed her son for being incapable of filling his shoes. She hated the vague direction her husband left her. She blamed his passing when their son left home to pursue his own dreams. Tim never wrote back and never came home ever again. She gave up all hobbies, pastime activities and teatime invites. Her friends tried to rope her into social gatherings and counsel support groups but after months of unappreciated retorts, they gave up; all drifted away in their own directions.

The edge of the cliff was a good spot. It was a breathtaking view. The dark surface of the waters stretched thin and wide, converging with the contrasting moonlight that sliced the blackness. The old lady let her garments loose to bathe her aged skin in the dim glows. The roar of waves crashing against the steep face rattled her teeth. She could comprehend the message finally. The last task her love demanded from her was the courage to let go of her regrets, courage to seek peace rather than complaints and the courage to chase her dreams as their son had done. In that final moment, she knew exactly how courage could be obtained.

She took one step back. She had seen the young surfers do it on this cliff a hundred times. Another two steps back. A short run was all she needed. Her knees could take that much. Just three more steps back. Her vision clouds with the face of her smiling husband. A silhouette resembling Tim forms in front of her. Then, she let go of all inhibitions and made a run off the edge of the cliff, plunging 30metres into the liquid.

The water was sinuous. It took her form and wrapped itself gently around her stark body. In a matter of seconds, the old lady reached the surface. Floating on her back, facing the moon, she let a wide grin spread across her face before laughter accompanied the applauding sounds of waves against rocks.

~END~

Author’s Quote: There are no dreams too big or too small and it’s never too old or too young for anything. Just dream and keep the courage.

The first waft of Certainty.

I shall begin with the end in mind and therefore I shall reveal my dream.

I want to travel the world, in 2013, ~5 years later.

I will be 25 and I will open my black box of time. Then I shall cast away all last thoughts and be on my expedition.

My future is clouded with uncertainty. But, amid this cumulus of new changes that I face with the onslaught of each new phase, I shall hold on to this dream and make it a glowing milestone in my life. This is the first waft of certainty.