Stay here with me

I haven’t got the urge to write anything recently, it’s not that I was depleted of idea but I just don’t feel like writing anything. Sometimes, I think there is this invisible balance in me; either I’m a writer or am I a forced-to-be-hardcore-work-overtime technical consultant. Consultant is a nice name, but generically consultant does programming, back to the root, IT field I am in. I seem to find myself standing on a wall, wall that separates two sides from me. I will be either at one side or the other side of the wall. However strictly speaking, I could be standing on a pivot point, where the walls extend out in many direction, separate the space into many portions, just imagine a pizza. To have fallen into which side of the wall enclosed space, I have least authority in the decision, or I can say my nature, mind state and my subconscious that decide where I should be. I think it is perfectly logical, for one to have a state of a mind while losing the other, but not completely, it i

“How is my new hair style?” She asked me, turning her head left and right in slightly slow motion to let me have a good look at it. Very short hair, like boy cut, but she has got long fringe that she brushed to one side of her forehead. “Hmmm, that is quite short, right.” I answered. It didn’t sound like answer at all, more like a question, but the question itself sounded like a detour and finally it back to me again. “Oh, I have forgotten. You like girl with long hair.” She remembered it as a matter of fact. Like something perfectly ordinary that came into her mind as she was suggesting it. I never said anything. The noise of passing crowd filtered into our conversation space. The street of China Town was packed with awful lots of people, where do all these people come from? It is Tuesday; don’t they need to work or something? And the traffic noise continued buzzing along the busy three lane street way, never a second there was silent. “Anyway, I like my hairstyle now. It makes me loo

“I appreciated you are here. But there are a lot of things I don’t know what to do.” She paused while looking out at the evening ocean. The sun set to the west, evening light shone at the coconut trees and rocks and the hawker stalls, casting shadow upon us. “I’m okay with it. Just don’t worry about anything.” I said, looking at her face while she still had her eyes fixed to the distant horizon then she smiled at me. She picked up a stick from sand just beside the log we were sitting on, whacked it a few times before started to draw something onto the white sand, my name in capital letters. At my turn, I drew her initial just beside my name. She burst into cry. I held her in my arms when she cried. For how long of a time, I wasn’t too sure, my shirt was half drenched with her tears and I could feel her warm breaths rushed to my chest and down to my belly, that it sometimes exchanged with the cooling sea breeze. Sun set upon us, yet nothing turned out our way. Life just goes on with lot

I never believed in Feng Shui, I have told myself before, but sometimes you just need to compromise and think; could it be coincident or really, the fault of bad Feng Shui. An acquaintance of mine walked into my rented house one time, I remember he was getting something from me which I have forgotten what it was. As I sent him off, we were at the entrance to my house then, he pointed to the ceiling where there was a piece of rotten from water leakage three-ply wood. Water leaks when the rain gets heavy, I explained to his gesture. What is on top? He asked me. Attached bathroom for master bedroom, I replied him. He suggested me to move out from the house as soon as possible, the Feng Shui of the house is not good; indeed it is quite bad, according to him. The last time I met this guy was one and a half year ago, I have even forgotten about this guy until I recalled him recently. Things just connect each other. I’m not superstitious, but just analyzing. My health has not been really good

I fear of my own birthday. I hope that particular day will disappear once and for all, or if not, it should have fallen to the last day of February – the twenty ninth day, and then it will only appear in the leap year. If it only happens in leap years, then my birthday will not be happening for three quarters of my life, or more, so I will have fewer things to worry about, like a warehouse sales giving unbelievable discount. That is very weird of you, a friend commented at me after I told him about the story of purposeful made to forget birthday . I never elaborated too much to him, because I didn’t understand it too much myself either. I realized that you have to be simple minded person to take it as an ordinary thing and accept it like it always happens to our everyday life, like you don’t know about one thing so you just accept it as it is. I just hate the day, or merely I just afraid of it. It is not I don’t want to grow up or I don’t want to get old. It’s like a black hole and it

I started to pick up interest of running on treadmill. I used to exercise myself on air walker though. It is a totally different workout compares to air walker, it gets you all sweating, and it seems like you can burn a lot of calories by running on it. As she joked, it is like fat dripping down your cheek and body, and it feels good to think like that. In a way, it could be just a consolation. The girl beside me was doing some difficult moves on the treadmill: slow down paces, catch up with it then fists out like a boxer, ran sideway with body facing left and then changed to right, backward stepping, and even some moves that resembled dancing with hands stretch out in grace. Not a strange sight, yet it was rare and honestly good for eyes. She did it like it was the most natural thing to do in the world. Not much people in the gym though. Along the row of treadmill, there was only me and this treadmill dance girl. Somehow the whole scene reminded me of her, who might be at same time ru

I finished two random chapters of the book. Not chapter to be precise, rather it was two short stories. The weather has been cooling, a nice day to go out for a walk, but also it can strike someone as gloomy day. Gloomy day, as people will say. Maybe this is the sort of weather I prefer, no sun, but just white light from the sky, filtered through the thick layers of cloud in the sky. Cool breeze rushes through the window into the surrounding now and then, with the air stirring ceiling fan, serenaded by some noisy music, a contradicting blend of the morning at eleven AM. I poured a glass of drinking water and drank it a few sips, feeling the liquid being divided and consumed by every cell in my body. I wondered about the Nine Deaths in Shanghai. I faintly heard drain cleaning sound from the back of my house. It is already the end of September.

The ants, one follows another, hundreds or thousands of them heading somewhere, forming an uneven dotted line on the wall; like a convoy traveling in Sahara desert. I see them crawling about, carrying breadcrumbs, tiny food bits, and insects’ remnant, each of the six-legged step they make, edge a millimeter nearer to their home, from one side of the cracked white wall to another. Some ants are lost, but manage to find their way back to the line. I have been watching them for a whole afternoon; my legs feel sore for squatting too long. An ant is lost from the convoy, it is too far from the line – from my satellite view. Out to search for its freedom but it also might end up dying alone. “Pap said there is no zoo in our place” a voice comes from behind, a disappointed sort of tone it sounds. I turn my head back and look up, still squatting. I squints my eyes and I can only see an over-exposed shadow under the glaring sun. The girl who is three years older than me, standing there with leg

“Maybe you are addicted to the pain, you are going there far too often. For me, I cannot quite take it.” So our topic of conversation flowed to foot reflexology again, the thing she repeats every week. I wasn’t sure was it because my memory playing trick at me, I remember every time I talked to her, she had her foot reflexology done the day before, and she would tell me her brand new experience, which was not too much of a difference – that is the Chinese guy was trying to speak to her in mandarin during the foot massaging and all that she knew was nodding and smiling. Not smiling all the time of course, imagine it is a foot reflexology session. “Just once a week” Came her reply. “I won’t get addicted okay, it is so painful but healthy you see. That will be sufficient to keep me going.” By saying this, I wondered she realized that this was the second time I said about her foot reflexology addiction. Not that I was too concerned of her being forgetting things we talked before but I was

I have known her for five years. We’re not the best known couple among friends but we got along well. We seldom quarrel, not to say we had not raised enough issues to quarrel but we had our own way to tackle it, we came to the consent and agreement on things before we got together, we talked issues over and we discussed together to sort out problems. There was once we had a big fight, and hmm, I shall rephrase the big fight to cold war instead. We managed to get back well together again in two days time, it was like two years for us then. After that we came to really appreciate each other. I don’t really remember the detail of reason why we quarreled; I can say it was a rather long story, that it will take two pages to explain. I won’t be explaining the reason here because that is not the main point. Among my girl friends, she moved me the most. Since the first day we had known each we had unbroken topics of conversation. The conversation was so smooth that even the most tedious and bo

I stared at the arrangement of dine wares she set on her finished plate, it formed a twenty-five pass five in her place of view, which was now left empty. There was only me now. She left for her own wedding. I gazed at the empty chair that was isolating to cold. This place will never be the same for me again. Twenty-five pass five. It will stay as a curse in me, haunt me forever.

Gosh, I thought. I must have left the face towel somewhere on the Abwork Bench (Short form Abdominal work bench), no wonder I felt something was missing from my hand on my way here, felt like I should have carrying something but obviously I didn’t realize it until now. So it was the towel! I made a motionless nod. I stared blank at the locker for while, thinking of what should I do; I had already taken off my red Nike shoes and socks, locker door half opened and my laptop was inside. Nobody knew the laptop was inside; it rested peaceful while I went for work out. Ah just forget about it I thought. It is just a towel, if I’m lucky that the towel counter never find out, I will get through without any hassle. So, I took out a new stock of underwear and headed into the showering room. I’m going to look for it later, the towel. I thought. Somebody must have been using the Abwork Bench and they probably just toss it aside, on the red carpet floor maybe? seeing nobody come to claim the towel.

“Can you don’t write story about man and woman?” She asked, as she rolled her body over to face me while lying on the vinyl chair. She framed her yet-to-dry hair with her pulled up sunglasses and looked intensely into my eyes. “Do you mean love story?” I asked her back, thinking over why she has to use the phrase ‘ man and woman’ . Wasn’t there a clear cut way of presenting the meaning? “No, it’s not love story, you don’t write about love story.” She responded, lazily rested her head, her cheek on her left palm. “You write about man and woman, their conversations, the most you write about is partner that you long dream of or describe a bit of how she ideally looks like. That’s all”. I leant my back down at my vinyl chair, laptop still in my hands, I tried to figure out what she meant by that. Afternoon in this long beach was almost like a desert; we could hardly see any tourists strolling or lazing around on the beach. In the sea, there was occasionally surfers struggling to stand on t