my site

Here's the deal. You pick and guess which link is the correct link to my currently updated site and there will be no help points unless you know a little bit about my writing style. Or changed writing style. It'll be easier to guess the more days you take. Or not.

http://dictionary.refere http://searchportal.information.com/index.mas?epl=01110091UVsPWVALXVUMVV8LWRUfRxNRA1ERUF4PBUYbW1dZFxFcWQtWXjpcXQVvAwpcOgpcDl8TR14FGVFRDAEIDAwIUgMMWwAIXAAAR1E9ClxYVwVWA1Ence.com/

http://breadnbutter.outspark.com/http://www.theinvincible18.blogspot.com/ http://talented-onetee.blogspot.com/http://www.bottleduplove.blogspot.com/ http://miraclebutterfly.blogspot.com/ http://www.adventurequest.com/

http://themuseclique.blogspot.com/ http://sfwd.blogspot.com/ http://thai-roadtrip.blogspot.com/ http://socrodamon.blogspot.com/ http://www.ihttp://ravikiran1.blogspot.com/

http://creativekitchen.blogspot.com/

Teenage Crisis

Guess what? I wake up today and realised that I'm a teenager. And no, it isn't my 13th birthday. I wonder if I'm too fat or if the shoes are to casual or too mature. I hate school (yeah, I'm a really late one, there was always optimism in my previous years) and I hate back-stabbers and I absolutely hate Abdominable Snowball. Call her A-S for now. Didn't notice it when I first named her that but ah well... the name so fits her.

Attention: I'm getting a new blog to fit me, this one is not ME anymore. I'm finally ultra-scared that I'm immature. More updates in the next week!

I feel terrible lately. The homework pile has not diminished in size and my mind just can't begin writing. Its like a dead sea now, consuming every book I toss at it yet never producing anything. Its sort of hopeless the way it is now, not being able to finish my homework and it being the last week of the holidays. A little secret between me and a never-there-special-someone would be nice if only that irritating person shows up once in a while.

Its like a little migraine which keeps forming and taking control of my thoughts. It would be nice if I lived in a fantasy world where they gave you your lover's name and the time and place which you would meet. Save a lot of unnecessary trouble finding a not true love. A little something to cling onto when you're feeling lonely and contained by people who make life miserable.

That's all the melodrama I can write for now. Back to the drawing board for scheduling a new life.

A page, a pen. Am I too worthless to use them?
Then why does my hand tremble when I pick up a quill,
A tool which so many use without pain or loss or grief.
Milton, Shakespeare, what was in them?
That flow of thought which even death could not stem.
Now... how can I write with the same tools of the trade,
With bloodied hands which cannot write a passable essay?
Nothing to say from my swollen lips but spill a sad laugh.
I wish to write the words, the mind, the soul.
I can't write except this filth.
The ink won't flow. The paper burns.
Someone is calling now. Why should I answer?

Hello again. I suppose I went for an ultra long break. Been quite busy lately since its a new environment and the examinations are now over! (till next term...) Now I have to finish up some projects and try to fit my self learning french studies into my routine which now has knitting and slacking in it. Talk about bad influence.

Things are picking up quite well. I have finally decided on a plot and now I need to put it on paper. I really miss the Roald Dahl side of me, perhaps its time to read the BFG or Mathilda again. Once the holidays start again in June I'm going to meet up with my old pals. My pen-pal is coming to visit her relatives and hopefully me. She's an American educated Chinese with a grasp of Cantonese better than me. She crochets and her mother knits. My knitting started when they came two years ago I think but I left the needles in the cupboard until this year.

Could someone help me with the French nasal sounds? I really need help the book doesn't really make sense. Do you pronounce the "n" or not? Like in oncle and encore. I'll figure it out soon I suppose. Only got this book four days ago or so. Wish me luck!

Poem Crazy

They call this feeling down in the dumps,
People who have it slink off to the slums.
Yet something else lurks far beneath it,
Something which its owners fear to sheath.
Rage boils over and over again,
Leaving me to always feel the same.
I feel horrible, ugly and detested,
People who scorn come out in masses.
Each step I take upon life's track,
They easily surpass with no excuse to slack.
I feel useless at everything, good for nothing,
Nothing keeps track to time except clock's clicking.
Curling up in a corner of the cold room,
Staying, rocking in silent gloom.
There is love, hope and joy,
But from sights like these I chose to recoil.
They were the same desires which led,
Me to seas of lust and waves of dread.
Longing so much for pleasure's light kiss,
How all humans chose to escape all this!
I end it all with a staff to call my own,
I chose to reside within silver domes.
Where spears, knifes, back-stabbing hands,
Are all prohibited from my lands.
I will find consolation with those like me,
Whose souls others simply refuse to see.
We do our best each day and night,
Yet sometimes our efforts remain hidden from sight.
I'll just stay hidden from sight,
From dark cold, fires aglow.

Just wanted to drop a line to explain my absence.

1) Projects

2) Trying to write time consuming things

3) Books, I have some, no, 4 unfinished titles excluding poetry

See you all in quite a while!

Fragile Earth

Poem I wrote for a friend. Give me a topic, I give you a poem.


A man used to toil in the clean fields,
Using whatever he grew for his meals.
Perhaps this never completed cycle,
Would never have begun without denial.

Denial that we should never stop the search,
Never to stay while mysteries still lurk.
Better, faster, a life made easier,
Our forefathers wanted work to be levered.

While these dangerous advancements came,
The Earth itself was never lame.
It bounded back fast and strong,
Destruction unforeseen in the quiet song.

Moving plates of the Earth’s crust,
Causing fault lines as they must.
Earthquakes, volcanoes, hurricanes,
Men soon wanted to over reign.

Geology tore the Earth apart,
While men thought that it was a delicate start.
The Earth waded too far into revenge,
The bitter boiled to long to amend.

Now fate has rounded the wavy bend,
Soon lives will be lost like salt in sand.
Which one is against the other now?
Nature against human in sworn vow?

Loses seen from both sides,
Have we broken law we must abide?
Nature while destructing us,
Has lost its own in dangerous lust.

Who started this tirade?
That from each we start to raid.
Nature first gave us Life and abode,
But we found it lacking in bounty load.

We tapped and sapped from its source,
Till all is almost thought to be lost.
But was it Nature who started the hate?
By giving too little till too late?

Still, once done can not be undone,
As sure as the setting of the sun.
Fragile and weak we are now the enemy,
However we wish not, you and me.

Zephyr Tan a.k.a Annabel Tan

Daughter of the Past, Mother of the Future

The missing link is now us youngsters. We are the daughters of the past (or sons) and want but can't really the mothers (or fathers) of the future yet. Still chunks of textbooks to learn and apply. Bother the subjects we aren't going to use. If you know where you're headed, that's enough of a plea to me. Unless your government has rules governing that you won't get to a Junior College that way.

Now I have to live in a crisis because I can't take in most information I am getting from certain subjects, soon I think I'm going to really live in heaven and hell within 24 hours. With the nagging sermon I received today. The passion of Jesus Christ. I know Easter is a long way but seriously, if the sermon on Easter Sunday was as emotional, you are going to get crying and fainting people. That pastor really puts soul into his sermons.

Then on Saturday I read a 2000 July issue of the National Geographic Magazine at a cafe and the references to the bible and the Earth's moving crust and our utter vulnerable selves is amazing.

Better go, I have to finish research on dams. Tell you more a century from now.

Chinese new year's round the corner and soon I'll have some money to deposit into the bank. Talking about deposits and banks, i need to write a report on the Singapore River. Deposits more sediments at the outer bank or named... should be concave bank.

The festive mood is intoxicating and I just want to snack on goodies all day and forget all about homework, which includes a chinese essay, research on dams and that report. Groan...If only I wasn't so fat. I need to watch what goes in even though I care more for the taste. Pineapple tarts and sweets to behold at every house. Not to mention fizzy drinks if I cared for a glass. People practically force you to drink it. Though it is really fun.

Laugh out loud. Let me talk about art now. The knitting I am trying now is really difficult. Writing is easier.

Just a little poem I wrote, hope all of you like it. Been to busy lately, I might blog when this whole mess is over.


Spring’s Calling

Awaken Dryads, Awaken Nymphs,
Dance forth lithe and light.
The frost and sprites and imps of snow.
Are now filled with dreadful woe.

See now, look, far to your east,
They flee and fly leaving none the least.
Spread out your branches, your leaves, your roots,
Torrent the waters and call forth the rain.

Awaken Spring, Awaken Souls,
For those who resist will be destroyed a hundredfold.
See the rain, feel the warmth,
Let us celebrate in a dreadful romp.

Spring forth the blades of fresh green grass,
Collect dewdrops and drive off frost.
Awaken the squirrels, who think all is lost,
Preen in the sunshine, show off your beauty.

Awaken Dryads, Awaken Nymphs,
Sing for trout and birds and bees.
Awaken them from their private lairs,
Let them begin their lives afresh.

Hush down Dryads, Hush down Nymphs,
Humans await fast and fleet.
Never show yourself amiss,
For Spring breeds love and friendships,
Never fall for that fateful kiss.

Writing

This is the hardest thing to do! Write a novel. All the research books that would be of any use are all out of reach. Not for loan. Compared to other female writers in this age, my writing is still with my tongue (pen) in check. I hope that I will be able to complete it. A few friends want to know the ending. Laugh out loud, I'm only at the beginning of Chapter 5. By beginning I mean the heading chapter 5. Its easy to make a start. Its hard to keep going. My new year resolution is to write one to two chapters a week. My chapters are around one and one quarter of a words document page in size 10 arial.

I am getting rather dispirited too. The new year means Secondary School. Friends and teachers at the very most only know me by name, score and the crazy over soft pastel and pen direct school admission girl. No one knows me so I am spared of humiliation.

I prefer virtual life to real life. No. I prefer controlling other people's lives like some crazy puppeteer. Which explains my lunatic behaviour. Oh no, did I really type that?

Music from the Oldies

I'm going crazy with the songs from singers like Kenny Rogers and the Eagles. I am born in the 1990s! Okay, around there anyway. Young enough. I like the song How Long from the Eagles and The Gambler from Kenny Rogers. I've never heard so meaningful lyrics. Lucille and Buy Me a Rose are heartbreaking.

I feel odd. I doubt most youngsters like these songs. They prefer James Blunt and the Pussycat Dolls. Don't see how someone can like repetition in those songs like Umbrella. In all those old songs they have a story behind it. Like Lucille. The girl left a man of a mountain with four children and a crop. Clown of the County is hilarious. Seriously. I don't think any song can make you laugh out loud.

My parents are into it too. It's my dad's era. I am an old person at heart. Old at Heart.

Laugh Out Loud People, Laugh Out Loud.

I received a comment for my previous post (please view). I would personally label it as ironic, sarcastic, a total disgrace to Singaporeans and truthful to say the most of it. Infuriated though I am I find it rather truthful. Instead of likening Singapore's English standard to a sour grape in a bunch of sweet grapes, it makes it sound more like one perfect bunch of grapes in a whole vineyard where other bunches are all pecked by crows.

I am guessing that the person who wrote that comment is a European, most likely British, a teacher or Professor specialising in English or languages. Either that or he's my mom's Linguistic Council phonetics teacher. (or she)

That person is really making my day pretty gloomy. I'm already gloomy because of the dismal weather. It's raining almost constantly. I won't delete that comment because I have to remind myself that there is much for us to do. One person's contribution may have as much of an effect as a drop of water into a parched river, but it can inspire others to help and soon it will become a moving trickle, then a stream, then a rushing,gushing river once more.

Native Speakers in Singapore

Alright my views are open to the whole web provided world so I must warn you that this may get a little racist. Sorry but if you are offended easily please read my other posts.

I don't understand why people are so for native speakers. In all the tuition centres for English or writing which are well known they are all taught by natives. If, I a Chinese were to apply for a job there I would have the job of an administrator or cleaner. Just because they are from England or America or goodness knows where doesn't mean that they are necessarily better than Singaporeans.

I'm sure that there are plenty of Singaporeans who are very good in English. Just because we use our common slang doesn't make us bad. We do it for survival. Anyone read To Kill a Mocking Bird by Harper Lee? Calpurina, their cook spoke in the Black's tongue at church. She did it so that people wouldn't say that she was sucking up or something and her normal speech was as fluent as any of the Whites. She knew better but she knew what was right.

I have that problem. I attended classes in a school where there were native speakers and loved (still do) to watch Disney movies. I somehow picked up their way of talking. I think that was further enforced by a few enrichment lessons till I was Primary Four. As a Primary one student most students found my accent strange. I was even bullied for it. Even now some people think that I've stayed in a place like Australia or America for a few months or years. The most I've been is two weeks to New York.

I find people as a natural instinct have the ability to lump people into a group. Like (no offence here truly) "Don't hang out with that boy, he's a Black." "Native speakers are better, this tuition centre not good one." "Foreigner? Must check his luggage a few more times!"

I myself fall prey to such thinking. I try not to by remembering my own plight. So why are people so biased against non Native speakers teaching English. They even say that Singapore local writers aren't good enough to be recognised. Yeah only because we aren't given the opportunities that we should be given to realise that we are good enough. In this kind of environment it lowers our self esteem to the point that we feel its a no hope cause we are trying for. As lustful and as impossible as a winter zephyr in the heat of summer.

Without papers certifying that we can teach we don't have much of a chance. Today's world requires papers and several years of training as a teacher in a tuition centre or a number of years working as a teacher in a government school just because no one is willing to take you on. I thought people would be more gutsy with this new age.

L'Chaim, To Life

The Tea Rose : A review

It is the best story I have read. The author (Jennifer Donnelly) did a really good job on it. She is the only author whose books show nothing in the areas of decency. It doesn't exactly have that kind of fairy tale flow. Although there is the happily ever after. I needed to read it 7 times or more (lost count) to find the urgency to write about it like this.

I have never read a story where there is a gay man in it. I suppose an author caries the burden of hat he knows and the reader caries the burden of that knowledge.

I carry the burden of knowing that it is wrong in the bible for guy and guy relationships. Yet I wonder if there really is true love under all that. If there really is love that or is just infatuation or a misunderstanding of feelings? Is it just to big a longing of comfort and kindness in this harsh world that drives them to that edge?

I love this whole book. I've always been happy and content with books that hovered in the real fiction not the real world. It tells things as it is, not like how everybody wants things to be I guess. At least the ending can console me. Even the enemies themselves have a reason to it. Not like in those fairy tales when they are just the villains even when they were the victims of parental neglect.

Anyway I don't feel as angry with this book now for ruining me for all the other books and my thinking. I'm to fussed up with this whole Christmas thing. How can I relax when there are so many things happening? I think that some people are mad at me, for doing something in the wrong way. Live and let live.

The author caries the burden of what she knows. The reader caries the burden of that knowledge.

Results for the Primary School Leaving Examination (PSLE)

1 hour 45 minutes left till the results release. It so scary. I hope I did okay. 245 if I am lucky or not something around 220.Help, the suspense is killing me!!

This poem is dedicated for the IJ pupils, teachers, cleaners, administration staff, sisters, alumni, security guards, bookshop aunties, food stall owners, principals, parents, founder and God. And whoever else I left out but made a contribution, however minimal, to our school and helped us to make it thus far. Thank You.

Convent of the Holy Infant Jesus, Us

We stood together,
For one last time,
Not one word out of place,
Or a line not resting on the tip of my tongue.

We had dutifully remembered them,
Since the age of six and a half.
I stood among them,
One grain among the sand.

The hall was wide and large,
So different from the one in my past.
We used to stand tight,
Showing our might.
Showing our strength as a school and a nation.

The walls felt different,
Unstained by age.
No memories yet for our days here were light,
Never burdened by the worries of tomorrow.

I saw the teachers,
All straight backed.

Remembering my childhood misadventures.

The scoldings that sometimes brought us shame.

Sometimes were just in vain.

They taught us with patience,

Pride and virtue.

Bestowing each special art.

Each unique flavour,

Giving new vigour,

To a usually dull class.

Each stood out from the rest in one way,

Each coloured my life with foresight.

Each knew the troubles of laziness from their own,

Trying almost in vain each time.

All were different,

Yet somehow the same.

They were caring.

Loving.

Be it the class genius,

Or the slowest to learn,

They taught us with zeal,

While to us they seamed.

To be pillars of homework and stress.

They taught us through deeds,

No matter what our special needs.

Never wavering, though sometimes tiring,

Of the chatter and endless errs in grammar.

My friends I glanced,
Before blinking back tears,
For the memories now were well worked gears.
Each gear acting upon another,
As each vision, sight and taste,
Called forth its brother.

We had shared so many things,
Be it tears or homework answers.
From stories and myths,
To fact and truths.

Then came the person who flowed into my vision.
Our school principal standing near.
I had tears welling now,
For hardly anything besides her stern voice,
Had I bothered to remember about her.

And yet she was there,
Throughout all storms,
Egging us on be it in word or deed or prayer.

I recalled at last a fine school day,
Walking and eating in silence.
She called me to her office,
With me trembling there,
Wondering if I had done something bad.

She sat me down on the chair opposite hers,
A chair of the old school and leather.
She surveyed me intently,
Through eyes and through words,
I was trembling with fear the whole while
She was asking me questions with a smile.

As I look back at the nebulous clouds of time,
Drinking in something as sour as lime.
I realise that she was good and kind,
Asking me questions to find out mine,
Ever ready for me to speak my mind.

Our school had modest beginnings,
A founder who was beatified.
Orphans found homes,
In what would soon be,
A clan of girls with a single motto,
" Simple in Virtue,
Steadfast in Duty"

As I turned my memories over again,
I did not want to leave this school.
So more times to sit and mull,
Together with my companions and peers.

I know somewhere,
Deep down inside.
We are a school even though we are apart.
A school is never a building.
It was never and will never be.
How can you enjoy a structure of cement and brick?

We are the school,
The teachers,
Friends,
Principal,
Cleaners,
Administration staff.
We are;
Different beliefs,
Oceans of minds.

Our vision and love will spread,
Like a small spark on the wood provided by our Heavenly Father.
Be it Jesus, Buddha,
Or other beliefs.

We will never leave,
No matter how many leagues out to sea,
Even if our wrong doings stretch out further than eyes can see.
We will forgive and forget simply because we have met.
Even though we only passed shy glances,
Along the school hallways or in the classes.

We shall always be as one,
Yet different individuals.
As a body is formed by many cells.
Each with their own purpose in life.

Love.
Peace.
Joy.

Tan Yee Choo Annabel
6 Peace. Convent of the Holy Infant Jesus. Our Lady Queen of Peace.
God Bless.

To curse vehemently under your breath or praise and thank.

Sometimes you do have to chose between the two. Some circumstances really lead from one thing to another. I was at the library trying to find Peony in Love by Lisa See after seeing the price of it at borders. No offence to the author but $31 (singapore dollars) is just too great a sum for that kind of literary standard. Only to find that some idiotic person was supposed to return it that day. I hope that person pays a fine, a big one. I spent $1.50 reserving it. Then I picked up a book out of pure boredom and the first few pages are great. It is The Time Traveler's Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger.

Before I found that book I was ready to kill and torture a bee if only one didn't freak me out when I came back home after school by hovering around. I think it got itself hurt enough, it kept hitting the ceiling and lights. So everyone who doesn't mind getting another person heavily fined for delayed return of a book, silently pray with me. Then I remember that if I want him to pay a really big fine I will have to wait even longer.

Confirmed, this world is unfair and to many things happen by luck, timing and the guy upstairs.

At least I am not as unlucky as the guy in the book. Every time he time travels, he never knows where or when he's going to wake up. When he does, he is completely naked with no money, clothes, IC or a fig leaf.

A380, Singapore's New Super jumbo: Better or Bad?

This big plane is the new commercial airline which is costing the world millions. If I'm not wrong, around 8 billion throughout the world by 2015. They say it is the revolutionary plane which offers more comfort for passengers, for a whooping price. The people investing in this venture will get a great return soon. To make it sound even better, all proceeds from its first commercial flight will go to charity. Governments are pumping in money to house the giant plane with a wingspan of 80 meters.

Is it really worth it? All that money could go to better uses. After the first flight, those with big bucks and the people working for it are the only ones that stand to gain. I mean sure, honour for Singapore, more jobs, pay increase for airline people. 8000000000 dollars to fund for a plane, incredible and almost a joke. That money could go to helping so many more people, those poor and ill, hungry and homeless. All that money is going to fund a plane only rich people can afford.

It is the same thing happening to our country. En bloc, to build better, richer, more luxurious apartments and condos. This property market hike and the en bloc will cause those people who were under the en bloc scheme to find a more expensive place. Most of the new places like Sentosa Cove and One Degree 15 are things almost all Singaporeans can only think of in their wildest dreams. Where are our precious land resources going to? Again to the big bucks. Those paid to build them will get a part of the pie but only in crumbs, at most a thin slice.

This new age will mean better places for the rich but how about the poor and middle class huh? We get paid a meagre portion compared to what those from wealthy families are earning. We can't all be CEOs but what do those people do with all that money? Spend it on cars and bungalows and plane tickets. People are starving in some parts of the world. Why can't those people working on the giant planes and crazy weapons for the filthy rich just use their time and brain cells to find better ways of treating cancer, stop illegal drugs, help the poor or encourage those who just took a wrong turn in their lives and need help to believe in themselves again. That will be a much better help to our community and our planet. Instead of finding ways to burn up more fuels why not use that time to find a way to stop our planet from heating up too fast. This global warming thing is really causing a lot of weird weather changes around home.

So can we just pull our heads out of the clouds and dreams of the future and help the weaker foundations first?

To all Primary 6 Peace pupils of CHIJ OLQP

Commissioned art pieces done in pen will be on sale after the final exams. Just bring an illustrated printout or a website link to the artwork to me and I will do my best to finish it. Prices will range from $2-$10 depending on the piece. I will acept anything exept manga, landscapes and warriors other than those on neopets, maple and other online gaming websites.

Please? Pictures from my sketch book can also be bought, depending on which one you want.

Happy Teachers' Day!

Happy Teachers' Day to every teacher reading this post. Thanks for always being there when we need you.

If a doctor, lawyer, or dentist had 40 people in his office at one time, all of whom had different needs, and some of whom didn't want to be there and were causing trouble, and the doctor, lawyer, or dentist, without assistance, had to treat them all with professional excellence for nine months, then he might have some conception of the classroom teacher's job. ~Donald D. Quinn

Teaching is a really difficult job, some pupils are the:

1) Smart type

2) Smart but unwilling to work (me)

3)Middle range

4)Lower range

5)Lower range which has a i-am-here-because-i-need-to attitude to school

6)Remaining falls into the MISSING LINK

Plus all the trouble that is going to give you, about 30 to 40 scripts need to be marked every time you give the class a piece of work. The small consolation is that you have the answer script. ;)

To pupils under any teacher: You know how stressful the job is, don't make it any more difficult.

Courtesy How much are we really lacking?

Let's take this as an example, you are having a drink at a hawker centre while waiting for a few friends. Then, a old man just sits down without asking you if anyone is sitting there. How rude is that? And you can't possibly order him out of it because he is an elderly person who is not really able to move around that well.

People say that youngsters in this age are unhelpful, not generous etc... to the rest of the society. I beg to differ. From the above scenario (where I was the victim) shows that the certain folks do not have the minimum courtesy. Let me give you another example where I was again the victim.

You are at the IKEA food outlet and you see a whole lot of plates on the table, with most of the remains lying there. Gross. You clear them away and sit down for some soup. Then, a reaching senior citizen age couple sit down at the table next to you and place a few plates in a similar position as the ones mentioned above on YOUR table. How rude is that? And because you do not have anyone sitting at the same table and do not want to vacate your seat, you spend the remainder of your time having no choice but to look at the nauseating mess.

Is it just a mental thing that comes to us when we are really THAT aged? I seriously think so. Perhaps it is the same with any single place in this world. Be it young or old. Even so the world will be a much better place if people were a tiny bit more sensitive to each others' feelings.

This is an announcement for the anonymous people who comment. Please leave names when you make a comment. Though sometimes I can tell, sometimes I am seriously wrong, though like every other person on earth, I think that I am correct.

Hope, a Beacon or Abyss?

What is the first thing that comes into your mind when you hear or read this word? A sunrise, a sunset, a crushed heart that belongs to you or a loved one? A red rose, fragile, vulnerable, but thriving in the midst of a harsh winter's storm? For me, it brings forth a phrase which I have read in The Tea Rose by Jennifer Donnelly.

Said by the doctor who was warning his patient's best friend, Fiona Finnegan.

"Be careful of too much hoping," he'd warned her. "It is hope, not despair, that undoes us all."

The reaction of Fiona was to never give up hope. Contradicting? I agree. Wait,there is a lot more. In the same story, Fiona had a dream of owning a shop with a lad whom she liked. Unfortunately, that man was thick headed enough to run off with a woman, giving the excuse of drunken folly. What happened to her then? She plodded day by day in a never ending limbo until she found out that her dad was murdered after her mom by her employer. That forced her to go to New York and begin anew.

So what is hope,by the dictionary?A feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best. Let's face it, all of us living, breathing creatures on the same planet,hope. An ant hopes to find food, a dog hopes for a bone, a polar bear hopes to escape those bent on hunting down their fur. We hope for more than what a normal creature hopes for, being lost in a world where people seek the paeans of power to their own success. An average worker hopes for enough to feed and clothe his family. A person on the rise with youthful spark hopes for more, a higher position, a bigger bonus, a Mercedes perhaps or a beautiful diamond from Tiffany's?

Hope is of course a vital thing for us, we might as well take ourselves to the grave if we ever stop believing in our dreams, hoping for a better tomorrow. But is there a limit to what we can hope? We can pray about it, do everything we can about it and strive to a goal but we are merely human. Compared to the infinite cycles of water, our life spans are worth about a nanosecond to that eternity. No make it a hundredth or billionth of a nanosecond.

About the thing that the doctor said, I feel that there is a bit of truth in it. If you cling on to much on a non-existent dream or hope, when you really have no more of it, part of you dies with it. Like Xuelian in the Embers of Heaven by Alma Alexander, when the Golden Wind cadets broke her kingfisher comb, her only link to the dead emperor, she no longer cared if she was dead or alive. Her old, vulnerable body taking and withstanding any physical pain because there was nothing left to hope for.

So is hope something that lets us live but crushes us with its full weight the moment your dreams and life are dashed, like an abyss much easier to fall in than to climb out? Or is it something great that keeps us living and the circumstances are the ones that destroy us? I have no answer to that question. No idea on how to reason on such a thing. A beacon or an abyss.

Reading the Stories of Truth

Another novel by Jennifer Donnelly, A Gathering Light, is for want of a better word, perfect. Every chapter has a different word and really, how many people in this world know that hispidulous is a word for a surface covered with short bristly hairs like a man's unshaved face. What really touched me in this story is her emphasis on books.

The main character of the book, Mattie, is a book lover and who writes her own stories. She herself was expressing why no one wrote the truth about things, like how a pig pen looks like after a sow has eaten her own young or how cancer smells like. All this is quoted. Her teacher and mentor, Miss Wilcox, replied, " Make them care Mattie."

It is true, hardly any of the renowned writers like J.K Rowling or Alexandre Dumas ever write things that has a great value, that feeds on our minds and lets our souls really ponder on the true, deep meanings behind it. Take Alma Alexander for example, author of the Embers of Heaven. She knows that life is not flouncy and perfect and always has to end with a happy note. It ends with a lament that we are trying to throw back our foundations of tradition to grasp at straws of revolutionary ideas. What seems weak, might prove to be stronger after a thousand years have passed. Only that we never live long enough to realise that.

Perhaps those writers for children do not want to scare them but from young we need to know the truth, not go through life thinking that is a fairy tale and it doesn't matter if they make a colossal mistake for there will be some prince or heroine at the end and you will live happily ever after. What we need in this world are writers who use their skill and eloquence in language to speak the truth we need to fear. Never mind if it does not have the same spells at Hogwarts or the battles of King Henry the Fifth. All we need is the truth.

Art: Is there a line when art turns violent?

There is definitely none whatsoever. This issue was raised in Singapore recently when a 21 minute video of British artist Simon Birch beheading a pig was shown in an installation at the Nanyang Academy of Fine Arts, called the Azhanti High Lightning. Gruesome, violent, botched or cruel? No.

It is a bit disturbing for those who go weak at the sight of blood but the majority of this world eat meat. Where does all our steak cuts, pork chops, whole chicken come from? Why make such a big fuss over an artist who is just trying to show us everyday things? He himself is a vegetarian, his friends ate the pig. He was only trying to show his talent and feelings about this subject.

Let's take another art piece then, Liberty Leading the People by Eugene Delacriox. A masterpiece depicting a scene during the time of the french revolution. Many injured and in pain, some with spirits in search of heaven after witnessing their victory. Bloody yes. Point 2,leading them was a woman with her bosom exposed. This art piece with butchered humans, woman's bosom, and is a war scene. It is in the Loft and is highly recognised. Not exactly the Mona Lisa but is worthy to stay in the same building. This artist was showing his feelings and people respected it, why not now?

Just like the impressionist artworks isn't it. Nobody really paid any attention because they stick to the rule book and lounge in cosy chinz chairs while somewhere in this cold world, someone who wants to express his feelings is rejected. Why this line between art? If this sort of video is rejected then I want Damien Hirst's artwork to be under the same list. Along with countless other artists.

Just because someone has never picked up a pencil or brush or camera and done something with it with their senses, it does not give them the license to slander them on tabilods, newspapers or websites. For once just try to think about all the other things happening, the wars, the terrorists. You can make such a big fuss over a little video like that, with factious comments and remarks, just for a pig that even animal lovers eat. But what is happening for things that affect millions of lives, each as precious as your own? Tell me that.

Achieving Success

Good news, the school that I applied for has shortlisted me and on Monday, 9th of July, I will be taking a test for my art. I will try to get those pictures of my art posted but I really do not know where they are. It seems to be a draw whatever you desire kind of thing and I am still pondering on a good subject. Abstract still life perhaps, I am horrible at making things look in proportion. I am really scared, since no one in my school has applied to this school for a few years now. There will be an interview after this test if they accept me into the second round and after that comes the final verdict. Why do they have to make US wait so long? We only get to know whether we have a secure comfirmed place until our end-of-year results are out.

Excuse me? Are all the schools just going to make us sit and wait for them to pick us out. Okay I know it is the system but frankly I have been slightly put off by their off timing. They sent an email about the changing of dates. I mean, students hardly have time to do such stuff like immediately make a presentable art work within a constrained time limit. Or think about a topic to give a good impression. Absurd.

Why can't we just send them our art pieces during the interview? Then we can tell the teachers why we chose such an art piece or whatever. I break easily under stress and this is giving me a lot of stress. Before the interview I have to read up on the school history and art history on certain artists and their works. My vocabulary better be good on that day. I am good with conversing and within 5 minutes I can get a relatively smooth conversation going with a stranger (e.g mom's friend or something) because I cannot stand silence if there is another breathing person in the same radius of 1 meter. Pray for me.

Scrabble

Does any one here feel crazy whenever you are faced with a scrabble board almost void of opportunities for you and all the letters you pick are vowels or non vowels?
I am and it is not funny. I am currently losing a lot to my dad in the first two games of scrabble in my short existence here but my words are a bit more colourful than his and he said that they are pretty good. We are still stuck at the words like sole, road and well boring kind. I have been trying to put in corrode, jarl,fungible and nearly put in weird word beany in desperation.

I must warn readers, I am suffering from severe-utterly-depression-blogging syndrome and I forgive in advance for any erratic typing. Sorry folks, but every teenager goes through this adults cannot escape as well.

Dreams
Dreams are like grains of sand. Something as ephemeral as a rose plant in a desert. Something that can be blown away by the winds of change. Something fragile, defenseless and powerless. People say that dreams are powerful, something so strong that it can cause you to draw near it without thinking, like a drug addict intent on ruining himself with booze and unknown substances with added detergent. It is not the dream. It is our will power and motivation that brings us nearer to our goal.

We are like the clams on the ocean bed. One day, a grain of sand, the dream, floats in and irritates us. We try to tell ourselves that it is impossible to make it happen. Sub consciously, or even consciously, we put in tiny amounts of effort to harden that dream. Before we realize it, a hard outer coating has secured the dream within it

You hear people, powerful, strong, influential people, on the news or in magazines. They all say a common thing:

“I never thought I could achieve this.”

Let me tell you something. That is probably the biggest lie in their lives. They dreamed that they would, that they could, achieve it. If you yourself dream that you will fail, it is like doing a murder in front of a police man.

By now you’ll be reaching for the mouse to the link to another blog. Hold a second. I did not in the last 246 words wrote that there will be no failure. Sure there will be failures but as long as you have the guts to stand up and try again, you will succeed. Maybe not where you originally thought but it is more of the process than the outcome.

Right now I am seething with anger because the composition that I wrote (above) did not win anything. Despite putting in a lot of effort on my part. But they will be holding it again next year. I will try and when someone asks me (or looks down sneering) why I did not succeed, I will say this:

“True I did not, but I will, one day.”

Discuss Equality Among People

All animals are equal,but some animals are more equal than others.

You just need to change two words and it will fit in with our daily lives

All humans are equal,but some humans are more equal than others.
George Orwell, author of Animal Farm, has made quite a deep impression on me with his story focussing on the trival aspects of a group of normal animals. If you look closely at the last chapter, you will notice something about the pigs inviting the humans over to talk about the growth of animal farm.The pigs "morph" into humans and so do the humans appear to be the pigs. This shows that during a rebellion rules thought to be vital at first are thrown by the wayside because of the arrogance of people
In today's context, there is much friction between races as well as the rich and poor. The poor are normally the ones considered by people as the outcasts.Providing them little choice when it comes to jobs or education for their children. I feel that this is a barrier we must overcome.There will be no wars if nobody wants to tryant over others.If we can solve that,peace and equality among men will be our only reward.

A Tribute to Teachers

Teachers require a lot and I mean tons of effort to take care of students. I know that it is still a long way from teacher's day but seriously, how often do we thank them? How often do we complain about the immense mountains of homework they set for us to complete? How often do we dare to take the initiative to help them? I personally feel guilty to admit that I have not really come up to scratch in my performance and mostly feel evil when I complain as our teachers have to mark our sloppy work. But most of the time I feel compelled to do well because of my teachers. I do not want to let the hard work to be washed down the sewer just like a load of polluted water: something not only not needed but hated.I was a pretty awful pupil last year but my form teacher never stopped believing in me and encouraged me to work on my weakness: math. Now I am scraping A or A star with luck for that subject. Mother tongue has been my worst subject and I am glad that it is catching up. To all teachers (who know my blog or actually I don't think they know) THANKS A BUNCH!

Imagine you are a mother, or a close sister to a six year old toddler stuck in this canyon. You have about two days worth of water and a dead hand phone. In Vanishing Acts, by renowned writer Jodi Picoult, it portrays the hard decisions that four people face, each writing from their point of view. A mother, Delia who was kidnapped by her own father. Delia's mother,Elsie, a mother who lost her baby. Andrew, a man who loved his daughter so much that he is now in jail and on trail after about a quarter of a century. Eric, Delia's fiance who caused Delia's daughter, Sophie to be born out of wedlock, has to be a good father and be Andrew's attorney in the state of Arizona where he knows little or nothing about the state law. Fritz, a man who loves Delia but does not wish to drive a wedge between the loving couple.

Complicated already? It gets better. You have lived all your life in the New Hampshire and suddenly you found out that your mother is still alive and the house you live in while attending the court case is a caravan and is painted Hubba Bubba pink down to the toilet bowl.

The Little Prince

Written by Antoine De Saint-Exupery, and translated from French to the English version is heart warming even though the story is written in a simple to understand style. The author has wanted all his life to be an artist but his feelings and aspirations are crushed by adults. I love it because it is a polite rebellion of children. Or any other person under the rule of an elder.

One day, the plane he was piloting crashed in a desert. He was alone and only had a little drinking water left. He sets to work on his engine, and finds himself with the most irritating person to a worried man, a boy with no worries.

Truly, the prince asks many questions but never really replies. He speaks of things briefly and refuses to elaborate. The things he talks about most are very meaningful.How adults don't see the world as they should, adults rarely look at the true beauty of things and only worry on the value. They are less inquisitive as kids, so far as I'm concerned.

A common rose, a tamed fox and a vile snake bring something to the prince. The rose causes him to feel guilty because he left her. The fox gave him a secret of a saying:It is only with the heart one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye. The snake sent him to his final resting place. The story was really not much compared to the famous novels but it almost made me cry. The meaning is deep, telling us to repent and follow our hearts and open the eyes of our souls.

I hope you'll take the time to read it, remember : What is essential is invisible to the eye.

A short story I wrote please comment on it

My mind raced and thought deeply. A cooling zephyr brushed my hair like a mother, but I had never known my mother's love for me as she spent her time in and out of jail. Lost in another world. I promised never to follow her when I found out the truth. At sixteen, month before my O' levels, however I could end my miserable life like she did.
I knew the consequences, after being preached by my teachers and father almost daily. My father though not a drug addict, was as unloving as my mom. My good grades came from my friends and the results only showed my father I was not as talented as some geniuses in class.
Here however, my chance of one life time stood before me like a phantom of miracles. That little round pill worth just an hour of calm. I took it from John as we walked out of the alley and I pocketed the pill to save it until my father's tirade of me staying out late again.
True to my predictions, my father scolded me harshly and rained blows with such strength that I did not understand how such a frail person could produce. That was the last straw, if he hated me that much then he wouldn't be hurt if I lost myself: but I knew better.
Against everything I had learnt, I rushed down to a secluded lane and downed the pill with a swig of beer with John. My heart almost bursting with the need to stop it all but it rested at supreme indulgence seconds later.
After the raging inferno of emotions building up inside my soul, I felt the peace with my pill. I laughed to see the moon and doggedly smiled and connected with the tips of the universe. The happiness spread all over me and I knew at last why my mother had resorted to this. Even though I didn't know the wonders of the garden of Eden, mysteriously I knew it felt like this.
I shivered and my teeth chattered. What was happening? I had read about the cold turkey treatment but I had only took it once. Then the realisation swooshed over me, it said that you would be hooked on no matter how many times. There was a back-up pill in my bag and I was overcome by the lust of the dreaded yet miraculous pill.
Over the next few weeks I willed. My father noticed nothing as I often gave him the cold shoulder. My mom was in jail for drink driving. I stole in total 5 of the latest hand phones with such skill that I was never caught. Even though I had emptied my life savings I could not cope with the demands my body gave me. Like my other "friends" such as John, we "chased the dragon". Supplies were low and prices shot up. To raise the money, I took more and more things worth higher values. I was in the pill's excellent moods when the exams were on.
As expected I failed. My father questioned me repeatedly about my marks. Why couldn't I get at least an A? Why did I fail for all my subjects? I was reluctant to tell him even though I yearned to. Was I really that willing to let all my happiness ebb away like that? After all my true friends did to me by giving me the pill. I was lost and hid in my room in spite of my father's screams of protest.
I sank slowly to the ground, my head against the cooling surface of the mirror. Why did I feel this way? My noisy temptation monsters distracted me and I could hear faintly the shrill voice of my true self. I felt so because I still knew I was doing wrong. True, I had fallen into the dark chasm of my own greediness but I could still see light and hope. My brain worked hard to think properly and I was exhausted. My monsters guarded my true voice well that night and instead of making the return to the light, I was as stubborn as a mule and plodded on with my dreary existence with the pill.
Finding one's room guarded by two narcotics officers was not the best of situations. That was what I saw after coming back after yet another night of drinking and inhalants. I had no more resistance inside me and for the first time in weeks, when I saw my reflection, I saw a pale and ashen faced boy. Not the musculine hero I was with the pill. I had chosen this route and I will endeavour to come back to my senses.
" Jason."
I turned and saw my father. He had found out the truth and I was grateful and for once I could feel the love he felt for me through all his turbulant moods when my mother changed. Slowly and with my heart over filling with the knowledge of how much he cared and suffered becaused he loved me as his son out of his five children.
"Dad, I love you."
My voice cracked and I could not say my regrets and was sorry that I had never even acknowledged him as my father. A bond had connected between us and the officers smiled to see me accept my fate and I told them truthfully all that I knew, and went through the harsh treatment better than others because I knew that I was surrounded by love that had been always there. My mind had simply refused to believe it.
Now as a man, I have a tarnished reputation but amazingly, my school accepted me. Many job interviews turned out to be unsuccesful but the ones whom I love encouraged me with every waking day and I am touched by what they did. They know it and that is all that matters.

Here are my two most favourite books as the writer's words, expressions and beautiful phrasing simply swish around you like a cooling May zephyr.

The plot is most enticing but I am pretty upset with the beginning of the stories. The first story by Brian John, On Angel Mountain, shows the inferno the Morgan clan has emerged from. I would rate this N16 though. Not for the fain hearted.

There was a great fire before David and Martha, the author of the profound diary, met. The fire caused David to lose his parents, and siblings except his brother, who later died in a storm at sea.

Martha was found to be pregnant after a few months and with the help of Martha's brother, a Baptist, the two were married in secrecy.

Martha soon hates being pregnant and dreads it so much that she nearly committed suicide. Thankfully on that day, the sun was shinning and she changed her mind after visiting a friend. However her endeavours fail as she loses her baby and sinks into deep melancholy.

Other problems wind themselves tightly around the virtuous Plas Inglli, Martha's new family's estate.Moses Lyord, their manservant turns to be Martha Morgan's biggest nightmare.

Do read this book, I am very amazed that such amazing literary efforts aren't well recognised.

It is sold at the one and only borders outlet in Singapore, though I think I might have snapped up the last book.