Thursday, December 22, 2005

Balance



Sports has always been benevolent to Johnny.
100m Boys Champion.
200m Boys Champion.
4 x 100m Boys Champion.
4 x 400m Boys 1st Runner Up(Let's blame it on the 3rd runner).
1992-1998 Boys Overall Champion.
1994 -1998 Boys Cross Country Champion.
Finisher of the Iron Man Marathon in 2002. 4TH, 8TH & 3RD in the Standard Chartered Marathon consequitively for 3 years running.

Accolades fit for a king. This was just the first row of trophies in Johnny's cabinet. Yet there were still spaces for a few more.

A gleam of smile flashed across Johnny's face as he admired all the gold that represented his conquering days.Vivid memories always seem to find its way into his head whenever he closed his eyes. From his first Sports Day in Primary 4 all the way to the most recent event he took part in.

His parents were ever present at all events. They were there to share the same cup of memories. Pictures of triumphs that last a lifetime.The support he received was massive, like the fate he is condemned to. Admist the flashbacks, Johnny spilled the scorching coffee on his lap. But yet he remained calm...like the last few steps towards the end line that was all too familiar to him.

Johnny went out into the garden.Perhaps he needed some fresh air to cool his troubled mind. There was the uncanny smell of rain in the air. Johnny looked up and saw moody grey clouds lumbering over the small colourful roofs in the distance. Not far away from him was a garden snail, making its way slowly and painfully to the Ixora bush. In 20 miinutes, slowly but surely, it finally reached its destination. A very small distance yet it envied Johnny for he might take all of Eternity and still fail to do likewise.

Johnny smiled. What a contrast. How he wished he could move. Even if it meant as slow as the garden snail. Freedom of movement governed him for all of his glory days. Now condemned to a wheel chair, Johnny realised that it is no fun being paralyze.

Saturday, December 17, 2005

Ilhan & The Rocking Chairs




In cities where skyscrappers longed for the sky and roads were paved with endless opportunities, poverty was thought to be a thing of the past. But not in this city. For right at the end of Cheviot Hill not too long ago there used to be a falling wooden house. A house small enough to be given a miss. Yet it was here that a once young Ilhan learnt values which the rich... given ten life times...could not have attained.

Ilhan's father is a rocking chair carpenter. It was a family trade. Even the most advanced of technology could not create the kind of precision and woodwork that his father's hands could. The chairs always seem to be in perfect center of gravity. Always.

Tides change, seasons change and like the moon which gives way to the sun every morning, so does preferences and trends. Rocking chairs are being descarded for new leather chairs. Rocking chairs were suddenly old fashioned. But good traditions die hard and this was the only thing Ilhan's father knew how to do. He has 4 sons to feed, to educate and to raise.

Though there still existed folks who came to Ilhan's father for a custom made chair, business was relatively at a stand still. They barely made ends meet but Ilhan's father wanted his sons to go to school. Somewhere deep inside, he some what knew that his sons's education was probably the last throw of the dice for a comfortable life. This forced him to seek odd jobs elsewhere.

Alas 30 years of sawing and sanding and bending over the work bench somewhat showed in Ilhan's father's health. Ilhan knew what was going on but his father always tried to act normal and brave in front of his sons. And when his children are out of sight...he would lean back against the wall, clutching his chest and cough out loud. Ilhan felt the pain too.

Then there came a special order of 20 of the finest rocking chairs. It was a showcase for the 'Color me 60's' exhibition at the Museum. The man in charge of the event knew exactly whom to look for. Like a man repossesed, Ilhan's father straight away sorted out his tools and started sawing. To him, it meant education money for his sons.

During the day, Ilhan would help out his father in the woodshed but after dinner, Ilhan would be forced to do his homework. He would be beaten up by his dad whenever he attemted to do 'overtime'. Since it was the monsoon season, Ilhan's father worked well into the cool rainy nights.

Ilhan could not sleep. Admist the pouring rain, he could listen to the monotonous sawings from the woodshed. Then he heard the sound of coughing. And he felt hurt again. Ilhan thus made up his mind there and then. As soon as his father retired for the night, he would sneak out into the woodshed to do whatever he can.

And that was exactly what he did. Ilhan was a fine carpenter. It was in his blood. His posture...his strokes..his precision was pinpoint. Before the morning prayer call, Ilhan would sneak back into his room to catch whatever sleep he can before he wakes up again for school.

Everyday, this little misadventure would occur and Ilhan's father remained unsuspicious. His father was somewhat amused that he did more than he thought he did the night before. But he put it aside...believing that since he worked late into the night he must have forgotten how much he actually did. Not knowing that he had an angel to help him.

Days and days of insufficient sleep showed when Ilhan failed his class test for the first time in his life. Ilhan has always been a straight 'A' student. When news reached his father's ears, his father was disappointed in his eldest son. Ilhan was confined to studying shall not help in the woodshed anymore. And yet Ilhan still continued with his misadventures every night.

Then there was one afternoon when Ilhan was at the study table..too tired to concentrate on his homework...and he dozed off. Forehead on the pages of his Maths textbook. His father happened to come in for a glass of water and flew into a fit when he saw his son sleeping when he was supposed to be studying. His son was sleeping in the afternoon and Ilhan was whacked like a punching bag.

And yet...Ilhan still continued his angelic deeds in the night. After 3 hard months of compromising his studies and sleep, alas the 20 rocking chairs were completed. Ilhan's father was extremely delighted when he went out of the house for the museum. He was paid handsomely as promised and he decided to buy some stuff which his family could never afford before.

That afternoon, on the way home, he bought a huge box of St. Michaels chocolate biscuits. After dinner that night, he placed the chocolates on the table and his sons preyed on them. All except Ilhan who was in his room studying. Ilhan's father and mother didn't even want a piece of chocolate. They wanted their sons to have everything.

Ilhan stood up....wondering what the commotion in the kitchen was all about. He opened his room door just enough to peek thru. Tears of joy filled his eyes when he saw his younger brothers eating away at those expensive chocolates. They were happy and it made him happy too. In the midst of the happenings, Ilhan's father took a handful of chocolates and put it in the cabinet. "Keep this for my son Ilhan", he told his wife as he walked out into the veranda to sit on his rocking chair.

Monday, December 12, 2005

We Are The Youth




From all the years of suffering
And all the years of broken hearts
We will remember when the
Revolution starts
...and now like a warrior that I was
Meant to be
I will stand in this ground with
Pride & dignity



We are the youth
We are the truth
We have survived the darkest times Of lives
We are the youth
We are the youth
Our turn will come & we will have Our day
-A.C.A.B

Saturday, December 10, 2005

The Travelling Companion


There is this golden rule which travellers across the world abide.Be it backpacking, holidaying or perhaps a walk across the country side. 'Travellers share everything during their travels except a lady'.

At the youthful age of 22, Dzul wanted to venture beyond his country of origin. He wanted to explore a culture which was close yet alien to him. It was his first time out of Singapore and his mother was so worried she wanted to follow. That was never going to happen. Dzul listens to Led Zeppelin while his mother listens to Nancy Sinatra. Dzul likes his steak rare while his mother likes it well done. There will always be conflicting interests....and to top that list, his mother is a slow walker and there's nothing that's going to hold him back.

With very little money and an abundance of enthusiasm, Dzul left for Thailand. It was indeed the land of all smiles. The warmth of its people was similar to its weather. Communication was always going to be a thorn in the leg but it's the joy of overcoming these difficulties that makes life rewarding.

Dzul settled in the cheap streets near Khao San. A reknowed strip to backpackers worldwide. All the cheap essentials could be found along the 400m stretch of road. And when night falls, the trendy bars open its doors to a world of vice. But nevertheless, it was a good place to meet people from all over the world. People who came from faraway lands with little or no money. People who viewed life differently. People who are not into the rat race. Free spirited people.

Dzul made plenty of friends by the 3rd day. By the 5th, Julian agreed to venture the poorer states of the north together with Dzul. The long bus journey was like a rewinding timeline. The fast paced life of Bangkok gave way to the humble paddy fields of Udon Thani. The companions alighted. Where they were going, there were no roads.

On the right, lush green lands spread across the countryside and met the blue horizon that was the sky. On the left was a path that led to the mountains. There are the odd settlements around the mountains that made it look somewhat like small LEGo pieces from afar. They took the path on the right.

It was 12 noon and the sun was belching out on the two with full force. The path they were on were filled with the occasional litter. Probably by past travellers. Probably by local village boys. There was a crushed Pepsi can in the middle of the track. Secretly, both Dzul and Julian longed for one. But they remained silent. Dzul kicked the can into the bushes as he cursed to himself. They were tired and Julian has already drained out his water supply.

After 4 hrs of walking, they rested under a rambutan tree. The shade it provided was comforting. Like snuggling under a thick blanket in a cold air-con room. Julian extended his hand and begged Dzul for some water. Dzul willingly obliged. After all they were travelling companions. National Service in Singapore sure did help Dzul thought. Those endless route marches actually did help after all. Maybe the UK should have National Service too...to toughen up blokes like Julian.

Both Dzul and Julian grabbed the juicy rambutans from the lower branches. It was like kampong days for Dzul...for Julian it was a first time eating rambutans. By 6pm the only rambutans left were a huge bunch that was too high to reach. That was spared for the time being. Night was approaching and Dzul went around searching for firewood. Julian stayed back to guard their belongings.

That night, they talked about their homelands and about their cultures and it was a very eventful day. Julian could go on and on like a train. Dzul was happy that he had someone like Julian around.

The next morning they were woken up by children from the village nearby. They must have seen the fire that the travellers built the night before. The children were naturally funny. They were laughing at Julian's golden hair. They were running around kicking a football and Dzul and Julian joined in the game.

Football is truely an international langguage. They did not know what the kids are shouting about and yet they enjoyed the game like as if they were back home. One of the kids then took his bicycle and raced down the road. He came back 15 mins later with a big bag. Inside were bottles of water. Some of which were cold....some of which were of room temperature.

Dzul then took one of the boys by the hand and walked toward the rambutan tree. Julian was already there rummaging through his belongings. Dzul wanted the Thai boy to climb the tree to get that huge bunch of ripe rambutans. As they reached the tree Julian must have gotten a shock for he dropped his bag. Spilling all its contents. Tens of juicy red ripe rambutans rolled on the floor.

There was silence and guilt on Julian's face. Dzul looked up and the rambutan tree was as barren as the surrounding green fields. The Thai boy of course did not know what was going on. He ran back towards his friends. Dzul followed behind...disgusted with the selfishness of his companion. The Thai boy took a cold bottle of water and gave it to Dzul while he took the room temperature bottle for himself. Such was the warmth of Asian hospitality that beats western influences hands down....anytime...anyplace.


Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Inside Lookin' Out




For mere 16 year-olds, it was very much appaling when my neighbour screamed at us to tone down the radio. You see, the radio wasn't even plugged into the wall socket. It was the sound of Mehua. Don would be the brutal drum god, Jay is the possesed bassist, Andy is the charismatic frontman and me I'm just the 'feeling' lead guitarist. My basement was our stage. My cushions and furniture, the adoring fans.

We were really tight at 16 and we practiced rigorously. Andy and me entered NYP after our O Levels while Don and Jay entered SP. Though seperated, yet we performed at every gig, jam n hop, miscellaneous events organized by our respective schools. There was no need for us to come early for sound checks. We're automatically scheduled as the last band to bring the show to a monstrous end. By 18, we were rendered household names in our own league. By 18 , Andy got himself a scrambler. A devil on 2 wheels has met the devil with 2 voicebox.

School got hectic as we progressed into our 2nd year and the music suffered. 'A Tribute To 70's Rock' was in a month's time and we're scheduled to open the event as the youngest band of the night. Mehua was to perform 4 songs. All handpicked by myself. Our opening song was to be the 9 min masterpiece Inside Lookin Out by Grand Funk Railroad.

"Oi..I don have the CD la for the Grand Funk Song. Can lend me anot?", Andy asked me one morning at school. "Sure. Later you come my house take la", I replied. We were meticulous in every aspect. We wanted to impress. We wanted to look good. We wanted to portray our talents at a level playing field. We wanted to be stars.

A week before the gig and Andy was late. He seems to be spending too much time with Rose. He has not even memorized the whole song for Inside Lookin Out. We were full of angst for we did not have time on our side do we. I was pissed that night and that was the worst jamming session ever. People are going to laugh at us.

Rose called me at 6am the next day. She said Andy got involved in a hit and run and is in ICU. I got the guys together and we visited. I couldn't recognize Andy. He was wrapped from head to toe. His skin was in shreds and yet he seems to be sleeping peacefully. I whispered a silent prayer and left. I couldn't see my best friend this way. We grew up together. I used to sleep in his room, share the same clothes.

Andy passed away the day before the gig. I was in the basement with Don and Jay and Andy's presence was still felt. I looked at the blue cushion which Andy used to wipe his sweat. It was still unwashed. We're that close yet now we'll never know where do we stand. I will never recruit another vocalist. It just wasn't the same. Somehow whenever I looked at those musical instruments, the more I thought about Andy and I decided to quit music.

I visited Andy's mum the next day.She held me close to her though she wasn't chatty like before. The sight of me reminds her of Andy. The same style of dressing. She said she left Andy's room untouched since the last time Andy left the house. She said I could go inside if I wanted to. Each small step I took brought flashbacks since we were kids. Somehow when I turned the knob, I was still hoping to see Andy lying on his bed...ready to throw something at me.The room was full....of void.

I looked at all his posters. Clothes on the floor. His school bag on one side on the room. I saw the trophy we won for inter class soccer in Sec 3. Andy scored the winning goal. Then I noticed the CD player was put on 'Pause'. I pressed 'Play' and was greeted to the raw power that was Inside Lookin Out. I knew Andy was trying his best to memorize the 9 min epic. I was sure we're going to be wonderful on that night that never came. I believe somewhere in time during our next life, we will fulfill that dream.

Monday, November 07, 2005

Shine On This Crazy Diamond



It was time. 9 months passed by so quickly for 8-year old Mikhail. He knew the attention he always recieved was undoubtedly coming to a standstill. The moment Mirza was born, it was always Mirza this and Mirza that. Mikhail felt lost in his own home. Wondering about from room to room seeking the attention he thought he deserved. He felt alone. Lost.

Gone are the days when his Father came home and played football with him in the garden, pretending they were in the mightiest of arenas, against the most gallant of opponents. Instead, his father darts up the creaking wooden stairs and starts cuddling what he thought was a useless lifeform that couldnt walk or speak less for the odd cries and short bursts of pointless laughter. Days like these, you can see Mikhail kicking the ball against his new best pal....the house wall.

Year in year out he felt this way. Always rough with his younger brother. Stealing punches whenever no one is looking. It was his way of getting even. Nevertheless somehow he matured quickly. He grow to be independant and responsible at a young age. It brought the man out of this brave young boy. A blessing that was hiding amongst the flowers.

Then at the tender age of 13, the first bombs fell on Singapore. It was disaster everywhere. School ended prematurely. Everyone was running around like heavy drops of rain against the black road. Mikhail is making his way home as fast as his little legs could carry him. What used to be familiar roads now seemed a maze of rubble. Old Uncle Lim has abandoned his ice-cream cart. The ever smiling Aunty Lyn is drowning in her own tears..sitting on the pavement clutching a motionless Bobby, Mikhail's childhood friend. Would his Mummy have done the same for him he thought endlessly.

Tears welled up in the young boy's eyes as he turned after the junction. Half his house stood burning like cheap firewood on a cold night. He braved the flames and entered. A wailing Mirza awaited in the living room begging for his mother to breathe again. Alas his efforts were in vain. Mikhail grabbed his brother and got out into the garden. Again he was lost. Only now ironically he wasn't alone. Where do we go from here?

They sat under the big mango tree. Waiting for their Father to return for them. Nightfall came and Father was late. He never returned after nightfall before. Admist the chaos that was hammering on the country, admist the wailing sounds of the cruel war, somehow brothers fell asleep hugging each other, like playful lion cubs.

The morning greeted them with dust and dew that was made impure by the flames that was already dying. "Daddy come home already?", Mirza quized in between sobs. "Not yet. We go to his work place ok?", Mikhail said trying to sound comforting.

As they trudged down the now defunct driveway, Mikhail turned back for one last look of the house. His Mother's Orchids were the only colours against the burnt picture that he saw. He ran back and plucked one Orchid. "What you take?", Mirza asked. "Mummy", Mikhail whispered as brothers walked on hand in hand.

Amazingly as fate bestowed upon them, they found their father among the horror. There were tears in their Father's eyes as he embraced his princes. But in young Mikhail's eyes shone courage and confidence; and the Sun shined on them, and cast her beams on the three, and gave them her blessing.

Friday, November 04, 2005

No Regrets



For old time's sake there are many things one could do to rekindle whatever flames that is left. Rockstars would relish for a reunion concert. Sports people would gladly accept exhibition matches. But for people like you and me, I'm sure a chance to catch up with your previous lover could bring around an unexpected tingle.

We met after 6 years of absence. She definitely learnt alot about self grooming. She looked like a new person. I was riveted for a good few seconds attempting to find a similarity to the geek I knew back then. Brown contacts replaced the thick black framed glasses. Flowing hair was as soft as the caressing wind. What a contrast to the Julia of yesteryears.

I cant't help gasping in awe as Julia stood up and catwalked to the bar counter. What a trophy she would have been now. Vivacious personality, to match a pastel smooth skin. Voluptous as a vixen. I knew all the males around there are lookin at her....in amazement. And here she was sitting in the same table with me. I felt weird...but in a good way for definitely all the guys are silently screaming murderous intentions.

Julia came on to me strong. It was impossible to resist I wondered. I was trying my utter best. She was flirting like a fly. Prancing like a hungry wolf. And I was easy meat. Somehow though I managed to keep the physical intimacy at a minimal. Shunning her soft kisses. I wiped my cheeks each time she pecked...just to disgust her.

She invited me inside her apartment but I declined the sumptous offer. She clearly seemed dissappointed. I could see the millions of questions filling her empty head. "Am I not attractive to you?", she quized. "No Julia. You'd make a goddess blush. It's just that Somebody out there loves me", I replied.

Sometimes in life I guess one should be contented with whatever they possess. Luxuries are just temporary joys. Well to that somebody out there : You'll never be a luxury to me. You're a definite necessity. Half My Soul Is You.

Sunday, October 30, 2005

One Day Affair

It was a chanced meeting, arranged by the young chap workin at the 7-eleven downstairs. She did't have any expression when she first saw me. But I beamed. She looked clean and polished. Smiling and shining even before the neighbourhood alarm clocks began to ring.

I took her in my hand and brought her around. She went into my car. She accompanied me for breakfast. She even followed me into my office. All this without even knowing her name. She remained silent. It didn't take long for me to conclude she's a dumb. In fact, I knew she was the moment we met.

I asked her if she wanted to see the view with me at the top of Swissotel. I told her there was something I need to do and that she was part of it. She just gleamed under the sunlight. We took the elevator that read '51 - 73'. I bet she enjoyed the fast ascend as much as I did.

I stepped near the edge, enjoying the brisk wind on my face. I closed my eyes and held her in my hands. I made a wish. No one is suppose to know. Not you. Difinitely not her cos she's already halfway down there. I hope she enjoyed her journey down as much as she enjoyed the journey up.


Well that my friends is the story of her...a shiny 1 dollar coin.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Adelphi Heroes





Many people misjudge the Malay boys representing the Skinhead tribe here in Singapore. If only you take a closer look and try to understand the culture, you'll realise that they are rather harmless until provoked. Once antagonised, you'll wish the seizure of your existence. These boys are made of something different. Built of strength & Built to last. This is the story about one of their gallant youth.


Akel is waiting for his band slot at the Oi Fest in KL. Rehearsing diligently as he hummed his air drums with his sticks behind the curtains. He doesn't want to make a mistake this time. 5000 strong crowd out there. It was going to be a polished performance and nothing less.

Akel's band was the catalyst that brought the crowd together. It was a blast. The crowd were happily moshing, beer bottle in one hand, clenched fist up in the air. Then as Akel's band was performing the last number, somehow the alcohol got to some of the individuals and violence brewed. It was mayhem beyond imagination. The stadium became a war zone.

Lights out and throngs of people were running everywhere as the wails of the police's sirens filled the air. Somewhere though Akel's younger brother Adel got stabbed. In his dying moments he called Akel on his mobile. "Abang....Aabang..budak KL Troopers tikam aku!", Adel cried with a sense of terror in his voice. Akel bulldozed his way among the boisterous crowd to where Adel said he would be. There sprawling in the middle of the circle made by his fellow Adelphi clan lies Adel. In a pool of blood. Eyes still open. You could almost sense the fear in him by looking at his already dead eyes.

Akel staggered to Adel's side and closed his brother's eyes. He looked up at his fellow clansmen and told them that they have to get revenge before the night is out. The 20 odd that were present seemed adamant. They reasoned that being in Malaysia is already bad enough for them Singapore boys... what more when you wanna seek revenge against KL Troopers. They're in the heart of Kuala Lumpur. They're in Unfairground.

Akel was relentless in his pursuit for revenge. He got up and roamed the streets alone. He didn't care if the rest wanted to follow. He wanted an eye for an eye. Slowly though the rest followed behind. From afar, it looked like Akel was leading his soldiers for a battle. They roamed and roamed for an hour and still no sign of those bastards.

Then as they turned into the corner of the road, they spotted the enemy. Boys from KL Troopers celebrating their little victory outside a 7-Eleven store. Without hesitation, Akel charged forth at full speed. There were probably 50 over boys from the opposition side but the Singapore boys punched through with whatever they had. A brutal war commenced.

Police came to the crime scene a full 15mins later. By that time all of the KL Troopers boys have fled leaving behind 14 of their boys sprawling dead on the road. 1km away, the Adelphi boys recollected at a vacant shophouse. They did a headcount. All were alive. All had battle scars. Justice was served. Yet they went home with heavy hearts for the loss of Adel.

Back in Singapore, there was a huge commotion among the Skins about the happenings in Malaysia. A few weeks later, they got news that KL Troopers were coming down for revenge. Like all street wars, there is no end.





It has been 5 years now. The Adelphi Heores are still waiting.

Fall From Grace




Suzy has been sitting on the parapet of her Toa Payoh flat for an hour now...trying hard to find at least one good memory that can instill a smile. Alas there was none except for the the little matchbox cars she remembered playing with her brother. Ironically, the cars zooming below does seem like Matchbox ones..only..these were a little more faster, bigger and real.

Suzy was always envious over her friends during her growing up years. They always had new shoes, new school bags after the June holidays and more importantly, the love showered by their parents. Suzy had nothing. She was the rotten fruit from drug loving parents. An uncomfortable presence.

Naturally, she seeked solace in drugs too when she hit 13. Dropped out of school. Forced into the sordid world of prostituition so that she could afford the luxuries of make-up and branded bags. Just when she thought nothing could get worse, Murphy's Law came into play. The results of her blood test were finalised. Suzy is diagnosed with HIV.

Maybe this was her way out. Misery awaits behind her should she change her mind. Like a prized ballerina, she took a step into nothingness...like a little sparrow during its maiden flight. Suzy tasted gravity. Somehow the weight of the world was left behind the moment she fell from grace.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Her Smile


We chanced into each other like a Hollywood flick,
With that crooked lil tooth and that mole on your cheek.
Most would prefer flawless skin and long brown hair,
But to me your imperfections make the rest seem bare.

I'm the luckiest person every morning,
Cos you're still beside me sweet and cuddling.
Your smile is a rifle that shoots at me for fun,
I'm forced to close my eyes...cos you're brighter than the sun.


- The Royal Assassin

Saturday, October 01, 2005

A Soldier's Tale


The burgeoning rivalry started way back in the kampong days. Boys bred from the same street, yet when it comes to Marbles or Kite Flying or Tamiya Racing, Running, Football, the final will undoubtedly be me and him. Romien Vs Hilal in pure Montague and Capulet style.

God knows how many endless fights we got ourselves into. If we were boxers, our gloves would have worn thin. Yet we managed to keep ourselves from murdering each other despite attending the same school for 10 sordid years. Wasn't until our tertiary years that we finally attended a different institution. New rivalries were made, but all were a far cry compared to Hilal.

Then came the sirens' call to National Service. It was a sombre occasion. It was going to be 2 1/2 years of sorrow. I lamented miserably... and there tucked away in the far corner was the familiar face that met my fists on countless occasions.

The 'Love' story commences. Same bloody Company. Same bloody Platoon. Same bloody Section. Definitely Oscar script material. Somehow we have matured the last few years. We didn't communicate. Potential massacre was curbed. It was a telepathic kind of mutual understanding. No one seemed to notice. Perfect.

Life was tough adjusting to army life. When it was scorching hot, we wished it would rain. And when it rained, we begged for the sun. By the time we thought we were doing fine, Field Camp came knocking on the door. 7 days 7 nights out in the jungle. Prey to mosquitos. No bathing. Frolicking in the mud. We were in the dirtiest state of our lives. Adding to the misery, the only food we had to eat were Combat rations. On the outer packaging it reads 'Mutton Beriyani'. Sounds nice? It looks and smells of vomit. Im not sure though if it tastes the same for I have not tasted vomit.

By the 6th day, morale was below zero. It had been pouring since day 1. Here I am sitting under my tent, wretched and drenched... when my tent tore. Though it was a small hole, it acted like a pipe spewing its contents on my face.

Uncomfortable, yet I remained motionless. I tucked my knees closely to my chest. The water from the hole acted as a catalyst for the already freezing conditions. I was shivering like a dying worm. I took out my candle. It was the last one. Held it in my hands and lighted it.

I relish as the wax dribbled onto my hands. It kept me warm. An ugly frog had already found a cosy noodge the area underneath my legs. How I wished I was Mr. Froggy. Then, as sudden as the rain got heavier, my tent crumbled. I was in a pitiful mess.

I was struggling to brave the cold at the same time, rebuilding my tent. Selfish bastards in the comfort of their own tents didn't give a hoot about me. I could feel the 20 or so pair of eyes engrossed in watching my drudegery. Then a familiar figure defied the treacherous rain to lend me a helping hand...Hilal.

We remained silent until the tent was erected once again. "Thank you", I sheepishly muttered. "Don't mention it. I know you would have done the same", came his reply as he walked toward his tent.

I was cold to the bone by now as I sat under my tent. Hilal returned and crawled beside me. He brought out whatever that remained of his candles and lighted one up, placing it between us. I scoured my pocket for my pack of cigarettes. Alas, the pack is soaked like a sponge. What luck! Hilal then took out his pack. Only one stick left. He insisted that we shared. And for the first time in our melodramatic history, we talked instead of cursing at each other.

We talked about childhood years all the way till the present times. We laughed, we punched and we shoved each other as if we were like brothers arguing over the last piece of pie. For the first time in my National Service, I was actually feeling glad. Glad that it was raining....Glad that I found a friend. God must have summoned all his magic to create the sun and all else that is pretty, but I guess he saved his best work in creating this rain.

It has been a few months now since I fulfilled my national obligations. Here I am speeding in my car along Changi's Coastal Road, passing by Changi Beach, then the nostalgic SAF Ferry Terminal. Then it began to pour. I smiled. Somewhere out there, in the gruesome depths of the Tekong jungle a soldier probably...just probably found a friend...like I did...2 1/2 years ago.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

It's Not Tragic


Racing never fails to baffle me. At first it was the thrill that entices me. But it got mundane. Then the element of danger made it all the more arousing. But I became my own master. It remains unexplainable. It became my religion. For that one moment of bliss, nothing comes close. Not drugs. Not even sex.

When I announced to my household the acquisition of my latest motorbike, a tempest brewed within my mother. Her attempts to talk me out of it were futile. "Don't go too fast", was her consolating advice. Surprisingly, I felt bad this time round. Maybe I was getting out of hand. Was I courting danger?

I took a ride to Fidelio St that night to seek solace. The steep downslope rekindles the fondest memories of delinquent primary school days. It was here that I first took my BMX for a free-falling experience. It didn't matter back then how tired it was to walk back up Fidelio St. When you feel the wind howling at you, it just takes the pain away.

The distant clap of thunder roused me from my flashbacks. My cigarette had died out a long time ago, judging from the cylindrical remains of ash still stuck to the filter. I had to reach home before it rains.

"F**k!", I cursed. Red light once again. Until what seems like ages, a blue bike pulled up beside me. I could tell he was a Mat. The white-framed specs was an instant give away. He revved up his throttle...thrice!. "Mau race kepa!?", I retorted admist the idling sounds of the bikes. The Mat seemed taken aback. He probably expected me to rev my throttle in reply. I was bold. He made a howling mistake.

"We go down Upper Changi, turn right at National Panasonic. Then all the way till Temasek J.C. Turn right, then right again into East Coast Rd. Then right again into Siglap Rd all the way until the traffic light with the red light camera. ", I laid out the route. He nodded.

Lights turned green. Phantom Of The Opera by Iron Maiden is playing in my head. It's THE anthem for racing. It just subdues me into another world. This Mat is not bad. Though I'm still winning, he isn't far behind. As I turned into Siglap Rd and negotiated the first few bends, all that was left of my favourite Mat is a minute speck on my side view mirrors.

I glanced back to locate my adversary. No where in sight. Then out of nowhere a dazzling light stared at me. Blinded, I lost control and skidded. I could feel my skin tear as I scraped through the asphalt. After what seems like a million miles, I came to a stop. I was trembling. I was drained of my strength. I tilt my head back. It is all too familiar. There just up ahead lies Fidelio St. I smiled wryly.... for I believe that It's Not Tragic To Die Doing What We Love.

"Mau race kepa!?
"- meaning "You wanna race!?" in Bahasa Melayu

Sunday, September 25, 2005

Not Beautiful Anymore


The boisterous jeers from the boys had no effect on me. It has been well over 6 weeks since I last got intimate with someone. Alas, that someone has become a no one now and my ravenous craving knows no boundaries. Decisions.

I ploughed through the glamorous streets of the red light district. Beguiling whores lined up the dark alleys. Sorry souls negotiating prices. Angels with a dirty face. Small time pimps were beckoning out to me. Its not usual to see a fine-looking boy walking the glamorous streets of Geylang. For once, everyone wants a piece of me.

I was about to commit a momentous vice. I pranced around this particular bunch of sluts. Then I saw her. Under a tree, she had a forlorn look about her. She wasn't keen on working it seems. That would do just perfect. She made her red dress look ravishing. I booked her for the night.

I was trembling the moment the doors closed behind us. The silence was as uncomfortable as awaiting a court room judgement. She began to unzip her dress. This was the defining moment. I lost. I reached out to her and zipped her dress up again. I couldn't proceed.

I took her to the Esplanade for dinner and ice-cream. She beamed like an innocent child. We had a moonlight walk. I learnt many things about her that night. I made a melancholic girl smile.

For most part of the evening, we forgot where we came from. Fireworks greeted the skies for the post national day celebrations at Marina South. We looked up in awe. This time though, the silence between us was as comfortable as a mother's hug. I held her hands. She gripped it firmly.

Alas, it was time to go. As we neared the very street Ii first set eyes upon her, I held her hand again. "Has anyone told you that you are beautiful?", I said softly. She shook her head. She took my hand to her cheek. Tears welled up in her eyes. "I'm not beautiful anymore", came her sorrowful reply as she turned and began her perilous walk back to where she came from.

Saturday, September 24, 2005

We're Thicker Than Blood

When you run into danger, I may be the last to pull you out.
In times of need, I may be the last to hear your shouts.
If ever the waiting turns to doubt,
do remember that an hour glass waits for the very last sand.
Just like we'll be brothers till the end.

-The Royal Assassin
(For My Blood Brothers. You Know Who You Are)

Thursday, September 22, 2005

Aishiteru

Love is when we kiss, the world stops.
Love is when I hear your voice through the photographs.
Love is when I miss you while you're sleeping on my shoulders.
Love is when you smile at me, I lose my senses
Love is when you hate me, I think of you to sleep.

- The Royal Assassin

Blue Eyed Girl

Qabil knew something was special the moment he woke up. It was a perfect crimson sunrise that gave colour to the previous night. Today he will be making his way to Dubai for his month long student exchange program.

Flights were always monotonous. The skies are clear. There was every shade of blue possible as Qabil was mesmerized by the view from his window seat.

The glamorous streets of Dubai greeted him like a conquering prince as the warmth of arabic hospitality cancelled any thoughts of getting homesick. The family he was staying with was somewhat similar to his. Working class, strong knit, modern yet conforming to religous beliefs. Feroz works in the carpet business. Shizah, who is a housewife is a brilliant cook, Najeeb is a weird 24yr old art student, and Helena is the blue-eyed 20yr old daughter.

Over the month long period, Qabil grew close with both Najeeb and Helena, often sharing with them ideas on fashion, entertainment and the Singaporean culture. They also helped in his schoolwork which eventually resulted in excellent grades for Qabil's exchange program. Secretly though, Qabil has eyes for Helena. It wasn't only the dark flowing raven hair and her model like features. It was her witty sense of humour, the calmness and the unique personality that she exudes. Above all, Helena was basically 'wife material'.

Helena too felt the same way for Qabil. Responsible, the uncanny ability to make her blush and laugh. He has a strong character that could sweep any girl. But Qabil is just not the sort of guy to take advantage. And that was enough for Helena to fall madly in love with him.

Though so much love in the air, no one knew of each other's feelings. It was etched deep inside their souls for they knew that it was near impossible. One month was coming to an end. Time ticks fastest when one is having fun.

Helena gave an excuse for not coming down to see Qabil off and that saddened him. He didn't know though that she was in the corner of her room, peering through the curtains, looking at him going into the car.

Qabil was disturbed by many thoughts on his flight back. He could write to her but it just wasnt the same. He could visit her but that would be too costly. He eventually settled on forgetting about Helena totally.

Qabil gazed out of his window seat. It was the same crimson sunrise that he experienced before. Every shade of blue was present in the sky less for one.... it is the blue in Helena's eyes. Though it was short, it was sweet. Her eyes belong to someone else.

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Butterflies

Happiness is like a Butterfly.
You could try to catch it all day and fail.
But if you were to just sit down patiently, it may just alight unto you.

-Anonnymous

The Bird Of Youth Will Fly And Never Return
-The Royal Assassin

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

Change Of Plans

It's Sofia's 1st birthday. Daughter of Malena, Naomi's high school rival. Malena has everything. Married to a celebrity. A Maserati. A huge house. All the expensive nothings money can buy except for one thing. Sofia is rather fat and ugly for a child. Life is fair if you think about it.

Parents can be uncouth. Mothers were comparing whose child was smarter or whose child can count till 10 first. You know those kinda insignificant statistics. Naomi was sitting at the corner, free from mindless conversations when little Ruth crept up to her and whispered "Mummy...Toilet!!". "Sheesh...Not now!?", Naomi thought. "Can I use the washroom?", Naomi asked in a soft tone. "Sure. Use the one upstairs", Malena replied.

The surroundings leading up were paved with rich tapestries, antique pieces, and persian carpets. These were forbidden pleasures to Naomi. "One of these could easily equal half my annual salary", Naomi notioned to herself. "Oh Well", Naomi thought as she pulled down the Huggies Pullups, when some of Ruth's 'creation' settled upon the Persian carpet.

Naomi rushed Ruth into the washroom. "You stay in there!! You hear me?", Naomi hissed. She scurried back out , cleared the aftermath and scampered back to the washroom. All this while I was there standing on the staircase landing...undiscovered. Now being the vain person that I was, I always carried cologne miniatures. I emptied Calvin Klein's Obsession exactly on the spot.

The door swung open and there was an uncomfortable silence. Then we both chuckled at our little misadventure. "It sure can be troublesome having a little one huh?", I stated. "Sure is...You never know when they're gonna have a change of plans", Naomi disclosed to me in a careless whisper as we went downstairs to face the toast of the town.

Monday, August 08, 2005

Where?


You Must Be Tired Cos You Were Running Through My Mind.
You Must Be A Thief Cos You Have Stolen My Heart.
And Me.....
I'm Just A Bad Shooter Cos I Keep Missing You...

-The Royal Assassin

Lost

To My Dearest Heart,

And That Was The Last Moments We Spent...
Though It Was Short, It Was Sweet.
Her Eyes Belong To Someone Else.
I Lost...
And The Rain Cried For Me

-3SG Hairuddin (During Guard Duty)

Loose Change






The party was a blast. Never knew my secondary schoolmates churned out into beautiful swans. Especially Dahlia. Vivacious eyes that rivaled her curvaceous physique. It was a pity though that her mind was as narrow as the road I'm rambling on.

Dark clouds brewed above me accompanied by the vehement sound of thunder. Maybe the gods knew I was having lewd thoughts of Dahlia. I hastened my pace as I saw the orange roof of the bus stop just ahead. The bus was approaching. I have to catch the last bus.

I dug into my jeans and extracted whatever money I had left. "90 cents!", I murmured to myself miserably. The blinding lights of the bus casted a shadow darker than night. Perfect for a scene in a Hitchcock film.

I realised the bus is empty as it screeched to a halt. The driver looked hammered. "How much to Tampines ah uncle?", I queried. "One-Dollar, One-Dollar!", he retorted. "I only have 90 cents la. Can or not?", I beseeched like a boy. He shut the doors and floored the accelerator and the bus blended into the long hard road.

Crimson with rage, I kicked the green dustbin, spewing its contents all over the bus stop. I took out a cigarette and lit it up in slow mo, relenting to the fact that I now have to call Daddy to pick me up. I scrutinized the contents of the litter. A Green Tea can. Almond Roca wrappers. Tissue papers. Then there was a streak of silver. I peered closer. It was a 10 cent coin.

Sunday, August 07, 2005

Like Clockwork



Friday mornings never cease to amuse. A young boy is in uniform. It has chocolate stains on his right sleeve. 'Heinze' was written on his pocket. He was named after condiments. My punctuality is absolute once again. Time 07:02. The train will arrive in 1 min.

I prised into a train replete with people. There is nothing to feast my eyes on except for a snazzy dresser. She had on a limited edition Diesel watch. "What is she doing putting on a men's watch?", I mused.

I saw her again on Monday. In fact I see her everyday that I went to work for 6 days now. Her timing was impeccable. She began to acknowledge my existence with a smile this morning. I visioned that it's going to be a special day.

Time 06:15. I'm late. Rushed to the station and pulled back my sleeve. No watch. No snazzy dresser too. My stomach is rumbling for breakfast. Got down at City Hall instead and hastened towards Starbucks.

There's a long queue. "Damn!", I thought. Needed to know the time. I tapped the shoulder of the person in front of me while asking, "Can I bother you for the time Miss?" "Quarter past eight", was the reply as she glanced backward. Her voice was flawless, just like the limited edition Diesel watch on her left wrist.

The Joke





There she was sitting alone in the classroom. Pondering at the empty wall. Perhaps it wasn't bare to her. She seems deep in thought. Time stood still.

I crept, like a leech against the wall. Silence would have been envious of me. Closer and closer. It was just adequate enough for me to extend my arm and stick it on her blouse. It read, "Carass me. I like it alot." My toils remained unseen and unheard.

Indeed the instructions were abided by a few of the school's hooligans. A sinister smile brewed upon my face as I glanced upon her sobbing like a dark cloud. She was maliciously staring at the piece of paper, just the way she stared at the wall.

The seat next to mine remained unoccupied the following day, and the day after. I begin to imagine if the gravity of the joke was too great. A portentous lesson has hit upon her. Never mess with my heart.

And Then There Was The Beginning


I'm about to start writing once again.
Forgive my unhinged style for its been way too long.
May the words flow once again.
Like the Nile.