Wednesday, May 31, 2006

The Fisherman Story

Miss Mei Li’s expression was to die for. Contorted in a wicked blend of confusion, disbelief and concern, she clipped my workbook with just two fingers, lifted it slightly from her desk and then dropped it with a purposeful flick to send it sliding against the glass surface and finally coming to rest near the far edge of her table.

Rearranging her facial features in preparation for speech, she finally asked: “Why do you write this kind of story?”

The pressing inquisition was delivered with a tinge of anger and disgust in her voice, my fault it seemed, for having dragged her into the little twisted world of this eleven-year-old, of which after having a taste of, she could not possibly have gotten past her conscience to just ignore.

I could not recall what I said. Standing in front of the class braving the collective attention of forty pairs of eyes eager for some action on a boring extended afternoon session, my little mind could not comprehend this horrid consequence that seemed to have stemmed from a short composition submitted just the day before. What seemed more vivid while I continued to hang my head low during that awful fifteen minutes was a little spot of mud on my semi-retiring off-white shoes which I had missed concealing with white chalk that was stolen from the black board during recess.

Miss Mei Li quickly got bored of this fruitless inquest, the victim seemed redrawn in his own world, still, and could be brewing yet another shocker that may further taint the impressive record of this perfectly disciplined, well-mannered and well-dressed class of hers.

Perfect, except for this weird one whose shoes quickly became an eyesore the first day she caught sight of them since she took over from that no-good Mrs Tan.

And so I was dismissed to return to my seat. My workbook was never to be seen again. Perhaps she had set it on fire, forever banishing it from her memories in a self-denying bid to nurse her aching conscience, and I never quite write that kind of story anymore.

… In the evening, the fisherman pulled his boat to shore. He only caught three fishes today. He was sad. He took the three fishes back home. He found a rope at home. He didn’t find his wife. So, he left the three fishes on the table for his wife. After that, he used the robe and put it around his neck, and he hanged himself.

Monday, May 29, 2006

Kakiku: A Map of Indulgence (Updated)

(click on image for larger view)

In the fifth revision of the Kakiku floor plan, this friendly and unpretentious sauna has yet again upheld its pleasantly adaptive and progressive approach with the introduction of a misty jungle room, and a rearrangement of the locker area in a bid to improve its floor area usage, which sadly, continues to be its biggest shortcoming.

Saturday, May 27, 2006

Just Another Caller

Anonymous Caller: Hi.

Braving: *notes unfamiliar mobile number* Hi?

Anonymous Caller: Erm.. May I know who’s on the line?

Braving: You’re calling my number and you don’t know who’s on the line?

Anonymous Caller: Oh, actually I was looking through my phone book and noticed that I used to call your number quite often. So I was wondering ...

Braving: Whoever I am, obviously the answer is not important anymore right now.

Anonymous Caller: Yeah, but... *starts mumbling*

Braving: Ok. Bye!

Don't waste time chasing lost memories, goodbye episodes don't happen for no reason.

Sunday, May 21, 2006

Two Monologues & A Conversation

Braving: Oh gosh! *drags luggage into room, throws open lid in one deafening thud & starts pulling dirty laundry out* It’s so nice to be back! But I forgot how hot KL is! You know it never get anywhere above 15 degrees in San Fran, even when it was all bright and sunny outside and I had to remember my sunscreen before leaving the hotel room.

Roy: *collapses on top of dirty laundry on the floor and starts wriggling about* I can’t shake this hottie from work off my mind. *stares dreamily at phone* Oh gosh he’s got such strong arms. Here, look at this SMS that I sent him the other day. *shoves phone into face of Braving* I know he’s married and all, but do you think he would by any chance guessed that I have feelings for him? I’m so worried that I would freak him out.

Braving: *ignores phone in face and frowns while flipping through photos on camera in blinding speed* I thought four days were enough time to cover all the attractions, yet with all the excellent planning and organizing far ahead of the trip, I don’t understand why I could only squeeze 30 minutes to explore the gay district. However, seeing hunky uncles holding hands whispering sweet nothings into each others’ ears, lesbian couples locking lips bidding farewell, and gay sisters buying flowers from the street vendors are absolutely fabugalistic!

Roy: *buries face in phone* I didn’t get to see him today. He’s on leave. *digs into Braving's luggage* Erm, so you got some extra chocolates here, do you mind if I give one pack to him?

Braving: *caught sight of a brochure in the wastepaper basket* Oh are we having Japanese tonight? Reminds me of that last meal I had in Houston, with the Asian guy I told you about. It’s painful finding someone I like so much who is half the world away from me. I wonder what he’s doing right now. *stares dreamily at ceiling*

Roy: The other day I caught sight of his cock while we were peeing next to each other. *cups hand to hold imaginery thick rod* It was all hairy and black, but I could die for the chance to blow him right there and then. He just keeps adjusting it like all the time! I bet it grows REALLY big when it’s hard.

Braving: Gosh, you know I spent 8 bucks for a little cup of seafood cocktail at the pier but absolutely enjoyed it while shivering myself silly in the late evening chilly breeze looking at hungry seagulls that didn’t seem to be afraid at us tourists at all. *shows blurry photos of seagulls in the midst of a foodfight*

Roy: *puts cupped hands with imaginery thick rod really close to face and peers through fingers* His wife must be the luckiest gal alive! He was asking me the other day if condoms come in extra large sizes, I told him how to look for them, but then he said he’s not using any lately coz they’re trying to have their first child.

Braving: I’m missing San Fran already. *spreads visitors brochures all over the bed and spills them onto the floor together with the dirty laundry, chocolates, shoes, electronic gadgets & toiletries* I wanna go find a job and live there for a few years.

Roy: *throws phone down after catching sight of the clock* Hey! Are we going to the sauna today?

Braving: *shoves visitors brochures, camera, dirty laundry, chocolates, shoes, electronic gadgets & toiletries back into the luggage and shuts lid in one deafening thud* Oh! Oh! Who’s driving?

Friday, May 12, 2006

When The Son Goes Down

When the Son goes down, the first snippet of hair had long fallen, and so, the solitary moments of choking boredom in the room, defined by frozen pizzas, senseless chatroom conversations and TV programs, ended its torturous course. Houston days suddenly became much more bearable with the promise of passionate reunions, enlightening conversations and interactive meals.

When the Son goes down, this two-month-long journey has already exhausted its wonders, and so, the tireless heart makes one last attempt to register the various blissful sensations that have tickled its senses, from 6pm stubbles rubbed against the eager neck, from the welcoming body wrapped around longing arms, from playful fingers combing soft black hair and from longing lips roaming the reassuring curves of the shoulders.

When the Son goes down, all that was left behind was a solitary figure standing on the pavement on a breezy Tuesday night. Let the warmth of the last hug dissipate into the wind, allow for the final kiss to surrender its moisture into the air, banish the painful last moments of farewell and the sight of a departing car into the most remote corner of the memory, lock away pangs of guilt of meticulously stolen pleasures, but forever cherish the misty memories.

Memories that were Houston skies on these 2006 summer nights.


Sunday, May 07, 2006

Houston Highlights

Sweaty butt cracks
Busy trolley along overstocked racks