TABLE OF CONTENTS
04
Editorial
05
About Us The motto of our Society Who We Are
11
Words from Executive Committee Members
18
Reminiscence
21
Winning Entries of Creative Writing Competition 2015 & Editor's Choices
Editorial...
IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE, ten months elapsed since we officially became Executive Committee members of English Society. The past year was no doubt a year full of challenges and hardships, of sweat and of tears. Yet, it was also a year full of laughter. We did experience moments of bitterness and contentions, but still we could not deny the rejoicing moments we shared. In this winter of our hardship, the nine of us, still remained as one, tightly bonded, from the beginning till the end. The indissoluble friendship we found here is so precious that we hope it will last till the lids of our coffins are sealed. Through this Annual Journal, we would like to share with you all our happy moments and our reflections as Executive Committee members of English Society. Apart from the introduction of Executive Committee members and our reflections, winning entries and three editor's choices of our Annual Creative Writing Competition under the theme ‘Treasure’ are also included in this Annual Journal. Everyone owns a treasure, no matter one is affluent or not, regardless of his race or religion. It can be tangible, for instance, gold, or intangible like affections. It can even be of reminiscence. Just as we, Executive Committee members of English Society, find our friendship the chief treasure in our university life, what does treasure mean to our contributors of the Annual Creative Writing Competition? Let us explore together their creative thoughts about treasure. Here, we would also like to give special acknowledgement to Dr Page Richards of School of English, an expert in the field of creative writing, who is the judge of our creative writing competition, for her sincere support. Editor Stephanie Chan 4
About Us...
The motto of our Society
‘The future is for those who do and dare’
─ Berton Braley, ‘Start Where You Stand’
‘The future is for those who do and dare’ is the motto of our Society this year. Emanating from the poem ‘Start Where You Stand’ by Berton Braley, an American poet, the maxim aims to motivate the world to focus on the future and act in accord. ‘Do’ illustrates the determination and the will to execute, as we shall be willing to work for and commit to English Society and its members; ‘dare’ refers to courage, as well as the boldness to be different and innovative, which is very much alike to the nine of us. Though in this journey, various challenges and adversities are awaiting us, they will not keep us from achieving our aims. Instead, in the face of austerities, we will still unite solidly to brave the icy currents and conquer the challenges with valor. To do and to dare also indicate the seizing of every opportunity to excel and to improve, just as our cabinet shall do our utmost to strive for perfection. Our cabinet worked, and will still work closely in the future in the pursuit of our visions. Though we may encounter different obstacles, we will still take the challenges and overcome them with a daring spirit. We believe that we are standing on the shoulders of giants and that the excellence of the past shall grant us experience and insight. With our unfaltering determination, persistent effort and cooperative spirit, we shall strive for excellence. 5
Who We Are? Executive Committee Members of English Society
Nick name: Dave Hobbies: Hanging out, grabbing drinks with friends Favorite food: Sushi Describe yourself as a country: Spain (because I believe I am as passionate as the Spanish) If you would like to write a book, what would you write? Detective stories (like Sherlock Holmes) Favorite subject(s): English (though I am not particularly interested in literature) Thing(s) you like to do on holidays: Grabbing drinks, watching American TV programmes Some facts about yourself: I love meeting new friends 6
Davisson Lam Chairperson
Nick name: Sammi Leung Sammi (nothing special) Internal Vice-Chairper Hobbies: son Reading, sleeping, eating Favorite food: Rice Describe yourself as a country: Austria (a country full of music, tranquility and nature) If you would like to write a book, what would you write? Collection of my silly acts Favorite subject(s): English, Music Thing(s) you like to do on holidays: Staying at home, watching YouTube videos Some facts about yourself: I am superstitious and I love to stuff my schedule Nick name: Private Swimming Pool Karen Sy Hobbies: General Secretary Playing board games, doing exercise Favorite food: Nearly all kinds of noodles Describe yourself as a country: Ethiopia (because many people said I am skinny and I have dark skin) If you would like to write a book, what would you write? Biography of Sysiutim (my doll)/ Sysiutim’s Diary Favorite subject(s): Chinese Thing(s) you like to do on holidays: Staying at home, doing nothing Some facts about yourself: I am a stationery nerd 7
Nick name: Kenny Kenny Lee Hobbies: Financial Secretary Playing the guitar Acting Social Secretary Favorite food: Meat (especially beef) Describe yourself as a country: Japan (I love Japan with all my heart) If you would like to write a book, what would you write? Fiction perhaps Favorite subject(s): English (this is my intended major) Thing(s) you like to do on holidays: Sleeping Some facts about yourself: What do you want to know from me? Nick name: Piggie Hobbies: Reading, baking Heather Kwan Favorite food: Promotion Secretary Yogurt, green tea ice cream, cereals Describe yourself as a country: Hard to use one place to describe my diversified personality If you would like to write a book, what would you write? Travel journal (which is similar to Lonely Planet) Favorite subject(s): Language related subjects Thing(s) you like to do on holidays: Travelling, reading, baking desserts at home Some facts about yourself: I have not eaten seafood and beef for several years since I got Eczema 8
Thomas Ng Promotion Secretary
Nick name: Thomas Hobbies: Daydreaming, travelling, blogging Favorite food: Yogurt (plain one), banana Describe yourself as a country: Vietnam (a country of mystery and diversity) If you would like to write a book, what would you write? A diary recording my everyday thoughts Favorite subject(s): English, Fine arts Thing(s) you like to do on holidays: Sleeping Some facts about yourself: I want to be a backpacker or a travel journalist
Nick name: Step Hobbies: Reading, travelling Favorite food: Anything sweet (I always have a sweet tooth) Describe yourself as a country: Japan (my friends always say I look like Japanese) If you would like to write a book, what would you write? Scientific fictions, epics (like The Game of Thrones series) Favorite subject(s): English Studies (especially literature) Thing(s) you like to do on holidays: Travelling, reading Some facts about yourself: I am not a quiet girl though I look like one
Stephanie Chan Academic Secretary Acting Publication Secretary
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Nick name: Ernie Ernest Wong Hobbies: Programme Secretar Eating (excessively), watching YouTube videos y Favorite food: Chocolate Describe yourself as a country: Japan (a vibrant and interesting country) If you would like to write a book, what would you write? An autobiography to record and reflect on my own life Favorite subject(s): Psychology Thing(s) you like to do on holidays: Explore the world in my dreams Some facts about yourself: I enjoy watching the same volleyball match on YouTube again and again – it’s surprisingly comforting Nick name: Little cloud Hobbies: Cathy Tsui Jogging, doing voluntary work, shopping Marketing Secretary Favorite food: Tomato, fries Describe yourself as a country: Japan maybe (I believe my smile is as sweet as the Japanese's) If you would like to write a book, what would you write? Romance stories like Disney's fairy tales Favorite subject(s): Mathematics Thing(s) you like to do on holidays: Same as my hobbies Some facts about yourself: I love wearing high heels so much!!! 10
Words from Executive Committee Members... HOW TIME FLIES! It has been almost a year since we officially became Executive Committee members of English Society. The past year was, assuredly, a year suffused with challenges and hardships. Yet, at the same time, it was also a year full of laughter and joyousness. Here, we, the nine Executive Committee members, would like to share with you our deepest train of thoughts and reflections on the journey we have gone through so far.
Davisson Lam, Chairperson B eing a chairperson is certainly much more
difficult than I could have ever thought. With position comes responsibility. I once felt great pressure for being a chairperson because of the responsibility I was bearing. Though I was somewhat pressurized at the beginning of my term of service, I have never regretted my decision of being one of the Executive Committee members. Here, I met friends from different backgrounds, with different personalities, yet with the same passion. In the past year, various obstacles we have encountered, but the nine of us still worked concertedly as a team to face these challenges. I also learned how to organize big events and how to be a leader to make major decisions and lead other Executive Committee members. I heartily express my gratitude to my dear friends who closely worked with me in the Society. With all of you, my first year university life has been delightful and enjoyable. 11
Sammi Leung, Internal Vice-Chairperson I remember I was once 'a girl living in the
well', who was an anti-social bookworm lying carefree in my comfort zone. Not until my first day of life in HKU was I stunned by how life was different compared to my past years. I started to ponder: I may need a change, a great leap forward. This is the reason why I decided to join the family of English Society, something totally new to me. At this moment, I can tell you how grateful I am as one of the Executive Committee members of English Society. However, I felt exhausted in the first few months, cooperating with my ‘jong yaus’ from different backgrounds, hastening with reports that I had never come across, etc. Countless brick walls were placed in front of me, blocking me and cracking me down. Not until now do I know those brick walls were there for a reason, forcing myself strenuously to push beyond the limit, in search of my identity, my goal and my underlying potential. No matter how hard it takes, I am obliged to be given the chance to walk along this path. Never quit. You will never know whether the choice is worthwhile until you go through it once yourself. NEVER QUIT.
Karen Sy, General Secretary
T ime flies and half of the term of office has passed. Being an Executive Committee member in a student body and organizing event in university is nothing similar to the one I did in secondary school. Here, things are always uncontrollable, massive and heavy going, just like Academic Talk of English Festival, the most remarkable event to me. Holding such a great event in Happy Park, which is located in the centre of campus, with every passer-by witnessing the talk, sound, stage, guest speaker and audiences had to be wellcoordinated. Undergoing thorny tasks like setting up the backdrop under windy situation, transporting the heavy platform from CYM and fixing the amplifier to make sure the sound was fine, Academic Talk was at the 12
end successfully organized with abundant knowledge imparted to the audience. A successfully held event is not attributed only to the PIC, but all the others who have made concerted effort. “Diamonds aren’t perfect unless they are polished and shined.” We, Executive Committee members of English Society, are the same. We were neither comrades nor buddies at first, though we built deep bonding after toilsome campaigns, general meetings and every single event we held in which we learned to understand, take care of and support each other. We may not be besties for life, but the moments we worked together were inevitably the most precious.
Kenny Lee, Financial Secretary Acting Social Secretary T here are five well-known affairs among a student’s university life, but none of them has really attracted me until I became one of the Executive Committee members of English Society. As the Financial Secretary of the Society, budget plans and financial reports were the sources of unceasing workload. Be that as it may, in the Society, I found the everlasting friendship with my lovely ‘jong yaus’. Unlike most of the fairweather friends I came across on campus or colleagues I worked with in secondary school, the bunch of friends I met here are those who solely devoted to a mutual aim while caring about their companions. Though we have inborn differences, we are looking for consensus. We had conflicts, yet we didn’t 13
hold grudges. We encountered difficulties, yet we never gave up. Never giving up is one of the most important things I have learnt in my jong life. That was probably the most wonderful time I have ever experienced in my life. With all that we have experienced in the past year, I am sure the nine of us should always stick together, that our friendship will become the most invaluable thing in my university life.
Heather Kwan, Promotion Secretary Top three memories that pop up in my mind: •Went through a challenging (72 hours) campaign during reading week •Spent sleepless nights to pack materials for our Inauguration Ceremony •Selected second-hand books one by one for Book Fair My initial goal of being an Executive Committee member was to develop permanent bonding with other Executive Committee members as well as to equip myself with skills which are indispensable for a Promotion Secretary. Frankly speaking, being an Executive Committee member is not as impeccable as I imagined, yet there are invaluable lessons that only the one who goes through would understand. I was completely incapable of using MacBook, Photoshop and Illustrator at first. I still remember how much I relied on my dearest partner, Thomas, in retrospect of the Inauguration Ceremony. I caused countless troubles to other Executive Committee members due to incompetence, which triggered a sense of guilt which pushed me to undergo a thorough self-reflection. I set a new goal after Annual Bazaar, which was pooling more time to equip myself with skills. Now I am able to contribute more to the Society. 14
Some may say that I am unwise and take unnecessary risks that may hinder my academic performance. Though I did once question myself for making such a bold and courageous decision, I have never regretted. Those memories and experiences are priceless. I do believe those innumerable sleepless nights I focused on polishing my skills would bring me good harvest.
Thomas Ng, Promotion Secretary I t has been nearly a year for me
to work as the "designer" of the Society...Well, to be accurate I should be the Promotion Secretary of English Society, A.A.H.K.U.S.U., Session 2014-2015...and Yes, I finally got this correct! I remember last year’s October was just a disaster to me. It was the month when I had to go through all those AGMs and campaigns. Honestly, I am not good at answering overwhelming questions under stressful circumstances which I felt hopeless and once thought of quitting during those hard times. Luckily, I didn't. This year, the time I spent with my dearest colleagues has been amazing. We passed various unforgettable moments together. (We packed Annual Bazaar's stocks overnight. We designed the logo and decided the colors of Hoodies. We held serious yet funny evaluation meetings (Yes, funny and serious).) Experiences I gained in the past year were invaluable. I have learned and grown up a lot. Thank you my colleagues, thank you for your tolerance throughout the year. Thank you the Executive Committee members from the past sessions of the Society. All of you have made me a better person. Thank you for giving me the chance to join the Executive Committees' family of the Society. After many years when I go back to HKU with my kids, I will definitely proudly say that I was the Promotion Secretary of English Society, A.A.H.K.U.S.U., Session 2014-2015...Yes I got this correct again! 15
Stephanie Chan, Academic Secretary Acting Publication Secretary
B ack in those days when I was in secondary school, I was an introvert. I enjoyed dodging at home. Seldom did I participate in school associations’ activities. In the eyes of my acquaintances, I always appeared to be a quiet girl. Yet, after I graduated, I regretted not having actively participated in extracurricular activities that whenever I recalled my secondary school life, it was like a blank sheet of paper with no highlights worth mentioning.
After I entered the university, I knew I could no longer be a recluse and stay in my comfort zone. Thus, I joined English Society. The benefits it yields turned out to be far greater than I have ever imagined. Not only was I able to find true friends, something hard to come by in university, but also got my English language and my social skills polished. Though I have encountered countless challenges and moments of acerbities, I have never experienced a moment of regret of my decision of being an Executive Committee member of English Society, for had I not been an Executive Committee member, I would not have lived such a fulfilling first year university life.
Ernest Wong, Programme Secretary E very time someone learns that I am one of the Executive Committee members of English Society, A.A.H.K.U.S.U. and that I am not a BA student, the question that follows is always the same – “why?” Well, to save time explaining in the future, I now confess to you all my lovely readers. The reason behind is simply I wanted to major in English Studies at first (I did change my mind on this), and I wanted to make new friends. For the former, obviously, things did not turn out the way I expected. For the latter, though, 16
I am so proud that I made no mistake. This 9-people arm force fought our way through hopes and despairs, joy and sadness, and highs and lows along the past months. Just like what our Chairperson Davisson said in our Inauguration Ceremony, we, the 9 sailors, began our journey. I wish this journey would never end – it may stop temporarily in the coming October when a new bunch of sailors set off theirs, but I am sure ours will continue, just on a different boat.
Cathy Tsui, Marketing Secretary Many of my friends have become Executive
Committee members of student bodies in universities. Thinking it must be challenging and intriguing, I decided to join the family of English Society, which was the moment when my memorable journey began. We, the Executive Committee members, have gone through many tough and difficult times, like Annual General Meetings. Yet, these were what have strengthened our bonding. We got to understand each other more and became more helpful when others were facing difficulties. For example, when Thomas and Heather (our Promotion Secretaries) struggled about which design was better, we always tried to give them opinions as much as we could, and shortly before Welfare Week when I needed someone to help me take sponsored products, they were more than willing to do me this favor. This was heart-warming. To me, building a relationship with others through aiming and attaining the same goal together is an invaluable experience. The joy we had and the tears we shed will, forever, remain sharply engraved in my mind. Though our journey as Executive Committee members almost ends, I am sure our friendship will last. 17
Reminiscence... 2014 Nov 26 Inauguration Ceremony The official commencement of our session was marked by the Inauguration Ceremony. It aims to provide a platform for us to get acquainted with other parties, including the School and other societies from both HKU and other universities. We were honored to have Professor Adam Jaworski from School of English to be our guest speaker for the ceremony.
2015 Jan 26-Feb 13 Annual Bazaar Biggest event of English Society it was, Annual Bazaar was a fund-raising event of our Society. It aims to raise fund to support all money expenses in the year. Various products were available at our booth, from stationery to our delicate Society products. Even though it was the most exhausting event throughout the year, our effort was proved worthy because we have earned enough holding this year's activities. 2015 Feb 9-Feb 13 Welfare Week The Society has long been striving to offer welfare to its members. This year, a wide variety of sponsored products were provided to our members in 250 welfare packs. Canned drinks, TIME magazine, Garnier facial cream and sweets were available in welfare packs. Lucky draw with special sponsored products was open to our members as well.
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2015 Mar 5 Film Appreciation Responding to the theme Rewind to the 20th Century: The idea of Modernity, the film Mrs. Dalloway, adapted from a famous novel sharing the same title by Virginia Woolf, was screened in Global Lounge with light refreshments and beverages served. Audiences were able to make a basic impression on modernity. 2015 Mar 17-Mar 20 Book Fair To promote reading among students, Book Fair was held as the second event of our English Festival. Under the theme of modernity, various novels, poetry anthologies and autobiographies were available at our booth. This year, both firsthand and second-hand books were available and offered at affordable rates. 2015 Mar 24 Academic Talk This year, we were honored to have Professor Douglas Kerr, Dean of Faculty of Arts, as our guest speaker to talk about Modernism under the theme ‘Becoming Modern’. Throughout the talk, the transition of content and style of western literary works and writers pioneering modernist movement were introduced. Handouts about Modernism were also provided by Professor Kerr to let participants have a deeper understanding of Modernism’s formation and its characteristics.
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2015 Mar 27 Academic Dialogue
We were very much honored to have Professor Evelyn Chan from The Chinese University of Hong Kong and Dr. Allan Johnson from City University of Hong Kong to join us in this wonderful evening and discuss with us the use of stream of consciousness technique and W. B. Yeats's poem ‘The Scholars’. Academic Dialogue was held under a very informal and relaxed atmosphere which participants were all very enthusiastic and actively participated in the discussion. 2015 Apr 23 Release of LINK The theme of the newsletter LINK this year was ‘Devotion’, which explored the meaning of devotion and its various forms of interpretations. This newsletter also made effort to introduce our Executive Committee members and events we have organized so far. Diversified artworks, including novels, poems and cameos related to devotion were also introduced to readers. 2015 Aug 13 Release of Annual Journal That's the newsletter that you are now reading! Upcoming events... • Aug 22 Orientation Day • Aug 27-29 Orientation Camp • September High Table Dinner
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Theme: Treasure
CREATIVE WRITING COMPETITION 2015 WINNING ENTRIES
First Place:
S
'Treasure, Dedicated to Frank Yu'
By Kaitlyn Cheung
extend the lesson a little longer, Some people are worth would until he stood beside me sight reading treasuring. for three hours, when I had only paid
Mr. Yu was a seventy year old man who walked with a limp on his right leg, the result of being a two time survivor of stroke. Every Saturday mor ning, we drove an hour to his tiny apartment on the edge of the bay shore for violin lessons I begged my mother for, just because I wanted to be as good of a musician as my friends at school. I was immediately intrigued by his fervent passion for music, the way he closed his eyes as he played, as if he were imagining himself in eternally peaceful another dimension. Every single note that his bow stroked was euphonious, conveying emotions beyond the fixed, inky notes of Paganini’s Caprice No. 24. From the first day we met, he expressed an unrelenting faith in me, always insisting that even though I started learning relatively late, I had the potential to become a great musician. I practised every day, not wanting to let down someone who believed in me more than I ever believed in myself. Each time, he 22
for one. I soon realized that despite my persevering efforts, I could only admire the dedication and affection he expressed towards the instrument. At that point I could play the violin well, but there was something beautifully subtle about the way he played that I couldn’t emulate no matter how hard I tried. That enough, drove me to the verge of tears and frustration. Nevertheless, I didn’t want to let Mr. Yu down. He would often let me take breaks, sensing that the shoulder rest was aching my chin, or that my arches were hurting from standing too long. One ordinary Saturday morning, I sat down, rolled my sore neck, and prepared myself to hear him tell me how important it was to practice my vibrato in the car ride back home, but this time, he began to tell me his story: his life before he came to America. “I was born in Japan, in 1939, the year World War II began. Shinichi Suzuki, my teacher, told me that I had talent. And afterwards, when I
studied at the Central Conservatory of Music in Beijing, I was taught by Ma Sicong, the most revered violist in China at the time. Here, look at these pictures. This is Mr. Suzuki with my family. This is me with Mr. Ma’s daughter, I used to be handsome, you know!” The sound of his deep, hearty laughter rang through the living room, but then the smile slowly faded off his face. “T he Cultural Revolution changed everything. All of us-musicians, teachers, doctors, lawyers-were sent to re-education camps in rural areas where we were forced to do manual labor. I broke my shoulder in a cart accident and I was never able to perform again. I was lucky to make it out of the country alive.”
a single lament towards the world, and instead saw every day as an opportunity to pass on his love for music. W hen the day came that I apologetically told him that I could no longer commute to his house for lessons, the tears were not held back. Not out of remorse from parting with the instr ument but out of disappointment that I had failed to reach the expectations of someone who put so much of his faith in me. I felt like I had lost a treasure sacred to me, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was. But Mr. Yu, despite his presbyopia, always saw the subtleties in my actions, my words, and my music. “I understand, but I want you to succeed in whatever you do. It doesn’t matter if it is Music, Math, Science or English. It’s most important that you love what you do.”
I now understand that the treasure His solemn dark eyes met mine, years of strife and experience etched that Mr. Yu bestowed to me was never his company, although I will forever into his coarse wrinkled face. miss his good natured sense of humor. “I want you to love music, not Mr. Yu taught me something greater me! I am not music, I am only a than how to play the violin. One day, I will do something with the same cranky, old man”, he joked. unrelenting dedication he had for those My eyes watered, knowing small, black music notes. In my eyes, that in front of me was a man he will always be the world’s greatest whose potential to become a world violinist. Thank you Frank Yu, for renowned violinist was tragically teaching me about passion, empathy twisted by fate, yet never exhibited and treasure. 23
Second Place: After the Combat
Y
By Amanda Caterina Leong
“You don’t die. You editor, coos over as his money child. come back different.” Shun Woolf, dubbed White Fangs
What made me become a war photojournalist was because I wanted, in the most cliché of ways, to tell the truth through photography. Previously, I had covered suicide bombings and pestilence alongside executions— but it felt like we were always one step behind the truth, going nowhere apart from where history chose to repeat itself. I wanted to confront humanity’s lies. So, when I heard that the troops were being redeployed back to Afghanistan, I asked to go to the worst combat outpost they had. I could deal with myself being shot at, bleeding from gashes and on verge of being blown up by grenades—I was so certain that I was prepared to die. Everything my parents gave me would go back to them. All my finances were in check. I had no debts. I was a too short legacy. My only regret was that I should have given them grandchildren instead of a collection of my photographs that Shun, my 24
by the journalistic world, was ruthless when it comes to hounding down a story. In addition to putting several politicians behind bars, he loved putting me in last minute deadlines with the excuse of I want to unleash your potential. But he was also the closest thing I have for a best friend with his crusty heart hidden behind his pointy elbows and sly little smirks. “I can’t make you stay but come back, Kris Woo. No one is ever prepared for people dying.” I never came back. ** Whenever Han calls me, he does it from the most desolate of places possible in the most ungodly hours of my 4 am morning. I call him prehistoric. He calls me faded like my photographs. Han’s probably the only person who calls me on my landline. Everyone has opted out for the cyberspace contained in cellphones and longer texts. I wish Han would do the same instead of being such a vintage snob so that I could just sleep.
My landline is in this atrocious shade of sunflower yellow that seems to glower at me in the dark, pissed off like a defiant teenager. And this is exactly what Han is, less pissed off and more of a glower—but still young at heart. I grunt into the phone as he whistles out a, “Good afternoon, sleepyhead, well aren’t you just articulate.” I briefly wonder where he is today as I play with the telephone cords that are more brown than yellow with my tea stains and occasional cocoa obsession. Han flies planes for the UN. Specifically, he is what you call a combat rescue officer slash ambassador of goodwill or something along those lines. Panama was three weeks ago. I look at the map I have pinned up against my wall. Ordos. Pescadores. Sierra Leone. Cape of Good Hope. Siberia. Panama. I refuse to look at the monstrosity he’s created in Europe. It’s mostly a mess of sharpie squiggles and crossed out cities. He sure was taking up a lot of territory on my map. He’s currently beating me in numbers when it comes to the places we’ve been to.
It’s always been like that with Han— he just makes everything so easy. And when I said easy, I meant how Han makes life less of an effort and more of moments like this: me smiling into the receiver as he laughs—exhaling the remnants of his Panama heat into the colder air of “I’m in Inner Mongolia.” I think of Han in his helmet looking bruised from the cold with snowflakes hanging from his eyelids of summer loving as he gets down from his F-22 Raptor. Han has never been one to stay long in the cold—I bet he’s thinking of Kazakhstan next. I close my eyes and let the memory of a shutter click. I wish I had a photograph of him.
“Hey, Kris, the cold here in my bones reminds me of my 5-year-old self wanting a story. Tell me a story— your story.” Han goes on and I hear the wind of the Mongolian plains skreeing in the background that is audible from the inside. It’s a sound that speaks of so much of the lonely distance as it cuts into the leather and glass comfort of my yuppie IKEA living room. Han creates such haphazard conversation topics that I’m often left with the only option to remember my past so that I can tell “W here are you now since my present. He occasionally reminds me of the spoiled brother I never had. Panama?” It perplexes me to think of how he I’m surprised at how my voice fits in so well in the army with his doesn’t come out more of a croak. penchant for the random. 25
“Okay. I was in Helmand with the American and British forces the first time I was hit by an IED. If there is one thing too real about an explosion, it’s not only about the heat, but it’s also about how unprepared you are for how fast time, change is about to happen. You know how they say time is the only constant, Han? How we make mistakes and we just let time take us to another day, a better start? But no, wartime punishes you. It cuts you from the world you used to know. You pay for your humanity as you run from bullets and glass shred that seeks to cut you from your soul. I can’t feel my face. I’m tasting glass in the roof of my mouth. I can’t scream because I’m afraid the glass going to cut the canal of my throat and there’s no way I want to drown in my own blood. I wish time would just collapse into the better yesterdays. I think of the photos I took yesterday of Nuno and Miller playing soccer by our camp before they pulled me in to join them. How’s Parker? I remember how Parker looked as he smiled into the 26
lens of my camera brilliant, blinding in his war paint? If you could look at his portrait, you would think of him more of a boy playing Cowboys and Indians than a man fighting the war for his country. Please don’t let anyone die. Where is my camera? I can’t move. I don’t want to. Let me die. No one ever told me how war was the vast nothing. It was not a thing for the could have beens. War should never have been.” I pause as I trace the rim of the mug of tea I have in my hands that’s now lukewarm. The mug is slightly chipped and I’m listening to Han breathe quietly into the space of the receiver. It’s the too short moments like this that remind me I’m alive as I go on with my story because Han’s listening. “And it’s from the spider web cracks on the window of the shattered ballistic glass that I see you. Summer eyes. You were in one of those convoy of trucks behind us, weren’t you, Han? And you were the first one who ran to what was left of me and pulled me out of from what could have been me—killed in combat.” Han’s too quiet. I wish I could see how he looks like now. I’m so tired of talking. Honestly, I couldn’t really talk ever since Helmand. Words take away my too short breath. My thumb is bleeding slightly from me scraping too hard
against the chipped side of the mug. If there’s one thing I realize about recovery, it’s how there’s no way to ever bleed out the pain. You just build higher thresholds of tolerance. It’s when Han decides to speak. “It was my last mission. We were all going to pack up and head back home the next day. The planes were fueled up and ready to go. Everyone was smiling more and things were going to be better. I could already see us hogtying officers off their beds and stealing clothes from showering soldiers. To be just Han. No more protocols. Dye my hair blonde. Make dumplings with too much stuffing with my parents. Go back to college. Get a degree in International Relations. Work for the UN. Fly more planes. Go to even more places. End this war somehow. Ask my hot neighbor out for coffee. Get into her photos. But then we got hit.” “And you died. Because you tried to get me out.” “And I did. So bring my dreams back to life, Kris Woo. Treasure me. Stop making me a nightmare. Come back. See the world for me with your lens.” ** Han was 24 when he was killed.
The cord of my landline was never plugged into the wall. I visited his parents and they had given me his address and the key to his apartment while saying, “He’s always going to be a part of you.” It turns out Han’s been living in the same apartment complex as mine. I was actually the hot neighbor. I would definitely have said yes to coffee, he would be going to college and flying planes. Our phone call would probably have happened. I think I’ll always live with the couldhave-beens when it comes to Han. Another life, perhaps. Another life and I would be able to take a photograph of him—with him. Another day. But today and to my everyday that’s to come, I would live by him, my boy with a heart of unblinking selflessness reflected in the brilliant summer of his eyes. I put my receiver back onto the hook and text Shun on my cell phone. “Coming back tomorrow. Got any oversees assignments for me?” 27
Third Place: Time’s Fool
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Summer was the busiest season of the year, and The Bluebell Coffee Shop two streets down from where I lived needed extra pairs of hands. My summers had usually
consisted of me sitting at home watching movies and occasionally going out with friends. This year, my mother had pushed me out to do something more productive. I had landed a part-time job at Bluebell’s, with a five-hour shift for four days of the week. The pay was decent and the coffee shop owner, Mrs. Grace Malcolm, was well loved by everyone who worked there. Mrs. Malcolm was a chatterbox. She told us about the books she was reading, the new recipes she was working on but never mentioned her husband nor her children. Despite this, we all assumed she had children because of the small faded photo of two young girls hanging on the wall behind the cashier, looking out of place among the modern, floral decorations that filled the coffee shop.
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By Leigh Vanessa J One of Bluebell’s most frequent visitor was an old friend of Mrs. Malcolm’s called Mrs. Pectu, who looked at least thirty years older than Mrs. Malcolm. As far as I knew, she visited the shop everyday from three to five for tea. Her order usually consisted of a cup of jasmine tea and a simple slice of cake, its flavour varied daily as decided on by Mrs. Malcolm. Mrs. Pectu paid the same amount everyday, with a solid twenty percent tip. The only person who served Mrs. Pectu in her usual corner was Mrs. Malcolm, and when she was out, which was rare, all of us knew Mrs. Pectu’s usual order. The only difference was how Mrs. Malcolm would spend at least an hour talking with Mrs. Pectu, while we would simply leave her with her food, then serve the other customers. One Friday afternoon, the tables in my section were mostly vacant while my co-worker and schoolmate Teresa had her hands full. There were three others helping out, while Mrs. Malcolm was out to get new ingredients. “Have you ever seen such an intricate coffee order? It’s like they’re
“Thank you, my dear. I’m making doing this to purposely annoy us,” Teresa sighed in exasperation as small bracelets, it’s very simple. You I glanced at the notepad she had use the end of this hook to pull an elastic band through the first loop – scribbled on. ” she instructed as she demonstrated I smothered my giggle at the long for me. “Then you take it through the list filled with words like “extra”, second loop and voila!” “whip” and “sugar-free”. Before “Are you making them for anyone Teresa could properly glare at me, the bells attached to the door tinkled as special?” I asked. someone came in. She peered at me from the top “Hello, welcome to Bluebell’s!” of her glasses and studied me for a we chimed. One quick glance told us moment before replying, “No child, it was Mrs. Pectu, and Teresa nodded just an old woman indulging in a new for me to serve Mrs. Pectu while she hobby.” went to make coffee. Before I could speak again, Mrs. “Hi Mrs. Pectu,” I went forward Pectu waved at the empty seat across to welcome her as she hobbled over from her. to the table that was reserved for her. “Come, sit down if you’re not “Is Grace out today?” she asked too busy. I see there are a few of your friends over there helping the other as soon as she sat down. customers. If you can, could you spare “Yes, I’ll get your food now, a few minutes with me?” please wait a moment.” I looked over at Teresa and the When I returned with her tea others. Although the coffee shop was and a slice of red velvet cake, Mrs. more than half-filled, I was sure they Pectu had put on her reading glasses could handle the work without me for and was in the middle of knitting a while. After all, how could I refuse small elastic bands together. I had Bluebell’s most frequent customer? seen her knit, read and write before, As soon as I sat down, Mrs. Pectu but never this. started, “I’ve noticed you’ve been “Here Mrs. Pectu, what are you working here for quite a while now. Tell me more about yourself.” making?” I smiled at her. 29
plate, while reassuring me that I could continue to talk with Mrs. Pectu if I wished, as instructed by Mrs. Malcolm, who had returned to the coffee shop. I had failed to notice that Mrs. Malcolm was back, but when I offered to call her out, Mrs. Pectu immediately insisted on me continuing with a story about my first pet hamster.
I looked up at her and studied her features for a short moment, noting the crinkles around her eyes that hinted at how she must smile a lot, and the slight curve of her lips that confirmed this. Her eyes were stern, yet possessed a warmth that invited me to talk to her. From her countenance, I could easily deduce that she must have been a By the time seven o’clock rolled very beautiful woman when she was by, Mrs. Pectu stood up to leave. The young. bracelet that she had been making had gone untouched for the past few “My name’s Louise, I grew up hours, and she now acknowledged in this neighbourhood. I started it as she placed it back inside her working here two months ago when handbag. summer started and I saw the notice outside…” “It was absolutely delightful I n ow r e a l i z e d h ow M r s . Malcolm could easily spend an hour with Mrs. Pectu. Mrs. Pectu was one of the easiest people to talk to, despite her slightly domineering presence. She listened intently while I spoke, and asked questions about everything I talked about, which prompted me to talk more and more. At first, I was uncomfortable sharing so much of myself with a stranger, but as the minutes ticked by, it became easier and easier to open up to her.
talking to you. I will be leaving now, thank you for today.”
She placed a sum of money on the table before leaving. It wasn’t until I got to the cashier with the money that I realized she had included a fifty percent tip. ** From that day onwards, I became the only waitress who served Mrs. Pectu, and her tips ranged from fifty to eighty percent. After school started, I changed my shifts to work around my school schedule. Soon, Teresa told me Mrs. Pectu only came Teresa had dropped by to clean when I was there. Moreover, despite up Mrs. Pectu’s empty teacup and Mrs. Malcolm’s presence in the shop, 30
she insisted that I talk to Mrs. Pectu and green.” instead. She laughed as I used hand “She needs a younger soul to gestures as I was speaking. “You invigorate her,” Mrs. Malcolm would remind me so much of my daughter say whenever I suggested her retaking sometimes.” my place. She had told me about her three It wasn’t that I had anything children, two sons and a daughter. against Mrs. Pectu; it was simply They were all g rown up, living because I felt like I was cheating Mrs. abroad, and rarely came to visit her. Malcolm my salary when I spent She only heard from them once every practically the entirety of my shifts few months through a phone call, talking to one customer rather than or an occasional letter, but that was serving as many as possible. But all. I had once read a letter from her Mrs. Malcolm seemed happy to let younger son at Thanksgiving, which me enjoy myself chatting with Mrs. was simple and sweet. Pectu, so who was I to complain? “Are they going to visit here “How do you like the rainbow anytime soon? Can I meet them?” cake today? It’s part of our new She shook her head slightly. “They recipe for Christmas,” I said as Mrs. Pectu cut out a small portion of the are rather busy with their lives, but it’s fine, I understand. They visited cake and popped it into her mouth. me last winter together but their jobs “It’s mar velous, I like the took them away quite quickly.” different flavours,” she commented “I’m sure they love you very after a while. “I thought red and g reen were all the rage during much.” Christmas?” She nodded with a slight smile, a “ Ye s , b u t M r s . M a l c o l m thoughtful look on her face. suggested that we could try making A few hours later, after she had a rainbow cake instead. We do have some red and green cupcakes for told me about the autobiography sale, but we thought we could be a she was working on (“It’s simply an little different and spread joy with ordinary woman’s story that no one colourful cakes rather than just red would want to read about”, to which 31
I disagreed vehemently) as well as her large collection of elastic bands bracelets she had made, she took my hand into both of hers and looked me in the eye. “Louise, today will be my last day here, I won’t be dropping by anymore.”
** Winter rolled by, then spring came. Bluebell’s became busier than ever. Mrs. Malcolm’s rainbow cake had been labeled as the must-try number one cake of the year in a local magazine, which boosted our fame, leading to customers from far and wide visiting our cozy little shop.
I had asked Mrs. Malcolm about Mrs. Pectu since the day she left, yet My eyes widened in shock – Mrs. Malcolm seemed to have no I had been so accustomed to her news about her. Whenever I asked her company that it would feel very why Mrs. Pectu said she would never different without our frequent chats. come back, Mrs. Malcolm would always give me the same reply. Mrs. Pectu picked up her cane as she stood up to leave. One day “It’s her choice, Lou, if she said in October, she had started relying she won’t be back then she won’t be on the wooden stick to walk, but back.” otherwise, she was as healthy as ever. “It was nice knowing you Louise,” she said as she handed me the money for her tea and cake, which I noticed was triple the amount she usually paid. “Take care my dear, and have a nice Christmas.” I helped her to the door as usual. With a final wave of her hand, she stepped out of the shop and walked away, relying heavily on her cane. And that was the last I ever saw of Mrs. Pectu. Or so I thought. 32
I continued working at Bluebell’s with Teresa, who was always eager to hear me talk about Mrs. Pectu. As the months passed, I gradually slipped back into my normal routine prior to knowing Mrs. Pectu. It was as if she had never visited Bluebell’s. “You have to try Mrs. Malcolm’s new double chunk brownie! It’s the best ever!” Teresa gushed one morning as I punched in for an extra shift. She handed me one from the large pile stacked on her plate, and after one bite into the scrumptious brownies,
With that, she grabbed her purse I immediately wanted more. Teresa started stepping away from me as I and a light jacket, then left the shop. ** tried to reach out for more. After that day, Mrs. Malcolm “That’s selfish! Come back!” I dropped by the shop daily but never wailed as I chased after her through stayed for long. She looked much older now, her forehead creased with the kitchen. wor ry. Everyone who worked at “Girls, I hired you to work, Bluebell’s had asked her at least once not snack on my brownies and play whether we could be of help, yet Mrs. tag!” Mrs. Malcolm’s exasperated Malcolm always shook us off. Teresa voice came from behind me. We had once speculated that we could both heard the underlying humour consider following her, yet everyone and laughed as her strict mask came who heard was not in favour of this. Mrs. Malcolm deserved her privacy. dissolved into laughter. We all heard the sound of tinkling bells and went to greet our customer. Before we could say our customary greeting line, a man in a black suit walked briskly up to Mrs. Malcolm. They talked for several minutes in hushed whispers before Mrs. Malcolm nodded grimly at something the man said and turned to us.
Two weeks after the man visited Bluebell’s, my grandfather suffered from a minor heart attack but was fortunately able to recover relatively quickly. I visited him at the hospital, and as I was leaving, I noticed a familiar woman entering a room. My eyes widened as I realized it was Mrs. Malcolm.
My curiosity took over as I “Girls, I’ll be out for the day, and hurried to peer inside the room she maybe even tomorrow. Just run the had entered. I was unable to hold in my gasp as I saw Mrs. Pectu shop as usual,” she instructed. lying inside, fast asleep, while Mrs. Teresa and I exchanged glances Malcolm sat in a chair next to the before I spoke up. “Is there anything bed looking grim and pensive. Not wanting to disturb them, I left quickly wrong? How can we help?” with hundreds of questions burning Mrs. Malcolm shook her head. in my head. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’ll be The next evening, after visiting back soon.” 33
“Please shut the door and take a seat Louise. And tell me how on earth my grandfather, I peered inside Mrs. do you know Mrs. Pectu was at the Pectu’s room as I knocked on the hospital,” Mrs. Malcolm said quietly. door. The bed was empty.
I did as I was told as Mrs. Malcolm poured me a cup of tea from the teapot on her desk.
I debated whether I should ask a nurse, but quickly decided against “Here, have some tea,” she said, it as it would be difficult to explain pushing the cup towards me. who I was to Mrs. Pectu and why I was asking. I hurried back to Not realizing my thirst until Bluebell’s, hoping that Mrs. Malcolm that moment, I took a cautious sip, was there. recognizing the taste of chamomile tea, before waiting for Mrs. Malcolm “Where’s Mrs. Malcolm?” I to speak. practically yelled as I rushed inside. Some of the customers looked up “I have known Mrs. Pectu since with a frown but I barely noticed. my childhood,” she explained. “I grew
up with her daughter who remains, to this day, my closest confidante. The photo hung outside is one of she and I, taken by Mrs. Pectu. Her daughter moved abroad for university, then married. Mrs. Pectu’s other children moved away as well, leaving her alone in this city when her husband passed. She had always treated me like a daughter, and when I opened “ W h a t h a p p e n e d t o M r s . Bluebell’s, she visited.” Pectu? Why isn’t she at the hospital anymore?” I demanded to know. I nodded. Everything was starting One of the newer employees pointed at Mrs. Malcolm’s office at the back. Without sparing him another glance, I went up and knocked on Mrs. Malcolm’s door. I let myself in after hearing a soft “Come in”, only to see Mrs. Malcolm writing at her desk.
to click into place. As Mrs. Malcolm looked up, her eyes were slightly red from crying. I “She started coming to Bluebell’s immediately assumed the worst and more and more until she came my eyes started watering as well. everyday. Many of the cakes here 34
are her original recipes, and she paid a hefty sum when I started up. Even though I offered for all of her meals to be on the house, she always insisted on paying. You see, she craved the company and joy she had with her children, who are now too busy to take care of her all the time. She understands, so she never complains, and likes spending time at her leisure with younger people while waiting for them to visit.”
reminded her of her daughter. At first, I thought that meant bad news, but you see, I haven’t seen her so animated in years. It was refreshing, so whenever you had your shifts, she’d come along to talk to you.”
Mrs. Malcolm nodded sadly. “Yes, I’m sure you’ve guessed by now. Mrs. Pectu passed away peacefully early this morning. She is almost ninety, despite looking younger than her years. I loved her very much, and her children do too. They will all be here within the next two days.”
“Thank you Louise, I’m sure you meant a lot to her, and vice versa,” said Mrs. Malcolm.
“I see,” I said. Words failed me as I registered my significance in Mrs. Pectu’s life, as well as her significance in mine.
“You’ve missed her these past “ B u t t h e y w i l l v i s i t s o o n ? months, haven’t you?” Considering the circumstances now?” I nodded. I cut in.
“And why did you encourage me to talk to her?” I asked. “Wouldn’t your company be more desirable to her, considering how she’s known you for so long?”
Mrs. Pectu had slowly become a significant part of my life, and when she had gone, took that part away with her. From the way she was always eager to listen to what I had to say, I understood she valued my company above many riches in life. My only regret was how I did not attempt to know her better by asking more about her, and always selfishly focused on myself while conversing with her.
“While that may be true, she Any regrets were now too late. enjoyed your company immensely. After the first day, she called and told The moment had passed. me about you. She absolutely loved Time was of the essence. the way you talked about normal things in your life. She said you
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I ran towards her, not caring how I looked to other people. Heads turned ** Two years had flown by since I but I continued yelling for the woman first talked to Mrs. Pectu. I had left to turn around and notice me. Bluebell’s a few weeks after Mrs. A few seconds that felt like an Pectu’s death. Despite not being directly related to her, I still felt eternity passed before the old woman a heavy sadness, which gradually stopped walking. She turned her head mor phed into a war m feeling, slowly behind her. My mind registered whenever I thought of her. I was the familiar smile that painted her glad to have known Mrs. Pectu and lips for a short moment before she to have had the chance to bond with faced forward and continued walking, her. Whenever I had tea and cakes, disappearing into a crowd of students. Mrs. Pectu would always come to “Mrs. Pectu! Mrs. Pectu!” I mind. continued shouting. I had travelled halfway across When I reached the spot where the world for university and today, I had finished my last exam of the she had stopped, the crowd had year. I couldn’t wait to arrive home in dispersed. less than a week. I enjoyed the warm The old woman was nowhere to May weather as I headed towards the cafeteria for lunch. While admiring be found. the view my campus had to offer, I noticed a solitary figure leaning heavily against a wooden cane in the distance – a very familiar figure. “Mrs. Pectu,” I whispered under my breath, not believing my eyes. “Mrs. Pectu! Mrs. Pectu!” Nothing made sense and fear was the furthest feeling that crept into my mind. I wanted to reconnect with the woman who had influenced the way I thought about life. 36
Editor's Choices
The following works were selected by the editor. Though not included in top three winning entries, their writers have shown their brilliant techniques and sparks of creativity in their writings (arranged in alphabetical order). A Fateful Encounter By Ashley Lu Her skin was smooth and white like porcelain, a stark contrast to the raven black hair that was perfectly coiffed atop her head. Her slender hands were positioned in a careful yet casual manner, giving her an air of composed nonchalance as she sat delicately upon her throne of gold. With ruby red lips slightly parted, she looked out into the distance with a steady gaze that exuded a mixture of reserve and wistful longing. This was Adele Bloch-Bauer, a woman I had chanced upon and met for only thirty minutes but fell in love with at first sight. It was midsummer in Manhattan. I could still remember like it was yesterday – the rays of sunshine that caressed the cobblestone pavement and bathed the luscious trees in warm golden light, the enticing smell of pretzels and hotdogs from sidewalk vendors, the jazz melodies from the street saxophonist. And as the Metropolitan Museum of Art arose in the distance in all its neoclassical
g randeur, and the neighboring mansions silent and stoic behind their black gates and soulless windows emanated a historical gravitas with their handsome facades, I could feel the upswell of excitement surge from the depths of my stomach. This was the irresistible charm of Fifth Avenue, a charm that was alluring and daunting at the same time and that always made my heart beat just a little faster. Instead of making the usual turn into the Met, I decided on a whim to make a first time visit to the Neue Galerie, a museum easily missed because of its nondescript location on a cross street to the main avenue. Entering into the posh foyer and alighting the winding staircase I immediately felt a mysterious yet inviting presence – it was a woman, a woman who radiated an elegance and repose that was not of this century. She was positioned against the wall entertaining a crowd huddled excitedly before her. As I tried inconspicuously to maneuver myself through the throngs of people so 37
that I was at least in the company of her shadow, our eyes met in an electrifying second. I could sense a curbed restlessness as she quelled her ego and resigned herself to the imposed duty of becoming the delight and objectification of her audience. Dressed entirely in gold and seated on a gold ar mchair she without a doubt titillated the senses, but it was not her lavishness that drew me to her, it was her aura of juxtaposition instead. Her natural features so concrete and realistic clashed against the fantastical and abstract brilliance of her surroundings. And as the Egyptian symbols and geometric patterns of her gown and chair threatened to swallow her lithe frame whole, she remained perpetually poised. Despite her fragile appearance, she also exhibited a confidence with her commanding presence among the opulence that swirled in impassioned waves around her. I am thankful everyday for my brush of fate with Adele. As a manifestation of the dichotomous existence of reality and fantasy, she taught me in our brief encounter that however cold and contained life became there was no reason one could not break free from banality to 38
entertain the wildest of imaginations and pursue the biggest of dreams. She communicated to me that an exploration or even celebration of the self, however daring it might seem, could be carried out in a dignified and courageous manner. Even though it’s been years since we last met, I treasure that one moment I had with her, and hope the stars bring us back together again so that I can tell her she taught me well.
Dear Lolita By Tsang Yuen Lam Call her a daughter or lover Her beauty wouldn’t be altered Be her a gift or curse from the Creator She is my dearest Lolita The scent of her hair, I shall always remember And that youthful body dancing with flair Her breath awoke my dreams By her touch I was redeemed However innocent she might seem I would never know her scheme The rosy future together we limned To her perhaps it’s only a gleam But in love no one could think twice Nor would we take advice I have been blind to the price For the girl who was so young and nice Losing count of those sweet nights When I tasted the love of her spice
Blinking at the stars from dusk to dawn Realising my soul’s been torn Gone was the day she first said hello It feels like not long ago Why are we now on different roads Why were you so desperate to go May there be summer snow You’ll come back to me, and tell me you're cold Was it not an honest love? Why turned into a cold pair of handcuffs Fate is no friend but my foe They said, you reap the seeds you sow But my destiny is the hell below Oh, what seeds did I sow?
Before I reach my final hour I shall say my last prayer Please listen, the merciful Creator Save her from danger, and don’t let Whether Love is a two-sided coin her suffer It was fated before we're born Fill her life with wealth and laughter All the years since she's gone Forgive her as we are all sinners I was wandering like an abandoned These I ask You in despair fawn And save me from my fatal desire 39
Nobody’s Giving Me What I “You ever realize that at some Need Anymore point of your life, people just stopped By Hui Ching Yee caring for you because they thought you could pretty much handle stuff We had all the treasures we by yourself ? needed back then, without even knowing it. They stopped searching for you in the game of Hide and Seek and There was this kid that tripped simply told you to show yourself and fell in front of me the other because they’ve decided that you’re not day. He broke into tears almost worth any of their physical labor. immediately. I didn’t comfort him or anything. Why should I? He didn’t need my help. His dad was there, picked him up, threw him onto his shoulder and let the kid cry all he wanted. He made these “shh” sounds to soothe the kid and patted his back continually. I just sat there and watched them both. “Hey. Don’t be jealous of the kid.” The person who sat beside me said. He was my ex-boyfriend. He hated kids, and I never wanted to grow up. I guess this was one of the reasons why love left us. Or rather, left him. He could tell from the glare of my eyes that I longed for intensive comfort. A strong force of warmness, that could wrap me around tightly like a blanket. 40
T hey stopped car r ying you around when you were asleep and putting you into bed because you were too much of a burden, physically, and psychologically. They stopped taking you to Disneyland because it costs too much and you’re too old to live in a fairytale now. You’re not allowed to idolize princesses that spend their lives waiting for their savior, or else people would think you’re useless, overly dependent and therefore undeserving of survival. You’re supposed to smirk at the idea of true love and destroy all your faith in it. Next thing you know, they’ll stop taking you to the psychiatrist when they realize that you can't really be fixed and you're draining all of their money away with your lifetime demand for pills. They'll start to tell
you that depression is not even real. They'll push you to your limits “for your own good”. Then they'll remind you that you’re not good enough, when they question themselves, “why have I raised you so?” After months of suffering from my own mental diseases, my mom’s sudden eruption of cancer and the break-up, I couldn’t bare it any longer. I wanted to show myself. I wanted him up in my head, to see for himself how nerves could be broken down by every second. I wanted to make a statement to the world, that I want only unadulterated pleasures in my life.
image of a hungry child, surrounded by flies, staring at you with hollow eyes, when you could simply dive into the sensation of eating your chocolate frosting from your birthday cake? Emotions can only stay relative after all. Even treasures become relative. Who would have ever thought that I’d perceive that word so differently now?
It used to seem like something much more material, something pirates and explorers and other adventurous, hot-headed folks, fictional or long-dead figures, would set out to look for. Treasures were ultimately investments, which could “I’m here to suppor t you. I hopefully compensate you with a want to be here for you. It’s my luxurious life to weigh out the time responsibility. Yet after all, you have you spent looking for it. to realize that you’re not the only It’s quite the opposite now. person that’s suffering. Think about Treasures are lost throughout time, what I’ve been through. Think about the kids in Africa. You’re a girl living and nothing can ever replace their in a rich mansion. You know nothing loss. about loss.” He said. I’ve realized that the greatest forms of treasures are spiritual. A Everyone has his or her own story, and I recognize that. To what shoulder to cry on, finding another extent do we really empathize others soul that roots for both you and your though? I always thought that with favorite football team, and to some, either experience or wisdom, human even a “like” on Facebook picture beings would have no difficulty in would do. It becomes a relative thing. experiencing the pain of others. Yet You realize that it’s not the whole there's also the factor of willingness. world, not a chest full of diamonds, Who would rather visualize the which you really want anymore. 41
We become less ambitious when we realize how small we stand in the world. How insignificant we are. You look at papers, and you see people die everyday, and some part of you knows that you’d die someday too. Truth is, you will, and you don’t know when that day would come. What do we do then? Simply sit here and wait for death? Fill our coffins with golden jewelry? Heck, if I can’t find that kind of infinite tenderness that I’m looking for, a form of love that never fades, a figure that would pick me up when I fall, allow me to burst into tears and yearn for more love, you could throw me right into that coffin already. “I will allow myself to be as immature as I want, because I feel justified, and if anyone insists that I should “grow up” and “let time heal my pains”, they should shut up. Time never heals. It had always, always just taken away precious treasures. Like health, like you.” I looked at him a little too long to be “just a friend”. You’re expecting an appropriate ending to this seemingly endless rant. Or a story, if you do see the beauty of a narrative in it. You want to know if it’s going to turn out as a comedy or a tragedy. Is he my everlasting treasure? Will he be the one who 42
restores my faith in love, in life, in treasures that don't disappear? Or will I conform, and allow these treasures to continually slip away from my fingers, and simply accept it as “part of life”? I would like to know the answer to that too. He kissed me, you see. Yet unfortunately I was forbidden to return that kiss. “Nothing more than friends”, he insisted. S h a l l I l iv e o n a c c e p t i n g , remaining grateful for the partial treasure and try to rationalize it as a whole, or die, so I could enjoy utter painlessness? I could easily tell you what happened at last. Yet that is a treasure I refuse to pass onto you readers. You take steadiness for granted. You neglect the difficulties of breathing in air, without trembling hands or a malfunctioning heartbeat. You expect and demand an ending, so this fragmented piece of garbage could at least fit into your conventional understandings of storytelling. Do you really care though? Do you really care that much about what happens to me? If you do, please let me know. Perhaps you are a treasure, one that I could keep forever, after all.
In our newsletter ‘LINK’ published in April, a Trivia game was presented to our dear readers. Below are the answers for the Trivia challenge: 1.Ghosts appeared in 4 Shakespearian plays. What are their names? A n s : Ju l i u s C a e s a r, Richard III, Hamlet and Macbeth 2.Who kills Cedric Diggory in the four th Book of Harry Potter, the Goblet of Fire? Ans: Peter Pettigrew 3.What is the name of the French ship which shipped the Statue of Liber ty to New York City? Ans: "Isere"
11.Which one is older, the England’s Stonehenge or Rome’s Colosseum? Older by how many years? Ans: England's 7.Who introduced the S t o n e h e n g e i s 1 5 0 0 first fictional detective in years older than Rome's mystery fiction? Colosseum Ans: Edgar Allan Poe 12.What were 8.Which Shakespeare’s C i n d e r e l l a ’ s s l i p p e r s play is the shortest? How originally made of? Ans: Fur many lines are there? Ans: Hamlet, with 4042 13.Who printed the first lines book in English? What is 9.What were the original the name of the book? n a m e s o f t h e s i c k l y A n s : B y E n gl i s h m a n character in “A Christmas William Caxton with the Carol” before setting on name 'The Recuyell of the Historyes of Troye' “Tiny Tim”? Ans: “Small Sam” and 14.Where was the first “Puny Pete” public library in America? 6.Name 3 synonyms of devotion. Ans: Dedication, allegiance, faithfulness
4.How many different words did John Milton use in his poem “Paradise Lost”? Ans: 8,000 10.How many rooms are When was it opened? there in the US White Ans: In Charleston, South 5.Name the four Brontë Carolina in 1698 House? s i bl i n g s i n t h e 1 9 t h Ans: 132 century. A n s : E m i ly, A n n a , Branwell and Charlotte Brontë
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