Tree

sometime last year, near the end of school, Ms Susie walked into class and told us to think of a single word. Any word. After we had done so, she forced us to make it into a poem to be passed up the next day, a friday. I didn't make it xD so I negotiated for a monday. and she told me, "For that, your poem must be excellent. You must make it excellent. Heh heh this should teach you not to negotiate with me. >D"

i ended up writing it at 1am on monday. cough.

hope i met your...expectations xD;






TREE

There used to be a little girl,
Of age no more than nine.
She used to love her little tree,
With its branches and leaves just fine.

She'd climb its branches day by day,
And sing it mindless lullabies.
So when the wind doth blow
and rage and roar, the tree just sways and sighs.

She'd sit in its shade rain or shine,
Laughing at birds flying by;
Wishing she could climb her tree,
And take off to the sky, just as free.

But alas, for came a time,
Where she was too sick to even eat;
And so was taken to the hospital,
Where every second was measured by the clock's tick.

The tree, without her voice,
Started to wither, fade and die.
Till she came back one day, half-bald--
Saw her tree, and started to cry.

Her body as frail as her tree's smallest twig,
Her face as gaunt as her tree's withered branch,
Still she sat under its shade with her voice of magic
Singing, singing, till it filled the air, the ground and all around.

Her voice was like the sound of morn,
The triumphant call of victory.
It was like the first breath after a coma,
And the happy ending of a story.

It filled everything with hope,
And the tree started to grow.
But as the tree strengthened, her body weakened,
And around her settled a heavy sorrow.

And so came the day,
When a white van took her away.
The wind blew and raged and roared,
But the tree could only sigh and sway.

But she had given her voice to the tree,
Her magic voice, so full of hope.
And as she uttered her very last word,
She imagined herself, free as a bird.

Now as the wind doth blow,
And the leaves of the tree rustle and fall,
You might hear the sound of morn;
Or perhaps, the triumph of a victory call.




© Christine Ling, 2010.

reminder: must. stop. procrastinating. ...EVERYTHING.

Lah

Just Some Doodles on the Wall
© Christine Ling, 2011

“Zoe! Where are you? It’s time for dinner!” I heard my mother calling me. Startled, I dropped my Razzle Dazzle Rose Crayola crayon on the floor and looked around nervously to check that my mother wasn’t anywhere in vicinity. After making sure that yes, she was indeed in the kitchen downstairs, I quickly hopped over my fallen crayon and ran for the bathroom to wash my hands clean.

“I’m coming!” I called back, my voice a few notes higher than usual as I scrambled for the sink.

“I hope you weren’t drawing on the walls again, Zoe...”

I glanced over my shoulder to see some Burnt Orange stickman figures and Cotton Candy trees on my bedroom wall. Freshly bloomed Blizzard Blue flowers dotted the trees. I scrubbed a Fuzzy Wuzzy smudge off my cheek with some soap and toothpaste. “Of course not, mama!”

I could hear my mum sigh and her light footsteps as she ascended our parquet stairs. Oh no! I quickly scrubbed the remaining smudge (bad Fuzzy Wuzzy crayon!) off and ran out to meet her with my best and most innocent smile. I even tiptoed and fluttered my eyelashes at her. “Hi mama!”

“Oh my... Did you eat something sour?” my mother asked me, recoiling slightly from the sight of my bright smile. My smile faltered. I began to frown, thinking back. Did I eat something sour...? What had I been chewing on for the last few minutes? It wasn’t my Magic Mint crayon...was it? No, no, that’s not sour... I was so absorbed in my thinking that I didn’t notice my mother making her way towards my room until she was two steps away from the door.

I screamed in panic. My mother jumped. And then she whirled around. “What’s wrong?!” she asked, her voice filled with anxiety, probably thinking that I had been attacked by a wild bird. Then she looked at me and realised that her daughter was still quite alive and had not been devoured by some wild bird. She frowned at me.

“A wild bird that looked like a turkey just flew in and I screamed to scare it off,” I told her, giving her my best wide-eyed expression. “I think I should have gotten an award for that.”

My mother shook her head and sighed, as if wild birds that looked like turkeys and could fly didn’t exist.

“I can already see it in the newspaper! ‘Zoe Lin, aged 7, professional wild bird fighter’!” I yelled excitedly. My mother gazed at me sadly, her expression resigned. She sighed and made her way back down. “Come and eat, dear.”

“Okay!” I chirped, happy that my mother had forgotten about my room. I thundered down the stairs, past all my scribbles and interconnecting lines that ran down the wall of the stairs with me and barrelled into my sister, who was already in the kitchen. I grinned sheepishly at her and took my place, just like any other good 7-year-old girl would.

---

I stood with arms akimbo as I regarded my bedroom walls proudly. My drawings stretched from the corners at the bottom of the walls until the highest height my arm could reach (which was about the height of my bed!). I twiddled my Mountain Meadow crayon in my fingers happily and promptly snuggled into a giant floor pillow, surrounded by my Crayola crayons and some doodles on the walls.

---

When I woke up, the sky was purple. It had about 4 different shades of purple. Fuschia dominated most of it while it faded off into my Razzle Dazzle Rose crayon colour. I was confused. Usually skies were Sky Blue in colour. I stood up, and found myself on a long road which dipped down low and rose up high with multiple swirls and curves in it. The sides were a Screamin’ Green. Little Cotton Candy trees lined the right side, while Sunglow flowers were sprinkled in the Sunset Orange grass. Birds that looked like turkeys flew overhead, their feathers a Robin’s Egg Blue. A lone feather fluttered down and I swiped at it excitedly. As my fist closed around the feather, it suddenly lengthened and I found myself holding a Robin’s Egg Blue feather the size of a sword!

“I’M A NINJA!” I yelled and brandished my feather. I heard a soft cough. Turning to glare at the offending sound, I saw a Denim-coloured worm, looking at me strangely. It coughed again.

“You’re blue. Why aren’t you a caterpillar?” I asked the worm bluntly.

“The same reason why you’re not a ninja,” the worm replied, its voice sounding very weak yet cynical. I frowned.

“I am a ninja.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am you oversized blue not-caterpillar-worm!”

The worm sighed. “As you wish. But do beware of the flaming flamingos up ahead. It’s been a hot day; look at the sky.”

I looked. To my surprise, it was no longer purple. Instead, it was a light shade of green, almost like my Granny Smith Apple crayon. I turned to the worm, wanting to point out my amazing discovery of the changing skies, but the worm was gone. I scowled. “Bet I can beat his disappearing speed, ‘cos I’m a ninja,” I muttered. “Hmph.” I turned my nose up, and continued on my way.

I had just passed some Burnt Orange stick figures dancing around a Razzmatazz fire when I saw the flaming flamingos. They wore crowns of Blush dandelions on their heads, the dandelions seeds spiralling up into the air, only to catch on fire, fade into dust and ashes, and reform on the crown. It was a continuous, instant cycle. They had long flaming wings with swirling, delicate looking feathers the colour of Cerise, while the feathers on their bodies were a startling, burning White. The air shimmered before them as they took light, small steps with their long Tickle Me Pink legs.

I stood, transfixed, watching them leave trails of flames in their wake that flickered between orange and black. Suddenly feeling light-headed, I realised I had stopped breathing for the past few seconds and immediately drew in a deep breath. Instantly, all the heads of the flaming flamingos twisted towards me, their intelligent black eyes piercing my skull. I could see the reflection of their flames gleaming in their eyes. The heat emitting from them was beginning to sear my blue sword feather and I felt very, very scared.

Just as the flamingo right in front of the flock took a step towards me, I suddenly felt cool air blow around me and I smelled a familiar scent of fresh dew on grass in a green, green meadow. It was a scent I remembered since I was three. The flaming flamingos recoiled as a figure formed in front of me. They screeched and stretched out their wings abruptly, and I felt gushes of hot wind rush past me, scorching some of the Cotton Candy trees behind.

“Leave her,” said the voice in front of me. The flamingos reared their heads and I felt a consciousness tug at my mind. “Why?” it asked, “Why ssshould we?”

A chill ran down my spine as I realised this was how the flamingos communicated.

“She has done no harm and she will do no harm.” The man in front of me said. I titled my head sideways, certain that I had seen his figure somewhere before. I felt reassured, here behind him with the scent of the meadow drifting around and masking the smell of burning flames. He wore some kind of scarf, where the ends were constantly shifting and waving to an invisible breeze. Branches, flowers, birds, leaves… It looked magical.

“Howw can you be ssso sssure?” the voice inside my head hissed, and I felt a sharp pain through my head. I gave a cry and flinched.

“I said to leave her!” he yelled, and a gush of cold, icy wind blew past and into the flamingos, causing them to stumble back. They hissed and fumed, their feathers bristling and their fires disappearing as steam, but they retreated.

“We’ll remember thisss, Zachary… We do not forrget.”

He laughed heartily as he waved them goodbye, suddenly jovial. “Well, yeah, see you on my birthday!” The flamingos hissed one more time and they were gone. Zachary gave a single nod and turned around to face me. His brown eyes looked familiar, as did his shock of black hair. He kneeled down to my height and placed his hands on my shoulders. “Are you okay, Zoe?”

I nodded my head. “How do you know my name?”

He laughed. “Trade secret. I’ll tell you when you’re my age!”

“How old are you?” I asked him suspiciously.

“I’m seventeen,” he grinned, and ruffled my hair. A sense of nostalgia washed over me and I frowned at him.

“That’s my sister’s age!”

His smile stretched. “Oh, really now? That’s cool.”

He seemed really suspicious now. I rubbed my chin and told him so. He laughed and laughed, his scarf shifting into ribbons and feathers and roses. “Why do you have such a…a…a…weird scarf?” I asked him. “It’s so…”

“Flamboyant?” he asked, shrugging good-naturedly.

“Whassat word mean.”

“Um, loud, colourful, flashy, oh-look-at-me-I-want-attention, showy?”

“Yes! That’s the word,” I said haughtily. “I knew that. Yep.”

“Heh,” he snorted. “Of course you did.”

I sulked. It’s not fun being seven when no one took you seriously. I kicked his foot. “I did!” I grumbled.

“Okay, okay!” he laughed, holding his palms up. “I surrender! I wave my white flag.”

“Hmph,” I said, turning the other way and crossing my arms. But secretly I was very pleased. After a short while, I turned back to him. “You can be my big brother.”

He looked stunned. “What?”

“You can be my big brother,” I repeated. He stared at me.

“Why?”

I gave him my best you-are-an-idiot stare. “Because I say so. So now you must be my big brother!”

He smiled slowly. “I would like that, Zoe.”

I beamed at him, satisfied. He was already doing a great big brother job! “Okay, now you must bring me around and show me pretty things.”

“Okay, little one! Up you go!” He picked me up and placed me on his shoulders and jumped off the road. I screamed and swung my arms around his whole head while he laughed. We landed on something soft, and when I dared open my eyes, I saw that we were in the sky. Staring in wonder at the soft fluffy clouds we stood on, I reached out my hand to grasp a piece of cloud. It broke off easily, pulsing gently in my hand. He then coolly walked on, tendrils of cloud swirling lazily before him to form a new pathway and he led me to a crescent moon, where a little boy sat on its edge, holding a fishing rod. He wore boots like Puss in Boots and he was forever blurred. I couldn’t see how he really looked like—he and his surroundings were constantly shimmering, and I could only really see him from the corners of my eyes.

“Howdy, Zach,” the boy greeted my friend.

“Hallo, Dreamworks. Caught any new ideas?”

“Not yet, but I’m almost there. It’s been swimming around my bait for a while now. Something to do with a green ogre and a donkey…”

“Sounds crazy, but good luck! This is my little sister, by the way.”

“Hi,” I said shyly.

“She’s usually noisier than that,” Zachary said. “But we best be on our way! See you.”

And Zachary was on the move again. He took me to see the sun, where bubbles full of sunbeams floated around. He took me to see the stars, where I met more of his friends that glittered and sparkled whose hairs were dark green and blue and purple at the same time. He took me to see the machinery and clocks, where he told me all about the mechanism of time and I was filled with the lovely sound of the clinks and ticks and kerchunks as memories were recorded. He was showing me the forest full of rainbow trees, some green and yellow and blue while others were red and orange and purple when a bird screeched and he suddenly stopped.

He put me down on the ground and looked at me solemnly. “It’s time for you to go back home.”

I stared at him, aghast. “But why must I!”

He looked at me sadly. “Because you don’t belong here, Zoe. You won’t belong here for a very, very long time.”

I felt hurt. I started to cry.

“Ah, don’t cry. It’s good, not to belong here,” Zachary said, giving me a big brotherly hug. “When you go back, could you do me a favour please?”

Sobbing, I nodded my head, because mama always taught me that no matter what, we should always help others. He smiled and pressed something into my hand. It felt cold against my skin. “Please, when you get back, please pass it to your mum. And tell her it wasn’t her fault. Could you do that for me, Zoe?” I nodded, and rubbed my running nose against my sleeve. He ruffled my hair affectionately and took my hand as he walked me towards a river I hadn’t notice before. He placed me in a small boat, with ribbons on the front, and pushed the boat out.

“Zoe, I’ll always be here, watching over you, okay? So don’t cry anymore,” he said. “And remember, I will always—“

I strained to hear his last words, but it was no use. He was already disappearing from my sight. I started to cry again and I curled up into a ball in the boat, and I fell asleep.

---

“Zoe! Zoe, wake up!”

I opened my eyes groggily to see my mother staring at me crossly, her hands on her hips. “Zoe, what did I say about drawing on the walls?”

I looked at my walls and was surprised. I didn’t remember drawing that much. A Cerise flamingo flapping its wings was on a wavy, Electric Lime rollercoaster and a Denim worm reading a book was under the road. Gentle Periwinkle clouds dotted my walls, and the blue-green-yellow trees grew everywhere in a corner. But the one that stood out the most to me was a black scarf, its ends spiralling into branches and leaves of different colours. I smiled happily and turned back to my mother.

“Ma, I have a brother,” I told her dreamily. “I saw him.”

“What?” She looked stunned, and I was reminded of his first reaction.

“He looks just like you,” I said. My mother stared at me. Something cold was still in my hand, so I took my mother’s hand and placed it inside it. “He says that it’s not your fault. I love you, mummy.” I still felt so sleepy.

“I wish I had a big brother…” I whispered, my consciousness already fading as I snuggled back into my floor pillow. “His name would be Zachary.” I heard my mother gasp, and I fell asleep.

My mother stared at me snoring gently and slowly looked at her hand. In it was a locket, the locket, and engraved on it was three words. “Your son, always.”

She crumpled to the floor, and cried, as the scent of fresh dew on grass in a green, green meadow filled the room.





(2,588 words)

» Crayola Colours

Footprints in the Sand

Write an original story ending with one of the following:
a) “…and all that remained were footprints in the sand.”

Footprints in the Sand

Ever since Maya was young, she had a friend who lived in the sea. Maya lived in a big house by the sea, where the seagulls cried every day and the sound of the waves were her lullaby every night. She was about seven years of age when Maya first snuck out to the beach late at night.

Once again, Maya had found difficulty in sleeping. It was nearing midnight when she was sure her parents were asleep, and so opening her bedroom door quietly, she tiptoed downstairs and out of her house with only the light of the moon to guide her.

Maya loved this beach. It was a serene, quiet place with golden brown sand when the sun was up and silver white foams that sparkled at night. Maya let the wind play with her long hair as she walked barefooted to her favourite spot on the beach. But when Maya reached it, she found that she was not alone.

A girl sat in Maya’s favourite spot, next to a big rock where the waves would lap right up to her waist during the high tides. She had long wavy hair that was tinted silver by the moonlight and her skin seemed to radiate a soft white glow. Maya stood entranced. Maya would have stayed that way for a long time had not the wind changed directions. Suddenly the girl turned and saw Maya. She gave a loud gasp and immediately dived into the waters, where she was instantly lost in the waves. Maya ran towards the waters, but the girl was gone. Maya climbed onto the rock and sat there until the first rays of the morning peaked through the clouds and a kind fisherman took her home.

Maya could not stop thinking about the girl with silver hair. Who was she, and what had she been doing there? Maya frequented the beach more often, especially at night, but she never saw her and Maya would spend countless nights just sitting upon that rock and gazing out across the sea, watching the waves.

About a month later, Maya snuck out again and as she made her way to the rock, she saw her. The girl whose hair resembled the waves and glinted silver in the moonlight. Maya’s breath stuck in her throat but she forced herself quietly onwards, towards the girl. Once again, the wind suddenly changed its direction but as the girl turned her head towards Maya, she didn’t run. She just stared calmly as Maya made her way across to the rock. Maya saw that her eyes were green in colour.

“Hi,” Maya said.

The girl tilted her head sideways, and replied with a soft, “Hi.” Her voice could be barely heard over the waves and she had an accent, but Maya couldn’t place it. It was almost like a mix between all the accents in the world.

Maya didn’t know what to do after that, so she sat down beside the girl. “My name is Maya.”

“Names are a powerful thing,” the girl said, and nothing else. After a while, Maya finally said, “You have seaweed in your hair.” The girl reached up and touched the seaweed that seemed to crown her head. Her hands closed on it tightly and after a slight pause, she threw it into the sea.

The girl turned slowly and regarded her with big, wise eyes. “Your name means illusion, does it not?” the girl asked softly.

Maya nodded her head.

“Why do you wander the seashore so late at night, young one?” the girl asked softly.

Maya shrugged. “I have trouble sleeping.”

“I see you, many nights, upon this rock. Do you ever sleep?”

“Only sometimes.”

“I do not sleep either. I am a nereid, a water spirit. I do not sleep.”

The way she said it sent a shiver up Maya’s spine. “A water spirit?” Maya asked. “Why are you here?” Maya never once doubted her. It was the only possible thing this girl could be. She was definitely not human.

The nereid turned her eyes sadly towards Maya. “My waters are being polluted. Can’t you sense it, young one? My sea is dying.”

Maya faced the sea, watching the waves lap across the sand, rising and falling. Sure, the sea didn’t look as blue as it used to, but dying? Maya couldn’t understand. “It’s still alive.”

“My sea is dying,” she repeated, hugging her knees to her chest. “It is dying.” And with that, she dived once more into the sea and disappeared among the waves, her words still ringing in Maya’s ears.

Over the next few weeks, whenever Maya couldn’t sleep, the nereid would quietly join her next to the rock. One minute it would be just Maya with the waves splashing against her rock, and the next the nereid would suddenly be there when the waves subsided. Most nights they didn’t talk, but Maya somehow felt the nereid knew her better than anyone else. Maya has never been close to her parents. She was an only child, and her parents worked late often. She went to an all-girls private school where only the rich frolicked and they all looked down upon Maya just because she wasn’t as interested in make-up and boys as they were. A lot of people ignored her. It was as if they never saw her. The nereid was the first and only friend Maya had. The only person, or thing, that truly saw her.

“Do your parents not worry about you?” the nereid asked one night.

Maya shrugged. “They never notice when I am gone.”

The nereid looked at her in a way that made Maya think she could read her mind. “Names are a powerful thing,” she said solemnly. Maya nodded. Though she did not understand, the nereid said this often. “What is your name, then?” Maya asked.

The nereid was silent. Maya realised she wouldn’t answer and rested her hand in the crook of her arm around her knees.

“My name is Galene of the Calm Seas.”

And the nereid was gone.




Five years passed, and nothing much changed between Maya and Galene of the Calm Seas. One day however, Maya found out she was to move countries. Her father had gotten a job overseas, and they were leaving in the next few days. She waited till night fell, and ran out to the sea. There was no one there. Maya sat upon her rock and called out to Galene. In a few minutes, the nereid was there.

“I’m moving.”

The nereid looked at her.

“Overseas.”

The nereid said nothing.

“It’s very far from here.”

The nereid ran five fingers through her long wavy hair.

Maya covered her face in her hands and cried.

“You do not have to follow them,” the nereid said softly.

“W-what do you mean?” Maya choked.

“Names are a powerful thing.”

“I know that.”

“But you do not understand it.”

Maya kept quiet.

“Names are powerful. They define a person. Do you not remember what yours mean, young one?”

“I’m confused.”

“You lived your life according to your name. You can choose to leave them. You are getting of age, young one. Think of your name. What does it mean?”

Something clicked in Maya’s mind. She thought of her life, where she hardly spoke to her parents. She thought of her school, where she didn’t speak at all. She thought of everyone, and how they always seemed to barely look at her. As if she wasn’t there. As if she was just an illusion.

She had never enjoyed her life here, in this world. She reckoned there wouldn’t be much of a difference if she were to leave.

“Come with me, Maya,” the nereid whispered, slowly disappearing into the waves. “Come with me, young illusion.” Her hand was reached out to Maya. It was the first time the nereid had ever said her name. Maya made her choice. She took the hand and without looking back, she walked into the waves.

Not far away, in a big house by the sea, a couple had a dream about a little girl, their daughter. She had the brightest smile anyone could ever have and the biggest, liveliest eyes in the world. Her laughter filled their dreams, but when they awoke, they found their house empty, just as it had been for the last twelve years.

Out on the beach, the sea was quiet, and as the waves retreated silently, all that remained were footprints in the sand.

Amateur Rhyming.

Suddenly lost, and looking forlorn,

They ask time, "Where have you gone?

My first grandchild has just been born,

and I have a duty to make him belong.

Can't you see, it's not time yet to mourn?

"Could you not have waited a few more years?

A few more laughs, a few more tears?

How am I to live with this growing fear,

that my grandchild, a child so dear,

will never have, his grandpa near?"

Time replied, a little cool,

"You greedy man, you useless fool!

Do you take me for just a tool?

Don't be such a silly, stubborn mule.

It's your fault, just plain old you.

"I've given you time to laugh.

I've given you time to cry.

I've given you time to live.

Now it's time for you to die.

"You shouldn't have listened to Mr. Hare;

his head is big, but inside it's bare.

Have you not heard of that one such case,

where slow and steady won the race?

"It's much too late to fuss and pout.

Time doesn't wait, there is no doubt.

But if you would just think and stop,

and remember what Red has taught,

you'd walk with me to the finish line,

hand-in-hand, enjoying time."

© Christine Ling, April 2010.

I call it Nothing. Literally.

I had to do corrections. Yep, I'm only doing it now. I'm sorry. And I know, it sucks. But too bad. Posting up for future memories when I can read back all my past writings and laugh at how lousy I was.

(First Term Examination March 2010, English | Section E: Question D, Write a story beginning with: "It was pitch dark. I saw a figure darting across the compound of the house..")

N O T H I N G .

It was pitch dark. I saw a figure darting across the compound of the house, barely making a sound. The little moonlight there was illuminated the soft grass that was flattened by the figure’s swift feet, making it easy to follow its movements. The figure pressed himself (or herself? I couldn’t tell) against the wall of that blue, silent house, looking furtively around. As I crept closer to get a better view, I saw that the figure was a girl.

I paused. I knew her, I thought to myself. She looked different with her hair cropped and cut short. She was also swathed in clothes as dark as the night. My head felt fuzzy as something nagged at me, telling me that she was not usually like that.

The last lighted window in the house flickered off, and at once she was on the move, taking a hairpin from her hair expertly and positioning herself by the door. Her hair fell to one side, obscuring her face from my view, but I could still hear her muttering to herself repeatedly the same words while she tried picking the lock. “Please, please, please…” she murmured, as soft as the breeze.

I heard the satisfying ‘click’ and the door swung open smoothly. She tensed. After a few hesitant moments, she peered into the darkness of the house. Nothing stirred; nothing moved; nothing was out of place. Her form visibly relaxed and she slowly stepped into the silent house. I stole in after her as the door swung shut due to the weight fastened to the top of the door. There was another soft ‘click’ as the door auto-locked itself. The only source of light now came from the windows, a weak silver glow that barely reached more than three feet. I felt safe; she couldn’t possibly see me.

She treaded delicately across the smooth floorboards, seeming to know her way around even in the darkness of the house. A sudden stumble made me conscious that she was fidgeting, and her hands were trembling. I wanted to stop her and ask, “What are you doing here?” but when I opened my mouth, not a sound came out. I could only follow her quietly, like a ghost.

The stairs creaked faintly even though her footsteps were light. I walked up by stepping on the very sides of the stairs and they didn’t make a sound as I ascended them after her. When I reached the corridor, I saw her standing in front of an open door, staring into a room with a forlorn expression on her face. I waited until she had turned from the room and hid her face in her hands before I left the safety of the empty stairs.

I snuck up behind her and peeped into the room. I saw two figures sleeping, with dark circles under their eyes. They were Dad and Mum, I realised. Why did they look so tired, so sad? I started making my way in but she abruptly walked off, down the corridor. I felt torn in between. I glanced at my parents, and the girl. Who was I to choose? I decided to follow the girl. After all, she was the intruder here, in my house. I’ll check on my parents, later.

She stopped in front of another door. Twisting the doorknob gently, she eased the door open. I saw a tiny silhouette, tangled up in the bed sheets. My little brother, Tommy. He was thrashing wildly, his breathing heavy and his face contorted in anguish. “Sis, sis!” he called out desperately.

My heart broke. I discarded the wisdom of hiding from the girl and rushed to my brother’s side. “I’m here, Tommy. Big sis is here. Calm down now, calm down…” I stroked his brow soothingly.

It made no difference; his arms still flailed about, almost striking me across the face. Suddenly he bolted upright with a gasp, wide awake. He was panting. He looked straight at me before covering his face with his hands. He started to sob, “Sis…”

“There, there. What is it, Tommy?”

“I miss you…”

“Aww, it’s okay, Tommy. It’s okay.”

“I wish you were here.”

“I’m here now, Tommy. I’m here now,” I smiled and leant in to give my eight-year-old brother a hug, but suddenly he ducked back under his blankets as his sobs filled the room. I felt helpless, powerless, weak, and suddenly very, very vulnerable. It was taking me all my strength to not just break down and cry with him. A muffled sniff escaped my lips as I tried to hold it in, my hands flying to my mouth in hopes of stifling it. I whirled away from my brother, and saw the empty doorway; the girl had vanished.

I cast one long last look at my brother, and choking back a sob, I hastily made my way out and headed down the corridor once more.

A door stood ajar at the end of the corridor. Light seeped out through the small gap. I slipped in and saw the back of the girl who was rummaging around the drawers. My drawers. This was my room.

“Hey!” I called out. “What are you doing here?” Finally the words were out. She made no motion that she had heard me. I stormed my way across my room and was about to wrench her around to face me when I saw her looking at a photograph in her hands. It was of me…and her. Back when she had long hair and colourful clothes. Back when we both wore bright smiles on our faces. An unexpected pang of nostalgia hit me, and I reached out to touch her now short hair. She hardly flinched. “Christine…” she whispered softly. A tear landed on the photograph.

“Lily…” I whispered, suddenly remembering her name. “What’s wrong? Why are you here?”

A short silence.

“Why did you have to leave?” she demanded harshly.

I was taken aback by her sudden outburst. “What…what do you mean?”

She groaned in frustration and stuffed the photograph into her back pocket, resuming her frenzied search.

“What are you looking for?” I asked, feeling very confused.

She made no reply. She searched through the boxes, the cupboards and even the bookshelves, replacing them neatly in their original places once she was done. Out of the blue, she gasped. She had found it finally. She held it up, letting it catch the light and send glittering patterns dancing across the room. It was a small bracelet, with a clover-shaped crystal charm. Something in my memory clicked, and I recognised that bracelet with a jolt. My hand flew to my wrist.

“Why did you take it off? Why…?” she asked quietly.

My hand felt nothing on my wrist; it was bare. I was flabbergasted. Why had I taken my lucky charm off? “I-I don’t know…” I started to reply, but she cut me off mid-way.

“And now you’re gone!” she hissed sharply. Her words crashed onto me like a tsunami.

“I-I’m not gone! I’m still here, Lily! Hey!” I yelled, trying to drown out her accusing voice, but it was too late. She was gone from the room, the room which was pitch black once more.

I yanked the door open and flew out of the house after her, calling her name desperately. Only the soft rustling of the trees answered me. Feeling at a loss, I turned back to the house…only to face a closed door. It came as a bad shock when I realised that I had just passed through that locked door. A sick feeling rose up in my throat. My heart was pounding.

“No…” I whispered, horrified. “No…!”

I placed a shaky hand against a tree. It stayed for a moment, then it sunk into the tree. A cold terror seized me and a sharp scream burst from my lips, piercing the dark and silent night. I wrenched my hand free from the tree and crumpled onto the silvery grass, screaming and weeping.

But no one heard a thing.

Nothing stirred; nothing moved; and nothing was out of place. Except for a photograph, a charm bracelet, and the girl who once used to live in that blue, silent house.

END.

(1,374 words)

Christine Ling

4 Science 1

But besides that, Karen Michelle Wong Leh Song (did i get it right?) is 15 years old today, Rebecca Gemma Su Xin-Fong is 16 years old today, Pamela Tan idunnowhat is 17 years old today, and Olivia iforgotwhat Lee ialsoFORGOTwhatbutithinkit'sHUIPINGbutinotsure is 18 years old today; that old woman :D hehe. I ♥ you guys. Happy birthday.

Sore Feet

just for the hell of it and for the sake of an update.

TOPICS from Ms Susie:

1. Books
2. Storm
3. Songs
4. Fruits
5. Shoes

FRUITS.

I think I was a fruit in my past life.

I am a strict non-fruitatarian. It’s something like a vegetarian, except it’s fruits and I eat everything but fruits. I’m not too sure about a humanitarian and what they eat, though.

But moving on, I really think I was a fruit in my past life. I have random urges to hunch over like a banana and just crouch in a lovely, beautiful fruit bowl, looking all yellow and pale.

I try especially hard to look pale. I’d squeeze my eyes shut, hold my breath and not move. On more than one occasion I have opened my eyes to catch my mother looking at me strangely. Upon being asked whether I look pale and yellow, she’d tell me that I look blue and crazy.

I never show my disappointment though. I’d just go up to my room, take a book down from my shelf, jump onto my bed and bawl my eyes out. I tell people that I’m reading a sad, sad story.

But anyway, I’m considering asking that Edward Cullen guy to teach me his pale and glittery trick. I hear he’s so good at it, he does it unconsciously! That’s so cool. It’s almost like he’s a shiny fruit by nature.

Moving on! On certain days, I’d go out to the garden and sing songs to our fruit trees. According to the grapevine, it makes them grow faster. But I just like making them feel the love.

“Hush-a-bye fruitzy, on the tree branch,” I’d sing, and then when I reached “and down will go fruitzy, stalk, leaves and all!” a fruit normally drops down immediately! Although by then you’d hear a voice from somewhere inside the house (or a nearby neighbour) screaming, “Whoever you are, stop singing! The clothes are out drying! Dude, PLEASE.” And then, as if on cue, thunder will suddenly resound across the neighbourhood and rain will come pouring down.

“It’s a storm!” I’d cry out dramatically and picking up the fallen fruit, I’d huddle over it protectively and run back into the house.

But that’s that. Let’s move on, shall we?

I simply cannot stand the sight of someone eating a fruit. Especially apples. When those teeth sink into a particularly juicy apple and I hear the loud crunch that echoes in my ears and head… I can just feel my heart twisting in turmoil. There goes my beloved red friend! Gone forever, on a journey down through someone’s gullet. Goodbye, goodbye. I hope he finds his soul mate down there.

Speaking of soles… I think I can hear my shoe squelching with each step I take. It must have been all those storms! Oh, fiddlesticks. There goes my school shoes. I can hear its cry of anguish and its pleas to be released from this misery! Oh how my heart writhes in agony! I wish I could help you, my friend. I really do.

But it’s okay. I shall move on. I heard it’s good for keeping people sane. Haven’t you?

Oh, hey! Hey there. You know what?

I think I was a shoe in my past life.

END.

i don't think i know how to write anymore. and did you notice anything about the topics in what i wrote?

According to Me,

In a few decades from now, we will not live in the sky nor in space. We will live underwater.

Face it, we are progressing fast, but not fast enough to be able to stay airborne unless we have plenty of fuel to keep on going. Or unless we find / create a mineral that can hover in midair, and enough of that to sustain the population. But even in the sky, our troubles are still--we are running out of oxygen. However if we went underwater, we can remain in the buildings that have sunk and rely on trapped air pockets for air supply. And oxygen is still found in water.

Through evolution, perhaps we may be able to hold our breaths for a longer period of time, like whales. Blubbery blubber whales! I won't go so far as to say we will develope gills to filter oxygen from the water, although that would be srsly cool.

So perhaps mermaids did exist, but throughout the years they have become extinct and history is just repeating itself when we ourselves do become somewhat like the merpeople.

Or not where do all the legends originate from? There must be some truth in them, no matter how small it is.

Unless the people back in the days could really reeaally think far ahead, or they were just too bored and were way more creative and imaginative than we are since they had no tvs or computers.

. . . . . .

But anyways, if we were to live underwater, we will eventually develope webbed feet and hands through evolution. This is a must in order to be able to swim faster, with more powerful kicks to ensure safety, preservation and of course, to catch food.

Our eyes might also develope a layer over them to protect them from the salty waters. Ears, too, so that we can withstand the pressure. And our skin will take on a greenish hue to camouflage.

.........i see now why merpeople have big yellow eyes and green scaly skin.

Except the ones in Disney.

Or perhaps our humanity will split in half--one underwater, and one in the sky.

Those living in the skies will rely on high terrains and mountains. Our bones will become more hollow and lighter. Our eyes will have to be more keen and ears must be able to withstand THAt pressure up there too.

I don't think we'd develope feathers for wings, but perhaps the bones will elongate and skin will be stretched over the area........

Ah, like pterodactyls. Back to the Dinosaur era. Nature's ironic way of bringing them back through evolution. History history.

So fish and birds. flyingfish!!! Myths and Dinosaurs. Water and Air.

Pollution has both in its grasp. The waters are polluted. The air is polluted.

So even if we can no longer exist on earth and are forced to retreat into the waters/air, we'd still die because they both are being polluted as we speak. So unless we stop polluting and start conserving, we're doomed either way.


We're back at Square One.


Save the Earth.

peek-a-boo!

i see you! :D



. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


i lied. i don't see you. i'm sorry.


anyway, two updates in two days! homg! zomg! comg! tomg! gomg! momg!

yesyes, i know, i am amazing. sigh :)

LOL!jkjk xD


well anyways. Miss Susie made us write an essay the other day. It went something like this.

MISS SUSIE: And so, let's WRITE TODAY!
CLASS OF 4SC1: groans in loud despair!!!!!!
MISS SUSIE: I know! I am SO excited! :D
CLASS OF 4SC1: thinking, OMGNO
MISS SUSIE: It's GREAT to see such ENTHUSIASTIC students!!
CLASS OF 4SC1: noooooo teacher noooooooooooo!
MISS SUSIE: Look at all the ENTHUSIASM! I can't wait! :D
CLASS OF 4SC1: why can't we wait for after the holidays!?
MISS SUSIE: I LOVE seeing ENTHUSIASTIC students! LET'S WRITE!
CLASS OF 4SC1: Noooooooooooooooo!!

...yeah. something like that.

so, our topics.

1. Friends


2. Ends with, "If only I had listened to his/her advice."


3. Describe the biggest challenge in your life.


4. If you were given a chance to be anybody, who would you be and why?


5. My early years.

Alicia picked #1. I was in her first story of that. I am honoured. She loves me, I know she does :'D hehehehee♥

Josephine wants to do #2. I have no idea why :D

I picked #3! Cos it sounded fun, i have no idea why either :D

my thoughts on #4 and #5.



If I were given a chance to be anybody, I would be me because I am awesome. Duh.

AHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAH--



cough.




My early years. When maths was actually still numbers.

Good ol' days.





Then this happened for #4.

MICHGOH: OMG! We should pick #4 and write, if i were given a chance to be anybody, i would be Miss Susie!
ALICIA: OOOH....!
(cos that would mean mich gets extra marks LOLhahajkjk)
CHRISTINE: OMG! Then you can write, and if i were miss susie, i would give this essay 50/50!! AHAHAHAHAA
MICHGOH: YEAH!!!! we should so totally write that!!

conclusion: we are genius.




but in the end michgoh decided to write a tragic love story. she's determined to make miss susie cry. i salute her. hahahahaa.

but anyways, this is mine.





CHALLENGE 3: Describe the biggest challenge in your life.

And Another Day Goes By

The sun sets. The sun rises. Another day goes by. The wind blows. The trees sway. Another day goes by. The branches move. My window gets hit. Another day goes by. The sunlight streams in. The birds chirp. Another day goes by. I open my eyes. I cover my head with my pillow. Another day goes by. A knock on my door. My mother’s voice,

“CHRISTINE! WAKE UP! It’s 10 o’clock in the morning!”

…another day goes by.

How many days have gone by?

Not many. I think.

“Christine, wake up now! Dad wants to go out for brunch!”

Why, hello to you too mum!

“Open the door!”

How am I doing? Well, fine of course! Thanks for asking.

“I’m warning you…”

“Yes mum, I’m awake, I’m awake! I’m on my way to the bathroom as you speak! Watch me go, quick as a cat!”

The noise stops. I turn over, and go back to sleep.

---

People face many challenges every day of their lives. From tackling that pesky additional mathematics question, to feeding their vicious fish. It is tragic, I know. Even I, as unbelievably astounding as I am, am faced with challenges all the time! But I, being as unbelievably astounding as I am, can normally overcome them with triumph held high in my fist, standing on the mountain of victory, with waves of success splashing behind me as songs of achievement fill the air.

Except for one.

Just one tiny one. Okay, maybe not so tiny. Maybe just a small one. Slightly bigger than that. Considerably bigger. Bigger. Huge. Massive. Gargantuan.

All except that just one tiny-small-big-huge-massive-gargantuan challenge I have to face each and every morning. And no, it’s not my mother. It’s not something quite as simple as that, you see. But it’s alright, as I have realised everything in this world eventually comes to face a challenge. A very challenging challenge. Even animals! Although I would have to add in the fact that my dog’s biggest and most challenging challenge in his life is probably trying to find the cosiest spot to sleep in every day. He is a German Shepherd and his name is Fluff. He’s a dog, not a cat. But I digress.

This one hindrance crumbles my Mountain of Victory! The Waves of Success die down. The Songs of Achievement crackle, fade and is heard no more. And that Triumph held high in my Fist? Gone. Like the wind.

How can this be? It cannot be so! But I must admit, it is by far, the most Challenging Challenge of my Life. Really. It prevents me from accomplishing things. It prevents me from being a good daughter. It prevents me from being early. It prevents me from LIVING MY LIFE. It is that bad. Truly and really. Really and truly.

You must all be wondering right about now…what is this challenge? What is this tiny-small-big-huge-massive-gargantuan challenge? What is this most challenging challenge that prevents me from living my life as it ought to be lived? What is this monstrosity of a challenge?

I am sorry, I do not know how to tell you. My hand cannot write any further. I am trembling as I write. It is too traumatising. But, no! I must persevere. I can do this. I will do this.

“CHRISTINE! It’s already 11:30 a.m.! WHY ARE YOU STILL NOT READY?”

I groan and blearily rub my eyes.

“Christine Ling Jern Sze! Don’t make me go in there!”

I have a confession to make. My biggest and most challenging challenge of my life… is waking up in the morning.

“I’m coming in right now!”

“Nooo, mum! I’m ready, I’m ready!”

And another day goes by.

END

© Christine Ling, Feb 2010.

i know. it's boring. and strangely, SHORT! hahahahaa i'm sorry. i got lazy. too bad :p hahaha!

and as they say, the pen is mightier than the sword.

i just realised something..

u can actually really gauge a person's character just by how they write, or by how they phrase things.





words are a powerful thing.

it's the CHERRY.

OMG WHAT IS THIS ABOUT?
well it's about none other thaaaaaaaaaaaaaan


yesyes. the clarbear the clarfairy the andria the twin the mathsupergenius the verymanjakid the mypreciousGOLDsaxophonekid the mysaxophoneskillpwnzyoukid the IHATEHUGSkid the getawayfrommekid the iamawesomekid the bowbeforemysuperioritykid the ihatezpink!kid the ifalldownallthetimekid the stabilityandgravitationallychallengedkid the kittyclar the *cherry* chai the everyonecannotpronounceherchinesenamekid the everything!
:D

the clarbear who is so utterly good at saxophone. look at her gold one! she so rich.
the mypreciousGOLDsaxophonekid and the mysaxophoneskillpwnzyoukid

the andria the twin

the verymanjakid (:


but eventhough she's all the mathsupergenius the verymanjakid the mypreciousGOLDsaxophonekid the mysaxophoneskillpwnzyoukid the IHATEHUGSkid the getawayfrommekid the iamawesomekid the bowbeforemysuperioritykid too, we still love her and try to give her hugs she hates.

That's why she's also the ifalldownallthetimekid the stabilityandgravitationallychallengedkid. It's really sad ):

wells.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CLARISSA SHERRI CHAI everyonecannotpronounceherchinesenamekid ZISHAN!
this is your 15th year of life of falling down whenever someone hugs you.
or running away when they try.

CHRISTINE: Clarbear! ♥
CLARISSA: suddenly tenses
CHRISTINE: ooh. stretches arms out
CLARISSA: leans away despite being a whole five feet away
CHRISTINE: takes sudden step forward
CLARISSA: breaks into full-fledged run

well sorryla but she's just so HUGABLE. You can't resist it ;D

we are the Three Squirrels, forever there to steal both sides' weapons MUHAHAHAHAHA

we love you!

*MEGA HUG 4EVER AND EVERRRR!*




*extra: I shall add the cartoons

JOHNNY BRAVO. OOHHH Johnny Bravo!

Dexter's Laboratory!
"Ooooh what does this button do~~~?"
"DEEDEE, NOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!"

and..

I AM WEASEL.
*sniffs finger*
i r baboon.

to the post down below! (:

Reminiscing of days gone past

Hey, do you guys know about that MPH Writing Competition that ended last month?

Yeah, that one. The one where the Top 6 got a subnotebook among other things for the teenagers category.

Yep. The very same.

Did you know I really wanted to join that competition? Not because I liked the topic, but because of the prizes. C'mon. A subnotebook! That would have been perfect for my mum to bring to school instead of lugging her heavy one which she doesn't have the strength to carry. The limit of 4,000 (4k! I was so happy) words is a small price to pay for a chance of getting a subnotebook. Miniscule. We can't afford to just buy one even if my mum needed it. So I really wanted to try and win it.

That's the thing.

Because I was actually aiming to win, every idea I had was verbally abused, spat on, torn up, trampled on and burnt to crisp by my worst--and best--critic.

And so 31^st March came and gone. Just like that. Without me ever once sitting down and typing more than two sentences for the topic.

"Staying or Leaving". It was either one. You either write about staying, or you write about leaving. They weren't picky. You could even write about both!

It was all usual, normal ideas. Leaving the country. Staying in the country. Both my siblings had decided to "leave" to further their studies overseas; I had first-class information.

Even IF I could have made it interesting (which I sorely doubt), who'd want to read about that? I'd have felt disloyal to Malaysia, anyway.

I never stopped long enough to think. Every first thought, as I had said, was taken, verbally abused (though only in my head), spat on, torn up, yada yada the whole thing.

“What is it like to leave everything you are familiar with behind? So many young people are moving from kampongs to towns, leaving to study overseas, travelling, or even migrating. If not us, we may have older siblings, relatives, or friends who have left. Is the idea of leaving an exciting or daunting prospect for you? Even if it’s only for a little while?

“What about those who are left behind? They stay in places because they want to, or maybe because they can’t afford to go far. Do they feel lucky that they are staying in their comfortable and familiar homes?

“Think about families and friends: staying in a long-term marriage or a relationship with a first love; children staying with one parent when the other leaves; someone who considers leaving a friendship. And think metaphorically also: when someone excels in their studies or work, they leave their old status and find themselves in a “new world”.

“This year’s theme is Staying and Leaving. We want you to capture the idea, or even the moment, of what it means to leave or remain in a place. It can be set in your home, a meeting spot, perhaps a strange place for the first time, or anywhere that evokes some significance.
We want you to capture the thoughts and emotions that are experienced, smiles and words that are exchanged, the looks on everyone’s faces, and the sense of belonging or not belonging.

“You may write from the viewpoint of staying or leaving. Or, if you’re really ambitious, on both the concept of staying and leaving—like the moment when the door closes, and one person is left standing inside while on the other side the other person walks away, quietly.”

You have no idea how much the two last paragraphs called out to me. I wanted to capture it. The emotions, the smiles that were exchanged, the words that were not. The beauty of language lies in the fact you need not use so many words, to capture that one moment. It is your skill with words, that enables you to.

It was a challenge. Even if I wasn't ready, I wanted to take it.

Some may laugh. A fifteen year old going up against other fifteen year olds, sixteen and seventeen. I know a few--okay, a lot--of sixteen and seventeen year olds around the world that can wipe my English on the floor anytime with theirs. My vocabulary and grammar can't hold a candlelight to theirs. I never knew what asphyxiated meant before I met them. I never knew a word like sporadic existed. And digress? Even my sister didn't know what that meant. And they were only fourteen and fifteen at that time.

But I still wanted to try.

But as Fate seemed to have it, I never had an idea good enough. Until today. Maybe this was Karma getting back at me for all the wrong I've done. Seems like it.

Leaving. Subconsciously, I knew that that was what I had meant to do all along. Just reading the short phrase, imaginary friend, made me think, isn't it sad to leave behind an imaginary friend? How the child slowly loses interest in him/her? How they stop pestering their parents they needed an extra set of cutlery for their imaginary friend? Isn't it sad?

It struck me then. What I would have liked, no, loved to have written for the competition, had I been in time.

Leaving Behind Your Childhood. Leaving to Enter the Teenage World. The world of raging hormones and drama.

The innocence of childhood. I don't know about you, but I was struck by its simplicity. The child-like curiosity. Just the pure, pure, untainted innocence.

Imaginary friends.
Eating toothpaste.
Always saying, "My dad's better/stronger/smarter than yours."
Girls saying, "Boys have cooties. Ew."
Boys saying, "Don't touch girls. They have Girl Germs."
Believing in Santa Claus.
The Toothfairy.
Fairies.

Have you noticed, almost all the books with fairies in them happen to have main characters aged 12 and below? Or maybe the occasional 13. Not the gory sly tricky green-skinned fairies thing--but the sweet, inviting, sparkly world of fairies.

Enid Blyton. Definitely in.

Ever wondered why these fairies never seem to appear to adults?

Because they've lost their pure innocence. They've been exposed to all the hurt and pain in the world, and they hated it. Hate. They weren't pure any longer. They nurtured the feeling of hate, of fear. They stopped believing in fairytales. Happy endings. All things bright and beautiful. They didn't have a child's trust. A child's naivety. A child's belief. A child's patience and eagerness to learn.



They were amused so easily. Imagine these,

A little toddler, blowing a lone feather from her fingertips only to recapture it in her hands, giggling as she did so, as it drifts slowly downwards, only to bring it up once more and repeat the action.

A butterfly alighting softly upon a child's nose as it playfully swipes at it and runs after it as it flutters away.

Someone closing their eyes and opening them with a small, "Boo!" in front of their faces.

Tickling them. Stretching out a finger and watching them tug at it, or bite it.

Their first words.

Their inability to pronounce correctly.

Running around and getting dizzy and ending up hugging a random stranger's leg instead of their own parent's leg.

Being able to point at people and laugh without said person getting offended. Much.

Plucking a dandelion to blow its seeds.

Sneezing as pollen gets into his/her nose.

Having tea parties. Pretending that the dolls drank the tea poured out for them.

Bringing toys around to show off to their friends.

Having security blankets that they never allowed you to wash.

Claiming to hate their older siblings in front of them, only to secretly admit adoration for said sibling once alone.

How you sing lullabies to them and they remember it for the rest of their lives.

How they can sense something is wrong even if you were positive you weren't acting any different.

How they imitate you, because they want to be just like you.

How they repeat word for word what you shouldn't have said.

How they always seemed to be having fun.




These children never stopped to think if they were happy or not. They just were. And that, is true happiness.

Children subconsciously want to stay happy all the time. If something upsets them, they won't think long about it. Like if a parent was missing; they won't ask about it. They'll just accept it, lock away the sadness and go about life just so they can remain happy. Once you turn into a teenager that's no longer the case. They'll always ask.




I remember whenever my father left for business trips, all three of us won't speak to him for a minimum of 10 days when he returned. We would ask mum for the first few days and when we realised daddy really wasn't around, we would stop. We won't bother with him. And when he came back, he couldn't scold us. Only my mother could scold us during those times. He always had to be nice. If he wasn't, well. All hell would break lose.

Needless to say, daddy learned his lesson. He never went on business trips ever again unless he really, urgently, had to. He always came back with gifts to bribe us with for us though.

I also remember I threw a tantrum whenever he didn't tell me where he was going. He had to ask permission to go play golf each day. Or else I wouldn't speak to him. I believe he had to tell me he was going to the office to work each day, too. Or I wouldn't have let him leave.


Imagine if you were a husband and your wife treated you like this. You wouldn't like it. Nope. Only children could get away with doing this and getting presents at the end of it. Because when children did it, they were cute. When full-grown adults did it, they were controlling.

I was a very controlling baby. My parents told me they couldn't eat a decent meal whenever I was around. When I was in their lap, I never let a spoonful of food go past. My parents said whenever they brought the spoon towards their mouth, my hand would shoot out, grab their wrist and redirect it to my mouth.

They complained I was so greedy. I agreed. But I also think I was one smart baby ;D


Why did we have to leave it all behind?

If I could, I would love to relive my childhood. Playing jadi, watching cartoons, studying for spelling tests (yes, i was such a studious girl back then! no wonder it died off; i started so young), climbing window grills, eating porridge with bovril every morning before heading to JLH, playing treasure hunts and pretending gates were large forests.

I want to rewatch fairytales.

I love Mulan. Asian pride and all that. I always, always watched this whenever there was a storm and Astro couldn't get a signal.

The next show I watched during storms was Hercules. I had Megara's song "I won't say I'm in love" off by heart. And The Muse! Oh they were hilarious.

I want to watch Beauty and the Beast. Belle is my favourite Disney Princess. The only true bookworm.

I want to watch the Mickey Mouse classics, the black and white ones.

I want to watch Alice in Wonderland and see the Blue Caterpillar and the Queen of Hearts, even if Alice is my least favourite Disney Princess.

I miss Aladdin. I miss his flying carpet more, though. It was adorable.

Pocahontas. Meeko = Love. End of story.

Does anyone remember Fantasia? I used to hate it, because it scared me. Now I love it.

Peter Pan. Teddy and me!

Lady and the Tramp. The spaghetti scene. Oh the spaghetti scene..! /wall.

101 Dalmatians with Cruella Deville.

The Jungle Book and the bare necessities?

The Aristocats! From then on I always thought aristocrats were actually spelt aristocats and everyone else who spelt it as aristocrats were retardically challenged when it came to spelling.

ROBIN HOOD. Oh, I really can't remember it at all! So I wanna watch it.

WINNIE THE POOH and his hundred-acre wood! Oh chubby little tubby all stuffed with fluff he's Winnie the Pooh, ooh! Winnie the Pooh, little silly willy old bear! Roo was really my favourite character.

The Little Mermaid. She's got twenty thingamabobs.

The Lion King! TIMON AND PUMBA. Pumba = Love. End of story too.

The Hunchback of Notre Dame was beautiful.. I love "Someday". I love singing it.

TARZAN. OMG I LOVE TARZAN. It made me cry over and over again.

I remember Dinosaurs. Okay, maybe not, but still a little.

I remember the Emperor's New Groove. The TV series is lame.

Atlantis: The Lost Empire! I had laughed at his name: Milo. I'm sorry, I was young!

I want to watch The Powerpuff Girls and sing their theme song.

The Adams Family! dumdumdumDUM!

SHEEP IN THE BIG CITY with their OXYMORON products! I LOVE THIS.

Wow. This was one long post.

Who knew I could type so much?




Does anyone remember Corncurls?