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.

Thought of the Day #21

why my chin so sharp!!! D:

Honestly,

I'm a not a fighter. I'm a coward. I give up a lot and I never try my best. I think the last time (and maybe the only time) I tried my best was when I was writing essays in Brother Albinus' English class. In 2009. Two years ago. Ever since then? hahahah lol.

I don't know why I never push myself. I don't know why when anyone else tries, I just nod but do nothing. Am I stubborn? I've never really thought of myself as stubborn, just more of a "yes, I hear you and I agree whole-heartedly, but I shall do that later teehee" kind of person. Is that being too complacent? I'm very laid-back.. And I procrastinate everything from waking up to going to sleep. But yeah, I'm starting to think yes, I'm stubborn and rebellious. ...in a quiet way.

Because whenever someone pushes me, I resist. ): I don't dare be pushed forward. The harder you push, the harder I dig my heels into the ground. And I do it unconsciously. It's so stupid. I can give great advice, I can see what's clearly wrong with me, I know what I should do...but I can't. And saying, "No, I can! Because nothing is impossible." hasn't changed me yet.

So I'm really scared. I don't think I can make it out there. I don't think it's fully hit me yet that, "Hey, Chris. You're 17. You're actually your seniors' age when you were form 1 and thought they were so grown-up and confident and ready for life and success. You're leaving this town soon. Your friends, your family, your shelter, comfort, childhood, your everything. You're growing up."

No. I look at myself in a mirror and still see a fifteen-year-old, at the very most. I don't know how the form 1s see me, but I'm pretty sure I don't carry that aura my senior form 5s of 2007 had. I cannot, I just can't.

And telling me things like, "No, Chris. I believe in you. I KNOW you can do it. I can just see it." makes me feel even worse. Because I can't see it and I can't even begin to imagine it. How can you see it, when I'm not even working for it? And when I don't understand myself how it...or anything else, really, could happen, I reject it completely.

Also what scares me the most is knowing I have a very high chance of getting cancer and dying because I'm not a fighter. I don't have the strength or will to persevere and force myself out of bed or to overcome such a disease. And me saying this already reduces the chance of surviving even more. I'm not like my dad, who never gives up and fights against cruel fate, who forced himself up every day during chemo when weak and shaking to exercise and sweat the toxins out to get healthy again, who told me, "I won't let myself die until I see you graduate."

I'm now even scared of having a family or getting into anything because if I do die, I'll cause so much trouble, pain, heartache and regrets among them. What more if I leave when my kids are barely toddlers (if I do get kids). I want to be able to fight to live for my kids, but..I don't think I can. Unless I change.

But I don't know how.

Thought of the Day #20

ya i love my braddah :D

LOVE LIKE WOE :D

i just like that song. HEHEHE.

bye bye exams!

hello sony vegas, my flute, my uke and long long hours on the computer. ehe!



btwwww i'm planning on switching to tumblr xD any new link-name recommendations?

What Science Has Taught Me

Problem statement:
What are the effects of Christine's need for sleep on her will to finish her exam papers?

Aim:
To investigate the relationship between Christine's need for sleep and her will to finish her exam papers.

Hypothesis:
The greater Christine's need for sleep is, the greater her will to finish her exam papers.

Manipulated variable: Christine's need for sleep
Responding variable: Christine's will to finish her exam paper
Fixed variables: The pen used and the amount of brainpower supplied

Apparatus and Materials:
Christine, an exam paper, a clock, a Pilot 0.4 blue pen and a fan.

Procedure:

1. The exam begins.
2. Christine stares at the clock and calculates how much time she has left (to sleep).
3. She spends about 1-2 minutes per question. Any longer than that she moves on.
4. After finishing the whole paper, she returns to her unanswered questions. If she cannot figure out the answer even after 10 minutes, she randomly writes whatever she hopes the answer is.
5. Christine finishes her exam.
6. She stares at the clock.
7. She is usually left with 30 minutes to an hour, or more.
8. She sleeps the rest of the time away.
9. The exam ends.

Observation:

1. When Christine's need for sleep is stronger, she'll only spend 5 minutes on unanswered questions.
2. She writes faster and more desperately when more sleepy.
3. She is (usually) one of the first few persons with their heads on the table.

Conclusion:
The greater Christine's need for sleep is, the greater her will to finish her exam papers. The hypothesis is accepted.

Diagram:

TRALALALA :)

I’m not clumsy. It’s just that the floor hates me, tables and chairs attack me, and the wall just gets in the way.

Thought of the Day #19

NO act of kindness,
no matter how small,
is ever wasted.
:)

~AESOP

Thought of the Day #18

If you mah friend, you be cared for :D always. ♥

Never Shout Never - Harmony

:')

The Man He Killed

"HAD he and I but met
By some old ancient inn,
We should have set us down to wet
Right many a nipperkin!

But ranged as infantry,
And staring face to face,
I shot at him as he at me,
And killed him in his place.

I shot him dead because--
Because he was my foe,
Just so: my foe of course he was;
That's clear enough; although

He thought he'd 'list, perhaps,
Off-hand like--just as I--
Was out of work--had sold his traps--
No other reason why.

Yes; quaint and curious war is!
You shoot a fellow down
You'd treat, if met where any bar is,
Of help to half a crown."

~Thomas Hardy

why must we fight and have wars? i wish people weren't so selfish. then freedom would come without the need of bloodshed. a happy, perfect eutopia.

...sounds funny. LOL. yehh not gonna happen, i guess.

Thought of the Day #17

I wish I could be as courageous and kind as Mother Teresa.

Thought of the Day #16

Never ever regret anything that has made you smile. (:

April 3

The bluebird carries the sky on his back. ~Henry David Thoreau

Thought of the Day #15

I think my blog is more like a tumblr now.

.....eheh.

Thought of the Day #14

Thought of the Day #13

“Being happy doesn't mean that everything is perfect. It means that you've decided to look beyond the imperfections.”

Thought of the Day #12

I love Kuching. :D

i realised it on the flight back, when they were playing this advertisement on the tiny screen about sarawak and kuching and they showed the sungai sarawak, those cat statues in town, india street, angmohs staring at these places... and i suddenly felt so proud because i knew these places and i actually wanted to cry.

(that may or may not have been due to the depressing music i was listening to.)




i'll definitely come back to this place one day.

me and my daddy

I was such a self-sacrificial child.

Today at dinner, as I attacked my dad who was sitting down from the back, I realised his ears were super cold, and I suddenly remembered a memory of when I was a super young kid, when we went to China during Winter.

Dad had put me on his shoulders and I had taken off my gloves to eat those crystallised fruits on a stick and after I finished it and started messing with dad's head, I realised his ears were cold cos he didn't have ear mittens. I immediately covered his ears with my hands so that his ears would be warm cos I was scared if it gets too cold his ears would fall off. D:

So I let my hands freeze to warm my da's ears.




...I could star in some heroic drama. ahahahahah! xD

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)

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