STR 2 §

“Aloha! Girrrrlfriend!” B sneakily wriggled her neck as the letters clinked in to a melody.

“Who ARE you? Girrrrlfriend? You from Hawaii? Did the European catch you on the way to my mansion? Or you rowed you canoe all the way to Beverley Hills? Oh wait! You can’t cause there’s land in between! Ha-ha! Nailed it!” I sneered swinging my elbow up and down with a thumbs us to me. I turned around to reach for my translucent container, which contained some coffee beans. Sat back on my spinning, black, purple, and white themed stool. Pushed my chair to twirl, I pour a humongous amount of beans into the coffee maker. And as I stared at the machine, I imagined the date with Jake this afternoon. The coffee maker looked a little woody with a bunch of cute stickers I decorated it with. The puppies and kittens chasing a ball of wool the same time tickle my laughing point somehow. They always cheer me up…

Drops dipped from the glass while my mind came back to reality. Looking up with my somehow sleepy eyes and stared at Blair. Why is she here again? Oh right! She was trying to find out why I said no to her invitation. So why is she in my kitchen? Oh! She was trying to… What is she trying to do here?

“Look B, you are not getting anything from me, and if you don’t need anything from me, then adios.” I nodded at here wishing her to understand what a GREAT favor if she would leave me alone now. ‘Cause I am gonna video chat with J!!! I can’t have her around! She will destroy the sweet moment, by the way, she always had a different thinking about J and I being a couple.

“No! No! No no no no no… You can’t go! You have to make me breakfast. FYI, I am a guest, you invited me here!” She gazed into my tawny eyes with those puppy eyes again. She knew I am a dog person! No, wait. To be specific, I am a puppy dog person. But I had to say no again like yesterday. So I looked away, and refused to receive the coaxing vibes she sent to me. It is like a mail tossed into the mailbox but declined by the other guy. Calm down Sutton, calm down…

“Uh…No, YOU invited yourself in here. And I am just ignoring you…” But I still turned around again to make her breakfast. Hold a sec…Why? Why am I making her breakfast??!!!

Anyway, I stood there tasted my delicious coffee as the scent of bitterness spread in my mouth. The liquid swallowed down as my tongue moved to push my coffee down. Hmm… The taste of life…

A Servant’s Injury

January 25, 2012

       I am inHong Kongnow. After a tiring semester, I can go back to my hometown and meet with my relatives, finally. How happy I am to come back!

But soon after I arrived, I got a bad news: My cousin’s servant breaks her foot.

My cousin’s Servant is a nice, young lady fromIndonesia. She lives in my cousin’s house and work for them day and night. Her job is not easy.

Everyday, the servant cleans the house neatly and works hard when my cousins are not at home. When my cousins come back from school, however, they make the house so messy and they ruin her hard work. In addition, when their parents are not at home, the poor servant should take care of the naughty kids, which is a difficult task, of course. If she does anything wrong, she is going to be scolded at. She cooks everyday, but she does not eat a lot; she works the most, but she only sleeps in a sofa. This is the servant’s poor life.

Today morning, exactly same time when I came back toHong Kong, when she was cleaning the window, she accidentally fell back and breaks her foot. It hurt so much that she could not move until my family sent someone to bring her to the hospital.

Now, I begin to pity her:

I know how bad it is to have a broken foot because I experienced it before. I should wear a plaster for two months and I could only walk with two crutches. I could only stay at home and was absence from school for a long time. Wherever I go, my mother should follow me to help me. As if I am a baby, I need to tell my mum even if I only wanted a cup of water. If I only tried to do anything myself, she is going to stop me. This is a painful, suffering, embarrassing state. It is like using a rope to bind your hands and feet, restraining you from moving freely.

I was already lucky enough to have my family nursing me when I was injured. My cousin’s servant was alone in a foreign country and does not have any relatives helping her.

Step 1 to Recovery

“Great!”

He seemed enthusiastic about the treatment, an odd response that was more characteristic of the adolescents that I had to regularly visit. Most of them had actual problems, but that was no surprise given the current state of social communication within the modern age; the media didn’t help either, but continued to bring these socially rejected participants down to their knees. But then there were those few perhaps estranged and curiously intelligent individuals who saw the sessions as a sort of learning experience. Those were the bad times; I did not enjoy having children who had for far too long believed their own intellectual superiority endlessly attempt to guess my diagnosis and methods of treatment. If Marcus was similar, then perhaps a fellow ‘colleague’ can be cursed instead. Nonetheless, encouragement was needed, and a smile was planted upon my visage as I asked the obvious question, “Why are you so excited?” Dread crawled into my voice.

He seemed further delighted to answer my question, which consequently sank my hopes. Damn it if I have to face another one of those – why can’t they just go to university or read and realize that the complexity of the mind cannot be so simply understood? “For years I have attempted to rid myself of the curse that has been brought upon my own self. In my twenties, after finishing a basic university education, I was soon able to recognize the prevalent problem.” I raised my eyebrows at his mention of a relatively advanced education – something must have dragged him down to the level that he was at. Pain seemed to flash across his face, which was starring intently at the ceiling. He shivered, turned to stare at the window. It was snowing outside, and the window pane was continuously being battered against by fragile crystals. Only a few streaks where the ice had apparently melted were left to show any sign of existence beyond the pure white. He slowly got up, and walked mutely to the windowpane, sliding his pale hand over it to remove the frost and mist. I patiently waited for a response, carefully noting down this behavior within my notebook. He finally spoke and broke the cold silence of the room, “there was a time, once, when my life seemed to be playing out perfectly. I started my university perhaps better than anyone else – I was an instant hit for my exhilarating conversations, and my professors deemed me worthy of the knowledge that laid beyond the simple books that my friends read.” He slid his finger down the pane, “how beautiful life felt for me back then. Do you realize the true complexity of a human being?” He stopped the slide of his hand, and his eyes moved away from their prior victim of intent concentration, and softly gazed at me.

It was a question that I had pondered about before – one that would have to be inevitably faced when approaching the emotional portions of human mind, both within and outside the conscious. Solemnly, I nodded back at him my understanding.

Seemingly satisfied, he continued on with his slow intent action of sliding his finger down. “The human body is made out an astounding number of unique tissues that all contribute the solitary cause of keeping the host sane and alive. Within each of those,” his finger stopped, and his gaze returned, “you have a immense collection of cells that work perfectly together. And within those cells,” his hand moved right of his original starting point, and began to trail down again, “you have a countless number of proteins. Each of these proteins are chains of hundreds of complex molecules. We could go down further, and provide more examples, but I’m sure that you, in the profession that you are in, would understand.” I nodded. “I had what I could call a satisfying existence. I was like a cell out of the billions, individual in its own way through multiple mutations and accidents, but a complete fit.” His finger was moving faster now, nearly reaching the same vertical end as the other had. “Then,” the line was finished, and his finger moved to form a curve below the two. “there was the incident.” He sighed, and placed two dots beneath the lines. The average typical smiling face ruined to sadness and insane despair by two simple smudges.

Maturity

In other classes that are not the main subjects such as music, honors logic, and honors composition, I share the lessons with other students in a higher grade like seventh and eighth grade. In those classes, I always felt like a beginner and a little sister they would always look after for. I smile towards that situation, but in my heart, I pray for the equality between everyone of us. I am one of the top students in sixth grade, and I enjoy the feeling to be on top. When I got used to all of that, I just couldn’t take the pressure that put me under the rest in other lessons. I kept comforting myself with an unreasonable explanation: Maybe it is just be cause I am younger than them in a lower grade. Although I usually don’t accept these reasons, but I just went with it in one semester.

I really wish that they would treat me like a normal human being who’s capable of managing and sorting all the mess they made for themselves. Sometimes, the word ‘karma’ comes to my head. And I started wondering if it was because I was acting too mighty to other guys. I had just started my journey in the chess’s area. I won other people who learned it before me, but just didn’t play it a lot. I was proud, even though I know I could never follow up to Teacher Jonathan and Teacher Tom’s pace. I had heard about Samuel’s victory in games with them, but not completely out-chess them. I looked up to them, but still felt hurt when others said that I was a baby bird. I had my trials, practices, and exercises, and I had passed all of them. I understand that I’m no beginner, still, I felt like I had the right to say I just started.

“Please, don’t treat me like a child, I am a teenager now. I know what I am doing.” This is what I really wanted to shout to the whole world. I hope for the sound to go all the way to US, Australia, Antarctica, and the Arctic.

I am mature enough to know what I am doing.

Strange Neighbor

My neighbor is an old woman. She always sits on a wooden rocking chair outside of her house, reading newspaper.

One morning, my mum told me to buy some fruit from the grocery store downstairs. When I went out, I saw the old woman on her chair as usual. I greeted her and left. I did not live in a very high floor, so I climbed down the stairs.

When I came back, I saw a young man at first floor. He had very big ears and wore a black suit. When he saw me, he grinned and said politely, “Good morning, boy!” And I greeted back.

When I got to second floor, I saw another young man. He was looking at outside through the window. When he heard me, he turned around. He had very big ears and wore a black suit. He was just the previous man!

Much I marveled at this strange sight. I could not believe my eyes. How could the same person be at two different places at the same time? I turned back and looked down the stairs. But the original one was not there anymore.

Frightened by this, I quickly left. When I got to third floor, the same man with the same black suit stood there! He had a familiar big grin on his face. He saw me and waved at me. I dropped the bag of fruit on the ground and immediately ran away. I heard the man said, “Hey boy! Wait a minute…”

I was too scared. I left him behind and ran for my life. But I heard his rapid footsteps and I knew he was following me. I climbed the stairs as fast as I could. But the creepy voices behind kept saying, “Wait a minute! Boy! Where are you going?”

I ran all the way back to fifth floor, where I lived. The ghost seemed to disappear. It was peaceful and quite here. The old woman was still reading her newspaper. When she saw me, she asked, “What’s wrong? Why are you so pale and out of breath?”

After I calmed down, I told her the horrible adventure I just had. When I finished, she laughed loudly. I was confused. Then the reappearing ghost in black suit suddenly came back. I drew back and looked at him in terror. But the old woman was still laughing. She seemed not to notice.

The ghost approached and hand me a bag. He said, “I just want to give this back to you.” It was nothing harmful; instead, it was the bag of fruit I bought and left behind. Then the old woman stopped laughing and said, “Don’t you know I am the mother of triplets?”

My Fair Lady: Chapter IV

Thum thump thum thump thum thump thum thump…
The steady rolling of the tires against the rocky ground drummed into Keriid’s sensitive ears as he stared at the back of the car, lost in the mass of luggage. The dirt road behind him was the path to one of the few places where he had found love. Happiness…now it was all gone. All gone.
All gone.
He put his head in his lap and sighed.
“Master Sentral? Are you alright there?”
A familiar voice drifted out from somewhere outside, and the boy stood up quickly, brushing off the dust from his pants, not wanting anyone to see his misery and depression.
“…Nasu? Is that you…?”
“Yes, sir. Should I come in? Bring some fresh fruit? Your favorite, strawberries?”
“…no. I’d rather not. Just…I want some alone time.”
“Alright, sir.”
With a huff, Keriid fell against the backpacks and suitcases. Well. What a mess I have gotten myself into. Even Nasu is worried. But no. No. Nothing will cure this heartache for…for th… He quickly jerked his head side to side, and stared at his dust-colored boots.
She can’t enter my thoughts. No. Not her. Or her.
He extended his arms, and let them drag slowly against the rough, leathery skin of the cases. “Oh, a few days ago I was in Ladyerl, oh a few days ago I was with her. Oh, a few days ago, I could’ve had it all, but I kept it all inside. Oh, oh, I kept it all inside…” he sang plaintively.
Keriid slowly moved his hand against the rumpled army green pack that was his. The zipper unzipped, reacting to his satiny touch, and he pulled out a strange, messy-looking notebook. It was dark green, and cloaked in a thin layer of crinkly plastic.
He opened it carefully, as if it would explode at any second. The two faces of two girls smiled out at him, frozen in time. They were slightly bent over, attempting to make bunny ears over the other. Their tan skin intermingled, and their eyes both glittered with sly mischief. Artcele…and…and…
Anatine…
The tears started rolling down his tan cheeks as he stared at the two girls who had had the biggest impact in his life. But no more of them. No more of chasing Artcele around the yard. Did she even remember that? No more of Anatine’s laughter. Her warm smiles, filled with life, that could bring the most depressed person on Earth happiness.
The door creaked open again. “Ker, are you there? We’re stopping for the night, so come out and eat. Hurry, hurry! You’re going to miss the food if you don’t come!”
“Coming, sis.”
With two fingers, he quickly kissed the soft tips of two fingers and pressed them to the lips of one of the girls in the sepia-colored photo.
“I love you… Just want to tell you that,” he sighed dolefully, gazing at the smiling face.
“KERIID!”
“Coming!” And with that, he vacated the now lifeless quarters.

My Fair Lady: Chapter III

“Ah…”
Anatine stretched out her arms out, as she felt the tips of the grass blades prick her bare skin. The sun bit into her face as she lay across her lawn, which was easily counted out as the most beautiful garden around. Unnatural beauties of all shades bedecked the greenness, reds and oranges and blues and yellows.
Her dress was casually spread out, and tough, leather-like pants hid her legs from view. Anatine rolled over into a patch of sumptuous rhodenzen, lovely blooms that had the beauty of a rose, but the scent of fresh mint. Her fingers trailed through the irrigation ditch, and came up with a bunch of mud, and a small rhodenzen flower. She lifted it to her nose and breathed inwards, smiling and she inhaled the sweetness.
“Anatine Siisetiri Lukene! What on Earth are you doing?!”
Wham. In the instant that the call had come, the teenage girl had jerked upwards and slammed her head into a young maiche tree.
“Owwwww…”
“Sorry!”
Anatine glanced upwards as another girl, who was dressed in various kinds of pink, came running along the path. “Geez, Ana, I said I was sorry…” she replied in response to Ana’s evil eye. “Anyway, is that a rhodenzen flower? When’d you get those? Did you see Artcele? She seems like she’s crying a lot more nowadays.”
Ana rolled her eyes as the girl kept blabbering on to herself. Ennyl, her next door neighbor, was so talkative…So unlike her older brother Jack. She just watched the sunlight dance around Ennyl’s frame. Short. But incredibly strong. And definitely not good to get on her bad side.
“Shut up already, En. Yes, we acquired them recently from a friend, and yes, and yes.”
Ennyl made a pouty face, which was plenty easy with her features. “So, Sii, have you memorized all the birth flowers and birth stones Princess Jenli yelled at us to remember?”
“Pft. Don’t know…um…January is the garnet and the carnation, February the violet and amethyst, March the aquamarine and jonquil, April sweet pea and diamond, May the emerald and lily of the valley, June the rose and pearl.
“July larkspur and ruby, August peridot and gladiolus, September sapphire and aster,” she took a deep breath. “October is the opal and marigold, November is the topaz and chrysanthemum, and December is the turquoise and narcissus?”
Ennyl laughed out loud. “Sii Ana, I really can’t believe your memorizing skills. I mean, seriously.”
With a loud harrumph, the older girl glared at her. “I do not appreciate you calling me that, thank you very much.”
“Meh. Is poor widdle Anatine angry?” The younger pioneer started poking her elder in the sides, as Ana thrashed violently against the tickling. “Ah, come on! Lighten up…”

If I Were God

Last night, I had a nice dream:

The God told me he was tired.

He wanted me to take over him,

And do his job; then he retired.

The world was unfair, dark, and dirty,

For the creator has done his job badly.

Now I had the chance to change this.

So I took over the job gladly.

The first thing I did with my magic,

Was to stop wars and make peace.

The bullets and bombs started a tragic

Human history; and I should stop this.

To cure the sick humanity,

Peace alone was not enough.

People’s minds were mean and evil.

I would clean all of those stuff.

I searched deep into every man’s heart,

Where the voices of devils would call.

Selfish, violence and disobedience,

I did destroy them all.

Each person became good-hearted.

And they didn’t fight like before.

Now all of the misfortunes,

They deserved no more.

The cripples could walk,

The blinds could see.

The mutes could talk,

The deaf could hear (Thanks to me.)

I made the earth like a heaven,

And changed it into a better place.

I grabbed the neck of Satan,

And punched him in the face!

After I woke from this dream,

I was disappointed and sad.

If I were the God,

The world would not be so bad.

Though I knew this dream is fake,

I hoped I would never wake.

A Night to Remember

June 8th was Sandy’s birthday-she was the first true friend when I came to SMIC-and we had a birthday party that day. It was friday, and we planned to eat at a restaurant, then go to the cinema. We had argued about what should we do, one of the reason was because some people didn’t want to or they didn’t have money. Sandy didn’t like the KTV, so we dropped that choice. We all know that it was suppose to be the birthday girl’s day, but it seemed like we took control of it. Fortunately, we had a great night of five hours.

At the restaurant, a slide of Sandy’s journey in China was played. We laughed at her when she blushed, but we giggled more when we went to the upstairs. We reenacted the scene over and over at 80 Home, soon, it was time to set off to the movies. The plan was to pay 70 RMB for each person to watch Mirror Mirror, and let the excitement drive us off. Sandy’s little sister, Daisy, who was just about four years old came along with us in the theatre. She had regretted to tell her mom that we were watching this movies, since it ended with her sister joining us. But the result wasn’t bad. We all enjoyed the film without Daisy interrupting.

The show was great, everybody in the room cracked up. We smiled for the rest of our time spent together. We all had to leave later, so we stopped by at the starbuck, and got us some coffee. In China’s economy, everything rose its price. We judged the movie, but inside, I appreciated the director and the writer. This film really brought us a fun time. Even though Sandy is going to leave us next year, I’m sure to cherish every second together with her.

A Poem

She stares at the parchment, thinking hard about what to write. A poem about one thing that she loved the most? What did she love?
She thinks hard, then her face bursts into a wide smile. She could write about the sky. That afternoon she had seen it and marveled at its beauty. She laughs softly and takes out a ballpoint pen, and prepares to write.

Mother, I think the sky is a painting.
One that does beholds the Heavenly door
Pray tell, dear Lord, when can we all become
Like the wondrous sky that is the palace of Yours?
So majestically strung unto Earth’s
Surface, and dabbed with light strokes hinting,
A whole world filled with amazing grace.
He that sees the white clouds hung from a string,
From the sun dost seek warmness and comfort
From the moon and stars I spy sparkles, things
That twinkle as brilliantly as love.
The fluffy white cotton balls roll in from
The East, and His paintbrush stains them pale gray
Indeed, my blue sky is storm-filled now, and some
Will rejoice because of the summer rain.
Yet now the golden sun, a nuclear bomb
Still peeks through her window, and waits for when
‘Twas time to shine light o’er the hilltops.

She puts down her pen, and examines her poem carefully. The way she write is so strange, so bland compared with all the other poets’ works. But she must keep trying. She loves to write so much that she wants to become an author, and let everyone see her works. She must expand her brain, loosen up the tightened parts, bring more words and interesting facts in.
Then she could become the best of the best.

She smiles and waves her pen around as she pulls out a diary, a black, leathery one with paper that is totally white, clean and smooth and crinkly as a fresh dollar bill. The edges are encrusted with a sort of gold. She copies down the poem, making sure each word is correct, and blows on the page to dry the ink.