From 16, to 14, to "Heaven" ...

First it was 14th floor that we had to move down to ... Now we've been told to move to Kayangan near the campus ... Can "she" be anymore annoying??? And can't they tell that it's not safe over there??? I still don't understand why the management chose to move us there. So much for learning in a conducive environment ... They keep saying that I'm scared to move there ... Heck yeah, I am - and at least I can push aside my ego and admit that I am ... But I also don't want to leave my friends ... And I'd rather haul my ass back and forth the campus by bus, rather than to always have to look behind my back for black stalkers ... I can't tell what's going to happen once we move over there, but there's one thing I'll know for sure ...

I can feel my freedom gradually slipping away from within my grasp ...

A Bored, Gifted Student

The lesson had been dragging on and on. An hour and a half had flown by, but still Mr. Lancelot had yet to stop talking about Ancient Egypt in History. My eyes drifted across the study hall, taking in all the facial expressions of the students present, all except the ones whose faces were already buried in their folded arms on the table, dead asleep. Those awake looked just as bored as I was, some even visibly praying for the long-winded professor to stop talking right now, right then. I, for one, was tired – not tired in a literary sense, but tired of studying and learning in an enclosed space with just a book before me, restrained behind a desk.


I wanted more; I wasn’t afraid to admit it. I sounded greedy, but that was the truth.

A piece of paper floated onto my desk and I looked down to a big and fat, red A staring back at me. A friend clapped me behind the back, knocking the wind of out me.

“Third A in just one morning, girl! Nicely done! You’re bound to graduate with first-class honours!”

I rolled my eyes. Yeah, that’s exactly what I needed. Another piece of paper claiming I was a smart-ass. It was exciting at first, but even the A’s could get boring now. I mean, I don’t mean to brag or anything, but it just seemed way too predictable for me to get straight A’s. Honestly, I don’t want them. It’s true that I do get recognition for getting straight A’s, but sooner or later, they’ll still only be a piece of paper that was bound to be kept in a folder and left to rot in a storage room at the Ministry of Education. A’s are just alphabets people will first acknowledge you with until another gifted student popped up.

Life is out there. I want to travel and see the world; take pictures and let those images of my passion be acknowledged. If I were to be recognized by the world, it would be done so through my art, for they are who I am – not a bunch of A’s aligned neatly on a piece of paper. I have the special gift of capturing the beauty of life and nature in stills, and yet here I am, stuck in a study hall, learning about dead pharaohs, when life is out there, beyond these walls that boxed me in, ready to be lived at this very moment.

He Smiles ...

He smiles from across the road,
Bright and ever so tender,
That its very sight,
Warms my broiling soul.

So long have I not seen it,
That smile that
Could bright up my day,
Everytime I see it before my eyes.

Ran over he did,
To greet us with his warmth and love,
Followed him I was not reluctant of,
For following his guidance is what I've been doing all my life.

A role model he is to me,
With patience and care,
Love and affection he provides,
Allowance and gifts not to be forgotten.

A tight fist he has not,
Returning all his love and care one day I will,
Dear my beloved father, Dear Daddy.
Never will your smile cease to warm my heart.

Dear father,
Dear daddy,
I love you,
Now and Forever.

Damn technologies ...

I'm frustrated, I'm angry, I'm stressed out, I'm infuriated, I feel like I've lost a part of me, I feel like I'm not a lost and empty soul, I feel like crying, I feel like shouting from the edge of a cliff, I feel like punching someone straight in the nose ...

Why???

My laptop crashed and i couldn't back up my files because smarthead Twinhead had to screw down their hard disk, so i LOST EVERYTHING!!!!!

My 800+ songs, my 50+ videos, lyrics, pictures, softwares, Internet favourites, my writings ... EVERYTHING!!!! GONE IN JUST A BLINK OF AN EYE!!!!

ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

The Elven Prince of Jonathan Ronald Reul Tolkien

To Rivendell he came,
On a majestic steed of silver and white,
Ill news he bore,
Of Gollum’s escape by orcs of Mordor everyone must be told.

Son of a King,
Prince of a land,
Thranduil King is his father,
Mirkwood is his home.

A journey he went on,
Evil on his tail,
Time was not on their side,
With the Fellowship of the Ring he must push on.

Of the Snowy Mountains of Caradhras he raided,
Light-footed and without falter did he,
A deserted Mine of Moria he entered,
Upheld till the end by Balin the Dwarf.

Come Goblins, Come Orcs,
Come Trolls, Come the Shadow of Doom,
Flee, they did, to the Bridge of Khazad-Dum.
In Lothlorien did they seek refuge,
Under Galadriel’s wing they hid,
Before sailing south down the Great River of Anduin.

A loyal friend he remained to Aragorn the future King of Gondor,
As the Fellowship parted ways at the Falls of Rauros,
Travel they did into the realm of Rohan,
With a grave mission at heart.
To retrieve their dear little Hobbit friends it was,
Before they came too late into the reaches of Saruman the White.

Into the Forests of Fangorn they were led,
Into the Golden Hall of Theoden the Kind they arrived,
To Helm’s Deep they fled,
Before grief rained down upon him in the form of Wargs.

Aragorn he lost,
Nearly to death his heart broke,
Yet surprise came to him from a mutual enemy of almost centuries,
And consoled him Master Gimli the Dwarf did,
Whom into the Glittering Caves he promised he will go.

But wait,
Not all hope is lost,
For fall Aragorn did not,
But bore dire news of a battle that was soon to come.

Fear he have not,
Armed to the teeth with loyalty and courage,
Friends and comrades,
Fought to the death he did.

Dawn broke,
A red sun rose,
For blood had been shed,
And lives had been lost.

Victory was at hand,
Yet defeat was closer,
Hence to Gondor they marched,
To the Eye of Sauron they must face head-on.

Till the end he remained,
From the Battle of The Pelennor Fields,
Deep into the dark Land of Mordor,
Fall the Tower of Barad-Dur did,
Falter he did not,
Not even once would he allow it.

A graceful creature he is,
Skilled with the bow and arrows,
Wise and immortal,
Everlasting he will be in my heart,
Forever he will be in my memories.

Son of a King,
Prince of a Land,
Thranduil King is his father,
Mirkwood is his home,
In Middle-Earth he dwell,
In Lord of the Rings he will remain.
Legolas Greenleaf the Master Elf he is known as,
The most favourite fictional character he is to me,
And forever will be.

High Fidelity ??????????

Work had kept them apart for nearly five months. Apart from texting, calling and watching each other on live or pre-recorded television, they could rarely see one another at all. True that they missed having each other’s presence around, but it was the price they had to pay for fame, the sad outcome of being the lead vocalists of two of Asia’s top idol groups.

Their relationship felt like an underground operation – only their bandmates and closest friends knew about it. Despite that, though, they were completely devoted to each other and always did their best to compromise for one another’s packed schedule.

Were they crazy and too lovesick to be keeping their relationship going?

Maybe, but right now, neither one of them was yet ready to let go of the other. And even if they had to, it would be a regret they were going to carry for the rest of their lives.

Five months might be short for them to build a long-lasting love and relationship together; shorter even when they had only seen each other once or twice coincidentally during that period of time, but he was extremely definite of the regret that would haunt him for eternity if he were to let her go, and he feared experiencing it for real.

He endured the nights when he wished she was there in his arms and he could whisper gentle words of love into her ear while she listened to the uneven beats of his heart, an effect she always had on him. And she survived the days when she hoped she could spend locked up with him indoors and tell him everything there was to know about her, from the happiest to the saddest to the most embarrassing.

Had he given her his heart completely?

Yes, he was sure of it. For he could no longer feel the rhythm of its beats in his chest whenever a handsome woman catches his attention, trying to seduce him, nor feel intimidated by men with their trophy wives in their arms.

Had she given him her heart entirely?

Yes, she was sure of it. For no other men now appealed to her interests and all she ever wanted to see right before her eyes was him, and only him, with his lopsided boyish grin dancing on his lips.

Could they possibly be obsessive of one another?

Not really, but they were obsessive enough to want each other for the rest of their lives.

Top: Eli & Alexander

Bottom: DongHo, Eli & Alexander

... Not Gay, Just Loyal Brothers ...

Soo Hyun, Alexander & Kevin

*** This was something i came up with out of random boredom ... Dang, i was SO out-of-my-mind frustrated about the writer's block on a story that i'm working on that even full-volume music didn't help. But, okay, the end result of last night's random scribbles was satisfying enough. Now it's back to writing the story. ***

P/S: I SERIOUSLY need to get rid of my habit of wanting shortcuts. THERE ARE NO SUCH THING AS SHORTCUTS IN WRITING!!!

The Little Black Dress

She had been staring at it for almost an hour now. The bold, gold words on the white surface seemed to be staring back, though in a more patronizing manner. They somehow made her feel little, like an ant crawling over the words – quote – “FORMAL ATTIRE” and they glared down at her like all the neon signs that lit up Las Vegas at night. She was inwardly frustrated, outwardly depressed. What was she supposed to do? Should she turn down the invitation and just stay at home and watch another Lord of the Rings marathon? Or show up at his birthday party in a t-shirt, sweater and ripped denim jeans?


Yes, that would definitely make her the talk on campus for the rest of the semester and the second week since classes began was barely even over.

Her shoulders fell in resignation as she picked up the white and gold invitation card and sighed heavily. From the card, her gaze drifted towards her wardrobe. The clothes within seemed to be taunting her. All she had were t-shirts and jeans, a few turtleneck jumpers and jackets. She hadn’t even bothered to buy any dresses or skirts for herself, for her first priority had been to come here and study – not attending parties. Though, knowing how he was at being stood up, and how he had been raised in his wealthy family, he was bound to find a way to make her life miserable were she to not show up at his birthday party.

Being an egotistical, self-centered and spoilt brat and all, he would ultimately be the last person her list of ideal boyfriends, but still there was something about him that attracted her to him and something about him that made her want to protect his feelings. She had spent countless sleepless nights pondering upon that thought, but still she couldn’t come up with a logical answer.

The chime of the doorbell tore her out of her reveries and she jumped in fright of the broken silence. Wondering who it would be at this hour of the day, she rose from her bed and started for the front door. No one was there though, not even a fly. Her brows furrowed in confusion and annoyance, silently cursing the local pranksters.

But wait –

There was something on the floor. A flash of white caught her attention just as she was turning away to go back inside.

A box?

No, there were two boxes to be exact. One was big and tied with a red ribbon, while the other was smaller in size. What are they? She couldn’t remember ordering anything – not even a pizza. Who were they from? She peeked out of her apartment, searching for any signs of life or any sort of indication as to who had delivered the boxes.

Nothing.

She knew curiousity killed the cat, but it still got the best of her. She carried the boxes into the living room, kicking the door shut with her foot. Both were light and cool; definitely not pizzas. Setting them down on her coffee table, she then sat herself down on the sofa and first opened the small box. Her jaws fell almost instantly; curiousity was replaced by astonishment and awe, for there in the box was a pair of black heels, the prettiest she had ever seen in her entire life, graced with white glittering stones that resembled the stars at night. Astonishment and awe gradually faded into wonder.

Who sent these?

Were these really for her or were they delivered to the wrong person?

The small note within the box explained it all.

Yes, they were definitely for her and she was to wear them to the party tonight. Now she no longer had the excuse to not show up. A smiley face ended the note and she was no curious about the content of the larger box …

He was restless, constantly shifting his weight from one foot to another and pacing back and forth in front of his friends, chewing at his tongue within the confines of his mouth, a bad habit of his whenever he was nervous.

He glanced at his watch again for the umpteenth time.

Most of the guests had already arrived, but he was in no mood to personally welcoming them until he had finally seen her. It was rude, yes, but he didn’t care. They’d understand that this was how he usually is, considering how they had always called him the spoilt prince of his father’s multi-million dollar business empire. The guests were also here just to fill up the room anyways, and he was also sure they were here not sincerely for his birthday, but for the free food and appear like they were his acquaintances. Honestly, he could barely even recognize half the faces present.

Frustration gnawed at his insides like termites and lice on wood. He checked his watch again and grumbled in between his teeth. Only two minutes had passed since he last checked his watch. A tap on his shoulder jolted him out of his reveries. He spun around, glaring, but faltered as soon as he saw his butler. The old man, already adorning a crown of silver-white hair, gave him a form nod of his head.

Understanding the gesture, a bright smile instantly replaced the growl on his face and excitement danced in his eyes. Already tall as he was, he stretched his neck to look over the sea of guests on the dance floor, scanning the hall until finally, his gaze fell upon a handsome figure standing just beyond the entrance, straight yet awkwardness and wonder was written all over her face.

She came! He suddenly felt rejuvenated. Shaking with anticipation, he started to make his way across the dance floor, parting the dancing guests like the Red Sea. Whispers rose as the music became silent. All eyes were now on him, wondering where he was heading with that purposeful look on his beautiful face and a boyish grin playing on his lips. He hadn’t blinked once, keeping his eyes only on her, for fear that she might disappear if he looked away and everything would be nothing but a dream. Still she remained standing there, watching him approach her with her eyes wide.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, her mind praying that he wasn’t going to pull another prank on her and just walk past. What if he really wasn’t heading towards her? Should she make way for him?

Of course!

But her feet wouldn’t move, as if some invincible force had glued her to the floor. Her heart raced in her ribcage like a herd of stampeding mustangs; she could barely breathe with the fluttering of butterflies in her stomach. His eyes looked as if she was the main course for the birthday dinner. Her mind started to debate whether attending the party was the right choice or a total mistake.

It was a total mistake.

But somewhere deep in the caverns of her thoughts, another voice told her it was the right choice.

“Care to dance, my lady?”

She could have melted right there and then. His deep, gentle voice sent shivers down her spine and all she could see now were the passion swimming in the pools of his eyes. It felt like a dream, a scene from a romantic fantasy movie, a chapter from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. She was the poor girl who had nothing attending a majestic ball and the Prince Charming had just asked her for a dance.

She lifted a hand and lightly placed it in his. His grasp firm yet gentle, he led her towards the centre of the dance floor and pulled her into his arms. And as if on cue, a slow song began to ascend into the air and the world around them vanished into this air.

She saw no one but him; he felt no one but her.

“I’m glad you came,” said he. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t turn up.”

She bowed her head in guilt. “I almost didn’t.”

They danced in silence for a little longer, still buried deep in their own world.

Then…

“I’ve been disappointed by everyone around me my entire life; this is the first time I actually felt like I was truly in someone’s thoughts.”

She was speechless. She had no idea what to say.

He went on: “Appearances can be deceiving. I may look like I have everything, but honestly, I have nothing. My parents always give me presents for my birthdays, but they never come with love. They promise me things that they never seem to keep. Your coming here tonight even though you didn’t want to officially made today the best birthday present I’ve ever had.”

“Good, because I didn’t bring you any,” was her only response as colour rose to her cheeks and she bit on her lower lip, guilt-ridden.

He laughed, dismissing her guilt. “I’ve received so many suck-up presents in the past hour that I now want no more than to just have your presence and complete and utter attention.”

“That’s cheesy.”

“What can I say? You bring out the cheesiest in me.” He pulled her closer into his arms and rested his chin on top of her head, lightly breathing in the scent of apple in her hair. And there, in his arms, she suddenly felt safe and warm. It was the best feeling she had had since her parents’ death and she’d escaped from her adoptive parents’ clutches. The exhaustion of studying to catch up with everyone in university and working five three part-time jobs at the same time had disappeared and she was just her. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on his chest, embracing the bliss and peace in her mind.

“Why me?”

He was suddenly aware of the silk material wrapped around her tiny frame and grinned. She’d worn the dress he’d bought her and it fit her perfectly. He recalled the moment his eyes had fallen upon her when she’d arrived earlier and the feeling equivalent to being enchanted by a magic spell.

“I have everything, and yet I have nothing,” he said softly. “You have nothing, yet you never complained. Your perseverance just makes me want to give you everything, the entire world included.”

A heavy exhale escaped her as the tight grip of an invincible force on her heart increased. Her first impression of him was a mistake. He was not at all a mean, rude and obnoxious prince of wealth, but just a young man thirsty for love and care, and for once in his life, be the only one in someone’s thoughts and heart.

Was that what attracted him to her? His innocence and naivety? She was guilty of thinking bad of him.

“Tell you what,” she said. “I promise I’ll always be here for you whenever you need me, but you also have to promise me one thing.”

He neither nodded nor agreed.

“Don’t ever buy me expensive things like this dress and shoes.”

His boyish grin faltered. “You don’t like the dress?”

Though her pride wouldn’t let her admit it, she still did. “Yes.”
The corner of his lips lifted into a tender smile and he rested his chin on the top of her head once more. “Good,” he mumbled. “The sight of you in the black dress is how I will always remember you by for the rest of my life.”

The First Kill of Two-Ten

It was the dead of night when a convoy of black SUVs with dark, tinted windows pulled up to the entrance of a four-star French hotel. It looked exactly like any other motorcade one would see on the road carrying rich, important and influential people, but for this particular convoy, the ‘precious cargo’ was neither influential nor important; he was just a plain, old ruthless crime-lord whom many countries would love to be disposed of.

Juno Hernandez was a heartless Mexican gang leader who dealt in human- and drug-trafficking, as well as piracy and genocide. Half the world’s countries cursed him with a shorter lifespan, but there was only one division under the Central Intelligence Agency that was really going to take their word seriously.

Now, as the minutes ticked down towards midnight, twenty stories above the ground, on the roof of an apartment building six blocks across the street from the hotel, a dark silhouette was lying on her belly with a lethal Dakota T-76 Longbow sniper rifle trained skillfully to her waiting form. Shadowed under the cover of an empty, black sky, the figure had neither moved, nor had she twitched, since she first set up her post on the roof a couple of hours ago. And unless he or she had access to a high-powered, high-resolution or a thermal-imaging satellite, one would think she was just a piece of cloth that had strayed into the wind from a housewife’s laundry.

She had been trained well – too well, perhaps – to remain still in that position for so long a time and she hadn’t fallen asleep either. She was just waiting, patient yet alert, for the right moment. She wasn’t going to complain; she had had to wait longer than this during previous mission.

This was nothing …

Doors opened on either sides of the front and rear SUVs and men dressed smartly in suits emerged and swiftly arranged themselves around the convoy. They scanned up and down the road for anything that appeared out of the ordinary. Nothing. They radioed in the report, and moments later, the doors at the back of the SUV in the centre opened.

Her grip on her rifle tightened, specifically at the trigger. This was the moment she had been waiting for; she now held Juno Hernandez’s life at the very tip of her right index finger. There was no escaping for him. She could feel the adrenaline now rushing in her veins and instincts immediately kicked in. She had done this too many times that she had no doubt she could now do it in her sleep. As her pulse quickened, her breathing became short and shallow; she kept every breath steady to control the demeanour of her body and prevent herself from any sudden movements. She had already aligned her rifle’s silenced barrel to the point where Hernandez’s head would be in two seconds.

She felt a sense of emptiness in her conscience; all her emotions had been shut behind a barricade that she had formed strongly in her mind over the years. There was no pity or mercy for the man at the receiving end of her rifle, no fear for what she was about to do. She felt neither happy nor proud either.

In her mind, all she could think about was the people whom Hernandez had killed mercilessly, the lives and families and homes he had destroyed for the sake of his own profit. She especially detested the thought of small children orphaned during the process. Well, here he was now, at her mercy, and she bore no hesitation to execute him in public – just like how he had murdered all the innocent beings in front of the entire world.

The minutes faded into seconds. Her anticipation gnawed at her guts.

Without the guidance of a laser pointer, relying completely on her years of training and field experience, she calmly gazed into her scope and pressed down on the trigger. At the moment, a loud whistle filled the quiet night, echoed by a few explosions, completely cushioning the already soft and barely audible ‘pop’ from the barrel of her rifle. The sky lit up with fireworks of all colour, sizes and patterns, blanketing her dark form in a bright and ethereal silhouette before disappearing again almost instantly. A new year had come and the last thing the world would remember Juno Hernandez by was how his head had exploded like a watermelon being struck with a baseball bat in one of the most romantic cities in the world.

He was her first kill of 2010.

The Sketch

The instructions given by the professor was clear as day. While his classmates pondered upon what they would put on the blank pieces of paper before them on their desks, he had already made up his mind. He had three hours to sketch out the person or things in which he cherished and cared about the most, and he knew exactly who or what it was. The professor declined to wanting to see any complicated sketches; just a simple one that bore the deepest of their heart’s desires.

Without a second thought, he picked up his pencil, held it lightly in his firm hand, and imagined her beautiful, ethereal face. He could probably sketch out her image with his eyes closed, but he wanted the sketch to be perfect, flawless as she was in real life. As he touched the lead tip of his pencil onto the paper, his hand began to move, light at first, then firmer as his confidence and passion – both for her as well as the art – surfaced, and he traced her image onto the surface. With every stroke and every outline, he was slowly bringing his sketch to life. He had memorized every curve, every contour, and every shade of her gentle face, her soft hair and her graceful limbs; her very presence had been embedded deep into his soul, and now he was putting her into ink, never to perish with time, everlasting even as his years vanished.

When others paused to consider their art, he poured his heart out onto the paper, one so plain, yet held the torch of his life. His hand moved without glitch, smooth and graceful as she was on the piano. Art came naturally to him; it was his gift. He was not one to brag about his art, but he could almost feel her presence there before him, hear the tinkling of her tune on the piano, hear her humming lightly to the tune like chimes in the whistling wind. They were louder than the buzzing of monotonous scratches echoing off the walls in the hall as dozens of art students sketched. It was as if he was just standing right beside her, watching as her fingers moved gracefully across the string of keys.

As seconds dragged on to minutes, and minutes to hours, he found himself staring at her image with his breath held in his chest and his heart racing in his ribcage. The movement of his strokes slowed as he put in the finishing touches of his sketch; the curve of her long lashes that framed her passionate eyes, the shade of her slender fingers over the black and white keys, the life in her gentle soul.

The professor came behind him and looked at his sketch, intrigued. Awe and amazement dawned in his wise and intelligent eyes, and he nodded in silence. Hidden under a deep brush of graying moustache, the corner of his lips twitched ever so lightly in a cheeky and knowing grin, and with just that, he walked away to check on his other students. When the class was dismissed, a rumbling wave of groans of failure and disappointment washed across the hall. Only he remained silent with satisfaction and pride. For others who had not completed their sketches, he had already kept his within the folds of his beloved sketchbook, one whom nobody had ever had the privilege to look or even take a peek in to – not even her. Maybe one day he would show her, but for now, they remained one his most cherished treasures and for his eyes only.