Maybe there is no plan B

So I've ridden the wave of euphoria amidst the depths of depression (bipolar, anyone?) and now the question remains: yes or no?

The stressed side of me says yes. The faster, the better. (Ini kalilah?)

The other side of me says don't give up plan A.

Because there is a Plan A and somehow I have this funny feeling that this isn't even Plan B; it was merely a sidetrack. 

The results will tell. 

Lord, make it so clear that even li'l blind me can tell the difference. 

#bookreview: The Humbling by Philip Roth

The Humbling by Philip Roth
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

The Humbling is the story of Simon Axler, a reknown actor, who wakes up one morning having lost his ability to act. Everything comes crashing down on him - he loses his career, his wife, his self-esteem and his will to live in a short span of time.

Roth strikes at a deep fear - the fear of losing your sense of self when you grow old, when your hands and body can no longer do what you have made yourself into over the length of your years. What would you do then? Axler finds solace in the embrace of a woman, no longer young, uncertain as to her sexuality, and for a while they revel in it. He finds a new purpose - to remake this confused lesbian into a hot-blooded heterosexual woman, at her own request.

I liked the book, because it spoke strongly to me; because I understand the allure of the stage, because I act, and because I know the pain when you just fail so miserably. And it's not always under your control. I liked the simplicity of the writing and the reality (realism?) in it, the dirt under the fingernails, the crushing depression, the ignominy that we try to ignore in our lives on a daily basis. I understand its sad ending because sometimes things crush us so much that we cannot find a way to lift our heads up anymore.

But I didn't like where it went in the middle, as if everything in the world can be solved by having sex, as if all your life's problems can be somehow solved, or at least halted, once you find the right person in your life. Even though it was disproved at the end. Ha. I don't know where I'm headed with this.

I'm still a prude at heart, I suppose. There are things that need not be written and published, though I have to admit it served its point and it was not gratuitous.
So, it was a well-written story, compelling and heart-wrenching.

Just not my natural choice.

View all my reviews

Warning: Not for young readers. Or readers under 18.

Derailed snippet, a sort-of #fridayflash

Sometimes the choices you make in life derail you. And no matter what you do, there's no way to get back on track again. 

Tim was that choice. It wasn't that he was bad. No, he was good, too good, and I couldn't get enough of him. My dad didn't like him of course. Which father ever likes their baby girl's first boyfriend? "Get that stinkin' b- out of my house," he'd say ever so often. So we'd go to his place, you know? So maybe it was dad's fault as much as anyone's. Who knows? 

But Sean happened. He wasn't planned. We'd been talking about getting married before that but Tim never got round to proposing and when I told him, he freaked. 

"I can't do this," he said. "I'm not ready."

"And you somehow presume I'm ready?" I retorted.

"How do I know? I'm done."

And that was it. He ran. 

And I was left carrying Sean alone. It was alright the first few months until it started showing and then I never heard the end of it. I ran. 

You can't run far with a baby in your womb, but at least it gets you far enough to where no one knows your name. I told them his father had died and they were sympathetic. 

I put Tim's name on the birth certificate - I figured if anything happened, Sean would need a protector in life, no matter how reluctant that protector would be. The nurse asked if I didn't want to name the wee babe after his dead pa to remember him and I said no. Putting his name as the father was the most I would do. Sean was mine and he would bear my name.

Episode 2

---

I'm not sure where I'm going with this, but it's a start.
I need to write.
Gah.  

Replay of the day: Moving on

Can we put back all the pieces to the puzzles left behind?
We will soon be back together just before the stars align
When the curtain falls for one last time and closes out the show
Marching left, right, left, another step

Keep smiling as you go

Movin’ on
Movin’ on

I’m sick of good intentions, how they always tend to drown
But then, nothing seems to stay afloat living in the saddest town
When the curtain falls for one last time and closes out the show
Marching left, right, left, another step

Keep smiling as you go

Movin’ on
Movin’ on
Movin’ on
Movin’

You’re out of room for marking days on the wall
The lines remind of just how long I’ve been gone
You’re holding on but now it’s time to let go
Just let it go

Let it go

Let it go

Let it go

Woah

Movin’ on
Movin’ on
Movin’ on
Movin’ on

We could be the story that’ll break your heart.
We could be the victim of a fall apart
Maybe we could last another week or so
Movin’ on baby means you gotta let it go

You gotta let it go

You gotta let it go

#bookreview: Snuff by Terry Pratchett

Snuff by Terry Pratchett
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Commander Vimes, also known as Sir Samuel Vimes, His Grace the Duke of Ankh and Blackboard Monitor Vimes, is on holiday with his family out in the countryside. Young Sam is now six and is very interested in the world and science of poo. But Vimes' police sense starts to tingle not long after arriving at Ramkins Hall, and when a body turns up and he is arrested for murder, the Commander sets off on the chase.

Snuff picks up several years after Thud! and Pratchett continues on his quest to include all the different species in the Ankh-Morpork Watch. It's about goblins in this one - useless, ugly goblins who are rumoured to eat their own children, and yet make exquisitely beautiful unggue pots and can play the harp like angels. It sounds a little impossible, I know.
Pratchett also continues to explore the theme of who watches the watchman and Vimes has to fight (and sometimes cooperate now) with the Summoning Dark. There is delicate balance between how far Vimes lets himself go, and how much he curbs his natural tendencies in order to keep to and uphold the law.

I've always enjoyed the Vimes stories, especially Thud! but for some reason this one felt a little as if Pratchett was trying a bit too hard. Still, everything ties together at the end, the criminals are caught, and Vimes wiggles his way out of a difficult interview with Lord Vetinari. Willikins, Vimes' personal butler (or Gentleman's Gentleman) is being fleshed out a bit more in this one and in certain lights reminds me of Butler in Eoin Colfer's Artemis Fowl series.

My last complaint of the day - Pratchett has apparently forgotten about the use of chapters, which was really bad for me, especially since I'm the type who says "I'll read another chapter before bed".

Overall, it was a good read in Pratchett's classic witty style.

View all my reviews

Me? An #atozchallenge survivor? Maybe not

I'm posting this picture with a bit of hesitance. I don't think I quite survived A to Z this year. In my first year (2011), I managed to write a serialised story, with only one or two filler posts. Last year, I managed almost all 26 posts of flash fiction. This year...

It was a bad month. That is all. Links to my A to Z flash fiction posts are here (ignoring the obviously filler ones):

Asparagus
Balloon
Corkscrew
Dart
Elevator
Flag
Gum
Hammer
Ink
Lipstick (partial, hah!)
Quilt
Rumpelstiltskin's secret magic potion
Story
Vampire

That indeed is a poor showing. :(
Next year, I'll try harder to pre-write.

In terms of readership, I am awed at the blog love my readers have shown me in April. It's my highest yet and I just want to extend a big, wet, slobbery kiss to all of you (virtually, of course).

I'll be making rounds on the AtoZ list hopefully soon (I've only got a gazillion accounts to file, and you know, election fever to get over. Heh)

How clean should #loveinpenang be?

So I've done a first read through for the Love in Penang submissions and generally separated the stories into three categories: yes, maybe and no. Those under "no" were fairly easy. Those under "yes" and "maybe" are in for another read, especially since the initial readings were done over the submission period of more than a month so things may have changed from the initial yesses and maybes up until the final few. To cut things down even further, even under the "yes" column I have my own category for "oh gosh super yes I love this story" and "yeah, that's nice", so I don't think I will have a problem with those. The problem that's weighing on my mind is this one story that I've put into the "maybe" category for now.

Thing is, I like the story. Okay, to be honest, it almost falls into the "oh gosh super yes I love this story" category. Except for one thing. The language. You know that age-old question about whether you should swear in your story? Or whether you should throw a few f-bombs here and there? (Okay, I don't know if it's really age-old, it's just... something I follow occasionally). Well. This story has those. And you know what, they really fit. Like, if you take them out or change the words, you mellow the story, water it down. So it's a really well-written story.

But I'm a prude. And I don't know how clean I want to go with this. Because I like books that I can recommend to people in my church. I like books that I can recommend to teens. And I can't do that with a clean conscience if there are aspects of language (or morals) that I can't justify to be there for a reason. And so this unlikely dilemma is now mine.

Yes or no? What say you?

#GE13: What's new?

I figured since I wrote a post back in 2008 when I voted for the first time, I might as well write a post for today. As I write this, there's another 50 minutes for Malaysians to vote, and looking at the rate I'm writing, by the time I'm done, we'll be waiting for the results. (Sorry, there's just too much to process).

The one thing that stands out in this election is the overwhelming emotions that are surrounding it. Sure, people are disgruntled. But this is raw anger, and anger that's not always directed at the right place. It borders on turning irrational, and I'm not sure if it isn't already irrational for some. It's as if everything must be black or white. BN is definitely black and PR is definitely white. Unless you're in BN's camp, then it's the other way around.

And what fuels this overwhelming emotion is the sheer mass of information and misinformation that is being spread across the internet, especially on facebook. It's so easy, by the click of a button to share a status - without even confirming if it is true. Someone commented on facebook (I can't recall who) that the best way to get something shared as if it is real is to just add this word in caps at the end of your status: "CONFIRMED".

(Okay it's 5.30pm and I've only reached here... wondering if I should continue the post - commercial break time.)




At the back of my mind is this thought that says regardless of who wins this time, it's already a win for Malaysia. For Malaysians. Citizens are more aware of the democratic process now and are more vocal about what they care about, which at this point of time seems to be getting rid of corruption. Citizens are realising that they do have a voice and that they can and should speak up legally, instead of always griping about the gomen (and then not doing anything constructive). Those who have never voted before are finally getting off their chairs and voting. (Proud to say my grandma has always voted.) And thanks to technology and social media, those who are playing dirty are being immortalised in digital ink (hopefully for prosecution?).

On the other hand (or in another thought) it has also exposed the immaturity of Malaysians when it comes to political discourse, as if physical might or public shaming is the right way to disseminate your views. And it shows up those who cry out for change but at the same time act exactly like those they are crying out against. (My pet peeve: if you believe in free speech, then act like you do!) There's much to be done still to educate Malaysians about politics and this is strange from someone whose most awesome encounter with politics comes from Orson Scott Card's Ender's Shadow series (Tom Clancy puts me to sleep)

Aside: Ender's Game releases Nov 1!! Trailer to be up May 7!!

And... I have been distracted again.


The anglophile in me has just one last thing to say: No matter what happens, keep calm and carry on.

Or my favourite alternative...

Waiting... http://keputusan.spr.gov.my/#dun/7

Thoughts from the Prayer Room (30.04.13) #GE13

That the Church will rise in the time of our nation's need
To stand firm and speak boldly for the oppressed and the poor, for the helpless and marginalised, for those who seek justice... and mercy.

That the Church will rise in the time of her own need
To right the wrongs of neglect that she has perpetuated through apathy these past 50 years.

Rise up, Church of Christ

Rise up, Roaring Lion of Judah

Rise up!

Let not fear be the defining tone of this election, but hope. Not hope in man, not hope in a party, but hope for a better future, no matter what happens. 
No matter who wins.
Because that's our what-if, isn't it?
And yet we believe (oh, how hard we believe and try to believe) that God holds this nation in the palm of His hands and HE KNOWS.

So we pray that fear will not define us - not fear of the unknown or even fear of the known, because we can stand assured in the faith that everything has been written by the Author and Finisher of our faith and no matter what happens (no matter who wins!) things have already changed. 

And what we hope is that this watershed election will not mark the fear-mongering, rumour-milling and name-calling as a hallmark of Malaysian politics, but it will mark the coming of age of a democratic process, of the maturing of a people united, of a nation striving for the future together.

Which is the strangest thing you can ever pray for over a country - that those in power would remember that they are a country, a nation, a people called by one name, and the other party may be a foe but never an enemy - but this is where we stand, and this is the Word we need.

I thought I liked children's books but...

Apparently not as much as I thought I did!

Fight for Freedom by Simon Scarrow
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

For a historical novel, it's ok. As a kid's book, it's ok. Nothing very spectacular or particularly intriguing.
I picked it up mainly because it was cheap and because I'd already read half of it at a bookstore previously while waiting for someone so I wanted to know how it would end. I'll probably not be picking up the sequel though. It seems rather predictable.
Also, if the teaser at the end of the book is any indication, the author decides to mangle his story by changing the name of the girl that Marcus saves and her relationship to Julius Caesar.


The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I'd recently watched Oz the Great and Powerful and saw this sitting in my bookshelf so I decided to get round to reading it.

It's amazing that one simple, children's book has spawned so many movies (from different versions of the same show, to spin offs, prequels, sequels?), musicals and books. I suppose it's because whilst Frank Baum has created a wonderful land that's exciting and enticing, he hasn't included that much back story (at least in this book), which actually lends itself to other writers expanding on it as a much loved story.

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz is a good read, really, but not quite what I was expecting it to be from all the "fanfare" around it. It's simplistic in its nature (which is what a kid's book should be), and lovely writing, but not nothing terribly exciting or wonderful about it. I suppose if I'd read it at a younger age, I would have liked it much better.

View all my reviews

#atozchallenge: vampire

There was too much lust in the air. The atmosphere was tense and charged up and Shirley didn't like it. She smoothed down her little black dress in an effort to calm her nerves. Wannabes. Too many wannabes, she thought as she made her way to the balcony. She welcomed the soft breeze against her skin, tugging at the hem of her skirt.
"Imagine seeing you here," a wry voice said from behind her.
"Fancy that," she said, not turning to greet him.
"What, no nice words for an old flame?"
"What do you want? A kiss?" she shrugged his hands off her shoulders.
"Are you still angry?"
"What do you think?"
"Look, Shirley, I've apologised."
"That's not enough."
"What do you want me to do? Change you back? You know that's impossible. Besides, I thought that's what every girl wanted - to never grow old."
"I am old, Charles. I feel it in every cell, even if I don't look it."
"You don't look a day over twenty-five."
"I know," she finally turned to look at him. "Neither do you. Nice tux. So standard."
"Twenty-six."
"What difference does a year make after hundreds of them?"
"It's all about the details." He smiled, that classic smile that had made her fall in love all those years ago. He took her hands in his and she didn't pull away this time.
"Do we have to do this every time?" he asked.
"Maybe."
"Doesn't it ever get old? This has only been the hundredth time in two hundred years."
"Maybe if we met more often..."
"Without the cover of soirees like these?"
"Not much cover here," she said, looking back into the house full of young, dressed-up people.
"It's touching, how much they try to be like us," he said as he put an arm around her shoulder and steered her back into the house. "And how wrong they are," he added.
"I like the sparkling bit. I wish you would do that for me some time."
He rolled his eyes. "Why don't you try it first?"
They walked through the sea of teenagers and looked for an empty room.
There was too much blood in the air.

T is for tantrums

That I am sorry for, but not sorry enough.
Though someday maybe I will regret,
Just not now.

#atozchallenge: Story

What's your story?
I fell in love at fourteen and have never forgotten him. I cling on to a past that I cannot remember because I cannot live a future that I cannot see.

What's your story?
I fell in love at eighteen and dashed my heart against the stony rock of indifference. She never loved me and I pushed too hard, too fast, and even now we cannot talk without the awkwardness of the past intruding into our present.

What's your story?
I am twenty-two and I cannot fall in love. When I look into the eyes of the men around me, all I remember are the dashed hopes and the broken hearts and I've never been able to fall in love again.

What's your story?
It was there in the depths of her dark brown eyes. A sadness I couldn't fathom, a shadow that grew as the night dragged on. I wanted to ask her about it even as we ate, but I couldn't find a way to bring up the question. It seemed too strange for me to ask her, a friend who was almost a stranger, on a dinner that was not a date, a relationship in limbo, not for my lack of trying. There was a story behind that I couldn't define, couldn't discover.
We fell silent as the band played and I watched her as she closed her eyes and swayed to the music, wondering if that little bit of moisture at the edges of her eyes were really tears. I reached a hand out across the table, touching hers, slowly gripping it, waiting for her to pull away, but she didn't.
"I lost him, you know," she said. "Once he could have been mine, but I let him slip away."
There was a lingering pause as I scrambled for words.
"And now it's too late."
Still, no words came to me, the wordsmith, the story teller. I could not break the flow of her story. I didn't know how to.
"Maybe I should have been kinder to him when he told me he loved me, but I wasn't ready then and I was afraid."
"What were you afraid of?"
"I don't know. Love, the future, us, everything. But now I miss him."
"We could leave if you want."
"No, that would just be awkward. He's seen us."
"Does he still love you?"
"I don't know."
"Do you love him?"
She was silent for so long that I thought I had offended her. But her answer came in a silent sigh and a squeeze of my fingers that I'd almost forgotten were now twined with hers.

What's your story?

#fireplace: in all humility, a #peptalk

Dear you,

You know that verse where it says "In all humility, consider others better than yourself"? Yeah, that one. You know what it doesn't mean? It doesn't mean that you hate yourself either. It doesn't mean that you're allowed to indulge in extended bouts of self-loathing because you know what? You are good.

You are good at what you do, even if you don't always think you are. You are good at what you do, even if you don't do it at the same pace that other people do. You are good at what you do, even if it seems more difficult to you than to anyone else because you know what? You really do care.

Even if you say you don't. Even though in your head and with your mouth you confess that you don't. But you really do, because you always go back and make it right and you try the best that you can not to let things slide, even though sometimes you just have to because there is just too much, too fast and it's all too overwhelming. And that's why you're so frustrated with yourself. Because somewhere deep inside you care too much to let it go and somewhere deeper still you still struggle with the belief that there's nothing good in you and nobody loves you and nobody appreciates you and it comes back to that one thing.

Stop hating yourself.

Considering others better than yourself doesn't mean you're perfect and that you'll never need correction or that you'll never do any wrong. It just means that you swallow your pride and accept that there are things in your life that are messed up and there are people in your life who are there to point out your mess and help you fix it (or at least tell you to) and that's perfectly okay. Because that never ever ever negates who you are and the fact that you are fearfully and wonderfully made. (And fearfully made does not mean that you are a frightening monster, silly. It means with reverence and respect).

It doesn't mean that you put yourself down either. It means that when you know who you are and where you are, and when you can accept that, you are able to place others on a higher priority, or with a higher respect, than where you place yourself. You do not consider others better than yourself by considering yourself worse than others.

So stop it. Just stop it, okay? 

Remember that you are not what you do. Your identity is not tied up with your job or your performance or how you look, but with how much the King loves you and cherishes you. And He does. Always. Forever. Remember that.

And remember, I love you too.

Your self-esteem.

#atozchallenge: Rumpelstiltskin's secret magic potion

Rumpelstiltskin had been an alchemist. Maggie was sure of it. How else could he have spun the straw into gold? The trick was to find what was his secret - then she would be rich. Maggie threw herself into research. There was not much to go on - the Brothers Grimm's story was short on specifics, but she was sure there was something. A chant maybe, or a spell, or some concoction made up under the new moon or maybe the crescent moon using exotic ingredients, but what?

The only thing that was possibly a hint was the fact that he had danced around the fire on a moonlight night in a remote mountain she assumed was somewhere in Germany, seeing that the story had originated from that region. She ignored the insinuations that Rumpelstiltskin had been an imp or a poltergeist - maybe he was small, but he could have been a dwarf; a human dwarf, not a dwarvish dwarf. A random name translation on wikipedia caught her eye - Pear Stalk seemed quite a random translation in Swedish that there must have been something behind the name. Maggie bought some pears, packed her bags and headed to Germany. As an afterthought, she ordered a novelty spinning wheel and had it sent to the quaint cottage she had rented there.

The place was extremely remote and Maggie felt a little disoriented without her internet connection, but she put a brave face on it as she looked through her check list again. There was straw in the barn and her pear stalks with her, and she made sure that the man that did the place would make a bonfire for her that night. Having all these in place, she wondered how to start. The thing she remembered about alchemists was that they always had a laboratory with bubbling stuff - so she decided to boil the pear stalks. She threw in the pears as well on the basis that even if the stalks did nothing, she might as well end up with pear soup. With that in mind, she put in white fungus, lotus seeds and sugar to taste. Wandering out to the yard, she kept an eye out as as she meandered to the barn. Making sure that no one was around, she stuffed some of the straw into her carryall and hurried back into the house. It wouldn't do for some random person to ask why she was bringing straw into the house.

The pear soup potion was beginning to smell rather nice, so she sat down at the spinning wheel and stared at it. Having never sewn anything in her life other than buttons back on her shirt, she had no idea how the thing worked. Well, for anything there was google and wikipedia, wasn't there? Except that she didn't have wifi and her 3G was too expensive in a foreign country. Anyway, she was definitely smart enough to figure it out on her own.

Several failed attempts to get the spinning wheel working later, Maggie gave up and enjoyed her pear soup. It made her feel much better, especially when enjoying it on a cold night, sitting by the fire. It wasn't Rumpelstiltskin's secret magic potion, but it would do for now.

---

More information on Rumpelstiltskin found on Wikipedia here.
Actual story found here.
Pear soup recipe found here.

All research today has been powered by google.
Okay, you didn't really need a link for that, did you?

Also, for some odd reason, I'm getting a lot of spam on my Imago Dei post. Why, internet, why? I'm going to stop Anonymous comments for now. Sorry :(

#atozchallenge: Quilt

It was created a memory at a time. A scrap piece of fabric from when Daniel was a little boy, another scrap from when Caitlyn was born. More scraps collected from the growing years - torn t-shirts, favourite blankets too tattered for use, ruined bed sheets from playing Indians in the yard, ripped sheets from camping trips and that one sleepover that ended up in a cat fight. Then they had grown up and left the nest, and she started collecting scraps from the homeless centre she volunteered at, the church do's she cleared up after, the things her parents left behind when they passed on.

By the time she was done when she was seventy, it swarmed her with the memories of yesteryears, burying her in a flurry of nostalgia. It was thick and heavy with both tears and laughter and when her daughter visited, Caitlyn secretly wondered if she had gone slightly mad. I'm fine, she assured her daughter, laughing almost guiltily as she sent Caitlyn away with freshly baked cookies and a promise to stayover if she felt too lonely. I'm not lonely, she had replied. I have my quilt. 

The voices were strong in her head as she snuggled down into it, allowing the past to engulf her in its embrace.

MAYDAY! NNNNOOOOOO.... OOPS (3 in one #atozchallenge post)

I'm sorry, the world has come to an end.
The juggernaut has crashed and the titanic has sunk.
The dinosaurs are being buried alive. Or eaten alive. or both.
And this is payback from the evil day job for the many Sunday afternoons of playing board games.
And ultra payback for Israel Houghton & New Breed's Jesus At The Centre Tour last Saturday.
(BUT I WILL NOT REGRET!)

Therefore there will be no a to z challenge fiction on this site until it restarts itself.

Did I tell you I'm an auditor in the midst of accounts filing season?

T.T

ACCOUNTS, I EAT YOU. I WILL TIE YOUR BEANS UNTIL YOU CRY.

Ok. That did not make sense.

Bye!
(goes back to work)

#atozchallenge: Lipstick

It wasn't the smell of unfamiliar perfume that did it. It was the dark, rusty red lipstick that stained the collar of his shirt that made her freeze like a broken down robot, the offensive collar stretched out in front of her by trembling hands. She wasn't sure what to do next, so she just stood there staring at it.


---

Sorry, this was all I could do before leaving for the weekend and I figured I might as well post it since its still Saturday somewhere in the world.

#atozchallenge: Kitkat

Have a break, have a Kit Kat.

Remember that slogan? So here's a commercial break for you:

Submissions for the LOVE IN PENANG anthology closes in 18 days. What are you waiting for?

P/S several FAQS answered here:
1. Yes, we do accept international submissions.
2. Yes, the story needs to be based in Penang, Malaysia
3. Yes, you will get 5 free copies of the book if your story is accepted.
4. Yes, there will be some form of monetary compensation (so says Amir) but I don't know what or how much.
5. No, you don't have to pay anything to submit.

#atozchallenge: Jelly bean

This is going to be a short post. I'm down with the flu and having a blinding headache.

Since my word for the day is jelly bean, here's some to cheer you up. Hope you get a good flavour. :)

http://www.jellybelly.com/Shop/ProductDetail.aspx?ProductID=98101