#book review: more local-ish books.

Having read Readings 2, I went on a little local(ish) spree:

Readings From Readings: New Malaysian Writing by Sharon Bakar
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I'm rather ambivalent about this book. I'd rate it somewhere between "it's ok" and "I liked it".
There were some outstanding gems, such as Brian Gomez's "a/p", Jade-Yi Lo's "The girl with the ruby red shoes" and Rafil Elyas' "Progress report", and some pretty good pieces, such as Dina Zaman's "How to stay married", Clarissa Tan's "The visit" and Janet Tay's "The airport" but the overall feel of the book was an underwhelming meh.

The second anthology, Readings 2, is a much better read and it was a good thing I picked that one up first. If I had started with this I would most likely have given that one a miss.

View all my reviews

Followed by:

A Most Peculiar Malaysian Murder by Shamini Flint
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I picked up A Most Peculiar Malaysian Murder because it was RM8 for a hardback. I'd been wanting to read it for a while, but paying Rm30+ for an author I'd never read before... and have hardly heard off was always a little too off-putting, especially when there were always cheaper books around by more well-known authors. But anyway, so it was cheap so I took the chance. *shrug*.

Chelsea Liew, a Singaporean, has been accused of killing her rich Malaysian husband. In a bid to appear as a caring government, Singapore sends Inspector Singh to Malaysia to help solve the case. It was a quick, breezy read; nothing to puzzle your head over too much; the ending... well. Hm. I don't know, it just wasn't quite that satisfying, which is why this isn't a 5 out of 5.

It has a very local feel to the story, and I enjoyed the Malaysianisms thrown into the story, though at times I felt that she over-explained things. The language is a little too simplistic for my taste, possibly because she also writes children's books, though that's beside the point.

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Next on my (local) to-read list is KL Noir: Red.

#fireplace: Spiritually, a shaking; deeper still, he cuts.

Haggai 2
6 “This is what the Lord Almighty says: ‘In a little while I will once more shake the heavens and the earth, the sea and the dry land. 7 I will shake all nations, and what is desired by all nations will come, and I will fill this house with glory,’ says the Lord Almighty. 8 ‘The silver is mine and the gold is mine,’ declares the Lord Almighty. 9 ‘The glory of this present house will be greater than the glory of the former house,’ says the Lord Almighty. ‘And in this place I will grant peace,’ declares the Lord Almighty.”

Hebrews 12
26 At that time his voice shook the earth, but now he has promised, “Once more I will shake not only the earth but also the heavens.”[ref: Haggai 2:6] 27 The words “once more” indicate the removing of what can be shaken—that is, created things—so that what cannot be shaken may remain.

There is a shaking going on. A shaking we cannot see and sometimes do not feel, but nevertheless shakes us to the core.

Friday morning after the crazy wind and storm, I was driving to work and I had this crazy image of a small group of people praying in a tiny room while the storm raged around them. And it was as if it was saying that this storm - this physical storm that devastated our little island - is just a tiny outflow of the spiritual storm and shaking that is happening around us, right now, right here.

And then I had goosebumps.

Then came the thought, the always present, ever nagging thought, and what are you doing about it?Because that's the question isn't it? That's the really important question.

~

Josh once described me as an onion, with layers being peeled away to reveal new things beneath. I think those were the words he used, or at least I remember them that way anyway, and you know the thing about onions? As every skin is shed, it makes you cry. It makes you tear up. I don't know if God's tearing up, but I do know that I've been crying a lot. It's probably a mix of hormones and stress and a lot of other factors, but the underlying factor under it all, is the feeling of unworthiness, the feeling of being unwanted, forgotten.

Maybe I'm not sleeping well enough, or maybe this shaking that's going on is shaking me up, but I had this dream, I think last night or so (no, not about the books, which was bizarre enough in its own way). In this dream, everyone else, all the alumni of my previous youth group, were invited to some big celebratory do, like some kind of reunion. And I was not invited. Because in some way, I was never part of them. Not truly, never in the heart.

And at the risk of jumping off track, I'm thinking of Eustace when he was turned into a dragon. And it's the same; the peeling of an onion, and Eustace trying to dig off his dragon skin; sometimes I feel that way, as if I dig at scabs, emotional scabs, and the pain, oh, the satisfying pain, that you revel in, just to make sure you still feel something, that you're something more than a moving statue. And sometimes, more than once, I imagine if I were somewhere else, some person else, and not who I was brought up to be, would I be cutting, would I be drinking myself into a stupor, breaking things, anything to make me feel alive? And I remember Aslan, coming in, and with one deep cut, deeper than anything else, breaking through the dragon and making Eustace human again.

~

And so this shaking.

It's a sense of something moving, something happening, something poised to erupt.

It's as if, with our cultivated elegance, we've lost touch with the primal in us, the thing that makes you wail, undone, in the presence of something bigger than yourself. And so we fail in worship, because we are too careful. We're careful we're in the right key, we sing the right words, we play the right notes, we look the right way, we do the right things. And we ignore the deeper urge that is trying to pull us deeper and deeper and deeper in, instead allowing ourselves to be wound up in considerations of whether the band is too loud, or the drums are too noisy.

I am a  tightly wound coil, almost springing, but not yet, not quite yet; waiting.

So God shakes us.

The books, they frighten me.

In my nightmare, I had this huge treehouse full of books that I picked up cheap over many years, over many sales, which I hadn't yet read. That was the good part. 

But my treehouse was in this zone gazetted for construction or something and I don't know why but I forgot to move the books. And then the machines and stuff came. 

So somehow the contractor says okay we'll keep this off somewhere on the site until you can move it. But then when the destroy the treehouse all thd books are in a jumble, but they're still ok. Just messy. In a huge pile while I need to figure out how many lorries I need. (Or at least how many rounds to make in my car)

AND THEN KIDS START COMING ROUND TO STEAL MY BOOKS. 

And I lost half of them. 

Then I woke up. 

I think my psyche is telling me something.

Broken bridges - a must-watch Malaysian musical

Broken Bridges is the story of a boy who couldn't wait to leave his small town home of Ipoh, and how he broke his father's heart in the process. It is the story of a boy, grown up, coming back to change his home town, and breaking his father's heart again.

Broken Bridges is the story of the rift between father and son and how they try to make amends giving in, or apologising. It is the story of the generation gap that was and that is, where parents do not understand their children and try to make them copies of themselves, and where children do not understand their parents and do not bother to try.

Broken Bridges is the story of a decision between maintaining tradition and culture and venturing out into something new. It is the story of expectations made and dashed, traditions clung to and discarded, promises given and broken.

Broken Bridges is a story of love. Love of the new, love of the old, love of a town, love of a lifestyle, love of a woman, love of a child.

Broken Bridges is a story of many things. But no physical bridges were broken in its making.

I thought it was a good musical, deserving of the many Boh Cameronian Arts Awards it garnered. It tells a strong story, one that resonates with the local crowd. And boy, was it a responsive crowd at the Sunday matinee. The first act was well-paced. I hardly realised that almost an hour had passed when suddenly it was the end of the act. The second act felt a little bit rushed though, as if there was too much material to be covered (and there was).

The overall casting was excellent. This is the first time I've seen Jon Chew act (after being told to catch his shows, but never managing to) and I thought he was a good fit. Ho Soon Yoon was perfect as Leong, though I think he overplayed the simplicity just a little in the first scene so for a moment I wondered if he was supposed to be a bit retarded. I was a little concerned at first about how Colin Kirton could pull off a "quintessential Chinese towkay" because I remember how strong his accent can be, but he was excellent as Wong. I initially thought Anrie Too was a little old to play Mei Ling, especially when they started describing her as a school girl years younger than Ming, but after watching the musical, it was obvious why they had to make that choice. A younger girl or less mature actress would have difficulty with that role. The only complaints I had casting wise was that Ringo wasn't quite splashy enough for his song. Nick Dorian wasn't from the original cast though, so maybe that was why it didn't quite fit. He was pretty okay, but not really outstanding enough, making the song just a little draggy. (Not quite sure why they changed KL in the original to Singapore in this run. What, KL not good enough for you, issit?)

What didn't work for me was placing the Teacher (Theresa Leahy) as part of the "aunties" group. It was a little awkward that in the scene where the boys visit the pub, and the aunties come in, that they addressed her as "Teacher" (what teacher would dare be seen at the pub in those days?). As it was, I thought her role a little pointless, especially since she didn't really have any role-specific lines and her accent was too different from the rest of the cast & ensemble.

Choreography wasn't quite tight enough in the opening scene (nerves, maybe) but that's the most I have to say about that. Singing/talking complaint is the usual Malaysian diction problem but this was much clearer than most.

Story wise, I would have liked the love story between Ming and Mei Ling to have unfolded a little slower, rather than just a discussion about a book and a song and then oh they kiss but then again, there wouldn't have been enough time for that. (It would also have been interesting if  Siew Yee were still around and had a jealous fit. Hah!) And it would have been a much better closure if at the end, Ming didn't hear the story from the waitress, but from his friend Leong instead. I mean, what waitress would bother to go and learn the history of the place she's working at in such detail?

So overall, good show. Go catch it if you can.
[Much better than Malaysian Girls :P ]

Broken Bridges runs at Penangpac until 8 June. 

Thank you

Today, I am thankful for friends, new and old and in-between, for the time to spend to talk and dream, to encourage and to spur.

Today, I am thankful for dreams that align, for visions that encompass more than just us, for the hearts that beat as one.

Today, I am thankful for a God bigger than what we comprehend, who somehow draws us together, and knits us close, in many random and beautiful ways.

Today, I am thankful for the space you've given me to continue to be me, even whilst pressing me to be better than what I already am.

Today, I am thankful for you.

#fridayflash: Derailed, Episode 2

Episode 1

They sell you a dream, telling you that you can have it all, now. Your child, your career, your jet-setting lifestyle, with perks. Everything you wanted in life is at your fingertips. All you have to do is pay a one-time membership fee, get your materials and start selling dreams. Forget about your dead-weight husband (pause); I'm sorry for your loss. 

I bought into it, alone as I was with Sean. What else could I do? I couldn't find a desk job with a babe suckling at my breast. Maybe I could have, but it would have been awkward. Besides, I was about two semesters away from a degree that I didn't think I would finish in the next three or four years, unless I was time-barred and then - I didn't want to think about it.

It worked fine for a while. I made some money; not much, but enough to get by. Enough even, to put a little in the bank. But then one day, I wake up and I can't find the energy to meet one more prospect, close one more deal, smile.  And I stared up at the ceiling with this one thought in mind - this isn't even my dream.

And that's the difficult part, you know? Selling something you've stopped believing in. I'm not even sure I ever believed in it, really. It was just something to get me by. But getting by isn't enough in the long term. To really run with something you needed that spark, that passion, that vibe.

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.

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#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.