tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53145227013606374082024-03-14T18:17:40.021+08:00Wooden PencilWZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314522701360637408.post-10717610498705798402010-05-03T11:11:00.001+08:002010-05-30T18:16:55.154+08:00ScentedAs I stood there at my usual spot, sustaining my usual posture, I caught a whiff of your perfume - or rather, the perfume you used.<br />
<br />
The sweet, sweet scent of fruits and herbs that I can summon in my mind anytime, and so real, that I thought I could smell it whenever I want. The scent that I couldn't describe in words (my olfactory is not as trained), the scent that belonged to the memories that contained you and me and no one else.<br />
<br />
I did not miss you, at least not as much. That sometimes I thought of you, this I cannot deny, because I have nothing or no-one to think of.<br />
<br />
And when the molecules of the sweet perfume passed my nose, I sniffed into my lungs greedily like a hungry wolf engulfing its prey, until I thought my lungs couldn't contain any more air (and you).WZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314522701360637408.post-18876872773123052412010-02-25T19:15:00.000+08:002010-02-25T19:15:28.596+08:00ButterfliesSome have looked at me the way you are looking at me right now. They either give me the jitters, or I barely notice them.<br />
<br />
That gaze, it never fails to make me feel uncomfortable.<br />
<br />
But yours, only you and your eyes, have the magic to make the butterflies flap their wings once again, and send them flying almost to heaven.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #666666;"><i>Can you see them in my eyes, my dear? Or is it hers that you see now?</i></div><br />
And all I could do is just blurt out silly things that come up in my mind like a little girl.<br />
<br />
I do not want you to see the butterflies, simply because I am unsure of what is going on right now. It had been too long; these butterflies have been standing still for too long a time, and they have forgotten what is up and what is down; what is left and what is right.<br />
<br />
I do not know whether what I feel now is what I am supposed to feel. Moreover, I do not know about you.<br />
<br />
You are not entirely an enigma, but I do not understand you deep enough to be able to pinpoint exactly your mind and heart’s whereabouts.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #666666;"><i>Are you thinking of her when you look at me that way? Do you always want to call out her name when you see me? Does my hair remind you of her?</i></div><div style="color: #666666;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #666666;"><i>Whose face forms inside your mind now, darling?</i></div><br />
I have no rights whatsoever to question you. I can only sit down behind my desk, my diary open to today’s date, and twirl an imaginary rose of infinite petals.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #666666;"><i>It’s me, it’s not me; it’s me, it’s not me…</i></div><br />
These butterflies, they are dangerous.<br />
<br />
I am sorry. Before I can be sure that every of these are not just a beautiful mirage, I have to protect myself from the cliff, from you, from myself.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>You have wonderful lips, my dear, but I can’t place my trust on them.</i></span><br />
<br />
<i>3/1/09 Sat<br />
1339</i>WZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314522701360637408.post-3206740627961375552010-02-25T19:13:00.001+08:002010-02-25T19:20:13.979+08:00Morning MoonIt was in the early morning when I saw the full moon hanging quietly up above the clear, colour-washed purple sky dotted with clouds.<br />
<br />
It reminded me of your beautiful brown eyes.<br />
<br />
I was stunned by its beauty – yours, and I could not help but to imagine your gentle, loving gaze lingering on me. A slow surge of warmth spreaded in my body, what everyone calls contentment, happiness.<br />
<br />
Something shiny at the display of the jewellery store caught my eye, and I stopped to look at it. Despite the fact that you were still fast asleep at this time of the day I still dialed the familiar number of ours. I calculated my budget quickly in my mind within two dial tones.<br />
<br />
You picked up and groggily said hello. I could see you yawning and scrunching up your strawberry nose, your hair messed up like a lion’s mane.<br />
<br />
“Good morning, dear. I love you.”<br />
<br />
It was not the first time I did this, but I still could hear your smiling like it was the most wonderful thing that had happened to you.<br />
<br />
I smiled, too, and felt the sunshine of your smile on me.<br />
<br />
No; it was the moonlight. I was showering in your kind love that never fails to take my breath away.<br />
<br />
<i>13/1/09 Tues<br />
2112</i>WZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314522701360637408.post-82931697881843528012010-02-25T19:12:00.000+08:002010-02-25T19:12:54.367+08:00LustThe last of the light is switched off. The air is still. The clock still ticks away every second.<br />
<br />
Tick, tock.<br />
<br />
How long have you been silenced?<br />
<br />
You have been abandoned by your human, and all you can do is stand and wait.<br />
<br />
(Like a fool.)<br />
<br />
You long for your voice to be heard, yet you cannot do it by yourself.<br />
<br />
(I am nothing without you, my love.)<br />
<br />
You feel rotten, rotten like an apple infected by greedy worms.<br />
<br />
The dust that is lightly covering your body has been your faithful blanket during the cold, rainy nights and warm, sunny afternoons, keeping you warm on the outside but unable to chase away the dreary winter on the inside.<br />
<br />
“You still there, Dust?”<br />
<br />
“Yeap.”<br />
<br />
And you sigh.<br />
<br />
You wait patiently for your human’s gentle, seductive touch on the most beautiful part of your body, but it only remains as a strong, unfulfilled desire.<br />
<br />
You often think of the recent past, where your human would touch you everyday; and the slender fingers will move sometimes swiftly, sometimes slowly caressing; at times strong, other times soft like feather falling from the sky, for hours.<br />
<br />
You were always craving for your human; your human was always hungry for you.<br />
<br />
Both your and your human’s desires were insatiable, like dark bottomless pits…<br />
<br />
(Is it a sin to have overflowing desire?)<br />
<br />
Falling, deeply.<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
The first ray of dusk lands on you.<br />
<br />
“You still there, Dust?”<br />
<br />
“Yeap.”<br />
<br />
And you sigh.<br />
<br />
<i>22/12/08 Tues</i><br />
<i>2217</i>WZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314522701360637408.post-49622592789483814762010-02-25T19:11:00.000+08:002010-05-03T11:14:04.966+08:004ourThere she is, walking, but not with me.<br />
<br />
She looks as radiant as ever. She is always so calm when she is not talking, but when her face lights up, animates, by that charming smile, she beats the sun hands down.<br />
<br />
And it is that lucky bastard cycling beside her who is getting those smiles and attention from her.<br />
<br />
Bastard.<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
Here she is, walking, right beside me.<br />
<br />
I become self-conscious. Can she hear my heart pacing?<br />
<br />
The moment I see her, I feel like bringing her into my arms and hug her tightly, thinking, this is the last I will let you go. Because I have never seen her for ages, it's killing me; because I miss her so badly, it's killing me; because my heart and soul are aching for her, it's killing me.<br />
<br />
I don't want to just tell her about my friend's girlfriend, or about school, or about music; nor do I want to just walk beside her like a friend.<br />
<br />
But my heart's content got stuck at the base of my throat, and my limbs do not feel like mine, and these are all I can do.<br />
<br />
Coward.<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
As he tells me about his friend's girlfriend and his school and music, I listen intently and respond appropriately. But when he pauses, even for a second, my heart and mind fly off to somewhere else far from here.<br />
<br />
They fly to where you are.<br />
<br />
Can you feel them?<br />
<br />
Tell me, my dear: did you mean every single word that you utter to me last night?<br />
<br />
I've drowned in the illusions and false hopes you (and I) once gave to me, and it was bitter. And so I took another step backwards from what everyone calls "happiness".<br />
<br />
I don't have the courage to march forward.<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
I look up from my work, stretch, and out to the window.<br />
<br />
Her beautiful face appears, and I smile.<br />
<br />
I hope she is considering. Lord, give me courage to face whatever she will do next. Amen.<br />
<br />
I sneeze, and there is a buzz in my heart... Hey, girl, are you thinking of me too?WZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314522701360637408.post-80443781023854686152009-03-18T12:54:00.000+08:002010-05-03T11:14:04.966+08:007.43pmWhat is it that you have that mesmerises me like the burst of stars? I could get prettier, younger girls anytime, anywhere I want, but it is always you, my dear, who catches my breath when you look at me with the beautiful brown eyes of yours.<br /><br />I ask you to take my heart, and in return I get sleepless nights filled with you.<br /><br />Are you treasuring my most important organ, or did you misplace it somewhere and forgotten about it?<br /><br />I ask for yours, but you are playing catch with me. You run so swiftly, I thought you will fly away like a dove. But all you do is run in circles around me.<br /><br />You leave me giddy.<br /><br />Stop running from me, I am right here, beside you. My arms are open wide, wide enough to contain the world, the universe...<br /><br />And the Universe, that is you.<br /><br /><i>11/1/09<br />Sun</i>WZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314522701360637408.post-60709456296784334332009-03-18T12:02:00.000+08:002010-02-25T19:16:21.985+08:00Dear Jo,Hi, how have you been lately? I am fine, thank you very much! (I'll just assume you asked.)<br /><br />You do not seem as enthusiastic about your college, or was it because we did not have the chance to talk?<br /><br />Ah, well.<br /><br />Oh, yeah, school's been fun. (Again, I assume you asked.) Friends, well, I'm not sure whether I have any yet - I seem to get fussier day by day - but yes, I have been laughing and smiling.<br /><br />I still compare.<br /><br />And sometimes, I just think of what had happened for the last two years.<br /><br />Time flies, ain't it? It flies so fast that we were unable to catch up with it. We might not be soaked in memories, but we are still dripping in them.<br /><br />Yes. I still miss the good ole' times we (used to) have.<br /><br />There are many, many special, ordinary things that have happened to me, and some are related to your - our - favourite subject.<br /><br />Ah, boys!<br /><br />Eh, no, I ain't showing off, I'm just self-indulgent, haha.<br /><br />Of course, I do not tell you about them, mainly because I do not remember them at the time of our conversations. (No, my dear Jo; I do not have a crush, nor are they cute, exterior-wise.)<br /><br />For so many times, I wish to bring you and Waning along to my school. We'll sit at the third row, not paying attention to the teachers as we chat, laugh, sing, joke the day away, and then take the LRT to KLCC and be crazy.<br /><br />Oh, how I miss our insanity, our naïveté, us.<br /><br />I no longer feel depressed. I am happy, I think. I hope you are, too, and that you do not miss us the way I do.<br /><br />Happy belated eighteenth.<br /><br /><i>22/7/08<br />Tues<br /><br />*<br /><br />Extracted from <a href="http://bloop-de-winzee.blogspot.com/2008/07/jo-jo-jo-dear-jo.html">here</a></i>WZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314522701360637408.post-66659366102759833022009-03-18T12:00:00.000+08:002010-02-25T19:20:29.532+08:00亲爱的,我们离婚吧!差不多一年没见了,近来还好吗?有想念我吗?抱歉,我,没。为什么?这,我也回答不出来,毕竟我的脑袋不太灵光,脑细胞也似乎没连接好来……<br /><br />说起来,呵,也很可悲,怎么认识了你6年,只有那么一两张合照?<br /><br />结婚有多少年了,其实我也不太记得,我想,有四五年了吧?就在一个美好的白天你无端端成了我的老公,而粉红公主无端端成了我们的律师,在一两年后。<br /><br />要知道,我什么也没签,什么也没答应!<br /><br />说好要离婚多年了,但还是没行动。这可要问问我们可爱的律师了。<br /><br />就在你18岁的生日,我想告诉你,离婚吧!外头的世界好大好大,更适合你我的人就在其中,不能随便让他/她溜走吧?<br /><br />突然好奇,你有没背着我和其他人手牵手?我很忠心呵!只是初吻最近被菲菲偷走了,感觉,呃,无法形容。<br /><br />噢,还有一件事忘了写:对不起对不起对不起,无法在你生日当天和你们玩,有事在身无法逃避。过几个月我再带你出去玩玩儿,好吗?<br /><br />茵 - 生日快乐,分手快乐!WZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314522701360637408.post-10123727625936296872008-12-03T12:52:00.005+08:002010-02-25T19:20:38.231+08:00My dear Easter Egg,What a pity that the last time we took a photo together was when we were 12.<br />
<br />
<i>March 2003.</i><br />
<br />
That was five years ago, in another school, and, to you, in another country, in an entirely different timeframe.<br />
<br />
I am still stuck here, not exactly happy with where our - my - country is turning to, whining and complaining but still loving all the little flaws.<br />
<br />
Bet you're having a great time there eh? Over here it isn't that bad, there are times when I feel lost, when I don't know myself anymore, when I've been living excessively behind the protective mask I wear every second.<br />
<br />
Need to shed that angel mask, I know I <i>have</i> to, but I don't know how. And I don't have the courage to...<br />
<br />
<br />
<center><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v702/suisei-/graphics/DSCN2115.jpg" /></center><br />
<br />
Remember this teddy? I know you do.<br />
<br />
I can even imagine that unique voice of yours now, your tall height beside me, "Oh my God, I can't believe you still kept this!"<br />
<br />
Yeah. I don't believe it either.<br />
<br />
I have every reason to throw it away. For example, it's space-consuming. For example, it collects dust. For example, I have no use of it. For example, I'm too lazy to take care of it. For example...<br />
<br />
I just mended it a few days before. It's left arm and arse.<br />
<br />
As I sewed in and out I thought of how we spent our childhood together, how, that if we hadn't made that choice, we wouldn't meet each other, and our lives will be so, so very different right now.<br />
<br />
We would not be able to meet the people we meet, see the things we see, think the way we think.<br />
<br />
<i>Life is simply amazing.</i><br />
<br />
I have no reason to keep it. But I still do.<br />
<br />
Because it contains all the childish memories we have together.<br />
<br />
<b>Happy belated birthday.</b><br />
<br />
Love, Win Zee.<br />
<br />
p/s Haunt me.WZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314522701360637408.post-33776650834521419402008-10-18T11:34:00.000+08:002008-10-18T11:35:09.758+08:00尹绮<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v702/suisei-/graphics/art10.jpg" align="left">好像是第一次用华语来部落格!<br />好紧张好紧张~<br />亲爱的部落格大概三岁了,也没用华语,除了自己的作文什么的。<br />(南极星好慢啊~还要一个一个字打)<br />嗯,既然是第一次,我就干脆介绍我自己好了。<br /><br />我是<u><font size="3">张尹绮</u></font>,在今年的<i>9月26日</i>,我就<b>16岁</b>了。对,老了,不用各自说悄悄话,我听到的。你迷信的话,我是不太漂亮的<u>天平座</u>,<i>O型</i>血。学校家庭背景什么我就不说了,因为那些并不有趣。<br />人家说我很爱<b><u>扮可爱</b></u>,也有人觉得我很<b>自恋</b>。嗯,其实,我觉得,还好。因为闷,所以才会扮可爱、照照镜子。<br />妈说我太懒惰。其实说我勤劳聪明的人,我总觉得那些只是客套话,亲戚朋友嘛,免不了。不过,我也不觉得我很懒。我只是个<u><font size="3">凭感觉</u></font>的人。如果我喜欢,我会投入110%的心去做。讨厌的话,就什么都别说。<br />可能平时不太注意自己的感觉,也太顾虑别人的感觉,甚至把他们放在我之上。<br />在介绍自己的时候,我是<b>完全诚实</b>,不懂为什么。<br />我可以<b>很迷糊</b>,因为我不专心。<u><i>发呆</u></i>是我的专长,不过,很多时候,我应该不会飘太远吧…<br />我不太关心别人对我的意见,也不太关心我自己,所以我是个很<font size="3">凌乱</font>的人。<br />我很<i>幼稚</i>,因为我不成熟。<br />我<font size="2">没有主见、做个选择须用上小时、也很龟毛</font>。星座网页上说,龟毛的个性吸引男生噢。好怪。<br />我不想被认为很女性化,可是我很喜欢逛街、高跟鞋、化妆品、美美的衣服!所以,我想引用Avril Lavigne: <b><u><font size="3">I'm so girlie, it's not even funny.</b></u></font><br />她是我的<u>偶像</u>。<b>她本人</b>,不是她的音乐。她<font size="2">坚持不有婚前性行为,性格很爽朗、坚持自己的主见,也很有出淤泥而不染的自信。</font>很欣赏她。<br />我很喜欢、很喜欢雨天。我也喜欢淋雨。因为我有一种<i>被拥抱的感觉</i>。对,头上那个heading是我想说的话。<br />我喜欢弹钢琴。很喜欢<u>叮叮当当的声音</u>。我想拉小提琴,吹笛子、萨克斯。嗯,古筝和中国笛子也可以。弹琴之余,我也喜欢制造“噪音”-唱歌!我可以在任何时候唱任何歌曲。我可以在开心的时候唱心碎的歌,也可以在伤心的时候听开心的歌。我可以在大庭广众唱歌,也可以一个人对唱情歌。我就是那么<b><font size="3">爱唱歌</b></font>。<br />有什么尽管问吧。我有一段很不羞耻的梦-我妄想当个歌星!对,你没看错,不需要擦眼睛眼镜。<i><font size="2">张尹绮要当歌星,快来讨签名。</i></font><br />本小姐超爱林俊杰、大面饭先生(Damien Rice)和铁和红酒先生(Iron & Wine)。<b><font size="3">林俊杰</b>有把很舒服的磁性声音;<b>大面饭先生</b>来自<i>爱尔兰</i>,声音音乐强劲有力;<b>铁和红酒先生</b>的声音像<u></font>徐徐的海风,音乐像艳阳,很清新,</u><font size="3">超爱他。</font><br />(择偶条件我就不写了,哈哈!)<br />我很喜欢音乐剧,从《窈窕淑女》认识了<b>奥黛丽(Audrey Hepburn)</b>,虽然死了,但我还是认为她是世上最漂亮的女性,美过珍妮花(Jennifer Lopez)和安祖丽娜(Angelina Jolie)!从《Sound of Music》认识了<b>茱丽·安得鲁斯(Julie Andrews)</b>,认为她的歌喉没人能比得上!对,她们就是那么地棒!<br />我喜欢书本。不,不是厚厚无聊的课本。我喜欢进书店,尤其是二手书店。我喜欢<i>薄皮的书</i>,不喜欢厚皮的,不懂为什么。所以,我也喜欢<u><font size="3">写写东西,虽然都是不成熟的废话、投诉、幻想。</font></u>我不是个抽象的人,所以我大多数都<i>不明白诗和画。</i><br />我喜欢吃<b><i>甜和咸</b></i>,吃的食物要看起来至少看得顺眼。所以你可以说<i>我用眼睛,才用嘴巴吃饭。</i><br />我不喜欢玫瑰花,喜欢<b><u>茉莉太阳花</b></u>。星星花也不错,英文名很可爱,叫作<i><b><font size="3">Baby's Breath,</b></i></font>花语是<i>永远的爱</i>。<font color="pink">浪漫吧?</font><br /><br /><i>Extracted from <a href="http://bloop-de-winzee.blogspot.com/2007/04/blog-post.html">here</a></i>WZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314522701360637408.post-1261424086348773012008-10-18T11:33:00.000+08:002010-02-25T19:20:13.980+08:00Love Letter: (Failed) Attempt #1Dearest Mr. Romeo Theodore,<br /><br />Teddy bears are called 'teddy' because of Theodore Roosevelt, the <i>n th</i> president of US. He went out for hunting one day and he saw a bear cub. He didn't kill it. So they named bears as <i>teddy</i> bears! It's just general knowledge for you, since you little bear has too much knowledge that isnt general at all. I know the name is old, stop complaining, but since I love teddy bears, and since teddy bears came from Theodore, you could say that I love you. Teddy bears are cuter than you, though.<br /><br />Since today isnt Valentine's Day, I shall not write lovey dovey mushy yucky stuff, which never, and I mean NEVER, fails to make me throw up (it's a hyperbole; dont get too worried). It's just an ordinary letter, really. You can throw it away, but I know you wont cuz you got my disease of keeping every momentos - movie tickets, entry tickets, bookmarks, scribbles, doodles, everything, that sometimes I just dont know what to do when I stare at that blue box with all those things and you smiling so sheepishly.<br /><br />I didn't write to you during V-Day cuz I was busy collecting gifts at school and busy complaining to Waning that I received so little lollipops and jealous of Wen Jo that she received so much lollipops (I use 'so much' cuz it's uncountable; my grammar is perfectly correct). I think I havent thank you for Mr. Bean's teddy! Even though the eyes are not in proportion - must be the disadvantage of being a scientific student... (By the way, you should know Waning and Wen Jo now. We're the 3Ws. Waning is the one with reddish purple-ish brown hair, and Wen Jo is the one who talks about Prince Charming.)<br /><br />I have some complaints for you, so listen up:<br />01 STOP PINCHING MY FACE EVERY MINUTE<br />02 STOP HUGGING ME WHEN I STARTED COUGHING<br />03 STOP ASKING ME TO THANK YOU FOR MR. BEAN'S TEDDY<br />04 STOP ASKING ME TO STOP CALLING YOU THEODORE<br />05 STOP CALLING ME 'MAIA' AND START CALLING ME 'ANGEL'<br />06 STOP BRINGING ME TO FRENCH RESTAURANTS AND BRING ME TO AMUSEMENT PARKS<br />07 STOP BEING AFRAID OF CLOWNS AND MONKEYS AND BALLOONS AND WHATNOTS<br />08 STOP SAYING YOU'RE AFRAID OF ROLLER COASTER BUT ASK FOR A SECOND ROUND<br />09 STOP STARING AT ME WITH THAT WEIRD PERVERTIC LOOK<br /><br /><i>Love is always patient and kind. It is never jealous. Love is never boastful or conceited. It is never rude or selfish. It does not take offense and is not resentful. Love takes no pleasure in other people's sins, but delights in the truth. It is always ready to excuse, to trust, to hope, and to endure whatever comes.</i><br />I guess we love each other. In a really weird way. Because you can be so romantic, and I can be so crazy. We are like lovers and friends. Aren't we just manificient? I know, I know. Stop being a narcissist, however it is spelled. Having a smartass boyfriend means have to be as smart as you. I hate smartasses. BUT, since you're like a robot and dont seem to have any feelings and you have me an emotional crazy girl as your girlfriend, you have to be as crazy as I am. So we're even.<br /><br />Somehow, smartasses are smart. You manage to be scientific and artistic at the same time. You can analyze Mary-Charlie the Unisex Model Skeleton and sing <i>Can't Help Falling In Love</i> at the same time. Your friends say you were in the school choir as a tenor solo and won the national competition; you play the piano, the violin, the saxophone (because of me, your friends say), and the guitar; you sketch people, especially your grandma, because she was the beautiful woman (and you dont hv to lie to me because she IS beautiful). You are just such a smartass. And, like I said, I hate smartasses. I wonder how I actually fell in love with you. Hmm, life's a box of chocolates.<br /><br />There is still 11 months to go. The next V-Day! Do you remember the first time we met, the first time we dated, the first time we held hands, the first time I gave you a flying kiss, the first time you gave me a good night kiss on the cheek? I know you kept a diary because of me, your friends say so. They betrayed you, I know! But I love them, and they love me! Dont be jealous. It's another hyperbole. I just love it when you get jealous, though.<br /><br />Remember my birthday years ago, in high school? You gave me a tulip, variegated ones, and a gladiolus. During prom, you gave me a dozen of purple viscarias. Then later we got together. Sometimes you give me roses, sometimes not. There was once you gave me forget-me-nots, because you said there were no more roses at your garden, and I actually cried. Later that, our parents discovered about our relationship. Your parents were okay with it, but not mine. I was forbidden to see you, even at school, and I felt like it was Romeo and Juliet tragedy falling upon us. (Sometimes I thought it was cool, y'know, because we were the characters in the Story) One night when I was reading <i>Romeo and Juliet</i> you climbed up on my balcony and hugged so tightly I thought I would choke, and I think you cried! Aww, Theodore cried! Dont deny; I know you cried. Before you left you gave me a spider flower, and I had to ask you the meaning of 'elope', which totally broke the melancholic, romantic mood we had! How did it end again?<br />[<a href="http://just-my-daily-life.blogspot.com/2006/12/flower-language.html">Flower Language</a>]<br /><br />Passion.<br />Mrs. Juliet Teddy,<br />Maia<br /><br />p/s where's the wedding ring?!<br /><br /><i>Extracted from <a href="http://bloop-de-winzee.blogspot.com/2007/03/love-letter-straight-from-my-heart-3.html">here</i></a>WZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314522701360637408.post-90205119254922411992008-10-18T11:32:00.002+08:002010-02-25T19:20:13.980+08:00Love Letter: (Failed) Attempt #2Dear Anatole,<br /><br />It is, still, a miracle to me of how we actually gotten together. We are distinctly different, like the sun and the moon; but we are the same - we are both part of the vast blue sky.<br /><br />We met again randomly on the streets, after so many years, and we sat in a café and talked about everything and nothing. You changed into a more mature man, but you are still the same guy I've known in school. You said I seemed to be more attractive, physically, emotionally, mentally, and witty. You even added "guys like witty girls". Till now I don't know whether you are flirting or you are just simply complimenting me; you don't want to comment anything about it whenever I ask you about it, stating that things are best left mysterious. Whatever your mysterious statement means, one thing is clear: we got together.<br /><br />You taught me French, that romantic language I had been wanting to learn so much, and it was only then I realized I don't have the talents for languages. <i>Je t'aime aussi</i> - the word you had been so enthusiastic about. For one week that was the only word you taught me. You tried to perfect my pronunciation, wanted to turn me into a native French <i>belle</i>, you said.<br /><br />And then on my birthday...<br /><br />You are such an evil man. And yet that was - is - the reason I love you. You're my exclusive Devil.<br /><br />In exchange for your <i>romantic</i> French lessons, I taught you how to play the piano. Your friends once told me you went to pick up the violin so that you could play me that violin concerto I love a lot. You laughed at me when I confronted you with it, but your mother did tell me about the squeaky sound she heard from your bedroom! What can you say about that?<br /><br />You promised me that when we get married (eventually), you would bring me to South Africa during spring to witness the ocean of flowers I always wanted to see. And you said you would bring me for a backpack trip in Europe and get a ride in the hot air balloon in Germany for our second honeymoon. How about our third honeymoon? I asked. You said you would be too poor to pamper me by then. Oh, how devilish of you! But I already feel like honey, even if we are not honeymooning.<br /><br />Since the past 4 years, I've witnessed you changed from Mr. Romeo to a more mature, stable and humble man, not to mention less macho. You said it was because of the heavy workload; your friends said it was because of me. I don't know which to believe, but I can still embrace you like last time, because you're still mine, and because you're the same man I love. Have I changed? You give me the same answer everytime I ask you: you're still the same girl I know and come to love 4 years ago.<br /><br />My answer would be 'yes'. Happy birthday, Devil.<br /><br />Amorette, your exclusive Angel<br /><br /><i>Extracted from <a href="http://bloop-de-winzee.blogspot.com/2007/12/lamour.html">here</a></i>WZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314522701360637408.post-20373306460034058432008-10-18T11:32:00.001+08:002010-02-25T19:20:13.981+08:00EternityThe sun had just risen from the horizon. The birds were chirping cheerily, welcoming the warm sunshine. Sean Flynn lied on his bed, awake. He had been awake for quite some time, perhaps about two hours already. It was time to get ready for another day of work at the recording studio, but he could not find the energy to sit up and walk to the bathroom.<br /><br />When the clock on his desk rang, he hit the snooze button and jumped out of his king-sized bed. It was still six in the morning. He had time to jog, he thought. It was long since he had been out to the nature and enjoyed the beauty of it. He brushed his teeth and washed his face quickly, then changed to his jogging suit and jogged out of his mansion.<br /><br />He loved to jog, not at the jogging machine in the gym but at the outdoors. He loved everything of Mother Nature; every drop of water, every grain of sand, every ray of sunlight, everything, and he liked it more since he met Alexandria. They reminded him so much of her, especially those green eyes, as green as emerald, as green as the Morning Sea. She was just as beautiful as the nature.<br /><br />She had always been the one who spent more time outside with the trees and flowers and sea. She loved it, and aspired to be a marine biologist in the future.<br /><br />How long had it been? Was it ten years, or more? Ten years ago, when he realized she was gone he thought he could not live anymore, without her. Now, here he was now 26, a handsome R&B singer who had charmed all the girls in US, or perhaps the whole world. The most pathetic thing was that he could not even charm Alexandria that easily. He laughed bitterly.<br /><br />`~`<br /><br />Sean Flynn, only sixteen, walked into the fast food restaurant. He saw Alexandria sitting at the corner by herself, sipping slowly her chocolate milkshake, looking at the people outside the window. He sat opposite of her and ordered a huge glass of coke.<br /><br />"Xan, I just wrote you a song; it’s called 'Eternity'. It sounds like this." Then he started humming the melody softly.<br /><br />His voice was magnetic and melancholic, not to mention melodious. Yet, Alexandria was not listening attentively to him. She just nodded her head, sipping her chocolate milkshake and looking at the people outside the window. He noticed. He covered her hand with his. "What’s wrong, Xan?"<br /><br />She turned to look straight into his eyes. She looked calm, but he could see fear under her emerald green eyes, but he did not say it out. She kept quiet. He wanted to break the silence, but he had no idea of what to say. Five seconds had passed, and they were still staring at each other. Was this going to last forever?<br /><br />"Sean, dear, let’s break up. I can’t stand it any longer," she said finally.<br /><br />He froze. He did not expect anything like that coming out from her pink lips. They were a pair of sweet loving couple, and nothing had happened in their relationship, except for the occasional childish arguments.<br /><br />"But...but why, Xan? We were all right, there’s nothing wrong between us. If you’re pressured, just tell me, or-"<br /><br />"No, Sean," she cuts him off rudely. "Nothing’s wrong between us. Something’s wrong with me. Forget about me, OK?" She stood up from the cushioned chair and walked out of the restaurant.<br /><br />He sat there for a long time, then buried his face into his hands.<br /><br />`~`<br /><br />Without realizing a thing, ten years had already passed. During these years, he found out from her friends that she had brain tumour. It was malignant. Her doctor arranged her for an operation in Russia to remove the tumour. She thought she had no chance of living. She did not want him to know, or to get hurt because her death, so she broke up with him.<br /><br />Such a silly girl, Sean thought, smiling.<br /><br />`~`<br /><br />Sean was recording his new song in the recording studio. He had recorded the song for a few days already, yet he could not satisfy nor the producer or himself.<br /><br />Alexandria left today, ten years ago. St. Valentine’s Day. How irony could that be? He tried to forget about her, but he failed to. The song ‘Eternity’ brought back the bittersweet memories she had left for him, but it made him weary. For the whole of ten years, he felt like he was an incomplete human being. He wanted Alexandria. Although many beautiful women had been around him because of his status, he still was lonely.<br /><br />"Sean, we’ll just continue tomorrow," the producer said to him. Sean thanked the producer, picked up his jacket from the sofa, and walked out of the recording studio.<br /><br />He drove aimlessly on the street and came to the fast food restaurant he and Alexandria usually came ten years ago. The building was still there, but it looked more antique. He put on a cap and a pair of glasses to disguise himself.<br /><br />He ordered a glass of chocolate milkshake, just like before. He took his milkshake and came to the place where he and Alexandria usually sat. He just sat there and stared blankly out the window, did not realise that the table was already taken.<br /><br />"Excuse me, Mister, do I know you?" the lady asked. She was drinking a glass of chocolate milkshake, too.<br /><br />Sean heard her, he turned and looked at her. The green eyes, the pink lips, the puzzled expression and the way she tilted her head, they all belonged to Alexandria. It was she.<br /><br />"Alexandria. Xan," he called out, taking off his glasses.<br /><br />"How did you know my-" She stopped and gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. Sean Flynn, the famous international singer, was right before her eyes. Moreover, it was Sean. The sixteen-year-old Sean she knew, the Sean she had thought about everyday in the past ten years. "Oh my God, Sean..."<br /><br />He covered her other hand with his, smiling at her. She smiled back at him.<br /><br />They were willing to exchange the ten years, those years that seemed so short yet so long, thinking of each other, with this five seconds of forever.<br /><br />`~`<br /><br />In the recording studio, Sean sang, "I will catch for you the stars, if you promise to give me your love for the rest of eternity..."<br /><br />He looked out the soundproof glass. Alexandria, with her thumb up, mouthed to him, "You’re awesome!" He smiled at her.<br /><br />Everyday with Alexandria seemed like a heavenly eternity. He was finally a whole again.<br /><br /><i>OMGGGG I cant believe I wrote this to MPH for some competition! Damn embarrassing xP</i><br /><br /><i>Extracted from <a href="http://bloop-de-winzee.blogspot.com/2007/04/eternity.html">here</i></a>WZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314522701360637408.post-83712943620467543192008-10-18T11:25:00.000+08:002008-10-18T11:27:11.313+08:00关于,爱情<b><font size="3" color="#7DBEE9">糖糖</b></font>是个很可爱很怪的女孩。她长得可爱极了,名如其人,sweet得不得了,怪就怪在她太浪漫主义了。怎么说呢?嗯…她似乎认定每一个长得稍微可爱的男生为她喜欢的人。其实她一点都不会花心,只是认不清自己的感觉。有点感觉就说是喜欢,虽然明明只把他当作弟弟。她还会把每一个遭遇美化得好像爱情小说里一样,有条隐形的线拉着两人的心什么的,文笔太好吗?<br /><br />糖糖到底是开通还是保守我不懂。她可以很放肆地诉说父母亲的性爱史,在家里也可以大方地问母亲“今天会不会做?”却很抗拒蕾丝边,拒绝婚前行为。哦,不,不有婚前行为是件好事,值得称赞。她觉得基很浪漫,《断背山》的关系,真是拿她没办法。她想尝试做爱的感觉,所以想结婚。她梦想中的新婚之夜,她还对我们形容得一清二楚:房间要布置得很浪漫,灯光晕黄,要有蜡烛。老公把她“逼” 到墙壁,两人热情激烈地舌吻抚摸着,衣服最好被扯破,然后站着完成整个过程。老公最好不要太温柔,而且她一定要关眼睛,因为男性那里她看不下去。<br /><br />(天啊。)有点太矛盾。<br /><br />我坚持<b><font size="3" color="#EDB74E">鸡蛋</b></font>有喜欢的男生,是神是鬼就不知道。<br /><br /><b><font size="3" color="#DEB4D4">粉红公主</b></font>尝过爱情的滋味,不过对我来说,有点可悲,因为是网上恋情。那不是可悲的原因,而是因为好像现实中没人要。(其实不是啦!我坚持有人喜欢她。)她很小女孩,喜欢公主王子童话故事,依赖性也很强,可是长相穿着个性有点中性,所以形成强烈的对比。我说呀,她是个半透明的玻璃瓶,强悍半神秘的外表下有颗弱不禁风的心。<br /><br />没说错吧?公主。<br /><br />有时候觉得她蛮可怜的,可怜得来有点欠扁。对,是欠扁,不需要揉你的眼睛抹你的眼镜敲你的电脑。就像她的名字一样,她的家境比我好上几百倍,吃的住的用的穿的都是上几百的名牌。你说,欠扁吗?<br /><br />言归正传。上头说过了,粉红公主很小女孩,简直比糖糖还小女孩,在恋爱方面,虽然谈过网上恋爱。看到某个人心会扑通扑通,或者突然漏了一拍。看到某个人会傻傻地笑着,想拥抱他。如果某个人不理睬她,她会想一大堆不相关的理由,把自己弄得七荤八素。别人不小心大声地谈到某个人,她会突然打你的手臂,叫你小声点,脸上幸福荡漾的表情却无处可躲。<br /><br />对吧?可爱的公主。我知道你又想揍我了。<br /><br /><b><font size="3">我</b></font>真正喜欢过几个人我自己也不太清楚,除了那三个人以外还有谁我也不知道。好像糖糖一样,我分不清我的感觉,不过我是抗拒的类型,对某个男生有点感觉就慌张得找理由推翻“我喜欢他” 的言论,好像患了恐惧症。所以有一两年没喜欢的人了,生活闷得整天埋在莫扎特肖邦小提琴曲和自己的幻想和小说情节里,寻找火花。<br /><br />新婚之夜会怎样我没想过,因为我(还)不太能接受有个人看着赤裸裸的我,也(还)没有心理准备迎接和我白头谐老的人。到现在,我只想要一个温柔体贴、成熟稳重、有幽默感,又尊重别人的男友。差不多每天听班上的男生骂粗话说一大堆黄色的字眼,又想找女朋友显示自己长大了,这举动让我稀里哗啦地作呕。<br /><br />有一种感觉我比他们成熟,事实上不会好到哪里去。我很幼稚,想法行为态度上,好像没有长大,又好像有。<br /><br />哎,说来说去,只是把自己弄得更混乱而已。<br /><br />一直很想有自己的爱情故事。(咦,我又在发呆了。)<br /><br /><i>Extracted from <a href="http://bloop-de-winzee.blogspot.com/2007/05/blog-post.html">here</a></i>WZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314522701360637408.post-14481465079155266392008-10-18T11:23:00.003+08:002010-02-25T19:17:43.926+08:00五月十七日本来是要写给纽西兰的朋友,不过,我想,既然照片在你的生日的时候拍的,就写给你们两个不相识的人吧。<br />
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` ~ `<br />
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一直都很喜欢在下雨的晚上看着后巷发呆。它有一种很乡村的感觉,位置在吵杂城市里的乡村。路很小,只能容纳一辆摩托车或自行车,或者三四个人走一排。有时候,喜欢光脚走在路上,心情会变得很好,虽然会很怕踏到玻璃铁钉什么的。<br />
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<center><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v702/suisei-/Cam/DSCN0023.jpg" width="500"></center><br />
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1725的天空。那天,下了雨,这是在雨后拍的照片。本想拍下雨滴、雨的声音、雨的感觉,可是照相机没那么棒。所以,我只能用眼睛拍下,偷偷地在脑里寄给你们。收到吗?<br />
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那是后面屋子的天线,和乌黑的云和橙色的天空相对,有一种天堂的感觉。云的背后,宙思和他的太太是否在喝红酒、吃晚餐呢?<br />
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<center><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v702/suisei-/Cam/DSCN0026.jpg" width="500"></center><br />
1726的天空。鸟儿,我想,都回家了吧。想给照片点生命,但总没有鸟儿飞过。有的话,也太快了,来不及按下快门。是注定的吗?嗯,说得有点太重。<br />
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<center><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v702/suisei-/Cam/DSCN0027.jpg" width="500"></center><br />
天空的橙变淡了。可能神都吃饱了。有点粉红,宙思的太太的女朋友们都来谈天喝茶吧?<br />
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<center><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v702/suisei-/Cam/DSCN0028.jpg" width="500"></center><br />
后面的屋子种了藤,一种很奇怪的藤。前几天藤全都枯萎了、干了!可是,我想,它们总有再绿的时候。<br />
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给:<b><font size="3">淑莹、永杰。</b></font>都还好吗?<br />
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<i>Extracted from <a href="http://bloop-de-winzee.blogspot.com/2007/05/blog-post_4552.html">here</a></i>WZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314522701360637408.post-15328477720657059232008-10-18T11:22:00.001+08:002008-10-18T11:28:16.786+08:00呼啦呼啦<i>This is my chinese exam essay, title originally is 失眠, but i decided to name it like that. =) Edited <s>a little</s> quite a lot to fit one page, and then decided not to submit to Nostalgia. Too many articles about insomnia lol.</i><br /><br />考完了年中考试,本应在家补充遗失的睡眠,可是在床上翻来覆去,清醒的脑袋偏不让累坏的身躯取得一丁点的休息。我被逼坐起身子。二时。我叹气,开窗享受吹来的冷风。这夜,有点热,但风还是一样凉爽。雨开始下了,不过只是小雨,所以我照旧开着窗口,让雨淋湿我的书本。<br /><br />人家说,洗热水澡能帮助睡眠。我真的这样做了,可是习惯用冷水的我,一下子就被稍微热的水烫到。走出澡房就听到“吱、吱、吱” 的声音。小花,我的仓鼠,在跑轮子呢。小花的全名叫芙罗瑞特,是个法国名,意思是小花。我把小花捧在手里,带它到书桌上玩水。我让它在我的手心吃瓜子,再让它爬上我的手、背、颈项、头,再自由降落到我的手掌心。它转了几圈,便卷成一粒毛毛的球睡着了。我吻它晚安,慢慢地把它放回笼子里。<br /><br />雨停了。我抹干桌子,把电脑放回桌上上网。小威在线,但我没和他打招呼。才十几分钟后我就断线了,今晚不像和这世界沟通。小威寄来短讯。“我们好像都睡不着。”虽然断线了,但我还持续写作。小威一直寄短讯过来跟我说故事、笑话。过了十几个短讯,小威又寄来一封:“睡着了吗?睡了就回覆啊。” 他说话总是那么无厘头。<br /><br />写作写得闷了,小威没再寄短讯过来,小花又睡了,留下一个无聊的人在电脑前发呆。我抓起抽屉里的相机,爬出窗口,屁股跌在软软的草地上。走在空荡荡的街上,我并不害怕,路灯孤单地照耀着只有一个人的走道。手表显示已经快四点了,而脑袋里是个很复杂的空白。我拿起照相机拍下凌晨四时晕黄的街道。小威或我的家人若知道我在这奇怪的时刻溜出来拍照,一定会哭笑不得。<br /><br />拍照是我的爱好,小威总爱夸张说拍照是我的生涯。我不太喜欢拍人,那些在照相机面前摆pose装可爱,和背景完全不搭配。我喜欢拍生活里的小插曲,那些不轻易流露出来的笑容,所以照相机里除了天空、向日葵和小花的照片,还有父母的、亚姐的、朋友的照,在他们不知情的情况下拍下的,算是偷拍吧。小威总说我很坏,应该被捉去坐牢,因为我“偷” 了东西。“可是我偷的是笑容啊!况且,角度都很美,所以不用担心我会毁了你的形像。” 我告诉他。他看着我拍的照片,圆大的眼睛眯成一条直线。“你好专业,连我最帅的角度在哪儿都知道!” 对,小威就是那么自恋。经过他的家,楼上的灯还没关,原来他也还没睡,或许他趴在桌上流口水。<br /><br />手表的时针指向五,天空也开始亮了。我飞快地跑回家,爬回房间,关上窗口。我终於能安稳地睡了,呼啦呼啦地。<br /><br /><i>p/s 芙罗瑞特 is Florette, meaning is flower + suffix, something like little flower 小花. I did research la! Cuz I was finding for French names ;)</i><br /><br /><i>Extracted from <a href="http://bloop-de-winzee.blogspot.com/2007/06/blog-post.html">here</i></a>WZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314522701360637408.post-83039979376625147772008-10-18T11:20:00.002+08:002010-02-25T19:20:59.350+08:00Hey you,She says you curse, using the ultimate rudeness of all bad words (or so I think). We are shocked. I remember that when you were still here, ‘suffering’, you were oh-so innocent; pure; angelic… anything in heaven is in you. Yes, you are <i>that</i> angelic. Okay, well, maybe a teeny weeny bit of evil and naughtiness, but that doesn’t matter, because it is those that make you human.<br /><br />The few weeks - <i>months</i> before you left you were worried that you couldn’t make friends; couldn’t pass the exams; couldn’t stay alive. We assured you, no, you won’t. There are certainly people who want to befriend you, and you are smart. No, you won’t <i>die</i> there. That place is almost heavenly!<br /><br />Well, you did make some friends (but all Asians; where are all the whites?!), pass your tests with really flying colours, since you’ve learned them here before, and started to work part-time by frying fries! Ah, she says because you want to ‘follow the trend, or you will be left out’. Oh, the life I have always dreamed of (besides the follow-the-trend part) (and I want to have a few white friends, that’s for sure).<br /><br />Ah, yes, you’ve changed. A lot, we say. Your hairstyle and your fashion sense is still the same, but through all the photos you’ve taken and posted, you look more un-camera shy, and maybe more fun? We all couldn’t wait to see you again; we wonder if you’ve become a goth or a punk? And we laughed at that thought.<br /><br />You already have the heavy accent, and all your “mother slang” was all gone. Yes, <i>all</i> gone. Can you imagine yourself, changed into someone brand new, in six months (more or less) time? We didn’t know what to say – except for her, since she’s the most adaptable among us. We even have difficulty choosing which language to talk to you.<br /><br />In the end, I choose English, while the other girl, until now, is still deciding.<br /><br />And, after two months of your leaving, she tells me, you curse. Ah, curses. I remember, months ago, last year, you detested people who curses, and maybe you even sworn to yourself that you will not curse, forever!<br /><br />A year has gone by. You curse.<br /><br />The level of innocence will, somehow, lowers, as you grow older.<br /><br />Well, not like you’re a devil or something. I still love you for who you are.WZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314522701360637408.post-2143728447738342752008-10-18T11:18:00.001+08:002010-05-03T11:14:04.966+08:00Untitled,<u><i>aka Umbrella</i></u><br /><br />She walks up to me when the crowd is starting to dissipate and asks of my transport back home. When I tell her that I will be going back home right after the activity by train, the usual small smile on her face instantly turns into a grin, showing her imperfect teeth, and she asks whether she can go back with me.<br /><br />She makes me seem like a really nice, innocent guy <i>(No, he isn't. He tries to kidnap her)</i> who does not reject people.<br /><br />I tell her that it is fine by me, and she thanks me sweetly, like how she usually does.<br /><br />I wonder what we might talk about on the way back home. We do not hang out or even talk in class, I am the quiet, unfunny one while she... I do not know how to categorize her, or any of the girls. She does not seem quiet, even though she does not make much noise in class either. <i>(In the end he categorizes her as a "real woman".)</i><br /><br />She waits for me outside the classroom and walks along with me. I asks her about her usual mode of transport, and she says even though she is able to take the bus alone or have her mother pick her up, she wants to try the train and prefers it, too; the problem is the way to the station, and she says she needs a partner to walk with and she is glad that we stay nearby.<br /><br />She takes out her folded umbrella from her elephant bag - I think she bought it from Thailand, maybe I will ask her - and open it. She asks whether I am willing to hold the umbrella for the both of us, since I am much much taller than her, and I agree. I am wondering whether she is taking advantage on me.<br /><br />She asks whether I usually go home like this, and when I say yes she nods in amusement. She asks the direction to the nearest shopping mall, and I point it to her and tell her the direction. She laughs and says she has no idea what I was talking about. Just when I was about to think I am bad at giving direction, she adds that she has absolutely no sense of direction.<br /><br />It is in the middle of the afternoon so there are not many passengers. We sit and enjoy the cool air from the air-conditioner. The sunlight outside is glaring. She asks about the school, the teachers, the students, everything a new student will ask, and I just answer according to what she asks. For a quiet, demure girl like her, she is talkative.<br /><br />So I grab this opportunity and ask her the reason for her untalkativeness in class, and she covers her mouth with her hand naturally and apologizes three times, asking whether she annoys me. I immediately deny that fact, but maybe a little too quick, even though I do not mean it that way, because I sense that she withdraws a little. I regret for my speech that did not go through my brain and mentally hit my head.<br /><br />She says it is hard to look for crazy people. I blink my eyes out of amusement. Crazy does not seem like a word to describe her.<br /><br />She casually drops the subject and asks me the reason I had decided to come to this school, and she tells me hers. I tell her that she does not sound like a native when speaking Mandarin, and she, surprisingly, agrees with me. I ask her whether she likes to read, and whether she plays any instrument, and she is surprised, the look on her face bright, amused and curious. I say it is the aura she releases. She does not seem to believe me, but she still seems happy. She is probably happy 24/7 anyway.<br /><br />We reach our station. She asks which direction I am going, and we walk for a distance before we part ways. She thanks me and gives me a vibrant smile, much radiant than the sun, and walk towards her house. The sun that shines on my head, suddenly I am unable to get used to. I miss her umbrella.<br /><br />I think I forget to ask her where she bought her bag.<br /><br />11/7/08<br /><br /><i>Extracted from <a href="http://bloop-de-winzee.blogspot.com/2008/07/mused.html">here</i></a>WZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314522701360637408.post-81680357384965589042008-10-18T11:17:00.001+08:002010-02-25T19:20:13.982+08:00Untitled,<u><i>aka Moon</i></u><br /><br />I took the rose from the vase and gave it to her.<br /><br />"For me?"<br /><br />I nodded. I led her to the mirror. "What do you see?" I gently placed my hands on her shoulders, looking at her reflection looking back at me.<br /><br />She smiled. "You, me, and the rose."<br /><br />"No." I bent down and whispered into her ear, "Two of the most beautiful things in the world."<br /><br />She smiled again and turned away shyly.<br /><br />I ran up to her and led her away from the crowd to the garden.<br /><br />"You should know that I am not single."<br /><br />"I beg your pardon?"<br /><br />"I am engaged."<br /><br />"Let us ignore that." I smiled, and held her as we waltzed along with the music.<br /><br />"Do you not want to know my name?" she asked.<br /><br />"Neither. What about mine?"<br /><br />"I am unsure."<br /><br />"Leave it that way, then."<br /><br />"Have we met elsewhere."<br /><br />"No."<br /><br />I placed her hands on my shoulders as I placed mine on her waist and held her closer. She looked up and stared straight into my eyes, a questioning gaze.<br /><br />"Who are you?"<br /><br />"Your guardian angel."<br /><br />"Who am I?"<br /><br />I leaned forward to her mouth. "You are my Moon, my Sun," I murmured. I kissed her awaiting lips. "The centre of my Universe."<br /><br />I admired at how her ace glowed under the moonlight. "My dear." She smiled and placed her hand on my cheek. She tip-toed and kissed me softly.<br /><br />She rested her head on my shoulder. I placed my hand on the small of her back and swayed gently. "Let us elope, to a faraway escapade."<br /><br />"I am sorry," she replied after a pause.<br /><br />I closed my eyes and combed her hair with my fingers. She hummed a foreign song. "My mother used to sing me this song."<br /><br />"I wish she could see the both of us."<br /><br />She looked up at the dark, starless sky. "She is."<br /><br />"I wish she could grant the both of us."<br /><br />"She would." She let her hands drop to her side.<br /><br />I placed my hand on her cheek. "Then let us."<br /><br />She covered my hand with both of hers. "I hope I could."<br /><br />"Nobody will know."<br /><br />"He will."<br /><br />"We will be happy."<br /><br />"I do not know."<br /><br />She stepped back and looked down at her feet.<br /><br />"You know you are the reason of my Existence, my Living, my Death," I said.<br /><br />"And without you, I am a living body with a dead soul."<br /><br />I looked at her, and she looked back at me. Her eyes grew moist, with her sincere love and apology.<br /><br />"Will you remember this night, like I will?" she asked.<br /><br />"I forever will."<br /><br />"Do not forget me."<br /><br />"Do not forget us."<br /><br />Our hands met, and I kissed the back of her hand.<br /><br />We parted for the rest of our lives without saying goodbye. I glanced up at the moon and remembered the way the moon glowed like how she mesmerised me.<br /><br />6/7/08<br />Sun<br /><br /><i>Extracted from <a href="http://bloop-de-winzee.blogspot.com/2008/07/sweet-talk-101.html">here</i></a>WZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314522701360637408.post-66868747711740296482008-10-18T11:14:00.000+08:002010-05-03T11:14:04.967+08:00路中间空荡的街上<br />不自禁地走到路中间。<br /><br />我告诉你<br />我喜欢不羁的<br /><SPACER TYPE="block" WIDTH="60" ALIGN="left">简单的<SPACER TYPE="block" WIDTH="20" ALIGN="left">自由<br /><br />你笑我单纯的乐观。<br /><br />“很危险呐”<br />你伸出你的左手,<br /><SPACER TYPE="block" WIDTH="20" ALIGN="left">握住我的右手<SPACER TYPE="block" WIDTH="20" ALIGN="left">拉近<br /><br />松开<br />你的手,很自然地,而我<br />试图平静狂<br /><SPACER TYPE="block" WIDTH="70" ALIGN="left">奔的<br /><SPACER TYPE="block" WIDTH="90" ALIGN="left">心跳。<br /><br />自由…<br /><SPACER TYPE="block" WIDTH="30" ALIGN="left">对,我向往着<br />但────<br /><br /><SPACER TYPE="block" WIDTH="100" ALIGN="left">走在路中间的那时,<br /><SPACER TYPE="block" WIDTH="100" ALIGN="left">我渴望着你的体温,<br /><SPACER TYPE="block" WIDTH="170" ALIGN="left">哪怕有多么短暂。<br /><br /><i>4/8/08<br />Mon</i>WZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314522701360637408.post-10505496080511253232008-09-26T23:01:00.003+08:002010-05-03T11:14:04.967+08:00明天是我的生日明天,会有人送花给我,我喜欢茉莉淡淡的香味;喜欢向日葵的朝气;喜欢天堂鸟的高贵。那个他会在半夜时分向我房间的窗口丢石头,带我到花园走一趟,然后指给我一朵白色、大如手掌的花,说,那时月下美人。那朵只在夜晚开花、早晨枯萎的花。那朵我觉得,是奇迹的花。<br /><br />明天,纽西兰、澳洲和美国的朋友都会拨长途电话给我。喂,是你吗?生日快乐!他们会以音腔很重的英语告诉我。我会拿着电话高兴得流泪。原来,你们都还记得我!我会很激动地告诉他们。他们可能会顿一顿,可能会大笑,可能会微笑地摇摇头,可是都一定会说,傻瓜,怎么会不记得你呢?<br /><br />明天,我会跷课,把SPM抛在脑后。睡到十时早上,去附近的咖啡店吃一顿不寂寞的早餐。我会在那儿看报纸至中午,然后回家煮快熟面加鸡蛋当午餐。除了吃下危害健康的味精,也吃下了一个人的幸福。洗了澡,我会把跟朋友借来的DVD放进DVD机看一整个下午。可能我会上网和已经放学的朋友在MSN哈啦说废话,会把Michael Bublé性感的声音填满房间狭小的空间,贪婪地呼吸幸福。<br /><br />明天,我会例常去学校,放了学和朋友们占完café小小的店面吃午餐。我会吃他们为我买的蛋糕,好玩的她们会把蛋糕丢在我的脸!我会大笑,心里如蛋糕甜滋滋的。听她们为我唱的生日歌,许了个不太虔诚的愿,吹了蜡烛,五分钟后蛋糕就会像魔术消失。我会收到几份礼物,开开心心地玩相机、装傻。<br /><br />明天会发生些什么,今天所猜的只是“或许” 。不过,我知道,就算我一个人,我不会感到寂寞。明天,我会过个很简单、很浪漫、很幸福的生日。<br /><br />明天,我十六岁。<br /><br /><i>25/9/07</i><br /><br />*<br /><br />Yes, I wrote it 366 days ago, after some diagnostic paper at school while there was still time for me to rant. I've forgotten to post this up last year, somehow, hence it pops up this year today :)<br /><br />With loves.<br /><br />Yes I can read write speak in Chinese lol.WZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314522701360637408.post-3166422608736628052008-08-31T11:39:00.001+08:002010-02-25T19:21:23.162+08:00Dear You,You told me the night before that he likes you, in a way more than friends.<br /><br />Congratulations, I said.<br /><br />You might have thought I said it out of courtesy, because I felt like I <i>did</i> sound that way, but no. I am surprised, yes, because I've never expected things to take such a pleasant twist.<br /><br />I am, in fact, genuinely happy for you, and the fact that I feel this way surprises me as well, because I thought I would behave indifferent towards anything that is happening around me.<br /><br />And everytime I think of you and him, it never fails to bring a small smile on my face. I bet it tastes sweeter than the vanilla latte I spent on you, eh?<br /><br />I tried to imagine the way he said the words to you, because often they sound awkwardly ordinary. Of course, I did not ask you, because I've forgotten to.<br /><br />Haha.<br /><br />I tried to imagine the moment you told me the news. You warned me beforehand not to tease you.<br /><br />I wonder, were you surprised that I did not react the way you expected me to? Did it take you time to tell me? Were you nervous? Was I the first to know?<br /><br />While previously I could've simple guess the answers to my queries correctly (your reactions are quite predictable), this time I was unable to do so, because we had been leading distinct lives since the beginning of this year. The portion of moments shared together gets smaller. I don't know how much you've changed.<br /><br />Lucky you, girl, that you've found your him. It must've taken lots of efforts and sheer luck to thread the two of you together over the distant of the Pacific. I know you'll appreciate him, I hope he will, too. Whatever that happens next, I just wish you the best of luck, because a happy ending is still too soon to be said.<br /><br />Just, please, don't end up on the bed when you two finally meet, yeah?<br /><br />I kid! :P<br /><br /><i>30/8/08<br />Sat</i><br /><br />*<br /><br />This letter does come off a little too early, I'll say X( But I can't stop the brain juice!<br /><br />Congrats, very sincerely.WZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314522701360637408.post-63746761805221949392008-08-31T11:31:00.000+08:002010-02-25T19:21:31.745+08:00Dear Mr. A,You sit quietly at your seat, staring at an unseen space, deep in your thoughts.<br /><br />You told me things, things that does not really matter to me, that I do not need to know. And it is only a day later that I wonder, why did you tell me? I am quite sure, though, that besides the matter of trust, you are just being yourself.<br /><br />Or perhaps, I am not the only one who knows them?<br /><br />Is that your usual façade? Or is that really you? You do not seem happy or satisfied with your current situation. Sorry, if I jump to conclusion.<br /><br />You said the reason you asked me those questions is so to know me better. It might have been asked out of curiosity, or just pure fun. I do not think you really know me. While I fool around like an overgrown kid, you do not know me.<br /><br />I do not tell you things, things like what you tell me.<br /><br />You might not be interested anyway.<br /><br />You are quiet today, even though you still walk around the class, you are quiet.<br /><br />I noticed, that there are days when you are the person we know, or recognized; and there are times when you keep to yourself, while nobody notices.<br /><br />Funny, how people do not notice, when you are usually the one who leads to liven up the class.<br /><br />You said the world is unfair. I know, I really do; we all do. It is just that when you are stuck in a situation like this, you cannot afford to be pessimistic.<br /><br />So I told you to cheer up, to not be envious of others, to make best of what you have.<br /><br />I do not think you absorb them; I believe you might have even think of these words as mere clichés.<br /><br />I do not bother.<br /><br />I just wish you are happy.<br /><br />I wonder, what were you thinking, then?<br /><br /><i>22/7/08<br />Tues</i>WZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314522701360637408.post-2992986642508268972008-08-20T12:03:00.000+08:002010-02-25T19:20:13.982+08:00The Magical PiñataAnya never had a birthday party, not even a birthday present. All she ever got for her birthday was a visit to her mother in the hospital.<br /><br />Her father worked very hard to keep the both of them and her grandmother alive. For every meal they took they were grateful that they got to fulfill their stomach.<br /><br />Her sandy blonde hair was always tied into two messy short braids by her grandmother and tugged behind her ears, with a faux diamond barrette her mother had intended to give her two years ago. Her pale face, soul-less eyes and tiny body twitched hearts, more so her background. She was a quiet eight-year-old, always sitting at her seat silently listening attentively to the teacher or her classmates.<br /><br />No-one could recall the last time she spoke or even made a sound.<br /><br />Her classmates knew her birthday - they had asked the teacher one day when she was absent from school - but they did not dare to give her the presents they had prepared. It could be a birthday cake, or a scrapbook, or dry pressed roses they stole from the florist a week before. Afraid, of her cold response.<br /><br />Her mother was on coma due to a strong blow at the back of her head. On the way home from the supermarket on Anya's sixth birthday, she was hit by a car and thrown up to air, and fell on her head. The barrette for her daughter was held so tightly in her hand it cut her. Anya just stared at her mother in ICU and later the barrette Nurse Vern gave to her. She hugged her legs and cried.<br /><br />Nurse Vern had since became Anya's only friend. She visited Anya every Sunday after church in the playground, maybe sit at the swing, or play the slides, or the see-saw. They would sit by the bench under the shade, welcoming the warmth by the Sun, quietly. Even so she knew the one-hour quiet emotional support wasn't enough for her to recover from the abrupt blow two years ago.<br /><br />Nurse Vern, Anya's father, Anya's grandmother, Anya's favourite English teacher and her classmates decided that, on her ninth birthday, they would organise a small birthday potluck in the playground. Soraya brought candies; Hans brought syrup; Jonine brought marshmallows and chocolate sauce; everyone else brought everything else sweet. Nurse Vern collected candies from the staff in the hospital and made into a piñata almost Anya's size.<br /><br />Anya's grandmother brought her granddaughter to the playground early in the Sunday morning. She just glanced at her nervous guests. Happy birthday, they said to her. She was surprised, they could see it. And they were secretly relieved. At least they could identify her response.<br /><br />Nurse Vern gave Anya a wooden stick. She looked up at the nurse with questions on her face. "Don't you remember it's your birthday today?" Nurse Vern knelt down and said gently to her.<br /><br />Anya looked down at the stick in her hands. Nurse Vern pointed to the colourful, patchy piñata hung low at the cherry tree. "That's a piñata." Soraya blindfolded her. Anya grabbed Nurse Vern's jeans. She pushed the little birthday girl to the piñata. "It's a magical piñata. Swing your bat and hit the piñata. Make a wish before you swing."<br /><br />Anya wished inside her heart and started swinging the bat. Her classmates all shouted directions to her excitedly. Left, left, right, right, just above you, turn around. The piñata swung right and left.<br /><br />"You have to say your wishes outloud, Anya, only can you aim the piñata," Hans braved himself and shouted to her. Anya turned towards the direction of the voice, panting.<br /><br />"Yes, say it aloud, Anya!" Greg shouted.<br /><br />"The piñata won't let your hit him if you don't tell him your wish!" Francin shouted.<br /><br />"A piñata is deaf, Anya!" Derik shouted.<br /><br />Anya stood still, panting. The noise tuned down. Holding breath.<br /><br />"I... I wish... I wish mother will open her eyes so I can tell her I love her and I've missed her," she said as loud as possible, and swung her bat as hard as possible. The piñata opened; the candies fell down like rain, and so were her tears. Hopes showered her.<br /><br />Anya's father ran towards her and hugged her tightly and cried along with her. She had never spoken a word for two years. He had not shed a tear for two years; resisted the image of his wife in his mind for two years; the thought that his wife will be gone forever, lingered on for two years. Her classmates crowded around her, telling her repeatedly how much they loved her, crying.<br /><br />"Come." Nurse Vern held Anya's small wrist and gently lead her to a wooden table. A thin woman was sitting on the wheelchair, smiling weakly at them.<br /><br />Anya's father broke into tears.<br /><br />"Mother!"<br /><br />The piñata contained the hopes of everyone for a miracle to happen, a wish to come true. But I couldn't tell whether the piñata was really magical. Maybe Tinker Bell had secretly sprinkled on some gold dust, I don't know. All I know is that the imperfect piñata rekindled the flame of hope of a little girl, and her father, and the happiness it brought was priceless.<br /><br />I am Anya's friend, Vern.WZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314522701360637408.post-25027750912331442642008-08-20T12:02:00.000+08:002010-02-25T19:21:38.198+08:00The Way We WereIt has been 20 years since I last been here. It seems like just a blink, but everything had changed so much. The buildings were taller, the vehicles more, but the sky and the river are still as clear as before. I stepped out the taxi and breathed in the Italian air. Being in the US for so long, it had brainwashed me into an American. I had two American wives, but they were old stories. There is nothing to be said about them. I have brought my family over to New York after I graduated, so strictly speaking, there is nothing left her for me except for my Italian tongue, my Italian heart and my Italian memories.<br /><br />It was evening, by then. The purple orange glow shone on the river and the lovely couple on the gondola. Families sat by the table near the river and ate their dinner, children chasing each other around and screaming in Italian. It was so familiar, and yet so new to my ears. What had become of me? I stared at the couple, the song Memories slowly and softly played inside my head and the shadows of those two slowly appeared. Thomas and Jane. I smiled. I heard from my old course mates that they were married and returned to Malaysia, a far Eastern country. They have proved to me that first loves are not necessary failures. But, failure or not, that doesn’t matter. I don’t remember the first girl I kissed or the first girl I woke up with.<br /><br />Thomas and Jane were the loveliest couple I’ve ever seen. Thomas, studying in England, then, came to Rome for a visit. We knew each other in the subway. That time, Jane was my course mate and also my house mate. Even so, we weren’t very close, but I liked her because of her innocence. Secretly I called her Arianna, an Italian name which means ‘innocent’. And so I became buddies with Thomas, and out of a sudden, Jane got to know him, too. As I didn’t have the same lecturer as Jane’s, we seldom see each other, and it was even rare for both of us to meet Thomas at the same time. I heard from her that she and Thomas went outings together. I didn’t treat it seriously as they just met and I don’t believe in love at first sight either. However, as time went by, they started to walk together. I was in rage. Besides that I was jealous of Jane, as I couldn’t spend more time with Thomas, I was even jealous of him.<br /><br />I tried chasing Jane. For the whole year, my heart was never on my studies, and I flunked my whole second year. I was required to re-take the exam, whereas Jane graduated and went up to third year smoothly. Thomas went back to England on August, for his semester was about to start. Just when I thought that I had the chance, the both of them still kept contact. I was so angry that by the time Thomas came again; I beat him up, landing him in the hospital. When I confessed my love to Jane, she cried and slapped me. The hot, burning sensation was still on my left cheek. I suddenly realized what I have done wrong. I regretted it so much that I couldn’t even face any of my friends.<br /><br />That was how I ended up in New York. I transferred my credits to another university and finished my course. It was there I had my first and second jobs, and it was there I married and divorced my first and second wives. Life was hectic, but I’d never know until now that I had thrown everything of me away.<br /><br />I breathed the fresh air and greeted my first ‘salve’ and ‘ciao’ after 20 years. And then I used my cellphone and made an international call. After a few dials someone picked it up. “Hello?”<br />Jane’s voice was still pretty much the same, except deeper. “Ciao, señorita Jane,” I greeted.<br /><br />“Ciao… oh, Anatole?” her voice was suddenly chirpy. “Where are you now?”<br /><br />I turned and faced my back to the river, looking at the vehicles passing by slowly as if they own all the time on Earth. “Back in Italy. How’re you and Thomas?”<br /><br />“We’re alright. He’s not as handsome as before, though. He’s in Arab now, working, leaving me with the three kids.”<br /><br />“Three already?”<br /><br />“Yes. The eldest one - I think you should remember Win Zee; I sent you her photo, no? – she’s 16, having her O-Levels this year. I had another daughter and son, which forms a trio.” She laughed heartily. “So, how’s your life?”<br /><br />I shrugged. “So-so. You know how the Americans are: working, marry, divorce, etc.. Both of you must have a really strong bond. I envy you.”<br /><br />“There are some heated arguments and fights, but we tried to reconcile, for the sake of the three little monkeys.” She was silent for a moment, before she continued: “Can you still sing me that phrase from Memories?”<br /><br />I smiled. “Could it be that it was all so simple then? Or has time rewritten every line? If we had the chance to do it all again, tell, would we? Could we?...”<br /><br />*<br /><br />This was written for my English exam last year, hehehe :PWZhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16881569029912014405noreply@blogger.com0