technologicallyretarded
When I was at the Royal Show, I received a box from an anonymous young lad. Inside the box… there is BUNNEE, a little bunny with a baby’s face, AND BUNNEE SAYS “HI.”
BUNNEE
Il fait beau comme jamais.
Dis-moi que tu m’aimes, même si c’est un mensonge, et qu’on n’a pas une chance. La vie est si triste. Dis-moi que tu m’aimes.
excerpt
Tia feared death. He was afraid of losing anything. If Death ever comes for him, he would try his best to escape away from it. He would cheat it. He despised the feeling of losing something precious, and if Death comes for his son, he would hold him tight and never let go. He never wanted to lose him. Meng was his only hope.
Now, he is about to lose him. Tia silently wept. The boy did not falter into the sickness. He smiled to his father.
“Let’s go fly a kite.” The boy suggested.
Tia bought a red kite from a vender. It was a red owl with strong looking wings. The boy ran and shouted with delight. Tia watched him. He smiled. The red owl flew fiercely on the white sky. It looked like blood stain on a sheet. The child was delighted. The last time he played with a kite was in the old country, before he played the football, with his father. Tia was filled with joy to see his son, so happy and cheerful. He’d always been so positive all these years.
The boy collapsed. His father watched him as he fell. Tia ran to him, not knowing what to do. Panic. Tears kept running down his cheeks. The boy looked his father, and smiled.
“Why are you crying?” a simple question, yet so overwhelming. Tia didn’t have the courage to face it. His son is about to be taken away.
“Don’t go! Please don’t go.” Tia begged his son, but the boy just smiled at him. His eyes were filled with hope, glaring at his father, who was weeping. It was too hard to bear.
“I’ll be alright, and so are you.” Meng smiled again and left.
something from the bathroom wall
I love the way you smile.
I love the way you look at me.
I love the way you dance.
I love the way you sing.
I love the way you read to me.
I love the way your lips curl.
I love the way you dress.
I love they way you smell.
I love the way you poke me.
I love the way you speak.
I love the way you seduce me.
I love the way you touch me.
I love the way you are,
but I hate it that you don’t know that I love you.
lonely cake
“literary nonsense”
“Fury said to
a mouse, That
he met in the
house, ‘Let
us both go
to law: I
will prose-
cute you.
Come, I’ll
take no de-
nial; We
must have
a trial:
For really
this morn-
ing I’ve
nothing
to do.’
Said the
mouse to
the cur,
’Such a
trial, dear
Sir. With
No jury
or judge,
would
be wast-
ing our
breath.’
‘I’ll be
judge,
I’ll be
jury,’
Said
cun-
ning
old
Fury:
’I'll
try
the
whole
cause,
and
con-
demn
you to
death.’ “
Things that we did to cheer ourselves up
We shifted the furnitures….
We were young and crazy.
xx
The Segregation Culture
I’ve never thought this sort of discrimination still exists…
It was a hot day today. This is supposed to be the hottest month in Thailand. It was the end of the Songkran Festival, the Thai new year. I accompanied my mom and her friend to a rural church in the outskirt of Bangkok. It was like a pilgrimage trip. A priest with healing power, who happens to be our friend was visiting that church and touring around Thailand as part of his mission.
The church was a beautiful church, situated on the bank of the river and next to a village and a community school. It was a nice little Catholic church. It looked cosy from the outside. Cute, I would say, but man, it was boiling. We decided to go there not only because to see our friend, but also, my mom’s friend, William had been suffering from cancer in the past two years. At one stage he was told he had four months to live. Now, he is completely cured miraculously, but still feels insecure and needs to be reassured.
We went inside the church. It was unusually empty, as most people would be on holiday or something. Most of the crowd were villagers who live in that area. Some had travelled a long way to be cured from all kinds of diseases, listing from paralysis to cancer. We decided to sit at the front, so that we could see father, but as we were sitting down, a little old lady with thick make up and glasses came and asked what sort of disease we had. I thought, do I have to be sick to sit where I can see father? We told her that William was a cancer patient and needed to be healed. She directed him to sit there and told us to move away because only sick people could sit in the front, apparantly, but I looked around. Most of the people up the front wasn’t even sick! They were just the committee people. William told her that he would go home if he had to sit alone. The woman just walked away and shrugged, whatever. The mass went on. Another priest said the mass instead of father. (because the mass was in Thai.) He was a large Scandinavian man who spoke and read perfect Thai, even in the royal language. This was the first time in many years since the last time I’d been to a mass. I am not a Catholic, but to me, since that we have the same beliefs and worship the same God, I guess it didn’t matter. I went to a Catholic school and was the only Protestant in the Catholic student committee, so I knew what it was all about, at least. Everything was alright. I still remembered the hymns and prayers in Thai. It was up until I went to line up for the Holy Communion, that I started to notice they weren’t particularly welcoming to us. The same old lady stopped me and asked whether I was Catholic. I asked her what was the problem. She told me that I couldn’t receive a Communion if I wasn’t a Catholic. I asked her, “Why not? We are all Christian brothers and sisters here.” She just pushed me out of the Communion line and told me that I had no right to receive a Communion. Who gave her the power to judge whether I could receive the Communion or not? The Holy Communion is a ritual that all Christian follow, so what is the difference between a Catholic Communion and a Protestant Communion? Did God forbid Christians from different churches from receiving Communions from another church? Fine, I did not want trouble. I can survive without receiving a Communion. What’s important is in the inside, but I just felt that it was shocking that this kind of segregation still exists.
It dates back to many years ago, when I was part of the Catholic student committee during middle school days in a convent. There was an old nun who used to taunt me for not being Catholic. She once told me that non-Catholic Christians were heretics and did not deserve salvation. They excluded me from many activities and made me sit at the back during masses. I was only part of it because my friends were in it. During those years, I’d learnt to pray the Holy Rosary and set the altar. I was even part of the Legion of Mary. (I earned a certificate, even though I wasn’t baptized as a Catholic.) All of that seemed to still make me an outsider. They still continued to taunt me until the day I left that school. I thought that this sort of discrimination had ceased to exist, or maybe, I had forgotten about it, but anyway, what made that lady think I wasn’t Catholic. Any body languages or signs? Did I look so sinful?
After the end of the mass, there was a healing service, where father would say prayers and heal people. It seemed that the people here did not know how to line up. They pushed a lot. A sick woman was pushed to the side, so that another unsick looking man could at least touch father. He was a superstar. People could not wait to be healed. I decided that since the unsick were to be healed, maybe I should go on and be healed, mentally. I wasn’t sick physically. Of course I waited for the blinds, the deafs, the lames, the cancer sufferers to be healed first, then I could charge to father, like all the rest of us. He made a huge impact. Everyone wanted to touch him. I went up, along with the many people who pretended to be sick. I felt that whatever is going on inside my head, it had to be healed. The same old lady pulled me out of the line and asked, “What kind of sickness are you suffering from? Father has no time to waste on you!” giving me the evils. I shrugged her off and joined the desperate crowd. It was none of her business anyway whether I was sick or not. Why did she have to pick on me? I went on. Father recognized me and smiled at me. (that cheeky grin) I went to him and touched his hand. He closed his eyes and mumbled and then, gave a little blow. I’ve seen things like this on TV before, how people were so overwhelmed by the energy that they fell. Well, I was intoxicated. I felt dizzy. There was a cold wind blowing at my face. I fell. I landed on the hands of the catchers and went on to the floor. It was undescribable. Minutes later, I got up. Father was healing the others. It was the turn for the wheelchair bounded people. The are was cleared up, and there was a line of wheelchairs. Father motioned for me to go forward to him. He asked me to be his aid. He would pass on the energy through me to heal some of the people. I went on. I could see that lady’s look of disgust. One must see to believe. Some of the patients got up and started walking. They cried and praised the Lord. It was amazing.
I guess things never changed afterall.
xx
