(Story begins here.)
``Hey Moe, what the hell do you mean?''
``You mean you can't fucking remember? Jesus... look, can you get to my club as soon as you can? I want to get hold of you before the cops do.''
``Cops?'' Isaac repeated dumbly, his body suddenly turning cold.
``Yeah, cops. Jesus, I can't believe you can't remember a thing. Just get your ass here as soon as you can, okay? For now, you are not in any danger, but who the hell knows how long it is going to stay that way.''
``Okay Moe. I owe you one.''
``Damn right you do.'' The line went dead and Isaac slammed the phone down. He tried remembering more of what happened last night as he put his clothes on to get to Moe's, but was drawing nothing but a blank and a migraine.
Five minutes and an aspirin later, Isaac was out on the sidewalk flagging a cav. He was lucky to catch one almost immediately after flagging and got in mouthing ``Prancing Princess Club'' before teh driver even had the chance to say hello and good morning. Sensing the urgency from his charge, the driver tipped his hat and sped off towards Moe's club.
As the taxi weaved through the heavy traffic, Isaac tried wracking his brains to remember what had happened. Like his previous efforts, it drew only a blank, other than the loud thumping music, the free flow of booze, and the hot gyrating women.
`Come on man, think. Moe said it might end up with the cops, and the sooner you can remember, the easier to plan for that eventuality.' Isaac thought to himself. It was still like beofre, to no avail. He gave up trying and just looked out of the window to take in the sights. He had taken the taxicab before, of course, but he was never in the position where he could just sit to look at the sights. To be had, he didn't have the time here as well, but seeing as his memory was still failing at the recall, he might as well take in the scenery that was present.
Half an hour later, the taxicab pulled out at the ``Prancing Princess Club''. Isaac snapped out of his ennui and hurriedly tossed a fifty to the driver and told him to keep the change before bounding up the stairs of the club.
Moe opened the door hastily and beckoned him to hurry up.
(Story continues here.)
Wednesday, 30 April 2014
Tuesday, 29 April 2014
Clubbing: Part I
The day had come early. Too early as far as Isaac can tell. He groaned as he opened up his bloodshot eyes against the early morning sun filtering through the blinds of his window. He cursed under his breath as he tried turning away while rubbing his temples in a bid to rid himself of the hangover.
It had been a wild night at the club. The music boomed, the booze flowed freely and the beautiful women gyrating their hips all night long. Isaac was there, absorbing the music, guzzling the booze, and grinding the women, only he wasn't known as Isaac, leastways not at the club. John, a regular and more manly sounding name than Isaac. Under his breath, he cursed his now dead parents for deciding to call him by the most useless-sounding name ever.
The sun's omnipotent rays penetrated through his cover, warming him up considerably---that did not help his hangover headache much. Swearing loudly, Isaac suddenly sat upright and felt his head throbbing uncontrollably. He looked about him, his mind still in a stupor. He was glad that there was no strange woman in his bed, something that had happened before that was particularly embarassing because he handd't remembered her name, causing her to slap him once before stomping off in a huff.
Gathering whatever thoughts he had (and could) Isaac finally got out of bed. By then the sun had already permeated through his entire room, and there was nothing else that he could do. He could have shuttered the blinds, but they still allowed the orange glow in, which was as bad as having bright sunlight in. He had been thinking of getting better curtains, but could never bring himself to do so.
Isaac made his way slowly to his bathroom, his headache slowly ebbing away. He turned on the tap and just let the running water flow from the tap and through his outstretched palms for a while. The cool water was refreshing, but he was waiting for the freezing water instead. When that came along, he splashed it liberally all over his face. Instantly, he was awake as the freezing water constricted the fiery blood vessels in his eye and cooled off the flush he was feeling. He lingered on a bit before retrieving his toothbrush and toothpaste from the mirror cabinet and proceeded to brush his teeth.
Just as he got to the final rinse, he could hear the phone ringing incessantly. Cursing once again, he quickly rinsed off and dried his face with the towel before grabbing the phone on the table.
``Jesus Isaac, where the hell were you? You sure fucked it up bad this time.'' It was Moe, Isaac's friend at the club. The owner, really.
Wait, did Moe said he fucked it up bad this time? Whatever could he mean?
(Story continues here.)
It had been a wild night at the club. The music boomed, the booze flowed freely and the beautiful women gyrating their hips all night long. Isaac was there, absorbing the music, guzzling the booze, and grinding the women, only he wasn't known as Isaac, leastways not at the club. John, a regular and more manly sounding name than Isaac. Under his breath, he cursed his now dead parents for deciding to call him by the most useless-sounding name ever.
The sun's omnipotent rays penetrated through his cover, warming him up considerably---that did not help his hangover headache much. Swearing loudly, Isaac suddenly sat upright and felt his head throbbing uncontrollably. He looked about him, his mind still in a stupor. He was glad that there was no strange woman in his bed, something that had happened before that was particularly embarassing because he handd't remembered her name, causing her to slap him once before stomping off in a huff.
Gathering whatever thoughts he had (and could) Isaac finally got out of bed. By then the sun had already permeated through his entire room, and there was nothing else that he could do. He could have shuttered the blinds, but they still allowed the orange glow in, which was as bad as having bright sunlight in. He had been thinking of getting better curtains, but could never bring himself to do so.
Isaac made his way slowly to his bathroom, his headache slowly ebbing away. He turned on the tap and just let the running water flow from the tap and through his outstretched palms for a while. The cool water was refreshing, but he was waiting for the freezing water instead. When that came along, he splashed it liberally all over his face. Instantly, he was awake as the freezing water constricted the fiery blood vessels in his eye and cooled off the flush he was feeling. He lingered on a bit before retrieving his toothbrush and toothpaste from the mirror cabinet and proceeded to brush his teeth.
Just as he got to the final rinse, he could hear the phone ringing incessantly. Cursing once again, he quickly rinsed off and dried his face with the towel before grabbing the phone on the table.
``Jesus Isaac, where the hell were you? You sure fucked it up bad this time.'' It was Moe, Isaac's friend at the club. The owner, really.
Wait, did Moe said he fucked it up bad this time? Whatever could he mean?
(Story continues here.)
Monday, 28 April 2014
Street Art
Wing-lun beamed as the cameras clicked about him. While it was no Nobel award or Fields Medal or anything super prestigious like that, the National Cutlture Medallion was stlil a strong affirmation of his contribution to the nascent street art scene.
Graffiti was not one of the things that would come to mind when ``art'' is mentioned. Yet Wing-lun was the first graffiti artist to be recognised by the city-state instead of being fined and thrown into prison.
The Culture Medallion came at a timely moment. There was a drive to enhance the urban landscape, giving it even more character than the mere epithet ofa ``green city''. Wing-lun lobbied for the use of tasteful urban graffiti as a means of bringing out a unique urban element, the kind of quirkiness that is peculiar to each city. He had been quickly shot down by the anti-graffiti law, but he spent nearly half his life to form a registered graffiti artist organisation that recognised and licensed graffiti artists to do street art, while at the same time negotitating with the governmnet and tourism board to gazette certain public places as being street art friendly, even up to the point of providing guidelines to tastefulness.
Many graffiti artists already in the original underground movement lampooned him, saying that such institutionalisation was against the very nature and essense of street art. But Wing-lun and poignantly pointed out that the sheer illicit nature in which current street art was done made it impossible to be accepted by the mainstream, and that having all their members, spaces and guidelines in the open made it easier for them to expand legally and quickly, and was the surest way of ensuring that their chosen art form would flourish.
Some finally took to his reasoning, while others kept decrying him as a sell out, but Wing-ln did not care. He had did his bit for his art, and the greater population has accepted it. To him, that was good enough.
Graffiti was not one of the things that would come to mind when ``art'' is mentioned. Yet Wing-lun was the first graffiti artist to be recognised by the city-state instead of being fined and thrown into prison.
The Culture Medallion came at a timely moment. There was a drive to enhance the urban landscape, giving it even more character than the mere epithet ofa ``green city''. Wing-lun lobbied for the use of tasteful urban graffiti as a means of bringing out a unique urban element, the kind of quirkiness that is peculiar to each city. He had been quickly shot down by the anti-graffiti law, but he spent nearly half his life to form a registered graffiti artist organisation that recognised and licensed graffiti artists to do street art, while at the same time negotitating with the governmnet and tourism board to gazette certain public places as being street art friendly, even up to the point of providing guidelines to tastefulness.
Many graffiti artists already in the original underground movement lampooned him, saying that such institutionalisation was against the very nature and essense of street art. But Wing-lun and poignantly pointed out that the sheer illicit nature in which current street art was done made it impossible to be accepted by the mainstream, and that having all their members, spaces and guidelines in the open made it easier for them to expand legally and quickly, and was the surest way of ensuring that their chosen art form would flourish.
Some finally took to his reasoning, while others kept decrying him as a sell out, but Wing-ln did not care. He had did his bit for his art, and the greater population has accepted it. To him, that was good enough.
Sunday, 27 April 2014
A Missed Connection: Part VI
(Story begins here.)
Eventually though Eric's reticence gave way once more.
``It took me nearly a month after I graduated to finally confess to Julia about my feelings. She expressed shock at first, but that quickly turned to pity as she kept saying `you should've said so earlier and perhaps it might be different'. We kept in touch from that point on, using the chat programs to transmit text messages across the Pacific.
``At first, we were very enthusiastic, chatting with each other at all hours of the day. Slowly things started to change. The messages started to cool off in frequency, the contents started to be more generic. She soon started on a new fan fiction project thing, and that became the second time sapper, the first being her graduate studies of course.
``All through this I tried my best to keep in contact with her. But slowly tihngs seemed to be falling apart. She was starting to talk about the opinions of a new guy, and when I read about that my heart sank. I kept imagining her going out with him, especially when she said that they would check out the concerts that were nearby and what-not. When I couldn't stand it any more and asked her about him, she said he was a friend, and that he already had a girlfriend.
``What went through my mind was that perhaps she was his girlfriend.''
``Now hold on right there,'' Joe interjected. ``I think you are over thinking things. Why would you think that she was lying given those particularly chosen words? Are you being a little jealous of someone that you obviously don't know a lot of?''
Eric fell silent once more, the weight of Joe's words hanging on him severely. Joe had a very good point, something that the alcohol didn't manage to warp with its reality-distortion powers. He thought of the things he knew and remembered about Julia, and found them to be superficial things, the kind of things that one hears from another who was showing the world one's public face. That sudden realisation made Eric feel a sudden bout of inexplicable sadness coursing through him.
``Uh-oh Joe, I think you broke him,'' Roger said when he saw Eric suddenly quietening down with his eyes staring nearly dead ahead, still against the stimuli around him.
``Hush Roger. Kid needs to process what I just said.'' Turning to Eric, Joe continued. ``Kid, I know your thought process now. Don't take it too hard. You might have a missed connection, but at least she didn't say an outright no. Talk to her more, kid, figure out more commanlities. And more importantly, cut loose if the ship is sinking, and don't hesitate.
``Now if you'd excuse me, I hear a rowdy crowd coming in that I need to tame.''
Eventually though Eric's reticence gave way once more.
``It took me nearly a month after I graduated to finally confess to Julia about my feelings. She expressed shock at first, but that quickly turned to pity as she kept saying `you should've said so earlier and perhaps it might be different'. We kept in touch from that point on, using the chat programs to transmit text messages across the Pacific.
``At first, we were very enthusiastic, chatting with each other at all hours of the day. Slowly things started to change. The messages started to cool off in frequency, the contents started to be more generic. She soon started on a new fan fiction project thing, and that became the second time sapper, the first being her graduate studies of course.
``All through this I tried my best to keep in contact with her. But slowly tihngs seemed to be falling apart. She was starting to talk about the opinions of a new guy, and when I read about that my heart sank. I kept imagining her going out with him, especially when she said that they would check out the concerts that were nearby and what-not. When I couldn't stand it any more and asked her about him, she said he was a friend, and that he already had a girlfriend.
``What went through my mind was that perhaps she was his girlfriend.''
``Now hold on right there,'' Joe interjected. ``I think you are over thinking things. Why would you think that she was lying given those particularly chosen words? Are you being a little jealous of someone that you obviously don't know a lot of?''
Eric fell silent once more, the weight of Joe's words hanging on him severely. Joe had a very good point, something that the alcohol didn't manage to warp with its reality-distortion powers. He thought of the things he knew and remembered about Julia, and found them to be superficial things, the kind of things that one hears from another who was showing the world one's public face. That sudden realisation made Eric feel a sudden bout of inexplicable sadness coursing through him.
``Uh-oh Joe, I think you broke him,'' Roger said when he saw Eric suddenly quietening down with his eyes staring nearly dead ahead, still against the stimuli around him.
``Hush Roger. Kid needs to process what I just said.'' Turning to Eric, Joe continued. ``Kid, I know your thought process now. Don't take it too hard. You might have a missed connection, but at least she didn't say an outright no. Talk to her more, kid, figure out more commanlities. And more importantly, cut loose if the ship is sinking, and don't hesitate.
``Now if you'd excuse me, I hear a rowdy crowd coming in that I need to tame.''
Saturday, 26 April 2014
A Missed Connection: Part V
(Story begins here.)
When Joe finally made his way back to where Roger and Eric were, Roger's glass was empty. Without hesitation, Joe quickly filled another glass of Yuenling andd placed it in front of Roger.
``So up to that point,'' Eric continued as though there had been no interruptions, ``I just carried a torch for her. We talked here and there, nothing of consequence really, mostly about current affairs and public policy. Then it was time for me to graduate, and I tried to play some video games with her, which worked out well.''
``Hold on a second, son,'' Roger started, agitated. ``You spent a good one-and-a-half years with her and all you talked about was current affairs? Lord... just what's wrong with you? Couldn't you have just asked her out proper once you figured out that she likes the club enough and is sufficiently matured to not act stupid to your advances? And video games? Son, you are seriously clueless on things like this huh...''
Joe was still pretending to be uninterested, but Roger caught him nodding slowly in agreement. Eric just sat there, moody as before, his face revealing that sudden realisation of the manner in which he had screwed things up.
``And that's your woman troubles, right? Wait, hold on... you graduated a year ago. Oh lord... please don't tell me there's more?'' Roger said, his eyes suddenly widening.
``Yes.'' Eric mumbled quietly.
``Jesus Christ...'' Roger ejaculated. ``Hey Joe, you might as well drop the act and just listen in all proper and spaek your mind. I've a funny feeling I might break character and start laughing Eric here out of town as his comedic tragedy continues.''
``Awww shush Roger,'' Joe boomed with his rich baritone voice. ``Let the kid state his piece and then we say stuff for him to hear. No point laughing at things now---we were young once and didn't know better then.''
``Thanks Joe,'' Eric said in a quiet voice. It seemed that Roger's ribbing had finally gotten to him and had taken a lot of the initial enthusiasm he had in sharing his tale.
Roger fidgetted with his new glass of Yuenling and took a tentative gulp from it. Eric just stared at his, morose, while Joe kept himself busy with drying the washed glasses and keeping an eye out on the other side of the bar where things were starting to get a little loud.
(Story continues here.)
When Joe finally made his way back to where Roger and Eric were, Roger's glass was empty. Without hesitation, Joe quickly filled another glass of Yuenling andd placed it in front of Roger.
``So up to that point,'' Eric continued as though there had been no interruptions, ``I just carried a torch for her. We talked here and there, nothing of consequence really, mostly about current affairs and public policy. Then it was time for me to graduate, and I tried to play some video games with her, which worked out well.''
``Hold on a second, son,'' Roger started, agitated. ``You spent a good one-and-a-half years with her and all you talked about was current affairs? Lord... just what's wrong with you? Couldn't you have just asked her out proper once you figured out that she likes the club enough and is sufficiently matured to not act stupid to your advances? And video games? Son, you are seriously clueless on things like this huh...''
Joe was still pretending to be uninterested, but Roger caught him nodding slowly in agreement. Eric just sat there, moody as before, his face revealing that sudden realisation of the manner in which he had screwed things up.
``And that's your woman troubles, right? Wait, hold on... you graduated a year ago. Oh lord... please don't tell me there's more?'' Roger said, his eyes suddenly widening.
``Yes.'' Eric mumbled quietly.
``Jesus Christ...'' Roger ejaculated. ``Hey Joe, you might as well drop the act and just listen in all proper and spaek your mind. I've a funny feeling I might break character and start laughing Eric here out of town as his comedic tragedy continues.''
``Awww shush Roger,'' Joe boomed with his rich baritone voice. ``Let the kid state his piece and then we say stuff for him to hear. No point laughing at things now---we were young once and didn't know better then.''
``Thanks Joe,'' Eric said in a quiet voice. It seemed that Roger's ribbing had finally gotten to him and had taken a lot of the initial enthusiasm he had in sharing his tale.
Roger fidgetted with his new glass of Yuenling and took a tentative gulp from it. Eric just stared at his, morose, while Joe kept himself busy with drying the washed glasses and keeping an eye out on the other side of the bar where things were starting to get a little loud.
(Story continues here.)
Friday, 25 April 2014
A Missed Connection: Part IV
(Story begins here.)
``Oh lord, please don't tell me you fell in love with a girl you just met? If that were true son, I think you are hopeless,'' Roger pronounced as he took a few mouthfuls of his beer.
``No, no, no...'' Eric replied quickly. ``I wasn't immediately falling head-over-heels for her. It's just that as we kept training together, I started to find her more and more attractive.
``But I never really told her how I felt. I mean, she was introduced to the club by a guy, and I thought...''
``...that they were lovers, and you had no balls to ask her out? God son, you are dense!'' Roger exclaimed.
``No, no, no... not no balls. Didn't want to make things awkward. The club was small, and if she or both of them left due to my faux pas, I could never live with myself.''
``Alright, I get your point,'' Roger replied gruffly. ``But none of that French thing please---it gives me an indigestion.'' Eric finished the rest of his drink and sat there for a while. Wordlessly, Joe filled up a clean glass with more Yuenling and placed it on another coaster next to the empty glass. Eric did not seem to notice nore care except to just pick up the non-empty glass to take another gulp.
The bar was starting to see the first wave of college kids entering. They were of little concern to Joe---the early stragglers in to the bar were the second well-behaved group, with the first of course being the regulars. The newcomers took up a position on the other end of the bar, and one of them motioned to Joe that they wanted him to take their orders. Joe shrugged and sauntered off to his new customers as Eric and Roger sat there quietly, each drinking from his own beer at near consistent intervals. At that point Roger suddenly realised that Eric had been aware that Joe had been listening in, and was even approving of it as he stopped his tale there and then.
Joe took the orders from the newcomers and laid out their drinks on coasters in front of them, taking in the ones and fives they handed to him to put into the cash register. His business on that end done, he tried to find an excuse to make his way back to the side where Roger and Eric were, only to see Roger waving and gesticulating to him to just get the hell over.
Joe put aside the dispenser and grabbed his towel and cleaned the bar top as he made his way back to the other side of the bar.
(Story continues here.)
``Oh lord, please don't tell me you fell in love with a girl you just met? If that were true son, I think you are hopeless,'' Roger pronounced as he took a few mouthfuls of his beer.
``No, no, no...'' Eric replied quickly. ``I wasn't immediately falling head-over-heels for her. It's just that as we kept training together, I started to find her more and more attractive.
``But I never really told her how I felt. I mean, she was introduced to the club by a guy, and I thought...''
``...that they were lovers, and you had no balls to ask her out? God son, you are dense!'' Roger exclaimed.
``No, no, no... not no balls. Didn't want to make things awkward. The club was small, and if she or both of them left due to my faux pas, I could never live with myself.''
``Alright, I get your point,'' Roger replied gruffly. ``But none of that French thing please---it gives me an indigestion.'' Eric finished the rest of his drink and sat there for a while. Wordlessly, Joe filled up a clean glass with more Yuenling and placed it on another coaster next to the empty glass. Eric did not seem to notice nore care except to just pick up the non-empty glass to take another gulp.
The bar was starting to see the first wave of college kids entering. They were of little concern to Joe---the early stragglers in to the bar were the second well-behaved group, with the first of course being the regulars. The newcomers took up a position on the other end of the bar, and one of them motioned to Joe that they wanted him to take their orders. Joe shrugged and sauntered off to his new customers as Eric and Roger sat there quietly, each drinking from his own beer at near consistent intervals. At that point Roger suddenly realised that Eric had been aware that Joe had been listening in, and was even approving of it as he stopped his tale there and then.
Joe took the orders from the newcomers and laid out their drinks on coasters in front of them, taking in the ones and fives they handed to him to put into the cash register. His business on that end done, he tried to find an excuse to make his way back to the side where Roger and Eric were, only to see Roger waving and gesticulating to him to just get the hell over.
Joe put aside the dispenser and grabbed his towel and cleaned the bar top as he made his way back to the other side of the bar.
(Story continues here.)
Thursday, 24 April 2014
A Missed Connection: Part III
(Story begins here.)
``There was this Japanese martial art called `aikido' that seemed interesting,'' Eric continued.
``Interesting?'' Roger interjected as Joe watched on. Around them, the bar was still relatively serene. The Friday college madness had not descended upon them yet.
``Yes, interesting. It said that it could be used for self-defense, and was highly effective if one were less physically imposing than the opponent. I thought it was interesting, and went to one of their club meets or training sessions. The teacher was a professor on campus, and he was friendly and good at the art. I saw a lot of cool joint locks and pins and throws and he made it all look so easy. Mind you, he was nearly seventy and yet he was casually tossing spry twenty-somethings all over the training mats. I knew I wasn't super fit for any of the more `usual' martial arts, and if a seventy-year-old man can do it easily, I should be able to as well without hurting myself.''
``Wait, wait, Eric. I don't mean to interrupt you as you regale us'' Roger broke off momentarily glancing at Joe ``with your tale, but how has this got to do with your woman trouble?''
Eric sighed and picked up his glass of beer and chugged the rest of it at one go. Roger and Joe stared at him in disbelief and waited impatiently for him to continue.
``I was getting to that,'' Eric finally found his voice to reply. ``I only told you all that to set up the background. Otherwise you won't have enough to give me advice.''
Roger nearly laughed again, but he caught a quick disapproving glare from Joe and managed to halt himself in time. ``I'm sorry, please do continue.''
``So for a year after that, I took part in the aikido training. It was deceptively hard---I always went home sore all over, but that was due to my lack of fitness rather than an error in instruction. At around teh ninth month mark of starting the aikido training, a new girl joined us.
``Her name was Julia. She was a graudate student working on her PhD and was introduced by a friend of hers to the club who was already a member. I cannot forget the first time I saw her when she came to training.
``She was fit-looking, but was paradoxically stiff everywhere, making it mildly comical to see her pineed and her joints locked with relative ease. Throwing her was quite funny, because the stiffness made it super easy to do so.
``At first, I didn't realise what was going on, but now as I looked back, I had started to be smitten by her.''
(Story continues here.)
``There was this Japanese martial art called `aikido' that seemed interesting,'' Eric continued.
``Interesting?'' Roger interjected as Joe watched on. Around them, the bar was still relatively serene. The Friday college madness had not descended upon them yet.
``Yes, interesting. It said that it could be used for self-defense, and was highly effective if one were less physically imposing than the opponent. I thought it was interesting, and went to one of their club meets or training sessions. The teacher was a professor on campus, and he was friendly and good at the art. I saw a lot of cool joint locks and pins and throws and he made it all look so easy. Mind you, he was nearly seventy and yet he was casually tossing spry twenty-somethings all over the training mats. I knew I wasn't super fit for any of the more `usual' martial arts, and if a seventy-year-old man can do it easily, I should be able to as well without hurting myself.''
``Wait, wait, Eric. I don't mean to interrupt you as you regale us'' Roger broke off momentarily glancing at Joe ``with your tale, but how has this got to do with your woman trouble?''
Eric sighed and picked up his glass of beer and chugged the rest of it at one go. Roger and Joe stared at him in disbelief and waited impatiently for him to continue.
``I was getting to that,'' Eric finally found his voice to reply. ``I only told you all that to set up the background. Otherwise you won't have enough to give me advice.''
Roger nearly laughed again, but he caught a quick disapproving glare from Joe and managed to halt himself in time. ``I'm sorry, please do continue.''
``So for a year after that, I took part in the aikido training. It was deceptively hard---I always went home sore all over, but that was due to my lack of fitness rather than an error in instruction. At around teh ninth month mark of starting the aikido training, a new girl joined us.
``Her name was Julia. She was a graudate student working on her PhD and was introduced by a friend of hers to the club who was already a member. I cannot forget the first time I saw her when she came to training.
``She was fit-looking, but was paradoxically stiff everywhere, making it mildly comical to see her pineed and her joints locked with relative ease. Throwing her was quite funny, because the stiffness made it super easy to do so.
``At first, I didn't realise what was going on, but now as I looked back, I had started to be smitten by her.''
(Story continues here.)
Wednesday, 23 April 2014
A Missed Connection: Part II
(Story begins here.)
``So, you wanna talk about it or something?'' Roger asked.
Eric went mum for a while. For a moment, Roger thought that he had once again hidden back into his shell, but really Eric was just considering the offer seriously. He weighted the pros and cons for telling Roger, and tried to figure out how the whole embarassment factored in. Roger stared intently into Eric's unblinking eyes for a few seconds before motioning to Joe for a glass of beer. Taking the opportunity that presented itself, Joe grabbed a glass and dispensed beer into it before walking to where Eric and Roger were and placed the glass on a coaster in front of Roger.
``Well?''
``Sure, why not. Maybe you may have some advice for me or something.''
Roger guffawed uncontrollably at that last remark before checking himself hastily. ``Son, I'm not sure if I am qualified to give you advice on women, seeing that I am already divorced three times at this point.'' Roger paused, saw Eric's disappointed face, and attempted to soften his words a little. ``But of course perhaps I may have sometihng to say after all. But I can't say anything till you've told your story, right?''
Eric took another big gulp of Yuenling. It really wasn't potent enough to make him tipsy or give him the well-known ``liquid courage'', but the act of chugging a little beer itself seemed cathartic. At this point, Joe was standing right in front of Roger quietly, and appeared disinterested as he started wiping dry some of his glasses and mugs with a towel. Roger knew Joe was trying to look busy while listening in, but it didn't seem that Eric realised nor cared if Joe was eavesdropping albeit in an overt fashion.
``You know I went to the US to study, right?''
``Yeah, I remembered you saying something like that and disappearing for around two years.''
``Right. So I was studying in the US for my masters' degree. I worked hard, spent lots of time in the lab I was assigned to, designing and running experiments for my master thesis. There was nothing else that I did there other than what I had described. Until roughly six months into the programme.
``I was starting to run a little nuts. Worked too hard, felt burnt out. Losing trains of thought, got depressed, you know the usual things that come with burn out. I went to the school counsellor for advice and he suggested I join some of the activity groups on campus. I've always wanted to mess with martial arts, but opportunity never showed itself, till then.''
(Story continues here.)
``So, you wanna talk about it or something?'' Roger asked.
Eric went mum for a while. For a moment, Roger thought that he had once again hidden back into his shell, but really Eric was just considering the offer seriously. He weighted the pros and cons for telling Roger, and tried to figure out how the whole embarassment factored in. Roger stared intently into Eric's unblinking eyes for a few seconds before motioning to Joe for a glass of beer. Taking the opportunity that presented itself, Joe grabbed a glass and dispensed beer into it before walking to where Eric and Roger were and placed the glass on a coaster in front of Roger.
``Well?''
``Sure, why not. Maybe you may have some advice for me or something.''
Roger guffawed uncontrollably at that last remark before checking himself hastily. ``Son, I'm not sure if I am qualified to give you advice on women, seeing that I am already divorced three times at this point.'' Roger paused, saw Eric's disappointed face, and attempted to soften his words a little. ``But of course perhaps I may have sometihng to say after all. But I can't say anything till you've told your story, right?''
Eric took another big gulp of Yuenling. It really wasn't potent enough to make him tipsy or give him the well-known ``liquid courage'', but the act of chugging a little beer itself seemed cathartic. At this point, Joe was standing right in front of Roger quietly, and appeared disinterested as he started wiping dry some of his glasses and mugs with a towel. Roger knew Joe was trying to look busy while listening in, but it didn't seem that Eric realised nor cared if Joe was eavesdropping albeit in an overt fashion.
``You know I went to the US to study, right?''
``Yeah, I remembered you saying something like that and disappearing for around two years.''
``Right. So I was studying in the US for my masters' degree. I worked hard, spent lots of time in the lab I was assigned to, designing and running experiments for my master thesis. There was nothing else that I did there other than what I had described. Until roughly six months into the programme.
``I was starting to run a little nuts. Worked too hard, felt burnt out. Losing trains of thought, got depressed, you know the usual things that come with burn out. I went to the school counsellor for advice and he suggested I join some of the activity groups on campus. I've always wanted to mess with martial arts, but opportunity never showed itself, till then.''
(Story continues here.)
Tuesday, 22 April 2014
A Missed Connection: Part I
Eric sat at the bar, pensieve. It was quite empty, only a couple of regulars and Joe, the bartender. It was a Friday, traditional happy hour time for the college kids in the university nearby, but it was, as noted before, still early.
``You gonna keep staring at that Yuenling or are you going to drink it?'' A bellicose Roger asked, his speech slurring ever so slightly. Roger was a regular at Joe's bar---he was always there within the hour of completing dinner and would always begin with the Three Wise Men before chasing it with the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse followed by copious amounts of beer. Joe could never understand why roger did that since the two mixers were very similar to begin with, and would cost a pretty penny each. But Roger never got drunk. He was probably the most sober of all who drank at Joe's bar. Joe didn't drink, of course. It would be stupid to be nothing short of being stone-cold sober when one was the barkeep.
Eric stared at the untouched glass of beer in front of him, seemingly oblivious to Roger's exclamation. The latter waited a bit to give time for Eric to process what he said and seeing that no response was coming, got annoyed and repeated himself.
``You gonna keep staring at that Yuenling or are you going to drink it?'' Roger waited. Joe, on the other side of the bar, watched the encounter from the corner of his eyes. Roger and Eric were generally harmless, but it never did bode well when Roger's questions were unanswered.
A low whine started to come from Eric.
``All gone... all gone...''
``No,'' Roger started, excited at finally eliciting a response but still annoyed at its inanity. ``Your damn Yuenlin's still there.''
``It's not the Yuenling.'' Eric replied slowly before pausing. Roger was suddenly aware that Eric was about to unload something heavy. It was always the same with the depressed drinkers---they come in, order something to drink, maybe drink it (or not), but they always kept very quiet, until someone came up to them and started showing some attention. Joe's ears perked up from the other side of the bar, and inched his way closer. As barkeep, it was normal for him to hear grouses, especially from the regulars, but since Roger started it this time, it was wiser to just observe.
``Oh? If not the Yuenling, then what? Women?''
Eric stayed silent for a while more before taking a sip from the glass.
``Yes.''
``Oh lord...'' muttered Roger under his breath, not unkindly.
(Story continues here.)
``You gonna keep staring at that Yuenling or are you going to drink it?'' A bellicose Roger asked, his speech slurring ever so slightly. Roger was a regular at Joe's bar---he was always there within the hour of completing dinner and would always begin with the Three Wise Men before chasing it with the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse followed by copious amounts of beer. Joe could never understand why roger did that since the two mixers were very similar to begin with, and would cost a pretty penny each. But Roger never got drunk. He was probably the most sober of all who drank at Joe's bar. Joe didn't drink, of course. It would be stupid to be nothing short of being stone-cold sober when one was the barkeep.
Eric stared at the untouched glass of beer in front of him, seemingly oblivious to Roger's exclamation. The latter waited a bit to give time for Eric to process what he said and seeing that no response was coming, got annoyed and repeated himself.
``You gonna keep staring at that Yuenling or are you going to drink it?'' Roger waited. Joe, on the other side of the bar, watched the encounter from the corner of his eyes. Roger and Eric were generally harmless, but it never did bode well when Roger's questions were unanswered.
A low whine started to come from Eric.
``All gone... all gone...''
``No,'' Roger started, excited at finally eliciting a response but still annoyed at its inanity. ``Your damn Yuenlin's still there.''
``It's not the Yuenling.'' Eric replied slowly before pausing. Roger was suddenly aware that Eric was about to unload something heavy. It was always the same with the depressed drinkers---they come in, order something to drink, maybe drink it (or not), but they always kept very quiet, until someone came up to them and started showing some attention. Joe's ears perked up from the other side of the bar, and inched his way closer. As barkeep, it was normal for him to hear grouses, especially from the regulars, but since Roger started it this time, it was wiser to just observe.
``Oh? If not the Yuenling, then what? Women?''
Eric stayed silent for a while more before taking a sip from the glass.
``Yes.''
``Oh lord...'' muttered Roger under his breath, not unkindly.
(Story continues here.)
Monday, 21 April 2014
Train Ride
The silence of the night was exceptionally beautiful. There was a certain loveliness behind all the darkness softly punctuated by the orange glow of the street lamps. The world was winding down around him, but for Mike, the night had its own invigorating aspect. He was on the late night train that took him from Chicago to Champaign, a stomping ground back in the day wihle he was still an undergraduate of the engineering school.
The train taxied out of the station ever so gently that it was a while before he realised that it was moving -- he had thought that the lights outside were somehow moving and scanning the train as though it were a part of some massive scanner. He laughted lightlyt to himself when he realised the ridiculous notion that he had come up with.
Beside him sat Aileen. She had met up with him out in Chicago, after he had flown there from his embarkation at Narita, having spent the last three months in Tokyo for work. They had fallen in love a year back, and this was their big reunion. She sat next to him on the train, window seat, her aquiline nose and high eyebrows set distinctly against the Chicago night skyline. On the opposite side of the aisle, an engineering student was chatting up the young high school girl who was visiting her sister at the university at Champaign.
Mike felt annoyed. The beauty of the darkness and his girlfriend were marred ever so slightly by the amourous advances of the poor engineering student who probably had a severe lack of female attention. Mike knew -- he was an engineering student once after all.
``What is it?'' Aileen asked.
``Oh nothing. Just thinking about things, that's all.''
``I see. Don't need to feel annoyed -- am I not here with you?''
Mike sighed. He was still as easy to read as ever to her, and like each time, he was grateful. There was just something satisfying to have one's intention clearly interpreted with the minimal amount of words used. But there was always that fear, the fear that one day all those non-communicating communication would break down due to the contempt that comes from familiarity. He never told Aileen about his fear of this, but somehow, he knew that she would have known already.
Mike ignored the banter occurring opposite him and contented himself with looking ouf of the window through Aileen's face.
The train taxied out of the station ever so gently that it was a while before he realised that it was moving -- he had thought that the lights outside were somehow moving and scanning the train as though it were a part of some massive scanner. He laughted lightlyt to himself when he realised the ridiculous notion that he had come up with.
Beside him sat Aileen. She had met up with him out in Chicago, after he had flown there from his embarkation at Narita, having spent the last three months in Tokyo for work. They had fallen in love a year back, and this was their big reunion. She sat next to him on the train, window seat, her aquiline nose and high eyebrows set distinctly against the Chicago night skyline. On the opposite side of the aisle, an engineering student was chatting up the young high school girl who was visiting her sister at the university at Champaign.
Mike felt annoyed. The beauty of the darkness and his girlfriend were marred ever so slightly by the amourous advances of the poor engineering student who probably had a severe lack of female attention. Mike knew -- he was an engineering student once after all.
``What is it?'' Aileen asked.
``Oh nothing. Just thinking about things, that's all.''
``I see. Don't need to feel annoyed -- am I not here with you?''
Mike sighed. He was still as easy to read as ever to her, and like each time, he was grateful. There was just something satisfying to have one's intention clearly interpreted with the minimal amount of words used. But there was always that fear, the fear that one day all those non-communicating communication would break down due to the contempt that comes from familiarity. He never told Aileen about his fear of this, but somehow, he knew that she would have known already.
Mike ignored the banter occurring opposite him and contented himself with looking ouf of the window through Aileen's face.
Sunday, 20 April 2014
Unintentional Spelunking
I opened my eyes and looked about me and saw nothing but inky darkness. I cursed under my breath for even attempting to enter the cave with a single working torchlight. It was one of the dumber things that I had allowed myself to do, the other which was to even agree to the stupid dare in the first place.
I could hear the steady dripping of water some where within the darkness. I thought I heard it moving to the front of me, but suddenly remembered that caves often had strange acoustic properties, including teh ``wave guide'' effect that allowed sounds from some where far and deep in the cave to sound as though they were closer than they really are.
A thought came to my mind. Was there any dripping thing I had seen while entering the cave earlier? I knew that limestone caves often had stalactite and stalagmite formations that are from such dripping systems, but I didn't remember seeing them no the way in. Of course, that was a good hour or so ago when I still had a working torchlight and when my sense of hearing was less keen, deferring instead to my sense of sight.
I had some time. I sat on the ground I was standing on and started pondering about the possibilities. The mounting fear was slowly giving way to a cold hard rational look at what I was facing right now. Besides, even if I didn't make any move, I was certain that my friends who came to witness me do the dare would have gone for help since I hadn't come out yet after so long.
The dripping sound continued as though it were mocking me for the indecisive state I was in. The more I reasoned with myself, the more it seemed that trying to find that dripping source would actually lead me deeper into the cave that out of it. With that thought in mind, I decided to walk as far away from the dripping sound instead. but since I was in a cave of darkness with no torchlight, I ended up crawling slowly away instead.
The progress was mind-numbingly slow. I had no more sense of time, and allI hoped was that I hadn't inadvertently make the wrong choice, or fall into some unseen crevice unexpectedly. As I moved along, I thought I saw some moving lights in the distance. I stopped, blinked my eyes hard and looked again.
I saw the unmistakeable cone of light from a powerful torch. I shouted as loud as I could, and was greeted with a replying shout and a general aiming of the torch in my direction.
That was when I realised I was only a hand's width away from falling six feet down a crevice.
I could hear the steady dripping of water some where within the darkness. I thought I heard it moving to the front of me, but suddenly remembered that caves often had strange acoustic properties, including teh ``wave guide'' effect that allowed sounds from some where far and deep in the cave to sound as though they were closer than they really are.
A thought came to my mind. Was there any dripping thing I had seen while entering the cave earlier? I knew that limestone caves often had stalactite and stalagmite formations that are from such dripping systems, but I didn't remember seeing them no the way in. Of course, that was a good hour or so ago when I still had a working torchlight and when my sense of hearing was less keen, deferring instead to my sense of sight.
I had some time. I sat on the ground I was standing on and started pondering about the possibilities. The mounting fear was slowly giving way to a cold hard rational look at what I was facing right now. Besides, even if I didn't make any move, I was certain that my friends who came to witness me do the dare would have gone for help since I hadn't come out yet after so long.
The dripping sound continued as though it were mocking me for the indecisive state I was in. The more I reasoned with myself, the more it seemed that trying to find that dripping source would actually lead me deeper into the cave that out of it. With that thought in mind, I decided to walk as far away from the dripping sound instead. but since I was in a cave of darkness with no torchlight, I ended up crawling slowly away instead.
The progress was mind-numbingly slow. I had no more sense of time, and allI hoped was that I hadn't inadvertently make the wrong choice, or fall into some unseen crevice unexpectedly. As I moved along, I thought I saw some moving lights in the distance. I stopped, blinked my eyes hard and looked again.
I saw the unmistakeable cone of light from a powerful torch. I shouted as loud as I could, and was greeted with a replying shout and a general aiming of the torch in my direction.
That was when I realised I was only a hand's width away from falling six feet down a crevice.
Saturday, 19 April 2014
Abuse
``Hurry up!'' Tania said as she scrambled up the rocky slope. Behind her, Albert panted heavily as he tried his best to match her speed while carrying all their supplies in the big haversack on this back. Albert wasn't as unfit as it sounded, but when one was loaded down with as much stuff as he had, the work was really cut out for one.
But Tania either didn't know or didn't care. A lithe five-foot tall woman, she happily charged up slopes, scrambled up hills and sprinted down gullies willy-nilly, each time berating Albert for being slow. This time, however, he had just about enough of her shenanigans.
Furious, Albert stopped and removed the haversack, groaning under its weight, before dumping it straight down at the small goats' path midway of the rocky slope. The haversack landed with a dull thud just loud enough for Tania to glance back and look at Albert. He returned teh look with a cold stare full of daggers. Then, Tania made her first mistake.
``Come on! Quit stalling! We need to get to the base camp!''
``Stalling?'' Albert roared back, unable to contain the displeasure in his voice. ``Look at you, you stupid bitch! You made me carry all of our supplies while you traipse about like you were a princess walking through your royal garden and you pick the most fucked up route to get to the top and hurry me and now when I can't take it anymore and need a rest you tell me to quit stalling?''
``But honey, you know I'm not good at carrying these loads...''
``Shut the fuck up! You're a five-foot tall woman. You can at least carry your junk. Stupid things like your own sleeping bag, some of the food and water supplies, anything really. That would have made this easier. But nooooo... you had to dump EVERYTHING on to me like I'm your pack mule or something.''
``But you're very strong...''
``ALRIGHT! That's enough!'' Albert replied with an air of finality. He picked up the haversack and slung it back on his back.
``Yay! I know you'd be alright! Come, let's go!'' Tania replied cheerily.
``No.'' Albert said, the coldness of his voice slicing deep into Tania's ears.
``I'm heading back. If you want to go on, carry your own shit. I'm not going to give a damn about you anymore. I tried to please you, to protect you, but you kept being your damn wilful self, never actually giving a rat's ass concern for me. You could have just shown one little ounce of care but you never did.
``Go away. I don't care about you any more.''
But Tania either didn't know or didn't care. A lithe five-foot tall woman, she happily charged up slopes, scrambled up hills and sprinted down gullies willy-nilly, each time berating Albert for being slow. This time, however, he had just about enough of her shenanigans.
Furious, Albert stopped and removed the haversack, groaning under its weight, before dumping it straight down at the small goats' path midway of the rocky slope. The haversack landed with a dull thud just loud enough for Tania to glance back and look at Albert. He returned teh look with a cold stare full of daggers. Then, Tania made her first mistake.
``Come on! Quit stalling! We need to get to the base camp!''
``Stalling?'' Albert roared back, unable to contain the displeasure in his voice. ``Look at you, you stupid bitch! You made me carry all of our supplies while you traipse about like you were a princess walking through your royal garden and you pick the most fucked up route to get to the top and hurry me and now when I can't take it anymore and need a rest you tell me to quit stalling?''
``But honey, you know I'm not good at carrying these loads...''
``Shut the fuck up! You're a five-foot tall woman. You can at least carry your junk. Stupid things like your own sleeping bag, some of the food and water supplies, anything really. That would have made this easier. But nooooo... you had to dump EVERYTHING on to me like I'm your pack mule or something.''
``But you're very strong...''
``ALRIGHT! That's enough!'' Albert replied with an air of finality. He picked up the haversack and slung it back on his back.
``Yay! I know you'd be alright! Come, let's go!'' Tania replied cheerily.
``No.'' Albert said, the coldness of his voice slicing deep into Tania's ears.
``I'm heading back. If you want to go on, carry your own shit. I'm not going to give a damn about you anymore. I tried to please you, to protect you, but you kept being your damn wilful self, never actually giving a rat's ass concern for me. You could have just shown one little ounce of care but you never did.
``Go away. I don't care about you any more.''
Friday, 18 April 2014
Flight
Jeremy paced up and down in the departure hall near the gates, anxious to leave on the plane back to the US and annoyed that there were many people who felt the same way fro the flight. He had spent summer earlier in Singapore, enjoying the sights and sounds of the famous Gardens by the Bay, Sentosa island and even the zoological and bird parks, but they felt tiresome after a while. All the places had ranked well in a guide book to the region, but in his opinion, the novelty wears out the moment one actually visits the place. He couldn't believe that he had spent nearly two thousand dollars, and a whole day of travel just to partake in such local and petty attractions.
But he had to admit one thing -- for all the boringness of it all, things were run almost to clockwork precision as much as they could. Not at the level of sophistication of course. no one could do that expect for the Japanese -- but at a level high enough that made him grudgingly accept that efficiency was a worthy title for the city-state to hold.
But efficiency and holidays don't mix well, he decided.
Jeremy tried to take his mind off the terrible holiday by distracting himself with observing the people around him. Like always, all the passengers were of a varied and motley lot. There were the backpacker adventurers who went everywhere with their towering frame-enhanced backpack that they always checked-in place-side. There were the soldier types, these often looked like they were just released from camp, with their close-cropped hair and searing love for all things in the camouflage motif.
And there were the families. Jeremy recoiled instinctively from the visceral horror that was the travelling family. They were the worst form of passengers, especially if they had young children or god forbid, toddlers on tow. Absolute nightmare to be riding a plane with them. Often, it take longer to get them settled down on the plane, what with their griping about who sits where. Sometimes their own stupidity in picking seats meant that he got propositioned to swap places with them so that they could sit together, an altogether ugly proposition considering Jeremy always hand-picked his own seats. And those with children were the worst of all, what with the consistent high-pitched shrieks and cries and the monopolising of the stewards' time. Absolutely dreadful.
At long last the officer at the gate opened it up for boarding.
But he had to admit one thing -- for all the boringness of it all, things were run almost to clockwork precision as much as they could. Not at the level of sophistication of course. no one could do that expect for the Japanese -- but at a level high enough that made him grudgingly accept that efficiency was a worthy title for the city-state to hold.
But efficiency and holidays don't mix well, he decided.
Jeremy tried to take his mind off the terrible holiday by distracting himself with observing the people around him. Like always, all the passengers were of a varied and motley lot. There were the backpacker adventurers who went everywhere with their towering frame-enhanced backpack that they always checked-in place-side. There were the soldier types, these often looked like they were just released from camp, with their close-cropped hair and searing love for all things in the camouflage motif.
And there were the families. Jeremy recoiled instinctively from the visceral horror that was the travelling family. They were the worst form of passengers, especially if they had young children or god forbid, toddlers on tow. Absolute nightmare to be riding a plane with them. Often, it take longer to get them settled down on the plane, what with their griping about who sits where. Sometimes their own stupidity in picking seats meant that he got propositioned to swap places with them so that they could sit together, an altogether ugly proposition considering Jeremy always hand-picked his own seats. And those with children were the worst of all, what with the consistent high-pitched shrieks and cries and the monopolising of the stewards' time. Absolutely dreadful.
At long last the officer at the gate opened it up for boarding.
Thursday, 17 April 2014
Roan
The Reticulated Ramparts of Roan had none of the alliterative feel that its name suggests. The poetic title was thought of by the seventeenth century mystic Al-Bahr as a part of an exchange programme with the British of the time. Despite the lack of the mysticism behind the frivolous-sounding name, the Reticulated Ramparts of Roan played a much more important role by its existence than it would seem to be indicated.
Roan was an old city from back in the day. Founded by the leader of a troupe of renegade knights who left their respective feudal lords, they cam across a small village and staked a claim, renaming it to Roan, and managed to expand its population and amenities to the point that it became a small-sized city on its own.
At first, there were no ramparts of any sort, reticulated or otherwise, but as time went by, Roan became a victim of its own success. Simply put, as Roan prospered, it started to draw hostile attention from the feudal lords, princes, and kings. They saw Roan as a threat from three perspectives. As a rising city, Roan threatened to siphon off trade that was traditionally held in a few more prominent towns. As Roan was founded by rogue knights, there was fear of the martial abilities of the city should it get to that point. And finally, Roan was starting to be the magnet of all knights who were fed-up of serving their feudal lords and wanted something a little more democratic. These fears accumulated into various attempts at taking the city by force.
Initially, the knights of Roan shrugged it off as they fended off the attackers easily. But they got weary once they realised that each day would provide a new feudal lord trying his luck. Defending the city meant that all the knights had to be involved -- there were city limits but the physical barriers were few and weak, which meant needing more manpower. So after deliberation, they built ramparts around Roan.
But these ramparts weren't just massive earth works. They were reticulated, made of many smaller modules that can be easily pre-fabricated and then assembled with mortar. This made it very easy to adjust and vary the defense perimeter, and more importantly, reduce the manpower needed to repel all attacks.
It took the feudal lords a little while to figure out what had been done, and once they did, realised the futility of taking the city by force, and learnt to work with it instead.
Roan was an old city from back in the day. Founded by the leader of a troupe of renegade knights who left their respective feudal lords, they cam across a small village and staked a claim, renaming it to Roan, and managed to expand its population and amenities to the point that it became a small-sized city on its own.
At first, there were no ramparts of any sort, reticulated or otherwise, but as time went by, Roan became a victim of its own success. Simply put, as Roan prospered, it started to draw hostile attention from the feudal lords, princes, and kings. They saw Roan as a threat from three perspectives. As a rising city, Roan threatened to siphon off trade that was traditionally held in a few more prominent towns. As Roan was founded by rogue knights, there was fear of the martial abilities of the city should it get to that point. And finally, Roan was starting to be the magnet of all knights who were fed-up of serving their feudal lords and wanted something a little more democratic. These fears accumulated into various attempts at taking the city by force.
Initially, the knights of Roan shrugged it off as they fended off the attackers easily. But they got weary once they realised that each day would provide a new feudal lord trying his luck. Defending the city meant that all the knights had to be involved -- there were city limits but the physical barriers were few and weak, which meant needing more manpower. So after deliberation, they built ramparts around Roan.
But these ramparts weren't just massive earth works. They were reticulated, made of many smaller modules that can be easily pre-fabricated and then assembled with mortar. This made it very easy to adjust and vary the defense perimeter, and more importantly, reduce the manpower needed to repel all attacks.
It took the feudal lords a little while to figure out what had been done, and once they did, realised the futility of taking the city by force, and learnt to work with it instead.
Wednesday, 16 April 2014
Choices
By this point, it would seem that it was a futile attempt for Tim. It wasn't for a lack of trying -- he was good at that sort of thing, the trying I mean -- but that at some point it becomes startlingly clear when, despite one's attempts, it would go to show that nothing good can ever come out of it.
Tim sighed. Yet another failed attempt. It was starting to get insufferable, all these failures upon failures upon failures. It was almost as though there were some sick countervailing force that was always acting up to ensure that no matter what it was that he attempted, it would fail. Tim didn't like that kind of preferential treatment. He found it ludicrous that in the grand scheme of things, there was actually a singular force designed solely to keep him from succeeding.
The phone rang. It startled Tim each time it did that, and only because it was one of those rare things . It wasn't that he failed to remember its existence, but that as the lab phone, there was literally no reason for it to ring at all.
Tim let the phone ring a couple times more, hoping that whoever was on that end would be bored eventually and hang up prematurely. After the eighth consecutive ring, it was clear that was never going to happen. Reluctantly, he picked the phone up.
``Finally! Tim, is that you?'' An irate voice came through.
``Sir? Yes it's me. I'm here. What is the matter?''
``The matter is,'' the belligerent voice continued, ``you were supposed to be in my office fifteen minutes ago to discuss about your research!''
Tim cursed quietly to himself. Time had slipped past him yet again, and once more he had nothing substantial to show for it. And there wasn't enough time to make things up.
``Well?'' The voice sneered through the phone. ``It's your PhD, and if you aren't interested in your work, we can always cancel this meeting and just stop here.''
A thousand thoughts sped through Tim's mind. The proposed resolution was tempting, but was akin to committing career suicide. He wasn't sure if he was ready to take such a drastic step yet.
``Sir, I'm sorry. I don't have any useful results there that we can discuss. Can we cancel this meeting and continue again next week?'' He hoped that he sounded sufficiently placating.
``Okay fine, bye.'' The line went dead.
Tim slumped back on his chair, relieved that he had averted the immediate crisis. But a thought had stuck itself at the back of his mind -- to quit the PhD programme, or not.
Tim sighed. Yet another failed attempt. It was starting to get insufferable, all these failures upon failures upon failures. It was almost as though there were some sick countervailing force that was always acting up to ensure that no matter what it was that he attempted, it would fail. Tim didn't like that kind of preferential treatment. He found it ludicrous that in the grand scheme of things, there was actually a singular force designed solely to keep him from succeeding.
The phone rang. It startled Tim each time it did that, and only because it was one of those rare things . It wasn't that he failed to remember its existence, but that as the lab phone, there was literally no reason for it to ring at all.
Tim let the phone ring a couple times more, hoping that whoever was on that end would be bored eventually and hang up prematurely. After the eighth consecutive ring, it was clear that was never going to happen. Reluctantly, he picked the phone up.
``Finally! Tim, is that you?'' An irate voice came through.
``Sir? Yes it's me. I'm here. What is the matter?''
``The matter is,'' the belligerent voice continued, ``you were supposed to be in my office fifteen minutes ago to discuss about your research!''
Tim cursed quietly to himself. Time had slipped past him yet again, and once more he had nothing substantial to show for it. And there wasn't enough time to make things up.
``Well?'' The voice sneered through the phone. ``It's your PhD, and if you aren't interested in your work, we can always cancel this meeting and just stop here.''
A thousand thoughts sped through Tim's mind. The proposed resolution was tempting, but was akin to committing career suicide. He wasn't sure if he was ready to take such a drastic step yet.
``Sir, I'm sorry. I don't have any useful results there that we can discuss. Can we cancel this meeting and continue again next week?'' He hoped that he sounded sufficiently placating.
``Okay fine, bye.'' The line went dead.
Tim slumped back on his chair, relieved that he had averted the immediate crisis. But a thought had stuck itself at the back of his mind -- to quit the PhD programme, or not.
Tuesday, 15 April 2014
Michael, Michelle and Mika: Part I
``Mmm... that feels good. Oh yes... right there... mmm...'' Michelle purred as Michael gently massaged her bare back with his strong arms.
``Oh, you like it like this, right?''
``Mmm... yes!'' Michelle said drowsily. ``Just a little lower. I think my lower back feels a little sore.''
Michael adjusted his massage stroke and slowly brought his kneading fists lower along her back till he was consistently massaging the small of the back. Michelle responded to the change positively by purring.
Michael sat straddling Michelle to get good leverage for the kneading strokes, and he felt himself getting more aroused the more he looked at Michelle's perfectly toned back.
From around the rear, the shower suddenly stopped, and the door slid open. Mika stood there, a rough towel wrapped around her breasts, her long brown hair dripping with water. She pouted as she looked on at Michael and Michelle.
``Told you guys to wait for me!'' Mika said as she stomped a few times daintily on the rug to dry her feet before whipping the towel from around her to rub through her tresses. Her soft white breasts bounced a couple of times before gyrating ever so sensually as her raised arms massaged her scalp through the towel in a bid to dry it all.
``Mika-chan,'' Michelle said, her eyes half closed. ``We haven't started aaanything yet. Michael is just giving me a nice back massage. How could we start anything without you?'' Michael just grunted in acknowledgement, his eyes focusing on the massage.
Mika paused and looked at the two figures on the king-sized bed. She deftly tossed aside the towel and leapt on to the bed, knocking Michael off Michelle and collapsing on top of them in a heap. Michelle shrieked in surprise and Michael was mildly dazed, but they both quickly recovered and the trio were soon engaged in a very sloppy and rambunctious kissing and cuddling spree.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 15-Apr-2014 21:06:48)
``Oh, you like it like this, right?''
``Mmm... yes!'' Michelle said drowsily. ``Just a little lower. I think my lower back feels a little sore.''
Michael adjusted his massage stroke and slowly brought his kneading fists lower along her back till he was consistently massaging the small of the back. Michelle responded to the change positively by purring.
Michael sat straddling Michelle to get good leverage for the kneading strokes, and he felt himself getting more aroused the more he looked at Michelle's perfectly toned back.
From around the rear, the shower suddenly stopped, and the door slid open. Mika stood there, a rough towel wrapped around her breasts, her long brown hair dripping with water. She pouted as she looked on at Michael and Michelle.
``Told you guys to wait for me!'' Mika said as she stomped a few times daintily on the rug to dry her feet before whipping the towel from around her to rub through her tresses. Her soft white breasts bounced a couple of times before gyrating ever so sensually as her raised arms massaged her scalp through the towel in a bid to dry it all.
``Mika-chan,'' Michelle said, her eyes half closed. ``We haven't started aaanything yet. Michael is just giving me a nice back massage. How could we start anything without you?'' Michael just grunted in acknowledgement, his eyes focusing on the massage.
Mika paused and looked at the two figures on the king-sized bed. She deftly tossed aside the towel and leapt on to the bed, knocking Michael off Michelle and collapsing on top of them in a heap. Michelle shrieked in surprise and Michael was mildly dazed, but they both quickly recovered and the trio were soon engaged in a very sloppy and rambunctious kissing and cuddling spree.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 15-Apr-2014 21:06:48)
Monday, 14 April 2014
Poor Planning
Eli and Jasper sat across each other, cross-legged on a rock each, the campfire between them. Eli stared at Jasper crossly for a good long while until the latter started to get annoyed and snap back.
``Why are you staring at me so hard for? Can't wait for your eye to dry up, shrivel and fall off?''
``Shut up you,'' Eli replied, irritated by the mosquitoes that had decided to flit by the light in the dark. ``We shouldn't even be here in the first place---I have no bloody idea WHY I decided to take up your suggestion to go on that kayaking trip.''
``Oh, come on!'' Jasper replied, grinning sardonically. ``You had a part to play as well. Do you think that it is actually physically possible to convince you of a viewpoint that you hadn't already thought of before hand? Besides we were supposed to leave three hours earlier, but you took your own damn time and didn't move till it was already getting late, and you were the one who didn't want to wait for another day.''
Eli sat there and stared at Jasper sullenly. Jasper was right, of course, But Eli wasn't going to take it like that. They were supposed to leave the island earlier, but they had mis-timed the duration it takes to get from the shore to the interior and back again. By the time they reached the beach, day light was fast fading, and it was suicidal to attempt to navigate the open waters at night in a kayak, even though it was only a kilometre out from the mainland. So they were now at the beach, enjoying the impromptu camp fire.
A sudden sea breeze swept through and blew out the frail flames of the camp fire. Both boys panicked for a moment at the prospect of spending the night completely in the dark, but the fire proved resilient and did not die out on them. Or it could be the sudden abatement of the wind, but it wasn't important.
``You sleep first,'' Jasper said finally after what felt like a few hours of incessant staring. ``I'll take the first shift.''
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 14-Apr-2014 21:27:08)
``Why are you staring at me so hard for? Can't wait for your eye to dry up, shrivel and fall off?''
``Shut up you,'' Eli replied, irritated by the mosquitoes that had decided to flit by the light in the dark. ``We shouldn't even be here in the first place---I have no bloody idea WHY I decided to take up your suggestion to go on that kayaking trip.''
``Oh, come on!'' Jasper replied, grinning sardonically. ``You had a part to play as well. Do you think that it is actually physically possible to convince you of a viewpoint that you hadn't already thought of before hand? Besides we were supposed to leave three hours earlier, but you took your own damn time and didn't move till it was already getting late, and you were the one who didn't want to wait for another day.''
Eli sat there and stared at Jasper sullenly. Jasper was right, of course, But Eli wasn't going to take it like that. They were supposed to leave the island earlier, but they had mis-timed the duration it takes to get from the shore to the interior and back again. By the time they reached the beach, day light was fast fading, and it was suicidal to attempt to navigate the open waters at night in a kayak, even though it was only a kilometre out from the mainland. So they were now at the beach, enjoying the impromptu camp fire.
A sudden sea breeze swept through and blew out the frail flames of the camp fire. Both boys panicked for a moment at the prospect of spending the night completely in the dark, but the fire proved resilient and did not die out on them. Or it could be the sudden abatement of the wind, but it wasn't important.
``You sleep first,'' Jasper said finally after what felt like a few hours of incessant staring. ``I'll take the first shift.''
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 14-Apr-2014 21:27:08)
Sunday, 13 April 2014
The Dominator
``Generals,'' Stanford began with his eyes confidently scanning the row of aged military leaders in front of him, ``I present to you the latest in automated warfare: the Dominator.''
``The Dominator is unlike our previous Hawk-class UAV. The wingspan is much larger, forty feet from the Hawk's twenty feet but this is not a liability, because the Dominator has a top speed more than double than that of the Hawk, while having components weight less than seventy-five percent of what the Hawk carries, thanks to the micro fusion power plant and hybrid air-ion engine.
``Operationally, this means that the Dominator can carry a payload twice as much as the Hawk, and can fly as high as low earth orbital altitudes to evade capture, and can stay in orbit at that altitude for up to two hundred hours.''
There was faint murmuring among the generals. Flying at that altitude with double the payload meant that tactical nuclear strikes from ultra-high altitudes via drone technology was now a capability. The long flight time also meant that it was possible to keep a round-the-clock presence. It was a capability that they had long since dreamed of but had never seen it come to fruition.
``What about controls? How do you control the Dominator?'' A general asked.
``We provide four different ways of controlling the Dominator. There is the all-manual control, where both flight and weapon systems are controlled either by direct radio or by satellite link, flight mission control where the flight parameters are pre-specified and manual control over the weapon systems are provided (you can override the flight parameters), again by either direct radio or by satellite link. There is of course the fully automated control mechanism, where the Dominator is hooked up to the constellation of drone `swarms', and is controlled by a central computer that dispatches precise manoeuvring and firing sequences to each drone in the swarm to achieve user-specified tactical objectives.''
``What's the fourth way?''
``Oh that is still currently under development,'' Stanford said, with a glint in his eye.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 13-Apr-2014 11:53:43)
``The Dominator is unlike our previous Hawk-class UAV. The wingspan is much larger, forty feet from the Hawk's twenty feet but this is not a liability, because the Dominator has a top speed more than double than that of the Hawk, while having components weight less than seventy-five percent of what the Hawk carries, thanks to the micro fusion power plant and hybrid air-ion engine.
``Operationally, this means that the Dominator can carry a payload twice as much as the Hawk, and can fly as high as low earth orbital altitudes to evade capture, and can stay in orbit at that altitude for up to two hundred hours.''
There was faint murmuring among the generals. Flying at that altitude with double the payload meant that tactical nuclear strikes from ultra-high altitudes via drone technology was now a capability. The long flight time also meant that it was possible to keep a round-the-clock presence. It was a capability that they had long since dreamed of but had never seen it come to fruition.
``What about controls? How do you control the Dominator?'' A general asked.
``We provide four different ways of controlling the Dominator. There is the all-manual control, where both flight and weapon systems are controlled either by direct radio or by satellite link, flight mission control where the flight parameters are pre-specified and manual control over the weapon systems are provided (you can override the flight parameters), again by either direct radio or by satellite link. There is of course the fully automated control mechanism, where the Dominator is hooked up to the constellation of drone `swarms', and is controlled by a central computer that dispatches precise manoeuvring and firing sequences to each drone in the swarm to achieve user-specified tactical objectives.''
``What's the fourth way?''
``Oh that is still currently under development,'' Stanford said, with a glint in his eye.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 13-Apr-2014 11:53:43)
Saturday, 12 April 2014
Dream
``Just... a... little bit... more...'' Edwin gritted his teeth and crawled as fast as he could through the undergrowth as gun and artillery fire surrounded him on both sides.
It wasn't his idea of a good time, but Edwin knew that he had to serve. There was nothing else that he could do other than serve. The country was under siege, and his big dream of running an import/export business would never come to fruition had the country been overrun. For the sake of that dream, he had to serve in the military.
He blamed the politicians' ineptness and the trigger happy nature of the military. The conflict could have been minimised had they agreed to promote trade, but the lobbyists had managed to get the politicians to spurn the deal and instead declare war upon the smaller country in the bid to annex it. That triggered the military into action, and everyone got pulled into the mess of total war, under the strong condemnation of the United Nations.
Edwin sighed as he kept crawling through the tall grass. He was the fall-back signaller. When the wired signal systems went down, he had to be the one to manually bring intelligence across the field until it was safe enough to lay out the signal cables again. It was a thankless job, but he knew he had the highest chance of surviving this in the current role, and hopefully they would manage to end the hostilities soon enough that rebuilding can take place.
And when that began, he could finally start that business he had in mind. For a wise man once said, enterprises thrive at the destruction and reconstruction of a society.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 12-Apr-2014 10:58:13)
It wasn't his idea of a good time, but Edwin knew that he had to serve. There was nothing else that he could do other than serve. The country was under siege, and his big dream of running an import/export business would never come to fruition had the country been overrun. For the sake of that dream, he had to serve in the military.
He blamed the politicians' ineptness and the trigger happy nature of the military. The conflict could have been minimised had they agreed to promote trade, but the lobbyists had managed to get the politicians to spurn the deal and instead declare war upon the smaller country in the bid to annex it. That triggered the military into action, and everyone got pulled into the mess of total war, under the strong condemnation of the United Nations.
Edwin sighed as he kept crawling through the tall grass. He was the fall-back signaller. When the wired signal systems went down, he had to be the one to manually bring intelligence across the field until it was safe enough to lay out the signal cables again. It was a thankless job, but he knew he had the highest chance of surviving this in the current role, and hopefully they would manage to end the hostilities soon enough that rebuilding can take place.
And when that began, he could finally start that business he had in mind. For a wise man once said, enterprises thrive at the destruction and reconstruction of a society.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 12-Apr-2014 10:58:13)
Friday, 11 April 2014
Waiting for the Dawn
The night had been harrowing. Allison sat upright on the branch of the tree, trying her hardest to not move. It wasn't a particularly tall part of the tree -- just three metres or so off the ground -- but when the night was pitch black to the point that one couldn't even count the fingers on the hand put out at arm's length, that three metres is a long way to fall.
Sitting in the bough of a tree in the middle of the night wasn't Allison's idea of fun. But she had no choice. Originally a part of a hiking group through the park reserves, she had been accidentally left behind by the group after she had to excuse herself to relieve herself. By the time she was done, she found that they had moved on already, leaving behind only the rucksack that she had placed at the root of a tree before heading off into the bushes to urinate.
It wasn't her usual hiking group. They were a last minute replacement for her since her original team couldn't make it out due to some problems with their station wagon. But Allison had already made her way to the park reserve, and was unwilling to head back without actually having a chance to hike through. And so she joined the friendly group of hikers who were also intending to go through the park reserves.
Except they left her behind.
She had a map and a compass, but she hadn't been taking notes on it to track her movement since she assumed that she would always be following the hiking group -- why duplicate the effort? The only GPS receiver she had was the TomTom in her car, safely stowed away in the glove compartment.
It also didn't help that she was left behind after they had spent nearly half the afternoon in the park reserve. That made back-tracking difficult, and since nightfall came swiftly, it was hard to determine her bearings. Lacking a tent, the only safe thing she could do was to climb up a tree and wait for dawn to arrive before she tried to navigate back to civilisation.
That wouldn't happen for another hour or two.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 11-Apr-2014 21:26:43)
Sitting in the bough of a tree in the middle of the night wasn't Allison's idea of fun. But she had no choice. Originally a part of a hiking group through the park reserves, she had been accidentally left behind by the group after she had to excuse herself to relieve herself. By the time she was done, she found that they had moved on already, leaving behind only the rucksack that she had placed at the root of a tree before heading off into the bushes to urinate.
It wasn't her usual hiking group. They were a last minute replacement for her since her original team couldn't make it out due to some problems with their station wagon. But Allison had already made her way to the park reserve, and was unwilling to head back without actually having a chance to hike through. And so she joined the friendly group of hikers who were also intending to go through the park reserves.
Except they left her behind.
She had a map and a compass, but she hadn't been taking notes on it to track her movement since she assumed that she would always be following the hiking group -- why duplicate the effort? The only GPS receiver she had was the TomTom in her car, safely stowed away in the glove compartment.
It also didn't help that she was left behind after they had spent nearly half the afternoon in the park reserve. That made back-tracking difficult, and since nightfall came swiftly, it was hard to determine her bearings. Lacking a tent, the only safe thing she could do was to climb up a tree and wait for dawn to arrive before she tried to navigate back to civilisation.
That wouldn't happen for another hour or two.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 11-Apr-2014 21:26:43)
Thursday, 10 April 2014
Valley
In the depths of the darkness, Eileen felt a certain sense of dread that was just hard to dismiss like that. It wasn't that she was afraid of the darkness---she was used to losing light in the middle of spelunking expeditions---but it was more than just the darkness. There was an unspeakable sort of terror that she could feel within her bones, the kind of feeling that one would normally determine as ``making one's skin crawl''.
It wasn't completely dark, of course. It was not a cave, but a very deep valley, where the ends of hundred-metre path opened out to the bright world outside, while the centre had the most quiet and discomforting feeling that one could get. Eileen knew the theory of the feeling of dread---it was the infra-sonic waves from the barely-there breeze wafting and oscillating through the narrow valley that was causing the discomfort. The theory was that while her ears couldn't actually hear the infra-sonic sound, her body and more specifically her bones could still register the very low frequencies that are present. But all the theories in the world cannot undo the millenia of raw instincts built from evolution, and Eileen shivered a little.
She took a few more tentative steps forward towards the light. She was roughly a third through the valley. It was just broad enough for her small frame. Mario was supposed to follow her through the valley, but after only twenty metres in, he swore that there was something `unclean' about the place and that he couldn't stand it, and wanted out. He'd rather take the long circumnavigation route than to cut through the valley. He had gone with Gonzales, the third team member whose large size already precluded him from using the short cut.
Eileen should have joined them. But the valley itself was not very well-explored, and it would be a waste to just leave it alone like that because two of her team mates were unable or unwilling to go through with it. Gonzales had expressed his disapproval of her foolhardiness, but she was his boss, and all he could do was just frown at her, passing her a high-powered portable short-wave radio and told her to keep in contact with them at all times. She shrugged and took the radio, angry that her team mates were unwilling to join her, but glad that they still cared enough for her to remind her of the safety procedures.
Eileen continued her way through the darkness, feeling about. The walls were covered by a kind of moss, soft to the touch and had a strange dewy feel about it. There was this dampness that clinged about that Eileen was starting to feel as she made her way through carefully, using her hiking pole before each step to determine if the ground in front of her was true.
The radio suddenly cackled to life.
``Eileen, Gonzales here. How are you doing?'' Eileen paused her advance and pulled radio from the casing on her belt.
``So far so good. I'm reaching the halfway mark of the valley. Are you guys over yet?''
``Ha!'' Gonzales replied, seemingly laughing. ``I wish! Mario has been such a bitch about walking along the edge of the goat paths, complaining about the sun and the wind and what-not.'' Eileen smiled as she heard the faint protestations of Mario in the background.
``It's getting damp in here though,'' Eileen replied. ``Not sure what to make of it. There's also this weird moss thing about.''
``Are you using the torch yet?'' Gonzales asked over the radio.
``No... I don't want to destroy my night vision.''
``Okay Eileen,'' Gonzales replied, caution weighing in strongly. ``Don't do anything stupid. We may not have a good way of rescuing you if you did so. And go slow. You're likely to reach the other side faster than us no matter how slow you get, so take your time and be safe.''
``Gotcha, Gonzales. Thanks!''
``Don't mention it,'' Gonzales replied. ``Though I still think you are doing a stupid thing by just going through the valley like that.''
It wasn't completely dark, of course. It was not a cave, but a very deep valley, where the ends of hundred-metre path opened out to the bright world outside, while the centre had the most quiet and discomforting feeling that one could get. Eileen knew the theory of the feeling of dread---it was the infra-sonic waves from the barely-there breeze wafting and oscillating through the narrow valley that was causing the discomfort. The theory was that while her ears couldn't actually hear the infra-sonic sound, her body and more specifically her bones could still register the very low frequencies that are present. But all the theories in the world cannot undo the millenia of raw instincts built from evolution, and Eileen shivered a little.
She took a few more tentative steps forward towards the light. She was roughly a third through the valley. It was just broad enough for her small frame. Mario was supposed to follow her through the valley, but after only twenty metres in, he swore that there was something `unclean' about the place and that he couldn't stand it, and wanted out. He'd rather take the long circumnavigation route than to cut through the valley. He had gone with Gonzales, the third team member whose large size already precluded him from using the short cut.
Eileen should have joined them. But the valley itself was not very well-explored, and it would be a waste to just leave it alone like that because two of her team mates were unable or unwilling to go through with it. Gonzales had expressed his disapproval of her foolhardiness, but she was his boss, and all he could do was just frown at her, passing her a high-powered portable short-wave radio and told her to keep in contact with them at all times. She shrugged and took the radio, angry that her team mates were unwilling to join her, but glad that they still cared enough for her to remind her of the safety procedures.
Eileen continued her way through the darkness, feeling about. The walls were covered by a kind of moss, soft to the touch and had a strange dewy feel about it. There was this dampness that clinged about that Eileen was starting to feel as she made her way through carefully, using her hiking pole before each step to determine if the ground in front of her was true.
The radio suddenly cackled to life.
``Eileen, Gonzales here. How are you doing?'' Eileen paused her advance and pulled radio from the casing on her belt.
``So far so good. I'm reaching the halfway mark of the valley. Are you guys over yet?''
``Ha!'' Gonzales replied, seemingly laughing. ``I wish! Mario has been such a bitch about walking along the edge of the goat paths, complaining about the sun and the wind and what-not.'' Eileen smiled as she heard the faint protestations of Mario in the background.
``It's getting damp in here though,'' Eileen replied. ``Not sure what to make of it. There's also this weird moss thing about.''
``Are you using the torch yet?'' Gonzales asked over the radio.
``No... I don't want to destroy my night vision.''
``Okay Eileen,'' Gonzales replied, caution weighing in strongly. ``Don't do anything stupid. We may not have a good way of rescuing you if you did so. And go slow. You're likely to reach the other side faster than us no matter how slow you get, so take your time and be safe.''
``Gotcha, Gonzales. Thanks!''
``Don't mention it,'' Gonzales replied. ``Though I still think you are doing a stupid thing by just going through the valley like that.''
Wednesday, 9 April 2014
Gentlemen...
``Gentlemen and ladies,'' Alfred began as he stood behind the rostrum under the intense spot light. It was his moment, his hour of triumph. The outline of the company's strategic initiatives, the cumulation of almost a full year of brain-storming and working with his department heads, the fruition of which was this presentaion that he was about to give.
``Gentlemen and ladies, I will being by first congratulating you for the best financial results that we have had in the last five years in which we were in existence as a whole company.'' There was a large applause all round in the auditorium that they had hired for the seminar. Alfred beamed as he eyed the audience, his people, the ones who made the hard achieveable, and the impossible merely difficult.
``These five years have been tough on us all. We survived two major global financial meltdowns, a couple of disruptive technology incursions, and the sudden tightening of the auditing and reporting processes that were put in place to stem the types of collapse that occurred. Despite it all, we have done very well.
``We will not rest on our laurels, however, and it is with great anticipation that I reveal the new five-year workplan that the management team has put together to help steer us through these tumultous times while maintaining our leading edge.''
Thunderous applause flooded the auditorium once more. Alfred was proud of the moment, even though he hadn't actually revealed the plan. He stood there and basked in the joy and enthusiasm, waiting for it to die down before he continued.
``Gentlemen and ladies, do not think of me as being a downer when I say that the greatest challenge that we have to deal with hasn't arrived yet. Do not think of me as being a naysayer when I say that the two financial collapses of the world financial systems and the incursion of the disruptive technologies are merely the tip of the ice-berg. I am merely being pragmatic and speaking enough of the truth so that you will be prepared for the upcoming challenges.
``Times are hard. As a technological company, the easy times are all but over. We need innovation; our craft demands it, our customers require it. This is not like the days of old where we can keep performing incremental adjustments to our software offerings and ship it out to a hungry crowd. Disruptive technology abounds, especially since there is a large increase in the availability of common platforms from which new software may be developed upon. Never forget that five years ago, there was no such thing as the iOS, the Android and everything else in between. We had to write our own platform, provide our own tools, and that was how we became what we are today.
``But the open platforms have disrupted our old workflow. No one is willing to put in money on a platform such as ours---most of the revenue we are getting from that particular aspect of our enterprise comes from the old customers who have already been on our system for so long that it makes almost no sense to try to rewrite all the old code to make them work on the newer and more open platforms. This model can sustain us for perhaps another two to three years, but it is not tenable in the long run. We must innovate.
``But innovation here doesn't mean reinventing the wheel. I don't mean that we have to rewrite everything that we had to use the newer platforms---that is both a waste of resources and a pain in maintenance. Innovation means that we take the open platforms, embrace it, and extend it to beyond what the new user base is even willing to start seeing. In other words, exposing them to an even more vibrant world than what their new platforms can support.''
Alfred paused for a while and looked about him. In the shadow of the darkness, he could see the hundres of faces looking up at him attentively. He smiled to himself; having an attentive audience was already half the battle won.
``If we are not going to rewrite things in the new platform, what does it mean to expose an extended perspective of the new platform to the new users? Simply put, we will adjust our existing platform to make it even more familiar for the new users who are more used to the new platforms, while maintaining good backwards compatibility with our existing client base.
``Which, of course, brings me to the first big change that I would want to introduce. From now on, each department has a specific `extension' group that has one mandate---to take the relevant parts of the open platform and create an emulation layer between that and our own platform's way of doing things. It may sound a little cruel, but the necessity of assimilating disruptive technologies into the folds of our platform is exceedingly important.''
The audience clapped once again, with even more fervour than before. Alfred was glad that it was a welcomed piece of news for the audience; already there has been rumours about how to deal with the disruptive technology, with some going as far as saying that the company was going to go under and be unable to recover. The release of the official word seemed to have abated that resentment, and Alfred could tell that his team was going to achieve even better results in the face of even more adversity.
``Gentlemen and ladies, I will being by first congratulating you for the best financial results that we have had in the last five years in which we were in existence as a whole company.'' There was a large applause all round in the auditorium that they had hired for the seminar. Alfred beamed as he eyed the audience, his people, the ones who made the hard achieveable, and the impossible merely difficult.
``These five years have been tough on us all. We survived two major global financial meltdowns, a couple of disruptive technology incursions, and the sudden tightening of the auditing and reporting processes that were put in place to stem the types of collapse that occurred. Despite it all, we have done very well.
``We will not rest on our laurels, however, and it is with great anticipation that I reveal the new five-year workplan that the management team has put together to help steer us through these tumultous times while maintaining our leading edge.''
Thunderous applause flooded the auditorium once more. Alfred was proud of the moment, even though he hadn't actually revealed the plan. He stood there and basked in the joy and enthusiasm, waiting for it to die down before he continued.
``Gentlemen and ladies, do not think of me as being a downer when I say that the greatest challenge that we have to deal with hasn't arrived yet. Do not think of me as being a naysayer when I say that the two financial collapses of the world financial systems and the incursion of the disruptive technologies are merely the tip of the ice-berg. I am merely being pragmatic and speaking enough of the truth so that you will be prepared for the upcoming challenges.
``Times are hard. As a technological company, the easy times are all but over. We need innovation; our craft demands it, our customers require it. This is not like the days of old where we can keep performing incremental adjustments to our software offerings and ship it out to a hungry crowd. Disruptive technology abounds, especially since there is a large increase in the availability of common platforms from which new software may be developed upon. Never forget that five years ago, there was no such thing as the iOS, the Android and everything else in between. We had to write our own platform, provide our own tools, and that was how we became what we are today.
``But the open platforms have disrupted our old workflow. No one is willing to put in money on a platform such as ours---most of the revenue we are getting from that particular aspect of our enterprise comes from the old customers who have already been on our system for so long that it makes almost no sense to try to rewrite all the old code to make them work on the newer and more open platforms. This model can sustain us for perhaps another two to three years, but it is not tenable in the long run. We must innovate.
``But innovation here doesn't mean reinventing the wheel. I don't mean that we have to rewrite everything that we had to use the newer platforms---that is both a waste of resources and a pain in maintenance. Innovation means that we take the open platforms, embrace it, and extend it to beyond what the new user base is even willing to start seeing. In other words, exposing them to an even more vibrant world than what their new platforms can support.''
Alfred paused for a while and looked about him. In the shadow of the darkness, he could see the hundres of faces looking up at him attentively. He smiled to himself; having an attentive audience was already half the battle won.
``If we are not going to rewrite things in the new platform, what does it mean to expose an extended perspective of the new platform to the new users? Simply put, we will adjust our existing platform to make it even more familiar for the new users who are more used to the new platforms, while maintaining good backwards compatibility with our existing client base.
``Which, of course, brings me to the first big change that I would want to introduce. From now on, each department has a specific `extension' group that has one mandate---to take the relevant parts of the open platform and create an emulation layer between that and our own platform's way of doing things. It may sound a little cruel, but the necessity of assimilating disruptive technologies into the folds of our platform is exceedingly important.''
The audience clapped once again, with even more fervour than before. Alfred was glad that it was a welcomed piece of news for the audience; already there has been rumours about how to deal with the disruptive technology, with some going as far as saying that the company was going to go under and be unable to recover. The release of the official word seemed to have abated that resentment, and Alfred could tell that his team was going to achieve even better results in the face of even more adversity.
Tuesday, 8 April 2014
Silent Strike
Lana tiptoed quietly along the hallway, staying to the edge of the wooden floot as much as she could to avoid the creaks that would come naturally from the long wooden planks. She was in her pajamas, and was sneaking about in the dark. In her hands was a pillow, not hers, but something that she got from the guest room.
The hallway was dark, save for a couple of dimly lit lights that were there for safety purposes. Lana shivered slightly as a quiet breeze wafted through. She felt her hair stand on end for some reason, but she brushed off any fear, knowing that it was a natural reaction from the ultra-low frequency that her body felt when the wind blew through.
She continued creeping along, holding the pillow close to her. It was going to be an ambush on Clara, her sister, whose bed room was on the other end of the hallway. They had been at this on and off for a year now, and the last time they were at it, it had been a few months ago. There was a truce of some sort that they agreed upon, but since time had passed, it felt right to restart the friendly wars again.
Lana continued creeping forward, gaining more ground quietly. Soon she was at the door, and she quietly turned the knob and pushed the door open. It creaked slightly, and she held her breath---there was no reaction. Pleased with the element of surprise she had, Lana quietly tiptoed into the room.
A soft pillow thwacked at her straight in her face, stunning her and lifting her off her feet, dropping her on to her butt on the ground. Stunned, Lana blinked her eyes in discomfort as the lights came on in the room, and Clara grinned at her impishly.
``Thought you could get the upper hand, eh?''
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 08-Apr-2014 21:53:56)
The hallway was dark, save for a couple of dimly lit lights that were there for safety purposes. Lana shivered slightly as a quiet breeze wafted through. She felt her hair stand on end for some reason, but she brushed off any fear, knowing that it was a natural reaction from the ultra-low frequency that her body felt when the wind blew through.
She continued creeping along, holding the pillow close to her. It was going to be an ambush on Clara, her sister, whose bed room was on the other end of the hallway. They had been at this on and off for a year now, and the last time they were at it, it had been a few months ago. There was a truce of some sort that they agreed upon, but since time had passed, it felt right to restart the friendly wars again.
Lana continued creeping forward, gaining more ground quietly. Soon she was at the door, and she quietly turned the knob and pushed the door open. It creaked slightly, and she held her breath---there was no reaction. Pleased with the element of surprise she had, Lana quietly tiptoed into the room.
A soft pillow thwacked at her straight in her face, stunning her and lifting her off her feet, dropping her on to her butt on the ground. Stunned, Lana blinked her eyes in discomfort as the lights came on in the room, and Clara grinned at her impishly.
``Thought you could get the upper hand, eh?''
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 08-Apr-2014 21:53:56)
Monday, 7 April 2014
Suitcase
``Sir! Stand down! Put your hands in the air slowly!'' The police officer ordered as he trained his service pistol at Emmanuel, who looked on at him quizzically.
``Officer, what is going on?''
``I SAID, sir, stand down NOW!'' The police officer shouted back. This time, the back-up police officers from behind him had already advanced as well, their firearms drawn. Three of them were holding pistols, while two of them were holding combat shotguns. All around them, many had already sneaked away from the scene, and those who were still around were ducking to the ground as low as they can to avoid the attention of the law enforcement officers.
Reluctantly, Emmanuel slowly raised his hands high into the air, his suitcase right in front of him.
``Step BACK from the suitcase sir!''
``Why would I--''
``I SAID step BACK from the SUITCASE SIR!'' The officer leading the advance was clearly getting annoyed, was armed and was very very dangerous.
Emmanuel had no idea what was going on. He had been at the airport's lounge area, waiting as usual for his flight out of the United States to Abu Dhabi. He was literally minding his own business when he was suddenly yelled at by the airport police officer, which quickly escalated to the current showdown. It seemed surreal to be treated like some kind of criminal, and his fear of the sudden police incursion was countervailed by his indignation of not being in the wrong no matter how he looked at it.
``Look, officer, there has to be some kind of mistake,'' Emmanuel said, trying to reason as he complied with the police officer's demands of stepping backwards from his suitcase.
``Shut UP SIR!'' The police officer shouted as the team advanced cautiously forward. ``Keep your hands where we can see them!''
Emmanuel sighed. Since he wasn't told to stop, he kept taking small steps backwards, all the while staring at the lead officer, while simultaneously eyeing the business end of the pistol that was aimed at him, and trying his hardest to ignore all the other firearms' aim.
``Stop right THERE sir!'' The police officer barked. ``And keep your hands up where we can see it!''
Emmanuel stopped and kept his hands raised up high. He was suddenly swarmed and subdued by the three pistol-wielding police officers, while the two shotgun-wielding ones trained their firearm at his face. Emmanuel's face was pressed into the ground as his arms were forcibly hand-cuffed behind him.
Further back, the lead police officer radioed to the operations room. ``Suspect apprehended. Requesting bomb squad to verify suspected suitcase bomb.''
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis – 07-Apr-2014 20:35:29)
``Officer, what is going on?''
``I SAID, sir, stand down NOW!'' The police officer shouted back. This time, the back-up police officers from behind him had already advanced as well, their firearms drawn. Three of them were holding pistols, while two of them were holding combat shotguns. All around them, many had already sneaked away from the scene, and those who were still around were ducking to the ground as low as they can to avoid the attention of the law enforcement officers.
Reluctantly, Emmanuel slowly raised his hands high into the air, his suitcase right in front of him.
``Step BACK from the suitcase sir!''
``Why would I--''
``I SAID step BACK from the SUITCASE SIR!'' The officer leading the advance was clearly getting annoyed, was armed and was very very dangerous.
Emmanuel had no idea what was going on. He had been at the airport's lounge area, waiting as usual for his flight out of the United States to Abu Dhabi. He was literally minding his own business when he was suddenly yelled at by the airport police officer, which quickly escalated to the current showdown. It seemed surreal to be treated like some kind of criminal, and his fear of the sudden police incursion was countervailed by his indignation of not being in the wrong no matter how he looked at it.
``Look, officer, there has to be some kind of mistake,'' Emmanuel said, trying to reason as he complied with the police officer's demands of stepping backwards from his suitcase.
``Shut UP SIR!'' The police officer shouted as the team advanced cautiously forward. ``Keep your hands where we can see them!''
Emmanuel sighed. Since he wasn't told to stop, he kept taking small steps backwards, all the while staring at the lead officer, while simultaneously eyeing the business end of the pistol that was aimed at him, and trying his hardest to ignore all the other firearms' aim.
``Stop right THERE sir!'' The police officer barked. ``And keep your hands up where we can see it!''
Emmanuel stopped and kept his hands raised up high. He was suddenly swarmed and subdued by the three pistol-wielding police officers, while the two shotgun-wielding ones trained their firearm at his face. Emmanuel's face was pressed into the ground as his arms were forcibly hand-cuffed behind him.
Further back, the lead police officer radioed to the operations room. ``Suspect apprehended. Requesting bomb squad to verify suspected suitcase bomb.''
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis – 07-Apr-2014 20:35:29)
Sunday, 6 April 2014
Wronged
Richard paced up and down behind his desk, his right hand holding on to the rattan cane. In front of him stood the two boys, one from the primary three class, the other from the primary five class. It was a distraction he didn't really want, considering that it was the time of the year to review the school's budget and workplan for the upcoming year before presenting it back at the education ministry's headquarters. But he had been highlighted by a couple of teachers of a potential hacking incident, and that the students involved refused to admit to their guilt, and that his teachers were at their wits' end and---Richard sighed. He didn't really have time for this right now.
``Well?'' Richard said with a cold voice towards the two boys who stood there in front of him. ``When will you stop telling lies and tell the truth and admit that you were hacking the computers?''
``But Mr Chang, I didn't hack the computers! There was this typing game that I wanted to play, but the computer, it didn't work, so I tried ways to fix it, that's all. I didn't try to hack the computer...''
``Still lying?'' Richard shouted, brandishing the rattan cane in front of him, and directing his wrath at the primary five student who spoke up. ``When will you stop lying! The teachers are telling me they caught you hacking the computers, are you trying to say that my teachers are lying?''
``No, but I really didn't...'' the poor primary five student replied, trying once more to defend himself.
``DO YOU WANT ME TO CANE YOU UNTIL YOU TELL THE TRUTH?!'' Richard roared in his office. He was getting increasingly annoyed---how was it that children in the age of seven to twelve can be so wilful and adamant that they were right?
But a thought did cross his mind. Was it possible that his teachers made a mistake in saying that these two boys were indeed hackers? He didn't doubt his teachers' judgement, but something about the boy still wanting to stand up in the case of adversity didn't sit quite right in his mind. Could it be that the boy was telling the truth, and that his teachers were misleading him?
``No... no... please don't cane me...'' the primary five boy looked up in terror at the quarter-inch thick rattan cane wielded by the large-sized principal. ``I'll admit it, I'll admit it. I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm really sorry! Just don't cane me! Please don't cane me...!''
The primary three boy was silent, deferring to his elder counterpart. He was too shocked for words to say anything.
Richard sat down, his mind set at ease. So the two boys were guilty after all, and that his earlier thoughts of them being wronged were incorrect as well. Maybe he could settle this case quickly and get back to the real pressing work. Disciplining students didn't count towards the key performance indicators for the school, and the less of it he had to do, the more time he could focus on the things that mattered.
``Good, you have finally come to your senses. As punishment, you two will be in charge of staying near the computers during recess for the rest of the year to make sure that no one tries to hack the computers. If you fail to do this satisfactorily, I will have to cane you and inform your parents as well.''
The two boys looked up and nodded their heads in understanding, glad that their alleged transgressions were not conveyed to their parents.
``Now, get out of my office.''
Hurriedly, they left the principal's office as Richard continued to stare at the proposed budget that was put together by the heads of departments, glad that the distraction was finally over.
``Well?'' Richard said with a cold voice towards the two boys who stood there in front of him. ``When will you stop telling lies and tell the truth and admit that you were hacking the computers?''
``But Mr Chang, I didn't hack the computers! There was this typing game that I wanted to play, but the computer, it didn't work, so I tried ways to fix it, that's all. I didn't try to hack the computer...''
``Still lying?'' Richard shouted, brandishing the rattan cane in front of him, and directing his wrath at the primary five student who spoke up. ``When will you stop lying! The teachers are telling me they caught you hacking the computers, are you trying to say that my teachers are lying?''
``No, but I really didn't...'' the poor primary five student replied, trying once more to defend himself.
``DO YOU WANT ME TO CANE YOU UNTIL YOU TELL THE TRUTH?!'' Richard roared in his office. He was getting increasingly annoyed---how was it that children in the age of seven to twelve can be so wilful and adamant that they were right?
But a thought did cross his mind. Was it possible that his teachers made a mistake in saying that these two boys were indeed hackers? He didn't doubt his teachers' judgement, but something about the boy still wanting to stand up in the case of adversity didn't sit quite right in his mind. Could it be that the boy was telling the truth, and that his teachers were misleading him?
``No... no... please don't cane me...'' the primary five boy looked up in terror at the quarter-inch thick rattan cane wielded by the large-sized principal. ``I'll admit it, I'll admit it. I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm really sorry! Just don't cane me! Please don't cane me...!''
The primary three boy was silent, deferring to his elder counterpart. He was too shocked for words to say anything.
Richard sat down, his mind set at ease. So the two boys were guilty after all, and that his earlier thoughts of them being wronged were incorrect as well. Maybe he could settle this case quickly and get back to the real pressing work. Disciplining students didn't count towards the key performance indicators for the school, and the less of it he had to do, the more time he could focus on the things that mattered.
``Good, you have finally come to your senses. As punishment, you two will be in charge of staying near the computers during recess for the rest of the year to make sure that no one tries to hack the computers. If you fail to do this satisfactorily, I will have to cane you and inform your parents as well.''
The two boys looked up and nodded their heads in understanding, glad that their alleged transgressions were not conveyed to their parents.
``Now, get out of my office.''
Hurriedly, they left the principal's office as Richard continued to stare at the proposed budget that was put together by the heads of departments, glad that the distraction was finally over.
Saturday, 5 April 2014
Long Night
The night, it was dark and cold. Lonely too I might add. It wasn't really that normal a night, as far I was concerned. Too many things to think about, too many things to worry about. Ordinarily, this wouldn't really bother me much, but it has been a while since I was able to get used to the fact that life has never been the same since they all left.
I didn't use to be so worrisome. Life was simple. Study hard, get good grades, eat enough food, have plenty of rest and exercise and things were good. But as time went by, all these goals started to become meaningless drivel---their very mundaneness have made them into things that I wouldn't associate much value to any more.
I sighed as I lay on my bed, alone and under the sole light that I had jerry-rigged to hand slightly over head for better illumination.
Life used to be simple. What happened in between? Has becoming an adult effectively doomed me to a lifestyle where nothing was certain and happiness was merely something that was hinted at and only dreamt about? I know not how to answer this.
I looked out of the window in contemplation of my lot in life. The featureless night sky was abyssal, glowering back at me as though I were making some terrible mistake of some sort. I shuddered a little as a cold breeze wafted through the open windows.
There was little doubt that it was going to be a long night.
------
It was never meant to be that way, of course. Things were rosier in the day, partly because of the tinting of the world by the daylight star, partly because there were actually things to do rather than just to sit around and let the mind wander. But for that day, the day that led to that night, it wasn't actually the rosiest of things.
Irene broke up with me.
We went out for quite a while, and for those moments, I felt like an adult. More importantly, I felt as though I was in control of my life. And then of course she broke up with me, making everything that I had once thought of as being stable turning into the exact opposite.
Roughly an hour after she told me to take a hike for good, my boss came up to me and told me that when my contract was up in three months' time, the company would not be extending it. And so, my source of income was suddenly affected negatively as well.
I had drunk some hard liquor, the precious few bottles that I had saved from during my college days. It helped keep me in the mood that I wanted; sombre, alone, yet fiery in a defiant way. And I had been lying in bed since dinner.
I continued to stare at the ceiling, allowing my mind to travel far and wide through my consciousness, hoping to find an elusive answer to the vague question that I have in my head. A fruitless endeavour, really, because all it did was to keep me even more awake than before, despite the cold breeze through the open windows.
I wished that Irene was back. I debated giving her a call, but quickly realised that it was almost one in the morning---making that call would probably seal things with an air of finality that would make the earlier brush-off seem like a joke.
But Irene had a mercurial disposition. Even though I had gone out with her for so long, I never could figure out how long it takes for her anger to simmer, or from any other non-happy state back to the neutral or happy woman I know. Maybe that ship hasn't sailed off yet, but there was no easy way to find out.
I stared at the ceiling more, letting the cold breeze that wafted through seep into my bones, triggering the familiar arthritic pain at the part where I had once broken the bone. That old familiar pain was strangely satisfying; it conveyed one of the few vestiges of control and understanding that was left that night.
My eyes were wide open, despite the lateness of the night. There was no way to sleep, even if I were completely exhausted. The vague worries and thoughts intermingled with the raw stimuli of the cold night and drove my mind into an odd mix of being tired and euphoric at the same time.
It was near dawn when my eyes finally fealt weary enough to droop down and allow me some rest finally. Perhaps there will be a better tomorrow after all.
I didn't use to be so worrisome. Life was simple. Study hard, get good grades, eat enough food, have plenty of rest and exercise and things were good. But as time went by, all these goals started to become meaningless drivel---their very mundaneness have made them into things that I wouldn't associate much value to any more.
I sighed as I lay on my bed, alone and under the sole light that I had jerry-rigged to hand slightly over head for better illumination.
Life used to be simple. What happened in between? Has becoming an adult effectively doomed me to a lifestyle where nothing was certain and happiness was merely something that was hinted at and only dreamt about? I know not how to answer this.
I looked out of the window in contemplation of my lot in life. The featureless night sky was abyssal, glowering back at me as though I were making some terrible mistake of some sort. I shuddered a little as a cold breeze wafted through the open windows.
There was little doubt that it was going to be a long night.
------
It was never meant to be that way, of course. Things were rosier in the day, partly because of the tinting of the world by the daylight star, partly because there were actually things to do rather than just to sit around and let the mind wander. But for that day, the day that led to that night, it wasn't actually the rosiest of things.
Irene broke up with me.
We went out for quite a while, and for those moments, I felt like an adult. More importantly, I felt as though I was in control of my life. And then of course she broke up with me, making everything that I had once thought of as being stable turning into the exact opposite.
Roughly an hour after she told me to take a hike for good, my boss came up to me and told me that when my contract was up in three months' time, the company would not be extending it. And so, my source of income was suddenly affected negatively as well.
I had drunk some hard liquor, the precious few bottles that I had saved from during my college days. It helped keep me in the mood that I wanted; sombre, alone, yet fiery in a defiant way. And I had been lying in bed since dinner.
I continued to stare at the ceiling, allowing my mind to travel far and wide through my consciousness, hoping to find an elusive answer to the vague question that I have in my head. A fruitless endeavour, really, because all it did was to keep me even more awake than before, despite the cold breeze through the open windows.
I wished that Irene was back. I debated giving her a call, but quickly realised that it was almost one in the morning---making that call would probably seal things with an air of finality that would make the earlier brush-off seem like a joke.
But Irene had a mercurial disposition. Even though I had gone out with her for so long, I never could figure out how long it takes for her anger to simmer, or from any other non-happy state back to the neutral or happy woman I know. Maybe that ship hasn't sailed off yet, but there was no easy way to find out.
I stared at the ceiling more, letting the cold breeze that wafted through seep into my bones, triggering the familiar arthritic pain at the part where I had once broken the bone. That old familiar pain was strangely satisfying; it conveyed one of the few vestiges of control and understanding that was left that night.
My eyes were wide open, despite the lateness of the night. There was no way to sleep, even if I were completely exhausted. The vague worries and thoughts intermingled with the raw stimuli of the cold night and drove my mind into an odd mix of being tired and euphoric at the same time.
It was near dawn when my eyes finally fealt weary enough to droop down and allow me some rest finally. Perhaps there will be a better tomorrow after all.
Friday, 4 April 2014
Nanite-enhanced augmented water of vim?
``Ladies and gentleman,'' the salesman began as the crowd slowly thronged about him, ``allow me to introduce you to the most wonderful drink ever made. Nanite-enhanced augmented water of vim! The only bottled water in the world that comes with sophisticated nanites that provide enhanced cellular mechanisms, improving the immune system tremendously and helping your digestive system extract even more energy out of the foods that you are currently eating. But! These nanites are also intelligent enough to determine if your energy requirements are already met---if they are, they will automatically readjust the chemical composition of the food that you eat into something indigestible, thus allowing you to eat as much as you want without having to worry about your weight!''
``The nanite enhanced augmented water of vim is fortified with fifty-four different essential minerals and vitamins in addition to the patented nanites, and has been shown scientifically to drastically improve your health! Buy a six-pack today for the low low price of only twenty four dollars! That's almost four dollars a bottle, but can you really place a price on your body's health? I don't think so!''
Shulin stood near the counter, listening to the spiel, and wondering to herself if anything that the salesman said made any sense. Technology was so advanced these days, and therefore many things that were once thought impossible are merely difficult now. She didn't quite understand what he meant by ``nanites'', but it sounded like something very well-engineered in her mind. As she contemplated about the drink, the other middle-aged women who were crowding the small station were slowly pushing their way forward to get a six-pack. Some of them were even remarking that such a powerful water was definitely going to be useful for their poor children who were facing an ever-increasing competitive socieity.
Something just didn't quite add up in her mind, but Shulin couldn't figure out what it was. Nanites. That word stuck to her strongly. She knew she had heard of that word before, but it was on a memory so vague she wasn't even sure if it was a memory.
Nanites. Nanite-enhanced.
A flood of memories suddenly came to her all at once and she staggered backwards a little, confusing some of the jostling patrons of the supermarket.
Shulin remembered where she had heard the term.
It was from the work of a friend of hers, a researcher. And the main point that he had tried to drill into her poor head over that rather long tea session was this:
Nanites have no business being in the body.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 05-Apr-2014 00:38:12)
``The nanite enhanced augmented water of vim is fortified with fifty-four different essential minerals and vitamins in addition to the patented nanites, and has been shown scientifically to drastically improve your health! Buy a six-pack today for the low low price of only twenty four dollars! That's almost four dollars a bottle, but can you really place a price on your body's health? I don't think so!''
Shulin stood near the counter, listening to the spiel, and wondering to herself if anything that the salesman said made any sense. Technology was so advanced these days, and therefore many things that were once thought impossible are merely difficult now. She didn't quite understand what he meant by ``nanites'', but it sounded like something very well-engineered in her mind. As she contemplated about the drink, the other middle-aged women who were crowding the small station were slowly pushing their way forward to get a six-pack. Some of them were even remarking that such a powerful water was definitely going to be useful for their poor children who were facing an ever-increasing competitive socieity.
Something just didn't quite add up in her mind, but Shulin couldn't figure out what it was. Nanites. That word stuck to her strongly. She knew she had heard of that word before, but it was on a memory so vague she wasn't even sure if it was a memory.
Nanites. Nanite-enhanced.
A flood of memories suddenly came to her all at once and she staggered backwards a little, confusing some of the jostling patrons of the supermarket.
Shulin remembered where she had heard the term.
It was from the work of a friend of hers, a researcher. And the main point that he had tried to drill into her poor head over that rather long tea session was this:
Nanites have no business being in the body.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 05-Apr-2014 00:38:12)
Thursday, 3 April 2014
Where’s Daddy?: Part IV
(Story begins here.)
Tiffany nodded her head in agreement meekly. There was no use trying to argue against him when he was in his ``my word is law'' mood, exemplified by annoyance, brashness and a tendency to raise his voice. Tricia knew about this side of his before, but it had never really been a problem; he rarely flared up and when he did, he often realised it quick enough to just cut himself off to cool down.
This time though, he did not quite cut himself off fast enough, and instead just sat there on the couch to peruse the newspaper of the day. That subtle point was lost on Tiffany, who was glad that he was home, but somewhat sad that he would once again have to spend many late evenings at the office to work on the big case. She missed him dearly during that case that she brought up that had happened a couple of years back, though it was partially ameliorated through the nightly phone calls he would make to her to said good night to her just before she was to retire for the night. She had been through this before, she knew what to expect. It was all for the family; it could not be helped.
It started as it was like originally, he would be late, and at roughly nine he would give her a call to kiss her goodnight, before stealing into bed at roughly midnight to sleep. But then, it started to become erratic. There would be a night or two that he would be in the office, reading briefs and evidence and writing summaries for his other team members to read so that they don't have to waste time reading the same pile of documents again, coming back only on the next next. Sometimes he would call her, some times he would not, especially during the times where he was going to spend the entire evening at the office again. Still, it was very similar to his behaviour back in the other big case in the past, and Tiffany was not worried about it at all.
But days turn to weeks, and the weeks steadily turned to months. Tiffany had settled down comfortably in her role as primary care-giver to Tricia, and was starting to get used to her husband's increasing absence. On the rare occasion when he came back and she was still awake, she would gingerly ask him how were things, and he would reply in a gruff and tired voice that it was just going to get worse the closer they were to the trial date, and even hinted that during the trial itself he might have to camp out at the office on a long term basis to make sure that things were going smooth.
That came as a small shock to Tiffany. In that previous case, no matter how busy things got, he would never broach the subject of bivouacking at the office, always making a point to make his way home, no matter how later or tired he was. At the very least, he would come back for a quick shower and a change of clothes, before heading back out to the office again to prepare witnesses, write briefs, and read more case-related documents. To boldly declare that he might have to camp out at the office over a longer series of consecutive nights was just one of the most unexpected things to be heard.
She started to suspect that perhaps he was involved in an affair of some sort.
Tiffany nodded her head in agreement meekly. There was no use trying to argue against him when he was in his ``my word is law'' mood, exemplified by annoyance, brashness and a tendency to raise his voice. Tricia knew about this side of his before, but it had never really been a problem; he rarely flared up and when he did, he often realised it quick enough to just cut himself off to cool down.
This time though, he did not quite cut himself off fast enough, and instead just sat there on the couch to peruse the newspaper of the day. That subtle point was lost on Tiffany, who was glad that he was home, but somewhat sad that he would once again have to spend many late evenings at the office to work on the big case. She missed him dearly during that case that she brought up that had happened a couple of years back, though it was partially ameliorated through the nightly phone calls he would make to her to said good night to her just before she was to retire for the night. She had been through this before, she knew what to expect. It was all for the family; it could not be helped.
It started as it was like originally, he would be late, and at roughly nine he would give her a call to kiss her goodnight, before stealing into bed at roughly midnight to sleep. But then, it started to become erratic. There would be a night or two that he would be in the office, reading briefs and evidence and writing summaries for his other team members to read so that they don't have to waste time reading the same pile of documents again, coming back only on the next next. Sometimes he would call her, some times he would not, especially during the times where he was going to spend the entire evening at the office again. Still, it was very similar to his behaviour back in the other big case in the past, and Tiffany was not worried about it at all.
But days turn to weeks, and the weeks steadily turned to months. Tiffany had settled down comfortably in her role as primary care-giver to Tricia, and was starting to get used to her husband's increasing absence. On the rare occasion when he came back and she was still awake, she would gingerly ask him how were things, and he would reply in a gruff and tired voice that it was just going to get worse the closer they were to the trial date, and even hinted that during the trial itself he might have to camp out at the office on a long term basis to make sure that things were going smooth.
That came as a small shock to Tiffany. In that previous case, no matter how busy things got, he would never broach the subject of bivouacking at the office, always making a point to make his way home, no matter how later or tired he was. At the very least, he would come back for a quick shower and a change of clothes, before heading back out to the office again to prepare witnesses, write briefs, and read more case-related documents. To boldly declare that he might have to camp out at the office over a longer series of consecutive nights was just one of the most unexpected things to be heard.
She started to suspect that perhaps he was involved in an affair of some sort.
Wednesday, 2 April 2014
Gordon the Photographer
``Come on, smile for me right now. Look into the camera, niice, niice!''
A few quick flashes came from the DSLR, and Gordon was already waving his arms at the posing couple to change their positions as their assistants came up to touch up on the make-up of the bride and the lightsmen were adjusting the diffused reflectors to provide a more even ambient light.
Bridal photography wasn't exactly the easiest of gigs, especially when done in full matrimonial regalia under the sweltering midday sun on a tropical island. Already the groom-to-be was starting to look a little ruddy under the chin, and the bride, though slim and fair, was perspiring profusely under the many layers of the bridal gown. Her assistants had to come up to her between takes to dry her up quickly with tissues and touch up on her make up that had smudged under the heat.
Everyone that had to work the photo-shoot was frazzled and on edge, all except Gordon. Despite the heat, he was wearing an all black ensemble---a black skin-tight T-shirt with matching black three-quarter cargo pants and black canvas sneakers. His head was shorn, and its surface reflected off the strong sunlight overhead like a mirror. But in spite of all that, he kept his cool. In fact, he had a jovial quality about him that bordered on the supernatural, and it seemed that there was nothing in the world that could bring him down. Everyone wondered where his eternal joy and optimism came from, but little did they know, the answer was right in front of them all along.
The camera. Gordon's camera, to be precise. No matter what make it was, be it a Canon, a Nikon or some other lesser known and more affordable cameras that he had cut his teeth with, that was the secret source to his happiness. Photography was a love of his, his eternal pride and joy. Everyone could see beautiful things and be happy, but with a camera, Gordon could capture that beauty for others to see it at another time in another place. Each picture that he took was a testament of a moment in time, and he cherished each moment like they would never come back again.
Many have told Gordon that he was a talented photographer, but to them, he just smiled and gently pushed away the accolades they tried heaping onto him. All he wanted was to do what he loved, and if people enjoyed it, it was due to their choice and judgement and was nothing to do with his skill.
With a big smile, he waved again at the couple in front of him to get ready, and they posed as he flashed his camera at them once again.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 02-Apr-2014 20:43:02)
A few quick flashes came from the DSLR, and Gordon was already waving his arms at the posing couple to change their positions as their assistants came up to touch up on the make-up of the bride and the lightsmen were adjusting the diffused reflectors to provide a more even ambient light.
Bridal photography wasn't exactly the easiest of gigs, especially when done in full matrimonial regalia under the sweltering midday sun on a tropical island. Already the groom-to-be was starting to look a little ruddy under the chin, and the bride, though slim and fair, was perspiring profusely under the many layers of the bridal gown. Her assistants had to come up to her between takes to dry her up quickly with tissues and touch up on her make up that had smudged under the heat.
Everyone that had to work the photo-shoot was frazzled and on edge, all except Gordon. Despite the heat, he was wearing an all black ensemble---a black skin-tight T-shirt with matching black three-quarter cargo pants and black canvas sneakers. His head was shorn, and its surface reflected off the strong sunlight overhead like a mirror. But in spite of all that, he kept his cool. In fact, he had a jovial quality about him that bordered on the supernatural, and it seemed that there was nothing in the world that could bring him down. Everyone wondered where his eternal joy and optimism came from, but little did they know, the answer was right in front of them all along.
The camera. Gordon's camera, to be precise. No matter what make it was, be it a Canon, a Nikon or some other lesser known and more affordable cameras that he had cut his teeth with, that was the secret source to his happiness. Photography was a love of his, his eternal pride and joy. Everyone could see beautiful things and be happy, but with a camera, Gordon could capture that beauty for others to see it at another time in another place. Each picture that he took was a testament of a moment in time, and he cherished each moment like they would never come back again.
Many have told Gordon that he was a talented photographer, but to them, he just smiled and gently pushed away the accolades they tried heaping onto him. All he wanted was to do what he loved, and if people enjoyed it, it was due to their choice and judgement and was nothing to do with his skill.
With a big smile, he waved again at the couple in front of him to get ready, and they posed as he flashed his camera at them once again.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 02-Apr-2014 20:43:02)
Tuesday, 1 April 2014
Table
The table. It's old, ancient really, made up of old grenadilla wood that is illegal to own now. It was also quite large, comfortably seating fifteen people around it.
It has been sitting in the family home out on the farms since the nineteenth century, the only place with a large enough dining room that could accomodate the girth of the table. Thanksgiving, birthdays, Christmas, all the major festivals have seen action with the table as the centre of attraction.
You can say that the table is a memver of the Tellington family as any other. And it is because of this table that the latest family squabble came about.
I'm part of the latest generation of adults in the family. Pa and Ma are old. Nearing seventy, both of them, while the rest of us are fast approaching forty ourselves. They haven't been running the farm for a long while; my elder brother had been helping with the farm, and even he was starting to feel the aches and the encroaching overrun of technology and economics. A family meeting was called, and all of us were present.
Everyone agreed it was time to sell the farm and move Pa and Ma to the city. But when it came to the table, there was an impasse. Pa and Ma wanted the table to go with them, but its size made it neigh impossible to move anywhere else.
Voices were raised, tempers flared, but nothing productive came out of the discussion.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 01-Apr-2014 21:37:17)
It has been sitting in the family home out on the farms since the nineteenth century, the only place with a large enough dining room that could accomodate the girth of the table. Thanksgiving, birthdays, Christmas, all the major festivals have seen action with the table as the centre of attraction.
You can say that the table is a memver of the Tellington family as any other. And it is because of this table that the latest family squabble came about.
I'm part of the latest generation of adults in the family. Pa and Ma are old. Nearing seventy, both of them, while the rest of us are fast approaching forty ourselves. They haven't been running the farm for a long while; my elder brother had been helping with the farm, and even he was starting to feel the aches and the encroaching overrun of technology and economics. A family meeting was called, and all of us were present.
Everyone agreed it was time to sell the farm and move Pa and Ma to the city. But when it came to the table, there was an impasse. Pa and Ma wanted the table to go with them, but its size made it neigh impossible to move anywhere else.
Voices were raised, tempers flared, but nothing productive came out of the discussion.
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 01-Apr-2014 21:37:17)
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