Monday, June 15, 2009

The Mossy Forest.

Through an old forest road I ran. The cool air of Cameron Highlands swept over me as I panted for breath, listening to the soft patter of my feet on the gravel.

I found myself passing through a small stretch of road that the trees covered from the sky.

Then, I saw it.

Cavelike, a muddy path through the forest climbed, then disappeared up over a ledge. Was this the way?

Pulling my gaze away from this surreal gateway, I shouted to my brother, who had gone ahead of me. My mother appeared from around a bend in the road.

"Hey mom! Look at this!" I pointed.

Plodding through the muddy earth, I trailed my mother and brother. Carefully navigating over fallen trees we advanced through the mist and foliage. It was not long before my mother stopped in her tracks and gasped. Could it really be?


-----

We found it.


-----

Thursday, May 28, 2009

The Secret Life of Scott Fuller.

A question from a past year IGCSE English paper:

Everyone thinks you are an ordinary teenager, living an ordinary life. No-one knows, nor must they ever find out, that you have powers which can only ever be used fro the good of humankind. Write about a day in 'The Secret Life of...'. [25]

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I stood at the entrance of my school. All around me, kids trudged along toward the big orange building.
“Goodbye mum. I love you.” I said, and meant every word.
“Have a good day son.” she smiled, and drove away.
During roll call, when the teacher called my name, I only lifted my hand. There was no verbal reply, like all the other kids who cried “Here!” to accompany their raised hands.
At lunchtime, I ate alone. The table to my right sat 6 girls. They were chatting, with occasional giggles about some handsome boy. To my left, there were 8 boys who were furiously discussing “X-Men Origins: Wolverine”. I longed to join them, to speak, to communicate with others my age. But I was scared.
My name is Scott Fuller. I am 17. I’ve often overheard many a complaint from my peers about how their parents never listen to them. I have a bigger problem.
People always listen to me, and no matter what, they always obey.
I don’t - and probably never will - know how I came upon this power. It was sometime when I began adolescence. I discovered that my commands were never disobeyed.
That evening back home, news broke that terrorists had taken 17 people hostage on the second floor of a building just six blocks from where I lived.
“Forget about me.” I told the taxi driver after I had got down and paid my fare. I quickly walked on.
A crowd had gathered around the building, watching the spectacle as the police laid siege to the building.
Dressed in a grey sweater, a hood pulled over my head, I made my way over to the nearest policeman I could find.
“Please take me into the building by the back way.” I shouted at the top of my voice. When we had reached the back entrance, I said to the two policemen stationed there, “Let me in.” As I entered, I said, “Forget about me.”
I was alone now.
Going up the flight of stairs, I took every step slowly. It was so quiet. I found myself at the door of the second floor.
‘How big is the room?’ and ‘Will they all hear me from behind this door?’ were questions that entered my head all at once. I took a leap of faith.
“Drop all weapons! Surrender to the police! Release the hostages! Forget about me!” I shattered the silence.
Back home, I was still shaking when I heard a newscaster on TV announced that the terrorists had tamely surrendered themselves to the police. I was glad; I would never use this power in a petty situation.
My father was an alcoholic. He would sometimes beat up my mother when she wouldn’t give him the money he needed to buy beer. “Your father loves us. He just... has this problem he can’t face alone.” she once said to me.
I now understand.
“Why don’t you just go and die?!” I had said one day in a fit of rage. He had smiled kindly and left.

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What do you think? Badly written? Award winning? Too corny? It's really only supposed to be 350 - 450 words, but the essay above is a re-writing. The first one got a 10/25...

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

People going nowhere.

I don't know how to write this.


So I'll draw.

Saturday, February 28, 2009

I Sprained My Ankle

A few days ago, I sprained my ankle.

During badminton training, I was playing a doubles match when I jumped to hit the shuttle and landed wrongly. A bone wobbling sound was heard. "What are you doing on the floor, Brian?". I found out I could hardly put any pressure on my left foot without it hurting. I don't even know if I got the badminton point.

The next day, I went to a doctor who gave me some lotion to rub on my ankle and a bandage to support it. A few of my fellow tuition-mates tried using my crutches (which were handed down to me from my dad) the correct way or as a gun.

I remember having sprained my ankle once before. It was at Holiday Villa, the hotel we go to play badminton in. Nope, I didn't sprain my ankle then. We got bored of badminton and I was with my cousin and brother at the bowling alley. What was that? I twisted my ankle while rolling the ball? I wish. I was chasing my cousin around the table. He grabbed a chair. Threw it in my way. Bang. The irony...

Anyway, my crutches make it hard to carry anything at all or go through small gaps. They also hurt my hands and armpits. They are clumsy, occasionally banging into objects around the house. Going up or down the stairs also proves to be quite dangerous. I have to sit when wearing pants or jeans since I cannot stand on my left foot.

These things happen.

Monday, February 2, 2009

'A' for Art

Two days ago, a letter from the British Council came for me in the mail.

November last year, I sat for my O-level Art exam. (You can read all about that here.)

I got an A.
Thank God...
Rather ironically, my brother seems to have beaten me to publishing a post about this.

Friday, December 12, 2008

Justea

I don't know why I drink so much of it. Maybe I'm addicted to it. Or maybe drinking it has become some sort of a tradition. Either way, every time I go to a coffee shop, I will usually order it.

Justea incorporates (or tries to incorporate) green tea with the regular line of fruity flavours. My favourite flavour would be white grape (whatever that is) with aloe vera bits. I never really bothered to look at what they put in it. Oh well. It really tastes a bit too sweet for me, but the ice most coffee shops so kindly provide help me to dilute it. What I like, is the aloe vera bits, firm with just the right bit of crunch.

Like I said before, I don't know why I drink so much of it. It's not THAT good, but, nevertheless, nice. I guess this goes to prove that I am easily satisfied when it comes to drinks, or just don't care. I don't even like green tea.

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Not for a long time

4-Nov-2008

Today i woke up around 6.30am. My body instinctively flew off my bed. A great light encircled me. I squinted. Today, I felt something I had not felt for a very long time. My mind played over and over...

'O' Level Art Exam.

Since Std 4, I have never sat for a formal exam.

The day before, the middle finger on my right hand suffered a badminton accident (courtesy of my partner) to the first joint from the knuckle. It had bled enough to dye my finger red from the first to second joint by the time I took the trouble to look at it. I'm not the kind to believe in omens but it ached whenever I clenched my fist. I am not a sissy, but I DID have an art exam coming up.

Wounded digits aside I would say I was quite calm compared to my art teacher, parents and sibling. I now quote my brother.

"These exams are hard on everyone... Except you!"

My serene demeanor started to fail me the day of the actual exam however. During the trip by car to the British Council where the exam was held, I found myself going through the details over and over. How the placement of objects should go, what steps to take and what equipment I might have forgotten were all questions I interrogated myself with. I must say I wasn't that nervous though, because when all that was said and done, I fell asleep. I then reached the place, enjoyed a nice breakfast at The Cofee Bean before entering the room marked "Silence Please".

As soon as I entered I noticed that they expected me to paint in a carpeted room, but my concentration was needed elsewhere. I stared at a tennis bag. It stared back at me, its contents spilling out of it so it looked more "Artistic".

Before the exam, the thought of an invigilator invoked pictures of very nosy people who patrol back and forth with an occasional stop to bend over and look at your artwork. However, due to the fact that the room opposite mine held candidates sitting for a Physics paper, as well as the fact that there was only one invigilator... he was a rare sight.

I had also pictured myself in a room with more people. There were 2.... Including me. Issac, a 19 year old chap sat at another seat painting plants. A nice guy. Painted the background with the kind of brush used for walls. I still wonder why I never thought of that...

Looking through the box of paints, I found out that I didn't have black. Turned out I had switched the black paint cap with the Prussian blue paint cap. Thank God... Scared the **** out of me.

Despite this, to my surprise, I was quite satisfied with the way my work turned out.