A short review about Valley Verified, a book by Kyla Zhao.
This is one gem of a read by Kyla Zhao, a local author from Singapore! I enjoyed reading this book from cover to cover, as it details the interesting journey of a young writer, Zoe Zeng, as she switched carer from the fashion industry to tech. I enjoyed every moment of her conversation with friends, to her brainstorming for the tech startup, Fitpick.
I must say, however, that the ending is tad bit disappointing, because Fitpick ended up in flames when Zoe Zeng found out about the scandals of her new boss, Bill. The plot went on to focus on office politics rather than the making of a new technological application that can help many young women and men. It is a strange turn of events, but I can empathise with Zoe throughout and see through the drama of it all – the mission of Kyla to share about the difficulties of working in any company, and what matters at the heart of it all: friendship and true passion for what you really stand for in your own life – your values, your identity and also your own principles. It is no wonder this book is popular despite the dramatic turn of events in the story. It is no surprise then that this book has gone off the shelves of many bookstores throughout my country.
I highly recommend this book to anyone who would like a light-hearted read that will bring them into the world of a very vivacious and brave young protagonist. If you are interested in exploring new industries and stories about the brave who venture into the unknown in the career world, this book is for you.
My favourite character in the book is in fact Damien. For he is very similar to people I know in life, and is very relatable. Most importantly, he explores the beauty of writing, and believes in staying true to oneself. Oftentimes, we find ourselves lost in the sea of the vast world, wondering where to start, where to end, and where to continue. In this never-ending process of ups and downs, we find ourselves having to pick ourselves up again and again, setback after setback. But we find that we are never alone in this world, because our voice does not go unheard. In fact, every action, thought, intention and belief you have sends a ripple in the universe – ripples that will push you along this wonderful path of light and progress. It is just the right action and thought that takes time and practise to hone. We have a wide variety of choices – we just need to make the best one. And doing our best is all that matters. The rest is up to faith, and fate.
Reading this book, and writing the review for this one, has been deeply cathartic, for I have experienced multiple changes in industries in my career life myself. In every change, I learned to adapt; to change my focus in knowledge and mindset, and in the process of doing so, have learned to be like water. As Bruce Lee said, we need to learn to be like water, and go with the flow. For only then can we slowly bear fruit in the passage of unwinding time, and find our timely destination, which will be wonderful and beautiful if we give it time. In fact, every meeting point we have in life is a miracle, for it brings us joy and beautiful opportunities.
Indeed, to flow is to live, and to breathe is to flow. Perhaps that is why Damien decided to explore writing, for it helped him to flow with his thoughts, his being, and his soul. He imparted this wisdom to Zoe, who tended to doubt herself and think negatively whenever she met setbacks, before learning to trust her instincts and strengths in her own way over time.
Are you a Zoe or a Damien? Either way, it is a good to have a blend of both, as both will bring you luck, fortune and wonders in life.
If you want to understand more of what I mean, you can give this book a relaxing try! Enjoy 🙂
It’s been a long time since I wrote in this blog, I stopped because I spent so many days reading books I never had the chance to read. To my friends who have subscribed to my blog, thank you for your support and quiet encouragement to keep writing, it really helps me have the fire to continue exercising my writing muscles after stopping for so long.
Alright let’s dive into this topic! Today’s topic is the book, Days at the Torunka Cafe. I write this while listening to slow sea waves from YouTube (did you expect it to be by the real ocean?) and the sound of pattering rain from outside my home window. It is a wonderful day for a slow leisurely read, and the one I am about to recommend you is precisely that.
Days at the Torunka Cafe is very similar to its sister book by the same author, Satoshi Yagisawa, Days at the Morisaki Bookshop. However, it is very different in its unique melody.
To start off, this book contains a good number of short stories, while Days at the Morisaki Bookshop only follows the story of a young girl who experiences heartbreak.
The characters in this book have better character development that is thorough and beautifully crafted to give us a glimpse of their inner lives as well as their public personas. In each character, we see their inner turmoil and their journey in finding hope for themselves. As they experience chance encounters in their daily lives, they begin to unravel their inner strengths as well as weaknesses when they embark on the journey of serendipitous meetings.
Have you ever met someone you never expected to meet at the turn of the corridor? And, in the midst of doing so, enjoyed a wonderful, light-hearted conversation with the stranger? Many of the encounters in our lives only happen once, but when they happen, they may flourish into blossoming cherry trees blooming in the wilderness as the breeze blows by. These encounters strengthen the heart as they teach us so much about ourselves and also the world. It is indeed the way we interact with the world that we learn so much about life, and the journey itself.
I will not give too much spoilers about the plot of this book, for I want to keep it a mystery for you, but I will introduce my favourite character in the book, and that is Shizuku.
Shizuku is my favourite character in the book, as her story is very unique yet relatable. As a young girl working with her father at the Torunka Cafe, she welcomes visitors in her usual cheery tone, and at first glance, we assume she is the girl who has everything going for her, from her day job, to her education, and her community. However, little do we know that even the fairy from the cafe has her own inner demons.
Since young, Shizuku has always admired her elder sister, Sumire, just like any younger sister. To her, Sumire was the doll of the family, the lady from a painting one can’t help but notice whenever she sat in the family cafe. However, Sumire died early due to an illness, and Shizuku could not help but feel a yearning for her sister’s presence ever since her passing. With these unresolved feelings in her heart, Shizuku feels a contradictory experience when she meets Sumire’s ex-boyfriend, Ogino. In fact, she feels love – fresh, passionate love for the person Sumire depended on for a good period of her precious life. In the midst of this intense experience, Shizuku explores her own development. However, she explores it in a tangent related to her attachment to Sumire and unresolved grief. She begins to dress like her idolized sister, and behaves like her to catch the attention of Ogino. Sadly, as we can all tell, it falls apart.
However, this story is no sob story, because it is ever hopeful. In the midst of heartbreak, Shizuku learns to love herself for who she really is, and in it all, finds the closure she always wanted in regards to Sumire’s passing.
In response to this chapter of her life, Shizuku feels hope towards her path onwards into adulthood – ah, the passing of her blossoming moment into something even more wonderful and exploratory.
Don’t we all miss the days when we were adolescents? The bygone days of youth and passion. All once there, but never truly lost.
It indeed is never truly lost. In fact, it is within reach from our fingertips, on the cusps of our lingering memories. Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, the seasons fly by like dripping grains of sand in a glass cup. Time waits for no one, but when we savour every lingering second, time can stop for awhile, especially when we are in love.
This is why I love Shizuku’s story. It teaches me to love myself, and to be truly myself. All individuals are made different. We are made unique, not to fit into a mold like a square. If we are identical, we would not be here to bring our own light to the world.
So I hope you will embark on the journey of this book, to discover Shizuku’s journey to blossoming for yourself, and in turn, find your own divinity and joyful light. It is truly a wonderful thing, to be yourself, and wholly, you.
Thank you for reading my short review, and I welcome you to give Days at the Torunka Cafe a try. Let me know how you find this book in the comments below. If you have a favourite protagonist, I would love to hear about it. Oh, and, get a cup of coffee as you read this, it’s going to be one slow, relaxing read.
A short review of the Americano experience at Cafe Donkee
This is not my usual topic of writing but I’ve grown interested in Americanos and with this, the exploration of different cafes in my country! During one of my walks around Bugis I stumbled upon this lesser known cafe called Coffee Donkee and decided to try its Americano. The experience certainly gave me a very memorable impression the first time I visited the cafe on a Sunday afternoon, but a month later when I returned to the cafe for a second visit, I felt disappointed.
So a month back I wandered down Haji Lane, and saw this small cafe out of the corner of my eye. It was decorated with luscious orange maple leaves, perfect for the rainy weather. Before I knew it, my feet carried me to the front door and I found myself walking into a comfortably lit vintage cafe complete with a rustic tabletop and leather chairs. Monet-inspired paintings adorned the browning walls under the illumination from hanging butterfly-shaped glass lamps. The place spoke magic, and seemed to breathe magic as well, with its kpop background music.
Flipping through the menu, I saw that the price of the Americano was nearly the same as Starbucks ($6 for hot, $7 for iced) albeit slightly more expensive, and decided to give it a try.
Snagging a corner seat near a vintage closet adorned with oriental wooden flowers, I was excited to try the drink. Within minutes, it was brought to me by the sweet waitress in a beautiful Turkish glass mug with flowers engraved in its sides – the coffee glistened amidst the light as ice cubes nudged each other languidly. I took a sip, and the aroma of finely roasted coffee filled my mouth. Following this bittersweet aroma, a sea-salt taste took me by surprise, bringing to mind the nostalgic scene of sandy shores bathed in glorious golden light. As the coffee disappeared in that sip, a slight salted bitterness lingered. It was a trip to outer space and back, complete with stars and orbiting lights. I could not believe my luck running into this underrated cafe! I raved about it on Instagram, and spent precious moments chatting with the waitress about her cute coffee drawings.
After an hour of goodness in the cafe, I left satisfied and very happy.
Fast forward a month later…
I returned today as I was thinking about the last time I drank a finely brewed cup of black coffee. The first thing that came to mind was this hole in the wall at Haji Lane.
However, when I returned today, the sweet lady was not in, and in her place was another waiter. He was pleasant, and served me the coffee very promptly as well. Yet, what struck me as odd and different was the presentation of the coffee. It came with the same black straw as before, but in a meagre, thin plastic cup. I took a sip of the coffee, hoping that it would bring back memories of the first time I tasted it. The flavours hit the right notes of classic Americano, but something was missing. Though there was a slight salted taste, it did not taste as pronounced as the previous time. Sadly, the experience felt very akin to drinking Starbucks coffee (not to say Starbucks coffee is not good, but the last time I drank the Americano here, the taste was even better than Starbucks). My heart sank slightly.
However, the ambience of the cafe was still the same as ever; welcoming, inviting, soothing with the sound of soft rain outside amidst dreamy autumn lights. It was the perfect vibe! Even without kpop music. It was just unfortunate that the coffee did not taste the same as before, and the presentation was not as unique as the last time. Maybe it is because the lady is not in today.
I left after giving up my table to a sweet couple, and took one good look at Coffee Donkee.
Will I come back again? Maybe and maybe not. 2 visits alone are not enough to determine the true quality of the coffee since it may change with staff, but I might not frequent it as much as I would have imagined after today’s experience. Still, though, it was a good experience and I hope this coffee house continues to live long and prosper at Haji Lane. I do hope they don’t serve the coffee in plastic cups again though.
All in all:
ambience: 5/5
coffee taste: first visit – 4.9/5, second visit – 3.5/5
price range: first visit – 4.9/5 (value for money), second visit – 3.5/5
If you ever drop by Haji Lane, maybe you can give this one a try!
A short review of Murakami’s book, Hard-boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, and a discussion about themes of BCI (Brain Computer Interface), Mind uploading and the purity of the human soul.
Have you ever wondered if you could squeeze an entire encyclopaedia into a toothpick? What about transferring the data for a memory into a hard disk – translated from the electrical signals in the brain into tiny bytes of information? What if the lore from The Matrix are in fact true and it is possible to recreate an entire conscious realm using artificial intelligence? For all we know future humans may really experience being connected to a large central processing computer with electrical wires probing the brain to stimulate conscious experiences – a stage of advancement from current trends of virtual reality. What if everything we knew about the universe and the experience of living boiled down to the principles of quantum physics relating to the stuff inside our heads – a.k.a our central nervous system? Is it really mind over matter, or matter over mind…
Today I reflect on all these questions after successfully completing the book by Haruki Murakami, Hard-boiled wonderland and the End of the World. The book is lovingly crafted with interwoven monologues of absurd fantastical memories, imagery, allegory, theories of data science, philosophical reflections on the mind and literary anecdotes featuring authors such as Turgenev and Dostoyevsky. All of these are beautifully woven around the plot arc involving an unnamed narrator who dives into an adventure of data mining endeavours and mysterious kappa-like creatures (‘inklings’) in underground sewers after being recruited for a study by a mysterious professor. The shape of the plot grows increasingly complex as Murakami brings forth the revelation that a third consciousness has been created in the narrator’s mind; a parallel world of existence within his head that runs alongside the superficial consciousness operating in the processes of the mundane everyday world as he knows it to be. Reality thus is split between the world as experienced by the physical body and conscious ego in waking time, versus a dream-like state devoid of the ego within a core consciousness only accessible through surreal dreams. Whether or not this is possible in real life we have to leave it to our future generations to find out, for it is currently unethical to carry out the experiments by the Professor on human subjects, and even if it were many would die instead of survive (I surely would ran far even if they offered me a million to sign up for it!). However, the plausibility of such tests does not fall too far within absurdity as modern theories of science and neuropsychology do provide clues to its possibility.
In the past 20 years, various corporations have already been researching the use of brain implants to improve the wellbeing of people with disabilities and neurological issues such the loss of limbs or motor issues. For instance, Neuralink, heralded by Elon Musk, has invented a device utilising BCI (Brain-Computer Interface) technology composed of a a wireless battery, multiple chips and 64 ultrathin wires disseminating from the chips into the brain tissue to collect and send signals to the brain. This device, Neuralink 1, when implanted in a person’s brain, would translate the individual’s thoughts into electrical signals to be sent via Bluetooth to connected devices, allowing the person to conduct actions such as moving a robotic arm or onscreen cursor for tasks like web surfing or playing a digital game. Trials have already been done involving pigs and monkeys, in which pigs successfully played games of Pong with the chip in their heads while monkeys controlled computer cursors. All this feels like a faraway dream, when in fact it has already been happening before our very eyes!
Apart from Neuralink, other corporations have also been experimenting on BCI technology, such as Black Rock and Stentrode With Thought-Controlled Digital Switch (SWITCH), the latter of which is particularly fascinating as its invention comprises of an implant that allows individuals to control computers to do various activities such as shopping, emailing, texting and surfing the web based on thought alone. If not for such technology, individuals with upper limb disabilities would not be able to do what the average person does for daily life.
While there have been concerns as to the ethics of such technological advancements involving the dangers of chip malfunction or potential damages as a result of chip removal, the benefits of such inventions suggest that they are here to stay, for the time being and beyond before manifesting even more advancements in BCI technology.
These steps in BCI technology are also just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the science of improving brain functions with technology. Further research have investigated a deeper question of technology relating to BCI: if the brain can be connected to devices with the technology of converting thought to electrical signals, can we map the entirety of consciousness to digital data to replicate consciousness in its totality?
The second question may sound straight out of a science fiction fantasy novel, but many minds have already begun pondering it in the 21st century.
In principle, it is hypothetically and theoretically possible to replicate the network connectivity of the human brain by producing a device with spike neural network (SNN) to resemble a hemisphere of the brain. After combining this artificial hemisphere with the biological hemisphere of the brain (let’s say we create a left artificial hemisphere to be implanted alongside the right biological hemisphere), we can then transfer memories from the biological hemisphere into the artificial device through detailed and complex circuitry between the two hemispheres, which would involve workings of the corpus callosum. In the process of all of this, a parallel consciousness in the form of a neural circuit is in fact created alongside the biological circuit of consciousness, as the individual processes sensory stimuli from the world around him or her with the workings of the two hemispheres. Hence, when memories are transferred from the biological hemisphere to the artificial hemisphere, the two circuits are in fact consolidated and combined into one single circuit of consciousness in the artificial hemisphere. Unfortunately, the process might be violent on the synaptic level, as transference of memories from the biological hemisphere to the artificial hemisphere would involve fierce connections between the two hemispheres, and achieving singularity between the two hemispheres requires one of the hemispheres to be shut down for the other to carry on in a stream of consciousness. The biological hemisphere would hence be required to undergo a phenomenon akin to a stroke, entering coma, while the artificial hemisphere continues to operate, with the combined memories of two hemispheres together. Mind uploading is thus completed, wherein data from the biological brain is uploaded into the artificial device. This proposition by Masataka Watanabe, associate professor from Tokyo School of Engineering, bears uncanny similarities to the theoretical principles proposed by the professor in Murakami’s novel, wherein a parallel circuit of consciousness is produced alongside the consciousness of the biological brain (bearing workings of the ego). The world within this independent circuit becomes the ‘core consciousness’ of our unnamed narrator, that which his being resides in for eternity after his superficial circuit of consciousness experiencing the world as it is in its physical reality erupts and ends, fading away in a deep slumber akin to a coma. He thus dies in the superficial world, but continues living on in the core consciousness – a world he has created in his own mind through parallel transference of memories through imprints of his ego and subconscious manifestations. The miracle of consciousness is thus, replicable, and downloadable, in science theory.
Whether we can test mind uploading or not rests on advancements in science research and ethical paradigms. Who knows, we may be able to put this proposition and method to test in a few decades’ time.
Some opinions, however, are skeptical as to whether consciousness can be replicated by artificial intelligence.
For starters, whether an entity has consciousness depends on whether it bears the experience of being ‘like’ something – i.e. the likeness of its identity. We have the likeness of being human, and are able to perceive and interprete the world around us, owing to our conscious minds, but artificial intelligence does not have the luxury of that. Devices with thought-mimicking phenomena such as artificial intelligence software thus are ‘philosophical zombies’ – objects bearing internal circuitry similar to that of the biological human mind, but lacking mind itself – functioning without core concepts of self identity, values or emotions. Thus, if let’s say we are able to create an artificial hemisphere, the key question boils down to whether the workings of the hemisphere are in fact akin to consciousness itself – bearing concepts of likeness and subjective perceptions. In order to find this out ourselves, we would need to enter the being of the device, and experience life through its lenses – something seemingly impossible unless we can in fact transfer human souls into robotic entities.
Studies have found that significant proportions of society are still disapproving towards the concept of mind uploading – transferring the soul and consciousness from a living body to another object, and that this sentiment involves elements of disgust stemming from a biological component.
The concept of mind uploading also challenges traditional ideology regarding the birth and development of consciousness, i.e. the soul, a reason why a significant proportion of society may still be hesitant to welcome the idea whole-heartedly. The key question here, however, would be whether the concept of a soul can be differentiated from that of consciousness – can consciousness exist without a soul, and vice versa? Do souls really exist, for all we know? Much of the answers to these questions stem from long-standing religious beliefs and ideologies dating back to Egyptian times when people believed that the soul’s heart is weighted with a feather in the Judgement Hall of Osiris before the soul enters the afterlife.
If souls truly do exist, and the fate of our souls rest on the purity of them depending on the deeds that we do in our present lives, then the act of mind uploading would go against the value of the very process of developing and purifying a soul. It would contradict the very ideology of respecting what is sacred and what is nature-given, for it would involve the act of playing god – giving life to what is not by reproducing a duplicated consciousness, thereby going against the laws of nature since the preservation of a duplicated consciousness would mean to ascertain eternity for that entity’s mind despite death being a crucial part of the definition of life.
So, then, is mind uploading ethical? Would it benefit humanity if many people begun dropping into coma to recede into a parallel consciousness produced by artificial intelligence? Would giving ‘life’ to otherwise dead philosophical zombies advance human evolution for the better or aid in the existential mission of purifying our souls? The answer varies from individual to individual amidst the excitement and fear towards advancements in artificial intelligence and technology as a whole.
For myself, at least, I would prefer to live in the cosy parameters of my biological consciousness, regardless of how mundane and ordinary it may be.
And that’s precisely what the book brought me to realise at the very end. Despite the existential suffering that we may derive from our biological consciousness, life is still ever more rewarding with the intrinsic, intangible benefits we may reap from the processing of this physical reality. It could be as small as the feeling of satisfaction after eating a sandwich, the relieving emotion of sorrow after a thought-provoking movie, the comforting warmth from the first rays of sun at dawn when you stand alone in the quiet, serene park, or even the idle conversation you have with a friend that you meet after many years. Life is rewarding, even with the twists and turns it brings, all because of how our brains process the stimuli around us, how we come to reconcile our adversities with the gains from living to consolidate and develop a coherent, anchoring sense of self.
Thank you for reading thus for and joining me in this spontaneous rumination about Murakami’s novel, Hard-boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, the future for BCI and science, and the mission of living as a human in general. Part two may come soon as we have not dissected theories regarding the mind, quantum physics, and the nature of the universe.
What is your opinion on BCI, artificial intelligence and mind uploading? I welcome your thoughts below.
How would it be like to be a leaf in the wind, fluttering aimlessly with the direction that is cast upon it?
How would it feel to be punctured in the heart and set out to float aimlessly after the turmoils of the scathing winds?
They say love is a choice, but love is as flippant as the emotions we call our own, ever manipulable and ethereal like the first rays of sunlight – tranquil yet rife with evanescence and impermanence.
Where one feels the need to explore and grow, another feels the need to hide and stow away the good, bad, ugly and beautiful.
The past is the source of learning for the present and eventually the future. Yet, how can we access the past when time is a river flowing onwards in only one direction? Each second and minute that ticks by brings us farther and farther away from the past and its precious stow of memorable memories.
Where is the mind when the mind once held ideas and flourishing flora, yet is now barren with dried millennia-aged grass and cracked earth from the desert?
How do we continue when we are put on crutches and made to crawl instead to walk?
Mandela once said, if you cannot fly, then walk. If you cannot walk, then crawl. How do we move forwards when the progress forwards is as trickling as the droplets from a leaking tap?
The loudhailers that used to spew ideas and never-ending fantasies are now quiet with radio silence. What do we do from here?
Where do we go from here?
Will it all be for nought or worth?
And how will we know whether it turns out well in the end?
Fresh milk in the mug, baked cakes on the counter.
Green leaves shivering in the wind, fractal branches in the summer
Gravel roads leading to shops made of maroon red bricks,
A child swinging on the swing, crying out loud in joy as
ravens hop in staccato by the railings
What does it mean to be human?
It’s everything but
nothing at the same time.
I’m writing this because honestly I hope that ten years from now I will feel different. I’ve never questioned the state that I’m in before but this mental state has gone on long enough for me to realise something is wrong. No spontaneous thought emerge in my mind except for the questions as to how or why I’ve become like that, merely existing without various nuanced emotions apart from neutrality and amusement. The tea in the mug is simply tea, not TEA, as is the milk in the cup. Nothing stands out in caps anymore, the feeling of wanting to hug a poodle on the road is nonexistent when it used to fill me till the edges of my body. After so many months of merely existing, I have begun to hold on to things such as friends, words (writing), books, and work. Without these things in my life there would be no meaning, for there appears to be the lack thereof within me. What once held a bubbling infusion of passion, emotions, inspiration and ideas now holds a void, and I’m not sure where to go taking this new state of being with me. I’ve told many about what I’m going through, but none truly understand for this concerns the very definition of what it means to be human, which so many seem to be blessed with to still grasp (bless you, kind soul). Passion, love, curiosity, awe, wonder, and excitement. All are aliens to me now. When I once held onto something for the very being of that something I now hold onto something for the sake of chasing the definition of that something. Nothing feels meaningful but at the same time everything is important because I am chasing meaning. This is a block of text. An internal monologue that I’ll put into a mental time capsule of sorts in hopes that things will unravel and make sense in time to come. Frustration emerges when this block of text does not form a perfect rectangle or square, perhaps that is also a sign of being human?
What is life without some blocks of text?
If you read this and resonate in some way, I look forward to hearing from you perhaps.
I’ve never thought so much now as compared to months before what happened to me as an individual,
for sometimes we grow into the way that we are in the present moment, which is ever fleeting and evanescent like the trickle of water from the bamboo tube or the puff of smoke evaporating into thin air from the smoker’s pipe.
It’s strange that sometimes humanity feels elusive when we are humans ourselves.
This is a short promotional post of sorts. I have a new novel in the works, and it’s inspired by bookish bookworms, fantasy, old school romance and mythology. If you would like to check it out, the link is here!
The leaves rustle in the breeze as the first few rays of light leak through the sea of grey clouds. Thunder ceases, and rain halts. Somewhere far away a quiet lair awaits the return of a magnificent being perched on the mountaintop.
Like snakes slithering through a trail it creeps up the rocks, approaching the summit with its talons and tail trailing behind to catch the first rays of sun.
Little by little it inches towards the uppermost rocks, as silently as a crane balancing on legs made of stilts. Not a sound it utters as it slithers up the mountain.
As stealthily as the minute hand, it reaches the summit just in time to bask in the first few rays of sun, scales shimmering gold and white as they cast reflections all around as mirrors do in the twilight. Like waves they stir in the breeze, coalescing into streams of rippling light.
“I am the dragon, the mightiest of all beings. No sword or spear could pierce me, and all shall bow before me”, it announces in its deep, bellowing voice, sending its message far and wide along the reigns of the howling wind. Alas, its form is clouded by mists save for its two scorching eyes often mistaken for dazzling stars, while its voice travels majestically as notes do with the strum of harp strings when they are taut and tight.
“No voice is clearer than mine, no sea as vast as my reach!” It cries out once more, before sending its wings afar as it raises its talons with a fiery leap into the sky. Like giant parachutes its feathered wings spread wide, enveloping air and gaining momentum from the winds as they flap powerfully through the clouds.
Like a floating diamond, it soars, shining as beacons do in the light of dawn, leaving a trail of shimmery white behind.
“Look! It is the dragon! It is flying again!” The village children cry out ecstatically as they see the rare being in the sky, a resemblance to a shooting star.
“Take us with you!!” They cry aloud, hoping their voices would be heard by the mystical creature soaring far and high on Icarus’s plains.
Slowly, it becomes smaller and smaller, until it is one with the sun, far, far away.
To this day, tales of its visits continue to enthrall villagers both young and old, as the dragon continues to live on for eternity in the hearts of many.
Scrolls depict its heavenly being, with dashes of gold, silver and bronze for its sharp scales.
Look no further, for it is inside you,
This year of the
Dragon.
~to be continued~
Wrote this with inspiration from the drawings of dragons by my students.
She sits afar with a book in her hand. One might mistake her for a student with her youthful bobbed hair. Strange as it seems, her dress flows even without the trace of wind. Why is she there, no one knows; perhaps she is waiting for someone.
All in a breath, in tick of the minute-hand, in a snippet of time – she turns to look afar beyond the train of cars, beyond her train of thought. Her eyes meets his as he looks across the bus stop. They hold each other’s gaze for awhile, as though some divine thread ties them together for a moment beyond a lifetime.
Taking a leap of faith, he takes the first few steps to cross the road. It is a busy lane with many cars, but momentary gaps emerge between the boxed vehicles moving monotonously along the concrete lanes.
Finally, he reaches the bus stop where she sits. Panting and gasping for breath out of sheer exhilaration at his move and the heat from the weather, he walks towards her, suddenly conscious of his sweat-drenched shirt and clammy hands.
The lady continues to study him as he moves towards her, calm eyes observing his pace and gestures as he sits down beside her.
A good moment of silence ensues between them, until, finally, the man decides to start.
“I don’t know why I did that…it’s strange…but I thought I recognised you from somewhere…have we met before?”
The lady listens intently, her eyes enlarging as he progresses. A warm red flushes her cheeks as she listens till the end. She closes her book and takes out a piece of paper and a pen from her purse, proceeding to write something down quickly.
He feels confused. Why isn’t she saying anything?
She takes his hand in hers and places the paper into his palm. He looks at it and reads, eyes squinting in the afternoon sun:
“I remember you. We met many years ago.
I still remember what happened back then. We were still children.
Thank you for being my first friend in primary school. I slipped and fell but you stopped to ask if I was okay. That was the first time we met, but I still remember after all these years.
I can’t speak, I can only read and use sign language, so there are not many whom I can befriend.
I was very lonely in primary school, but because of your kindness back then, I persevered, and am now in graduate school studying for my PhD.
Thank you for coming all the way to meet me again.
I hope we can still be friends.
91835667″
…
He is speechless. Taking the paper in his hands, the very words he wanted to say are now lost; they’ve dissipated into thin air. His mind draws a blank…
Then it dawns upon him.
Yes! She was the young girl he met in their old school back then. The girl with bobbed hair…
Suddenly, she gets up.
“I have to go now, goodbye” her fingers gesture in signs. Turning, she gives him a slight smile with dazzling blue eyes, and leaves for the bus 179 that just arrived. In a flurry of steps she boards it, dress fluttering in the dappling sunlight as satins do in a light, gentle breeze. The engines rev and roar, and the bus drives off.
With that, she is gone, the only evidence of her presence a trail of fading smoke and dust.
He looks at the dust, and turns to find the bus with his searching eyes. It shrinks into nothingness behind a bend in the road far off ahead.
Again, he looks back down at the piece of paper, mind adrift and listless.
A warmth spreads up his neck, filling the back of his eyes and the shape of his cheeks.
What a coincidence!
But what a disappointment too –
He buries his head in his hands.
He thought she was his ex!
~fin~
I don’t know why I wrote this – just wanted to experiment for a bit.
“Duck! Duck for cover! They are coming!” He heard the distant screams and shouts from his fellow men as a roaring, droning sound echoed in the sky. A huge shadow loomed over the patch of field where they were stationed, and the air grew silent for a while.
And then it happened. Dark pellets rained from the large monstrosity, falling down like hail from the heavens. Divine intervention. His legs gave way and he fell, head breaking into a cold sweat. The pellets hit the ground all around him, sending clouds of smoke billowing in the air at the harsh impact. There was no way out. “Run!” A voice screamed into his ear. “Run, Daniel!!” A hand grabbed his collar and shoved him northwards. It was Kay. The last of his words echoed in his ears as he clambered up the slope, away from the mess of bullets. Turning around to see if Kay had followed, the last of his face looked on before vanishing behind a cloud of smoke and raining bullets. The last of his deep blue eyes and clear, strong voice. A hand reached out to him, ushering him to run, before it too vanished behind the veil of smoke.
“I have to run”, he thought, as his legs moved on autopilot, pushing him through tufts of bush and sharp rocks as bullets rained torrentially behind him. There was no way left but northwards, on and on and on.
The pounding of the bullets would not stop, now in one with his frenzied heart as blood rushed through his veins with the shot of adrenaline. Grey billows of dust emerged everywhere around him, as men twice his size fell one by one. His heart clenched and sweat dripped from his brow as their faces emerged in his mind in a flurry of images. Some of them were his brothers, but he could not save them. He retched.
There was no time to feel, no time to think, no time to guess. Only to listen to his body as it pushed through crevices and cracks in the fallen oak and rocks, pulling him through the jaws of death at every second of luck.
He felt his eyeballs dart to and fro frantically in their sockets, searching for a space to seek refuge in as his legs grew weary from the flight of endless steps.
In an instant, a hole in the ground caught his attention – it was perfect for shelter!
The roaring of the plane continued on, and a fresh batch of bullets rained from the hell-red sky. He dove towards the hole in the ground, squeezing his entire body into it as one would into a python’s belly. In sheer desperation, he removed his boots and gear, pushing himself through the space amidst tears in his skin from the jagged twigs and branches. The hole continued to stretch on as if extending into a tunnel, and far above the sounds of drones and pelting bullets slowly ceased, growing muffled and distant till all that was left was the pumping of his blood sounding loud and clear in his ears, each beat pushing his legs and arms forwards.
He crawled on. On and on and on through the shrinking space like there was no tomorrow….
In the distance, a light emerged, a point where the darkness around him converged…he grasped at it like a moth fighting to be near the flame, and pushed on with what little hope he had as his heart pounded relentlessly in the cold darkness….
The Writing Den 