Meet the BOBs #01 - Eh-Oh!

Just a little about my life in school. My clique call ourselves the Band of Brothers, ridiculously acronymed BOB. Recently, a friend of mine (one of the BOBs of course), started a fiction series in his blog (http://cursed-blessings.blogspot.com) that garbles about some of our adventures in school, in a farfetched exaggerated way. It was decided that I do a prequel for the series, covering how the clique first formed.

So here I am succumbing to fate and writing this prequel. I know that most of you probably won't understand it since it includes a lot of internal jokes (though I'll try to make it understandable). I'm writing this mainly for the sake of our own laughter, so what the hell. Hope you guys enjoy it!

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Meet the BOBs #01 - Eh-Oh!
The Band of Brothers

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"Holy shit, look up guys!", exclaimed Mobie to his zombie-like companions.

It was early in the morning of 2002 that the three of them met, on a short flight of stairs underneath a stretch of walkway. Above them, a group of senior girls were making their way to class.

Kimmy replied, "---- [EDIT] He drooled.

"Maybe if they don't notice us, we could do this all day...", fantasied Mobie.

That was short-lived however, as moments barely passed before before the silence was broken. "OH MY GOD! IS THAT A G-STRING!!!", enquired Shaibouzie with full intent.

The other two just gave him a cold stare. "WHAT DID I DO??? I know! Let's call this blessed passageway The Perverted Road to Hell!", Shaibouzie remarked, trying to flair some intelligence.

Thus started the clique, with the three founders. Let's intro them a bit.

Meet Mobie, Owner of Cursed Blessings. 170cm tall, not all that fair, spiky hair and seriously needs to gain some weight. Part time Deep Thinker, Full time Idiot and the Family Playboy.

Meet Shaibouzie, No blog owned. 168 cm tall, not all that fair, wires for hair, needs to go on a diet and needs to stop using a towel to wipe his face. Overtime Idiot and Elephant Man.

Meet Kimmy, Owner of kim productions. 172cm(plus minus) tall, not all that fair, aspires to be a golfer and like shaibouzie, needs to go on a diet. Part time Deep Thinker, Usually never with the rest and failed philosopher.

"Cool, so now we own a Perverted Road to Hell. That would so please God", commented Mobie cooly.

"Mwuahahahaha! Not anymore! I shall claim the Perverted Road to Hell as mine instead! Mwuahahahaargh*cough,cough*haha!". From the bottom of the staircsae, an enemy approached. It was none other than the formidable Buffalo King Herald.

"You!", said Kimmy. "As our enemy, we must... Err... Screw, no. Thank, no. Defeat, no. Smooch, no. Oh yeah, defeat you!"

"Quick! Hit him with a stick and a ball!" instructed Mobie.

Shaibouzie looked around. "I can't find a stick!"

"You're staring at it!" came the reply from Mobie.

"Now, where do I get a ball?" said Shaibouzie.

"You're staring at it!" replied Kimmy this time.

"So where am I aiming at?" asked Shaibouzie.

"Find a weak spot. The neck!" replied Mobie.

"I can't see one!" Shaibouzie shouted back hysterically.

"Just hit me!!!" cried out Kimmy.

"Alright. Here goes nothing", said Shaibouzie. He lifted the ball, found it too heavy, and decided to just hit it from the ground with the stick. He held the stick firmly from the base of the neck and swung hard. With a *swoosh* and a *whack* and a *crack* and an *OW*, Kimmy shot off towards Buffalo King Herald.

"Hahaha! You can't defeat me with that!" sneered the neckless king. Kimmy kept coming towards him. "Holy shit! The smell! The smell!!!"

And with that, the founders of the BOB won their first battle. As they were glaring themselves at the blazing sunset from behind the girls above them, they wandered at what would come next.

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So there goes the first part. Comment people, comment!!!

Rafahn Ranting in Red

Rafahn

Recently was big baby Singapore's 40th birthday. Kind of makes you think, for a person, 40 years is quite old already. Thank god countries don't suffer menopause or impotence, I think.

Some people say life starts at 40. If you ask me, it's more like your paying life starts at 40. Once at that age, you seem to be paying for everything now: your bills, your children's bills, your wife's shopping, your children's shopping, well you get what I mean. Seems like Singapore is no different. We're paying extra for simple things like water and getting your car on the road.

So there I was, in Farhan's head, on the bus after having missed a stop. Again. I was thinking at what makes Singapore, well, Singapore. Looking out the window, it's quite easy to recognise. It's one of the only places with distinct fashion. There's the Chinese in tank-top and shorts, the Malays in tapered pants and the Indians in... What do they wear again?

Then there's the shopping centres. If you think about it, there's a shopping centre at every MRT station. Counting in the other shopping centres, that's a lot of shopping places. Add those two up and you'll have a shopping centre every two kilometres! You can imagine a marathon with shopping centres as pit stops.

"Oh no, that runner looks like he's not gonna make it. Just a little more and you'll be at Causeway Point, where they're having a 50% discount at Metro storewide!"

"SALE!!!", vroooooooom!

Sometimes, when I pass by the more ulu forested areas, I like to imagine myself in another country. You know, to destress from bustling Singapore. But the moment I turn back into the bus, you see the auntie beside you saying, "Wah, Singapore so hot hor!"

And you know your fantasy's over.

Well, being in Singapore isn't all that bad. At least you get to demonstrate your democratic abilities. Probably once in your lifetime, hopefully.

It looks like our Excellency will be running around for another six years. No one else seems to be up to face his 'dark' wrath. We can't say that's a bad thing either, after checking his profile. Turns out that Mr High Pants has done quite a bit. To date, he's been a social worker, director of the security and intel dept, Foreign Affairs permanent secretary, executive chairman of Straits Times Press, commissioner to Malaysia and president of good old Singapore. Phew, that's quite a list. So he really does do more than pop up and smile at events.

Taking a look back, the other presidents don't seem as flashy. Let's see... First we have Yusof Ishak. He literally was a figurehead, just to take the place as Head of State until he died 5 years after taking his post. To date, he has... his face on our money.

Benjamin Shears wasn't such a bad guy. Being Eurasian, makes us wonder if the British set him up to take care of ickle lil Singapore back then. They've got good reasons, the previous president died just to have his face on money. Shears was an obstetrician (a person who enjoys a woman's squeal as she gives birth) and taught at the University of Malaya (teaching.... how to squeal?).

Onto the next race, Devan Nair. The races seem to take turns here. He had his fair share of political achievements, but who in the right mind would be president of Singapore then live in Canada? He would. He did leave us a nice joke. Your know, the one with his wife screaming "Nair! Nair! Fire!" in the kitchen, which led to the '995' telephone hotline.

Singapore was lucky to have a people's person for the next president. Wee Kim Wee was highly popular, with experience as the chairman of the Singapore Broadcasting Corporation, now called MediaCorp. At least he enjoyed his last days here until his bladder burst him to death.

Finally! Singaporeans used democracy! First elected president was Ong Teng Cheong. Left a legacy of arts that gave birth to the Esplanade and Singapore as an arts hub. The guy kicked the bucket at a suspicious age of 66.


Having seen all that, I guess Mr High Pants isn't so bad after all. Hope he leaves us more than just his face on our money.

Roaring in Red

From right behind me, there came a steadily pitching hissing noise. I turned around just in time to see the projectile give a loud "bang", and turned into a most amazing spectacle of fireworks that close to the ground.

The date: 9th August 2005, place: Jurong East Heartland Celebration. Yes, I was one of the thousands out in the open on the night of the National Day.

"Do not ask of what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country."

This saying has been proven true through and through, though around us Singaporeans still practise their hobby; complaining. They complain about the government, the weather, the educations system, anything imaginable. Now let us just consider the otherwise for a second. What has the country done for us?

A Singaporean would enjoy a lifetime of democracy, meritocracy, freedom of speech (compared to restricted speech elsewhere, this freedom is more than you think), a thriving economy for an island thought impossible to survive, sufficient welfare services, uncorrupted governance, freedom in religion, a voice for every ethnic group, protection against prejudice, sanctuary from terrorism, among many other benefits. Students further enjoy the edusave reduction, a comprehensive economy-driven education and a merit-based system.

With all of these, who would in the right mind still ask what the country has done for them?

Around me, people of countless differences were gathered. Their eyes told me of one purpose: to celebrate the nation's independance. I could only understand why they would want to commemorate the independance of the nation that has given them so much. Looking back at the crisis that made us instead of break us, I truly acknowledge the existence of the Singapore spirit. A nation can unite.

Racist? Maybe. Patriot? Definitely.

With forty years of wishes,
Happy Birthday Singapore



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The WIlderness Series #02 - Behind These Wandering Eyes

Rafahn: Well, I've been rotting in Farhan's head long enough. Since he's down, I'll be doing a full-length article this time. Can you believe it? An article of my own!!! So, I'll make do without all the crap that Farhan always comes up with and share with you something that's close to your hearts. So.... enjoy!

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The Wilderness Series #02 - Behind These Wandering Eyes
An article by Seraphim

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We've all gone through life, had a fair share of its hardship and shed a few tears. But the most memorable moments were the ones when we shared with a loved one. Speaking about loved ones, it's interesting to note how a guy can change when they face their counterparts. Today, let's take a look at some of these 'transformations'.

The Playboy
This is an obvious category; the name says it all. This guy is a sucker for relationships. Often we'll find him having more than one relationships at once. Let's not call it two-timing, let's call it multi-tasking. Commitment is a non-existent word for this guy. What pleases this chap are things that usually pleases his eyes. Like a busy fisherman, he'll reel in all the fresh, pretty fishes that comes near his line.

The Obsessed
While the Playboy is a sucker for relationships, this guy's a sucker for a specific girl. There's a slight understanding of commitment to him, at least as long as his obsession lasts. The distinct tell-tale sign of an Obsessed is the way he acts towards his girl. His fingers would twirl around his cellphone, bracing for an SMS from her, he can never keep her out of his conversations, and the ultimate confirmation of an Obsessed: he would die if his girl doesn't wave back. Yeah, I can hear the "ooh"s and the "ah"s already. You know what kind of person I'm talking about here right? A little like the Playboy, an Obsessed gets obsessed with a person who would catch his sore spot. If a girl were to find herself in the grasp of an Obsessed, don't reject him. Clean out his pockets first, he'll gladly do it.

The Desperado
This is an easy one to figure out. This guy's just plain old desperate. He's the type who's either new to relationships, became a host to newly raging hormones or been out of a relationship for too long. It's quite easy to recognise a Desperado; he'll try to catch anyone within his grasp. Either for a friend or a relationship, he'll grab them all. Usually likes to make known the fact that he's a real man and that he's got the girl to prove it. This guy wants to get the type that he wants, but beggars can't be choosers like they say, so he'll just grab them as they come.

The Family Man
This type's been getting more popular over the years. This guy's got a bit of the Playboy in him, but the difference is he won't admit them as relationships. Confused? Try replacing the word "girlfriend" with "sister" or whatever crackpot name they could think of. Does that ring any bells? We have to give them credit for one thing though, for calling their girlfriends 'sisters', they get one huge advantage: they can have as many girlfriends as they want without being accused of two-timing. Smart eh? I mean, it's logical, you can't have many girlfrineds but you can have many sisters. Man, this guy could have enough simultaneous relationships to make Playboy jealous. Like I said, this guy would never confess his love for his counterparts, calling it 'brotherly love' or something. Ugh, lame...

The Elephant Man
They say an elephant never forgets. I say an elephant has one hell of a thick skin. Just like our Elephant Man here. This guy's got a bit of the Desperado in him, with the difference being he doesn't acknowledge his own desperation himself. A master of drama, he'll act as if people actually think he's the hottest thing on legs, but of course the truth is much far off. Realising this is an impossibility for him, as he'll be obliged to keep thinking of his dellusional hot self. I guess there's no need to describe how this guy looks like; everything that's not what he says.

The Prince Charming
Don't get me wrong, the Prince Charming isn't the handsomest of them all. Hey, it's hard to keep beauty in royal blood you know. The Prince Charming is simply a guy who can keep his relationship (that's singular), quite a diversion from the guys above. He's not the sick one like the Obsessed, not dellusional like the Elephant Man and definitely not a Desperado. Just a guy who has a good old clean relationship, the classic type. That's not to say this guy's perfect. His imperfections? Er... I'll have to think about that...

The Lone Wolf
Aha, the final one on the list of misfits. Let's just get to the point here. This guy walks alone and wants to stay that way. Que themse song "Green Day - Boulevard of Broken Dreams", heh. That's not to say he's gay either, since I'm talking about guys here, not people in between. This guy just wants to walk the lonely road on the boulevard of his own dreams. He doesn't mind it. I think.

So there you have it, the different classifications of the male mindset. Go figure out which one you are. Remember, in the real world, they tend to mix and match, so have fun classifying yourselves!

Forbidden Files #03 - A Rainbow in Black and White

Finally, I'm back. Oh, it's Farhan here. You want to make sure? Ok, ask me a personal question. What's my hobby? Blogging!!! I know Rafahn's been taking over, so if you want to make sure just ask him a personal question. Ok, that was lame. Anyway, I'm trying to come back with a blast here with the third Forbidden Files entry. I hope you'll enjoy it, so here goes!

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Forbidden Files #03 - A Rainbow in Black and White
An exposé by Seraphim

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Not more than five decades ago, Singapore was a much different place. Besides the difference in infrastructure and culture, there was one major element that was missing: racial tolerance. That's barely racial harmony, just racial tolerance. No, I'm not really going too deep into Racial Harmony Day here, but my intention is to arise the fact that not too long ago, the difference in race was a reason for riot in Singapore.

Readers might want to note on the difference between racial harmony and racial tolerance at this point of time as it will play an integral part in this article.

After the nation's claim over its liberty, four decades have passed since the riots took place. Soon, Singapore will be celebrating fourty years of independance. On the mark of four decades of independance, one might ask what has been achieved over all those years?

Achievements in technology and economics are nothing to the face of the world, where competition holds the likes of Japan and United States. A more significant achievement would be to overcome the challenges of the past. That brings us to the point: Have forty years really diminished racial differences? Or is racial intolerance still at large but done in more discreet manners?

Allow me to tackle on my eternal grudge with the government. The effort that the government has put in to propagandize racial harmony into the minds of every living soul in Singapore is admirable. The phrase "racial harmony" has been drilled into the minds of every Singaporean since birth. The education system is overflowing with lessons that educate students on the practices and beliefs of the different races in Singapore. By the time a student reaches adulthood, racial tolerance is no more a conscious effort, but an integral part of their living.

All these, I must admit, are not to be deemed sins of the powerful as it did, to an extent, achieve what it was meant to do. But as we all know, nothing can go against the force of will. And what exactly are the wills of those who carry the boiling blood of the intolerant people of the past?

Wake up fellow Singaporeans. Racial intolerance is still at large out here. Examples are lying out there naked for all to see. Put together forty people from mixed races into a class and see how the first cliques are formed. No doubt they would first be separated by race. How many of us still ask ourselves of a person's race when judging the person, for whatever reasons you can think of. The point here is that Singaporeans still ask this basic racist question, "What's his/her race?"

There may be a rainbow of races in Singapore that co-exist harmoniously on the surface, but they are nonetheless viewed as either black or white.

Let me paint a sharper picture with specific examples.

Being the dominant race, the Chinese are rarely the target of discrimination since they are the ones who discriminate. With that as a fact, I regretfully admit that I can barely recall any example against them. But then again, who do they think they are to take over the former Malay grounds of Singapura? Let's face it, they actually took over the country. From the all-powerful Lee Organisation to the lowering of university requirements to favour the Chinese (this is too good, you have to check this out yourself, there were reports that MENDAKI was furious).

Next comes the Malays. It would be good for you to read my first Forbidden Files entry for a deeper scoop on this. Let's see now, where to begin discriminating... Starting off with the sad fact that they take up a higher proportion of juvenile crimes, abortion and divorce to the ridiculously 'trendy' Mats and Minahs. I love the latter, they walk around flashing as if they're trying to get a bargain for a brain. They might be the bumiputras but what have they done? Let's see... try nothing. Compared to the other races they barely have any significant achievement. And that's a singular on "achievement".

If the Malays are easy to discriminate, nothing would be easier to discriminate than the Indians. Racist Indian jokes are a school commodity. When was the last time you heard a racist Indian joke? Last month, last week or yesterday? Invisible Indians in the dark are a classic. Fact: they're black, they're ugly and they stink. Literally. I mean, the worst case scenario in Singapore would be to get stuck in a lift with an Indian. Enough said before I die of laughter.

As you can see ladies and gentlemen (or megalomaniac Chinese, Mats and Minahs or invisible Indians), we're still a long way from racial harmony. Call me racist, I think I've deserved it.

My point for mentioning all of the above is not to arouse anger in the races amongst themselves, though that might be unavoidable, but to make everyone realise that they've got to stop taking races into consideration. Completely. Period. No strings attached. For harmony is the ignorance of its counterparts, not its remembrance.

Only then can there be a hope of true racial harmony.

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Phew, glad that one's over. Now, comments people! Comments!!!

Seraphim Anthology #05 - Earth Day

Rafahn: Hello again folks, just trying to fill up space here. Oh yeah, if we've just met, read the previous entry for my intro.

This entry is just something that Farhan came up with for the Earth Day poem thing. Seems like he ran out of ideas when he wrote it. Oh well, if he wants some drain washed poem to be on his blog, so be it.

So, here it is for your momentary enjoyment (or not)

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Seraphim Anthology #05 - Earth Day
A poem by Seraphim

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Gray, the shade of the clouds
Descend to the ashes my talon grasp smoke
Where are the azure mists where once my cry was shrill?
Where are the emerald glades where I swooped in for a meal?

Raven is the sea, life is now devoid;
Where once the mermaids swim and beam their nights spent merry-making;
Cinder is the forest, growth is now frozen;
Where once the wood nymphs dance in trance their faces were always grinning.
Sable is the air, motion is now halted;
Where once the sun motes swing and sing their lights were ever shining.

My wings I spread, in flight I've read the polluted landscape
Long I do the plains of yellow for me to escape
Wish I do the woods of green, man has yet to shape
Soil, flame, rain, wind
Hope...

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Ah feathers, told you it's bad. Farhan really lost his marbles on this one. I guess that's it for today. See ya all some other time then.

Within Now Without

Rafahn:
*stretch* *bones cracking* *yawn*
Man, it feels good to be back. For the less acquainted, no, I am not Farhan. I guess most of you have no idea who I am. Allow me to properly introduce myself.

My name is Rafahn, Farhan's alter-ego. I am an entity that resides in the deepest crevices of his mind, reading his every thought and memory. For an age now, since his last blog, that he kept me locked up in his dirty mind. At long last I could release my rush of creativity, like the title of this entry. Fine, probably most of you can't even comprehend what the title means. Anyway, Farhan regrettably announces that he has to be away from his blog due to a deprivation of inspiration. That should explain his seven week absence. For the time being, I'm here to fill him in.

In the upcoming days, I wish to dig out some of his memories and stash them here. That will include some accounts of his dirty (to an extent that is true) experience in Japan and his thoughts about the recently released Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.

Well now dear readers, I hope that we have made a good first account with each other. I very much look forward to reaching out to you soon.
P.s.: Not to mention plotting with me to take over Farhan and his blog...

Gilded Grimoire #04 – Two Face Too Many – Façade

Alright people, I’m back from exams. And I won’t apologize to say sorry that I have not posted for more than a week and that I hope you guys are still reading. I’m not doing that. Anyway, today I’m back doing what I did last six months ago, fiction writing! It just struck me as astonishing that the last time I wrote a fiction for my blog on the 11th November 2004, and that’s like six months ago!

For those who have never read any one of my fiction (which I think includes all of you), here’s a quick intro on what Gilded Grimoire is. It is a series of individual short stories about basically anything but are based on a central one word theme. I’ve started with Vengeance, and then went on to Hopelessness, Resistance and Imperfection. For today, I’ll be tackling Façade.

So there you go folks, enjoy.

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Gilded Grimoire #04 – Two Face Too Many – Façade
A fiction by Seraphim

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And the man just dropped dead.

The former terrorist fell down with a loud thud, followed by a silence of astonishment and occasional gasps. The four friends remained huddled where they were throughout the whole ordeal, too stunned by the spectacle before them. The fifth friend released himself from his attacking stance, staring at his handiwork that was the fallen man and a quick glance at the gun on the floor. It must be one of life’s ironies that the gun was in the hands of the man, a weapon of murder in the hands of the murdered.

The actual surprise to the huddled forms was not the death of the man, but the fact that one of them actually did it. They stared at their fifth friend in doubt, unsure of what to make out of the situation. Moments ago he sat huddled with the rest of them and the next moment he transformed, in looks and being, into that form that saved them all.

The surprise was the face of their fifth friend. It was not his.

30 minutes earlier

The band of five lay seated on the moss-covered floor. All of them were awake now, starving but conscious. The stench of the sewers had long left their thoughts as their worries dismissed that. A masked guard stood over them, a gun in his hand and eyes showing eagerness to put his sidearm to use. Somewhere else behind him, hidden among the shadows, stood his fellow accomplices speaking into a cell phone.

It must have been a day or so since the boys were kidnapped. It was hard to tell under the darkness of the sewers with only a fading light for illumination. As they were walking back the previous night, from the cover of the night came these masked men. The men covered their heads, beaten them and brought them to this forsaken place.

“What exactly are we looking for sir?” asked the man with the cell phone, with it on hands-free mode for his colleagues to hear. With nothing else to do, the boys decided to eavesdrop into the conversation.

“Well, that’s the problem you see,” replied a croaked voice from the cell phone, voicing with frustration and murderous intent. “The boy we’re looking for, he’s rather tricky. For some reason, no one knows how he looks like.”

I’ve always been living my life like this; a normal life by day and a more disturbing one by night. Under the cloak of darkness I would go about with my secret life, the life of a vagabond, unsure of what I’m looking for but always holding on to the hope that my purpose lies somewhere out there.

When I was small, my parents left me because of what I am. The first time it happened, my face initially turned into a blank canvas, waiting for the artist to define it. Then my hair changed, followed by the contours of my face, and then the eyes. My parents stared at me in disbelief, unsure of what to make out of me. Eventually, they decided I was too much of a worry for them. They abandoned me.

Apparently confused, the masked man continued, “So how do we know who’s the real one?” There was a pause, then the croaked voice sounded again, “You’ll have to meet back with me, I have some new information that you’ll have to see that might help. For now, you must know that whoever he is, he is the one with the information we need. And if you really have the real one with you, beware. It is said that he’s rather… dangerous.”

For a moment, the boys stared wide-eyed at each other. Then an awe-struck one spoke, “They’re looking for just one of us? You mean one of us is dangerous?” That statement brought out another silence. “Wait, they’re not even sure we’re who they’re looking for. I mean, they don’t even know how the guy looks like,” came the reply from a calm-faced one. “For all we know, they could have made a mistake.”

“But there’s also a possibility that one of us is just a disguise,” rebutted a more concerned one. “Furthermore, that guy is supposedly dangerous.”

Without hesitation, an optimistic voice came. “Don’t be ridiculous, we’ve known each other for ages. How can any of us be of any danger?”

Since then, I’ve been on the constant search for the place where I would truly fit in, normal, like everyone else. With each place comes a new face for me, afraid of having someone recognize my true self.

Whenever I change my looks, it is as if the whole world changed. My looks are not the only thing that changes; it goes along with my personality, like a role playing scenario. It is amazing how one’s perception utterly differs from one person to another. Each person’s perception is the product of the accumulation of the person’s life experience and opinions, with each person having their own encyclopedia of the world. There is a whole new world through different eyes.

Sometimes, I would wonder if it was right to deceive everyone around me. It is true that seeing is not necessarily believing. But I have come to assure myself that what I do is no different from what everyone else does. Everyone walks around with a mask of their own, showing one side of themselves to some and another side to others. The only difference between me and everyone else is that my masks are more physical.

“How can you be so sure?” came the voice of the fifth, unquestionably doubtful. “Now I don’t even know who to trust. Look, if any of you are who they’re looking for, just own up. For the sake of our safety.”

“Silence!” roared the masked guard. “I’m sick of your ramblings! If you so much as to utter another word, I swear I’ll shoot you where you sit!”

With that last remark, the awe-struck one shook. “I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die”, he whispered. In a hushed voice, the concerned one spoke, “Have you ever wondered, what exactly we live for?”

It was apparent to me that with my ability comes a purpose. The problem is, there seems to be no clue as to what that was. As I wandered along the darkened streets a night moons ago, it struck me. If I can’t find my purpose, then maybe I could create one.

Seeming like a doppelganger was a trait that gave me an edge. With it, I have managed to enter the most secured of vaults, the most secret of lairs and the most obvious of places unnoticed. Even the president’s office was not safe from my reach. People wonder what some of the greatest people in the world do, but I have come to note that the most wondrous things are the simplest ones. Like for example, what struck me as wondrous about the president is what he eats.

With excess to virtually everywhere, it was obvious that I have my hands on dangerous information. That is how I go about with my life, trading secret information on the black market. It did not disturb me the intention of the information’s use to the bidder. After all, I can be anyone, the enemy and the ally. But it did strike me as disturbing how I live my life. And to think all that I want is a normal life.

That last question left everyone stumped. Was there a right answer to that question? That thought kept everyone thinking.

“Oi, you there, keep the kids under control. Me and the guys gotta meet up with the boss. He said he has something we might need.” shouted the masked man from beneath the shadows. “Alright, go ahead. These boys ain’t going nowhere.” replied the guard.

The splashing made by their footsteps grew fainter as they left the place where the boys were kept. Though most of the men were leaving, the boys did not seem more assured. It was as if they knew there was an impending doom upon the place.

The tension was to the point of utter intolerance. The guard playfully pointed the gun towards the boys, revealing the barrel of the gun threatening the presence of a bullet through it. When all of them thought that the tension would become more murderous that the gun, the doubtful one stood.

That was when they all knew.

One moment he was just another one of them with paranoia written all over his face, the next moment he was barely recognizable. As he stood, his features started the transformation. From the top of his head, his hair was the first to morph, then his face and then the rest of his body. Standing at his full height, he was a totally different person.

“You,” remarked the guard, unsurprised by the sudden metamorphosis.

“Yes me,” the stranger replied in a calm, casual voice. With flight of feet he moved with blinding speed, reappearing in the blink of an eye behind the captor. A harrowing glare shone in his eyes before he made his next move, apparently signaling the end for the masked guard.

There was no loud bang, no stab in the guts, or the sound of fighting. All the remaining four boys knew was that there was a “crack”, and that it was all over.

And the man just dropped dead.

I knew that I they would find out someday. I knew that it was not possible to keep up a mask forever, but I never intended for them to find out this way. The truth is, it happened, and that I could not change what has been.

As I stared back at the four of them, I knew that I would look back to the times we had and miss them. But now that they knew, I could no longer remain. It would only endanger them further. So I turned to them with a smirk of goodbye, and ran.

Trickster. Liar. Betrayer. Protector.

What will I be next?

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Phew, months of not writing fiction sure made me rusty. But it was fun nonetheless. For those who are confused, note that there are a few POVs (point of views) in the story. And oh, if you have missed it (which is most probable), the whole story is rather symbolic in most aspects of it, that’s why it took some time to write. I would appreciate it if you would take your time to indulge in them.

Then again, you might not.

Me, Professional Hypocrite

God, how did I ever manage to spill all that bullshit? Oh, sorry, I was just thinking out loud. For today, I've finally gotten sick and tired of my usual columns so I'd like to deviate a bit and write about a popular theme: Hypocrisy.


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Me, Professional Hypocrite


"Say to others what you wish to be said to yourself."
- popular old saying by some unknown goddamn person


Let us all just stop doing whatever god-forbidden activity that we are all doing right now and have a moment of enlightenment for a second. Let's think, how many of us here have heard or are guilty of saying "I hate backstabbers, betrayers, liars, bitches/bastards (and their synonyms)"? Yet a closer look would tell us that we belong to the very category that we've mentioned above.

Yes people, this is no exposé, everyone's a hypocrite. Oh shut up and don't say no. You're a hypocrite too, yes you, the one saying you're not. If you hate me for saying this, then congratulations, you've just joined the Hypocrite Club. Strange how we could hate the very qualities that we ourselves possess.

Allow me to give you a personal encounter with a hypocrite (actually all you have to do is just look for someone else). The other day, I went to have a haircut. Now, I'm a paranoid person but nothing scares me more than going to get a haircut, because that is when I really get paranoid. I could kill you before you could even strike me but when I go for a haircut, the paranoia becomes overwhelming as I sit helplessly in that Throne of Doom as another person holds sharp tools (capable of performing the most brutal murder) close to my head. What's more, I have to do it willingly.

Back to the topic. The guy who cuts my hair is kinda interesting. I'm quite familiar with him as I always look for him at the usual place for haircuts. Well that doesn't sound quite right. Anyway, the thing about him is that as he does his stuff with the objects of brutal murder, he has a knack of asking me about my academic life. There's always that pause between snips for him to commence his lectures proper.

In those so called 'lectures', I'd pick up things about how to study better, the methods to score papers, how the education system sucks, same goes for government (stuff that taxi drivers complain about) and things like that amidst my constant nods and grunts every 2 to 3 minutes. The thing that I always wondered was if he knew so much about all those things, why in the world is he still grazing about people's hair? Then he would go on telling me how well his kids are doing etc etc.

During those moments I always had the urge to jump out of that Throne of Doom and give him a lecture. Firstly, he has his facts wrong, like that time when he mixed up Newton with Edison. Secondly, I think he has the impression that I was some dirtbag dropout. Excuse me mister, but I'm studying at some god-forsaken yet so-called prestigious school, hold appointments in everything I am in and probably going to a hell-lot better JC than your cunt-dripping daughter.
Editors note: Whoops, did that turn out too harsh?

Anyway, he's quite an amusing guy.

Go ahead guys, take a moment and relate yourselves to the story above or look for the inner hypocrite in you. Find it and hold on to that thought as you read the following.

With respect to the topic of hypocrites, let me start a new leaf for everyone and blurt out some optimistic lines instead of their pessimistic versions.

"I don't hate backstabbers because I luuuurve them. These people are my friends as we're friends not because of the happpy moments we've shared but the amount of times we've stabbed each other in the back. Heck, I probably had my share of stabbing and getting stabbed too. How could anyone hate these people when everyone's a backstabber too? Backstabbers should be loved, not hated."

"I don't hate liars now as I've realised that liars equate to every human being. My friends lie to me all the time but I do not hate them for it. Instead I appreciate them for being who they are. Heck, I'm a liar too. I lie all the time, to my family, friends, teachers, everyone. Lies make the world go round and we should all embrace it's ironic truth."

There, those are what people should be saying instead of the stupid common cliché lines of hatred that is often heard. Accept yourselves and everyone else for who they really are. Do not turn away from reality.

Come people, from this day forth, we shall address ourselves as Me, Professional Hypocrite. Let the whole world know who we really are.

Until then, let your inner hypocrite out to play.

The Wilderness Series #01 - Of Glitter and Silk

Hello again readers. Allow me to apologize for the excruciatingly long article before this one. I guess I got carried away, and all that words seemed to have dampened the effect of the contents. Since that is the case, I’ll hold back the continuation until enough readers request for it.

For now, I have composed a little something about a topic that is very close to my heart. If the title doesn’t give away the answer, then read on. If you’ve figured it out already, just read on anyway.

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The Wilderness Series #01 - Of Glitter and Silk
A tribute to the student councillors
An article by Seraphim

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[ Part I ]
Early morning, at the start of another school day, I stepped into the school feeling as though I’m doing it for the first time, for this time, there was something different. Unknowingly, I slipped into the morning crowd towards where my class was seated. It all seemed normal, yet I could not dismiss the emptiness that now resided in my heart.

I did not need a reminder of what I was missing, but a reminder was what came into my sight. From across the parade square I saw it; a glitter of gold reflecting the might of the morning sun and a swish of blue silk cascaded by little torches. It was the councillors’ badge and tie.

For almost as long as I have been in my school, the only version of myself that I could remember was as a councillor. But now that I have stepped down, my whole school life was seen in a whole new light. Without my appointment, I have begun to realize that being a councillor means a whole lot more than just wearing the badge and tie. Now that I am without it, I have begun to miss it.

One might ask, what is it about a councillor anyway? A councillor is truly to be a class above the rest. Their lives are dominated with authority and discipline, from the very start of the morning. A councillor’s routine starts with the punctual reporting and performing of duties. To even broaden the gap differentiating councillors and mere students, they even sit at a separate place. Checks on appearance and punishment are even done internally, isolated from outside influence. But that is just what everyone sees.

To be a councillor is to be more than just a disciplinarian. Every councillor is part of a bigger picture, one that have come to terms as family, for their relationship among one another is that close. Within the council itself are systems to keep every councillor in check, from their discipline to their very welfare. Councillorship is not to just be looked at, but also to be looked after. Only with that kind of unity can the council function properly.

Truly, a family exists within the council. They share numerous joyful moments together. A councillor’s life is full of outings for bonding, pizza treats for laughs and chats for the sake of fun.

This is not to say that it is an easy life. The consequence of misconduct is far more severe for a councillor. Upon their shoulder sits a very heavy responsibility, concerning not just themselves but the whole student body, as that is where their service and purpose lies. On the other hand, with these downsides in their lives their bonds become stronger, for it is not the happy times shared that brings people closer, it is the sad times that does.

[ Part II ]
For me, my life as a councillor was an unforgettable one. My batch was the earliest to be recruited, with our selection near the end of secondary one. Before we were even recruited, we were fortunate to participate in a selection camp, where our performance influenced our chances of proceeding.

Since the investiture was in mid sec two, there was an awkwardly long probation period. Most of us took this in a good sense as we got to do what the other batches did not; get to know the Exco. Due to the short coinciding service duration, the other batches of recruits barely had much chance to interact with their Exco, so we were considered lucky.

The official start of councillorship was a grand one, with a grand investiture and a councillor dinner just a week after that. Working with the new Exco was quite a fulfilling experience. We got to know how the other tick through daily duties and the torturing camps we endured. Kind to think of it, it was under their leadership that the most trying camps was conducted.

Then came my third year in school, qualifying me for an Exco appointment. Naturally, I was nominated for an Exco position. Looking back at the time before becoming an Exco, the journey before it was the most significant. The assistant Exco had to put together a play done by the new recruits, and to me it was under that pressure that we got to know each other by name. The final Exco was not as we expected. There was a lot of discontent (especially me) amongst us, something that we later found to have a different effect.

The Exco was finalized, and we had to bear our grudges against one another. The Exco were really strangers to each other at the beginning, some even had enmity between each other. Through our service for the council, we developed a strange dependency for togetherness, and become the closest of friends.

Now it is sadly the end of that road for us. The last part of it was the most tasteful. The Exco had a first hand experience at the process in the selection of the new recruits. Only then did we realize the importance this had to the school. We weren’t just separating the good from the bad, instead planning for the future of the school. Being a councillor gives one an opportunity to make a change, a power that could not be taken lightly. Only those with the purest of intentions were endowed with such power.

The investiture was yet another symbolic part of my service. The transition of the Exco was the sifting of the sand from the previous Exco to the next, symbolizing the handing down of our legacy and knowledge to live on in the new council.

Now that the 5th Executive Committee members along with the other councillors have stepped down, we sit back to watch the newly formed 6th Student Council fall into place and hopefully, bring up the legacy of the councillors.

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A big thank you to all those who have helped the councillors in one way or another.
To the teachers who led us, a big hug for your perseverance and support.
To the ex-councillors under the charge of the 5th Exco, we salute you for your undying dedication to our cause.
To the 5th Executive Committee members themselves, there never was a tighter friendship than ours. I’ll always miss you guys.
To the 6th Student Council and its Exco, you can’t go looking for that light at the end of the tunnel. You have to spark it yourself. Now.