Chocolates (Bite 2)

She is a beautiful young lady, as often complimented by her friends. Svelte and slender, one said. Hazel eyes with long lashes that can melt if you caught her fleeting attention. Long flowing black tresses with a hint of auburn finished with a frontal straight fringe that swayed ever so elegantly in the soft zephyr.

Her suitors are numerous and varied, a cacophony of human morphology. They came like roaring waves or trickled water, depending on the seasons, bearing fruits of their toil. And chocolates of course, because they all knew: oh, how she loves them. Sweet, dark, milky and bitter. Dainty little pieces or rough huge chucks. It is a guaranteed failsafe to her heart. Or so they thought, for every time the tide ebbed and waned, it leaves behind a spotless beach without the tiniest hint of even half a footprint.

She had flipped though their names in her mind like a virtual Rolodex as she stared intently at the macaroon, willing it to blurt out the answer. Alas, this stunt does not match any of their signature moves. When the rocky road also chose to remain silent, she knew she had to do something.

Long before the clock chimed nine on Wednesday, she was already crouched by the window which gave a partly unobstructed view of the door. She felt the adrenaline flowing inside every single cell of her body. The apartment was eerily silent and dark except the soft glow emitted by her laptop.

Just before the luminescent hand of her watch tethered over to twelve, the guy appeared, a thick coat covering most of his body. Her heartbeat picked up as he shuffled nearer. She craned her neck a little for a better look. Alas, the surrounding darkness camouflaged him well, and he wore a hood over his head. She was getting despondent until he stepped onto her doorstep. Oh my god, it’s him! She could hear herself wonder aloud. For as meticulous as the guy was, he forgot to mask the distinct purple laces of his shoes!

She saw him placed the cardboard box carefully in the middle of mat and pressed the doorbell, before beating a hasty retreat. She waited until his footsteps melted into the night before retrieving the gift, her brain a cacophonic mix of thoughts and feelings. The revealed white chocolate praline topped with a glazed strawberry slice with leaf intact looked at her, puzzled at her intense expression. If only it could talk and offer a dime for her thoughts...

Chocolates (Bite one)

It had been a while since I let loose my vocabularies to have a run in the pen, Mukah being the sort of place where tranquillity (itself a better word than boredom) can lull your brain to sleep.

Actually it had been more than a year.

Luckily, the recent dose of cold Melbourne air had been a blast of freshness, the breathtaking city and beautiful people providing a revitalizing effect. 

This short essay is named Chocolates. First part appears as below:

***

 

The silver ribbon unravelled upon the delicate touch of her dainty fingers. Like a flower bud on the throes of blossoming, the petals of the pearl white cardboard wrapper wavered momentarily, before slowly springing outwards to reveal the sweet gem enclosed within.

It is a rugged piece of chocolate brownie, dusted with an uneven patch of cocoa powder and with dark chocolate rivers oozing deliciously from the seams at the side. She can discern a faint smudge of a fingerprint on the wrapper, peaking from underneath a corner of the cake. It jumps up like a playful taunt, a suggestive allure from the mystery cake deliverer. Now you got my fingerprint, find the police and search for me! She feels a tingle of excitement running down her spine.

Tonight is the sixth night in a row the chocolate themed treat appeared right on her doorstep. The first time it happened was on a slow dreary Monday night. She was immersed in the dreamy world of Grey’s Anatomy on her pink laptop when the ding-dong of the doorbell suddenly chimed, echoing the ninth and last mellifluous note of her Made-In-Japan angular analog clock.

She rose and went to open the door of the apartment, curious to know the identity of this unexpected late night guest. She was greeted by a blast of cold empty air, and the blackness of the wintery night stared back at her. She was flummoxed for a moment, before she glanced down and saw it. There it was, as it had appeared today, an exquisite whitish square positioned grandly right in the middle of her oval rattan woven mat, exuding a classy glow under the fluorescent porch light shining on it, taking in all her attention like a film star on stage.

She had picked it up tentatively, eyeing it with suspicion. She scrutinized the four sides slowly for clues and found that it was blemish-free. She opened the box with trepidation, her heart picking up pace, unsure of what she will find inside. She caught the aroma of the warm cocoa smell before she saw the perfectly round chocolate macaroon inside. A yellow stick-it note adorned one side of the interior wall. It contained her name and the neatly written Especially for you. It was unsigned.

With clockwork precision, the parcel reappeared on Tuesday. The only difference was that it was a chocolate rocky road, with fluffy pink marshmallows, crunchy hazelnuts and fine flakes of desiccated coconut sandwiched between the generous layers of chocolate. These sudden surprises filled her with apprehension, yet she found her insatiable curiosity piqued. Who is this cake delivery man, shrouded in mystery?

Mirage – Part 1

“Good weather today, isn’t it?”

It seems funny that the man should comment about the weather, as both of us are located deep in the labyrinth of the colossal shopping complex, where rain or shine, the temperature is kept at a cool 18 degrees, and the lights bathing the place are from artificial sources. But he looks friendly enough, offering a smile which exposes two missing front teeth, a feature that stands out amidst the surrounding salt and pepper stubble on his face.

“Yes it is,” I reply, out of respect for his seniority.

“Interesting place here huh? Never thought I will see a shopping complex this big in my life,” he continues.

I nod mechanically, not really interested to be mired in a conversation with this wizened old man. His sallow face is lined by wrinkles and he stands with a stoop. His fingernails are yellow and dirty, probably due to years of smoking. The outline of a pack of cigarette is jutting out of the front pocket of his blue T-shirt.

“My son said this shopping complex is smaller than those in Kuala Lumpur or Singapore. But what do I know? I never took a plane before in my whole life. For me, this is big enough. Maybe too big for this place…”

What do you know, old man, I want to smirk with disdain. You are like a frog living in a well. How can the country progress if all people think like you? But I keep quiet.

Just then, a group of four dark-skinned teenagers walk by, their loud chatter diverts our attention to them. Two gangly guys; one in a chequered shirt faded with too many washings and jeans torn at the knees, the other in a bright yellow T-shirt and gray slacks, which I suspect used to be white. Two skinny girls; one in short sleeved V-neck tee and shorts above the knees, the other in a flowery baju kurung. They are chatting in a language that sounds familiar yet foreign, a hodge-podge of Malay mixed with some other dialects. Bahasa Sarawak, I suddenly realise.

Oblivious to the newly wiped floor, they trudge across, leaving numerous grayish imprints of their sandals on the otherwise spotless marble slabs. The old man shakes his head disapprovingly.

“These kampong kids are probably wearing the best T-shirt and trousers in their limited collection. The lipsticks on the girls’ lips are probably their mum’s, stealthily removed from scant make-up boxes and applied, then stealthily put back. The boys talk loudly and walk with a swagger to hide their insecurities. They need to be macho, even though deep down they are afraid of this foreign place. This is probably their first trip here, via the old steel mass called a bus.” The old man’s voice is suddenly animated.

My eyes linger on them. They are standing in front of the ESPRIT store, their mouths agape upon seeing the huge poster of a European female model on the display window. The spacious brightly lit store beckons, yet they seem afraid to go in. Perhaps they are overawed by the futuristic space-age façade of the store, so accustomed they are to the congested, packed-to-the-brim kedai runcit in their kampong. Tentatively, one of the boys steps across the line into the store, and like goslings following their mum, the rest join him.

“Their eyes will widen, big as saucers when they see the price tag of the clothes. Probably a piece cost as much as their parents’ monthly combined salary. The shop girls will watch them like hawks, afraid that their dirty hands will smudge those expensive wears. If they are intelligent, they will see their own reflection off the mirrors or these marble floors and get out of there quick. It is not their place to be here.”

The venom in his voice surprises me. He seems such a genial man, a dotting grandfather.

As we grow older..

“Remember students, please read about page 34 and 35 before coming to class tomorrow, okay?” the teacher sweetly coaxed her students in the saccharine voice of hers.

30 cute doting students nodded their head eagerly before exiting the class. They all pore through the pages at home except one who forgot. He came to school crying because he felt left out.

“I expect you to have a clear understanding of what we are going to do before venturing into the lab tomorrow. Chapter 6 has a good account of the topic. Please read.”

“Yes sir!” Twenty voices chorused in unison. Snorting grumble were heard in the other ten. They eventually managed the next day by paraphrasing the work of their friends and vowed not to do it again.

“It is impossible to pass this unit by just coming to these lectures. These two books - ” the professor paused for effect, his hands gesticulating towards the direction of two thick leather-bound tome  - “will be essential to guide you through the whole semester. Study hard guys.”

Only ten pore into the books diligently in the first week. The other twenty laze under the sun in the afternoons. “Relax, there’s still time,” they drawled, before cramping it all in in the last minute, with the help of caffeine and ginseng.  They survived, barely.

“The group of you, you will be sent to the marketing department next week for a two weeks attachment. Hope you can learn as much as you can over there,” the manager said to the bunch of immaculately dressed new recruits.

Twenty nine of them went to party the night before the attachment. And they bitched and bitched and bitched about the single alien who opted to stay home to study and prepare for the stint.

“Abnormal crazy lonely no-life guy that one,” one said. All other nodded in agreement, glad that they are normal and know how to have fun. “He is such a boot licker,” said one. "I’m sure he did that just to make us look bad. Damn him,” quipped another. Everyone avoided being seen with him. Nobody wants to be seen to be friends with an outcast. From that day onwards, the alien did his best to fit in.

“Okay guys, we must win this award. Do whatever it takes – overtime, take work home – to bring glory to our company. Your sacrifice will be worth it!” the boss tried to fire his staff up. All the thirty employees in the meeting nodded and clapped.

“Five o’clock!” someone said just as they settled back in the office. They all looked up to the clock, hastily packed their briefcases and in two minutes, the office was empty. No one stayed or brought work home.

On opposite sides 3

The muffed sound of the alarm clock rung incessantly under the thick pillow. A silent groan escaped her mouth. Her body was still stiff, remnants from yesterday’s hard work.

She rubbed her heavy eyes that had seen too little sleep. She swung her legs onto the floor, the cold morning blast hitting her as the blanket slipped from her body.

She lumbered into the kitchen, and opened the fridge, the orange glow within piercing through the darkness of the house. Her hands reached inside, searching for ingredients to be transformed into the family’s three meals.

For the next ninety minutes she busied in the kitchen washing, chopping, slicing, boiling and frying, while seizing every available snatches of free seconds in between to brush her teeth, change into the day’s cloths and comb her hair.

When she heard her husband’s footsteps echoing through the house, she knew it was soon time to go. She put all the newly cooked food into the cupboard before tiptoeing into the room next to hers. She gazed fondly at the sweet innocent face of her nine month old son, her fingers gently wiping away a tiny pool of saliva that had drooled down from his agape mouth.

“Lets go,” said her husband, who was leaning against the doorway studying mother and child. She cast a final lingering look at her soundly sleeping son before following her husband footsteps out of the house.

He pushed the motorcycle around 20 meters from their compound because starting the engine. She climbed on behind him, hugging him tightly. It was the only time of the day they can afford to have physically contact this close.

The first cock had only started to crow when they reached the end of the bumpy un-tarred road. She alighted and joined the short line of people standing next to a stick stuck into the muddy yellow ground. She heaved a sign of relief when around ten minutes later, a van spewing thick clouds of exhaust duly rumbled to a stop in front of them. Yesterday they had to wait for twenty minutes. They all squeezed in; men, women, young, old, fat, skinny. She closed her eyes. It will be another two hours before she reach her workplace.

While she was catching forty winks in the van, her young boss was sipping coffee and eating toast that his mother had just prepared for him. He had a piece of report in his hand which caused a frown to creep onto his face. “This Sally again!” he muttered. She had been late for the past three days and missed the last two weekends’ meeting. He had a good mind to admonish her later in the morning. Such unprofessional attitude. What a tardy and lazy good for nothing woman.

“Pa, I am ready to go!” he hollered. It was already 7.30a.m. His father started the car as he climbed in. He was driven to the office, where he promptly put both legs on the table and waited for Sally to arrive. He can never comprehend why she was always late. It only took him one hour from waking up to reaching the office. Surely she can just wake up earlier if she needed more time for make-ups!

On opposite sides 2

“This is for your cancer.”

The pharmacist in his crisp white-coat didn’t mince his words. He didn’t try to sugar-coat it, or attempted to soften the blow. Like a newly sharpened knife, the stark reminder was stabbed straight into my heart. “Yes girl, you really have cancer.”

Cancer. Ten years ago, it was the poster of African kids with bald heads. Okay maybe that was AIDS. Five years ago, it was the horoscope sign of my supposedly best matched beau. Ten months ago, it was the fiction I watched on my favourite medical soap Grey’s Anatomy. Five months ago, it was a hard lump on my left breast.

With robotic efficiency, the pharmacist delved into a monologue on how to take the medicines. I caught snatches of “once a day”, “not with milk”, “only when necessary” while the others flew pass me in tiny wisps, or perhaps repelled by the piece of glass window separating us.

I felt like a high priest sitting in a confessional window, with him the sinner in the process of divulging his crime. How ironic that mental image, as it was I who was now serving a sentence with a span of unclear duration nor destination. How had I sinned?

For me, cancer felt like a prison sentence where death is a lottery not a verdict; baldness is the forced crown not a crew cut; poisons slowly infused into you body the sadistic punishment not stokes of the rotan. It was sometimes too painful to think about it. I had wallowed in enough self pity to let the tears come streaming down again.

“Do you have any questions, miss?”

He peered at me across the window. Was that a condescending look? A silent rebuke for catching me zoning out?

“Yes. Er no. Thank you very much.”

Quickly I reached for the bag full of medicines he had pushed to my side of the window. In my haste the bag slipped from my numb fingers and fell to the floor with a plonk.

A few concerned people rose halfway in their seat, “It’s okay,” I mumbled. I went down on my knees, reaching for the assortment of bottles and packets scattered around like a shattered piggy bank. I brushed aside the tails of my bandanna that has became slightly dislodged and trailed across my eyes. I looked up to the window, half expecting him to tower above me, cold mirth in his eyes. The window was blank.

“Come, let me help you.” He was squatting right besides me, picking up the packets of medicines, peering into each packets of white round tablets to check for damages. For the first time, he looked human, a slight softening at the edge of his eyes, a discernable line on his forehead. Like a hypnotizing pendulum, the name tag he wore around his neck swung to and fro, suspended by a thread of silver beads, drawing me to it.

“Walter Ong” it read. The name had a familiar ring. Walter Ong... Walter Ong… suddenly the memories came flooding back. There he was, a young kid who once plucked off a stem of Aloe Vera and dabbled the soothing juice to my skinned knee. Surely it was the same Walter, the kid from the next class with the double eyelid and sweet dimples. The silent kid who once gave me a rubble band to play with when I was banished to stand outside the classroom as punishment. The kind kid who helped to carry my lunch box when I was inundated with too many books.

I looked at him, searching vainly, futilely for the slightest sign of recognition from his impassive face. There were none. Like the doctor I was seeing, he had learned to mask stark knowledge well. Or had he really forgotten about me?

“Here you go. Remember to take the pyridoxine tablets as I had told you. 5 tablets in the morning. Then your fingers will be better, okay?” he handed me the reassembled packet. I nodded in a daze, gazing into his eyes. He averted them. I stared at the back of his white coat billowing in the soft zephyr as he walked swiftly back into the door he came from, his footsteps growing fainter and fainter.

I rose and walked towards the exit. Just before I exited into the sun lit path, I can’t resist stealing a final glance. He was back in the window, and he was looking at me. Was that a sad wistful look? Perhaps he did remember. Perhaps he didn’t want his memory of me to be scarred by the bald bag of bones which I am now. Perhaps he wanted to spare me the awkwardness of meeting here. Indeed the oncology clinic was the worst place to meet and reconnect with old friends, especially when you are on different sides.

Sunday night

He stared at the blank screen of his laptop, the notepad devoid of alphabets.

A story line.. a story line… a story line. He scrunched up the mass of curly hair on his head. A few strand fell down, settling with a cris-crossing pattern on the keyboard.

He clenched his fists in determination. I must write something. He forced his hands to knock in the first letter. And then another.

An hour passed. And another… yet another…

Like a methodical carpenter assembling a few pieces of wood together, an artistic sculpture soon materialised. Planks of wood held together into a structure by scrawny bits of nails here and there. With a little stretch of imagination, some may say it resembled a chair.

“Hey how was your weekend?”

“Oh I took Air Asia for a quick shopping trip to Kuala Lumpur,” breathlessly she said, a radiant pink hue appearing on her cheek.

“Oh My God! It must had been fun. Oh how I wished my weekend was like that!” another she exclaimed, her hands clasped in front of her chest.

“So what did you do?”

“Oh, nothing much. My boyfriend and I just went for a 2 days 1 night trip to Bako National Park,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders.

“You didn’t say! Or else we could had arranged a trip together!” Both females are now having their hands on each other, patting each other as if congratulating themselves on their accomplished weekends. Their action nearly knocked down some artificial potted plants.

“You gals really know how to have fun,” the other guy said, his back rested languidly upon the cubicle divider, “my weekend playing a round of golf at the new Sarawak Club golf course seems pale in comparison.”

“Ooo..you played golf!” They looked at him with round adoring eyes. “You should teach us that next time!”

As the giggling and chatting idled down, they discovered a figure had been lurking unseen right in the middle of the room until now.

“What about you Wally? You had been quiet all the while. Surely not another weekend spent doing nothing?”

The glare of the spotlights on him momentarily blinded him, causing him to blink and squint. With a victorious smile, he shook his head.

“I spent the whole weekend writing a wonderful piece of story. Oh you should had read about it. It’s about this poor guy meeting a rich girl…”

The smile was still hanging on his face when a flashing box that had appeared on his laptop screen for the last five minutes finally caught his attention. Windows had finished updating. It will now restart automatically it said. Before he had time to react, the computer screen turned black, swallowing his story with it.

He stared at his laptop blankly. He felt like screaming but no voice came out. He felt like smashing his laptop into smithereens but instead he sit there, slumped in his chair. Oh how he hated Sunday nights!

On opposite sides

He looks at the prominent red LED clock on the wall. He contrasts the numbers displayed with the one printed on his tiny slip of paper. 42 minutes and he is still waiting. He stretches his shoulders awkwardly, trying not to bang into the frail lady sitting on his left and the squirming kid on his right. The back of the plastic seat is too low to support his now aching back. He undo the first two buttons of his shirt in a vain effort to cool down the unattractive concoction of impatient and frustration that is starting to boil in his body.

He glances up at the girl sitting on the other side of the counter. She wears a constant smile, laughing and joking with the young man she is serving. Damn, he thought, there she is, taking her own sweet time swooning over a hunk while he is festering here, waiting ages for his turn. He looks at the red LED clock again and grimaced. Damn, his parking ticket will be due in another 5 minutes. He needs to pick up his son from school in half and hour, and there’s still a heap of papers he need to tackle before he can afford to take forty winks.

At long last, they say goodbyes and the guy is gone. He looks at the number under the clock. 1431 it flashed. Still 3 more numbers to go. He glares at the girl again, he sees her chatting to the girl on the next counter. He groans as the frail lady next to him stands up and shuffles to the counter. This is going to take long too. He sees the girl getting up from her seat and opening a door next to the counter, inviting the old lady to come in. They disappear from his view, and he is left staring at a big blue empty chair behind the counter.

He drabs the perspiration forming like hot water bubbles on his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. He feels dizzy in the afternoon heat that was left encountered by the malfunctioned air-conditioning. A baby cries somewhere in the sea of waiting people. Some kids resort to treat the place as their playground. running and shrieking around.  

1434 the number flashed. His turn. He walks angrily to the counter. What kind of attitude is this, he demands in a raised voice. Do you know how long I had been waiting? Do you know I have other important things to do? He raves and he rants. His anger spills like a flowing river, and it is silently absorbed by the girl on the other side of the counter.

She looks at the man when he finally run out of steam. She offers him a smile, and apologises profusely for the wait. She has a soothing calm voice, a melodious chime in her voice even. She gives him his medications, explaining what they are for. She looks concerned as he spells out his difficulty in remembering when to take his medicines. She nods and inform him the best way to take them, giving simple practical advices. She smiles and she cares. She is the epitome of niceness and he feel a prang of guilt over his own behaviour.

He leaves the place a contented man, with the medicines and a piece of priceless happiness to treat his high blood pressure.

Out of sight, the girl heaves a sigh and shakes her head. This is a hell of a frustrating job. What had she done in her past life that merited a punishment of meeting with a slew of  angry customers everyday, she wonders. Only her self-discipline and work ethics stopped her from yelling back at the man. Whoever coined the word the customer is always right should be shot, she thought angrily. Somehow in the last five minutes, her happiness had flowed to the man and in return, his angriness had filled the void inside her.

The Fat Lady in Red Part 2/2

“Hey, be careful! You might break it,” snapped Dawn with a scowl. But Elise was not listening. She looked dreamily at the ring decorating her fingers, envisioning herself going to her old schoolmates’ gathering this evening wearing it….

“May I borrow in for a few hours? I want to wear it at my old friends’ gathering tonight at Hilton,” she asked Dawn. Dawn looked at her in sheer disbelief. “What? You know it costs RM 40,000 or not? Over my dead body!”

Elise looked hurt. The vision of her being the centre of attention, with all the eyes marvelling enviously at her was too much. Tearily she pleaded “Just for tonight, I swear I’ll take good care of it. I’ll return it to you as soon as the party is over. I swear.” Daisy, who hated to see people crying, immediately helped her friend. “Yes, Dawn, imagine how her friends would look down on her if she appear without any jewellery,” she said. “Dawn, you should help her. Your husband is in Singapore now, right? I’m sure he won’t know if you lend it to Elise for just tonight,” said Pamela matter-of-factly.

“Well, err...,” Dawn look uncertain after listening to her friends. She conceded defeat. “Oh, all right. I’ll lend it to you. Just for tonight.”

Elise’s face immediately lightened up, as if all her birthdays arrived together. “Oh, thank you, thank you!” she gushed, before standing up noisily. “I need to go now! See you all again!” With that, she strode out of the coffee shop, brushing past the mamak boy who arrived with her breakfast, leaving him and the other three women looking perplexed.

All around the town that day, there appeared a fat lady, wearing a red dress with a beautiful diamond ring on her little finger. The grocer at the corner of the road saw it, so did the fishmonger at the market, the beggars at the five-foot-way of shops and all the grandmothers living across the road. Everywhere there was a voice saying gaily “Look at my exquisite ring; my new boyfriend bought it for me!” It was unknown whether the fact that she had an expensive ring or that she had a boyfriend that surprised people.

The party that night was a huge success for Elise. Despite being a little exhausted after spending the whole day parading her ring around town, she still mesmerized everyone with her ring on her stubby little finger. “It cost him RM 40,000, and yet he still bought it for me,” she said to the woman sitting next to her. “Oh, it is only a twelve carat diamond, he said he will buy a bigger one next year,” she replied casually to a man who enquired about it.

“Miss Elise, there is a phone call for you,” a waiter broke her chatter with another unwed former classmate. “Oh, he must be making sure that I am having a good time,” she said airily to her friend, despite being puzzled by the call. Quickly, she followed the waiter out.

“Hello? Who is this?” she asked uncertainly, speaking into the receiver. “Elise! I want my ring back now! My husband is coming home in half an hour!” screeched Dawn, her voice laced with panic. “Calm down, Dawn,” she replied hastily. “Where are you?” “I’m at the coffee shop where we met this morning. Come now!” Dawn was hysterical. Elise’s brain was spinning quickly. There is still an hour to go at the party, but…. “All right, I’ll meet you there,” she replied.

Elise went back to her party and lingered for a while, letting everyone have another view of the sparkling diamond. With an apologetic smile she bade farewell to them thirty minutes later. “I’m sorry, I need to go now. My boyfriend is waiting for me in a coffee shop. He said he is giving me a surprise,” she said with a smile. With that, she walked elegantly out and down the street, disappearing round the corner, her left hand high up in the air so she could admire the ring glittering under the lampposts.

The next day, a prominent story appeared in all the local papers. Although different in their sensational headline, the gist is roughly the same. A spinster in her late forties, clad in a red dress, was found strangled to dead in a dark alley behind a certain coffee shop, with the little finger of her left right hand missing….

The Fat Lady In Red Part 1

I know I did  say I wanted to post up a new story called Mirage. But on second thought, I would like to send the story for competition, so it had to remain under wraps. While I am searching for inspiration to write another story, I would like to put up the first story I had ever written. I wrote it on 1st August 2003. Gosh seems so long ago, yet I can still feel myself typing away on my mum's 'Hak Milik Kerajaan' laptop that afternoon on the living room's floor.

THE FAT LADY IN RED

Miss Elise Chong edged her way into the crowded coffee shop. A spinster in her late thirties, she scrutinized the gathering crowd inside, and her mouth widen into a big grin when she saw her gang seated cozily in their favorite corner. Waving her flabby hands at them, she walked towards them, knocking over two chairs in the process.

Her friends, whom have been indulging in an animated tête-à-tête, broke off in the middle of their chatter to welcome her. Mrs. Daisy Lam, a short, plumb housewife in her late forties pulled a chair for Elise, which she gladly sat down clumsily, making the plastic chair creaked loudly.

“So, what’s hot today?” She asked her friends once she had settled down. Mrs. Dawn Lee, a shapely young woman in her early twenties who had the luck to marry a rich husband, admired her finely manicured nails while saying nonchalantly “Nothing much, just that my husband had bought me a twelve-carat diamond ring yesterday.”

Elise’ mouth was suddenly agape, clearly shocked by the news. “Yeah, it is magnificently crafted. She just showed us a moment ago. Turned a few eyes, it has,” drawled Mrs. Pamela Wright in her thick British accent. An elderly foreigner who had moved here two years ago, she was stirring her murky coffee lazily.

Before Elise could say anything, the mamak boy appeared at her elbow asking for her order. “Err…. Two plates of nasi lemak and a teh tarik,” she ordered. “Dear, I don’t think you should take so much of the nasi lemak. Two plates are too much. You better check you cholesterol. I don’t want you to be like dear old Johnny, he just got a heart attack the day before yesterday,” advised Pamela.

Three pairs of eyes immediately bore down on Pamela. “What happened to old Johnny?” Daisy asked eagerly, jumping at the chance to hear a good gossip. “Oh well,” said Pamela, trying to be modest despite liking to be in the centre of the attention. “Shelia told me about it. She heard it from Jenny. According to her, Johnny was taking his usual bus to the market on Wednesday when he suddenly became livid and clasped his heart, gasping for air like a giant fish out of water. Suddenly (she added with a dramatic gesture) he fainted.”

“Oh, what happened then?” asked Dawn. “Well, luckily for him, a doctor was on the bus and he revived him,” answered Pamela flatly. “Ohhhh…,” chorused the other three women, disappointed with the anti-climax of the story. Elise, who was still curious about Dawn’s new diamond ring, asked impatiently “Dawn, where is your new ring? May I have a look at it?”

“Well, there are a lot of people here, one might steal it” said Dawn in a low tone, clearly enjoying seeing Elise’s curiosity mounting every second. “Come on, show me, nothing will happen,” implored Elise, her heart burning with the desire to see the diamond ring. “Dawn, I think you should let her see it,” chipped in Daisy. “Maybe you should only show it to her later in your villa,” said Pamela cautiously.

“Come on, let me see it, Dawn, just for a while…” pleaded Elise. With a shrug, Dawn reached for her handbag, putting her dainty hand inside and rummaged for a while. With an exquisite flourish, she produced a scarlet casing. In her eagerness, Elise leaned forward and tried to grab the casing from Dawn, but her flabby arm missed and clamped down on Dawn’s fingers.

“Ouch! Careful! You nearly broke my finger nails!” chastened Dawn crossly. “My husband will be mad if he sees them broken,” she added. “Cool down, you two…” hushed Pamela. Dawn shot a haughty, distasteful look at Elise, but she scarcely noticed, as she had opened the casing and her eyes were glued at the beautiful, diamond encrusted ring.

“Wow, it is so beautiful,” Elise said breathlessly after marveling at the ring for two whole minutes. Before Dawn could protest, Elise deftly removed it from the casing and slipped the ring on her stubby little finger.

LEAVING - Finale

“Why is there no news from you after that?”

“I wanted to forget about you,” he admits.

“Why?”

“Because if we had continued, I don’t think it will work out in the end. We are from two different worlds, have different cultures and stayed in two different places. It is better to leave with unadulterated memories of innocence and fun before it was soured with fights and squabbles later on.”

“Do you understand the anguish I felt waiting for a reply that never came? Every time the phone rings, I rushed to pick it up, hoping it was you. Every morning I checked my inbox, hoping there’s mail from you.”

He remains silent, his head bowed.

“So you don’t have faith in us?”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“How do you know I will get hurt? I think you are afraid you will get hurt. You know, you are a coward.”

“Maybe I am.”

She bursts into tears.

“You didn’t even try,” she says between sobs.

“I’m sorry I am selfish and insensitive. I didn’t know how to deal with it. It was the first time I have feelings for someone.”

He allows her some time to recompose herself.

“You know, deep down I also realized that it is quite hard for things to work between us. But at least you should try.”

He studies her while contemplating his next move. She is still as he had remembered her to be. Her hair is back to its original wavy cascade. She still smells of pink rose. Like a bottle of good wine, she has aged well with time. The only subtle difference is that she now looks like an adorable young woman rather than an adorable little girl.

“Come on, let’s make use of the time we have and forget about everything else.”

“What about your fiancée?”

“I’m sure she will understand.”

He offers her his hand, and she accepts it.

They stroll along the perimeter of the river, gazing at the pair of ducks swimming gracefully in it.

He races off and gathers a bunch of lilies by the pond, tying them up with a piece of weed and gives the bouquet to her.

They walk across a lush green field, and lie amongst the mishmash of cow grass, tall weeds and traces of small flowery plants, admiring the big blue sky unblemished by any sign of clouds.

She races off and makes a face at him, enticing him to run and chase her. They run through dense green foliage and thick brown trunks, playing an impromptu game of hide-and-seek.

As the sun sets over the hill, he is holding her tightly in front of him, his arms encircling her diminutive waist. His fantasy turns true under a golden bath.

And he plants a lingering kiss on her mouth.

As darkness descends onto the clear November sky, he drives her to the brightly lit airport. On the way, he stops at a florist and buys her a bouquet of pink roses.

This time, it is she who is leaving.

“Thank you very much. I have a lot of fun today. I am glad we bring this to a closure. Now I can at least move on the next phase of my life.”

They embrace each other again before she walks toward the departure gate.

“You know,” she says, turning back to face him right at the gate. “You will forever command a special place in my memory as my first love.”

~THE END~

LEAVING Part 9

“I was in a daze all the way home. I had spent an entire hour earlier that day standing in front of the mirror, making sure I looked perfect. I thought maybe, just maybe you will ask me to be your girlfriend that day.”

She looks straight into his eyes.

“But you never did. Instead you delivered a bombshell.”

She shifts her eyes to gaze at her glass of orange juice momentarily, before continue to look into his eyes.

“I can’t comprehend why you never did that. I really thought you liked me, but after that I’m not sure. You treated me like a princess, entertained each and every of my whim and fancies, but there is this piece of ground between us that you never thread across.”

“That’s why I went to the airport. I needed an answer.”

***

He was surprised to see her at the airport.

He had just paid the fare to the taxi driver and was halfway transferring his suitcase onto a trolley when he saw her. She was standing in front of the revolving door into the airport, observing him silently.

He thought he had said the final goodbye with her, and this meeting somehow unbalanced him a little bit. He was totally unprepared.

They just stood there, looking at each other without a word.

“Hi. You came.” he said, at last.

“Yes. I don’t think it was a proper goodbye last time.”

They lined in the check-in queue together. She was quiet, and her expression had a lost puppy look. She seemed to be waiting for him to do something.

He tried lifting the somber mood with light questions about her daily life. She only nodded or shook her head in reply.

‘”You really don’t want to come back?” she asked finally, after he had checked in his luggage. They were standing a few metres in front of the International check-in door.

“Well, I don’t think I can.”

“When can I see you again?”

“Maybe sometime in the future if fate has it,” he said.

She rummaged through her bag and produced an envelope, which she gave to him.

“You can only open it in the plane.”

“Okay. I have to go.”

She took a step towards him. He knew the sign and yearned to embrace her. But he feigned indifference and turned to go.

He walked swiftly through the door.

“Take care,” he heard her cried out.

He didn’t look back.

He was 23,000 feet above the ground when he peeled the envelope open. He caught a whiff of pink rose, and images of her swirled in his mind. He retrieved the single piece of paper inside the envelope.

He stared at the paper long and hard.

It was blank. There was no writing on it.

What was she trying to say?

He turned the paper around.

In her neat handwriting was printed the note “I love you”.

“I love you too”, he whispered, trying desperately to hold back his tears.

LEAVING Part 8

“That was fun. I never did this kind of thing in my life.”

“I do really want to be famous,” she let out a giggle. “I got it all in my head. You are in it too. I envisaged that both of us will be famous one day, travelling in a motorcade with frenzied crowd cheering on both sides. I was living in such a lovely bubble until you said you are leaving…” her voice falters.

***

They met at Melbourne Central train station, under the big timepiece hanging from the ceiling directly opposite the shot tower, a five story high ancient brick building cloistered within the huge shopping complex cum train station. The circular seats around the clock proved to be a favorite waiting and meeting place. Today, a drove of schoolgirls in their red sweaters, blue and white chequered skirt and black shoes were milling around one corner. A trio of boys with spiky hair and T-shirts hanging out from their trousers was standing next to them. There were a few young female executives sitting by themselves, fiddling with their mobile phones, waiting for their beau to call. A couple of gentlemen in suits were also there, reading the day’s edition of world happenings.

He spotted her ascending the escalator next to the shot tower. She had straightened her hair, he noticed with some surprise. She had also cut a straight fringe, and fastened a beautiful pink blossom pin on the left side of her hair. She was wearing a pink dress with a white cardigan over it. There was no sign of the blue scarf. A faint trace of pink blusher accentuated her cheeks, giving her a doll-like look. In fact, he suddenly realized, she resembled the kimmie-doll he gave her as a present that day.

Her face broke into a radiant smile when she saw him waving at her.

“Where do you want to go today?” he asked.

They ended up sitting on a bench by the roadside in busy Swanston Street, watching the fluid mosaic of a crowd in front of them while enjoying Gelati in cones.

He was enchanted by the diverse cultures of Melbourne. He noticed a golden blonde haired girl with skin as white as snow strolling past, chatting with an African with striking ribbon-pleated hair and coal-black complexion. The dizzying array of colours was a feast to his eyes. So beautiful, he mused.

They did this for half an hour without speaking with each other. He felt relaxed, comfortable. Not a bit awkward by the silence encircling them.

He had fantasized them spending the day at the beach, which him holding her tightly in front of him, his arms encircling her diminutive waist as they watch the golden sun slowing setting behind the calm ocean, the spring zephyr softly caressing their hair.

But he knew he can’t have that happen. It’s time to tell her the truth.

“I’m leaving next week,” he blurted.

“Oh, you mean leaving the country for a holiday?” she enquired, her eyes trained inquisitively on him.

“I am leaving the country, yes, but not on a holiday. I’m leaving it for good.”

“Why?”

“My parents expect me to go home and run the family business after I graduate.”

“So you are not coming back forever?”

“I don’t know. Maybe not.”

“Surely you will miss it here?”

He didn’t answer her.

“Wait here for a moment.”

He scurried to the stationery shop across the street and came back with a drawing pad and a pencil.

“Let me sketch a picture of you so that I will not forget you.”

He was a picture of concentration as he proceeded to sketch her profile onto the drawing pad. The scribbling of the pencil was the only sound he heard for the next fifteen minutes. Mixed emotions surfaced and drown in his mind as he transferred memories of her from his brain into the paper with each stroke of his pencil.

He showed her the final product.

“It is beautiful,” was all she said.

He accompanied her back to the train station.

“So this is it.”

“Yes. It had been nice knowing you. Do remember to keep in touch.”

His eyes lingered on her as she passed the ticket barrier and walked towards the escalator that will bring her to the underground platform. She glanced back at him and waved before disappearing from his sight.

He suddenly felt very hollow. But it is all for the best, he tried to reason with his emotion. There is no way he can continue with this. He clutched the drawing pad possessively close to his chest all the way home.

LEAVING Part 7

“Sorry for taking you for a ride. I didn’t know you will put that much effort in it,” tears start to form from her eyes again.

He offers her a piece of tissue paper. “That’s okay. It was fun. And you did treat me a big meal.”

***

They sat down across each other on big sturdy straight-backed chairs in the restaurant. Hidden behind pillars and plants, the discreet lightings exuded warmth, bathing the whole environment in a soft yellowish glow. A slow velvety song crooned by an unknown Korean singer gave the place a soothing, comfortable feel.

She put the pint sized kimmie-doll he had just given to her for scoring a distinction in the middle of the table.

“Do you mind if I do the ordering?” she asked across the table.

He gave a shake of his head. He entertained himself by examining the long thin silver spoon and chopsticks on the table as she babbled away with the waitress in Korean.

Before long, the waitress dressed in traditional Korean hanbok placed an earthen bowl of steam rice with vegetables of various kinds such as bean sprouts, spinach and shitake mushroom arrange neatly in piles on top on the table. There was a beautiful egg with yolk intact right in the centre too.

“This is Bimbibap”, she said, as she poured a hot pepper soybean paste on top of the egg. He looked on as she proceeded to mix them all together before spooning a couple of mouthfuls onto his bowl.

He took a tentative bite while she looked on.

“It’s delicious!”

She beamed at him.

A sizzling plate of wafer thin beef marinated with soy sauce and sesame oil served generous helpings of onions and ginger followed, as well as a plate of fried chicken bathed in a sweet chilli sauce. The tantalizing aroma of both made his mouth water.

An array of six side dishes, flamboyant in colour and taste, accompanied the food.

“This should be Kimchi,” he said, pointing to a plate that contained cabbage fermented with red pepper.

“Yes. It is the most famous Korean food. Here, eat as much as you want,” she said while pushing the dishes nearer to him. “I will order more later if this is not enough.”

They discovered a lot more about each other during the meal, with both sharing information about their parents and siblings as well as anecdotal childhood experiences.

“Let’s go for a walk.” She said after both of them were too bloated to eat anymore.

They passed through a narrow alley where boldly coloured cafes spilled into the stone-paved pathway. The midday crowd added vibrant texture to the place. Coffee aficionados sipped their midday cuppa with their eyes closed, letting the beautiful aroma of the black bean momentarily take their stress away. Male executives with ties loosen at the next sit on crates serving as ersatz stools, attacking their paninis and barguettes with zest. Their smartly dressed female counterparts tucked in bowls of hearty soup and nibbled at fresh green lettuces. A lively beat of jazz and soul drowned out the unsynchronized chatter, greatly contrasting the mellow mood of the restaurant.

They travelled through the brightly lit and heavily scented Myers departmental store, where she seemed intent to introduce him to every perfume on the floor.

“Had you smelt a pink rose before?” she asked.

“No”

She picked up a bottle shaped like a curvaceous lady and sprayed a bit of the perfume on a stick of paper.

“This is what it smelt like,” she said, pushing the paper to his nose.

He took a whiff.

“Hmm, this fragrance is quite familiar.”

She hit him playfully on the shoulder.

“Babo! Idiot! This is how I smell like every day. It’s my signature perfume. Didn’t you realize?”

They were on the second floor walkway linking the two wings of the sprawling shopping complex when she spotted the aggregated crowd below through the floor length glass windows.

“Look, there’s a street demonstration below! Let’s go!”

“Wait! It might be dangerous!”

“I don’t care!” she retorted, happily rushing down the stairs and into the streets, freely mixing with the people holding placards and shouting rhetoric. He followed her behind, keeping a wary eye on the demonstrators, expecting them to start rioting and destroying the cars parked on the streets anytime. His other eye was focused on the cops, anticipating them to let loose their stinging tear gases soon.

He can’t comprehend why she was so excited about a street demonstration until he heard a delighted squeal from her. He followed the direction her finger was pointing. Two television crews were attentively filming the whole event. She snaked her way through and started to jump and wave in front of the camera.

“Come on, do this together with me,” she said when he finally managed to make his way through the crowd. She pulled his hand up and forced him to wave. It felt soft and delicate and warm.

LEAVING Part 6

“E D C D E E E D D D E E E E D C D E E E E D D E D C,” she hums, her fingers moving to play an imaginary piano. “As a matter of fact, I did write out my grades based on Mary has a Little Lamb. It is my favorite childhood song. I didn’t realize you are good in music”

“No, that’s the only song I can play on the piano.”

“Anyway, to tell you the truth, I have a distinction average.”

“That probably explains why you can’t concentrate during the tutorials.”

***

He was in a trance, seeing her furrowed brows, the slight frown and the pencil sticking behind her ears as she attempted to grasp the essence of the latest lecture notes he had prepared for her. It was a perfect picture of intense concentration.

“If only she was like this all the time,” he thought ruefully. He quickly found her a far from ardent student, with a concentration span shorter than the time needed for Michael Johnson to run 400m.

“Can we take a break?” her face was of an innocent angel this time.

“After you had finished this page. Then I will play cards with you okay?” he cajoled. He was sometimes amazed by his own ingenuity and inventiveness in coming out with ways to dangle carrots on a stick in front of her. 10 minutes in front of the computer. A game of cards. Sweets. Promises of small gifts.

She made an okay sign with her fingers and flashed him a toothy smile. She returned to her notes, and he fell back happily under her spell.

They met twice per week in the university library. He found himself thoroughly absorbed in his quest to help her excel in her studies. He poured into the textbooks with previously unfounded vigour every night, and developed ways to make his notes easy for her to remember until the wee hours of the morning.

“Okay, let’s play cards. This time I will beat you for sure!”

He produced the stack of cards from his pockets. Grudgingly, he shuffled the pack and began to deal. For the next hour, they played cards. Her constant giggles and shouts attracted the disapproving frown of the librarian more than once. They had such a happy time that he felt guilty.

“I think I can pass the exam this time,” she declared as they were walking out of the library together.

“How will you reward me if you passed?”

“I will treat you a big meal!”

P/s: For those who asked, this is really a work of FICTION. Meaning it is NOT a true story. But part of some scenes were adopted from my various experiences in Uni. the rest are product of my imagination. By the way, LEAVING may not be published tomorrow as I am rewriting the ending of the story.

LEAVING Part 5

“I was actually clenching my fists as I walked away. I was trying to keep myself from trembling too obviously.”

They share a laugh while picturing that scene in their mind.

“You were very brave.”

“Thank you.”

“You know this is the first time I realized that there are so many magpies in Kuching.”

She looks at the direction his finger is pointing . True enough, nearly a dozen of them are lining up on the tree branch above them.

“Since the tutoring incident was staged, were you really bad at studies?”

***

He had been pacing nervously in circles around the front door of the library for a good five minutes when he saw her head peeking out from inside the library door.

“I’m already here,” she said.

He was taken aback. He expected her to be late, so accustomed he was to the unwritten Malaysian law that the actual time of meeting is always half an hour later than the time agreed. He followed her to a white square table at the very end of the library, where she pulled a chair for him and invited him to sit.

“Thank you again for agreeing to teach me. Gamsa-hanmida.”

He nodded.

She remained quiet, which just a hint of a faint smile on her lips. She was waiting for him to make the next move. He squirmed in his seat.

“What’s your results like?” he blurted, trying to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Here, I had prepared it for you,” she said, opening her pink file and handing a sheet of paper to him with both hands.

He read the paper. Her results were a mixture of Cs and Ds and Es, which with a little stretch of imagination, can be the C major piano score for the song “Mary have a little lamb”. His did a quick mental graph of her exams marks; it looked like a descending slope of Mount Kinabalu. This is going to be hard work, he realized. What’s more, it can adversely affect his own results if he didn’t juggle his time properly.

“I tried my best, but the exams got harder and harder,” she said matter-of-factly, looking at him with the almond shaped hopeful eyes of hers. He noticed that she only had single eyelids, and pimples dotted the edges of her forehead. She was not perfect, but yet, there was this indescribable allure emanating from her. He got a sudden impulse to hug her and assure her everything is not her fault. Not a single iota of it.

“What score did you expect to get for Chemistry this semester?”

“I just want to pass!”

He wondered what would happen to him if he said that to his mum. Even though she never voiced it, it was expected for every one of her child to get at least half a dozen As in the exams every semester. A picture of his mum, rotan in one hand and the offending test paper in the other, chasing him round and round around the circular kitchen table immediately sprang to his mind. He tried to stifle a smile.

“I will make sure you get a B, or you have no need to pay me,” he regretted the very moment the words leaped out from his mouth. He blamed it on her magic.

But the resulting radiant smile on her lips more than compensate for it.

LEAVING Part 4

“I was also thinking about how to talk to you that time,” she reminisces, the scene bringing a smile to her face amidst the lingering tears. Like a rainbow after the rain, he realizes.

“You looked funny standing there, the befuddled look on your face, standing in a crooked way with green smudges on your pants. Even your specs were slanted to the left. ”

“Do I look that comical?”

“No, no. Adorable will be a better word. Anyway I knew from your looks that you wanted to talk to me. I didn’t know when you will gather enough courage to do it again, so I took the initiative.”

***

“Will you tutor me in Chemistry?”

He heard the request amidst the pandemonium in the cafeteria, a product of gregarious girls and boisterous guys letting their hair down after a particularly hard morning lecture. He was sitting at his usual corner by himself, staring at the ant exploring every nook and cranny of his half-eaten sandwich while trying to overcome his earlier disappointment and hatching another plan to speak to the girl.

He looked up and pushed his thick spectacles back onto the bridge of his nose.

He couldn’t believe his eyes.

Standing right in front of him was that Korean. The one in grey dress, pink cardigan and royal blue scarf. Was he dreaming? Was that just an apparition?

No it seemed, as she spoke again.

“Kyle told me you are the best student in the whole year level. I think I will be failing Chemistry this year unless you help me.”

He was still too stunned to form words in his mind. It felt like a miracle. Her voice was music to his ear, coruscating to fill every crevasse and crevice in his body.

“I will pay you twenty dollars per hour.”

He just managed to sum up enough energy to nod his head.

“Your name is Ken right? I’m Sarah-Jane.” She said, extending her delicate right hand, proffering to shake his.

He shook her hand mechanically. It felt cold, yet it still managed to send an electric shock that warmed his heart. He could see her smiling.

“Can we start the lesson tomorrow? At the library? What about 2 o’clock?”

He nodded to all three questions. To curious onlookers, he looked mechanical, very much like a robot.

“All right. See you then.” She said, giving him a polite bow, before turning and strolling out of the cafeteria. He never left his sight wonder away from her. Warning signs were flashing in his head. His had a feeling his obsession was getting worse instead of better.

LEAVING Part 3

A peal of laughter from her stops him in his track. He can see tears running down her cheeks like a pair of meandering streams.

“I can’t resist. I didn’t know I left such a big impression on you.”

“Well, you are beautiful.”

“Thank you. But you should’ve noticed me long ago. I always made a point to be within your range of vision since that debate. I was intrigued to see what kind of guy you are. You have a mysterious air around you.”

“Maybe I was too engrossed with my books.”

“I think it is true when they said that you only see what you wanted to see.

He clears his throat.

“Anyway, sorry about the interruption. Carry on.”

***

Typical of an academically excellent student like he is, he scoured the Internet for information on how to approach girls that night. It was a very foreign and difficult topic for a guy whose best friends are academic books and drawings. He was the type of guy which in a party is likely to be found in the corner of the room, pretending to be invisible. That was if he turned up at all.

The next day, he reached the campus one hour early, ready and armed with a few conversation openers. He sat down on the grass in the front lawn of the campus, where he can have a good sight of the approaching students. Remnants of the morning dew still linger on the grass, making them a little damp, but he was too worked up to notice. He picked out three books from his knapsack, putting two of them on the grass next to him and used the third one, opened in the middle, to hide his head behind.

The first tram clunked to a halt just as he opened the book. He felt a chilling sensation of anticipation running down his spine as he nervously peered beyond the browned pages of the book.

He could feel his heart beating faster as the tram door swung open and the first student alighted from the train. She was fair, tall and blonde. The second one was a guy. Enough said. So was the third and fourth and fifth. Then the door swung close and the tram groaned and bemoaned before continuing its journey, despite its load been lessened by a considerable amount. He felt his shoulders hunched down in disappointment.

He experienced the oscillating cycle of high anticipation and low disappointment a further five times, with the difference in magnitude of both sensations getting bigger each time. If she didn’t arrive in the seventh tram, he had a feeling he will die of a heart attack first.

She did arrive on the seventh tram. She was wearing a one piece grey dress that hung above her knees, with a pink cardigan on top and her signature royal blue scarf. He waited until she was just twenty paces away. He quickly shut the book and placed it on top of the other two lying of the grass before picking them up.

She was fifteen paces away.

He unwound his leg and attempted to stand up. “Damn!” He muttered to himself as he wobbled up. His left leg had developed pin and needles for sitting too long on the grass. He tried to steady himself on the right leg.

She was ten paces away.

He breathed in deeply a couple of times, trying desperately to slow down his heartbeat and ensure that the butterflies in his stomach are flying in formation. He quickly ran his free right hand up his hair to make sure there are no stray strands.

Five paces away.

He looked up just in time to see a guy running up behind her and tapping her shoulder.

“Annyeong-haseyo!” he heard the guy called out, before launching into an animated exchange of phrases with the girl in Korean. He saw the girl glanced up at him for a fleeting moment as she passed by him. She must be surprised by the sight of a guy who looked like he had just received a crushing blow to the ribs from some invisible opponents.

LEAVING Part 2

 

“You know, I thought you noticed me long before that,” she interjects, as he takes a breather and drinks another gulp of the ice lemon tea.

The muscles in his lower jaw slacken and loosen, his mouth forming an O.

“You were magnificent in the inter-year debate competition last year. Your eyes bore into mine so intensely that I absorbed every word and emotion from you. I felt something connected between us that time. ”

“Oh my God, that was you?” his mouth is now hanging so wide that a bird could easily fly in and nested comfortably.

***

“Heads” He mumbled as the coin was executing its majestic spin in the air. He watched intently as the coin did its routine inverted U-shaped trajectory and fell into the cupped hand of the emcee.

“Heads it is” announced the emcee while letting the head of Queen Elizabeth being observed by both participants. “So you will go first, Ken. All the best.”

He stepped onto the podium tentatively. He had practiced the speech in front of the cupboard mirror 28 times the previous day until every word was etched in his subconscious mind. He knew all the theories on what it takes to draw the crowd in. He read about all the do and don’t of public speaking. “This should go well,” he assured himself, “As long as I can get the first word off my mouth.”

His eyes wondered to the various cliques caught in their own world. A few curious glances, a split second attention shrugged off as nonchalantly as it was picked up. No one was paying attention, he realized, starting to feel the first prang of panic building in his heart. His mind was suddenly a jumbled mess till it drew a blank slate. His first instinct was to hide and run away.

“Find a focus point” he suddenly remembered one of the advices he read. Desperately, he threw another look at the sea of spectators and zeroed in on a girl who seemed to be looking at him. He clenched his fist into tight balls, took a deep breath and uttered the first syllable. And off he went, maintaining his gaze on the forehead of the girl throughout his speech.

He couldn’t believe that he managed to finish his speech without much hiccup and even received claps of a quite respectable decibel at the end of it. His palms were now sweaty, aftermath of the coldness he felt just now. He walked back to his seat, where his friends gave him words of encouragements and pats of well done. He mumbled thanks and the offered smiles. In reality, he could really feel nothing, his mind glazed over, exhausted after the Herculean efforts, relieved that it was all over.

***

“Gosh, so you are saying you only gaze at my forehead the whole time?”

“I afraid so,” he replies, smiling rather sheepishly.

“I thought you were attracted to me, and was trying to send signals to me. How embarrassing!” she covers her whole face with her hands like a child.

“I don’t think it is as embarrassing as what I am going to tell you.”

***

He would have forgotten about her just like most of the girls he sketched if she didn’t keep on appearing within his range of vision. If she was transparent for the first seven semesters of his University life, she seemed wanting to compensate for that now.

He saw her again that day between lectures in the cafeteria, he sitting in the corner by himself reading the next lecture’s notes, she sitting facing him two tables right in front of him, eating an apple while chatting with a couple of girls.

He saw her again in the library, he searching for passages to augment the day’s lectures, she rushing in to drop a book into the return bin and rushes out, leaving the tail of her royal blue scarf gasping the air, desperately trying to catch up.

The next day, he saw her alighting from the tram across the street, nodding her head left and right to the song emanating from the earphone partly hidden by her scarf as she make her way to the campus.

If was as if she was waving a red flag above the crowd, or emitting an unique sound that was attracting him to her, or radiating light of a distinct color differentiating her from the sea of people in the campus.

He noticed her so much that he got a cornucopia of terms to describe her. Refined, like how she daintily cuts her sandwiches up into little pieces before eating them. Graceful, like how she swirls around the grass, exposing the pale skin of her calves. Cute, like how she poses as sailor-moon while she fooled around with her friends.

To his horror, he realized that he had become obsessed with her, but he could not control it. He drew sketch after sketch of her, capturing every sighting of her on paper. Late at night, he kept marveling at those sketches, spending hours making minute modifications before he was satisfied. After a couple of weeks, the green file became so thick that he had to acquire a new one.

He stared at the big red C on his Statistics assignment paper for a long, long time. He can’t recall the last time he didn’t see an A on his paper. He had always been a consistent over-achiever since his primary school days. It doesn’t require the mental prowess Sherlock Holmes to deduct the cause on this sudden drop in form.

The pin had dropped.

“It had to stop,” he muttered to himself. He was determined to put a stop on this spreading cancer before it totally consumed him. He needed to talk to the girl. To demystifying her, to assure himself that she is just a plain and unworthy girl….

LEAVING Part 1

The gentle breeze rouses the trees to sing a homely whistle, sending dancing leaves fluttering like confetti downwards to where both of them are sitting.

He takes a big gulp of his ice lemon tea, hoping it can untangle the knot in his throat.

“You never thought you would see me again, do you?” there are tears in her eyes. Those same black watery pearls he first fell in love with, and never thought will set sight on again.

He shakes his head.

The waterfront is deserted; they are the sole occupants of the riverside drinking hole. Her eyes shift momentarily to gaze at the serene gush of the water a few steps from their table, before focusing on him again.

“Do you remember the first time you saw me?”

He nods his head.

“Tell me about it.”

The wind shudders to a silent halt. A pair of magpies retracts their wings gracefully and settles on a tree branch right above them. A stray dog wonders near and lies down at the foot of the adjacent table. They are all waiting for his story.

***

If the lecturer didn’t call her out that day, he would never have noticed her. Seen yes, but not noticed. This is despite the fact that it was the eighth semester that they are studying together in the same course.

She didn’t blush, no, or bowed her head low, the way usually students do when being caught red-handed chatting in class and put up on a flagpole to dry. She just gave the lecturer an incredulous look, her dew-glazed eyes tinged with underlying hues of hurt, as if saying “Who? Me? You must have picked the wrong person…”

Two hundred pairs of eyes were now trained on the girl. The lecture hall was now a deadly silence, the lion now circling and eying his prey. The students were waiting for right time to cringe, waiting for the lion to unleash his roaring wrath on that unfortunate girl. But throughout an entire minute, she didn’t finch a single bit, maintaining the same facial expression as if her face was a painted canvas.

He found himself subconsciously sketching the side profile of the girl on the margins of his notes. Black silk hair like undulating waves cascading down from the top of her head before resting on both sides of her shoulders. Wide forehead, button nose, thick lips on an apple shaped face. Definitely won’t win a beauty contest if he is the judge.

But he was compelled to believe her, even though he was equally convinced that the lecture picked the right culprit. Perhaps it was her small diminutive frame or the frilly princess looking dress she was wearing. She exuded an aura of innocence, an air of vulnerability that automatically makes a guy desire to protect her. And girls to loathe her, he suspected.

“Just don’t let it happen again,” the bespectacled giant of a lecturer softened his stance. Usually, the same misdemeanor warrants an immediate expulsion from that class.

Like his lecturer, he had low tolerance for people impeding his quest for total concentration in lectures. He was slightly annoyed by the concession, for there existed a cruel part of him who loved seeing fellow students trudging down the alley of shame, receiving just desserts for their inconsiderate behavior. Besides, it will be a good chance to scrutinize her.

“An interesting character” he annotated next to her sketch. He tore it out before transferring the piece of paper into his green file.