The Portfolio files.

Why writing?

2011-07-03T14:47:00.002+08:00

Sunday afternoons are great for taking a nap, let me tell you that. Drinking a cup of tea would sound lovely as well. However, I am doing the opposite whilst striving to keep my eyelids open so I wouldn’t have to burn the midnight oil every night.

” Writing is a form of therapy. Sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose or paint can manage to escape the madness, the melancholia, the panic fear which is inherent with the human situation. ” – Graham Greene.

Recently, I have been contemplating about what it means to be a writer in my eyes. For as long as I can remember, I have always told and reminded myself that I wanted to be a writer. A phenomenal one at that. No one suggested this, no one pushed it on to me, no one actually influenced me into doing so. At least I didn’t think so which has made me inclined to reflect on some things. You know how some children at a very young age have set certain goals for themselves? It’s amazing, really. Just think ” Junior Masterchef ” on TV. They’re very driven, they work hard to achieve what they want. It also seems like they were designed and destined for their expertise as they grow older. Concerning my passion and ability to compose poems, stories and essays… was I destined to do this? Maybe, I’d like to believe so.

Here’s a brief tale from the past :

When I was in kindergarten, I remembered all the kids and I had various classes : Maths class, Art class, singing classes and English lessons (Mostly reading books as much as I can remember). The only nightmare was Maths class. I wasn’t too good with numbers thus this has resulted me loathing mathematics throughout my life. My teachers weren’t that great either. I pray this will no longer be an obstacle in the future. I felt like literature and writing came naturally to me. It seems like a calling or something, haha! From then on, I continued. When I was 8 or 9, I purchased my first diary near my school. It was blue and iridescent under the light because of it’s sparkles. A plastic blue padlock and a bunch of keys completed the ideal of a diary. I was happy. I kept it a secret from everyone, hid it under pillows, in drawers and wherever. I think I lost it at some point but somehow it returned to me. I wrote heaps of things each day when I come home from school, reporting about my day and such. I was disciplined enough to do it almost everyday. That little book I had, also had it’s ending. When I reached the last page, it was a sad that I had to let it go at some point.

Sometime during those years, I was on a vacation in Melbourne, Australia with my family. We were residing with my aunt and her family. I remembered, we visited one of the bazaars or markets around the area where I bought another journal. It had autumn leaf prints on the cover. Pretty and rustic, it was. And so the same process recycled again. Later on when I was 13, I bought a notebook from a friend. It had the typical girlish pattern on it : Rainbows and butterflies, sprinkled with glitter on top. Let’s just say I was a silly selfish, pubescent girl living in her own world claiming she is the Red Queen. The content of the book made me feel embarrassed for myself but regardless those were the times I struggled with many complications with adjusting to a new kind of environment. I’ve reread it a few times and I began to laugh at the level of immaturity present in there.

And now, in 2011 after many years of traveling, I have now stumbled upon the path on becoming a writer/ jounalist for a career. This all happened gradually without any awareness, really. My eyes protruded and I had an epiphany that this sort of career has been in front of me for a very long time. When I ponder on it now, it feels like maybe I was destined to do this. God has worked His magic on me and the way I’ve turned out so far. I feel really blessed indeed. I really do believe that this career path chose me and not the other way around. I mean, I could be a scientist if I wanted to. But I don’t.

Some people will choose something and eventually end up in regret saying it was all a mistake. People believe in me, support me and my capability so I think I should start believing in myself. Now, I just hope and pray that I will be the successful and influential writer that I have always dreamt of becoming for years. If this is my niche, then I'll follow wherever the wind takes me.

(Quote taken from : http://quote-book.tumblr.com)

Steady feet don't fail me now.

2011-07-02T12:57:00.000+08:00

Most places or locations I have visited were in my dreams but what happened to me seemed all too realistic for me to neglect. I woke up two days in a desert,somewhere in the forsaken lands of Mexico. I must have had a quizzical expression on my face considering I didn't have a clue of how I wound up there. There was sand and debris in my hair and I tried to comb them out with my fingers. Agog, I took a walk along the desert to find anybody who would help me. As I strolled the land, bare-footed, I began seeing images of oceans while under the scorching Sun.

Just when I had lost all hope on finding a town or people for that matter, I discovered four towering cacti aligned beside each other like it was a wall or a fort of some sort. I crept behind the thorned tree-like plants and there I found a town where the resident's eyes were set to kill. My presence was a travesty and I averted my gaze to the horizon. I saw robbers, gangsters and a Mafia clan gambling in the local bar. Prostitutes lined up waiting in front of cheap motels, hoping to coalesce business with pleasure. Little Mexican girls were either playing with their ragdolls or biting their fingernails. The boys however, were playing three-card monte. Apart from that, I heard a man shouting profanities with such blasphemous language and there were men breaking out into a melee because of the overdose of gin and beer.

I had to escape out of this wretched place, I thought to myself. This place was horrifying and I wasn't able to think clearly due to the temperature rising in this heat, here in the middle of nowhere. I swore I could just faint from where I stood. Then there was this boy who appeared to be eleven years old approached me. His name was Alejandro. Alejandro told me a tale of the Underworld or in other words, Hell. It was a place where lost souls ended up suffering in agony. Those souls were once people, they killed themselves. They died of tragic events. But mostly they didn't lead a peaceful life in any way. I asked him why he told me such frightening things but he was silent with a glint of devilment in his innocent eyes.

The, I looked up at the cloudless sky and turned my head to the right where Alejandro was. But to my dismay, when I looked at my surroundings a minute later, everything I once saw dissipated. I guess, I was just hallucinating. There was no town, no people and no Alejandro. I continued my journey and I felt the ground crumbling beneath my feet. A sinkhole was forming.I ran as fast as my steady feet could carry me but ultimately fell into a bottomless pit or what happened to be the Underworld. I've been to many places but this was dystopia at it's best without an exit. It was pitch-dark and the atmosphere was lugubrious.Nothing sparked my curiosity but fear lingered in my soul.I felt cold and alone.I wondered if there was any life to this desolate place. I saw bald trees, with cobwebs cascading down the branches. Spiders and other creatures were breeding on the ground.

As I looked ahead of me, I cried and prayed for sanity. Alejandro wasn't kidding about the lost souls wandering around here. I felt like a misguided ghost travelling aimlessly to search for some comfort. There was the river of Lost Souls on the other side of the hill of ashes. Intrigued, I slowly staggered towards it. I peered into the waters. The lost souls were like water nymphs flowing with the water. I put my hand in it, and a hand started to pull me in. With the strength I had, I managed to escape without being sucked in. I have just got here and I was already famished. I desperately wanted to eat something,anything that would relieve starvation. I assumed that carcasses of vultures were the only delicacy to chew on but I refused to let anything malignant into my body.

It felt like an eternity being here. As I walked into the dark, i felt my feet being jabbed by thousands of needles like acupuncture but this was excruciating. Moreover, I began hearing sharp shrieks into my ears. For that, I was put to sleep. I saw flashes of the image of death : The Grim Reaper. I was not afraid for death already came for me. I woke up feeling like I was reborn or reincarnated. Abruptly, I realised I was in the eternal bliss of paradise where no pain or melancholia was present. So this must be what nirvana felt like.

The places I've visited might have left me in a daze but these places made me feel human where a bundle of emotions were infused together. I experienced too much during my sojourns in the deserts of Mexico, the Underworld and now residing in heaven. Off all places. I sighed feeling the sense of relief.

I wait for him like vultures wait for bodies.

2011-07-02T12:03:00.000+08:00

I had a nightmare. One I actually thought was visually occurring in front my eyes where I felt too afraid to make any abrupt movements or do anything in fact…

There I was,stuck in a car helplessly looking for an escape before the waters were rising up to my neck. My legs were numb and my hands were shaking because of the fear within me.The tide was crashing in and I was shivering in the ice cold waters. My hands were turning to indigo.The torment had to end.I gave up on trying to survive and decided to succumb to fate. My faith to keep myself to live wavered.There I was drowning…my soul was purged from my body.The soul was an apparition of a nymph and it floated away into the waters.My eyes were shut and I bid adieu to my existence. Death was a peaceful yet eerie experience.

I woke up from my unpleasant slumber and similarly to that nightmare,I was suffering from apoplexy.I was unable to move or speak for about 10 minutes,then I felt my senses tingling and certain parts of my body were twitching, like my hands for instance.I couldn’t say the same for my eyes though,I was staring into a blank space with protruding eyes without blinking.Oh yeah,that’s amazing is it not? Abruptly,a pang of pain jolted through my veins and I sprung out of the bed.Right now,I feel sick,I feel aggravated,delusional and somewhat morose. Honestly,I don’t even know what to do with my poor inflicted self anymore. A little light from the window was shed onto my skin and the skies were gray.They appeared to be livid and enraged judging by the sounds of thunder drumming in my ears. No,I wasn’t afraid of rain nor was I afraid of thunder. Lightning however,fascinates me thanks to the principles of science.

The rain began to pour heavily and there I was in my bedroom.It was dark and cold. Silence filled the stagnant air. I couldn’t even see the bridge of my nose.So,this must be what a cave looked like.Am not entirely impressed but I’m already immuned to candles and flashlights rather than bright fluorescent lights that hardware shops had to offer when I wanted some form of light to illuminate the shadows.I enjoyed the darkness and the shadows dancing in front of me.There seems to be a story here like how shadow puppets danced. The Sun,how beautiful it shines during the day but the shadow proves the sunshine.I feel the same way about the Moon,how it illuminates the night skies adorned with tiny little stars scattered everywhere. I believe my life is somewhat centred around nature and I love the simple things in life. But there was always something raging in me,I wanted something more.Something better than this,something greater than me but what was it? I admit I’m a dreamer and I long for too many things.

I sat by the windowsill and watched the rain trickling down the window.They looked more like tears to me.The book ‘Wuthering Heights’ was in front of me waiting to be read,once again.Hmm,I pondered for a minute.’Wuthering Heights’ was Emily Bronte’s one and only book she ever wrote and it has been considered a masterpiece in the realm of literature. I thought of the Bronte sisters for a minute. I am certain there must be sibling rivalry wanting to outclass each other. I looked at the cover and put it down immediately, feeling somewhat frustrated.

” I wish I could write something so distinctive as this. I need to be more like the Bronte sisters” And I sighed heavily.

I took a sip of coffee from the mug on the table and my palate was inflamed by the heat and bitter taste. I claim I hated drinking coffee and yet I find it so addictive.It was just me and my peculiar habits. As I looked out the window,I saw faces :The shopkeepers, pedestrians,mothers scolding their children and an elderly couple grinning at each other from ear to ear. I wonder what sort of lives they led behind those faces.I took another glimpse of the couple and they reminded me of him.

“Where’s he?” I questioned myself everyday. It was a three years ago when my dearest friend left me…waiting. He and I were as thick as thieves and it was very unlike him to take off without any notice. I was disappointed indeed. After 5 months of waiting patiently, I lost all hope and gave up. We were childhood friends and we spent a whole lot of time with together.It was a shame that those dreams have now turned to dust when we wanted to finish the rest of our lives together. A police officer came by my apartment one stormy night. He looked sympathetic and I sensed someone has died. However it never occurred to me that he was already gone. His words were, ” I am sorry for your loss.” Was he? It couldn’t be. Though I may have forgotten him in my mind, he was always engraved in my heart. The police officer mentioned suicide. His voice was then muffled in my ears. I did not cry nor was I able to emote.

The man left me with horrible news at that. I couldn’t eat, sleep or function the same way again. Since then, I felt too numb to feel where no one could show me what it meant to live anymore. I looked old and wrinkled. I had dark circles under my eyes and my hair began to fall. I’ve became too skinny to the bones. As I look out at the dark gray skies nowadays, they would always remind me of loss and the emptiness left in me.

I believed that he was alive somewhere, as absurd as it sounded. I needed a miracle and some mad hope to keep me sane for the sake of my health. I looked at the reflection and I tried to smile. It was futile, really. But it was worth the effort to help me get back on my once steady feet.

A year has passed by and here I am admiring the rain for some odd reason. I put on my Wellington boots and decided to walk in puddles for the heck of it. He and I used to do this frequently when we were six. It was fun despite getting barked at by our parents later in the day. I laughed at the thought of nostalgia. As I splashed the water around with my boots, I took notice of a young man with the exact boots as mine. He then looked at me, and flickered a wistful smile at me. I was a little confused. He had such a familiar face. There was this aura about him that made me feel warm in this weather. He said hello with a voice that used to ring in my ears. Could it be? Was this him? He must be dead, I’m sure?

I shut my eyes for a split second and he was nowhere to be found. I guess I hallucinated for a moment there. Or did I?He was there, at least I thought so. I swore I saw that face somewhere, it was the very face I fell for in the human race.

“So…where’s he?”