Birdy

It would be some days later when that car crash actually happen, but it had already happened though, I had seen it in my sleep.

I have this visions that allow me to peak at the future at night, during sleep. What triggers it, how exactly it works, when would the event take place, why do I see what I see, I don't know. I can't answer you. It is beyond my control. I'm just the receiver at the end. I can't communicate with the future, I can't decide what I see, I can't perform any decisive action, or alter the course of the future. Sometimes I couldn't even distinguish between dreams or visions if my dreams weren't ridiculously off the chart. But what I see in my vision, they are real, they happens. It has happened many times, and since I wasn't counting, I could not tell you the exact number. But it happened enough to convince myself that it is real, and that it wasn't my own perception or some twisted, false memories.

I always see just a few seconds of what would happen in the future. Sometimes I would be aware of myself, but I could not take control over my body in my vision, I could think, I could see what was around me through my own eyes in the future, but not perform any action that would happen. And when it actually happens, sometimes I would think what I was thinking in my vision, but other times I would think differently.

I tried to think about the causes of these vision. However I came up with none so far. If I could find out what really triggers it, maybe I could harness this kind of power, and see into the future. And maybe I would be living in the future as much as living in the presence when I lay asleep.

Would it be possible that I could find the answer to this question? Very unlikely, but don't give up hope I say, for hope has traveled far.

The future is rigged. That's all I could say for now.

Read More

Class In Session

Pigeon knows its way home, so does little Jim. His friends call him Lil Jim, just because he's short. How short? Well, he's about a meter shorter than the average for kids in the sixth grade. But his height's not the only thing that belittled him. Lil Jim also has eyes that stretched open in the size of a pin hole. And that's the reason why he's always seen wearing that stupid goggle that glows in the dark. You can always tell which toilet box Lil Jim is in by looking for his light. That, and because the school toilets are so dark during daytime but not at night.

Lil Jim was almost late for school on Monday. He said something about sliding off a fiscal cliff. The class didn't understand him. And subsequently caused Jack Hunter, the naughtiest kid in school to make jokes about Lil Jim's fear in walking pass the local gun shop, where an animated bear model was on displayed.

Lil Jim sat alone in the front with no one he could talk or gesture to. He could hear laughter emitted by the cool kids that hung out at the back. For some unknown reason though, he was able to filter those noise and concentrate on that clanking high heels which was heading his way.

Someone was coming. Lil Jim sat upright and turned back, and softly he blew the whistle he carried around his neck. And the class, as if fallen under the purest spell, had immediately returned to order.

The first bell began ringing. Mr. Seinfeld, who was famous for his punctuality, and straight attendance record since he started teaching forty three years ago, had not showed up when the second bell struck.

On the other hand, the high heels had now rested outside. And through the large crack between the floor and the closed door, a shadow crept in with a sudden mist. Lil Jim took a peak and swallowed the darkness.

The knob clicked open when the third bell ended. And in came headmaster Mrs. Halley. The room stayed in absolute silence expect for her high heels that paced around the room, and the sucking noise made by Lil Jim when he was nervous.

Finally Mrs. Halley stopped moving around and leaned against the door. She coughed and began. "Starting from today, Mr. Seinfeld, your class master, will no longer teach at Ghenmani School," Mrs. Halley paused to make sure no radical facial expressions or insulting laughter had surfaced before she continued, "instead, I have invited my daughter, Miss Halley to you, to be the substitute class master until the end of this school year," the headmaster opened the door and beckoned Bella Halley.

Bella Halley, an attractive young lady walked softly across the room in her flat, rubber shoes, and white flowery dress. "Good morning class."

Everyone stood up, even Jack Hunter, who vowed to despise his class master for life had jumped from his chair. "Good morning Miss Halley."

The angel waved for them to sit down and exchanged a few words with the headmaster. Lil Jim had never heard a voice like this. It was like the gentle whisper which had only belonged to his mother until now. Maybe Miss Halley had stolen his mother's voice. Lil Jim wasn't sure, his goggle glowed as his anxiety level rose.

The headmaster caught the light on her way out. "What's the problem, Jimmy? Afraid that my daughter would undermine your control over the class?" she glanced at the whistle rested on his chest and grinned evilly to the point that the corner of her mouth tipped so high it formed a V-shape, which Lil Jim believed it would only happen in Disney cartoons.

The light from his goggle continued to glow. It was soon beaming stars and shooting comets. The headmaster tried put a stop to it but it had only got worse. "Shut it down junior, or face solitary detention for the whole week."

Out of fear for every awful thing he could imagine during the last solitary detention, Lil Jim ducked under his table and covered his goggle with his tiny hands, but lights kept leaking from the sides to an extent of a blinding luminosity.

"Jimmy, can I call you Jimmy?" said the angelic voice.

The light had ceased to expand.

"There's nothing to be afraid of, Jimmy. I'm sure mother didn't mean to upset you."

The headmaster was saying something inaudible in the background.

"How about giving me your hands? You don't have to be afraid, you don't have to face whatever it is that you're facing alone."

The light dimming as Lil Jim felt the touch from Miss Halley. She sat him right up and sent the headmaster away.

"Now what should we begin with, Jimmy?"

Read More

House Moving--Done

I'm back. I have been slacking off again because, one, I was moving, and two, the World Cup (Go Netherlands/Germany, either team winning will satisfy my ego and desire and so many restless night).

Back to moving. So far as I remember, I have moved house four times. The first to the third times I couldn't recall being of any significant help. And by significant I mean that I didn't help moving large household utilities or furniture or any objects physically. I was weak then, okay?

The first time my family moved from our second floor apartment, an old two-story concrete building, to the seventh floor of my childhood memories, I was about six or seven or so. I didn't know how I got there. My mom said I had asked her repeatedly about where I was, and when could I go home, the home that we were moving away from. I have no memory of that, and of course I had little memory of my childhood as well.

Time passed, I was in my boyhood when we moved from a small, unimportant village in the Mainland to Hong Kong. We settled in a room no more that ten short steps that my grandfather rented. I think we hadn't brought anything with us except money and health. And I bet it was the easiest moving process anyone could imagine.

Then we moved again, when I was still a junior in secondary school. This time we moved to an apartment just next door. As you could probably imagine, we were living in a small room with a lot of scattered tiny clusters. Maybe I had helped in moving the computer, but other things, nah, I don't remember. For about six years I stayed there, but it was time to move again.

Only this time I have grown up, and our home have so many stuff collected over the years that I was busy organizing them into boxes for so many days. And then there was this harsh condition we had to comply--move everything away, which means we have to clear out everything. So besides moving, I was also dumping aging furniture to the landfill. They were all of second hand that my family received from some relative or found abandoned on the street. So throwing them away now didn't seem to be wasteful at all. We have prolonged their life as being useful.

Anyway, In about three days we have moved everything, fortunately the distance was just a street away and going down the slope, so the transporting by hand and carts was very smooth and relatively hassle-free. Even though there were times when I accidentally cut or injured myself unaware. The scars are still here, especially the one on my right wrist, which is very close to the spring of my life. Luckily it was a shallow cut and didn't slice through the soft tissue, or else I wouldn't be writing right now.

I just want to express my feeling about moving. It's a lot of work, work that would wear one down, and bring back buried memories. I have always been a guy who hates clusters, I don't need too many stuff in my life because I know I don't necessarily need them. Clothes, shoes, junk foods, electronics. Just simply ask yourself, what is enough?

We want things, I want things. But we are not restricted to ownership of things we don't have. Moving doesn't mean losing the past, or getting the future. Moving is more like controlling the present, and start living, adapting in a different environment, have a different perspective, a brand new view.

Now I have got a view of the trees and the buildings surrounding me, whereas before I had only the road and street and city's noise. I really should treasure the view I have now, because I still haven't glance away from where I am.

As with writing, I have been thinking, drafting ideas, nothing concrete yet. I have three unfinished long story and they desperately need rewriting and a stronger, more sensitive story, and relatable characters.

I find my writing different than what was in my brain. When I write, I can think and play the scene inside my head like a film, but when it comes out in word-form, it just changed. It offers none of the pleasure reading gave me, or the visual that exist in films. Maybe I focused too much on the environment, the description that I dismissed ideas and story development. Or maybe I relied too much on short, no-ending story practices, that I ignored the important aspect in writing.

Words matters. So long, battery is at 2%.  

Read More