He's a busy person alright. The situation on msn repeats itself in real life, and I wave goodbye. I didn't realise it was going to be that bad, but well, reality is harsh. For the first few moments the shard trembles hard at my chest, and I try to not think about it. Mel was simply wonderful - she understood. Or at least the same thing happened to her haha. Casually I ask if she sees him and wow, somehow she knew who he was. Reassuring me that he's not just a figure in my mind. So far so good then.

If this was a story all this would be apt then. The girl who nearly had an elder brother ends up not having one. And when someone takes up the role, he's a kor, yet not. Afterall, big bro's in heaven. Somehow it just makes sense. I just don't know how to express it properly. Or perhaps once again I'm escaping into the misty hands of fiction.

"Are you going to meet him later?"
"Who"
"You know... him"
"Uh huh..."
"Well, are you?"
"I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know."
"I've seen him already. I just didn't talk to him."
"WHY NOT?" (gosh, she sounds even more agitated than I am)
"Er, he was busy."
"Oh. ..So are you going to see him later?" and on and on and on...

Ha, I'm just his mei. He's my first kor that's all. But with one conversation my hopes are awakened, just a little. The first is always special. I turn down the invitation to have lunch with my friends; give him a call.

He wasn't free.

It was grace that I had the inkling of an impulse to want to go to Sungei Buloh. 154 came, with 170 tagging behind in a few seconds. 170 became the choice.

The thinnest shard of pain trembles at my bosom. It seems so horrible to have dared not hope, and then allowed myself to, only to have it shatter. And then grace came again, and the tiredness from last night lulls me to peaceful slumber along with the bus.

Noisy chatter wakes me up. Sleep seems to have eased and dulled the pain, though I'm still feeling quiet. The scenery outside the widow is quite glorious - places I've only seen before once. Revisiting them feels quite refreshing.

A change in buses, the glorious splendor of a huge huge body of water, and few minutes later, I'm walking towards Sungei Buloh. A few droplets of water seems to fall onto my arms, as though it's going to rain. But I pray, not for good weather, but told Him that he knew the pain I was feeling, and I'll take whatever that comes next. Great egrets fly overhead, and cattle egrets (I think?) speckle the wide green field with their bodies of white. Stunning, the amount of birdlife is simply stunning. A turn to the right, and it's a wide lonely road. Grassyellows flit among the grass, a changeable lizard poses on the pavement, head erect. A pair of olive-backed sunbirds make me laugh, flitting about and about, pausing for just a minute on a tree-branch, and then flying away again. Then a pair of black speckled brown birds perches on some long grasses, and ruffle and shake their fan-like tails in the most amusing of ways, again and again and again, and I wish I knew their names; but I don't, there's no camera with me, and there's no one knowledgeable with me to tell me. Now and again the loud buzz from an insect suddenly appears at my left ear, and I give a startled jump... it is a lonely road.

The way in to Sungei Buloh reveals a skink (Mangrove Skink?) basking in the sun right in the MIDDLE of the pathway. How was I to know they would be so lazy that they would not even move even when something approaches them and is only just two steps away? I froze there for a moment, my nerves on rather high alert from the insect buzzes, but finally gathered enough courage to step to the side of it and move on. To the pond and the head of a water monitor lizard peeps up from under the leaves, and at the entrance of the visitor center a huge water monitor lizard basks in the sun lazily, its tail so gently dipped into the water. Two tortoises are beside it, and they're so still you could have mistaken them for statues, but one tortoise moves, and you know they're alive. The meat around the joint of the bottom right leg of the water monitor lizard seems to be exposed.. almost like rotting and decaying meat. Perhaps it's injured... perhaps it's not.

And this is just the entrance.

Walking in, and another water-monitor lizard is seen. This is glorious. The bridge reveals a splendid large great egret, so so snowy-white. And the breeze is really really good. A friend calls... aha, I've made him jealous aw. Main hut reveals no birds as far as my eyes can see, except for one or two flying about above. But a few minutes later a pack of dogs suddenly run out. =\ Scrawny dogs. Tawny, black, dark brown, there are about 11, if I counted right. Wow. First time I've seen so many dogs together, and at Sungei Buloh. Haha, someone's worried 'cos I have no knife. But a sense of danger never did come. The dogs were running away from my direction anyway.

A turn back, to the mangrove broadwalk. Immediately my eyes are graced by a Blue Glassy Tiger. Seven Golden Candlesticks and Pagoda Plants are all around, yellow and red vividly contrasting with that clear blue sky with white full clouds. The torch ginger are in their first delicate graceful blooms. A few more steps ahead reveal one brown moth. Meanwhile the calls of insects are amazingly loud. On we go, and the gay ah beng (stork-billed kingfisher) didn't reveal itself. The neat and tidy gentleman did though! Aww, my white collared kingfisher, I do love you the best. Maybe I shall use your colour scheme for my room. Little blue-bird of happiness, perhaps you are the one.

The last few steps is a hunt for spiders. It seems like there was none.. and then there's a silvery glint of light, and a tent-shaped web comes into view. It was rather high up, and so I managed to see the tent spider hiding beneath the leaf! And then, just beside it, another tent-shaped web is spotted! My gosh. The height of the web is longer than the length of one-arm span! And there is a spider too, hiding below the leaves at the bottom of the web. Wow. Two tent-spiders sighted!

Out of the reserve, and out, and then a monkey choose to startle me! Gosh, why does nature love playing pranks on me. It sits on the fence, and as I jump back at the sudden sight it opens its mouth and seemingly breaks into a smile -faints- before closing it. I stare at it and it stares back at me... and I retreat first. Monkeys shall be monkeys... But it is the first time I've seen monkeys at Sungei Buloh.

It seemed such a full fulfilling visit. So out I went, onto the broadwalk that leads back to the carpark, and a little bird suddenly flies across my path, and onto the bush beside me, and I turn to appreciate it, following its path. And it flies to the back, and I turn to back along with it, until it flits off again and I can't see it. I turn back.

SNAKE! RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME, LOOKING AT ME. It stretches out almost lethargically from its perch on the tall bushes, looking at me with its bright beady eyes, and really quite near, less than one metre??!! Thin and slender, I can see the criss-cross of black lines on its white body, forming into checkered patterns on the top of its body. Oh my goodness. Almost stunned with shock for a moment, my brain somehow got my fingers to type a sms. Gosh it's a beautiful snake.

And I thank the Lord for his grace. The mild disappointment is soothed, the pettiness has dissolved, and I send a sms to my kor too on the road back to the bus-stop...

"ooh you saw a snake! was it a long ten-foot being that ruthlessly killed off a lot of the people who've been there?"

Haiya.

A pair of black-naped orioles dive after each other, and the cries of insects are still as loud as ever. Just as I'm about to walk out of the long lonely road, suddenly a huge huge bird flies low across the road to the other side. Gosh, what is that! Common moorhen? Wild rooster? I have no idea. For a moment I thought it was a purple heron, but can't be! They don't fly sooo low. But what, what then. But I lost sight of it.

Still, how amazing.

the sandman is at your window-

"he goes around
and puts little grains of sand in your eyes
and this sand is magical
and puts you to your sleep
when you wake up and rub your eyes
there lies the handiwork of the sandman"

an unexpected tale from one who is usually not a story-teller makes me feel warm, sweet and nice, like a little kid again.

go to sleep in too-big clothes and feel small but loved. ah stories and tales, i do love thee so.

and i thank the story-teller too.

a little bluebird of happiness-

Fly!

Hours ago she spread her wings. Arms out straight, and zoomed down the slope. Laughing, but not daring to laugh too loud. Whoosh! Down she zooms, laughing, and trying to keep it back. Her steps tumble, faster and faster, one leg up before the other has even come down... woah, woah! She's gonna fall--- no she isn't. She reaches the end, and tucks her wings back in, biting back the laugher that wants to tear itself out, feeling her face go a little warm at the realisation of what a sight she must have been, and trying, really really hard, to avoid the eyes of that guy sitting at the void deck near the slope.

She walks away, and only when she's out of sight and hearing of the guy, then does she allow herself to smile a little. Her mind wags a finger at the impulse of her heart. "Crazy crazy girl!" Heart just laughs back, and skip its merry way along. After all, mind is secretly amused. And heart knows it.

Aye aye, childish kid she is indeed. But ain't this youth? Fluid, that's what youth is, to her, now. Sometimes a child, sometimes an adult, sometimes sober, sometimes light-hearted, sometimes sane, sometimes crazy!

Right now she's a kid, stuck in an adult world. And, she knows she needs to get something aeroplane-themed soon. For the airplane, was once but man's dream and fantasy. And the skies seemed unattainable. Birds were admired, and several tried to model them. Some died. Then more brave souls tried.

And that fantasy became real.

I'm waiting too. Monday...

Oh power and ability. Monday, I'll go to where the white eagles soar. I'll find my sunbird. I'll look for my bright gay kingfisher. I'll wait for the remote chance of that majestic yet humble grand purple heron.

I'll watch out for that shimmery blue dart.

Know I a boy, lovely, gentle and gay,
Time does pass, but my boy be unaffected.
His face does shows the child’s shadow away,
Yet sweet he stays, his charm no least faded.
Such seem to be by Nature, work so grand!
Even as others wilt, gone with a puff,
Like a better Dorian Grey, there you stand.
But be no fool – know it as Nature’s bluff.
O frivolous mistress she is indeed.
Joy you may bring her now, like a rare gem.
The difference in tune when you be a weed,
Which shall come to pass, for from man you stem.
So fear her, that which keeps you in your prime,
For you're her tool; yet the victor be Time

Written with help from Gan Ge. I have nice brothers. =D Yes I am fully giving credit.

"Rosemary" the sign read.

Hesitantly, she reaches out. A second of pause, then decisiveness and she reaches out, to touch the needle-like leaves, and rub them a little between her index finger and thumb. Then she brings them up to her fingers, and a familiar smell wafts up. Nice and clean, almost warm. It has been a long time since she has smell it.

She walks out of the rows of plants, and outward, to where the bougainvillea with their purple paper-thin bracts and thicker green leaves were. The quadrangle lay below her, hard white and greenish tiles cemented in neat rows and columns. Quietly, she places her hands on the cold metal greyish-green railings, and lean herself against it. Then she pulls herself back.

Walk - one step, two step, first a normal pace, then slowing down little by little.. up the step, and her hands gently slides across the railing, and she goes to the middle of the long block, and looks down at the quadrangle again.

The ceilings are lower here. She looks down, and somehow she feels rather high above though it's only the fourth floor. From up here the quadrangle seems rather enclosed, like a great big rectangular swimming pool, but empty. Fanciful images of the place being filled with water and girls diving off to meet the inviting blues fills her mind for a moment, and her lips curve up just that little.

No one really knows her, up here on the fourth storey during the lonely hours of five plus in school. No one is here even. She wraps that fact around her, and leans out just a little bit more. Her hands slides themselves gently along the railings. And then backwards she walks, one step, two step, before sinking down, and sliding herself along the floor until her back meets the wall.

The feeling is savoured, the treat of being able to sit alone in a public building when the sun is still out fills her. Indulgence, she's tempted to whisper, but they only form silently on her tongue, and she hears them echoes in her mind, for herself to hear. No sound otherwise - almost, almost as if voicing aloud her thoughts would immediately bring about the crashing of it all, and she would suddenly find herself awake from a dream.

But she knows she's here, with her back against the wall, and the grey floor beneath her. She fingers her uniform; and she can feel sensations, touch and rub rough materials.

Silence - it seems as though this moment could go on forever. She traces the words out on the floor beside her. For-e-ver. She thought she could smell that lovely scent of tea, but no, that had to be her imagination. What a tender smell though, reminiscent of graceful manners and dainty tea-cups, rumbling laugher and decadent pastries.

Her heart lets out a soft quiet sigh at such fanciful flights of imaginations. For daily life is a routine. At least, so far, for the greater period of time. Oh, she could revolt at times, to defy the mundane order and hop onto a random bus and go for a spin, or have little moments of indulgence, or even in routine itself, by breaking out into song and what not.

But what would life be like in the future? The idea of work home sleep, wake work home sleep scared her a little. She hardly think she would be able to bear it much. And so did the notion of friends taking each other for granted, to assume cases of this would always be so, and thus be stuck, stagnant in their plentiful assumptions, going about their relationship like some kind of usual routine. Red square, blue triangle, yellow circle, red square, blue triangle, yellow circle, red square, blue triangle, yellow circle, red... A pattern which would not deviate.

What a thought, it seems as though she could hardly breathe, and her hands fly to her face in what might even seem to be terror, and she hides her face for a moment, sinking her head down to meet her hands, and the two meet, for what was almost going to be another forever moment if she allows it, but she will not, not this time round. She raises her head again, and leans back to feel her pulse. Thump thump thump, slow, steady, like the pleas of a tolling bell signifying time.

It was time. The rosemary scent was gone from her fingers. Time, to get back home. She stands up, walks back, takes her bag, and descends down the steps, step by step.

Tekong remains a mysterious place. Shrouded with tales, mysteries, ghost stories. Marked by the footsteps, sweat and voices of father, brothers, cousins and friends. Like a strange power, a force of its own. Mixed impressions, that of rural areas, but also of modern technologies, air-conditioning and elevators... conjuring images from nothingness.

Light-heartedly, one exclaims and crack jokes about it, "it made my fat cousin slimmer and my thin cousin fatter". Laugher is heard, some murmurs of, "really? wow." "Yea really. And you better make sure you can run and your stamina is quite okay. Train up before you go!" "Oh, do you have a training schedule then?" "I'm a girl! What use would I have for it? Go ask your coach to help you with one." so on, and so forth. Flippant banter, if you will.

Then the topic was dropped for a few months. No need, no more, to think about it.

But, now, months later, it becomes a topic that is on my mind.

Tekong, seems to have a strange power all of its own. Changes things, for one. But that is to be expected. Change is inevitable. At the very least, a lifestyle change. But the changes on different people differs so much.

One happy, one sad. One feeling fine, the other feeling as though he's in hell. One promising tales, the other not calling. What am I supposed to feel, pray tell. What am I supposed to feel?

Trying to understand, and as usual, failing. Being unable to relate, unable to comprehend, unable to picture it. Only, only trying to form feelings.

I feel like a kid again-

Sunshine and starlight, glowing glowing.

His words are like warm thick broth when one is sick, like some good-tasting rich chocolate when one is stressed, like that coolly sweet Fritillaria Loquat Syrup I love when the throat is dry.

Give a soft happy sigh, and be thankful for help so willingly given, the effort that is put in, the reassurances of that moment...

So many things to say, so many stuff to remember, and so little time, and such limited words to record them. Episodic, the experiences are becoming. Accumulating episodes that flashes again and again in my mind and makes me joyful. Building up, one upon another. The experience of having heard her voice at least once. Of seeing those wonderful reassuring words. Of hearing his voice, reading those words. Of stories to look forward to, recounts, conversations filled with light-hearted teasing and thanksgiving. Of her testimony, the things she saw, the miracles, the grace, the excited tremble in her voice, a gush of warmth filling my body.

Ah!

"oh happy happy day!"

"I didn't!" she exclaims.

I'm momentarily stunned, sucked into a strong whirlpool of memories. Her voice fills my mind. That inflection of the voice, the way it's drawn out - it's like hers, yet not. Her voice is more beautiful.

All day long after my classmate exclaims that "I didn't", I hear her voice, I recall the nuances of her voice. My classmate caught the inflection, but her voice isn't as nice as hers. Hers was beautiful and bright, sweet, and warm, so so full of warmth, full, round, bubbly... the joy, the sweet light rumbling twinkles of her voice; one could hear laugher and chuckles in every word.

Like music. No, much better than music! The type of voice one never tires of hearing, more welcoming than any music, any fond songs. Lilting sweetness, country warmth.

When will I hear it again..

panting heart after the same senseless cries-

Days ago, I saw a glorious gently shivering luminous blue of a butterfly's wing, and wished myself to be caught within its wings, just for a minute and no more. To be bathed in that almost supernatural blue glow, to have had the experience of being caught in that glorious blue blue bubble of its wings, and I dreamed and dreamed about how it would be like, and thought I saw my skin cast with that blue blue shadow.

That was days ago.

Today we had lunch late. Went to the food center, and the very first thing that grabbed our attention was the sound. Loud loud, oh so loud! The rain poured, and the sound of rain meeting metal roof pounded itself into my head till my head throbbed with the sound.

We sat down at one of the many empty tables around. The rain got heavier. THUD THUD THUD THUD. The many many scattered beats joined together, and the whole center resounded with the dull crashes. The air seemingly reverberated with them, alive, trembling.

I covered my ears, the noise was too thunderous. Then a slow realisation dawned on me.

I was inside a drum. Many dreams I've entertained, and now one comes before I even yearn for it. Inside a drum, feeling that dullness echo through my head. I uncovered my ears, and drowned myself in the roars. It's a quick lustily loud song, filled with chaos, tangled mess.

The rain slowly lightened up, just a little, and became less hard on the ears. Perhaps there was a switch in songs. Softer, slower, more orderly.

Soon it's time to leave. We walked, out, away, and the music of chaos slowly fade away into the distance. But something went on, somehow.

I paused, and realised it was throbbing at my chest lightly. My heart was panting.

Blessings beyond Belief-

Good Friday - Via Dolorosa, Stations of the Cross. The images flash, stay, and I see blood, mutilated flesh, blood-shot eyes.

My mind thinks back about the time I somehow stumbled onto web pages describing Roman weapons of torture, of how the whips were constructed so that they not only left a sharp hot lashing, but dug into the skin. Digging in. Blood blood, more blood. Red, precious, warm, life, sacrifice.

And I realise that sometimes by the factual words of the bible, written almost report-style, I forget that beatings hurt, that there was bleeding, and above all, there was pain, real pain, not just a plaintive weak cries of a spoilt brat, but agony, separation, cutting of bonds, losing contact, and all gone. The Lamb's white wool was stained with red red blood, and as the sun rose and it dried up, it turns to a dusty caked brown, smelling of iron.

Metal-ish cold sharp smell.

All this done, before we even knew Him.

-

One part stays vividly in mind: the video about the coming of Christ. "Christ is coming! ... I want you all to keep in mind that he could come next month! He could come next week! He could come -" *A loud! BOOM, the video flashes white black, and the next minute, the scene of the crowded room has turned into a desolate one, with only a few people left behind, and those that are left behind are bewildered for a moment, shocked, stunned, and when the realisation sinks in, they sink too, down on their knees, covering their faces and wailing in anguish-

I was startled by the loud sudden boom. I think many else were. Jumped a little in my seat. My bro laughed a little at that sight of me.

But indeed, no one knows when Christ will come.

Mind thinks back about the scene during Chinese lesson on Tuesday. When we were all doing our situational essay, and suddenly! there was a a flash of bright blue-white light around the class, surrounding us, followed by a loud loud BOOM as lightning flashed and thunder rolled, and some people screamed, and others like me give a jump. It is almost identical to the scene in the video.

Very. Identical.

The thought that perhaps, just perhaps, He could have chosen to come then is sobering. It's near alright.

-

I thought I was going to be in for a long dreary sermon and all. It didn't turn out that way. Heart and mind still wandered, but otherwise pretty much stayed and was somber.

To think I was expecting to feel hollow, empty and even more disillusioned. The thoughts of escape were quelled. It's not easy to be a leader, and harder, when you only seem to be elected by people, and not called by God. The feeling of being unsuited, incapable overwhelms.

But no more thoughts of escape again for now.

And hopefully less of them in the future.

-

"Perhaps you would like to join us?"

I am not so much a little girl anymore, only among those closer to me. It is almost bewildering at times to see how my opinion is valued, how they want me on the team. Young and unstable as I am, they still treat me as an adult. Ha, almost better than an adult. "Don't ask your parents for help! They have very old-fashioned thinking. Just use your own ideas yes."

So in truth I am able to raise my opinions, be heard, and try to advocate for change, kinda. Yea. So that thing about the doors being closed and the sign put them to ask others to use the side-door, I guess I should go ask Pastor about it.

A church isn't meant to be that unwelcoming is it? Not for strangers, what more for people who are really a member of the church. There has to be better justification than no disturbance.

Not that much a little girl all right.

-

I'm not sure whether I regret not going in. Funny that I had already took the bus and all, but still chickened out at the last moment. Stupidity, thy name is Rebecca! He tells me the sermon was good, and I sigh a little at the thought of how I let the image of my own church impact me so, and letting the fear of being unwelcomed stop me. This is after all the miracles, of the first bus being the bus that would bring me there, and the lady who did kinda lead me into the church compound.

Makes me wonder how many of my actions were based on Dutch courage that came from the presence of people.

Quite a lot, I would think. Quite a lot.

But it was lovely to go up to the 40th floor, see the view, enjoy the breeze. Dropping my bag to one side and sitting down. Remembering that I have a book with me, and taking it out to read. The breeze blows in sweetly, and tousles my hair lightly, and it feels good to have such a break. Stand up, and go forward again, and pretend to be an artist, forming my two hands into a frame to border the place, and as I look through it I think, "this is how great a photograph would look."

Go back down again, this time taking the stairs, and spy the garden from up above, and it makes me laugh a little to see how many patches of empty soil there are. To think, just a few more months, and there'll be quite a lot more greenery.

-

"I'll hunt you down"

And the call ended thus and I can't help but laugh. In retrospect it's especially more funny, that the one who's apparently a rat would want to hunt one which is apparently a sparrowhawk. See, that's one you're not a rat if I'm a sparrowhawk, and I'm certainly not a sparrowhawk myself, but in both cases you're not gonna be the rat at all.

Went back to the 40th floor, as we talked and I looked on at that brown op shirt, following, tracing the patterns that orbited out. We reached, and the shadows were longer because the sky was darkening, and it was more greyish, but it took nothing away from the still as breath-taking view of woods and cities, flats and waters.

Go to the corridors and peer out at the 40 stories down below us, and it's nearly dizzy-fying. Surreal, you said, and I go forward again to look down again from the side. I am laughing as you look out at it all and take the view in.

We stop at the place where we see cities and woods, and the suggestion we wait for night is made. You exclaim, "no camera!" Laugher, as night sets in. Run down into the stairwell to continue to look out at the view, and it's glorious, it really is.

Run back up, and sit down this time, and I read my book while talking. Dubliners, by James Joyce. I'm on "A Mother", a story about a rather fussy, calculative and mean woman, but I'm unable to let myself be fully absorbed by the story, unable to imagine myself in such a setting of mean petty spirits, and it's just as well really.

The lights were few, but they twinkled in neat straight rows of rainbow stars, like a well-manicured garden. You're looking out, and taking in as much as you can, for goodness know when you can return. I tease you lightly, but I'm quite astounded by the view myself, and I know I'm blessed.

-

Off to dinner, before all the stalls close. There were some still open, but oh, the otah stall is closed. What a pity. Never mind though. You show me your fifty-dollars note to show that you are not kidding about no two-dollars note, and I listen and didn't take out your ic but took out the 50 bucks instead. A light-hearted tease about treating again, but I put it back and go get my food with my own money! Going dutch. Well, almost. In the end you still got a drink for me, when previously you had declared "no, the world is fair!" (and I insist once again that I do not eat slowly, but that there was a lot of food), and the dinner ends with laugher and smirks and remarks that you're oh-so-old! Laooooooooo-shi, only my father orders that really! I'm almost tempted to steal some too, but nah, I shall be nice.

Besides, the soya-milk was sweet enough.

It feels good, to listen to a friend's narration of a beautiful day.

Grace, incredible mercy and love. All the simple things in life that adds up to this grand equation, the manifestation of beauty, the essence of which I can identify with. All those small things, in a chain, each so many, so beautiful, glistening, aglow with its very preciousness.

I am reminded of the time buses came in less than one minute, 4 times in a row, a single day, to send me to and fro school, and of all buses that could have possible came first, it was always 156, and not 154, or 151 or 74, but always, always 156. 4 times, and in less than one minute each time.

Of faith, absolute trust. A prayer, and out I go, waiting, preparing to see the miraculous works of His hands.

I am reminded of days when I was weary and exhausted, and how He lifted me up, gave me little breaks in ways only He can achieve, poured out grace abundant. My cup overflows Lord, and it's only due to that wonderful love from you.

Oh lovely day it has been. An easy, relaxed day, laughing along with friends, getting the teacher to agree that the deadline be Monday and not Thursday. Playing with self-made engine. What I had thought was going to be a long lonely journey becomes a journey with a friend, scattered with good-natured teasing and laugher. Little games, a beautiful narration. Care and concern from loved ones.

Miracles.