Lunar caustics

Quietus

2008-01-23T19:52:56Z

quietus - noun
1.Something that serves to suppress, check, or eliminate.
2.Release from life; death.
3. A final discharge, as of a duty or debt.

Fantasy, original story.

But I'll swear it is true. Somewhere.

Rated R for language.

~*~

Quietus

~*~

He held out a feather and three pebbles. The immigration official stared at his palm, then looked up at him.

“Passport or I/C, sir?”

He made a fist of his palm, placed it in his jacket and then took it out again.

The official smiled as he handed her a small red book.

“Ah, returning home from a business trip…?” she squinted at the passport. “...Mr Michael Lee?”

“Yes,” he said and remembered to smile.

Whenever he came here, his passport said “Mike Lee”. Not an unusual name for Singapore. And it was nice to be called by an approximation of his real title.

“Have a good day,” said the immigration official, handing him back his little red book. He closed a fist over it and felt three pebbles and a long warm feather.

“Thank you,” he said and walked away.

The contents of his backpack did not alert the sensors as he left the airport.

~*~

The train rocked below his feet. He held on to a grab-pole and closed his eyes, thinking of the wind rushing beneath Asahi Phoenix’s feathers.

It had been a long flight and cold. Borne on the giant bird’s back, he had sat in silence until day turned to night and he was suddenly in the belly of a steel bird instead of riding the wings of morning.

The train moaned beneath his feet and he felt sea serpent’s scales shifting. Felt a dragon roaring in an endless tunnel, felt the hot spurt of blood as its fangs grazed his shoulder.

His shoulder ached. He rubbed it absently.

The dragonskin backpack shimmered at his feet as the train moaned its despair again.

~*~

The flat he kept for his use was clean and bright. The utilities paid, the water hot.

It did nothing for the pain.

The wound throbbed angrily, swollen with new pus. Trying to rid his body of the dragon poison.

He tended it, wondering why he bothered, then used a knife honed on sea serpent hide to shave.

Later, a steaming cup of coffee by his side, he looked through the contents of his backpack. Took the three pebbles, touched the feather to his lips.

It was warm now, almost hot.

He glanced out of the window. Mid-day. Not many people would brave the searing sunlight.

A good time to pay a certain visit then.

~*~

They called it the Esplanade now and caged the sea with little tongues of manmade land. He stretched out on one such spit, near the spewing statue of a Merlion.

The water was calm and glinted with the light of a million diamonds. Not many humans would brave the shine. He was the only one who dared today.

He hefted the largest of the three pebbles and drew his arm as far back as it would go.

Released it. The pebble described a long slow arc, glinting in the midday sun.

A very distant splash, and then the water continued to shimmer peacefully.

He drew his legs below his chin and waited.

The water shifted in long slow rolls. Churned, then heaved.

The shape that rose would have blotted out the sun had it had form and substance of the kind humans were accustomed to sensing. It rose straight and true, an immensity of green-blue scale and white-grey armour.

A head larger than reality came within snapping distance. An eye three times his size rolled in surprise and pleasure.

Our greetings, son of the Jade Emperor, whispered the sea dragon, loud as thunder. And our thanks.

The wind of its breath was salty and sorrowful at once. It stunk of dead fish and rotting rubber but also whispered of unknown depths pure of oxygen and the hand of man.

You are wounded, it whispered, and the waters of the bay rumbled.

He opened his shirt, let the dragon see his shoulder.

Ah.

It flicked out a long, impossibly long tongue that narrowed to a needle-sharp point.

He gritted his teeth as the needle found its mark.

The tongue withdrew.

Done, said the dragon.

He shrugged the shoulder, feeling the pain lessen. “Thank you, uncle.”

The great eyes rolled again.

How is my Brother?

“The Emperor is well,” he said.

But you are not, finished the dragon. Your Father uses you too hard.

“It is my function,” he said.

Dragon eyes rolled again.

And does that still please you?

He looked away, unable to meet its gaze.

Salt breath blasted his head upwards. The dragon stared at him with calm, vast eyes.

There is peace in the oceans, in the depths where humans have not been. The battles there are clean, spurred by hunger and life. When you have tired of the errands my Brother sends you on…

“Perhaps one day,” he lied, standing. “I thank you, uncle.”

Go well, and the needlepoint tongue kissed both his cheeks.

He watched the immensity recede and felt pinpricks of blood well up beneath his eyes.
They felt, he imagined, like the tears that he was not made to shed.

“Thank you,” he said again to the bay.

The blood had dried by the time he reached the shade.

~*~

He avoided the whorehouse lanes, the areas of known crime.

It was why he was here. Only here and in one another city where the crime rate was lower, could he avoid his function, avoid stepping into his role.

When he came here, it was not to fight.

Especially not this time.

“Just a shandy,” he told the bartender at the tallest restaurant in the city. Took his drink over to the windows that showed the entire nightclub district at his feet. Swirled the glass and dropped the smallest pebble into it.

The feather in his pocket, which had cooled as evening fell, warmed suddenly.

“Hullo,” hissed a voice near his ear.

He turned and offered the lamia a drink.

She took it, snake-eyes gleaming.

“An unexpected pleasure.”

He shrugged. “A belated wedding gift.”

She tilted her head in a way that would have been impossible for a human being. The gesture was hidden in the shadows of the room.

“Are we friends now?”

“We are not enemies here,” he said. “Sister.”

She smiled then and he felt a low dark pulsing near his stomach.

“Sister?” she said, and tossed back the drink, jewel and all. He doubted she’d swallowed it. Probably stored it in her poison sacs.

She caught him staring and grinned, opening her mouth to reveal a glint in the recesses of a cheek. He let out his breath.

“Your brother misses you,” she said and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. Tugged his earlobe with her teeth instead. “Thank you for the gift.”

The bite was not unfriendly. She didn’t use poison.

He turned back to the windows that showed the city at his feet, waiting for the feather to burn a hole in his pocket.

It stayed comfortably warm, then cooled.

Near dawn, he gave up and returned to his flat.

~*~

He sat in a chair in his flat and turned the phoenix feather between his fingers.

The last pebble, the middle-sized one, lay stolidly on a nearby table. It was grey and ordinary in the sunlight. Like its brethren, it only revealed its truth to certain eyes and in certain lights.

It was the last of three jewels taken from the crop of a phoenix. Jewels given willingly, with the thanks of a sunbird that could now lay its eggs without fearing a dragon would consume them.

The largest one granted healing powers – it purified wounds or eased the passage from one life to the next.

The smallest one granted fertility – it blessed love and passion, ensuring their fruits grew strong and tall in the sun.

The middle-sized one – he raised his head as a shadow blotted out the light.

“Hullo,” he said, squinting upwards, the phoenix feather blazing incandescence and blanking out his visitor’s features.

“You look like shit,” said his brother, sitting down.

He put the feather away and tried a smile. “Nice to see you too.”

His brother tilted his head in a gesture he might have learnt from his wife.

“Please do not tell me,” he jerked his head at the stone, “that you just wished for your heart’s desire.”

“No,” said Michael simply. “You just turned up anyway.”

His brother emitted a short laugh. “Prick. How’s the shoulder?”

“Healed.”

“Did a good job there,” said his brother. “You won’t forget that run-in in a hurry.”

“No,” said Michael, throat constricting. “How have you been?”

His brother frowned. “You should know. Didn’t you just come here after killing me?”

“About that,” Michael said. “I’m sorry.”

His brother blinked. Then threw his head back and laughed.

“No, really,” Michael insisted. “I’m sorry.”

His brother stopped laughing. Leaned forward, staring hard.

“I can almost believe you mean that.”

Michael did not look away. “I do.”

His brother’s eyes gleamed. “So, have you finally seen the error of your ways?”

“In a way,” said Michael slowly. “You might say that. In a way.”

His brother’s eyes narrowed. He studied Michael’s face. Finally he shook his head.

“You can’t be serious.”

Michael shrugged.

His brother shook his head again. “You cannot be serious.”

Michael looked at his hands. “Yes.”

“You’re…giving up?”

“I’m tired.”

“You’re what?” His brother barked. It might have been a laugh. “You’re tired! I’m the one you hunt and kill in every story, every world, and you’re tired!”

Michael winced. The phantom pain had started again in his shoulder, despite the needle-kiss of the sea dragon.

“My shoulder hurts,” he told his brother. “I’ve swung the sword once too often.”
Killed you, he did not say, once too often.

His brother shook his head. “You’re insane.”

Michael shook his. “No. I’m just…tired.”

“And that’s going to work, is it?”

Michael shrugged. “That’s what I intend to tell Father.”

“Shit.” His brother uncrossed his legs, leaned forward. “Listen,” he began persuasively, “If that’s all it is, you know there’s always a place –”

Michael shook his head. “No. Thank you, but no.”

His brother stared. “Then what the hell do you want?”

Oblivion, thought Michael. To stop, just to stop. To be reborn as human, to have the luxury of believing our stories are a lie. But that would be a betrayal of what he had been made to be and betrayal was not included in his makeup.

I don’t know what I want.

“I don’t know what I want,” he told his brother. “I just know I want this to stop. I can’t go on…in my current function.” Doomed to play out the same battle, the same story again and again, in every world, forever and ever.

Chasing you. Killing you. Being killed by you. Hunting you again.

“Our Father will have to find a new story.”

His brother shook his head. “Our Father will just create a new Champion.”

“Maybe,” said Michael. “But it won’t be me.”

“How do you know?” his brother shot back.

Michael swallowed.

“Because He prides himself on craftsmanship, on making things unique. He doesn’t do duplicates.”

His brother let his head fall back. “Shit.”

Michael waited for a while, then leaned forward, pebble in his hand.

“For you,” he said.

His brother opened his eyes but didn’t look at him.

“No thanks.”

“Please.” Michael’s throat was rough. “I got this for you.”

His brother looked at him. “You already gave my wife a really crappy gift.”

Michael tried to smile. “You used to love the light once. Starmaker, they called you. I thought it would be nice if the kids could enjoy the sun you made…”

His brother snorted. “I hope you’re right about the uniqueness thing. A Champion as sappy as you gets to be a real pain.” He stood.

Michael felt his throat tighten. His palm twitched, but remained open.

His brother sneered.

“Why don’t you use it?” he asked. “For your own heart’s desire?”

“There’s nothing I want anymore,” Michael said, and it was not a lie. “Nothing that that stone could give me.”

His brother looked at him a long time.

“Don’t,” he said finally.

Michael looked down. “I must.”

“Because you’re tired? Fuck that shit.”

Michael’s hand closed about the stone. Tightened.

“I used to enjoy my work once,” he said, barely audible. “I hate that most of all.”

“Fuck you,” said his brother. “Fuck you and your super-enlightened, super-loving psyche. Fuck you and our father.”

“Don’t,” said Michael.

His brother kicked at the table. Then incinerated it.

“Don’t,” he said again.

Michael said nothing.

His brother sat back down. “Fine,” he said. “Fine. What will it take?”

“Sorry?”

“What will it take,” his brother said, as if to an imbecile. “Reconciliation is out. Anything else. Name it.”

Michael shook his head. “I’m not…I don’t want you…”

“I know,” his brother said. “That’s why I’m offering. What will it take?”

Michael looked at the stone in his palm. It felt suddenly heavy. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I don’t think there’s anything anymore.”

“Well fuck you then.”

Michael fell back, stunned by the blow. His brother leaned over him, fists clenched.

His cheek throbbed. The phoenix feather blazed in his pocket.

“Fine, give up then,” hissed his brother. “What the fuck do I care? Some bloody Champion you are, giving up so easily.”

Giving up? Giving up what? Michael didn’t say, but his brother answered.

“Everything. Fuck you.” He punctuated each word with a fist.

Even with his healing power, Michael felt one eye closing and three teeth loosen.

“You’re not,” blow, “supposed,” punch, “to be,” kick, “the one,” slap, “who gives up.”

His brother hooked two fingers in Michael’s collar and lifted him up.

Reflexively, Michael headbutted him. Hard.

His brother fell back, swearing.

This time it was Michael who loomed as his brother got shakily to his feet.

“Give me that stone.” His brother’s eyes gleamed.

Michael tightened his fists reflexively. Punched, found himself blocked. Got in one from the other side.

His brother swore, lashed out.

They broke five fingers – two of them Michael’s – before the stone fell to the ground.

His brother snatched it up. Tightened his hand around it.

Opened his palm and blew away the dust.

“Fuck you,” he said again. “And I already did that to your crappy wedding gift.”

He disappeared, leaving Michael blinking in the sunlight.

“Liar,” he said after a moment, knowing his brother too well.

Then he spat out a tooth and staggered to the shower.

His bruises groaned and ached for healing, but his heart was lighter than it had been in millenia.

~*~

He awoke the next morning and packed his knives and sword in a dragonskin bag. He cleaned up the apartment, knowing he’d be back – not soon perhaps, but definitely. Once he’d grown tired of living out the next round of stories.

It was why he came here, after all. For the rest cure.

He grinned as he took the feather out of his pocket. It was warm and bright as he kissed it, growing incandescent but not blinding.

“Father,” he said, as the light enveloped him, soothing the last of his hurts and tiredness.

And then he was elsewhere, riding the wings of the Phoenix to a new adventure, as sunlight streamed through the windows of an empty apartment, illuminating a drifting feather and sparkles of ordinary house dust.

~ End

Recipe for a Monday

2008-01-13T17:14:22Z

Take an egg, the last of the butter and the ends of a brown loaf from the fridge.
Add a resolution to go grocery shopping soon.

Set water to boil for coffee and brush your teeth as a grey sky rumbles outside the window.
Add a clock that should be ten minutes fast but is actually slow.

Drink scalding hot coffee with milk gone slightly off as you fumble to find wrinkle-free clothes.
Look at your wristwatch. Add a curse.
Forget the ironing. Finish the coffee.

Make a fried-egg sandwich and dump the dishes in the sink. Grab the sandwich, forget your cellphone, wonder whether or not to get it as you bang the door and clatter down the stairs.

Slip and fall running for the bus. Save the sandwich from the mud. Miss the bus.

Add another curse.

Stand with a slightly soggy fried-egg sandwich in one hand as the rain pours outside the crowded bus shelter, as you wait for the next bus, and you can't even phone in to say you'll be late.

Realise that you can't even phone in to say you'll be late.

Shrug and try not to let the dripping umbrellas rain on your sandwich.

Oddly enough, it still tastes pretty good.

My lovelife, in sentences

2008-01-12T18:28:34Z

Woo me with grammatical honesty and passion.

Else don't bother.

~*~

To be a writer is to have the ability to be most content in your own world.

In other words, you bore me.

~*~

I'm a cynical romantic.

I'm cynical about you ever being romantic.

~*~

Yes, I'm heartbroken that we're breaking up, and yes, I do intend to turn the experience into a 5,000 word story. What else did you expect? And what do you mean THAT'S why we're breaking up?

~*~

Please ignore every Hindi movie you may ever have seen. When a woman says "No", she is NOT telling you to please try harder.

~*~

Yes, of course I heard you say you'd die for me. I was waiting for the sound of splashing as you dive into the freezing sea to prove it.

~*~

You wrote me a poem. How very sweet!

...

I could have written this a lot better.

~*~

The truest test of love is if I can show this to you and know you'll smile.

Completely horrific thought

2007-09-30T19:34:48Z

Yesterday one of my worst nightmares came true. A horny lizard wrapped itself around my ankle and wouldn't let go for millions of hours - okay, five seconds - until the very force of my jumping up and down dislodged it.

I survived that, but am now almost paralysed by this thought - omigosh, is this the kind of thing that happens after you ask the universe to make you stronger, more able to deal with crises?

Oh crap.

One worst nightmare down, only hundreds more to go.

NSFW post!

2007-09-16T18:53:14Z

Wow, a record. My first NSFW post.

Actually there are two NSFW links below - by which I mean they link to material not safe for work, this is adults only, don't click if you think you can't handle it, but if you can - and you share my sense of humour - this is absolutely hilarious. (And NSFW!)

First, thanks to svilleficrecs, we have this clip from Clive Owen's upcoming movie. It involves sex, guns and violence.

And then we have these scans from the life of secret agent Kev, who bears a striking resemblance to Clive Owen in that he's vaguely British and has dark hair. And a leather jacket at the opening.

Seriously, they could be mirror-images. They really really could.

Couldn't they?

Cultural differences

2007-09-16T18:31:38Z

August was 'hell month' for me quite literally. During hell month in Singapore, many Chinese people burn joss sticks and paper money to venerate their ancestors. They also leave large amounts of food out for them, but it's the burning that generates neverending clouds of smoke and ash that aggravate my allergies to borderline asthma attacks. Thanks to a timely diagnosis by judemustard, however, I'm back in trim and have even started going for my dance lessons again.

I passed my beginner's Japanese lessons and have gone on to the next level. Classes start in October and I'm trying to get ahead by studying Japanese kanji, which are more often than not Chinese characters. I need to study early, as everyone else in my class already knows Chinese - is Chinese- and will at least be able to understand the kanji, if not pronounce them.

Studying kanji is really really different from studying an alphabet. Example, a straight sideways line like this: '-' means 'one'. But depending on the other pictograms it's associated with, it can be pronounced as 'ichi', 'ikka', 'hito', and in one glorious case, 'tsuita(chi)'. So as I learn kanji, I find I need to learn as many words as can be made with it.

I've memorised around 27 kanji by now and practice writing them everyday. To my surprise, the Chinese writings all around me are beginning to make some sort of sense! I can only pronounce them - ok, pretend to pronounce them - in Japanese, but I can actually sort of understand what they say. Example: I was at a train station - City Hall - but the characters actually didn't spell out 'City Hall' , they spelled out words meaning something like 'big central station'. It's like watching a movie in a language you know, and realising that the subtitles, while good, are slightly off, just slightly off. As in, they translate 'Hi everybody, it's been a long time', to 'I'm so glad to see you all here'.

The latter is the actual subtitle for a line from a Japanese anime episode; the former is what I heard, now that I understand a teensy bit of Japanese.

Back to reading Chinese characters. Signs in Singapore are written in at least four languages - English, Chinese, Malay and Tamil. As does tend to happen, I'd edited out the languages I don't know, so they didn't actually register during casual glances. Now, after 13 years in Singapore, the Chinese characters are suddenly popping up and registering themselves.

So sometimes I stop and stare open-mouthed and amazed at a sign saying 'slippery floor', because the thing is, reading the characters uses a completely different part of the brain. Reading Japanese kanji or Chinese ideograms is like looking at pictures and comprehending the sense of the story in the picture, because that's how I appreciate art - I don't tell myself 'the man is sitting with his head on his fist', I just look and go, 'Oh, he's thinking'.

I see pictures and more meaning everywhere now and I can't tell you how much more amazing the world has become to me. The very way the language is structured is different - I always knew that, but now I KNOW that.

Does this make sense to anyone else? Anyone have any similar experiences to share? I'd love to hear!

spykeraven @ 2007-08-10T01:44:00

2007-08-09T17:44:55Z

Tonsilitis and a trip to Bangkok kept me away from the newsroom for over a week. I'm glad to be back, because surfing the wires always gives me a pleasurable chuckle now and again.

For instance, on hearing that my PM Manmohan Singh has been invited to George W Bush's ranch. Now I know that is a "signal honour", but what I'm wondering is, does Bush know Mr Singh will not eat beef? And is probably vegetarian?

Have put down "possible international incident" on my calendar, around the days of the visit.

In other news, my interest in anime grows apace. If only my fluency in Japanese kept up!

The only shopping mall with a seat in the United Nations

2007-07-23T18:28:36Z

Anyone who has ever lived in, visited or vaguely thought about Singapore, should visit this uncyclopaedia entry now.

My personal favourite, however, is this bit about the origins of our current prime minister.

"Having successfully conquered and subdued the pathetic people of Singapore, Immortal Cyborg Lee Kwan Yew sought to pursue more inward goals - that is, becoming a family man. However, due to his unique philosophy regarding the "purity" of races, Lee was unable select a mate from amongst the hundreds of females that were offered to him as a bride. Undeterred by his lack of success, Lee Kwan Yew chose a different approach - to fashion a cybernetic imitation of personhood and imbue it with a portion of his own artificial intelligence. Thus, on 14 August, 1952, codename Robo Lee v2.0 was unveiled to the general public. On 22 August of the same year, the artificial intelligence was christened Lee Hsien Loong, meaning "boring dragon" in Mandarin Chinese."

I only wish the entry on India had been written better.

So how many of you've finished the seventh Potter book?

2007-07-21T18:04:19Z

Just wondering, because was up late last night editing the book review for the paper, which contained no spoilers except the obvious 'it's the last book and the final showdown between Harry and Voldemort'.

Potter mania bypassed my household. We three went for a jazz performance on Sentosa and two of us stopped off for coffee afterwards. As we entered Starbucks for our caramel-caffeine fix, I noticed a table with the Deathly Hallows tome atop it. A page was bookmarked, and I suspect the owner was standing in line for a caffeine jolt, so that zie could stay awake long enough to finish reading the book tonight.

I wonder how many others did the same.

A short reflection on gender goggles

2007-07-19T17:32:12Z

At class today, A-sensei, male, was going through numbers with us. He'd scribble a number on the board and ask a random student to say it in Japanese.

I like A-sensei because he draws funny cartoons and makes quirky jokes to keep us interested. A typical example is today's lesson, when he wrote '17', pointed to himself and said, "My age! Now say it in Japanese."

Then he wrote "69" and said, "B-sensei's age! Ask her on Monday if you don't believe! Now say it in Japanese."

I giggled. The entire class giggled, because B-sensei is barely 35, if that.

Then I got to thinking.

It was perfectly fine for A-sensei to make that joke about B-sensei. It was construed as mild teasing and evidence of the good collegial relationship between them.

But what if B-sensei, female, and some years younger (looking, anyway) than A-sensei had made that joke? I just felt it would have been taken badly. I would have blinked a bit, had she made that joke, yes, even if A-sensei were somewhat younger than her.

Remove the age difference, and even then, a joke like that from B-sensei would have made me wonder just the teensiest bit about whether the relationship between her and A-sensei was collegial or other.

And then to my dismay, I realised why B-sensei, who has a lovely sense of humour, probably doesn't take the joking liberties in class that A-sensei does, flirting avuncularly with the students and all that.

I had to take my gender goggles off and give them a good seeing to after that lesson.

If you wanted to photoblog, where would you go?

2007-07-19T08:01:51Z

My brother wants to start a photoblog and we're discussing hosting.
Any ideas? Any recommendations?
I don't mean photo hosting sites like flickr etc.
I mean, are there any photoblogs you enjoy perusing and what are they so we can ask the bloggers how they like their hosts.
Thanks in advance!

True Heroism

2007-07-11T18:58:17Z

I don't think it's coincidence that heroic figures of story and legend often have sad and sorry childhoods.
One of the hardest things in the world for any loving family is to let a member of it slay dragons alone.

In honour of my parents then, the truest heroes I know: thank you for giving me your swords and staying away from my adventures - at least until you're asked!

Help me LJ, you're my only hope!

2007-07-01T18:15:04Z

I get the strangest feeling I've used that title before. But it is so apt!

By the by, for those who came late, this is where and what I've been:

Feb - Turkey

Mar - Working butt off in Singapore during my last month's notice at publishing house

Apr - Still not Galactic Ruler, but instead a traveller in South India. Saw lots and lots of coconuts, and illustrated each day with a pen and ink drawing similar to what has been posted prior.

May - Back in hometown Pune, reconnecting with family and getting long Ayurvedic massages.

June - Back in Singapore, learning how the major English language paper here works. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am now a night drone at the news desk!

Now it's July and I'm Still Not Galactic Ruler. However I am trying to push myself to sketch more, just as the fleetingglimpses site was my effort to write more. So now I need to figure out image hosting.

Wordpress and LJ don't seem to have what I think I need. Please correct me if you know better.

I could also host the stuff at gatefiction, but am afraid of the coding it would involve. See, my gatefiction site is written in basic html in notepad. The thought of typing all those img srcs is just... shudder.

What I really need is something like wordpress for images - an image-blog host or an image-blog updating engine. Like an engine that would serve a webcomic. If anyone can help me, I'll be very very grateful and promise not to use you as a character in my sketches.

Thank you kindly!

Poem in the park

2007-07-01T08:03:32Z

Wind
playing
games

Watching
I
am touched

Hiatus

2007-04-07T17:01:54Z

In 10 hours I'll be on the flight to Pune, India.
In 20 hours, I'll be embarking on a road trip with my family, heading south to places like Trivandrum and Kanya Kumari.
I'm packed. I'm excited. I'm trying not to worry about what I've forgotten.
See you in a month or two!

Playing it again

2007-04-06T21:54:03Z

So, watched a midnight movie tonight, with the same person I met yesterday.
We talked until 5 afterwards.

Don't get me wrong. This wasn't a 'date', nor was it even vaguely romantic, despite some of the topics that came up in the course of our conversation. It was just, the morning after the night before, we decided to catch a movie together and after that, have coffee.

In summary, we hit it off. Again. Though it wasn't as easy as the summary makes it sound.

I told him off three times for being self-absorbed and monopolising the conversation. The third time, I was practically leaving the table, I was that annoyed - which was when he got it and he apologised for treating me as a lamppost listener. After that, we managed to find topics of conversation where both could participate equally and it was really nice.

I'm happy.

Setting this down before I go to sleep

2007-04-05T21:51:09Z

Tonight was awesome. I didn't expect it to be.
The actual day itself mirrored a day in February when everything went wrong. I mean, everything went wrong. I spent much of the time sick to my stomach, wanting to cry and scream and yell and not being able to, because I had to stay strong for the people around me.

But like that mirror-night in February, the night was awesome, though I didn't expect it to be.
Like that mirror-night in February, it involved a cute male stranger. They even looked alike!

Suffice it to say that I saw a cute boy across the dance floor. I needed to blow off steam. Using the power of positive thinking and various subtle feminine wiles, I got to dance with cute boy.

I will no longer complain about the fees that I'm paying for my Bollywood dance & bellydance lessons.

Dancing, when two people know what they are doing and are echoing each others' rhythms, is an indescribably glorious experience.

We kept dancing till 4 a.m., long after my friends went home.

We walked by the river and talked till way past 5.

Tonight was awesome and I didn't expect it to be. Just like that mirror-night in February.

Of course, just like that mirror-night in February, it was a chance encounter, two ships passing, a beautiful transient gift. But oh, it feels good to be a girl tonight!

Changing tracks

2007-04-04T16:29:46Z

Tomorrow is my last day in the publishing house where I've been working since 2004.
I leave for a month's holiday in India on this Sunday, 8th April. I'll be taking a family trip down south, all the way to the foot of the Indian peninsula.
When I return, it will be to a newspaper desk.

Change is good. I've been wanting this change. Yet part of me felt sad and sorry today, thinking of all the good times I've had in the office.

My BFF and colleague put me right though - if you're that depressed, you stay, I'll go! said she.

I cheered up immediately. I'm not that sorry to leave!

The odd otherworld

2007-04-01T16:59:54Z

Very often I dream I am on a quest. I have armour on, ride a horse and am trying to decipher a map that is illegible under any light except that of the waning moon. Recently I discovered that smoky torchlight underground works as well.

I keep waking up and looking for my horse.

spykeraven @ 2007-04-01T18:16:00

2007-04-01T10:17:01Z

Saturday evening, I went to the beach with my housemates, judemustard and falconsnexus. Saw the sea turn wine-dark, then ate crabs at a famous seafood restaurant.

falconsnexus and I then spent the early hours of Sunday morning dancing at Singapore's latest hotspot - a power station that has been turned into a dance club. It wasn't bad, neither was it as interesting as last week's outing to the Ministry of Sound. More than the music, I enjoyed sitting outside the dully thumping building, watching distant large cranes operate under stark white lights.

I also learnt that nothing is as refreshing and rejuvenating after four hours of dancing than a glass of cold water, a handful of juicy grapes and a warm, ripe apple.

Why I love my storytellers' circle

2007-03-30T19:05:46Z

I belong to a group of storytellers who try to meet once a month to talk and share old and new tales. This meeting can often be the highlight of my month. The following might explain why:

spykeraven: Now, VR's memory of being bathed by her Dad reminds me of my experience in a Turkish hamam. In a Turkish hamam, one is scorched, then cooled with ice water, then skinned and pummelled to within an inch of one's life. The hamami, the person doing all this to you is male.

Storyteller1 : Oh, but he's gay, right?

spykeraven: Uh, no, not necessarily.

Storyteller2 : Is he a eunuch?

spykeraven: Ha, no, not many people 'volunteer' for that any more.

Storyteller3: They must be really old men, then.

spykeraven: Actually, they're more likely to be young, fit, in the prime of health, stripped to the waist -

Storyteller4: Turkish delight!

spykeraven's next words are drowned out by thunderous applause and catcalls.

Yes, I love these ladies!

Psychosexual conditioning?

2007-03-15T17:04:22Z

Went to a place called Gotham City tonight. The floor show involves male dancers, who take off sundry items of clothing during the show. (The scans_daily community can stop ROTFL now.)

The crowd was mainly Asian, and remarkably restrained. Spoke to one of the performers in the lift on the way down - apparently it's not always this quiet. It picks up tremendously on weekends - when more non-Asians and non-Singaporeans participate in the crowd.

Perhaps it's just that we Asians aren't taught how to respond to displays of male sexuality. Female eroticism is commonly displayed in advertisements, sculptures and other visual media. Most heterosexual females I know are conditioned in some way to applaud or at least accept overt displays of female sexuality without showing much embarrassment.

Yet we seem to have no idea how to respond to displays of male sexuality. Those men were proud of their bodies and moved beautifully. Yet even my appreciation was tinged with some embarrassment - this is somebody's brother, lover, father, friend. Am I insulting him by looking at him? Am I insulting him if I don't look at him?

I came to appreciate the beauty of the male form and went away considering a paper on psychosexual conditioning. Either way, more research is going to be required. At Gotham City of course. Next week. Thursday. It's Ladies Night.

spykeraven @ 2007-02-14T20:04:00

2007-02-14T12:04:18Z

So this is it! I'm off to Istanbul!

More in 2 weeks.

Bits and bites of my life

2007-01-28T14:43:18Z

Today's story on Wordpress is slightly modified from a dream I had.
I will probably be making it into a larger tale, since that was the scope of the dream.

I've also fallen in love with cheese. For the longest time, I refused to eat cheese.
Now I've discovered I love it. Toasted, with apple slices, on crackers, just its moist own self -mmm!
I'm in love with brie and have brought home some camembert as well. Next, gorgonzola! Don't you just love the name?

I've also bought my ticket to Istanbul. In a little over 2 weeks, I'll be on my way! I'm really excited. This is the first time I'll be travelling for my own pleasure to a different country. Anyone have any tips/ideas/people I could meet for coffee there? I'll be spending 2 weeks with Istanbul as my base of operations and taking day trips down to other parts of the country.

Another one for the fridge door

2007-01-28T07:13:40Z

Amateurish but (self-)pleasing illustration of Rukh up at the other blog.
Playing with colour pencils is fun!

One day these illustrations will match what is in my mind's eye. One day.

Until then, I persevere.