Small miracles
Thanks to a friend, I am now making progress on another project.
Nic (you know who you are), despite recently becoming a parent, graciously came in while technically still on leave.
How much of a good friend is that?
Progress is good.
Friends are better.
The Blog(u) 7: Doctor, doctor, give me the news…
‘Siao ah? You beating up little girls now, izzit?’
‘Harlow! I’m saving her from Fear and all the rest, okay?’
‘See lah you! Her eyes open but no respon; fivethreefivefour orredy.’
‘It’s normal for a case like this.’
‘Eh, you doctor or
me doctor?’
‘Wake up, little one,’ a gentle hand shook plink awake. plink’s eyes opened to see three faces staring down at her. The first was the man in white, another was obviously a doctor with a donut-like mirror strapped to his head. The third one’s curiously gentle features gave plink the feeling that they had met before, a long time ago.
‘You are safe now. They won’t come back.’ The curiously-dressed man in white took plink’s little hand in his. Reassurance and calm flowed from his fingers, gently washing away plink’s worries.
‘plink needs to rest,’ the doctor said. ‘You can come back later.’
‘She needs to know,’
‘Later lah, no need to kaupeh kaubu. There’s plenty of time, noble Ghost Hunter.’
Still a little dizzy, plink sat carefully up in bed and watched the Ghost Hunter and the Third Man leave. Bewildered, plink asked the good doctor, ‘Where am I?’
‘This is a blogfield,’came the distracted reply. He rummaged briefly through his black bag and produced a pen and paper.
‘But it looks like a clinic,’ plink felt the dizziness returning once more. There was nothing remotely resembling a blogfield in sight, just a writing desk, a consultation couch and the doctor.
‘Yes, but it is a blog nonetheless. Let me show you.’ The doctor began to scribble in his pad. Slowly at first, he wrote faster and faster, then finished with a dramatic flourish of his pen. A potted plant appeared in the corner with the flickering lights of ideas swirling among its leaves.
plink slid down from the couch and went over to the plant. Ideas and comments swirled about it. plink caught the scent of dry humour and the subtle touch of irony from the plant. She spun round to the doctor. ‘I want to write like that,’ she declared.
He nodded, smiling. ‘Then start writing. Day by day, you will get better.’
‘Where do I start?’
The doctor pulled out his PSP, ‘Think about it, you’ll know who to see next.’
‘The Ghost Hunter?’
‘Very good,’ the doctor approved. ‘He and the Third Man will get you started.’ He frowned, looking first at plink
then at his PSP. ‘You also really ought to eat more.’
‘Thank you,’ said plink, ‘I think.’ Then she went to find the Ghost Hunter.
Do You Nia Ma Chao Hai?
Working late is difficult enough without having to cope with ever-shrinking deadlines or people screaming 'hurry up!'
I will get to your job as quickly as I can. There is no point in constantly calling me to check when I can 'do you.' The fewer calls I have to take, the faster I can get my work done and 'do you.'
Yes, you have deadlines. Guess what? I have deadlines too.
You have fast-looming deadlines. Surprise, surprise! I have fast-looming deadlines too.
Hypocrites. You tell me the job is mine then get all huffy when it isn't done, behaving as if it was yours all along. Make up your minds.
Do you get this at all? Do you? DO YOU?!
D'you nia machao jiabai?!
The Blog(u) 6: And the Winner Is....
Hedonistics Anonymous sat quietly as her little idea made its rounds. The little sheet of paper stood up on KG's coffee table, curtseyed politely to her author then spoke its
writing. The humour was so wonderfully direct that within moments, the little one was laughing as hard as everyone else.
The next haiku carried a little more barb but everyone loved it just the same.
plink's little pile of poems waved shyly from their place in line. plink had only just waved back when a familiar voice whispered, 'Are yours next?'
There was a cynical sort of smile on Fear's grey lips. 'They're nice people, aren't they?'
'Yours are nice haiku, aren't they?' Doubt asked over plink's right shoulder. 'Aren't they?'
plink's hand froze mid-wave.
‘Verbiage and Bombast aren’t very happy with you, plink. Seventeen syllables; what were you thinking?’ Doubt chided.
plink looked around: nobody seemed to notice plink’s tormentors. Suddenly cold and very much afraid, plink began to shiver again.
‘plink, are you alright?’
Kucing called from across the room.
‘Are you alright, plink?’ Doubt echoed mockingly. plink’s mouth was dry and when a sound finally came out, it seemed like someone else’s voice.
‘I have to go.’
‘Do you? Don’t you want to find out how your haiku did?’ Doubt smirked.
plink ran away.
They were close behind. Even though the little one ran as quickly as small sandal-shod feet would carry, Fear and Doubt were close behind. Flying silently but for the sound of mocking laughter, the two continued to taunt plink.
‘Writing indeed.’
‘Poetry? You ought to be jailed for even trying.’
Stung by the attacks, plink replied shortly at first. With yet more goading, the little one made longer and more strident arguments. Then there were four.
‘How nice of you to call us,’ chimed Verbiage and Bombast in unison.
Just then, plink burst out of the underbrush and into a meadow. The new-risen sun set the dewy grass afire with joyous light, but plink did not see. Fleeing four relentless tormentors, the little one ran hard.
A loud roar, the stink of smoke and screech of rubber, then a sleek, silver object slid to a halt in front of plink. The little one pulled up short and tried to run around it. A tall figure in white emerged from inside. In a fearsome voice, he commanded, ‘Halt! Go no further. You will die here!’
Blind with fear, plink turned to run away again, but tripped and fell. In an instant, the man in white was upon her, murder in his eyes. ‘Foul spawn of hell,’ he began. Then his face took on an expression of confusion. Looking more closely at the bedraggled, hopeless peasant under him, he asked, ‘Little girl, where are they?’
plink was about to answer when the one in white launched high into the sunlight above. Wheeling a full circle in the air, he delivered four solid blows to the four winds and broke the air in four places.
Far below, plink felt him strike her Fear, her Doubt, Verbiage and Bombast. The world spun once, then all was dark.
Not another one!
Yioh....
Hot on the heels of a certain
silly doctor comes another; an accountant this time.
I'm not interested. Dinner once does not equal undying love, marriage or babies in a baby carriage.
Thank goodness there is no third party or any other interference involved.
Still, this plink is not playing any more. Go find another.
The Blog(u) 5: Four Letters
‘Could I have seconds?’ asked a slender young woman at the other end of the table. Kucing Gatal hurried over with another helping.
‘She's really hungry, isn't she?’ plink asked Yvy quietly.
‘
Hedonistics Anonymous? She loves her poetry, we all do.’
plink pondered that briefly. The plate was bare,
Kucing Gatal hovered over her guests with more food at the ready and plink’s belly still grumbled hungrily. Their host smiled broadly at a particularly loud growl from inside plink and offered another helping. At that point, it made sense to have some more.
Later that evening, plink wandered about the inside of Kucing's house. Little pictures hung on the walls, pictures that were blog entries. Puzzled, plink drew nearer and started to read.
'Oh my!' plink exclaimed, overcome with confusion. The little one blushed so brightly even the ideas that swirled in the air took on a pinkish cast.
'Do you like it?' plink spun around at the quiet, almost shy question.
'Yes KG,' plink stammered to their host, 'I am learning many new things.'
'About?'
'People and love. And hate. And....' plink's voice trailed off and the blush returned in earnest.
Kucing bent down and took the little one's face between gentle hands. Looking seriously at plink, she whispered, 'It's actually more fun to write it than to read it.' Then she winked.
A great roar of laughter came from the assembled guests, who were passing the fruits of their dinnertime labour around. Kucing took plink's little hand, 'Why don't we go see how the haikus are doing?'
The Blog(u) 4: The House at the Top of the Hill
Ideas lit the way, their warmth drying out plink’s soaked smock. Travelling past blogtrees along a forest path, plink eventually came to a little house. It was small and cosy, with the inviting flicker of firelight coming through the windows. Just at that moment, plink’s stomach started to insist on being fed.
More than a little hungry, the little one mounted the doorstep and found there was no door, only a doormat with ‘Please come in,’ and ‘18SX’ written on it. plink became very curious: four letter words were common, but 1, 8, S and X in one place was quite new altogether.
A tall young woman was fussing over a table set for dinner. All but one of the seats were full and next to that empty one sat a familiar figure.
‘plink!’ Yvy’s call cut through the conversation. The little girl jumped down from her seat and virtually dragged plink to the empty chair. Their hostess looked on and smiled benignly.
‘
Kucing Gatal, this is plink.’
Yvy introduced their hostess.
‘I know,’ Kucing set a steaming plate in front of plink, then hurried back to the kitchen, ‘Something else on the boil. I’ll be right back,’ she promised.
plink picked curiously at the food. ‘It says Kucing Gatal’s Merdeka Haiku Competition,’ Yvy supplied. 'Looks nice.’
‘Smells nice too,’ plink nodded. plink’s stomach definitely agreed and insisted that it be fed at once. Everyone else followed suit and the room was filled with the sounds of merrymaking and haiku writing.
Acronym: MoTCH
I learned a new word today.
MoTCH: Mo Tiu Chut Hoei. 'Do not feed this troll'/ 'Not concerned with her/him/it.'
Thanks to pSib. Can't wait to try it out.
The Blog(u) 3: Trouble in the Forest
Wandering in the Forest, plink came across a little girl reading a tree. When she had finished, she put her hand into her pocket and drew out a tiny spark of light.
‘What’s that?’ plink asked her.
‘A comment.’ The little girl paused and turned around. ‘Actually, it’s an idea,’ and she held it out to plink. plink’s eyes widened in wonder as the idea flitted over from the little girl. Sparkling in joy and radiating love, it crossed the space between them and settled into plink’s hands.
‘What do I do with it?’ plink asked in a awe.
‘Whatever you like,’ smiled the little girl as she approached. ‘I’m
Yvy.’
plink did not reply. Totally engrossed by the seething lightning that danced over its surface, plink stood mesmerized by the idea. It giggled cheerfully, bouncing from finger to finger as it sang to plink about what it was.
‘This is yours?’ plink asked.
‘Yes. Do you like it?’
‘All of it,’ plink nodded shyly, then grew curious. ‘Where did you find this? Where do you find ideas?’
Yvy frowned in concentration. ‘From inside, mostly. You have ideas too, don’t you?’
‘I think so,’ the little one stammered in confusion. For as long as plink could remember, bright ideas had been everywhere but they had always been made by other people.
‘Do you keep them in that little bundle, then?’
‘I don’t know.’ plink confessed. As plink untied the bundle, a stray moth rose fluttering from inside. Yvy beckoned to it and the little grey blur flew over to her, settling obediently into her cupped hands.
‘That’s an idea,’ she declared, peeking through her fingers at it. ‘Definitely an idea.’
plink protested, ‘Are you sure? Everyone else's ideas sing and glow like yours did. This one, well....'
‘It’s nearly there.’ She turned to show plink the moth. ‘All it needs is a little confidence.’
Yvy released the moth and blew a firm puff of air after it. plink stared after the moth in wonder as it cartwheeled away. Faster and faster it spun, streaking into the distance and glowing ever more brightly as it went. Then, where there had once been a dusty moth, came the song of an idea and a blindingly bright flash of light.
The singing spark that came dancing back was incandescent. Yvy raised an eyebrow at plink. ‘You didn’t do too badly there, did you?’
‘That was my idea?’ plink demanded incredulously.
Yvy nodded and gave the little one a hug. ‘You’ll do just fine.’ Then she stepped away and vanished.
plink contemplated the nearby tree for a while, pondering its meaning and the comments and ideas that others left behind. Something stirred in plink’s bundle and another moth flew out. Remembering what Yvy had said, plink blew at it.
‘Well, what have we here?’ Fear snatched the tumbling moth out of the air. ‘Writing a comment then, are we?’
‘It had better be good, but you never know how the Forest Queens are going to take it, do you?’ said Doubt from behind plink.
‘Come now Doubt, let’s give plink a chance.’ Fear pressed the moth into plink’s nerveless, trembling hand. ‘Go on then. Write your comment,’ but plink could not.
Verbiage and Bombast appeared then, rasping ‘We will help you,’ but it was not an offer. They made plink carve into the tree with numbed hands. The split tree bark cut into hands and moth alike. Verbiage and Bombast cackled gleefully as a their parody of plink’s original comment took shape.
‘No more!’ plink wept, ‘No more!’ But the four would not be denied. Doubt and Fear watched impassively while the other two corrupted plink’s comment beyond recognition.
At last, it was finally over. plink sank sorrowfully to the ground. Cradling the moth with cold numb fingers, plink was grateful for the tears that hid the twisted comment from view. Then the moth seemed to sigh and its powdery remains were snatched from plink’s hands by sudden gust of chill wind.
‘Care to submit this?’ came Fear’s malicious invitation.
plink fled.
Crashing through the forest, not caring about comments, blogs or the future, plink ran blindly. Low-hanging tree limbs and bushes tore at plink as the little one flashed past. Suddenly, the woods ended just short of a riverbank. plink plunged over the edge and into the swiftly running water below.
The black, turbulent water seemed almost to reach up in welcome to the little one. In an instant, all was as dark as the water.
plink awoke shivering on a sandy riverbank. The night air was quiet, save for the occasional call of a bullfrog. The flickering light of ideas was dimmer in the night and there were fewer than during the day but this was not helpful. Where had plink come ashore? The bundle gave a curious quiver. A cool night breeze blew past the little soaked figure, making plink sneeze on a little grey moth.
A fiery comet streaked off into the forest. plink hid from its sudden heat and did not see which way it went but when it finally became an idea, the flash lit the sky up from horizon to horizon. Blinded by the light, plink did not see
Queen Sun approach. The Monarch of The Hills appeared slightly agitated and held a familiar-looking idea in her hand. She brandished the idea a little accusingly.
‘Did. You. Do. This?’
Suddenly afraid, and not a little cold, plink could only stammer, ‘Yes….’
The Queen of the Hills suddenly smiled, ‘I like it. Just don’t throw any more hot ones my way, okay?’
plink nearly passed out in relief. The little one apologized profusely to the slightly singed queen, promised to behave in the future and scurried away. Ideas lit the way, their warmth drying out plink’s soaked smock. Travelling past blogtrees, along a path, plink wondered about the future. There was much to learn but plink resolved one day to walk up to a blog, read it and then comment.
In the night-time Forest, things moved, as things do. Each moved to a purpose all its own, but four moved closer yet, watching and waiting.
'I know how you feel.'
No you don't.
Go die.
Celebrity-itis 3: Where are my specs?
Nicolas Cage and Zhang Ziyi were racing on the treadmills yesterday.
A certain T. Kaneshiro was doing his best to
buat tak tahu je.
Then my vision cleared up....
Dis? Stress!
It looks like FS is currently hungover post-100th-post celebrations, so I'm going to have a go at this.
Guys want to 'save' women, to be strong, to be wanted. Men would very much like to swoop in on a damsel in distress, and carry her off to safety.
Prince Charming saves princess from evil dragon. Princess is eternally grateful. They ride off into the sunset, live happily ever after, have hundreds of princelets. Whatever.
The paradox? Men go on about how they want to be great and all that, yet in the same breath they decry 'clingy women.'
Hel-lo!! You want helpless, you get helpless.
A woman who cannot take care of herself cannot take care of herself.
A woman who can, can.
Ngerti ke?
But a woman who can is seen as threatening. Whose fault is that? Hers? Is that why she is punished by being called a witch, a bore and worse?
Bloody men, all the same. In what way is this NOT YOUR FAULT?!
You rotters, look what you've gone and done. FS is so disoriented she didn't even swear once
this time. I hope you lot are happy.
Update 14/10/05: FS is back in full swing
here. I am content.
The Blog(u): A Blogger's Tale
This is the story of how I came to love blogs and eventually start one myself. The events depicted here are true, mostly occurring in the two weeks between when I set up shop here at invenctive.blogspot.com and when I 'officially opened for business.'
The index of chapters follows below, with a timeline at the foot of the page.
Now, the apologies and thanks.
First, to the Elder Bloggers featured here, I apologize unreservedly for any offence given and thank you for your indulgence.
Second, to the Elder Bloggers again, I wish I had portrayed you all in more favourable light, such is my regard for you. It wasn't deliberate, just that I'm a crap writer.
Third and last, to all the readers who so bravely click on Delima Kasih. The posts start long and dark; they don't get any better. Thank you for bearing with me.
OK, that should do.
The Blog(u) 1:
The Field of BlogsThe Blog(u) 2:
Forest QueensThe Blog(u) 3:
Trouble in the ForestThe Blog(u) 4:
The House at the Top of The HillThe Blog(u) 5:
Four LettersThe Blog(u) 6:
And the Winner Is....The Blog(u) 7:
Doctor, Doctor, give me the news...The Blog(u) 8:
Ghost HunterThe Blog(u) 9:
The Third GearThe Blog(u)10:
Close EncountersThe Blog(u)11:
plink in the CityThe Blog(u)12:
Peranakan Blogsiaper?The Blog(u)13:
No hate, nor anger, nor....The Blog(u)14:
Shooting starsThe Blog(u)15:
The King of the HallThe Blog(u)16:
The Hall of the KingThe Blog(u)17:
The BeachThe Blog(u)18:
Love and HateThe Blog(u)19:
One WordThe Blog(u)20:
No commentThe Blog(u)21:
Starry Starry NightThe Blog(u)22:
Incoming The Blog(u)23:
Head-dress- The Field of Blogs: Reading everyone else's blog and having a good time. Considered the idea and dropped it.
- Forest Queens: Inspiration from minishorts.net, suanie.net and fuckstress.blogspot.com. Learned that honesty is the best policy and about the value of occasional emotional catharsis (wah, plink use big words wor...).
- Trouble in the Forest: Still reluctant to blog, stumbled across Yvy's site. At about this time, I also started to comment. The nature of discussions on Yvy's site helped draw me out, so to speak. :)
- The House at The Top of The Hill: KucingGatal's blog, where topics of a rather frank nature appear from time to time.
- Four Letters: KG's Merdeka Haiku Competition, won by Hedonistics Anonymous.
- And The Winner Is...: After the competition, I got cold feet again. Having visited Yee Wei and Paul Tan before, I learned that sometimes, it is easier to write about things that you know well.
- Doctor, Doctor, Give Me The News: The same lesson learned here, this time from drliew.net. The extra twist he puts into his entries comes from hyperbole, code-switching and more besides. He triggers off the I-want-to-be-like-that feeling. Not bad eh, doc?
- Ghost Hunter: Ostensibly Tan Yee Wei, but with contributions from everyone else. Concentration and the willingness to call a spade a spade came to the fore. No soft-pedalling here.
- The Third Gear: Practice, practice, practice.
- Close Encounters: Ghoul gets a special mention here. A visitor who didn't leave a blog address, Ghoul appeared out of nowhere in the comments section and offered much-needed support. Wherever you are, thank you very much!
- plink In The City: This was my journey through the maze of strange and wonderful things that came from the mind of viewtru.blogspot.com.
- Peranakan Blogsiaper?: The title is a little conceit on my part, but it's really about my own responsibility as a blogger. That and the fact that when I'm angry, I write badly....
- No hate, nor anger, nor....: ...very badly....
- Shooting Stars: ...You wouldn't believe how badly.
- The King of The Hall: Kennysia's sense of humour has made him immensely popular, but I noticed that he was a victim of his own success and near-celebrity. I gather this is a 'good' problem.
- The Hall of The King: The crowded nature of The King's site made commenting a difficult affair for me. After countless attempts and revisions (it's true!) I gave up in frustration.
- The Beach: Setting comments and commenting aside for a while, this was a look at writing. The coconut juice was NOT symbolic in any way of Kenny Sia! It's just what I drink when I'm at the beach. And Love is obviously someone important in my life. But I'm not the sort to kiss and tell, so....
- Love and Hate: The unbridled honesty of both rakshademon.blogspot.com and of su-yin provided relief and inspiration in equal measure. There is that quality about their writing that I can't quite match. plink is emotionally repressed: there's a newsflash for you.
- One Word: We return again to minishorts.net, this time specifically for her command of the language and my fear of trolls. MS has the uncanny ability to choose the correct word for any occasion. This is all the more remarkable as her blogging is largely unrehearsed and unrevised. When it comes to trolls, she could give up her normal job and go into full-time troll-hunting. We could even make a movie out of it: Troll Raider, starring minishorts.net.
- No comment: One of my earlier entries was on my difficulties with commenting. Suanie came along and all but told me to get along with it, which I am grateful for. I still think long and hard before commenting, but am a great deal happier about it now than I was before.
- Not being especially tech-savvy, I happened to put up links without looking too closely at the ability of people to 'feel' these things. I still don't quite know how it's done either. So it became a bit of a race to put good stuff into the blog before people started coming to the blog on 31 August 2005. It was only right to bring the lessons I had learned to the party, so to speak.
- Dropping by KG's blog gave me confidence, so this is a thank-you post. Thanks Kucing!
plink is a practising cannibal
pMom pointed out to me this morning that I was cutting pieces of banana into my breakfast cereal.
Since I am a self-confessed 'grade-A
banana,' that would make me a cannibal.
Fava beans, anyone?
plink, the political activist
Thanks to KucingGatal, I am now a
political figure. Not a significant one, but a protest figure.
The story sounds familiar, but not because I lived through it. I wonder if my name has been substituted into an amalgamation of several coming-to-Bolehland stories.
In any case, nicely knitted together, KG!
I'm off to find my chewing gum....
The Blog(u) 2:Forest Queens
Deep within the Forest lived its Queens. The Queen of the Valley ruled the Lower Forests of lush, green trees, while the Queen of the Hills held sway over the Upper Forests of pine and evergreens. They would hold council with one another and with the Queen of Rivers also. Together, they preserved the sanctity of the Forest, its life and its beauty for all time.
plink no longer cared. The beauty of blogs held no meaning and the joyful buzzing of ideas could no longer be heard. plink had been running for a very long time, yet not long enough. Fear's mocking laughter cut like a knife into plink's very soul. There was nowhere to go, no sanctuary from Fear, Doubt, Verbiage or Bombast. Sobbing with fear and hopelessness, plink ran on.
Queen Fy of the Rivers raised her hand. Queens
Min of The Valley and
Sun of The Hills exchanged a worried look.
'Hark ye,' said Queen Fy. 'List thou unto the new sound.' Carried gently by the wind that breathed life into their realm was the scent of regret. That regret sharpened suddenly with the smoky, dry taste of fear and a thin, keening wail of despair wafted along beside it.
The Queen of the Rivers bowed her head, 'One will come soon, who needs our help.'
It was dark once more, but plink continued to run: there was nothing left to do. All that remained was to run headlong into the darkness and to suffer the consequences.
A perverse relief came over plink as a solid object firmly stopped further progress. Running into solid wood had that effect on plink. Lying dazed with a head ringing like a cracked bell, plink started to laugh uncontrollably: it would all be over soon. Fear, Doubt and all the rest would come to finish the matter forever.
The solid block of wood swung open and a tall woman with an imperial bearing stepped out. The queen's anger darkened her beautiful features and plink braced for the worst. She drew herself up before plink and said
'Wah piang eh!'
plink blinked. 'Excuse me?'
'Nao hiah! Middle of the night simply pingpang pingpang make noise whack people's door izzit? Do you know with whom you are playing?'
plink could only make a small whimpering noise as the queen looked down, her eyes narrowing dangerously.
'Limbu ka li kong... Gua si Queen Min of The Valley and I am having a truly MaCH3 night....'
'Sorry, MaCH3?' plink blinked in confusion again.
'MaChaoHai(1)! MaChaoHai(2)!! MACHAOHAI(3)!!!' Queen Min stamped her feet in annoyance and little plink scrambled away in terror, promptly bowling over someone else in the process.
'WTFOMGCCBMCK?!' came the startled oath as plink and the Queen of Rivers fell head over heels in a tangle of gowns, royalty and peasantry. Just then, Queen Sun of the Hills came through the door. She quickly surveyed the scene in front of her, taking in the much-vexed Queen Min, the much-upended Queen Fy and the much-ow-eye, unwashed, commoner. Then she looked at the
bottle of Hoegaarden in her hand and lobbed it away.
'No more drinking before bedtime,' she vowed as she went back indoors. Her carelessly discarded bottle sailed through the cool night air, tumbling end over end.
In the moment that followed, queens, forests, doors and a beer bottle came together in a bright flash. Then all was dark....
plink came to with a start. Together with the Queens of the Hills, Valleys and Rivers, plink was walking along a forest path. Queen Min, tall and slender, regarded the little peasant in the long smock. plink flinched as she began to speak.
'Fear not, Little One. We have known of your coming for some time now.'
plink was stunned.
'Actually, your screaming woke up the whole forest,' explained Sun of the Hills, adjusting the glittering circlet over brow.
'But we know also why you have come.'
plink's long smock caught up in toes long accustomed to flight but not at all to walking and so the little one fell head-first into a bramble patch, 'Aack, PocKai!!'
The whole world spun for a long while. Swirling colours and bright spots of light mixed in with the confused babble of voices around plink.
'This kind of people also want to blog, izzit?'
'There is room for everyone in the blogosphere wan.'
'Misai! Teh Halia satu, tambah hal...' 'SIAPP!!!'
plink suddenly came awake at a table for four in a strangely familiar part of PJ (SS2, opposite the Balai). The three Forest Queens were peering suspiciously at the messy little plink.
'What did I do?' plink demanded.
Queen Fy swirled the remains of a teh limau ais around the bottom of her glass. She chewed on her lip in thought before asking, 'Extra ginger. Extra ginger?!'
Before plink could reply, the world disappeared again.
'May I follow you, learn from you and have you teach me how to blog?' plink was asking Queen Min. The Queen of The Valley frowned, her finely lined features darkening once more as she spoke.
'We none of us can teach what you ask,' came the curiously gentle rebuke. 'Look around you; this Forest is but another blogfield. We three tend it so that it prospers and pleases those who come within.'
plink's look of confusion, or possibly headache from the beer bottle, must have shown, for Queen Fy stepped in. 'Blog yourself. What you blog is a part of you.'
'And
language?' plink blinked.
Queen Sun of The Hills winked conspiratorially at plink and handed over a steaming cup of teh halia. 'We're not always like this. You can swear if you want, or not if you don't.'
Sipping absently at Misai's brew, plink thought about this for a while. Slowly, the quiet murmur of ideas flitting between the trees became audible again and plink brightened.
'What about this?' plink indicated the teh halia.
Queen Fy knelt down beside plink and said, 'That is Misai's Brew. It used to be the most powerful drink in the world.'
'And now?'
'You've added more ginger, which makes it even more dangerous. One sip and you'll blog only the truth.'
'What if I
bantai it all in one go?'
'I'd sooner do a double-vodka Ribena marathon than try that,' conceded The Queen of The Rivers with a shudder.
'So, you want to blog?'
'Yes! And to comment also!' plink gushed in excitement, spilling teh halia everywhere. The Forest Queens exchanged a knowing glance, then spoke as one.
'Seek thou amongst the trees. Amidst them shalt thou find thy heart's desire. Seek also afar, in other blogfields for there is much that awaits thy coming.'
And the heart of plink was made glad, as the journey continued. But even as plink communed with the trees and the ideas between, other perils lurked in the shadows.
And now, for something completely different....
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry that I hurt you.
I'm sorry that I hurt you badly.
When everything was said and done, I wished that it had never happened. If I had to do it all again, I would have been more careful.
You've forgiven freely. That is your gift, your privilege and mine. But gift or no, I will bear the guilt deep within me for a long while yet.
So, here's my apology and the sincere hope that things will go well for you.
Good luck.
Happiness
A side benefit of Merdeka Madness 2005 was that I stumbled across Eyeris' blog or, rather, tripped badly and PocTaiKai over it. And I still PocKai daily. I also self-tag on memes from time to time (OK, maybe once before).
Put the two together...
Happiness is dancing in the rain (traffic permitting).
Happiness is getting up again after falling down while dancing in the rain.
Happiness is a steaming caramel macchiato after said dance.
Happiness is the three Rs: Reading, wRiting and Rhyming.
Happiness is seeing
you again.
Happiness is finding out that old clothes from year X still fit!
Happiness is going to the gym and getting checked out. One day, this will happen....
Happiness is Misai's Brew.
Happiness is finding the last parking space at 1Utama, right next to the entrance.
Happiness is family.
Happiness is hanging out and messing about, then doing some of the things from above.
Happiness is tea and cakes with
you, then running away to the gym to work off the calories.
Happiness is a good book, a comfy sofa and an endless supply of cappucino.
Happiness is when the Good Guys win.
Happiness is when the Hero and the Heroine go off into the sunset together.
Happiness is also when the Bad Guys kick some idiotic sidekick ass.
Happiness is pointing out the cliches in the script and predicting the storyline from said cliches.
Happiness is coming home to
you.
Happiness is coming home to a well-stocked kitchen.
Happiness is making dinner in said well-stocked kitchen, but not the washing up that follows. *sighs*
Eyeris,
this is all your fault.
Thank you.
The Blog(u) 1: The Field of Blogs
Once upon a time, there was a little plink. Wide-eyed with the curiosity of the young, plink would spend hours at a time in the Field of Blogs. Blog blooms of all hues called out to plink to stop by and read. The very air was alive with the sound of ideas buzzing between blogflowers under the bright sunshine. Skipping and singing from blog to blog, plink would remember pMom's advice. 'Follow the ideas,' she would say.
Ducking and weaving through the swarms of gaily buzzing ideas, plink would pick one and chase it from blog to blog. Sometimes the ideas would sting, but pDad said that it was to be expected: ideas could not know that plink meant no harm. 'Dry your tears, plink,' he would say. 'Ideas can hurt, but they are beautiful. Follow them to see where they lead you.'
In that gaily-coloured field of blogs, there was much to learn. And so, following ideas from bloom to bloom, plink learned much and was content.
One bright, sunny day just like any other in that field of blogs, plink started to wonder. 'Blogs are beautiful and ideas so nice. I wonder if I might raise a good blogfield too.'
'Probably not.'
plink started in surprise. Where there had been a swarm of ideas only a moment before, stood a grey-faced impossibility: yet another plink. Struck dumb with confusion, plink was unable to move as the figure approached.
'I am Doubt,' the other plink supplied 'though I might not be. Were you thinking of planting a blog?'
'Yes,' replied plink, not knowing what else to say.
'Do you think this is wise?'
But before plink could answer, another voice spoke, 'What will your friends think?'
plink spun around, dumbstruck at the appearance of yet another self.
'Fear,' it said, mockingly inclining its head in greeting. 'Do you know of the ones called Trolls?' came its malicious inquiry. 'They can be awfully inconvenient.' Fear's smirk grew wider, 'I'd better warn you of Stalkers too. It is often harder to satisfy Stalkers than it is to fend off Trolls.'
'I can write,' plink insisted, 'I have something to say.'
'That may be too much or not enough.' Doubt sombrely wagged a disapproving finger. 'Allow me to introduce two other friends, Verbiage and Bombast.'
And four of them surrounded plink. 'Do you recognize us?' asked Bombast. 'We taught you how to write. Our hands guided yours and we are proud of what you have become.'
Verbiage stepped up to plink's left shoulder, 'You are yet my greatest work, for you write even as you speak. None have yet breached the solid wall of words that you build each time you write. Do your friends not stare uncomprehendingly when you start to speak?'
plink recoiled from them in horror as a chill wind started to blow across the field. There was scant warmth in the starkly lit scene as plink contemplated the four that stood there.
'We bear you no malice,' Fear came forward again. 'We are you. We have come to reclaim you.'
'But I want to blog.'
'You cannot.' came the quiet whisper.
'I don't need your permission!' plink started to shake violently.
'Why then, do you tremble so?' Doubt's eyes burned with cool disdain and plink squirmed under their harsh gaze for a moment. Then, unable to endure further, plink turned and fled.
In the cold sunlight, ideas continued about their work as the teary-eyed plink tore past. The swarm paused, watched the lonely, wailing figure leave the Field of Blogs, then carried on its work.
Siaran Tergendala Sebentar
A little meadow on the side of a gently rolling hillside, is teased gently by the breeze. The long grass bends in waves like the sea in the wind. At the top of the meadow is a little hut that leans a little to the left in a slightly weary fashion. Even the smoke that floats up from the chimney shares the lethargy. It wafts erratically in several directions before wafting slowly away into the sunset.
A little figure is outlined in the lamplight. Scribbling furiously, the little one works away amid stacks of paper. There occasional sounds of dissatisfaction, then another sheet is crumpled up and binned. And the writing goes on.
Sat at desk in a smock, the little one peers at pages of spidery script through dusty eyeglasses. The scrawling stops and plink looks up. Frowning at first, then smiling conspiratorially, plink whispers, 'Shh... Go away. I'll be done in a couple of days.'
I promise....
