"I am sorry", Jean said to Tina. No reply. They were close friends. Three months ago, Jean yelled at Tina over something petty, and Tina promptly stormed off. "You always liked to speed when you were angry." "Please forgive me", Jean looked back one last time, and left the cemetery.
Guess how many words are there? ;)
Dear Santa,
I might not have been sugary nice this year, but I've tried. I might have said some things I shouldn't have said, and did not say some things that I should have. I may have been unkind or selfish occasionally, and even lied once in a while. But I neither robbed nor killed, so would you please grant my requests this Christmas?
You gave me a lot this year, and I want to thank you for that. You gave me a wonderful summer and introduced me to a world I'll soon join. I've met some great people, people whom I hope will remain my friends for life. You brought me to many places, and showed me what I could achieve. You sprinkled pleasant surprises along the year, and revealed some long-lost friends as I strolled through time.
But Santa, for all your gifts, I arrive at December's door an unhappy child. You showed me the paths I could take, and I've strived to travel as far as I can. In my journey, I dropped some items in my backpack, yet I feel more burdened by the loss. I dreamt of frolicking with deers, diving into waterfalls and running with leopards, but somehow I ended up taking the shortest shortcut possible.
I wanted to do my best in whatever I did, but now I think my priorities have been terribly wrong. Although I've done well in the things I know I'm good at, I don't feel the sense of accomplishment after reaching my goals. I swore never to let my goals become my life, but I think I've been too single-minded in my pursuit. If we are climbing towards our peak in our 20s, then why is a part of me already dying?
I lost my traveling partner this year, and I can only blame myself for losing him. In the month that followed, I relived countless memories and shed silent tears. Why can't life remain simple as it was years ago? A time when choosing where to go or where to eat were the toughest decisions we made. Our map says we'll meet a fork in our journey soon, and I'm afraid that we'll take separate roads then. I cannot bear to travel further without knowing when our roads will merge again. You've been to every chimney on earth. You know the way to every place. Won't you point out how far after the fork would the two paths meet?
Dear Santa, if you do make dreams come true, won't you show me how to turn back? My backpack is starting to tear, and the items I need to fix it are lying on the road home.
This Christmas eve, I'm going to sleep early. No matter what noises I hear that night, I'll not open my eyes and catch you leaving gifts under the tree. When morning comes, I'll unwrap my gifts. Hopefully, in one of those colorful gift boxes, I'll find a new map. A map to return home.
Love,
Sheau Chin
Here's my first attempt at a 50-word story!
This story was inspired during a long walk from Terminal 2 to Terminal 1 in Chicago O'Hare airport. There's a pretty interesting neon light sculpture in the tunnel linking those 2 terminals. The lights range from green to orange to purple. The whole thing is hanging above the walk-alator so you can look up at it. And there's some sort of music playing. It's one of those things that is supposed to have a very 'deep' meaning. Anyway, I was walking on the walk-alator, holding a Starbucks coffee, and suddenly thought of this story. Not very nice one la, but hey, can't expect much from an exhausted person waiting for her 4th delayed flight in 2 days.
I read that there's a competition by some newspaper (I think it's New York Times, but am not sure). This competition asks people to submit stories that are 50 and ONLY 50 words long, then the best stories are published. I read 2 examples, they are very very good. It is so hard to write concisely while retaining every point you want to make. Which is why the story below has a lot of missing points.
Btw, the story was not meant to be 50 words long only. But then I got tired of the story halfway through, ran out of ideas and decided people might ask me questions about it if it was too detailed. Plus I don't want another story as long as 'Elena-the-witch'. So anyway, after a super long-winded explanation of my story, here goes...
She loved Frappuccinos. He drank Espressos only and disliked Frappuccinos. They met in New York. A month later, she fell for him. He was attached, so she left for San Francisco. She couldn't forget him. She started drinking Espressos for the memories. One day they met again.
He was holding a Frappuccino.
Yes yes, corny I know.
后来还是走了。
一时狠下心来， 说走就走。
或许忙得什么都没时间想， 所以我的决定能坚持到现在。
也或许没有时间， 所以还没有好好的哀悼一下。
我自己觉得过得还好， 可是却会在外面径自发呆。
脾气比平时还要难以捉摸， 一时沉默寡言， 一时又很多话。
你还会习惯性地在晚上跟我说声晚安。
有些话我们不说了， 可时彼此还没到客客气气寒嘘几句的地步。
我想， 我还会依靠你， 直到你自己放手的那一天。
我们用泪用心用坚持换回来的点点滴滴， 如今就记忆在我们心中。
你走进我生活的第一天， 犹如往湖中间丢了一粒小石子。
波澜慢慢往外移， 我的规律也慢慢变。
但和最后又恢复平静的湖不一样的， 是从此我不会变回以前的我。
我永远都爱你， 只是我不是爱情万能主义者。
也许多几个月， 我们又会在一起了。
可是我有一种感觉， 有一天， 我们还是会分的。
四年的风风雨雨， 分分离离，注定了我们的生活永远都会纠缠着。
因为我们是两只跳不完舞的蝴蝶。
So here I am, doing my Statistics homework in Excel without much grumbling. Completing assignments minus complaints or throwing tantrums is a rare occasion, my roommate can easily tell you that.
I started on this noble task around 9 pm. 3 questions to do, brain thinks: "hmm.. probably can finish this before body sleeps tonight." Right? WRONG!!
It is now 11.30 pm, guess how many questions have I done? 1st question finished, and 1/3 way through the 2nd one. :'(
After 1 hour of struggling with 2nd question part (i), I'm finally done.
Brain thinks again: "finally!! Ok, that stupid part (i) is done, finally can move on to part (ii)!!"
Hands grab textbook, fingers flip to correct page.
Eyes proceed to read: (ii) REPEAT PART (i) for equation (8.18)."
:S
Mouth announce that it's time for bed. Head nods.
Fall break ended on Tuesday midnight last week. One of the better breaks I had, it was relaxing but not boring. If I have to be picky, I'd say it was a bit too short for my taste. But good things are better appreciated in small doses, no?
My boyfriend came over to spend Fall break with me. Our 'reunion' was done under extremely sleepy circumstances. Probably not the smartest thing to do, I stayed up till 4.30 am before going to bed, got a call from him at 6 am saying he'll be arriving in an hour, went right back to sleep at 6.01 am, and was abruptly woken up at 7 am after 22 missed calls. Yup, the day was barely awake and so was I.
I'm not gonna tell you everything we did in Fall break. :P But I will tell you the fun-nest thing we did was..... *drum rolls please* .......... carving pumpkins!!
The full moon is shining brightly. A few wisps of clouds are trying desperately to hide the moonlight, causing dancing shadows across the meadow. This meadow is no longer filled with lush grass, instead it is yellow, the yellow of dead grass and arid soil. No children come here to play anymore. No young couples stroll through the field. No happy squirrels scamper around searching for food. For it is rumored that at the edge of the meadow where the forest eagerly swallows all light, an evil witch resides.
In a village over the hill of Yorkshire, hungry wolves are gobbling up the last remains of a farmer's wife's prized chickens. She weeps over the chickens who gave her fresh eggs everyday, not knowing that on the other side of the field, werewolves are feasting on the poor farmer himself. Their howls can be heard for miles, bringing shivers down the villagers' spines.
Sitting on a stool, Elena murmurs indistinct words under her breath. She keeps looking around her hut, as though someone should appear at any moment now. "Stop kidding yourself, Elena", she thinks, "who would be here at such an ungodly hour?" Indeed, noone would. Not just because it's past midnight, but because everyone thinks she's the witch.
Elena always finds it amusing that people think she has supernatural powers. How she wish she does. Unfortunately, what she has are not magical abilities, but an intellectual mind and a deep knowledge of chemistry. The ignorant villagers claim that she brews lethal potions in her hut, chanting spells over her cauldron. Elena laughs. True, what she 'brews' can be called 'potions' if people must, but they are hardly lethal. At least not lethal enough to kill off the werewolves thus far.
The thought of werewolves causes Elena to sigh deeply. Her thoughts begin to move back through time...
When she was eleven years old, Elena was mauled by a werewolf. Thankfully she was not bitten, but the werewolf's sharp claws left a permanent scar on her pretty face. As she grew older, Elena blossomed into a beautiful young lady, but only if people looked at her right profile. She grew used to the gasps and horrorstruck faces that inevitably came each time she turned her head. Unsympathetic people ostracized her and children either ran away or hurled rocks whenever she was around. Soon, Elena preferred to be alone, at least her mind did not desert her.
Alone in her own world, Elena devoured book after book. She was fascinated by science, and obsessed with chemistry. Desertion made her empathize with other people who were similarly ostracized. Oddly, instead of harboring deep loathing for werewolves, she pitied them. They were innocent people forced to endure one night of violence and bloodthirst each month. Elena was determined to find a cure for them...
It's been months since she first arrived in Yorkshire, and still she was no closer to finding a cure for the werewolves. Every ingredient she could think of has been tested. Despair is seeping through her once optimistic mind. Time is ticking against her, she knows that every full moon that passes by means one more chance for the werewolves to discover her hiding place.
But Elena will not give up. At the top of the hill, a special flower blooms, but it is jealously guarded by the villagers. Instinct tells her she needs the flower, yet it is impossible to steal, and even more impossible to ask the villagers for it. She has been thinking about her dilemma for weeks. What should she do?
Sometimes, the best solution appears in the most unexpected manner. A few days ago, a villager stumbled upon her hut. Abraham was out hunting and injured himself by stepping on a deer trap. Elena tended to his wounds and soon an unlikely friendship began. She realized he was different from most villagers. Inquisitive and intelligent, he found out about her chemical experiments and was willing to help. To prevent the werewolves from locating her hiding place, Elena asked Abraham not to reveal her identity and intentions until they met the village leader.
Tomorrow morning they will meet the leader. Elena is excited and apprehensive. It's been very long since she last visited a village and she hopes she will not feel awkward during the meeting. Unable to sleep, she softly rehearses her little speech over and over again. "This is my chance", she thinks, "soon I'll find a cure". Elena smiles when she pictures Abraham chattering excitedly about their future experiments. She knows he has a lot of faith in her, and she knows she has finally found someone whose impression of a person's character is more than skin deep.
But she doesn't know that at this very moment, in a farm on Yorkshire where a woman weeps over her poultry, the werewolves are having a feast. A feast on her dear friend Abraham.
WARNING: The following paragraphs are a series of unrelated and possibly incoherent thoughts, connected only by the fact that they came one after another during a 2 1/2 hour wait for my delayed flight this afternoon.
Sometimes I wonder what people think of me when they read my blog. This holds especially for people who are complete strangers or who have not been in touch with me for a long long time. Do you see a girl who's enjoying or suffering through her emotional rollercoaster ride? Do you see a girl who's choking over all her choices or revelling in them? Do you imagine a girl who's so unsure of herself that she has to keep asking people what they think? Or do you see a girl who's notoriously bad at ending her stories? So much so that I'm not gonna finish the Hawk story. :P Well no, that's not the real reason. Not the point here anyway.
In all the infrequent occasions when I blog, I rarely mention my internship, my school life or even my daily life in general. You may know that I love using metaphors, but do you know what my major is or what I do on weekends? Probably not.
I realize I act and talk differently with different groups of people. This is not the so-called 'adapting to the environment' kind of thing. More like I hide who I really am and become this quiet, softspoken, serious person. I don't know where that person came from, but I've seen her. And it's not just at places where everyone else is being polite and serious too. I wish it didn't take me soooooooooooo much time before I get used to people and be who I really am.
I've met a lot of great people. People who I really really want to get to know well, and yet there seems to be a barrier between us. Most of the time I think this barrier is my own reluctance to open up, but how do I break it down? I want to be good friends with you, but you have to make the first move. Please.
I went to Chicago yesterday afternoon and returned to Des Moines tonight. We played whirlyball, defined by someone as 'bumper car meets basketball meets lacrosse'. Btw, any M'sians out there know what 'Lai Lai' is? It's similar to lacrosse and supposedly a very popular sport in M'sia. Why have I NEVER heard of it??
Whirlyball was so fun!! My neck is a little sore though, now it hurts when I twist it to the left. I kept getting jolted and bumped from behind by people with fast cars. A few times I was pretty sure I was this close to breaking my neck. Hehe. Luckily, I learned to look around every 5 seconds to make sure noone's planning another ambush. It was great fun though. :D
Btw, I met Daniel Radcliffe today. Name sounds familiar? It's the guy who played Harry Potter! Haha, he looked like Doraemon's friend though. I think his name is Nobita. And I told Daniel so.
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