Solitude

I laid comfortably on the deck chair and set my eyes on the Orion belt sparkling in the night sky. The stars weren't shining as brightly as I would've liked, but it isn't eveyday that the stars were visible anyway. The patio was slightly wet from the light shower that occurred just a couple of hours ago. Thankfully the sky looked clear as I opened my book and submerged myself in the complicated lives of holiday representatives in Ibiza and their crazy sex lives.

No wonder the book's described as 'a contemporary trash classic'.

In the background, softly playing on my laptop that was hooked up to the simple 2.1 sound system of my jet black Creative speakers, was Jolin crooning 懷念. I hummed distractedly along to it for awhile until it ended. In its place was a track whose lyrics seemed to impart worldly knowledge when it proclaimed, "沒有一個人 非要另一個人 才能過一生". Subconsciously, I nodded my head in agreement before flipping the page and reading about Brad's scandalous romp with Patricia.

The cool breeze felt great as it rustled the hairs of my sideburn and swirled past my ears. After awhile, my eyes felt a little tired so I dropped the book lightly on the floor and reached out to the sidetable and gripped the ear of my Coffee Bean cup. Slowly, I tipped the cup till its warm contents reached my lips. The delicious-smelling mocha was intoxicating. I couldn't help myself and gulped it down greedily.

The beverage cheered me up and brought a little respite. However unsettling thoughts forced their way back into my mind as I thought of the mistakes I'd made and all the relationships that I'd ripped apart with my own hands.

I like to receive, but never give enough in return.

I thought of the words I'd read on Amos' blog awhile ago and was surprised with the realisation at how apt it was at describing how I felt. I shuddered at the coincidence, but nonetheless forced myself to revisit those words.

"Maybe its time to stop disappearing, stop being so high and lofty. We should be like a falling star, coming down to Earth. Although we can see everything from up above, you will never know anything observing all the time. You have to be one with the people to know and to feel.

A falling star that will illuminate the night sky for a brilliant moment before being one with the Earth. to announce that you are indeed here and that you have come to stake your place on this world too."

I put my hands on my head and rubbed my temples forcefully for what seemed like a long time.

I picked up the book again and tossed the nasty thoughts to the back of my mind. I can't change past, I can only learn and hope to do better in the future. There's only so many times I can apologise to the people that I've let down...

I rested the book on my chest and closed my eyes. The cool wind caressed me all over, like a sweet embrace. The music seemed to get softer and softer as I drifted into deep, dreamless slumber.

Time

Timing was critical. The minute we had been called upon, we were prepared and ready to go. Dressed totally in black, my partner and I were the main people in this operation. In terms of experience, we had the most; in terms of knowledge, we knew the most. So it was only logical that when information arrived that the bomb was found in the State Bank, we were called upon to deactivate it.

Unfortunately, from the description we received, the bomb seemed to be very different from the usual. It was box-like, not small, and attached to the ground. Some white fumes were seen coming from it. My guess -- concerntrated sulphuric acid and potassium metal.

Loading our equipment into the van, I fumbled with the mobile phone that was given to us. We set off. On the way, more information came in. It was at the basement of the building, just beside the elevator.

"This is going to be fun," commented my partner with a laugh. "If it blows up, hundreds of people will be killed. It'sd be more amazing than the Bali blast, with this at the centre of town." My partner, in order to hide his nervousness, becomes sarcastic in the face of danger. Not that he was timid, of course, but adrenaline does strange things to him.

Noticing my response, or rather the lack of it, he went down to business, packing and checking all the required equipment as the van sped past all the crowded areas of the city and to our destination.

Running out of the van and into the building, I was relieved to see that it had been totally evacuated. Taking the stairs, my partner and I reached the bomb, only to see that the digital timer was ticking away.

There was a minute left.

I paused, staring at the box.

"What are you waiting for?" my partner shouted anxiously.

"I have seen this somewhere before, and no one has ever detonated it. Luckily, the last time it was off in some deserted place. It is very potent." Opening up the left side of the box, I could the see classic features of a time bomb -- the three coloured wires. One was to activate the bomb, the other for the timer, and the last one to the battery that the timer was running on to set off the bomb.

"Thirty-five seconds left," reported my partner in an unnaturally monotone voice. Fumbling clumsily with the wires, I still could not figue out which was the wire to cut. My partner bent down, also struggling to figure out how the wires were related to one another. A solitary bead of sweat found its way down my temple.

"Twenty seconds," he said, his voice now slightly tensed. There was twenty seconds left. My brain screamed for me to work faster. Faster! The cutter was already out. It was just a matter of cutting the right one. But which was the right one? I doubt the terrorists would have stuck to the colour codes but what if they did? I tried to take a closer look at it.

'Ten seconds," he said, his voice trembling with fear. We still could not decide which wire to cut. Hands trembling, I held the cutter to one of the wires and then at the other, and then another.

"Five seconds! Bloody hell cut one! Any one!"

I chose red.

And the thing blew up in my face.

Discipline

"Sit down. Sit down. No! Not that! Try again. Sit down. Sit down! Oh," I sighed. Shouting commands like that had made my throat dry, my voice hoarse. Yet, I was determined to instill discipline upon it.

"Come on, be a good boy. Sit down. Sit," I said, trying my hardest to be patient with the stupid animal. Frustrated, I barked the command at the white and fat dog, but it continued walking around in circles. What was the stupid dog thinking?

The owners had complained that their dog excreted around their bungalow, causing nuisance, barking at night and amongst other things, stealing their dinner. The owners had decided to give the dog another change and sent it to me. I disciplined dogs.

Never had I, throughout my entire career which has spanned over the last ten years, met another dog which was as ill-disciplined or as stupid as this one. Extremely stubborn, dumber than average and uglier than most, this dog was hopeless.

In spite of the hopelessness of the situation, I tried again.

"Okay, boy. Here's a biscuit. If you could just sit down once. Once," I said, emphasizing on the last word. The snow-coloured dog stared at the tan biscuit; its longing for the biscuit obvious.

"Sit!"

The dog turned away from me, with its nose up in the air, its butt towards me. It trotted to a shady corner under a tree, and settled itself on the ground. Staring lazily at me for a second, it yawned and put its head on its paws.

Despite the lushness of the garden and the calming atmposphere, nothing stopped me from venting the bottled anger that had built up in me since this morning. I cursed and swore.

Every exposed part of my skin was covered in sweat. I could have given almost anything to be relaxing on the beach on this sunny day, drinking a glass of cold ice lemon tea...

Walking towards a nearby vending machine, I punched the buttons, inserted coins and received a bottle of mineral water. I walked to the tree where the dog was napping and sat down beside it. I took a deep breath, trying to cool myself down on this very hot day. I opened the cap of the mineral water bottle and dumped the contents over the unsuspecting dog's head.

Leaping up into the air, startled, spluttering, the dog gave a yelp of distress. It shook its head wildly, trying to get of all the water which was on its head. It looked at me pitifully and whined.

I looked at the dog, and laughed.

This dog needed some discipline.

Rush Hour

I work as a coroner. My job is simply to examine dead bodies in the 'pit' and find out how these people died. Changing from my scrub clothes to my street clothes, my mind was still thinking about the last case I had completed. It was a headless floater, meaning that the head of the deceased was removed after death, and the body had been found in the sea. It was already 6 PM and I was ready to leave for home. Dressed in a sleeveless black shirt and jeans, I said goodbye to my colleagues and headed for the carpark which was at the basement of the building.

I whistled and walked past various rows of BMWs, Jaguars, Mercedes, Porches, Toyotas and Rolls Royces. From a distance, I spotted my own pride and joy leaning against the wall. I quickened my steps and stood in front of it for awhile, admiring it. Unlocking it, I got on my new 314-hundred bicycle and started cycling out of the building.

Rush hour -- the time of day when the roads are atrociously crowded with vehicles. I took my bicycle to the road. The air was filled with the terrible noises of rush hour traffic. Frequent ear-drum busting horns were heard amidst the constant rumblings of the motor vehicles. There was also plenty of headache-inducing squabbling of the Indian taxi-drivers, white Americans in their posh cars and the truck-driving blacks.

The backdrop of the busy New York City streets was the blood-red sky. The sun was setting with uncharacteristic slowness. I wasted no time in manoeuvring my slim vehicle between the other bulky ones which dominated the street. As I got around all those cars and toward the traffic light, I could smell that the air was a thick soup of poisonously pungent hydrocarbons, wastes of fuel combustion and dust from the roads. Stepping up the pace, I got to the traffice light and rode as fast as I could the moment it turned green.

By now, my eyes were already red and sore with dryness. My leg muscles ached fiercely as I forced myself to go along with the mad speed of traffic. My hands were throbbing uncontrollably as I tightened my already firm grip on the handle bars in order not to lose control of the bicycle.

Cars swerved around me, while I tried to keep myself alive on the road. My colleagues have always thought I was crazy to be riding a bicyble through the insanely congested streets of the concrete jungle of New York City. They half-joked and half-threatened me by saying that one day I might be the one on the autopsy table instead of carrying out the autopsy! Part of me did it for the thrill, while the other part of me was not afraid to die. I have lost my wife and three children in a plane crash, and deep inside, I wanted God to allow me to join them in Heaven.

The traffic lights turned red all of a sudden and I was forced to brake immediately. I was almost thrown off the bicycle, not only because of inertia, but also because a white Mercedes bumped the back wheel of my bicycle. I waited patiently for a few seconds for the traffic light to turn green. Then, without hesitation, I turned around and gave the driver the finger before pumping furiously on the pedals of my bicycle and escaping from that junction.

I took a turn to a relatively quiet lane and rode up to my house. My shirt was soaked in sweat and my jeans clumped uncomfortably on my legs.

I laughed to myself.

Another day had passed and I escaped the claws of death once again. And, it looked like I would not be entering my workplace feet-first anytime soon.

I cringed while reading this because of how childish the tone is. However it is with regret that I look back and realise that I'm not as good as I was 5 years ago.

Of A Rose

She would come by and look at the flower everytime she was free. She showered attention on it like nothing else in her posession. That was what gave the flower its value - its owner's attention. Bathed with love, the Rose blossomed from the thornful-stem. The brilliant red shone in contrast to its green leaves. Its gorgeous curves resembled the dangerously pouty lips on Angelina Jolie.

Yes, it was an undeniable beauty.

As much as I believe in fairy tales and that love might last forever, this isn't a story about that. Soon enough the girl became bored by the Rose's presence. If absence makes the heart grows fonder then presence makes the heart take things for granted. The Rose was probably as pretty as ever, but it stood there, unable to withstand the test of time.

It had became unloved.

Maybe the girl was trying to play a game with it. Man is cruel. Maybe it was a test, to see if beautiful things were fragile. Ahh... a popular misconception.

But contrary to expectation, the Rose didn't wilt. It stood there, brave and strong, because it could. Its duty was to put a smile on all who laid eyes on it, even if it didn't happen as frequently. It was determined to do its job well.

Because no one needs another to carry on with life.