Return of The Sun and The One

March 31, 2008
Mood: ('_')

Daylight savings time is now over/ has begun, not sure really. But the point is that the hours have changed again.

So I had to wake up an hour early for school today.

It was awful...

I think I started hallucinating. I kept seeing extra letters in words, kept seeing things that weren't really there... at one point I thought I saw an apple, then couldn't figure out where it came from.

And as a result of the DST ending/starting... well, maybe I shouldn't blame DST for this. I should blame the summer.

Point is, I took a nap around 6 pm because I was so tired. After drifting in and out of sleep (most of my short time awake was spent in a near-delirious state anyways), I properly woke up at 8 pm.

And the sun was still out.

I was like "....." and kept looking at the clock to make sure it was indeed 8 pm, and NOT 3 pm. Because I swear that's what the light was like.

I need to get thicker curtains. Ones that REALLY block out the light. Right now it's a bohemish type thing.

But I have to go, for there is a test tomorrow that I still need to read for. Before I leave though, I give you this conversation between The One in my class and our (awesome) Social Studies teacher.

A little background story;

Our teacher was discussing a theory. The theory says that those countries who have been involved in war may have destroyed their genetic legacy because the strongest and smartest people were sent to war, and very few, if any at all, of those men returned. Hence, those left may have been the ones with the inferior genes.
(NOTE: this is JUST a theory. I'm not claiming this is right, neither was our teacher. He just thought it was interesting enough to share.)

(After the teacher has gone through a very long explanation involving the Theory of Evolution and the "Survival of the fittest" rule... TWICE)

The One: But what does that have to do with genes?
Everyone: (-__-)

(The teacher explained the whole thing again.)

The One: OMG, like only nerds think of that!
Everyone: (T_T)
Teacher: *smiling* Well what is a nerd? What is the definition for a nerd? Isn't a nerd someone who is very intelligent and yet lacks some basic social skills? So is talking about genes socially unacceptable?
The One: ...
Guy#1: Owned.

If mothers ruled the world, there would be no more war.

Awake

Movie Recommendation: Awake (2007)
[Warning: Spoilers]

So I just finished watching 'Awake', a movie with Hayden Christensen and Jessica Alba. It's about people who are well, awake even after they've been administered anesthesia. They just lie there paralyzed, but are completely aware of everything that's going on around them.

The horror.

I must say, the movie's really good. I actually rushed here when it was done, cause I wanted to give it a review while it was still fresh in my mind.

I loved it! Absolutely loved it!

The main character is a wealthy businessman named Clay Beresford, played by Hayden Christensen.

At the beginning though, I didn't quite get where the movie was headed. It started out with Hayden Christensen submerged in a bathtub. A bathtub! But now I find that I appreciate that. It's not one of those movies that just plop the whole story right down on your lap, like "here you go, this man is a billionaire and this is his mother and blahblahblah." No, this movie makes you feel like it took a slice out of the main character's life and presented it to you. It makes it easier to associate yourself with the main character, cause you're by his side while you try to find out what's going on.

Clay has a fiancée, Sam Lockwood, played by Jessica Alba.

They're happily in love, and they've been engaged for about a year. But Sam is unhappy with Clay because they have to hide their relationship from Clay's mom, Lilith, played by some brilliant actress I sadly have not seen before. But IMDB says her name is Lena Olin.

At first I found myself cheering for the young couple and booing the mother. Why can't she just let them be happy?

Clay has a friend - a surgeon. His name is Jack Harper.

Later on I found out that Clay actually has a heart condition, and might die soon if he doesn't get a heart transplant.

Clay wants Jack to operate on him, but his mom Lilith has other ideas. She repeatedly urges him to let her friend, a very famous surgeon who has operated on presidents, do the procedure.

This continuous nagging by her only increased my support for Clay and my dislike for the mother. Why can't she just let him make his own decisions? He's not a child. He's a grown-up, perfectly capable of steering his own life.

And so Clay, in a fit of adolescent rebelliousness, completely disobeys his mom. He marries Sam in the middle of the night, and then decides to have surgery right after that.

And this is when things start to go wrong.

[At this point though, I found myself starting to nitpick the tiny errors in the movie... as I do when I'm bored. "Why are they entering the OR unsterilized??", "Hey! She's not clean - why is she in there??", "Why are they doing that?", "Aren't they supposed to do this thing first before that?"]

Clay is at the operating table, and everything seems to be going right according to plan. Except that there was a new doctor in charge of anesthesia, and I found myself disliking the guy. He was drunk; and he may have administered the anesthetic improperly because Clay was still awake! I couldn't watch what was going on because they were actually SLICING HIM OPEN and he could feel EVERYTHING!

I thought that that was the highlight of the movie. He would feel the pain-- ooh the PAIN! - then wake up, be mad at his friend, the doctor, and then he and Sam would live happily ever after.

But ohh, how wrong I was.

Clay had a near-death experience. His ghost self started running around the hospital, trying to find a way to alert the doctors to the fact that HE WAS AWAKE. He tried and failed several times, until a glimmer of hope appeared.

His now-wife, Sam, went to check on his condition, and he was all over her screaming that something was wrong, that he was in a lot of pain.

And here is where the tables are violently turned, where everything I thought was right turned out to be wrong; where people I thought to be good turned out to be the opposite. [I find that happening a LOT lately...]

It turns out that everything was a lie. His friend that doctor was actually a part of a plot to kill him and take his money. And Sam was a part of it.

So he's there, his ghost self, wandering glumly everywhere - in the hospital halls, in his memories - only now noticing the signs present everywhere, only now realizing that he had been a fool, a pawn in a stupid game.

And I felt really sorry for him... you just have to feel for the guy. I can only imagine what must have been going through his head. His happiness turned out to be a lie, he should have listened to his mother, his friend was not really a friend but a traitor... and now he was going to die, and leave behind an empty life.

[At this point I was like, "Are there no psychics in this hospital?? Cause that would make things a lot easier. He would just have to wave at them."]

I must mention that I particularly loved this part of the movie. Clay, resigned to his fate, began wandering the streets back to his house, and as he walked by the lights, they went out, one by one. It was brilliant! It gave me a wonderful chilly feeling, because it was such a powerful, powerful symbol of a life ending soon. It adds to the feeling of despair that's already there.

Meanwhile, in the world of the living, his mother was grieving, of course. The conspirators were all celebrating silently, and I was wondering whether it was going to end there.

Then it's back to Clay. He was on his bed, preparing to sleep. I was like "NO! Don't go to bed! Fight! Come on!", and then the lamp went out. I thought that was it, until his mother suddenly appeared. He asked her what she was doing there, to which she replied, "Well I wasn't going to stay behind without you."

A mother's love. I still maintain that it's one of the, if not THE most beautiful form of love on this earth.

His mother had taken an overdose. To be with him.

Laziness is gnawing at my head, so I won't go into a lot of detail over what happens next. Besides, it's the climax, so even though I've already thoroughly spoiled you, I'll let you watch what happens for yourself.

But I really loved the one part before the end. Lilith was explaining something to Clay, and he just stood there, watching the scene unfold before him. It was then he understood that he had to go back, but if he did, he would never see her again.

A heartbreaking scene. Someone had to stay behind. One had to live, the other had to die.

I'm still relishing the beautiful pain brought on by that movie.

It was really beautiful. Very artsy, but in a good way. Watch it and keep an eye out for the scene I was raving about, because it really is breathtakingly good.

So now I'm off. Ciao!

Late Night Musings

March 24, 2008
Mood: Calm

[Listening to: Anywhere by Evanescence]

I realize I haven't updated this thing in a while.

I don't really have much to say.

I'm on holiday, which has been fun. I've spent most of the time alternating between sitting in front of the computer and sleeping soundly on my bed. I did eat in between. And it snowed, yes it did snow.

I mused about things a lot... As I always do.

And I finally sorted through the old papers from yesteryear... I finally felt healthy enough to face those moldy old papers. I've been meaning to sort through them when they were still new, really. But see, every paper has a memory, a fragment of my life. Most of those fragments I'd rather not see again, because they tear at the raw edges of still open wounds... Shallow wounds, but still enough to cause discomfort. But I did sort through them. Granted, it did result in a minor relapse, but nothing I can't handle.

I love this feeling. What is it with rock music that pleases me so? Is it the way the guitar solos always seem to scream out my pain? It's like I can just close my eyes and drown in it...

I want to hold on to this feeling a bit longer. That's why I'm writing now.

I don't want to think. Thinking leads down to that slippery slope of contemplating about life and stuff like that, and I don't really feel like going there now.

But there is one safe thought. I saw this documentary... well, the last 5 minutes of this documentary about some subject matter I can't recall. The closing words are still fresh in my mind.

"Humans will never achieve happiness until they learn to stop dreaming about some world other than their own."

A very nice sentiment. Very true too. We're all so obsessed with lofty goals and visions of the afterlife that we sometimes forget to live. Sometimes we forget that maybe this life is the only shot we have. We may not know why we were given this life, we may not know if there is indeed an afterlife, or if there is indeed a god.

But damned if we don't make the best out of it.

Because if there is a god, and he did give us our life as a present, then my guess is that god would like it more if we appreciated this present.

And the song is over. I guess that's my cue to finish this piece. Ciao, and remember to smell the flowers and enjoy the journey.

A Potato and Some Sauce

March 14, 2008
Mood: *remembering, regretting*

A few weeks ago, I was at a party.

Yes. Unbelievable as it may seem, I do have a life.

Anyways, there was this girl there who immediately drew my attention. I knew at once that there was something not right... I dunno, maybe it was her too-skinny-for-comfort arms and legs... or maybe it was her vertebrae gleefully poking out of her tight-fit tee shirt.

So the rest of that night, I kept an eye on her. I even deliberately followed her to the buffet table, just to make sure. And yes. From all the food laid out there, all she took was a single potato and some sauce.

I couldn't stop looking at her. I also noted the way she sort of curled into herself... like she didn't want to be there, like she didn't want to be seen.

I wanted so badly to talk to her. I had my chance too... When I walked outside to go to the toilet she was sitting in the hallway - alone. I wanted to say hi... perhaps to reassure her that she's pretty enough as she is and she shouldn't think otherwise...

But I didn't. I thought it would be too intrusive for me, a stranger who but saw her for an hour or so, to start lecturing her about her lifestyle. She needs someone close to her - her parents maybe. Speaking of her parents, I thought of talking to them too... I thought of going over to them and just kindly pointing to their daughter's body and just ask them if they've ever noticed.

But I didn't. Maybe they've already noticed. And who knows what might have happened if I had talked to them. Maybe the girl would have gotten help... or maybe I would have made things difficult for the girl. I don't know. I'm not close to them - I don't even know their names. I'm in no position to give them advice on how to run their family.

I still think of that girl. I think I'll always remember her. Maybe I should have talked to her. Maybe not about my suspicions, but maybe I should have just started a little chat about the weather. Anything. I should have done something to make her feel less alone...

But no matter how much you want to, you can't help everyone.

Angel of Mine

I'm drowning.

Class Short

Two classmates are sitting in front of me. The class chavs.

They're sharing a headphone, listening to rap music. As much as I hate rap music, I must admit, it's fun to look at them. The one who has the headphones on looks like he's having a seizure. Should I put a spoon in his mouth just in case he chokes on his own tongue? xD

Apologize (For Crappy Artist Labels)

I'm not staying for long. I've got a Powerpoint presentation to finish.

Anyway, Apologize just played on my iTunes. It reminded me of this issue that I just need to get off my chest.

On the artist box it says "Timbaland feat. One Republic"

Now generally, when an artist features other artists, it means that the one whose name is billed first generally sings more, and that the one being featured is just there for back-up vocals. Or they may be singing equal parts.

This song however.

It says "feat. One Republic", and yet it's them who does all the work! I've listened to this song many times and the only presence of Timbaland I've managed to detect are his faint "uhh"s and "yeah"s in the background.

Frankly, the song would have been better off without him.

I know why they labeled it such though. That thing about Timbaland being more famous and etc adminum venium jumping on the fame bandwagon.

But still.

Okay I'm done.

Stupid Strikes Again

March 4, 2008
Mood: wired

She did it again!

Not Britney, my stupid classmate. And as you can see, in honor of her bumbling comments I've created a new tag, so her priceless words of wisdom can be easily accessed.

Quote of the day;

"Doesn't Gandhi have any other clothes? Why is he wearing curtains?"

And again, I note that she was being COMPLETELY SERIOUS here. No sarcasm, no joke.

Now I have to go. I'm in math class.

The Lady in The Casket

It was cold, and a chilling silence hung in the air. Up in the sky was a full moon. The clouds had parted and allowed the moonlight to illuminate the dank graveyard. The soft light reflected off the mist hovering above the headstones, increasing the dreary eeriness emanating from the place.

The silence of the night was broken by the sound of footsteps. Out of the thin mist emerged the figure of a man. He was tall, young, and carried himself with an air of dignity. His pale complexion stood in contrast with his dark suit, cut from expensive fabrics. He would have been very handsome were it not for the sorrow etched deeply on his face, distorting his features.

The man stopped walking and then turned back to look at the barely visible headstones behind him. He stood still for a moment, as if expecting something – or someone – to come out of that mist and join him. Seconds passed, and he quietly turned back to the path and resumed his gait.

---

The man walked slowly, his steps heavy. His mind was somewhere else, in a realm of his musings. He was free to ponder; he had gone through this path so many times that he could even find his way asleep. Suddenly something caught his eye and he stopped. The path was not bare anymore – it was now surrounded by Weeping Willows, indicating that the mansion was not far off. He was still, and for a second a vision appeared – the very same trees, decked in lights and colourful ribbons… and in the middle of it all… her, an angel sent from the heavens.

Her. His angel, his light, his love.

He stomped abruptly and shook his head, physically trying to stop the onslaught of memories. It worked, and all the whisperings of the past ceased and left him alone. Reprieve… but it made no difference. The wind blew and the wispy branches moved – reached out to him – reminded him of wispy locks of brilliant red hair - mocked him. He paid them no heed and continued walking, but this time his steps were significantly heavier.

---

Blades of grass.

That meant the bare earth, the path, was far behind him.

He looked up. There was the manor – abandoned, foreboding, haunting. It stood over him menacingly, a grim reminder of his happiness – so close, and so cruelly snatched away. Ignoring the vice that squeezed his heart, he walked up the marble steps stained from years of neglect. As he approached the massive doorway, the vice squeezed tighter and made it difficult to breathe. He stopped to catch his breath, laying a palm against the cold stone walls. These walls, he noted with a grim sense of irony, they protected him from the elements outside, but they did nothing to protect him from the true horrors that lurked inside.

With a sigh, he straightened up. He pushed open the ornately carved doors and walked inside the foyer. He expected it to be dark, and was therefore sufficiently surprised when he saw that the manor was lit aglow with candlelight. He knew it was the work of his butler, George, who he had sent away on vacation that very same day. The man had remained steadfastly loyal to him, having stayed by his side even during his long and arduous period of grief.

He knew the man meant well, that the candles were there to make sure he did not fumble around in the darkness. But instead, the soft glow lit up all the wrong crevasses and made shadows flicker everywhere. It made everything seem more macabre.

He pushed the thought away from his mind and walked down the hall towards the kitchen. Shadows danced on the walls, and once or twice he thought he saw something move from the corner of his eye. Surely a trick of the light, he thought.

Soon he was in the kitchen. He wasted no time in preparing some laudanum for himself. It had nearly become a ritual, for the concoction not only helped him sleep, but also deprived him of his haunting dreams. When he was finished, he took the glass to the sitting room and sat on the armchair facing the fireplace. There was no fire, and it was cold, but he didn’t mind. The laudanum would soon provide him with all the warmth he would need.

He took a sip and leaned back, waiting for the draught to work. The flickering flames of the candles painted mesmerizing figures on the wall. It was relaxing, even a tad hypnotic, and soon images started to appear in his mind. Red hair on milky white skin. Blood-red lace on a corset. Red lips curved into a smile. Hazel eyes that gazed into him, permeating into his soul.

And then a sound, laughter. Soft laughter like the tinkering of snowflakes on the ground.

He shifted and moaned. He did not want these memories, but they came. The drug was starting to take effect, and he felt himself slipping away. Another image flashed before him. Red hair on a white gown. Stunning, angelic, ethereal beauty.

His nymph, his siren, his muse.

Her.

---

She was exquisitely beautiful.

She had the same name as the queen, and rightfully so. For she was a queen; a royal maiden who surpassed every one of her subjects with her beauty. She could be compared to a goddess, and legions upon legions of men came not only to worship her, but also to try and woo her.

And of them all, he was the blessed one. He managed to capture the goddess’s heart.

Her heart. Victoria’s heart.

They were to be married.

He was so happy, and so was she. He remembered her hazel eyes, shining with excitement as she clutched her hand, the one with the ring on it, to her chest. He remembered her soft lips on his, and the scent of marigolds on her hair as he held her close.

Suddenly his eyes snapped open and he found himself standing in the middle of the sitting room. Bewildered, he looked around. There was no Victoria. It was just a dream –

- and then he saw himself, slumped on the armchair. His hand clutched the empty glass - the remaining laudanum had dripped into the floor.

He was himself and not himself. He stood, enthralled by himself sitting just a few paces away from him. He just stood there for what seemed like an eternity and wondered when he on the chair would break out of this bizarre reverie.

Somewhere in the distance, a clock struck twelve.

Then he heard it;

The tinkering of snowflakes.

He started, and then dashed past his body, determined to find the source of the sound. He was out in the hallway, the sound seemed to reverb off the walls. Then his head snapped up. He rushed up the stairs, towards the bedroom they were to share. The sound was definitely coming from here. He threw open the door and stepped in.

The sound was all around him. Soft, light laughter. Mocking, teasing… For a while he could see nothing, darkness engulfed him and he groped around to find something to hold on to.

And then several candles burst into flame, illuminating the spectacle in the middle of the room.

The bed was gone, and in its place was a pedestal. Black candles were perched atop it, and rose petals were scattered on top, forming a makeshift bed. Lying on the makeshift bed was a wooden casket. He looked inside it…

Her.

Nothing had changed from the last time he saw her. She looked angelic, as though she were only sleeping. Red hair on milky-white skin, red hair on a white gown, slender arms folded on top of her breasts, those long lashes resting on pale cheeks…

Eyes closed, never to open again.

The vice materialized again, squeezed his heart until he was sure it would burst and kill him on the spot. The pain blossomed, spreading from his chest, spreading to his limbs. He found it difficult to breathe. He tore his eyes from her, with much difficulty, and moved away from her, towards the door, anywhere away from her.

He opened the door, but instead of the hallway, he saw the same bedroom. This bedroom was the same, but not dark, and there was no pedestal. Victoria was there, alive and well. She was sitting in front of the mirror, brushing those beautiful red locks. Someone knocked, and she, in her soft voice, told them to enter.

A man did. He recognized the man as Paul, one of Victoria’s many suitors. He was the most ardent one, unyielding even after she had announced her engagement to him. He was dressed in servant attire, and held a glass in his hand. Laudanum to soothe your nerves, he said.

Then he knew. He knew what was going to happen next. He rushed to Victoria’s side and knocked the glass out of her hand. It fell onto the floor, staining the rug with a dark red colour. He looked back at her and the glass was in her hand again. He looked back at the floor; there was no glass, no stain, and no indication that he had done anything. He tried to snatch the glass but it was too late. She had already begun to drink from it. He watched in horror as her lashes fluttered on her cheek and her eyelids closed over hazel eyes, as she fell back on to the bed. Sleeping, seemingly asleep. But this time it was not the Brother of Death who had come to visit her, but Death himself.

He stood there, watching as a younger him walked in the room. He watched as he talked to her, as he slowly noticed something was wrong, as he started screaming, as he started crying for her to open her eyes.

The vice tightened its grip on his heart.

He turned away, closed his eyes. When he opened them again he was back in the dark version of the bedroom. The pedestal was there again, but something was different.

The casket was gone.

Hazel eyes were staring at him, she was sitting up.

Lord Edward, my love, she said.

Victoria, he whispered.

Why don’t you come join me love? It’s terribly lonely in there. She stepped down from the pedestal and walked towards him. She stopped short of a few inches in front of him, and gazed into his eyes.

He dimly noted that after all those years, her eyes still held the ability to pierce through him, to see into his soul.

Edward, she crooned. I missed you a lot. Those blood-red lips formed into a pout, her slender arms snaked around his neck. Did you miss me?

I missed you terribly, he found himself saying. I pined for you everyday for ten years.

And now I’ve come back to you. She smiled, and then kissed him. Her lips were as soft as he remembered. She smelled of marigolds, exactly as he remembered.

Her. His laudanum, his absinthe, his opium, his drug.

They broke apart. She touched her nose to his. Come with me, she implored.

A small part of his mind was still working, and he stated dully, Victoria… you’re dead.

What of it? I’m very lonely Edward. You said you would stay with me forever.

He cleared his throat. How can I possibly come with you? How, when you're already dead?

Why, are you afraid of spending the rest of your life with a less than beautiful corpse?! She screamed, pushing him away. You promised you would stay with me. You told me we would be together forever!

Her hazel eyes were livid, alit by a flame he had never seen in there before.

Victoria, he murmured, and took a step towards her. She took a step back accordingly, and they stared at each other.

You promised me, Edward. Tears fell from her eyes, staining those fine cheeks.

I know I did.

Now make good of that promise.

I don’t know how.

I shall show you how. And her eyes were livid again.

The shutters of the window snapped and they opened. Wind blew in the room, too strongly. Leaves were blown into the room. The rose petals were blown away; the candle flames flickered and were out.

In the midst of the chaos stood Victoria, unmoving, her crimson locks strewn across her face, her white dress billowing in the wind.

Come with me, she beckoned.

He stood unmoving, and merely looked at the spectacle before him.

Her. His lover, his succubus, his own personal demon, asking him to join her hell.

You know this would never have happened if you had only let me go, she whispered.

Then suddenly she shrieked, NOW!

The sound was unbearable, too different from the soft tinker he was accustomed to. Like nails on a chalkboard, like the shrieking of a thousand banshees.

Oblivion chose that moment to claim him. The last thing he saw before darkness closed upon him, were tears flowing down her face, distorted by rage.

---

It was cold.

It was cold, and silent.

There was a faint stench in the air.

He shifted, and found that there was something on his right. A wall.

To his right, he felt something that felt like a cane.

He opened his eyes and found that he could not see.

Then, a distant sizzle and the smell of a burning match.

Light slowly replaced the darkness around him.

His first thought was that the thing on his right was not a wall. It was wood. A plank, perhaps.

His second thought was that there was also a wooden plank in front of him.

His third thought was that the thing to his left was not a cane. It was a bone.

All this combined brought forth an epiphany that struck him with such horror that he nearly choked on his screams.

He started pounding on the wooden lid, screaming, beseeching, and crying for help of any kind. His throat was sore but he kept on. Even after he tasted blood, he kept on shouting.

Then came a moment when he had to pause, and he heard a soft voice.

Now we’ll be together forever. Just like you promised.

Above the ground, the mist started to thin. The headstones became more visible. The sky started to take on a dark red tinge. The chilling silence remained.

Somewhere in the distance, wolves started to howl.