A: George is filial. He just gave me RM200 for new year.
B: He only gives you once a year. If you divided by 12, you only get RM16 a month.
A: Better than none. Your sister does not give me a cent even though she's working already.
B: But George doesn't even come to visit you often. Sister stays here, buy you things and bring you everywhere.
A: You're the worst! I buy you your meal everyday. Your mom doesn't give me any money. Luckily, the one in Canada send money back once a year. Ah Pooi gives me allowance every month too.
B: Next time I'll see whether Ah Mei gives me money when she work.
C: How about I give you RM16 every month and you call me filial?
B: For all these years I raise you, you treat me like this?
C: It was all because my dad gave you money.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Setting
Young blond boy with green eyes, walking down the street, looking stoned. His pace was slow and weak. He was about to collapse and blood was dripping down. The blood hit the ground, forming a blood trail. He collapsed. An older man in his 50s drove past and saw the boy. He stopped to lend the boy a helping hand. The boy's hand was soaked in blood. He couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. The man screamed his lung out for help. His face was all wrinkled.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Me again
http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/paparoach/scars.html
It was really cold in the waiting room. Thank god I had my trusted black GAP hoodie jacket on, otherwise I would be freezing to death. Every time the nurse came out of the doctor’s office, I hoped that they would call me in. They had been going in and out for almost an hour and none of them gave me a glance, what more call out my name. I had been their regular patron for 3 months now, twice a week, and that’s how they treat their customer who spent a few grand in the clinic per month.
“Man, how long more do I have to wait? If they don’t call me in the next 15 minutes, I’m leaving.” I clasped my icy cold hands together, interlocking my fingers. “Alice Tan Sze May!” Well, seemed like the doctor reads mind.
I hurriedly stood up, walked to the door and turned the cold knob, with my sweaty palm, leaving a trace of sweat on the knob. “Hi, Alice! Have a seat. This sweater must be your favourite, eh? You wore it last Tuesday too, right? “ Dr.Chandran, my psychiatrist, said. “Hi, um… yeah… kinda…” I replied lazily, gesturing with my hand to indicate the long sleeves. That, basically summed up our conversation every session, with Dr. Chandran always tried to make conversation and I, answered half heartedly. I think my parents should send me to language classes instead, since I had problems with articulations: the only words I said more than 10 times a day in school, the house and doctor’s office were ‘um’, ‘yeah’ and ‘kinda’. And those were the only places a teen of 16 was at, not the mall.
“ Wow, it’s really cold in here. We all hate the cold, don’t we?”
“Yeah, of course. The cold that pierced into the bones in the waiting room, the cold food, the coldness in the house, cold treatment from my parents – “ My thought was distracted by Dr.Chandran’s concerned eyes.
“Um… yeah… kinda…” me, giving my default answer.
“Today we’re going to try something new,” Dr. Chandran said while handing me a drawing block and a box of Buncho. “You can doodle or draw anything you want,” flashing me a smile so sweet.
Without realizing it, I started drawing: a cat under the rain, in the dark. Pardon my elementary drawing but that was the first thing I thought of when I took the paper and crayons. In my defense, I thought the drawing was very Van Gogh-ish.
Dr. Chandran let me go once I finished drawing. And, that was the last time I ever went back to the clinic. I didn’t know why but I sure was glad. Miraculously too, my parents started to treat me differently, or more like, trying to treat me EQUALLY with my younger brother. My younger brother was a spoiled brat; he could get away with anything, whereas my parents were typical traditional Chinese parents. They might own successful business globally, but their minds were still in the cave. “Boys are assets in the family while girls are liabilities,” so they say. Anyway, the point is, my parents’ treatment towards me improved, although not up to the par like my brother’s, nevertheless I was grateful.
So, what exactly had the drawing done? It tells stories. And no, Dr. Chandran is not a witchdoctor. Apparently, he called my parents and told them about the significant of the drawing: something about lonely, dark, wanting attention, etc (which my parents told me only after 2 years later). He found the roots of my problems from my drawing,because i didn't want to talk. In my defense again, I was raised not to speak up. Sorry to have wasted your time but I’m thankful for now my usual sweater is chucked away and replaced by sleeveless clothes, revealing the faded parallel horizontal lines on my arms.
It was really cold in the waiting room. Thank god I had my trusted black GAP hoodie jacket on, otherwise I would be freezing to death. Every time the nurse came out of the doctor’s office, I hoped that they would call me in. They had been going in and out for almost an hour and none of them gave me a glance, what more call out my name. I had been their regular patron for 3 months now, twice a week, and that’s how they treat their customer who spent a few grand in the clinic per month.
“Man, how long more do I have to wait? If they don’t call me in the next 15 minutes, I’m leaving.” I clasped my icy cold hands together, interlocking my fingers. “Alice Tan Sze May!” Well, seemed like the doctor reads mind.
I hurriedly stood up, walked to the door and turned the cold knob, with my sweaty palm, leaving a trace of sweat on the knob. “Hi, Alice! Have a seat. This sweater must be your favourite, eh? You wore it last Tuesday too, right? “ Dr.Chandran, my psychiatrist, said. “Hi, um… yeah… kinda…” I replied lazily, gesturing with my hand to indicate the long sleeves. That, basically summed up our conversation every session, with Dr. Chandran always tried to make conversation and I, answered half heartedly. I think my parents should send me to language classes instead, since I had problems with articulations: the only words I said more than 10 times a day in school, the house and doctor’s office were ‘um’, ‘yeah’ and ‘kinda’. And those were the only places a teen of 16 was at, not the mall.
“ Wow, it’s really cold in here. We all hate the cold, don’t we?”
“Yeah, of course. The cold that pierced into the bones in the waiting room, the cold food, the coldness in the house, cold treatment from my parents – “ My thought was distracted by Dr.Chandran’s concerned eyes.
“Um… yeah… kinda…” me, giving my default answer.
“Today we’re going to try something new,” Dr. Chandran said while handing me a drawing block and a box of Buncho. “You can doodle or draw anything you want,” flashing me a smile so sweet.
Without realizing it, I started drawing: a cat under the rain, in the dark. Pardon my elementary drawing but that was the first thing I thought of when I took the paper and crayons. In my defense, I thought the drawing was very Van Gogh-ish.
Dr. Chandran let me go once I finished drawing. And, that was the last time I ever went back to the clinic. I didn’t know why but I sure was glad. Miraculously too, my parents started to treat me differently, or more like, trying to treat me EQUALLY with my younger brother. My younger brother was a spoiled brat; he could get away with anything, whereas my parents were typical traditional Chinese parents. They might own successful business globally, but their minds were still in the cave. “Boys are assets in the family while girls are liabilities,” so they say. Anyway, the point is, my parents’ treatment towards me improved, although not up to the par like my brother’s, nevertheless I was grateful.
So, what exactly had the drawing done? It tells stories. And no, Dr. Chandran is not a witchdoctor. Apparently, he called my parents and told them about the significant of the drawing: something about lonely, dark, wanting attention, etc (which my parents told me only after 2 years later). He found the roots of my problems from my drawing,because i didn't want to talk. In my defense again, I was raised not to speak up. Sorry to have wasted your time but I’m thankful for now my usual sweater is chucked away and replaced by sleeveless clothes, revealing the faded parallel horizontal lines on my arms.
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