Blah.

This is it. Her moment of glory yet again. She glided gracefully across the ice, bending her knees to keep balance while gaining momentum and rearing up for the flare jump, like a hawk swooping elegantly down on its unsuspecting prey.

The audience held its breath and time came to a standstill as their eyes trailed the last adroit swerve before her launch, the burst of energy as she defied gravity for a moment, the perfectly coordinated twist and twirl of her anatomy while being suspended in the air…...only to crash calamitously back to the hard icy ground.

The silence was loud.

A single second seemed like an eternity as she struggled to suppress her swelling horror and the warm, prickling sensation of her gathering tears, and hastily scrambled to her numb feet. She plastered on a smile as best as she could, circled the ice-rink once more, an automatic reflex to wrap up her performance professionally, and left what she now thought bitterly was a circus ring, in a rain of sympathetic applause.

Stupefied and confounded, she shoved her way pass the outstretched arms of her mother, pass the concerned gaze of her coach, pass the muffled cheers from her supportive fans, pass the thickening swarm of reporters, towards the exit, towards solitary.

She, a four-time champion in world figure skating, failed. Failed…failed…failed. The word echoed in her mind like a broken phono player.

She half-collapsed, half-plonked herself down feebly, as if her legs went out under the weight of her defeat, and set to wallow in self-hatred.

Then, she heard footsteps behind her.

“Well, I’m relieved.”

Who in the world…? Ah. It was the geek who came to the rink to watch her practice almost every day after classes, said it was for his study on the physics of ice-skating. Ugh.

“What? That I’ve managed to crack and make a complete fool of myself?”

“No. Just simply at the fact that you’re human.”

She snorted indelicately. “Glad to know I wasn’t perceived as a higher form of biped by some people.”

“Human makes mistakes. You never did.”

“But I do, now.” She retorted, turning away. He sat beside her, but she did not seem to notice. “This is a disgrace. I was taught to win. To always be the last one standing. To keep my head above water while everyone else drown. To gra...” She shook her head as if it did not matter anymore. “It was a good thing my father wasn’t here to witness that hideous embarrassment.”

“Look, I don't see how you can teach anybody to win everything every time. I mean look at you, you're still here right, you get knocked down you get back up. Maybe that's what he wanted you to learn.”

“Oh? So now you’re being all eggheaded and giving me advice?”

“Nah. I’m just quoting G. I. Joe.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. Suddenly, she was aware he was really close to her, despite his attempt of leaning casually on the topmost stair. He was bathed in the light streaming from the crack between the double doors left slightly ajar when he came after her. It made him look older where his face was dipped in darkness, while the other side remained his haughty self. At the moment he was staring unseeingly into the distance, his lips curled at the corner, as if remembering something funny.

Sensing her gaze, he looked up at her. And his breath caught. From this angle, the lights within the building rimmed her frame, setting her aglow. But it wasn’t just that. She had somehow shed her cocoon, her defenses that had been keeping her alienated and unreachable. Her features had softened, hair tumbling in black curls around her bare-shoulders and framing her almond-shape face. She seemed so vulnerable, yet resplendent. Like a fallen angel.

He propped himself up on one elbow and, using his free hand, cupped her face. Her eyes was suddenly focused, the tips of her nerves tingling where he touched her, a thunderous roar sounded in her ears as blood rushed to her reddening cheeks.

He leaned in and gently kissed her. A feathery brush on her lips.

“Funny. I always imagined my first kiss would be more passionate. And not facing the dumpster. And certainly not with running mascara…”

He pressed his lips against hers again. This time harder. His arms twined around her and pulled her till she was on top of him, her fingers interlaced with his hair and her other hand drew him even closer to seal the gaps in between.

When they drew apart, his eyes were alight with a wicked brilliance, mirroring the sparks in hers.

“Now, how was that for a first kiss?”

“To be frank, it could have been better.”

He feigned a hurtful look.

“But what was the kiss before that about? The pre-first-kiss?”

“It wasn’t a kiss. It was a promise.”

She eyed him quizzically.

“A promise to catch you when you fall.”

“What a waste,” she mocked softly. “I’m not prone to falling.”

“Then all the more time for me to practice.”

P.S. Can someone please tell me to STOP writing this sort of crap?

Post Script

I'm counting on you to colour my grey world.

Could you do that?

Do you people know how damn hard is it to find photos of us? Especially recent ones?

That's it! Photo shoot after Jury!

the Missing Puzzle

Epiphany.

At most times, it’s a blessing, like when Archimedes first shouted ‘Eureka!’ from his bathtub. Poof. A missing puzzle in the Physics world uncovered. And instant fame for him. Cheers.

But at others, it’s a goddamn hole that does nothing but puncture your boat and attempt to drown you while you struggle to mend it in order to steer again.

I’ve been muddled enough, half stumbling half striding into this music course, thinking nothing could make me happier. Only to find out my true love remains writing. But I managed to console myself with the fact that my English is still locked in a pitifully low level, which would not allow me to survive in the field of journalism. Besides, I love writing fictional, hence the need of penning factual essays and pieces with formats, no doubt necessary throughout the years of study, would probably kill me. And I want writing to always stay as my sweet escapism, to always be the one to turn my frown upside down.

*Laughs bitterly* But you know what hurts the most? It’s finally realizing, finally seeing what you’ve been seeking all this while, only to have the key to that door snatched right out of your grasp, or slipping through your hesitating fingers.

Then again, since when life’s ever fair?

I wished Emmanuel never mentioned about the new syllabus. I wished I would never know about the new path laid out for the incoming Degree students till I graduated. I wished I could continue with my studies till the 7^th semester, knowing that every freshie enrolling into this college would trod the same steps as we, and seniors before us, did.

But, I don’t want to be blind anymore.

I can’t say I’m entirely sure of the exact subjects that would be offered, nor how the course would be conducted in due time, but the one thing that is clear, and all that it’s important, to me is that when these new batches of musicians graduate, it would not be Bachelor in Contemporary Music, like us. It would be either Bachelor in Performing Skills or Bachelor in Research of Music Technology, or whatever other shit they concocted.

Try and guess what shell-shocked me? Or more like, what collapsed my foggy world?

Come on. It ain’t that hard. It’s just one word.

RESEARCH.

It’s the magical bridge, Charlie (oops, wrong time to be funny), the invisible pair of hands that ties music and writing together. And perhaps the miraculous eraser to abate performing for the last couple of semesters in my final year?

I mean, honestly, do I ever come across like an outstanding, extraordinary performer to you? I barely contain enough talent to sustain throughout my foundation year. And what with my revulsion against jazz.

Plus, let’s be realistic here. What are the chances of me ending up with a full-blown career in performing? I’m not dumb, nor am I naïve enough to think that I could one day tour and perform in a world renowned band, or going solo with my Major instrument. Logical and personal reasons lessen my initial inclination towards those ideas.

So, yeah. I’m not saying my opportunity is totally cut off. But I guess I failed to mention one tiny point. A point that puts my decision on a delicate balance: If I were to pursue this research branch, I would have to take 2 steps back and start all over from the first semester of my Degree. Which means, the retaking of my current subjects and those from the past semester, as well as my impending Jury. Every strenuous effort I poured in would be flushed down the toilet just like that. A spanking clean stake.

That got you thinking, huh?

Pity. Mom understood perfectly my elation over the research part and (I’m guessing) supported what I longed for…till that bit of information wedged in. Busted. She said something about those 2 semesters could be better used to attain a short course overseas, though she could practically see how perfect research would suit me. She said maybe she and dad will pay Juan a visit tomorrow to talk things through.

I love my parents <3

On a side note, I'm still in denial.

Newsfeed

Hello there! Am currently blogging from the recital hall, no thanks to the treacherous recital attendances we’re acquiesced to fulfill. And, God forbid today should be a CLASSICAL recital. Yes. Say it as if you taste bile on the back of your tongue.

But, I must say, this is exciting, blogging live, not to mention, illegally. The overall lights are down, the stage is illuminated in its full glory (though quite dull next to a Comtemporary performance), but somehow they fail to flick off the ones above us, this particular area in which the few of us are seated in. Paranoid, much?

Anyway, it feels like I’m trailing and reporting on drug smugglers or something, my crouching and slouching over the laptop in the shadows of the seat in front, only typing when the music is considered loud enough to muffle the deafening clicks of my keypad…

*APPLAUSE* GOOD GOD, THE SONG IS FINALLY OVER. 5 more to go, I reckon. Or we’re cursed and there are actually 10 left. Touchwood.

Side tracked. Sorry. Let’s see, in the row behind me, sinking low in his seat is Kevin, his face dimly lit by his Mac. Games, no doubt. Beside him, Emmanuel and Andrew are retching disturbing noises, accompanied by equally eye-diverting movements. On my left, Huay May seems to be drifting away, her mind probably already a blissful raft on a sea of hot chocolate. Wait. Hot chocolate’s Jia Wen’s love. And mine. Hmm. Never mind. Moving on, Jia Wen and Audrey looks like life-size ice-sculpture of themselves, or immobile zombies. And Rachel…well, I’m not sure whether she’s still awake.

Argh. The agony of a numb back and butt from attempting to weld myself into the seat to avoid being caught with the laptop, the frustration of having a poor connection when the lure of blog-hopping is so strong and the merciless onslaught of the ceaseless classical music.

You know what? I’ll just log off and take a nap. Sufferings end swifter that way.

Wake me up when October ends

I’m scared.

I’m really scared.

I’ve never been this frightened before.

No, it’s not the physical fear of those unspeakable blood-lusting leeches or lifelong scars (ironic, huh, considering the pale rope-like one down my chest).

More like afraid of college, of not being able to fulfill what is expected of me.

Afraid of being seen still grappling on to something that should have been familiar to me by now, that I’m merely crawling while people were already running.

Afraid of plunging whole-heartedly and immersing into something I love best just because it isn’t a priority in the syllabus, because I should be embracing something of higher level, college standard, as they call it.

And no. I’m not regretting my choice in music. Nor is this a post on ‘the path not taken’. I’m just saying, sometimes, I’m tired. Tired of forcing myself to love jazz when all it ever did was make me yearn for someone to turn it off. Tired of being told over and over that I’ve got to learn other genres besides bossa nova.

I’m not a lamp, damn it. Nor am I a computer or other goddamn electric appliances where my skills and intelligence could be switched on or off with a flick of a finger.

I know more than a year has passed since I started my relationship with jazz. But haven’t people heard love takes time? So, give time, time.

Sigh. At times like these, I wish my dad's a jazz lover, not reggae and pop. Heck, I probably knew who Beatles and Bob Marley were way before that freak of a purple dinosaur Barney or those disfigured muppets in Sesame Street.

Then again, Manchester was not a famous breeding ground for jazz, was it? So who else did I expect my dad’s idols to be?

P.S. I promise I'll try (:

There's a zombie on your lawn

Honestly, the music students of UCSI seem to have this schizophrenic fetish for the undead. Some all-consuming passion for the rotting, lumbering creatures. Probably because of our mirroring resemblance to them when we are choked with assignments or as our schedule gets hectic, and the deprivation of sleep would make us all groggy and cranky and haggard-looking…

Anyway, the L4D mania has inevitably died down, or at least diluted to the state of remaining inert till our schedule and workload lighten, stripping the music students of their only route to escapism and pure elation. Poor, unfortunate souls. I remembered there was once when Wen Dee called me to ask, “Eh, you wanna practice your fingers?”

“Yeah…but there’s no piano room. They’re all full.”

“No. We’re going outside to practice.”

“Outside?”

“Ya. We’re going to the CC. Top Gear. L4D. Wanna join us?”

I guess our emotionally-inclined nature explains our craze, whatever the subject. We even obsess with a mad passion. So for the first period of our separation from L4D, a couple of them, namely Jia Wen, Rachel, Kevin and Andrew, had the game installed in their laptops and they would book (or more like sabotage) a piano room, lock themselves in and shoot away. Not to mention unplugging the piano heater, only to replace with an extension to provide for their laptop to ensure no breakdowns during the game. Shhh.

But we’ve moved along and found a new haven. One bombarded with our old love too! Plants vs Zombies! Instead of the brutal mass-murdering of the decomposing beings, we position a variety of plants to attack them. Well, they aren’t exactly mobile, them plants, but they have different abilities, so we have to strategize real good to avoid those stinking things stampeding into our houses. The animation’s not bad, for a game like this, and the characters in it are so adorable and brightly painted, including our decaying friends! And best of all, the music is educating too, for us, that is. There’s a short blues scale at the end of every level (:

Here’s a tiny portion on what YOU miss out on:

Awww…ain’t it cute? And no. The plants’ abilities do not extend to verbalization.

Ha. I’m really intending on sneaking in a camera to record what it’s like being in the MIDI lab during the little breathers between classes.

“Oh my God! Oh my God! HELP HELP HELP!”

“AAAHHHHHH!!! They’re attacking! They’re ATTACKING!”

“NoOoOOOOooo! I’m D.Y.I.N.G!

And all of these are coming from the mouths of Degree 1 up till Degree 5 students. Seriously. Passerby may have mistaken the shrieking for our despair over lost assignments. All the better. No need for our makeshift cyber café to be congested.

P.S. As I’m typing this, my sis is heatedly ‘SHIT!’-ing over the unjust death of her plants.

Carol of Bells

3 days of joy and celebration. 3 days of merry-making and toasting. 3 days of watching the canvas unfurled before my eyes as every family member, as well as the other attendees of the wedding dinners, stepped up and painted the occasion from a palette of emotions.

The pride of the parents of having raised their child well.

Their happiness for their child upon finding love.

Their anxiety on how their child's journey would be.

The cheers and friendship-toasts and wishes from friends.

And hidden beneath the folds of the lighter ardor, was the tinge of sadness or regret for the absence of loved ones who were no longer around to share the joy.

It was kind of like sunset, the colour in the skies became richer and more intense as the night slithered in. By the end of the lunch on Sunday, the wedding mural would have blinded any painter.

2nd October '09

Both cakes were baked and self-decorated by the groom's sister.

The middle one's the bride-to-be

The older aunt, aka Cook (try saying Gu Gu non-stop and in a very fast manner)

Obsession of the night: my aunts' precious Nicci horse stuff toy

3rd October '09Blah. I hate putting on make-up. Such a fuss and a waste of time. No one was going to look at me anyway. All eyes on the newly weds.

Before the groom and his army (literally) knocked the door down:

Wheeeee....

A.Ha.

I like my sis' dress. Yes. I have a thing for 2-layered non-satin dresses, preferably the gauzy material as the top layer .

Since someone conveniently had a memory shortage and left my red dress at home (I followed the troupe straight to Tampin after the ceremony in the morning), I was stuck with my bridesmaid dress all night. Not that I was complaining too much. I was just thankful I hung it up in the cupboard for safekeeping instead of stowing it away with the other dirty clothes (those we brought to change into while resting before the dinner).

Cupcake!

Hmm...it kept slipping of my chopsticks. I'll use my hands.

"Wait!"

"What did you say?"

"I'm a desert, not an appetizer, you idiot. You're supposed to eat me last or you'll lose your appetite!" squeaked the sugary indulgence.

"Don't bullshit me."

And I bit into it. Heaven.

All American Rejects is coming next week!

4th October '09

Bro and I did a duet on Ave Maria for my now-uncle and aunt to march in.

Dress looks familiar? Hell yeah it's my prom dress! I can't find any of the photos though. Might have to scan in those I've developed.

Oh God I'm short.

I may put up more photos on Muka Buku though I don't see why you would be interested in viewing them. Plus, most would be of my aunt and her friends that I helped take so she could tag them on the photos.

Meanwhile, Happy Mooncake Festival, people! Especially to the 2 sexies in Wisconsin and Durham!