Rememberance

Okay, so I had a strike of inspiration when I went to church today and saw this old man in front of me. So here goes, don't puke!

XD

Rememberance.

The brown wooden pews of the church looked as uncomfortable as each step he took as the bells overhead rang and jangled. The clock showed just slightly past six and already his bones ached; he felt as old as he looked –which was bad, since he was sixty and looked seventy.

He remembered a time when he skipped (well, he never skipped, being of rather ungainly stature) past the rows and rows of brown with flecks of white from the nails of children trapped in an hour of mass, making markings on its smooth chocolate surface.

How he remembered.

He remembered how she looked in her too short dress and her too long veil covering her too pretty face. Well, at least he had always thought she was pretty. Didn’t matter his half-brother ribbed him endlessly on her rather flat nose. Didn’t matter she had the hardest time finding a dress on her fifty-ringgit budget and had the height of a model but none of the gazelle-like proportions.

He remembered her face, all glowing and happy from finding a dress (didn’t matter it was on sale and was just four inches too short) and from marrying the man she loved. He remembered how he walked down the aisle (was it an aisle, or was it just a walkway of sorts?) and had his heart in his second-hand shoes and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth from the nerves, and waited at the altar for her turn to walk. He recalled every face in the church, looking at him suspiciously, as if he were about to bolt and leave her at the altar, weeping. Did not help one bit the church comprised that day of almost all her relatives, and very few of his. She had a big family, and she was, for her awkward and oddly lovable ways, the favourite.

He remembered how she had said yes, how she looked at him with her heart in her eyes and her brain left behind at the restaurant where he proposed to her. How she had in her head pictures of the life they will have together.

He knew too, and could never forget, how he had only ten ringgit in his wallet and a desperate hope that the angpau he would receive would pay for dinner that night. How he sweated in his cheap borrowed suit and wished he could take her away and ask her if she were sure.

He remembered too, feeling happier than he had ever had before when she said ‘I do’ and he shyly kissed her.

This church held memories, good ones and bad.

When a bawling babe came into the story, he recalled how his screaming, red-faced boy fussed marvelously at being held by a strange man in flowing robes and getting his forehead marked with holy oil. How she –wonderful, beautiful she – had laughed and apologized to the priest. How she –patient, loving she – had picked up the squirming baby and crooned him to silence.

He remembered sitting on the front row, beaming as his son went up to the altar to receive his first communion. He remembered the bench being particularly hard during the elaborate two-hour mass. He saw her, looking slightly green from her morning sickness and the growing child inside her. How he had hoped that he will have daughter!

He had the image of his boy, strong and tall for his age (lord knows where he got his long, gangly frame and sharp nose from, but it certainly wasn’t from him, maybe his father, the child’s grandfather?) and going off to school, where he would come back with a swollen eye from time to time from brawling with other boys who teased him about his mother, who, after 2 children, had a plump figure that spoke of warm, soft motherly hugs but no slinky red dresses. He had defended the love of his life fiercely, and there was no way a father could punish a son for that.

He saw his daughter wear a skirt that came with silly pink ribbons and lacy frills and a silky white top with rather ridiculous sleeves. He saw her face, so bright with pride at the acquirement of the latest in fashion. He saw her –his love, his life –smile indulgently even as she worried about paying for that little scrap of joy.

He remembered the arguments in the night, the tense words when things were tight and his son needed a car. He knew every frown on her face and the wrinkles they caused as his daughter needed a laptop. He knew too the crinkles at the sides of her eyes as she laughed whenever he had sidled up to her and nuzzled her neck in apology. She would giggle like the girl she was, and swat him away playfully. How he remembered her! How he missed her!

She had so often held him that even his hair felt cold and empty without her warmth. How he remembered her pale face as she fell sick! She had coughed and coughed and every sound that came from her throat was like a knife to his bowels (and he already had bowel problems). She had been flushed at times, pale as death at others. He begged her to tell him what was wrong but she had merely patted his cheeks and told him not to worry.

He remembered his frustration; he remembered his anger at her refusal, once again, over and over again, to share her pain with him. He remembered his rage at God, he remembered his grief when she smiled at him and his children and told them to go, get on with their lives.

He remembered shouting at her, gripping her feeble body and demanding that she stay, that she stay and get better and tell him once and for all, what he could do.

He remembered too, how she had cried and kissed his hot lips, and said, no, no, no. How he, when her eyes finally closed, cried of grief that his children could not stem, no matter what they did.

He sat on a bench at the back and he looked hard and long at the altar with it’s marble floors and cheerful flowers. He saw the sun glint off the crucifix. He remembered how she had always said she had felt something that day when they received the blessings together as man and wife; how she had felt that she knew that he would love her till the end and way beyond.

He remembered, oh, so many things. And as he laid down his walking stick and knelt at the cushioned pews, he remembered to say just one more little prayer. A prayer that she would love him still as he did, even though now he is bald and his teeth have gone and his knees are done in.

He remembered, and when his prayer was done, he closed his eyes, and with a sigh, he went to her.

Its that time again.

When the whole Kuala Lumpur seems to be decked in red and orange (and all manner of cheerful yet tacky colours) and cheesy CNY songs fill shopping malls and make you slightly embarrassed to be Chinese because all the non-chinks are busy giving you dirty looks that say 'You Chinese and your horribly tacky, unappealing, cheesy songs; prosperous and well-intentioned though they may be.'

It's the time when your mom goes in a frenzy of house cleaning, citing 'getting rid of last years' bad luck' though she forgets at this kind of time it may be closer to getting rid of THIS years' good luck. -_-'

But, since she's mommy and she bought me a nice white shirt (like the ones I've always wanted) and since she's frying 'lin ko' for me I shall oblige, and I have already done so and did the most thorough house cleaning she ever saw. (smug) MUCCCH better job than me bro at least.

I am House Cleaning Genius.

I am Mop Master.

I am Sweeping Sensation.

Ahem.

Bad pun-names aside, I am also feeling much less blue and down, largely due my friends (thanks loads peeps!!!!) and due to the stack of:

Chocolate cake.
Lin ko.
Mandarin oranges.
Cookies.
Sweet tidbits.
and all manner of sugar-spiking treats.

-all of which are sitting pretty in my fridge, on the cupboard, or on the shelves. May I mention most of it is free since my mom gets hampers quite often?? Yay.

But it's great to have friends who care for you, and allow you to rant, and this, like I have said before, is amazing.

My CNY seems set to be filled with food and hopefully some generous pickings on angpaus. Lord knows I need the little bit of money, especially now. Every cent counts.

Also, my Switchfoot concert coverage is out, and though pics are still on-the-way, I shall put up the link on me blog to me article. XD

http://www.sun2surf.com/article.cfm?id=20696

I thought of the headline. Heh. It's cheesy I know, but I can't help it. Check out the bad puns all through the article, guys. Heh.

Hmm.

Here's to great friendships and Happy Chinese New Year, everyone!!!!!!!

Downhill and steep decline,
Things go down without sense of time,
And circumstances find their way,
To ruin mine this day.

Would anyone know when we dive,
Into abyss and dark deep pits?
Would anyone know when we take a dive,
Into endings, and beginnings denied?

Downhill and steep decline,
Things destroyed by pride and shame,
And circumstances find their way,
(No one to know from where they came-)
But yes, to ruin mine this day.

Everything is Lightning and Thunder and Mayhem A-Looming

Once things go downhill, they keep rolling downwards in that steep decline and there is no way we insignificant human beings can stop it.

At every high you reach there has to be a nasty drop to pull you back down and someone, somewhere, is having a jolly good laugh at your expense.

Its sick.

Its not fair.

But who said life is fair anyway?

Phew.

What with me going to a FREE SWITCHFOOT CONCERT and all, I have not had the chance to blog about the awesome movie I went for with K and V yesterday.....

SWEENEY TODD: DEMON BARBER OF FLEET STREET.

Take that J.

I saw it on big screen. (immature tongue-sticking-outting) Only RM 8.

Where do I start with the gruesomest, bloodiest, saddest yet most incredibly angry movie I've seen so far?

From the beginning of the ominous, creepy, horrifying opening title to the sweet poignancy of the love song 'Johanna', to the blood dripping all over the opening credits to the blood spewing from slit throats, this movie will make you exercise great caution the next time you eat pies and make you start taking good hard looks at men with mad hair. And barbers, o' course.

The lyrics are the best I've heard (for a musical, though there are close contenders).

Johnny Depp can sing.

Everyone in the movie can sing.

Johnny Depp can sing, act and cut throats. (not literally, o' course, just in the movie, d'oh.)

The story begins with Sweeney Todd, a man with super-mad hair and eyes that will put Jared Leto to shame with its' dark eye-rings. This is a man who have had no shampoo, sleep or toothpaste, my friends. And boy, only Mr. Depp can make it look wicked cool.

He had been framed, accused of a crime he didnt commit and packed off to prison for life; till he escaped and was picked up by sailors. He returns to London, mad for revenge with a burning rage in his eyes and a morbid tune to his songs. He had a wife once; a child, a daughter and now all he has is a crazy goth lady in love with him (Mrs. Lovett) and a severe need for a hairdresser.

He seeks the evil Judge Turpin, who had stolen his wife from him and has kept his daughter captive for 15 years. He re-opens his barber shop, and strikes an unholy and cannibalistic alliance with Mrs. Lovette, who, from making the worst pies in London, now makes the best. With meat from the plump fresh morsels of, well, HUMAN.

Ahem.

He devices a neat little machine that will deliver fresh supply to the pie-making lair of Mrs. Lovett. She gleefully serves them up and makes a tidy fortune.

Life, it seems, was a cacophony of meat pies, blood and shaving cream.

Mrs.Lovette, who has had a crush on Sweeney Todd (well, at least back when he had nice hair and was called Benjamin Barker) for like, ever, is delighted to have him around, and she does things he eventually punishes her for. (At the very end, it gets gruesomer.)

In the end, everything comes full circle and it has a tragic, bloody ending. Muahahahaha.

I've tried my best not to put any spoilers in. (the temptation, though, is great)

GO WATCH IT. THATS ALL I CAN SAY.

IT.

WAS.

FAN-FREAKIN'-TASTIC.

Pictures will be uploaded in a few days.

I.

LOST.

MY.

HEARING.

But I screamed till I was hoarse. The music was LOUD. The guitar was ROCKIN'.

Man. Boy oh Boy.

Greatest experience of my life so far.

(besides, of course, the day I found RM 10 on the road)

I.

AM.

GOING.

FOR.

THE.

SWITCHFOOT.

CONCERT.