gone

Gone, gone are those friends
in which naught replaces close in its definition.

Gone, gone are those essential conversations
that forms the important part of relationships in life.

Gone, gone are those flickers of happiness
no matter how ethereal they may be.

Gone, gone are those moments
never to be re-captured ever again.

Gone, gone are those chances
when you could have changed those bad decisions then.

Gone, gone are those carefree days
where together with your childhood, your youth,
and all the sunshine and laughter,
become past memories you long for now.

Gone, gone are those vibrant colors of life,
that fade away along with your very own existence

~ A.W.

R.I.P. MJ

It's sad that people tend to remember or recognize a person for his good attributes only after he died - think how happy he would have been if he knew. I hope that we all remember him as the indisputable "King of Pop" and all the fantastic songs and performances he left behind in our heart.

Rest in peace, Michael Jackson.

I'm glad I became a bookworm - Part II

Recently, I came across this poem in which I told myself a long time ago, that if I ever have any children in the future, I will read and enforce the values and meanings of it to them. For so many years, I had forgotten about it until I rediscovered it once again in another form of medium.

Many years back when I was in primary school, my house was swarmed from years of subscribing to Readers' Digest. Even after my dad stopped the subscription and no one seemed to read them anymore, I was set on keeping all four-years' worth of them.

Maybe it was because I felt that it would be such waste to throw them away just like that. Maybe they had seemed so easy to read for a small girl who just learned to love to read. Whichever it was, I practically plowed through them all and came across this article about Rudyard Kipling.

It would seem like a short profile on this brilliant British writer now, as compared to my perception of it from reading it then. The journalist who wrote this piece talked about Kipling's works and focused on the death of his son, John Kipling, who died before him in the war. He or she (I can't remember) managed to depict John as a boy who was the pride and joy of his father to the brave young man he turned out to be in such a moving way that I was tearing by the time I finished the article.

However, the one climatic part which caused me to break down completely is this poem by Kipling, inserted at the back of the article. Even though he wrote it before John's death, the timeliness of reading it after completing the story brought another tidal wave-like of emotions swept inside me.

If

by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!


In a funny twist of thoughts now, I feel that I myself as an adult now, should look up to this instead of what I had thought when I was a child. Yes, it may seem tacky or outdated for one to do that.

But, in this world where many of the good of the past are forgotten and we are so engrossed and disillusioned with what we see on the surface now, this is one of the timeless 'good' that we can always remember and savor, along with your very own classics.

Hope you know or realize them by now, be it the taste of the rice your deceased grandmother used to cook for you; or the look of your loved one's face when he/she smiles at you.

I'm glad I became a bookworm - Part I

My first storybook was the 3-in-1 compilation of Enid Blyton's Famous Five. I remember the scenario of how I got this book that's heavier than my dictionary then. I was in a bookstore with my dad, who was looking for some stationery.

I was six, the age when most children love to follow wherever their parents go; as well as a regular girl (ok, maybe a hyperactive one) who loves to play hopscotch, five-stones, 'catching' with my cousins, and watch cartoons instead of read.

Ten minutes since I stepped into the bookstore, my attention span wavered. I looked around and spotted the section where all the storybooks for my age were placed and walked away from my dad towards it. One of the books placed on the 'Top-sellers' bookrack was this really thick and heavy-looking book that looked more like a dictionary than a storybook. Thanks to the illustrations on the cover, I could identify it just as what it is.

I hurried over to my dad, who was already queuing up at the cashier, and pleaded for him to buy me this book that I had not even read its sypnosis just because I thought that it will be nice to be portrayed as this intellectual kid that read an ultra-thick book. Trust me, I've no idea where this notion came from. I must be real vain and image-conscious then as compared to the person I'm now.

Being the ever doting father that he always is, he never even hesitated or looked at its price or read its summary and bought it for me. And I was such a wonderful daughter for putting it aside on the corner of the second row of the bookshelf, which is on top of my study table for a whole year without reading a single word. It was only when I tidied my table that I picked it up again.

I felt guilty instantly for not reading it as the book must be very expensive (to the seven-year-old me who was convinced that this is considered a form of luxury) and how could I not read it at all when I was the one who asked my dad to get it in the first place!

So I started reading it. I realized after reading that it was actually three stories combined into one book instead of just one, and that reading itself could be this exciting. I have a knack for visualizing the details I read and thus had no difficulty transporting into the adventures of Famous Five and get lost there.

My mom, who saw that I had developed this love in reading, bought me more of Famous Five. I grew from it to Sweet Valley and Nancy Drew; then Charlotte Bronte and Jane Austen's novels, and have since proceeded to the variety of mangas and novels I read now.

I love to explore the plots that the authors built up in a painstakingly-detailed manner, the humor and wit of their words, and the swirl of emotions I feel whenever my whole being gets devoured into this exciting realm the authors have created. But most of all, I love how they can make me smile and laugh when I'm downright depressed.

I'm glad I became a bookworm.