Truths of Old

So there I was actually considering going to the fancy dress bash at coco-latte for a rare anonymous appearance. I think the call it "doing a Caleb". Or was it doing it cowboy style?

But the Prince of Porn (aka the Happy Prince) declined to play Catherine Zeta Jones.... and alas, the warrior princess refused to go as herself...

so it was not to be, and i did not, after all have too much to drink, and too late a night out.

heh.

*****
"I have never..."

*****
"... had a dog dream. Ha."

*****
He couldn't help but laugh, as they nudged grotesquely gyrating people joined at the hip off the dance floor.

She could dance.
No, really, she could dance.

Sometimes during the morning meetings, he caught himself searching the room for her. There was something... ill defined that he couldn't pin a finger onto, that attracted his attention.

It struck him as odd one day when a colleague started talking about the girls.

Perhaps in part because he'd always found him... a little effeminate. Although quite a hit with the women. (There's no justice in this world...)

What's that word again... metrosexual?

Metro : "So, ___ is quite pretty too ya?"

Regular : "ehm. Yes."

pause.

Regular : "So...?"

Metro : "she's so not my type."

He looked askance at Mr metrosexual, and thought... yeees. hmm. your type is probably the thin thin guniang girl with the long long hair and the white white skin, who hangs helplessly off the arm of her man in her many moments of distress.

He said : "Oh. okay."

*****

So... are you one of those anonymous doctor bloggers?

Err. Pause.

I'm not one of those.

I'm sure I'm far lower profile than they are. cough.
I avoid writing about work like the plague.

Somehow, the words have dried up... or perhaps I have... since returning home. The few times I feel compelled to write about the people under my charge, and how moved I've felt -- I cannot, for fear of reprisals from the establishment.

And, you know, it's just so pai sei if someone comes up to you and asks... heeeeyyyyy, you're Re-minisce, right?

England felt bigger - a whole lot bigger. And nobody really cared if you blogged about stuff or not; heck, everyone had a blog anyway, and those who didn't just weren't interested. That's the way it worked. You have a blog? ah, how nice. So did you watch coronation street yesterday...

Celebrity bloggers?

Pah!

Only in Singapore.

(No offence to : Mr Brown, Mr Miyagi, Miss LMD, Cowboy Caleb, and all the other assorted nutters bloggers out there who are our nation's hearthrobs...)

******
Looking again...

... midnight blue?

No whaaaaaaat. Black. Most definitely black.

Have you made preparations to go? She asked. Because if you haven't, there may be a lot of paperwork involved.

I looked out the window as Holland Village glided past, and tried not to think of the examinations I'd have to take.

Tried not to think at all.

Perhaps I will be there sooner, rather than later.

Or perhaps not.

Perhaps I'll never find that dream of warmth, and sunshine, and laughter.

Perhaps my feet will take me back to London.

But in my mind's eye...

... I am there. I walk the paths; I feel, I smell, I taste.

I have done for so long now...

... but I haven't been thinking about it.

*****
Post-mortem

She had a sudden, and beautiful smile. And her eyes smiled too when she did it. But more importantly - she had easy wit to match, which made it easier for her, and the rest of us to smile.

I realised then that while I have been lost for quite a while now...

... these were things I didn't just want.

Without humour, without wit and smiles... I would be dying, a day at a time.

Only a woman would tell you to your face that you look good today, that's a nice shirt...

... and then go on to write about how you move like a human simulator.

Preposterous.
Unacceptable.

Does not compute.

Divide by zero overflow error

The Murder of Melody Chen

It happened so quickly that it wasn't until much later when he mulled over it that he realised what had really gone down.

The Injured Assassin's hand sliced subtly through the air.

The motion caught his eye, and he followed it down towards her glass absently.

She uttered a single word of caution : "Oops."

... and then, to the right - a splotch appeared on the wall

... to the left, at the same time, the other she clutched at her head, as her eyes rolled heavenward......

Whodunit.

Here it is again, in bullet-time

LMD's deceptively little ladylike hand karate-chops the stirrer/straw in her cocktail to the left.

Straw flies out her cocktail, and strikes the wall to her left, leaving a splotch of lychee martini on the shiny black finish of Morton's Bar.

Straw bounces off the wall, over LMD, and lands squarely on MC's head, on the right.

Ah, if I had only known, I would have leaned over and told her : I like your hair... Shaken, not Stirred.

*****
Reflections

He watched the ghostly lights of the chandeliers and candle flames reflecting off into fading infinity, a picture painted faintly in the windowpane by his cheek.

Through the looking glass a storm raged - a frenzied gale tore through the trees, and lightning seared the sky asunder, highlighting in stark relief a solitary treestump reaching imploringly toward the sky.

It was strange, as if past and present were somehow standing still for an instant, side by side, the one in, and the other out, separated by a thin sheet of glass

He sat in silence for a while, lost in his thoughts. And then he stood up from the table, and walked through the looking glass.

*****
Walking along the shores of time,
watching the sun set far on the horizon of our pasts

waiting.
Hoping.

I'm not hungover, really.

I just don't remember yesterday evening very well, that's all.

Another day spent avoiding her eye avoiding mine - it gets easier with practice. Not so much ignoring someone, as simply not really thinking about them, at all.

The workday ground ever steadily towards its culmination, and I fantasized about a nice, quiet evening at the gym, swimming in the pool till my shoulders ached. (80 laps)

Hmm and this time preferably not being touched by the overenthusiastic instructor who has taken it into his kindly head to show me the correct way to do the lateral pull down. (back straight! butt out! chest out! err. what were you showing me again?)

Maybe Shoulders would be there again, maybe I'll saunter up to her and tell her - you have a beautiful gait....

(slap!)

Fifteen minutes from Time my phone buzzed.

Drinks at Mortons?

It had a ring to it. A bit like Breakfast at Tiffanys, I thought.

I wrote Yes! Yes!!! Yesssss! before pausing to check who had sent me the text.

Ah, the injured one.

Yes, please.

Events from thereafter become rather hazy. I suspect she dropped a little rubber ball into one of my martinis.

Something about a lychee martini which was, for once, actually well mixed in this country.

Something about free flow beef sandwiches... actually, I remember those rather well. Sigh.

Something about the Dozer thinking about joining us but actually getting lost in Singapore, what chance that... the local guide meandering around marina.

Something about Melody someoneorother... (Teenage Textbook? I thought that was a book...) wandering up to our table to show the Injured One her pretty, sparkly $160 fingernails.

An apple martini.

Hmm.

Many many rather good looking women (ah so, the old adages are true. Banker women look significantly better than the general variety... and women do become more beautiful as you have more to drink)

Something about all our friends, mutual or otherwise refusing to join us to partake of free steak (with bread)

Vague intentions to sample the cuisine and ambience at Forbidden City.

And then, as I drove, she mentioned her friend was going for drinks at ____

She's a babe. And she's just out of a relationship...

180 degree hollywood-style spin the car around moment.

ok la it was only about 30 degrees, and we didn't really spin around.

But we found ourselves at ____, meeting her friend as she got back into her car to put additional parking coupons up.

Now me, I just kid around about things like this. I don't see babes (malespeak: nine point somethings) too often, certainly not of the eyes-glaze-over-"unh" variety that D, my newly acquired german friend appears to encounter on a daily basis. I guess I don't have a very forgiving eye.

Nine point... something.

Very nine point something. Beautiful smile. And funny, too.

Or was that all the spatlese talking. hmm.

C, her evening companion was pretty funny too.

So were the moose head thingies in the private room we were nearly reclining in.
And the giant red wine glasses they were serving our white in. ha.

And before long, I was genuinely enjoying myself.

So much so that I didn't raise an arm to stop the Injured One from having a fag... the alarm bells in my head were just too anaesthetized to bother.

Hic.

I may regret this in the morning...

... it might just be the 20 year old scotch whisky talking.

But I think I know what I have to do now.

Let's be honest, there is no piper.

A piper could have guided them home, or perhaps just into the local river... but they were lost, two separate stories, two separate sets of protagonists.

Once upon a time, in a not-so-faraway land a princess was born.

Princesses are born, and not made.

She was lucky to be born a princess - not everybody has this privilege. Many are the tales of pleasant peasant girls transformed into overnight queens by their passing Prince Charmings... in truth, reality bites. It's a rare thing for Prince Charming to consider marrying - let alone seriously dating a peasant girl. It would take - too much effort. On both their parts.

Few and far between are the stories of princesses who don't succumb to odd sleeping sicknesses or unspeakable abuse at the hands of horny dwarves, or wind up sweeping out the insides of pumpkin chevrolets or what have you.

And so too did this princess face hardship when her realms were shattered and her lands seized from her, her sister, father and mother.

It was a time of trial for her, and these words are not mine to relate.

She even lost her knight in tarnished armour… although that is another story (and a half) entirely.

It is to her credit though that despite all this she still blossomed into a true princess - a creature of grace and beauty that any fool the world over would be able to recognize.

For true beauty is more than skin deep, and though she hid it well behind her practiced eyes and easy smiles... she had learnt humility, and empathy. In the world she had spent her time in, these were redundant traits - if not outright signs of weakness.

And despite the odds - or, perhaps because of them - she was every inch a princess... a queen in the making.

And then one day, she began to sing...

*****
You don't really have to be born a princess, to become a queen. It just makes it... that much more likely.

Most highborn princesses just mature into spoilt brats.

*****
It is a sad truth that the real world is the real world. Thus it was that though she grew into a creature of great beauty, her courtiers were not of her ilk. And her heart was broken, over, and over again.

Nice girls… never win, either.

*****
At or around this time, a prince was born. His parents, The King and Queen were… rather eccentric, and spent the best part of his life persuading him that they were extremely poor farmers… with a big farm. Being of a gullible and trusting nature, he believed them unquestioningly, even as they visited the three other farms they occasionally visited, to check on construction, worker efficiency, and rental conditions, and whiled their nights away at lawn parties and town clubs.

It is to their credit – and perhaps it was their intention? – that he never thought to become a flashy, spoilt rich kid. Sometimes, wandering through the extravagant lawn parties (and playing with the gorgeous pedigree dogs) of the “family friends”, he paused to wonder what exactly he was even doing here, dressed in his grungy rags (which he quite intentionally chose to attend in). Later, when he was older and understood more clearly the nature of things, he gazed upon these perfect, preening specimens of physical immaculateness and sneering condescension in abject horror and wondered how people like this could even bear to be around themselves.

Perhaps it was the fault of The Three Princes of Serendip – or perhaps it was just happy coincidence, but somewhere along the way he stumbled into a princess who was – many, many things.

Truth be told, he did'nt really stumble into her – she tried, cold bloodedly and mercilessly, to assassinate him with a single gunshot to the back. But she was a modern girl, and modern girls tend to do things like that these days.

The long and short of it is that he fell madly in love with her from the first hello, till the last goodbye.

She was many, many things, but above all, she was a good person - courageous, able, yet humble. She was someone whose company and advice he cherished.

And then they parted ways. But that, too is another story.

Things were never quite the same afterwards... it's difficult to find your way back to harbour when you've been broadsided by an oil tanker, and the splinters of your yacht settle gently to the seabed all around you.

It's difficult to... hide the sound, of a voice you'd know anywhere. (Jann Arden)

But he tried, and as the years passed he deluded himself into chasing down shadows of the past, fleeting attractions became of the utmost importance, because... there wasn't any meaning, anywhere.

The Missing never stopped - there was, after all, all throughout a friendship behind it all... and friendships of that nature are meant to endure, not be cut short by a silly boys stupidity.

There are moments nearly forgotten now, of vague attempts to repair the damage done... but as time passed the break seemed to weld ever more steadily into permanence.

And perhaps it is done now, at last. Perhaps there is no road back. We shall see.

Once, in his folly - for as he aged, his mind seemed to disintegrate yet more - he tried to build a princess. He often saw great potential in people, and in this pretty child he saw burning desires that shifted and flared... ambitions and needs that were unusual in someone of her... standing. And he saw a princess that might have been, and he wanted to help her break free of her chains, of her chrysallis.

But as he tried, he learnt - the hard way - that without grace... one can never truly learn to be... more than one is. And she was... far too simple a creature.

Perhaps I have forgotten to mention that the farm-prince had grown an acquaintence with the princess of the story before. You see, they lived in neighbouring provinces, and had become fast friends.

And he knew her for a princess - he was foolish, but not entirely blind - and he watched her, from time to time. And he knew her for the creature of grace, and beauty that she was, and sometimes they made each other laugh, just a little... hands firmly on the steering wheel.

She would never be his queen... they were not cut of that mold... but she was, very evidently to his eye - a Queen to be.

And so much, much more, than a Princess to be.

And then one day it struck him...

... that he had been helping the wrong person, all along.

*****
So this is the farm-prince, pledging allegiance to the pauper princess.

In what ways I can help you, I will, always.

Because you are worth it, because I believe in you.

(And so too do the Happy Prince... and a host of other people...)

You have but to ask.

There are so many things I want to write; there is a story I need to tell.

But right now, I'm just so, so tired.

The words have left me.

The silence is stifling.

Her thoughts flashed across the screen.

She felt that something was wrong with him; with the way he communicated - she had never had this problem, she said, with anyone else.

He thought silently to himself, I have never had this problem with anyone else...

except when I wanted to.

She expounded. (big word)

You use too many big words, too complicated... no emotions. Confusing.

He listened and felt a mounting sadness for her.

She was a child, in many ways - an oxymoron. He remembered watching her read a textbook in her personal search for answers - that someone in her position wouldn't have been expected to seek out -- but words still confounded her, and somehow her thirst for knowledge didn't extend quite far enough.

(He had wondered at the irony of it all, then. All his life he had been an excellent communicator, and now she felt that he was flawed. In response to his suggestion that they came from different worlds... bewilderment. What do you mean?

That was answer enough.)

He tried gently to explain to her how words were an art, a form. How they encompassed emotions as well, how in their subtlety they gave rise to commmunciation - you have but to learn.

But he knew it was a path she had to walk alone.

And he knew that she never would.

*****
His phone buzzed.

He wondered what his ringtone sounded like... he hadn't had it on in the longest time.

The words, as always requested a favour.

Only the way they were couched - as always - as a statement, rather than a request. Will you be doing this. I was thinking of this.

It had irked him, every time - it irked him tonight, again.

They were not on terms as intimate as that - their friendship was, at best, at this tiem - tenuous. There is a correct way to do things, and this was not the way.

He put his phone away for a while to calm himself, to watch the woman downstairs radiant, animated, and effusive with her many thoughts and guile, practically manhandling people into getting their hair celebrity-styled.

He picked out his phone and wrote :

I have no plans to... but I can help to ask for a favour - if that is what you are asking for.

She replied. Casually.

You try lor. If you can't then I can always find another way, it's not that hard.

No thank you. No please. Almost as if it should have been his honour, to do her a favour - this, between two people whose relationship he could best describe as acquaintences... who had once been friends.

He put his 'phone away again.

Without grace - we are ugly, inside.
Perhaps even dead.

*****
Daisy, from Anansi Boys charmed him - and she wasn't even real.

*****
She, as always, dazzled; slightly manic, very effusive... sparkling, over dinner at Iggys.

Slightly insane, and quite, quite charming.

Dessert, of course (as always) was humbly proferred - off the menu, a special favour from the chef to this radiant creature...

Naturally, it was excellent. More than excellent.

He realised then that this was right - this was as it should have been, a long evening ago.

And later, in the company of the Prince and herself... he realised that this was where he belonged... in present company.

Not there, in the other world, where words were... frightening, and unknown.

*****
Dinner at DFS.

Plastic lillies.
Plastic trees.
Plastic... food?

But no - the food was simply exquisite...

(Sam Sui Chicken - I didn't know there was such a thing. I thought they were women with little red hats.)

... enough to make me forget, for a while, about an ungraciously demanded favour... enough to make me forget the realisation that I... don't wish to help anymore.

The number may have been re-added to my mobile... the nickname to my msn messenger.

But things are different now.

*****
They relaxed to after dinner (and movie) jazz...
The rather pretty singer (who looked rather like the prinecess of fairies) was imploring the audience to fly her to the moon...

She commented. Your friend seemed rather hyper...

He nodded.

She seemed happy...

He paused.

And then he shook his head.

*****
He read her pain, yet again. Yet again.

I dunno if you know this Dozer.... but I really, really wish things could work out for you.

Everytime I read your heartbreak... mine breaks a little more, too.

*****
I stand by the shoreline, waiting.

Meta - Stasis

Each unspoken word
Slips away
Each unmeasured second
Fades

Your presence still lingers
here in my thoughts
I wait as

Each day, each hope
Each unmade memory
Passes away

***********
Contradiction

As each second passes, hope awakens
Yet fades away.

Cast your bottle into the sea
and learn
to forget

It's a dark day today, and it's pissing down.

I've been playing the piano for a while, trying not to think.

For an instant, everything fell into focus and I knew what I was going to play in advance; I turned everything in the direction I wanted.

For a moment, I guided myself.

And then I was... lost again.

She wrote once that she felt so lost... if she had only known.
I had a crazy image of guiding her in to harbour... but in the light of day, I cannot be a guide when I too am lost.

I read her, and him. I read their pains, and their hurts. I felt sad for a moment, and my heart broke for her (for she is my friend).

His words were not mature, then. They were intensely self-centred... They were hurtful. They were the Truth.

Love is... caring for someone more than you care about yourself.

Had he truly loved her - or had he been in love with the idea of loving her?

Mine was not to reason why. I am no judge in these things - their story was theirs alone.

*****
This instant, right now - too many regrets. Too much self-recrimination.

Too many pictures and memories of people fading out of time. People who really, really mattered.

Too many silences; some... eternal. Some transient - some borne of misunderstanding. Some borne of foolishness.

I wish we could all start over on a clean slate.

*****

Hello, K.

It's just me.

We knew each other once...
... I think You were brilliant. And above all, You were a Good person. You made me laugh...
I made your world fall apart. Mine is still kinda buggered, at my feet, but i'll figure the pieces of the puzzle out eventually.

I'll stand down the snipers. I'll have the demolitions crews retrenched. I'll disarm the trigger mechanisms...

Would You give me the honour of getting to know you, again?

*****

Hello, S.

It's just me.

We were friends once.
You were kinda warm, and cute, and you bumped your head into things a lot. You were a good kid - you went for walks sunset with your mum... you were a pleasure to be around. Right till the moment I messed it up...

Whatever happened to you?

*****

Hello, T.

It's just me.

We were friends, once.
We had.. something strange in common. Dreams, and a play-cheat 2 favourite ice-cream flavour (Irsh Cream, and cookies and cream)
I wanted to help you find your dreams... You were really pretty... maybe just a tad self-centred - but you were also generous to the people you cared about, and you had a lovely smile.

I've heard that you got married... How're you doing?

*****

Hello, C.

It's just me.

We were friends, once.
I liked being your friend, you were easy to talk to.
We spoke about many things, we killed time together.
It was nice, until the moment you ran... you didn't have to, you know. Friendship is far more important to me, than "face".

Whatever happened to you?

*****

Hello, M.

My name is...

We were friends, once.
I liked being close by you... and I liked finding out about you. As I did... I found myself drawn to you even more, and I wanted to help you find your dreams... far more than you will ever know.

We don't really talk anymore - you seem to run from things you don't understand, and there's been a lot of that between us.

Perhaps we will meet again someday - as you seem to promise.

Would you give me the honour of getting to know you - properly, this time? Without all the crap that happened... hanging over us?

*****

The envelope left his hand at last.

Moments ago he had been sitting down gripping his queue slip hard in one hand, the envelope in the other.

Trepidation was an unfamiliar state to him.

Absurd, the cynic in him thought. No reason for this; no reason to even do this. No possible result except silence.

The female staff worker took the envelope grudgingly - We can't do this, its against the rules. We may not deliver it at all... nobody has the right to walk in here and tell us what to do.

She hadn't heard his words at all... his plea, almost. Please... perhaps... can't we just try.

All she heard was someone trying to break the rules, and tell her what to do.

People are so deaf, in this country.

He left the building, and chose a direction at random.

Walk.

The words of her song kept drifting through his head...

yuan yuan li kai...

walk.

One foot before the other.

A text message - how are you?

He didn't break stride, just kept walking. Considered walking into TCC at SMM for a while, but didn't.

How are you? - answer a question, with a question.

She went on to message him how happy she was, and he wrote in reply how happy he was for her.

Unspoken : I'm freewheeling, walking in a random direction; I don't know where I'm going, or what to do. I just did something... unexpected; but the time for the unexpected is long since gone.

I'm trapped here, trapped in my past.

Trapped in my mother's dream of me getting married soon to one of her friend's daughters; trapped in her envy of all her friends sons getting married away like fish sold in a market.

I... just tried to reach out to something that was once good, and clean in my life. That I have never really seen again, ever, in anybody else, with such intensity.

Can I come in from the cold, please?

He sat down and looked at the blank paper.

Where words had once flowed effortlessly, now they deserted him.

He'd never felt so alone in his entire life.

He put his pen to paper.

Time to confront my... angels.

*****
He found himself wandering aimlessly down orchard road, past Wesley church, and still further.

Just walk.

Just... walk.

The tangled thoughts of yesterday; of a certain nurse; of... the past can wait.

Right now, just walk. And forget The Past. Let my whims carry me where they will...

I need to be free.

He stopped and remembered.

There used to be a coffee place here, once.

Behind that glass window...

A hot afternoon. Air conditioners working overtime to take away the insane heat of midday.

Her eyes sparkled, as always.

They raised their cups to their mouths.

"This isn't real Amaretto... it's flavoured! You've been conned!"

Pause.

"Well, I like it."

*****
Seattle Coffee Co.

silence
Sunset reflecting off body of antique convertible at rest
?seaside in distance
Cue music
Camera slowly slides across body of car till it reaches her, looking off into distance, one arm out of car?
She sings

Close ups
Camera angles, fades etcetc as she sings and looks into the distance

Fade into scenes of the car traveling along a long, empty road at sunset in the countryside, autumn leaves (obviously not Singapore)

She, hair streaming, driving, singing, various angles, close ups

Over shoulder shot of the windshield, car moving
Zoom slowly in to a pair of house keys on the dashboard, till it occupies most of the screen, areas around it darken to black

Zoom slowly back out, colour fades to sepia / black and white / muted, the keys are now on a table in an apartment

She, sitting with knees drawn up, on windowsill before closed glass window. ? raining, looking out, singing

fade to close-up of her hands seeking out the keys on… an apparently empty table

fade to / follow to close-up of her hand trying the door knob – locked

fade to scene of her leaning against the door, looking sad, singing

fade to scene of her lying in bed in long white dress, shot from above, looking off to the side, hands outstretched and hair spread out on the bed, singing (? Grey bedsheet?)

camera describes a horizontal arc to come level with her eyes, sideways so that the “floor” of the shot is level with the right of the screen and she is looking directly into the camera, with lost eyes, close up

closes eyes and turns head back to neutral

Camera circles around and zooms out behind her to show her standing on the railing outside the balcony with hands outstretched, wind blowing her hair and dress

she falls "falling", as the camera chases her, ala Oberon's digital trickery

falls, and dissolves into cloud of white butterflies

Fade back into close up of her hand seeking out the keys on the table – they are there this time
Pull back showing her dressed in a dark winter coat opening the door to her flat with the keys,

As the door opens, colour fades back in

It opens into the garden of a manor somewhere in the country, an autumn morning… and she walks towards the car parked in the drive.

*****
Three

Falling,

into eternity

light fades

cold silence, except for the sound of the buffetting wind

fear has no place here

hold your head high

and fall, through the sky

it's harder to do than it sounds.

Especially after being on call.

Too many thoughts, not enough words, not enough sleep.

*****
Four

Silence

The last moments of dusk, sunlight streaming low on the horizon

pan across the sillhouette of a car - convertible, perhaps.

the car is empty.

fade in intro

pan more, revealing a beach-head / pier, with a lone figure sitting huddled on it

voice-in, ? walk-to? or perhaps fade and pan to her

She, hair loose, rippling slightly in the breeze, knees drawn up as she sits on the end of the pier

looking into the distance,

(without her mask)

with those lost eyes - which can be so beautiful when they're... real.

gratuitious shots : beach, sunset, face, eyes. Pan as many times as you want.

fade in to mystery guy

same setting, sunset, standing by the sea looking out into the distance, with the same... sadness in his eyes. off to the side you can just make out the same pier.

her voice continues, calling to him

sometimes he looks to his side slightly, as if almost-hearing something, then he looks back out to sea

fade back to her
gratuitious brush hair away from brow shots, more close ups, vulnerable sad smiles, etcetc.

towards the end of the song, pan across from him to the pier, making it obvious she's not there while he is

and then fade to her, and pan out as the song ends, during silence, to the beach where he isn't

and then back to the silhouette of the car

It was malevolent...

It was.

I thought at first that it was simple malice. "Anonymous", typically. No email, no weblink.

And then I resolved your IP address.

Words and thoughts are flooding through my mind now... why would anyone do or say that... to a stranger? What pleasure could he or she possibly have derived from it... How could you?

The words "invade", and "intrude" are in this mess in my head somewhere. Our worlds are very nearly touching - how much further will you force the issue?

This land is mine, I'll let you in, I'll let you navigate on demand - just as long as you know this land is mine.

I... don't know what to think. Or do.

But whatever I do... I've made so many mistakes in my past and wronged so many people...

this blog may not be here tomorrow, stranger. Or it might remain, unchanged. But between now and then, know this :

I forgive you.

Fatigue set in with the subtlety of a sack of bricks to the face.

For a moment, I considered crawling back to work and collapsing in a heap in the unused room on the ward, only to wake up in three hours time to return to work...

..Unwashed, unshorn and rumpled.

Hmm.

And the two favourite nurses were working the ward tonight...

...I just couldn't do it.

*****
Queer Eye for the Straight Guy

Episodes One and Two have produced a good result thus far.

Mission accomplished.

Stage One cleared.

*****
Fatigue

- Late nights, copious quantities of alcohol...

Part of the aetiology? Or part of the symptomology.

Six.

First move lunge. Wind up teapot.
Lock and dip.
Basket.
Hand wave thingie.
Return.

*****
First move push.
Octopus.
Basket.
Flick spin.
Neck break.

It was hard to drink too much; beer does not become me, nor I, it.

We drank, at times in silence, watching the crowd.

Forgotten snippets of the past rose and fell like ancient empires, dying into oblivion with each remembrance... my mind freewheeled.

Six days to go.

...I don't know where to start.

I don't know how to begin.

But I want to.

*****
Your eyes, as you turned around...

... burned me.

*****
Later, as he walked through the gates of home, his telephone buzzed.

"U really like her is it... U wan to be with her is it?"

What does that mean anyhow... "be with her".

Why do people use that line so often, over here? Does it mean to get together with... or does it just mean to have sex...

The truth was too complicated, and yet too simple to be told. The truth had done enough damage already; wisdom had been gleaned.

Answer a question, with a question.

...Shrug it away.

Revelation, 1:1 (The Book of Re-minisce) --

"It taketh, to achieveth that same high nine minutes on the treadmill delivereth, an equivalent measure three hours in the swimming pool. eth."

Something tells me that that's a poorer happy-quotient for swimming than running...

and now my shoulders hurt.

*****
It came as a surprise.

As we spoke, my intuitions flared - this stranger was... unexpected. He was... decent.

More than that, he had a certain maturity about him. And a tinge of sadness.

Most surprisingly though, he had enough insight to differentiate intentions, from actions. And the grace to react accordingly.

As I listened to him, I understood. He was easy to understand - he was someone very much like myself.

Truth is a double-edged sword.

*****
I had a strange dream, the other night.

It was very brief, but it involved me having to stand up a woman - actually, one of the consultants - for lunch.

Don't get me wrong, in real life there's nothing of the sort going on. But... all I remember from the dream was telling her that I couldn't show up, and her sounding really disappointed.

Shrug. Not a very interesting dream eh.

Except that I dream, what... once a year? If at all?

*****
And then, I had another dream last night. I wonder what all this means, this invasion of dreams into my otherwise peaceful sleep... dreams that I can actually remember?

This one had something to do with being with my ex.

Funny, I had absolute clarity of memory for hours after the dream, but now its slipped away...

...strange.

*****
Today, in summary :

Got up, went back to sleep, got up, went back to sleep (yummy!)

got up, was offered lunch by the mother, fled to the gym in abject terror (relief!), worked out for an hour, didnt run (rats.), knackered, lay down by poolside (by this time, of course, no longer sunny much to my disappointment), fell asleep for an hour (yummy!), swam for two hours, intermission for sit-ups, swam for another, (total : 80 laps), went to church, went for steamboat with german and canadian friends, cosy after dinner conversation in flat (felt like there should have been an open fire nearby, somehow), home.

Nice :)

*****
Tomorrow, in summary :

On call.

Not Nice.

*****
Insight arrived, bizzarly, as I was underwater - it felt like a veil had been lifted from my blinkered eyes.

The root of the problem hadn't been poor communication...

... it had been an utter lack of understanding, of intentions. And an inability to sense their meaning.

We fear what we do not understand.

It was a strange irony.

Perhaps this bridge is insurmountable... perhaps there is no way to grant insight, and intuition, to another.

*****
As I left church, I silently bemoaned to myself either the utter lack of attractive women in this country... or perhaps my propensity for being attracted to the "wrong" ones... that would have me... in the situation that I am now. (the dozer calls it barking up all the wrong trees...)

And then, at that very instant, I drove past a perfect ten...

:|

Time to take up buying 4D.

*****
In church, I watched a man just past his fifties hunched over with that tell-tale look about him.

He drooled a little, and the filipina maid at his elbow hastened to dab at his chin immediately.

When they stood to leave, it took all his maid's strength to hoist him to a standing position. I half-rose to dash forwards and lend a hand... but once on his feet he was stable, and they shuffled off at speed.

Parkinson's.

I wondered if I would be like that one day... a thought best left unthought.

I remembered her words : "don't ever let me get old..." and I remembered the fear in her words. And it touched me a little, her fear. They were the words of youth.

But I also watched the greying woman by his side, and the way she clung fiercely to his hand throughout the mass.

I remembered another's words : "I want a love that lasts... I want to have him hold onto my hand even when we're old..." Her desire had touched me a little, too. Her dream of permanence, perhaps the words of disillusionment.

And then I remembered Her words... "If I had to choose, I would give everything up... but my wit." The words of maturity... spoken then, at such a young age.

And I don't know why, but as I watched him shuffle out the church, his eyes blank, with his wife still clinging in a near death-grip to his hand...

... I felt so sad.

"... I didn't get back in touch... just so I could ask you for..."

It was a horrible allegation; it was a thought which had crossed my mind but which I had dismissed immediately, after my new resolution not to be quite so judgemental; not to repeat the mistake I had made once before.

It was a heavy burden to bear, to think that someone else thought so poorly of myself that they assumed I would think that poorly of them, that I would assume that friendship ressurrected had merely been for mercenary reasons. The words had been put into my mouth; I never spoke them.

(Alcoholic) circumstances prevented an immediate reply; the next day proved no better.

When finally there was a moment to breathe (as opposed to drink) I tried to explain myself more thorougly. And was met with silence.

*****
Silence spawns many different consequences; ranging from unwarranted assumptions to overzealous attempts to bridge that silence.

Silence is the enemy of the communicator.

In the aftermath, it seems the problem was spawned... beacause I coud not understnd silence....

The girl with the Nice Shoulders showed up at the gym yesterday. It wasn't till she got onto the treadmill that I recognised her.

That easily loping stride, those carefree, swinging shoulders... absolute freedom; perfect control.

For a split second as I mounted the treadmill beside her I considered telling her, hey don't take this the wrong way, but you have a beautiful running style.

I didn't, of course. Instead I did my usual suicidal 15 + 15.5 routine.

9:43

So if you were that girl, at Fitness First George Street, 19.30 pm yesterday, second treadmill from the left... I was the guy struggling to survive one treadmill to the left of you. This one goes out to you...

perhaps next time I see you again, I'll tell you what a beautiful stride you have. :)

*****
So the Plan was, gym, quiet drinks with friends friends, and then home.

Through a bizarre twist of circumstances, and a chance comment, I suddenly found myself somewhere in the private rooms of the Moet et Chandon bash, making smalltalk.

Dozer arrived, and I went, escorted graciously by one of the Tango girls to collect her from the door. It was obvious she didn't need collecting though (as I'd tried to tell the tango host), the second she kissed, and was kissed by the event organiser.

The tango group moved on to the dancefloor, in order to catch a glimpse of the night's band (very, very good)

There I caught side of a nine, right smack in the middle of the floor. Yummy.

Eventually, though, the group fragmented. Duty called, and we all had work the next day.

I stopped to bid the Dozer goodbye, and suddenly found myself seated amongst some disconcertingly rich and famous people, one of whom I seem to recall gracing the cover of Forbes magazine... or something like that... discussing laser acupuncture and checking out the odd passing female (and even the Dozer, although that was my newfound acquaintence doing it, who to be honest, was completely smashed and would probably have checked out his own mother...)

Four hours of sleep...

... that was not the plan.

*****
And so it has begun, my trial of faith.

The lost words that I've always believed in, and still do.

Trust.
Communication.
Truth.
Love.
Honour.

and above all,

Faith.

*****
Shattered

His heart sank as he read the dispassionate words on his mobile screen.

Don't ask why. But can you lend me...

Was that all it was? A preamble to this?
Truth, and trust... absent.

Friendship... absent.

Nothing remains. Cynicism wins.

But no, it shall not, this once.

And at the risk of great naivete - because I believe in things that are good and clean - and because I want to believe that you are good and clean...

I shall hold my head high.

Look me in the eye, and know that this is what makes the measure of a woman :

Decency.

*****

Would that someday you trust me enough to act with decency towards me again.

For now, I know with certainty... we are not friends. In your mind - and mine.

Day 0
KL
We touch down in KL and tread over to the Pan Pacific Hotel. It's late, and we're exhausted.

D tries to haggle a bit with the pleasant lady at the counter to no avail. It's the ninth floor luxury rooms or nothing at this hour.

We make to leave, but I am just exhausted, and I don't relish the thought of waking up insanely early in three hours time to make the long trek back to the airport.

Something in my expression, or perhaps my chronically sleep-deprived panda-ringed eyes makes the counter girl have a change of heart. She brings down the price, just for me. Aww.

Four hours later we're awake again (having been frozen half to death by the 15 degree thermostat) and feasting on a ridiculously posh buffet breakfast, after having stumbled goggle-eyed around the sheer extravagence of the Pan Pacific. We're beginning to think that we should just cancel the whole tour and stay here for a day or two more... heh heh

*****
Day 1
KL to Kota Bharu

We meet up with S, and her friend R.
I haven't seen S in a while now; she's sporting a healthy tan, but otherwise looks much the same.

R looks a bit like a medical student I used to know at my own uni; that is a slightly slighter version of Dolph Lundgren. haha.

We step forwards and hug. Sometime later she confides to me that she missed me a great deal after leaving Singapore.

I bite back my truth, which is that I missed you, too.

*****

First impressions
This is a vast, untamed land. I watch the trees fly past the bus in droves... and the undergrowth is so, so dense. It's almost primal.

People live simple lives here, very much back to basics. Decrepit huts lie incongrously amidst stone villas. Threadbare geriatric men chug by on stripped down scooters. I catch sight of an old man hitching a tow on his skeletal scooter, from another old man on his slightly less malnourished vehicle and have to stifle a laugh.

We zip past two children, a boy and a girl playing with a shovel. Another pair, playing with the back of a chair. How strange and wonderful to see children using their imaginations - and not having it done for them by an electronic gameboy...

It's a vast, vast canvas this land - a template, for things yet to come. Or for things that will never be.

Unspoken, unfulfilled promises whispering in the wind.

It's so, so beautiful.

Is this what Singapore looked like once?

*****
Nine hours later (still en route from Kota Bharu to Taman Negara) I'm beginning to think... it's all the same. same. same.... same. green. same. grass. hut. same.

It's Jurassic park sans dinosaurs.

Argh! Get me out of here!!

*****
We finally arrive, aching and exhausted (it's hard work riding a minibus... all that tiresome snoozing...) at Taman Negara only to discover that rooms for the midrange hotel are out.

I discover to my surprise that my compatriots whom I thought were taking me along for a four day tumble in the jungle - roughing it and bashing down banana trees along the way - are actually more interested in cushy digs than I am. And that bashing down trees isn't after all part of the agenda. I can't decide if I'm pleased, or perhaps just a little disappointed.

We move on to more expensive digs - still mid-range to my anglicised mind, since all this is in ringgit, and I still automatically convert ringgit to pounds in my head.

Its raining when we arrive and all activities are off as a result. We have an early dinner, play a bit of pool, then turn in.

It's almost a decent night's sleep, except for the moment when someone tries to open our door with their key...

... and succeeds.

The deadlock stops them from entering, twice.

I wake up and say, What the Hell? And the door is gently closed. My blood runs cold for a second. I know this story... I know the one about the machete wielding crooks... who probably work as staff for the hotel.

They had our key

I ring switchboard and complain, and they aren't impressed. They aren't impressed the next morning either, and absolutely nothing aside from stupid suggestions that some other room's doorkey opens ours, or that the security guys thought they needed to check on us are offered.

It's during this time as we barricade the doors and I text message someone that I realise that I'm really not afraid of death.

I'm afraid of dying without truth.

Day 2
Taman Negara

Everything, it seems, comes to a standstill on Sunday morning. Come on people! Eight o clock! rise and shine!!

Somewhere in the night the island's power has cut out, and everything is dead including the internet. So much for our plans to rebook a more sensible return path via KL to Singapore, instead of Penang. (err... who planned this trip again. Oh yeah, D.)

As I step out the door of our room (Woodlands Hotel, highly recommended at RM 144/night, just keep your door firmly locked...) I am treated to the stunning sight of sunrise streaming through tendrils of mist rising gently off the hills to join wispy, low-flying clouds which blanket the treetops of the reserve.

I have only seen the likes once before, watching a chill mist rising slowly off the magnificent glens of Loch Ness in the background, and the foreboding ruins of Urquhart Castle in the fore... another holiday getaway, that time alone, relishing my solitude, and with no fewer thoughts flitting through my chaotic mind.

We finally sort our act out and make it across into the reserve proper. 1 Ringgit per person, 5 ringgit per camera. Human life it seems comes cheap here.

A mere two hours later (my travelmates have now settled into the age-old joke about Malayan time being slower... essentially a joke about rubber time. Rubato.) and we're finally walking the Canopy Walk... five hundred meters of rope bridge strung high amongst the treetops. All around us are the sounds of the jungle - but suspiciously, no sights at all. I crane my head to catch a glimpse of at least one bird... but I see nothing. It reminds me of the ski slopes of Switzerland I once saw.. I could swear I heard cowbells... but where were the cows?

It's beautiful up here, even without monkeys clamouring to be fed, or furious hawks razing our scalps. It's a fairy-tale jungle walk set in the sky, and five hundred meters comes too quickly to an end for myself... I wish it went on for a couple kilometers more.

Somewhere along the way I lean out over the ropes and glance downwards, out of curiosity more than anything else.

I realise dispassionately that I'm not apparently afraid of heights, either.

I suppose it's the landing bit that most people are truly afraid of. Laugh.

Later, while waiting for the vaunted Night Safari to begin, we somehow get sucked into a white-water boating experience.

There are no words to describe this aside from "magical". It's like being in a wildlife documentary... right there, on the lake. Trailing my hand through the tepid water... I can't see any wildlife but it doesn't detract from the statesque granduer of the jungle, tall trees towering high above us on either bank.

S sits lightly against me; she comments that it looks like Lord of the Rings. I agree, a little distractedly.

It is strongly reminiscent of Lord of the Rings, but right now I'm just wondering if perhaps I could come back here someday with another... friend, whom my gut tells me would enjoy this beautiful scene.

We begin to crest the rapids, downstream on the way back. Water slaps me hard across the chest and face, and we squeak in equal parts shock and delight.

It suddenly hits me that my mobile phone is somewhere in our communcal black waterproof trashbag, and that if anything were to happen, right now...

... I would pass, without truth. Without words. In silence, with water all around. Without the chance to text message these words to you : You would have liked this, M, I think.

I would have liked to have been here, with you.

Yet later, we spend the evening chugging on a tired jeep through a rubber plantation, and assorted random parts of the countryside, our guide wielding a spotlight like a laserpointer, waving it in dizzying circles ostensibly to stun the wildlife into immobility. Oft times the vehicle jolts to a halt as the driver sees something, and we are instructed to look at a pair of shiny eyes which eventually close in disinterest.

Apparently we are lucky enough to catch some civet cats, a slow loris, some cute adorably little birdie thingummies clustered to the underside of a palm leaf in a line (like a kebab. ha!) and a large, photogenic owl which apparently shows up on the dot every night to have his photograph taken. The evening wears on and we finally return to base camp, lids heavy with fatigue.

For some reason, the mosquitoes have given me a miss.

*****
Day 3
Cameron Highlands

The bus pulls into Cameron Highlands at last.

Somewhere along the way I've made friends with C, a charming medical student from Wales. She has a habit of muttering silly jokes under her breath which I'm well familiar with, and I can't help but catch them all. We kid around a bit after the guide meticulously explains why Blue Valley is called Blue Valley (because they used to grow tea there, but now do not...) and decide it must be because the teabags come with blue tags when they're harvested out of their tea pods, yes that must be it.

She reminds me very, very much of someone from a very, very long time ago. Rather than dwell in before though, I enjoy trading silly lines with her as the air slowly but certainly turns more chilly.

It begins to rain.

Cameron Highlands is tea-and-strawberry land, it seems. I don't remember it from my childhood very clearly, but I know I've been somewhere really cold in Malaysia before with lots of mountains, so I'm guessing I've been here before.

My travelmates are not impressed we chug slowly past countless Chinese villages dominated by shabby houses, tacky storefronts and run-down four by fours... they wonder if perhaps we should just catch the nearest bus straight to KL...

I prefer instead to watch the countless tendrils of mountain mist creeping off the treetops and birthing the fast-flying, low-lying clouds sweeping off the mountaintop. I imagine to myself that if I was a teacher, I'd tell my class - This is how clouds are made.
These are the cloud-factories of the world, children.

C, and her travel companion R step off the bus at the Father's Guest House, a quaint dwelling which looks suspiciously like an army barracks. Typically, I forget to actually give her my number for when she swings by Singapore en route to home. Empty promises, that's me.

A short hotel-hopping experience later, and we've somehow wound up at Ye Olde Smokehouse, an all-english, gorgeously done-up colonial bungalow. There are so many shiny things here I'm simply enthralled. It doesn't take much to please me... sigh.
(My travelmates are most unimpressed with the less exorbitant hotels, since their squash courts and jaccuzzis are not ready...)

We sit down to a very civilised tea of scones, and... tea. And strawberry jam (but of course), and then set out to explore the town, armed with our umbrella. It's still raining.

The rest, as they say, is history (or rather, another blog entry) - I discover that my blog has been perused even here... its slightly scary, and slightly funny all in one.

Lazy after dinner drinks back at the hotel around the open log-fire listening to the strains of a BBC comedy show. I forget to order strawberries and cream for dessert as we drowse and make pleasant supper conversation.

There follows a rather uncomfortable sleep curled up on the settee because, well... I will not, ever, be caught dead sharing a bed with another man. Not even if it has red satin sheets and four posters. cough.

*****
Day 4
Penang

Snatches of memories here... it was such a rush. Wake up. Brush teeth. Get changed. Run downstairs. Full English Breakfast gobbled down in about five minutes. Tea to finish, and it's off to the bus station to catch the express to Penang.

We leave S and R behind to explore the highlands at their leisure, and I feel faintly jealous that I have to go back to work tomorrow...

As we part, I feel a little sad. But fortunately I still have D, even if he was a little over-eager to share ze bed wif me last night. Just joking, D... :) We both know your wife would never stand for that.

ahaha.

On the drive out, I notice the hills. Cut, terraced over the centuries, farmed, bare, unfarmed... lying cheek to cheek with wild rolling virgin hills, in an intimage embrace - man, and the wilds.

And then I look harder and notice the orange bougainvilleas creeping steathily along the face of the whole picture, seeking slowly but surely to blanket the entire scene in a few thousand years, like an encroaching moss. And I notice the way the wilderness eats away at the terraced slopes, reseeding it with its vibrant chaos, and hiding away the forgotten concrete steps that peep through occasionally. My eye becomes more practised and I realise just how many of these slopes have actually been farmed, over this past millenium...

The wilderness reclaims her own.

Penang is another whirlwind experience... We don't actually get to eat Penang Laksa like I hope. From the spartan bus station we choose to be conveyed to the northern beaches.

They're not much to look at, to be honest. I've seen far better. But my eye is instantly caught by a horse-ride being offered.

One of my lifelong dreams has always been to ride a horse along a wide, expansive beach. The sun is low on the horizon, and the beach is white and gleaming with moisure, an even plane in the reds of the sunset; the horse's hooves strike through the receding surf in perfect rhythm as we gallop down into infinity...

Or barring that, second best would be riding along a forest path - an English or German forest, opening into unexpected hidden green vales and clearings (think Tree Ents in Lord of the Rings)... and not the mad chaos of a south east asian rainforest.

Right now, it's nothing like that. The beach is narrow and cluttered with driftwood and litter, and the horse looks exhausted, treading his way warily through the litter and trying his best not to let his feet get wet. It's a most unromantic scene.

We walk, and eventually settle down for a cheap and cheerful lunch at Deep Sea Seafood, which turns out to be some kind of front for criminal activity. I swear at one point the lead character for the Hitman computer series walks into the scene.

Towards the end of the day we wander down to Georgetown, because, well, Penang is Georgetown.

It looks disconcertingly like Little India, only Chinese. Chinese gold merchants, chinese fashion, chinese everything. We walk till boredom sets in, then visit the nearby mega-mall and browse everything from women's fashion to pirated PC CD roms...

Somewhere along the way, I discover a triplet of glass dolphins.

D begins to haggle with the petite salesgirl, and I silently wish he'd stop. She has beautiful eyes.

It strikes me that many of the women in Penang have different features to the Singaporean girls... and perhaps on the whole even better features. I wonder if they're from a different part of China ethically?

D wanders off as I pay for my purchase, and she looks up for the first time into my eyes.

We watch each other for a split second, and then I smile, and she does as well.

"You're not local?"

"No."

And then we're away, back to the chores of everyday.

is... logging on to a computer at a cheap internet joint somewhere in the middle of Cameron Highlands and having auto-complete complete my own blog's URL for me.

What chance someone from Cameron High... nevermind.

So anyway, I forgot in my mad rush to leave the country to mention that I was heading out of town for four days in the Malaysian wilderness, to face certain death by rabid tiger, hungry native, dengue-infected mosquito, malaria, terrifying terrorist and islamic militant. (as promised by my parents, an hour before I was due to leave when I finally told them where my port of call was to be)

So I've been to many places now including Kota Bharu, Taman Negara, Cameron Highlands and tomorrow, Penang. Oh yeah, and road. Many, many, many road. Much much road. They don't call it a road-trip for nothing.

If I never see a mini-bus again this lifetime that will be too soon.

There's far too much to write about right now (RM 2.80 is a lot of money you know...) but in a nutshell :

Things I wish I had seen

Leeches. Hearing two English girls rhapsodise about little leechy thingies standing on their tails waving dreamily about before hopping towards them... sigh. so lomantic.

Tiger. I wanted to see a tiger dammit.

Civet cat / slow loris. Apparently I saw a lot of their eyes last night during the night safari... but I couldn't actually make out the rest of them. After a while I was beginning to have a sneaky feeling the guides had put some marbles on sticks at strategic points of the journey...

Terrorist

Things I wish I hadn't seen

Tonight's plush English victorian room for two...

... with a single queen-sized four-postered bed.

urg. Two blokes, one bed.

Hmm.

Things I saw

to be covered in another entry sometime

Things I wish you could have seen

I have no idea if you've seen or been to any of these before...

... but these were the things I wished I could have shared with you :

The sheer adulterated decadence of the Pan Pacific Hotel, KLIA where we stayed for a grand total of five hours. Jacuzzi, gym, swimming pool, sauna... sigh.

The canopy walk at Taman Negara, 500m of sheer fantasy, walking through the dizzyingly high treetops to the sounds of malaysian wildlife (conspicuously hidden from sight -- probably just tape recordings, in retrospect. hmm...)

The roiling morning mists rising lazily from the midsts of the highland jungles to join low-flying coulds skimming the treetops...

The stark beauty of the wilderness as seen from our long boat, tall trees towering on both sides above us. S, sitting by my side commented "It's like Lord of the Rings" and I thought yes, it really was - grandesque. Magnicificent.
And then the boatman steered us into the rapids and we screamed in delight / shock as water struck us full in the faces ("A little bit wet, you want? Yes? Please??" - never trust a malaysian boatman when he says a little...)
Later, drip-drying in the nearby kopi shop over our teh tariks... I thought yes, you would have liked that.

The insane opulence of the Old Smokehouse hotel at which we decided (for some crazy reason) to make our stop for the day; unabashedly Old English in every way, and very, very expensive. Four postered beds, tea and scones, a red telephone box in the garden (next to a sign reading Devonshire Apple Pie, and London Underground), silver sabres overhanging an open log-fire...

... perhaps one day. Perhaps. 'twould be an honour.

Yellow autumn leaves falling in a downward, spiralling eddy...

His mind registered it a split second after his eyes and hands shifted the steering wheel a little to avoid the falling cascade.

How... odd. Temperate leaves in a tropical country... Falling in such a strange manner.

"I wish I could stand under them, lor" she said.

He glanced at her askance for perhaps a second too long.

This simple creature at his side... with her penchant for fairies, unicorns, and dolphins was, after all, an aesthetic creature with the soul (if not the tools) of an artist. She didn't realise it herself, perhaps; she was too... young in these ways, but her natural inclinations were invariably towards beauty, and magic. He knew the ways well... he had spent a lifetime reading, writing, and reminiscing about them. (Ha, Jean Danke - it's reminisce ABOUT. ABOUT. OK?? Not reminisce the moments. Hmph.)

She was a princess... waiting to be born.

He wondered if she would ever find that perfect moment of circumstance for her soul to unfurl into full bloom. He wondered... if she even knew that that was what she was searching for.

He wondered if he could perhaps stand by her side and guide her path...

The mental image of her standing beneath a shower of slowly falling gold and red leaves, settling gently onto her shoulders and all around her on the ground lingered for a while.

He said nothing, and continued to drive.