The Thrill

It just did not seem to want to give way! But then again, neither did he. He fiddled a bit more, chewed a bit more, and twisted a bit more. Finally, the chain gave way. It broke loose and he let his hand drop with the weigh of the chain-cutter, landing on the floor with a resonating, but victorious thud. He straightened his back, which ached from being bent over the bicycle for an agonizingly long period, and his spine made popping sounds as he twisted it.

Triumphantly, he grabbed the handlebars and eased it out of its parking. The rubber felt firm and fit nicely into his palm, just as if it was designed specifically for him. He smiled and hopped onto the bike. Glancing around once, checking for any signs of human life and not noticing any, he cycled off.

(C) bikocity.com
(C) bikocity.com

The exhiliration of the wind through his hair was a feeling he had missed and welcomed. His left hand let go of the handlebar and dug his pockets for his earphones and music player and he deftly put them on with a single hand, while controlling the bike with his right hand. With music in his ears, and his goal accomplished, he rode off into the night. There was no turning back now.

The Thrill

The Creative Blogger Award!!


A great galloping thanks to Izzy-grabs-life for my second WordPress Award Nomination!! This is my second award, and it happens to also be a Creative Blogger Award!!! The first time round, I did not really adhere to the rules, (not my fault, they weren’t stated clearly) so this may possibly be a divine intervention offering me a shot at atonement for my ‘sins’.

The Creative Blogger Award

  1. Nominate 15-20 blogs and notify all nominees via their social media/blogs.
  2. Thank and post the link of the blog that nominated you (very important).
  3. Share 5 facts about yourself to your readers.
  4. Pass these rules on to them

I would like to nominate you:

  1. Lilrants  http://lilrant.wordpress.com/ – She has the most creative interpretation of ‘stripper’ I’ve encountered. joking
  2. Pint Size Fiction – http://pintsizefiction.com/ – Bite-sized nuggets of creative fiction.
  3. MythRider – http://mythrider.wordpress.com/ – Creatively deceptive. She fooled me into thinking she was male because of her profile picture.
  4. Priceless Joy (PJ) – http://pricelessjoy.co/ – Forgive me, PJ’s blog is allegedly blog free, but PJ deserves a nomination nevertheless! Brilliantly creative Flash Fiction prompts.
  5. A Narcissist Writes Letters to Himself – http://notesfromanarcissist.wordpress.com/ – I particularly enjoyed how he described his girlfriend as a demonic talking skull that haunts him.
  6. Life in the Foothills – http://salmonfishingqueen.wordpress.com/ – I hope one day you can indulge with me the mystery behind your creative username: babso2you
  7. Still Life with Grad Student – http://stilllifewithgradstudent.wordpress.com/ – She has the most creative way of dissing about life that makes it so interesting to read.
  8. waltbox – http://waltbox.wordpress.com/ – Anyone who knows Dick Hercules will admit he’s the greatest (fictional?) character ever created.
  9. Morpethroad – http://summerstommy.com/ – I just realized your username is actually ‘Morpeth’ and ‘Road’. Anyway, he is a splendid writer. Read his story on the Passenger which is simply brilliant.
  10. Fiction Favorites – http://johnwhowell.com/ – Creative way of telling us (from experience?) what not to do when: It’s your birthday, You’re Sent to Shop, etc.
  11. Nortina Mariela – http://nortinamariela.wordpress.com/ – Her flash fiction and writings are always terrific to read.
  12. Odd Realizations – http://oddrealizations.wordpress.com/ – An expressive poet that tells captivating stories through her eyes.
  13. The Bibliophile Diaries – http://thebibliophilediaries.wordpress.com/ – Definitely deserves a read. My favorite in particular: Grunge Princess. No one could have described themselves in a more eloquent manner.
  14. The Chatter Blog – http://bikecolleenbrown.wordpress.com/ – Snippets of writing in micro-posts; short but sweet, and always with an inspiring message.
  15. Before I Became A Great Writer – http://bibliophilewannabe.wordpress.com/ – A talented poet who weaves creative stories into poems that are equally humorous and relevant.

Now, for 5 facts about me:

  1. I think I have a very vivid imagination which isn’t the best thing. Reason being, I often imagine myself in new experiences and adventures, but when I actually experience the real thing, it never meets my expectations. Certain examples include overseas trips, joining school clubs, love, and working. Quite an unfortunate double-edged sword here, I’m afraid.
  2. I am an only child. Now upon saying this, people are quick to jump to one of the two assumptions:  1)  I am terribly spoilt.   2)  I have overprotective parents.  Well, I think neither holds true. I never get what I ask for, nor am I denied a decent degree of freedom. However, I am constantly, persistently, consistently, perpetually lonely.
  3. Being constant-persistent-consistent-perpetual-ly lonely, with every new acquaintance I encounter, I approach with the intention of becoming close friends. Linking back to Fact #1, I am always disappointed. I have come to learn that I am a really weird misfit unique individual, which sadly means that I haven’t found anyone who can share my ideals with me.
  4. There is a title unceremoniously bestowed upon me which I abhor. That title is ‘flirt’. Linking back from #3, apparently being overly friendly with everyone you meet, especially girls, earns you some disgraceful monikers. As if being labelled isn’t enough, the rumors are spread and every female I approach is now wary of me. This is infuriating. How can they treat me like a sex offender when the only offence I ever committed is being too talkative?
  5. As of recent years, I began to accept the flaws of the human race, such as the judgmental aspects. I am now content with my narrow circle of friends, although actually deep down, not really. I treat people like dirt now, because apparently the opposite isn’t what they want. Consequently, I lost faith in humanity and I’m now a very pessimistic person.

Hmmmph.

PS: How do pingbacks work? Do the 15 (recently buffed up to 30) links I painstakingly included above count as pingbacks?  ( I included one to the blogger’s home page, and one to a post, in hopes of the pingbacks working.)

The Creative Blogger Award!!

A Prompt that Went Entirely Awry

Present-day you meets 10-years-ago you for coffee.

Share with your younger self the most challenging thing, the most rewarding thing, and the most fun thing they have to look forward to.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/good-tidings/

I wouldn’t have a single nice thing to say to nine-year-old me. I will probably start out the conversation by telling him my current accomplishments and the situations I am now in. Then proceed to tell him the hell he is going to walk through in the next ten years to get to where I am. Call me mean, and brutally honest, but I call it tough love.

Perhaps I don’t want to spoil the surprises, however unpleasant, but I will warn him of the many things he will discover about life and how harsh it can be. Reflecting back on the past ten years, I realize there really is nothing to be grateful, or thankful, or optimistic about. Life just sucks. It’s a cycle of stress, disappointment, anger, hatred and irritation, which all culminates in death.

I feel like another walking contradiction. I feel proud of what I have accomplished and where I am, but if I were to be given another chance to do it, I don’t want to be where I am right now. I rather have my fun, take my risks, and lose it all. But then again I wonder if ten-years-in-the-future-me will reprimand me for doing so. Is fun and thrill worth it?

I guess I will never know, because I have never taken that road, and I cannot form an accurate comparison. My life is all about the regrets on the other path that I did not walk. Then again, I am proud of where I am now, thus I can’t really call them regrets, can I? Let’s call them objects of curiosity instead then. That’s much more accurate. How do you overcome this curiosity of wondering what would have happened if you walked the other path?

You can’t advise me to focus on the present, because I will always be curious. You can’t tell me to be grateful for what I have now, because I am not. The grass is always greener on the other side, in theory, and my imagination is a powerful thing. I always perceive the path I have not walked to be so much more rewarding.

If I am still being confusing, let’s phrase it this way. One path leads to safety and security. You are well-to-do, decently satisfied and achieved the minimum of what leads to a financially successful life. The other path leads to risk and adventure and thrill. You are exposed to strange things, experienced a great number of things, and perhaps have one great artistic talent, like singing, drawing, dancing or playing instruments. The future is very uncertain, though.

Oh, I just thought of a different way to phrase it which is much simpler. Comfort zone. Doh, why didn’t I think of that earlier!

I feel like I’m digressing so I’ll wrap it up here with a curious query: How do you dare to wander out of your comfort zone if you have so much to lose?

A Prompt that Went Entirely Awry

The House I Lived In

Today’s Prompt: Where did you live when you were 12 years old?

It was common for their neighbors to hear them have altercations. But attempts to help have not been returned kindly. Denial were all that met their ears when the neighbors acted out of concern. The doorstep was guarded by a grate, and what lies between had not changed for the past 12 years: an ordinary shoe rack, a red welcome mat and the umbrella stand.

It could be described as a perverse blessing for what lay behind the door to remain behind the door, for their neighbors to be fortunate to be spared from the family’s troubles. This was not a happy family. A temperamental father, a heartless mother were the ingredients to the unpleasant brew I call my family.

The front door opened to the living-cum-dining room. It was a rectangular room of warmth brightly lit by natural light, with a cozy ring of sofas with the TV on the side. The dining table was at the side nearer to the front door, and people who dined there had the unhealthy privilege of being able to watch TV while dining. Behind the TV was the corridor. It led to three rooms along the side and the final one at the end. One kitchen, one storage room, and lastly two bedrooms.

The bedrooms were awkward and their purpose were confused. Two people slept in the smaller one: the mom and her son. The father slept alone. He tried to repair the situation but

“It was the snores!” she exclaims, then she would retort, “I’m taking care of Fred!”

But it was the ultimatum that was never dropped; the key to unlock the marriage that was not twisted: “I don’t love you anymore.” But it was the truth. Here was where I lived when I was 12.

The House I Lived In

Just Not Feeling It

What do you do when you feel down?

~
You moan to your friends.
You put them down with your negativity
Or You put them down with insults that seems unintentional
~
You could hide it.
Suppress the hurt and sadness that you feel.
You become sullen in your thoughts every time your mind starts to wander
But you always reply the “Are you okay?” with “Yeah, I’m fine!”
and even a smile.
What a hypocrite.
Then you hear other people whining to you and you comfort them
While inside, you think to yourself, you don’t know the shit I’m going through.
~
We let the angst and sadness consume us.
We let it eat away at our confidence.
It stops us from thinking positively
It halts our personal growth
We don’t see ourselves as a person who deserves anything we get.
Then we slowly drain away
And become just a shell that starts to question why on earth are we still alive?
What are we still living for?
Just Not Feeling It

Being Occupied and Being Involved

He pushed the door open by a crack, careful not to make a noise, and peered into the crevice. The room within was illuminated with a dim, eerie glow that came from a computer screen. A figure was hunched over the computer, her beady eyes darting from left to right to left again. The light from the computer emphasized her features, highlighting the fatigue in her eyebags and the forlornness in the way her mouth drooped downwards. Rabu felt his heart ache when he saw the shell that his mother has become.

Rabu pushed open the door and nervously walked into the room. His mother barely noticed him; she was overcome with lethargy, and focused what was left of her energy on staying awake to finish her assignment by tomorrow’s deadline.

“Mom…” Rabu began.

Rabu’s mother started. “Rabu?”

“Mom, I need two hundred dollars. It’s for school.”

“It’s in my wallet inside my handbag.”

Obediently, Rabu took two hundred dollars from her purse and left the room.

~

The phone rang loudly, making Rabu’s mother jump for the second time that morning. Mechanically, Rabu’s mother picked up the receiver and held it to her ear.

“M’am, I need you to come down to the station. It’s your son.”

She fumbled around for words, but her enervation disabled her of speech before the line went cold.

~

Walking into the station was like reliving the nightmare she fought so hard not to remember. She used to visit him frequently during his work hours, despite his repeated requests for her not to disturb him at work. Nevertheless, he entertained her and his colleagues were both jealous and full of admiration of his happy marriage.

Coincidentally, it was the same officer that reported her husband’s death, who came to her that day. Rabu was following behind him, and Rabu was in handcuffs.

“Rabu!” cried his mother.

“M’am, Rabu has been found guilty of possession. I’m terribly sorry.”

The same words, she thought. ” M’am, your husband has been killed in battle. I’m terribly sorry.” The exact same words. 

The thoughts were fueling her anger and she was on the brink of lashing out when Rabu spoke.

“Mom, I’m sorry.”

~

It was never in Rabu’s intention to hurt his mother the way he did. Ever since his father’s death, his mom buried herself in her four jobs, leaving Rabu all to himself. So Rabu got involved. While his mother occupied herself with work, Rabu occupied himself by being in a constant drug-induced haze.

His last pickup went awry, to say the least. The cops must have been staking out the pickup point for some time now. He should’ve known. He was smarter than this. Now it was all too late.

~

His words turned her fury into anguish. Tears blurred her vision, and her knees buckled. The police officer caught her before she fell.

“M’am? You alright, M’am?”

Being Occupied and Being Involved