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Resources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 Lyrics from: Gavin Rossdale- Love Remains The Same

Sunday, September 10, 2006 2:41 AM

I know this is not the time to blog all day and spend my night bunking at my cousin's house instead of revising. Yeah. That is the fact, I still haven't gotten used to it. It is about 3-4 weeks time for my PSLE. Thinking of it now, I want it to come soon. Actually, we shouldn't make such a big, majestic affair of it. It is, comparatively, just a small, puny examination.

I think I am getting complacent. Really. Doing maths practice papers seem to be getting to be less and less of a chore, as if we can all do it effortlessly. Well, most of the time. I hope it is not because the books I am doing are simple. I think all of us are experiencing this now. I am apparently not mugging currently. Period. But there is one thing I am doing. And I am certain it is helping me, however slowly.

One day I was doing a maths practice paper and I found this blank A4 paper near me. Seemed appealing enough. I vaguely remember holding a purple inkish pen in my hand. Somehow, my thoughts just allowed me to write down what seemed like an elaborate beginning of a short story "The Stranger". After writing for quite awhile, I just sat there. Dazed. Finally, it is coming back, though I know it may just go away anytime. That tinge I had been waiting for for so long a time. That tinge that could have helped me so much more if not for its abscense. I hope it stays with me. Just an innocent hope, probably I do have the time for that, beneath all the layers of forced brilliance.

Perhaps I do have time for a little story. I know I am losing your attention. If you are in an hurry, go for all you want. If not, I would be pleased if you bother reading on. I cannot think of a title. I guess I am going to use a song name in my iTunes playlist as the title for this short story. Which obviously willl not be finished. I like leaving stories hanging, seems to have a much greater impact than finished, happy endings. Here goes:

Numbers

Four sheets of papers, one divider, four sheets of paper, one divider, four sheets of paper, one divider. It all seemed never-changing. Numbers, all but a definite pattern. All around this seemingly sought after office, this well brushed sleeve, this lavishly flourished life of mine were numbers, the most basic compund of life.

Cells, they were encompassed within numbers. One nucleus, one cell membrane. Even the most basic of the basic were held close to earth with their direct relation to numbers. All in this mostly artificial city life were numbers. Numbers out of my control, numbers out of anyone's control.

Perhaps all taht I had done so far to attain such a position had not been worth while. What other reward had I gotten other than a more stable income. I could not resist moment of indulging in self-pity. I had the right to that, at least. I supposed so...