21 May 2009 @ 02:33 pm
Writing with a pencil makes me feel alive, like I am leaving a mark. Even when the paper I write on gets burnt eventually, the ashes will rise up and become part of the world. It is substance, perhaps... proof of the soul?
12 May 2009 @ 11:50 am
To terminate  
Take them
straight out of the humidor,
hang them out to dry.

Observe, and
write me a report.

Ten pages, double-spaced.
06 May 2009 @ 09:13 am
There is nothing left,
nothing right either.
27 March 2009 @ 02:28 pm
The world is a spectrum of people, divided by their natures and their circumstances. We are very, very far apart in the spectrum (as far as I know, pun not intended). For that reason, despite being in the same spectrum, we are foreign - exotic, for a more emotional word of choice - to each other. Any interest you ever have had in me was based on the fact that I am so different. You know, the Oh, I haven't encountered that before! sentiment.

I understand it all, as I always have.
27 March 2009 @ 02:23 pm
Nobody needs any particular place.
They need a person, and they believe the person is in that place.
05 March 2009 @ 01:52 pm
World Class City  
Light beams through the glass of shiny skyscrapers.
Ants being burnt under a magnifying glass,
Now think of the right questions to ask.

Crowds rush past the skin of numb arms.
Grass being trampled by tribes of horses.
Now decide where to go beyond the lights.

Space is priceless because it is non-existent.
Soul is priceless because it is only imagining.
28 October 2008 @ 01:53 pm
Last Track Lament  
No fashion pages,
no masculine images,
no colorful snacks
is going to cover the wounds
as soon as you start to walk on
the wounds break.
23 September 2008 @ 04:41 pm
Every day I smile for you, I will put a sweet in a jar. When you get the full jar of sweets, you will know how long I have managed to get by because of you.
30 June 2008 @ 09:06 am
Hello. My name is Alice. I am writing a book about myself.

I am nine years old. I go to Good Hope Primary School. I like English and I don't like Mathematics. I like cakes, trains and robots and I dislike spinach, cheese and poo.

I want to write a book because I have a bad memory. Mum is always cross because I have forgotten to do my homework. Dad said I don't have a bad memory, just a very selective one, like mum. Then they started arguing.

"What do you mean?" Mum said.
"What have I done now?" Dad said.

I think he meant that Mum watched Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? when I was in her tummy.

I have a little brother, his name is Peter. Peter is five years old. He likes climbing. Last year, he fell down from the upper bulk of our bed. I thought he would die, but he stood up and started climbing again. Dad called him determined, and mum was cross again.
22 May 2008 @ 04:45 am
The end of the road, possible beginning of another shall we say?

Christopher wants to throw away 525 DVDs in his house. If 68 DVDs can be put in a box, find the number of boxes Christopher needs to dispose of all the DVDs.

       Let x be the number of boxes needed,

                                                               x >/= 525/68
                                                               x >/= 7.72

       Therefore, Christopher needs 8 boxes.

I don't have enough boxes for all her DVDs.

Maybe I can use a rope - tie them up and throw them away.
15 January 2008 @ 08:25 am
Dear brother,

I'm staying with a friend in a village near the coast. We climbed some mountains while singing along yesterday, which was good fun. As you can tell from this card, the scenery was spectacular. My friend owns a small farm beside her house and I've been helping her with it for a week. I'm really enjoying it here. Hope you are well.

Love, Emily

Memory must be extremely selective. I cannot recall anything before she walked away.

I remember other things, like where I've put the first letter I ever wrote. I was 12. After I had written that, I realized I didn't have an address to send to.

Dear Emily,

The postcard is very nice, thank you. How are you?

Your trip is good. I want to travel to Europe too. Mum and Dad said you will bring me travel in the future.

Mother miss you, when do you come back?

P.S. My English is no good, but father said you not read Chinese. So I am writing English now.
24 October 2007 @ 11:55 am
Scene 1  
“Would you like some tea?” Auntie Kwan stood up and walked towards the kitchen.
“I’m good for now, thank you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”
They seemed to have something very interesting on TV. This man was talking in a flying phone booth.
“Soo…” Uncle Chiu, started to speak, “how’s your grandfather?”
“I am not too sure, but things are not looking good.”
“Can he still remember you?”
“Unfortunately no. He appears to think that I was still eleven.”
“Two sugar?” We heard Auntie’s shout from the kitchen.
“Yes.” Uncle turned to the kitchen and shouted back. “I don’t suppose he remembers your sister?”
“He does.”
“That’s strange. Does he want to see her?”
Auntie came out with two cups. She handed one to Uncle and sat down before she took a sip of hers.
“You say she isn’t living here anymore?” I asked.
“No, she isn’t. She moved to…hmm…Fulham?”
“Durham.” Uncle corrected her.
“Yes, she moved to Durham to start university, then to Scotland after she’d graduated.”
I looked at her.
“Did she not tell you?”
I shook my head.
“Oh she must have forgotten then.”
“Did she leave an address?”
“Yeah, we received a letter from her last month.” She stood up and walked into one of the bedrooms. She walked out with a piece of paper after a few seconds.