Paravania Voice

Stag 3

2010-11-05T22:11:00.002+08:00

Wander-Song

2010-09-29T18:18:00.003+08:00

Through all the paths of Ieswind, and through the Deeping Wood,

Wanderer who wanders, ‘tis Green thy cloak and hood!

Your Song is light, as wind in the leaves,

As Sweet as the sound of the stream,

Your voice was Fair as Spring-passing Eve,

As the night where the fire-flies gleam!

Come sing here tonight, while the fire is bright,

Of the Tales of the Hare and the Goat,

The Dawn may bring what our sorrows may Sing,

But tonight we shall feast and shall gloat!

Through all the coast of Ladh-Lüin, and up the Cliffs of Weven-Land,

Wanderer who Wanders, Thy Fiddle still in your hand!

Your bow is swift, and dances on

The strings like Maiden Fair!

Your Tune is light, while we are

Sad and worried down with care!

Come sing here tonight, while the fire is bright,

Of the Tales of the Hare and the Goat,

The Dawn may bring what our sorrows may Sing,

But tonight we shall feast and shall gloat!

Through all the plains of Kyndillic, where Valkyries ride their steeds,

Still Merry-Joe thy tunes still are, still sweet thy pipes of reed!

The night is dark and soon we ride to rout the foes so fell!

But be tonight our final ride, we sing and bid thee well!

Come sing here tonight, while the fire is bright,

Of the Tales of the Hare and the Goat,

The Dawn may bring what our sorrows may Sing,

But tonight we shall feast and shall gloat!

Brainstorming at 9:38 PM

2010-09-26T21:33:00.002+08:00

Come, let us look from the mountain top and stare below us,

O look at the world!

Oh see how it passes!

Oh, see how it fades away and is forgotten!

Seahorse Steeds

2010-09-14T12:00:00.005+08:00

The Knights are charging,

Silver Armor and Azure on the Shields,

Charging up, up, up the Sand, on Blue Seahorses,

Who gallop on the White, foamy tails of Waves,

In the high tide.

Do not stop, do not wait to rest,

Stop not for the Green Dragon kelp-weeds,

Stop not for the scarlet-backed crablings,

Stop only to hear the thunder and beauty of water,

And let your steed feel the golden sand under hoof and tail.

For your life is short,

And with the tide you return,

And then I will forget you.

Leaves in the Stream

2010-09-06T21:06:00.004+08:00

The grass that was green is forgotten,

The earth yields no bounty nor fruit,

No more grow the cornfields a-golden,

Gone is the Farmer and his Flute.

Gone are the Men of our people,

Dead are our Kings who stood proud,

The gold-bells ring no more in the steeples,

What is left are ashes, and the mourning shroud!

The wolf that was dead is awakened,

The wall of the city are ruins,

The might of our towers is shaken,

The owls haunt the night with their tune.

Here now, it the fire and warrior,

A new race of Red-Blood and Blade,

Our people are older and wearier,

We see our people fade!

Alas, all is not, all but leaves in the stream,

Down we go and we sail away!

Away we go and dream our dreams,

Until the King may bring the Day.

May it be,

Amen.

A Rather Interesting Quote

2010-08-15T10:45:00.002+08:00

"The greatest problem with Humanity is not that we are unable to make, or think, or invent; it is that Men do not have the perception to use what they make and think and invent wisely."

Anonymous

Thoughts on Compassion

2010-07-23T21:53:00.004+08:00

We were seated round the table. It was eight thirty and we were in English Lit Class.

I was joining a poetry slam Ms Amy had organized for Edison, and said the proceeds from the program would raise money for a poor entrepreneur who needed a loan in South America. I was trying to figure out how much money was to be raised, when suddenly Paik Suan started talking. Here's the convo:

Paik Suan: "You know, Aunty Amy, wouldn't that money do so much more good for like some orphans in starving Ghana or something? Why waste it on some fella who's just trying to start his own little business in who knows where?"

Ms. AMy: "Well, we support this loan program, under KIVA, because it's basically to give the businessman-to-be some dignity when he starts his business. We don't just want to throw out money to the masses, and have them eat it constantly, without ever climbing out. It's to get people out of the poverty line, without the bailouts and such."

PS shakes her head. "I still think it ought to be given somewhere else."

I was sorting this all out, and then I spoke, suddenly, and a bit awkwardly too. "But It's the individual that counts. Sure, that money could go somewhere else, it always will! But our job is not to bailout money just so we can meet a quota. It's about helping the world around us, one man and woman at a time. It's all about that one person! It is so worth it -trying to make that one man's life different, regardless whether he lived in Ethiopia or Japan. It doesn't matter."

PS rolls her eyes. Josh is on his crusades again. Charles guffaws. WHy did I bother trying to reason with logical, practical, PS with philosophy? I sighed, a little embarassed by the scene I'd made.

I returned to my seat, and class resumed again.

Who comes...

2010-06-25T14:12:00.004+08:00

Thoughts on our world, and on Hope, or else its absence...

Who comes now in so dark an hour,

Who comes to retake what was lost?

Who comes now to storm down the Tower,

Who comes to make gold out of dross?

Who comes here to hearth and rekindles,

Who comes with a blade to defend?

Who in the storm plays his fiddle,

With song set with spell set to mend?

Who comes here to find hope in ashes?

Who now holds the Door out to men?

Whose crown in the moonlight now flashes,

Who now the throne room ascends?

Where now is our Promised Lord,

This King of Age and Renown?

From where comes his horse and his sword,

By what does he now claim his crown?

Who comes to heal now the weakened,

Who comes to cure now the sick?

Who is this tower, this beacon,

Who comes to relight the wick?

Who comes now in so dark an hour,

Who comes to retake what was lost?

Who comes now to storm down the Tower,

Who comes to make gold out of dross?

That's it!

2010-06-24T15:49:00.004+08:00

If those nuts try to comment on this post with more of your be-slubbering Pornographic Nonsense, they are admitting they are cursed idiots...

So post at your own risk. :)

Because only honor-less losers post nonsense like this. See if they can defy so easily who I am and what I stand for! Fools!

Verdigris

2010-06-23T14:28:00.004+08:00

Oh, Hello there!

You, standing with your Roman blade thrust into the blue sky,

And your horse rearing up in its hind legs.

And You, your eyes

Gazing at the cars in the street,

Or else I don't know exactly what,

As four hundred years of wind and rain and reverent hands reaching to touch the hem of your riding cape,

Wear your spirit away.

And as he Verdigris

Pales your eyes into filmy green

Blinding your vigilance,

Like vermilion rust on alert, once-proud, whitewashed,

Fences.

griffin-song

2010-06-14T12:44:00.003+08:00

T'was days long gone,

When stars had shone,

Upon the House Érdh-Keyün,

Tis' days long past,

And so, much hast

Been lost of the tale of Kyn-Griffin:

Part I

When all the world in Steward's keeping,

T'was when the Giant, old and sleeping,

T'was when the Stars were not yet weeping,

When all the world in Steward's keeping,

Dawn-light ran down rivers deepening,

of Mount Sandoran, and through the evening,

Waded through the lands awakening,

Dawn-light ran down rivers deepening,

Men then heard wind-song and the glint of the stream-lings,

And the green of the grass and the stars set a gleaming!

Though, "Folly!", cry men of our day, in our deeming,

But the Old saw it not, or not at all seeming,

Like children were they in they in the land of the fay-lings,

When Seamen of old went gallantly sailing,

When kin came from far, with good tidings hailing,

Like children were they in the land of the fay-lings,

T'was then when the Sky Lords of old were appearing

Who flew like the wind, and with the wind, hearing

The sounds of the sky and the hope on their wings,

T'was then when the Sky Lords of old were appearing!

Part II

Like torch ablaze were the Griffin Kings,

Who flew to find Mount San-T'Noran,

With tales of sorrow and of hope on their wings,

The came with shereth, and brought Numan!

NOT FINISHED! MUST EXTEND IN THE NEXT EDIT!

hmm...

2010-06-09T12:41:00.000+08:00

Is this world more sad or more happy?

2010-05-08T14:35:00.002+08:00

Where is the sunset, this twilight?

Why are there no colors,

No painted hillsides of blue and pink?

Where are the stars tonight?

Hidden neath the veil of clouds?

Wrapped around in the smoky robes of factories and urban-ness?

Where is tomorrow's dawn?

Hidden behind the hills?

Or are they gone, not to come again?

May God and the moon hear what I say this night.

Playground in Suburbia

2010-05-01T13:07:00.000+08:00

Wet slides,
Happy Children,
Fat kid too heavy for the See-Saw,
Impatient mothers waiting in the rain.

I'm out of things to blog! :)

2010-04-08T17:26:00.002+08:00

More thoughts

2010-04-05T12:48:00.002+08:00

Such darkness! Darkness among the kings and rulers! Such darkness in the hamlets and cities! Such darkness in the streets! Such blood on the cobblestones, but who knows of them? The night hides all! Such sorrows! Such filth! Such chaos! Such starless nights! SUch weariness, such frustrations, such disorder, indeed in our world!

In the hearts of men, in the sanctums of the citadels, in the cold hearths and houses of the living, such darkness! Such confusion, such blindness! What sorrow is this?

And men do not know the way! They have not heard the voice of the shepherd, or they choose to scorn it, even if they do. They have not heard of fire or light of dawn or day, and so are sad?

And among the lantern-bearers, among the light-holders, who are so few, why do so many hide their fires? Do they not see that all around the darkness is working its power upon the masses? What fools! What hypocrites, they are! Can they not hear the cry of the old, the weary, the tired, the sad, the angered? Why will they not turn their ears? Why do they hide in the houses and wait for doomsday like vultures for death? What Fools are we, all of us!

Alas, Emantor, Great God, do you see the plight of our earth? Oh God, my heart is weary! Give us strength to uphold the light and remember the light of the morning! May the dawn come soon, King of the Day and the Light,

Amen.

Silent stars

2010-03-16T19:44:00.001+08:00

Stars are falling, and I feel so weary...

argghhh

2010-02-27T11:58:00.002+08:00

Two weeks off facebook. I am far too addicted, and I am attempting to wean myself off of it in time. Let's see if my first sabbatical works out...

May God help me.

Thoughts of Eve at Death

2010-01-31T19:33:00.005+08:00

I was Eve,
Of the first rib and with the first man,
Of the first breath God blew upon a woman,

I was Eve,
Of Eden, where the jasmines were,
And we would stand amongst the trees, the sweet, not-to-cloying scent of flowers hanging.

I was Eve,
With Adam, as he built for me that First boat, made of the palm trees,
And we slipped out onto the lake and were glad.

I was Eve,
Took the Serpent's Lies, of "life beyond life", 'and might beyond might',
All folly, all folly, all for the Fruit that Looked Good.

I was Eve,
When Jehovah came to me, and I met not His gaze and was ashamed for the Sin.
Amidst the falling Jasmines,

I was Eve,
Banished, from the Tree and the Serpent and the Boat on the Lake

I was Eve,
Bearing Cain,
And Abel, who was slain,
And Seth,

I was Eve,
Nursing Adam in my arms as the pink warmth of life left him,
And the black cold of death was left behind.

I was Eve,
And I shall die soon,
But where are my Children? Where is the Boat on the Lake by the Palm Trees? Where are the Jasmines?

I am Eve,
They are away, and I know not where.
But I will die soon, Elohim,

I am Eve,
My breath is fading under the wind,
And I am sorry.

I was Eve,
Take me, for I am repentant,
Take me to the lake with the boat and the jasmines,
I am sad, but hopeful.
May I be.

Amen, Elohim

Hi there!

2010-01-16T10:58:00.004+08:00

Roast-pork and rice, takeway

2010-01-16T10:20:00.000+08:00

I walk inside, with my phone tickling the edge of my pocket,
I rehearse my words again, my tongue silently rolling
Out my half-learned Cantonese,
The mono-syllable-d words I heard so often yet spoke
So little of, ringing in my ears.
My aunt’s voice reminds me painfully (and rightly) I need to
Start speaking my mother tongue,
Bananas, they said I was, a yellowed, black-eyed Asian without, white and empty within.

And I feel the tinge of shame of me never daring to speak Chinese even though
I am
One.

The coffee shop is small, the little corner-block Greasy
Spoon, its occupants sweltering under the heat, vainly trying to
Battle off the heat with ice cold cups of water from the
Tap, as the old men chatter in old Hokkien and Cantonese (both of which are common dialects for the Chinese around here). And then see a kid in school-uniform,
Bending over calligraphy homework, and I quickly glance
The other direction.

The hawkers from their little side booths entice me to buy some snack
Or dish. Mixed vegetables with rice...Malaysian-style noodles…a stuffed
Roll with all the crispy bits of fried egg and sliced gourd?? in-
Side.

I come up to the booth I want, tentatively waiting for his glance to
Meet my eye, (I am still unsure how to intonate ‘three’ in Cantonese right).
He sees me, and asks what I’d like to order.
Take-away or eat here? He fires at
Me in Cantonese.
I manage stammer out “take-away”.

With Pork or Chicken?
Pork.

Roasted or sweet-sauce barbeque?

Roasted please, (I say please, not sure if I said ‘please’ all right, and then glanced at his face to
See that twitch or raised brow that means I said something wrong)

And how many?

Three packs, please (I said it again, no twitch or raised brow yet).

He starts, pulling the slabs of roast meat from the hooks and throwing it brusquely onto the round chipped chopping board it up.
He calls the boy next to him to pack on the rice,

And starts to
Chop it, one slice after another, knife flying like an axe,
Soaring through midair,
Again and
Again.

He look up, his balding head
Gleaming a little, as he scoops up the meat into the
Styrofoam boxes, steaming rice waiting for the slices to just
Fall…in

He makes a quick mental
Count.

Fourteen forty, he tells me in Cantonese.

Nuts, I say, I don’t have time to translate, but I hand a ten-Ringgit bill with a five-Ringgit
Bill, and I’m halfway through translating before
He slaps the change into my hand with the plastic bag with the packs
Of roast-pork and rice.

I’ve translated it by
Now, and I bite my lip tentatively, and thanks him.

“Um koi,” I say, a little stilted, worrying again if my intonation is all right. He presses his lips tight a little, as if to
Say thank you and welcome, then calls out

NEXT!

And I walk off; content to leave the shop and get back to the car (Mom and my brother are waiting).

It was not so bad. I may end up a little less a banana, after all.

Oh dear...

2010-01-08T16:30:00.002+08:00

Oh my. Someone told me about the bombings. Thank God at least one of the bombs didn't go off. It's sad indeed.

I have yet to wrap my mind around it. Why so much violence? I suppose the bombers felt strongly about it. Fanatically, perhaps.

But still, is it reasonable to repay an insult against one's God with violence? Is this not, if to a smaller scale, a little similar to the crusades a handful of hot-blooded kings and their pope waged against what they felt was so similar an assualt on God?

Will not God Himself be the Judge of the argument? If either side of the matter false, then surely the True God will reveal His hand and His might. He is above the King, the Court, or Christianity, or Islam. As I mentioned on Facebook, He is God, and nothing we could name Him could make Him mroe or less who He IS.

2010-01-04T12:08:00.001+08:00

Where

2010-01-04T11:51:00.003+08:00

I know this is an incoherent one...just thoguhts nad rhymes that piled into my head all at once...

Where does the wind go?
Where does the sea flow?
Where ends the blue sky?
Where does the bird fly?

From where will the stars fall?
And where is the King hall?
From where will the moon shine?
And where will the knights dine?

Where does the sword strike?
Where does the flow'r bloom?
Where was made so fine a pike?
Where did angels fall upon a tomb?

Where does the sea break?
Where lies the dead drake?
Where have the slain gone?
Where is the hidden Song?

2010

2010-01-01T13:42:00.003+08:00

2009 has ended.

This was a short year, at least, in how it felt. The months and days and worries and joys slipped by like dreams, and flew out the window in the fleeting instant. 2008 was long, but not as long-feeling as 2005 or 2006. Perhaps years begin to feel shorter as you have had more of them.

But 2009 was a good year for me. No new enemies or bitter rivalries to plague my year...compared to 2008. Made new friends, learned tonnes more in poetry and writing, entered Facebook (which is, I suppose more detrimental than beneficial).

2008 was a crazy, hectic year of discovery. Rushing about, new people, new classes, new places, everything felt so new. Tyatora had been young then.

But she has matured with time, as the stars grow a little fainter and the grass a little browner, and the night a little longer, but the years remain good yet.

So has my last year, upon which I turned 13, turned. Hmm...and had Amentoris Baleyn given me a choice, I do not think I would have had my year any other way I can yet perceive.

Another Crow Poem

2009-12-27T18:52:00.002+08:00

It was the Day After Christmas,
In Malaysia.

Blast the monsoons, I said.

And I looked out the window, a little bored, the surprise and business of
Yesterday,
slipping off.

It was dark, as the gray clouds gathered, and I still looked up,
Bored-eyed and emptylike.

The conductor was still there,
It's flimsy metal shaking in the wind,
(Which was blowing badly then).

And there was a crow on it.

Not that I should think so much of it,
Not that I should have bothered,
But I did.

All alone, standing there,
Its black body
Like a silhouette up there
Knowing that the gray clouds were gathering to strike,
Knowing that the lightning could strike right there first,
Knowing that the bitter wind was howling,
Knowing that the rain would fly down in torrents like arrows.
Knowing so much,

But laughing at risk,
Daredevil crow,
Laughing at time,
Laughing at luck,
Laughing at life,
Laughing at death.

I blinked,
And it was gone,
as a wraith.

sigh...

2009-12-25T17:26:00.003+08:00

So today is the day. All the world rushes forward on Christmas. Christians trying to remember it for what it is; the busy masses taking full advantage of the long weekend... the little kids gathering around Mid Valley's very own, home-bred Santa Claus. And the glad/not-so-glad tidings of last minute gift-shopping.

And yet, I'm stuck, plagued with the blogging bug, servilly (did I spell that right?) trying to type out endless thoughts about Tyatora...sigh!

Of the Prince

2009-12-22T11:53:00.000+08:00

The three men stood abreast on the tall precipice, looking down to see the city so far away. Their horses rested behind them. And behind them, was an empty dirt road scratched into the ground by years of creaking wagons and years of walking peasants.

The darkness uttered nothing on that night. There had been no bird, no beast, not even the sound of running water, to interrupt the long, complete silence. The foreboding fell heavy upon all who traveled that road, for the blackness covered all like a swath, except for the little lantern the three men had kept alive in the night.

“So,” said the man on the left side, “here we are.” Then he was silent and none of them said more.

It is hard to say how much time passed, but none of the three spoke for a time.

At last, the young man in the middle threw back his hood, revealing a circlet with a single jewel of brilliant white inlaid. His sepia eyes gleamed as amber against the light swaying lantern. He turned to the city.

A thousand lights twinkled from a thousand different temple-flames there, some had said. From a distance, it was almost believable, for indeed there were so many flickering lights that twinkled there, like as many far away suns.

The City, the City of the Flame, the Place of the Sword, the City of Towers, the City of the Higher, the City of the Greater. It was the greatest of all that was known to mortal men, the pride of all the world. Such was her magnitude, such was her pride.

And, like a crown over crowns, stood a great tower, gleaming white as the stars, taller than all the others, rising up in a great pillar towards the sky. Yet unlike the others, this one had no flame. But it remained there, tall and old and regal, without fire.

Then the prince, who had looked upon the great tower, turned to his companion on the right.

“Doralnon, what is that great tower there?” he asked.

Doralnon paused for a moment, then spoke, “My Prince, verily do you ask of me to speak of great things that I perceive not fully! For it is the Temple of the Bridge. It is old, and has stood there since the world’s foundations had been laid. No man is let to neither abide nor stand within its walls, and that is why no flame is lit at the peak of the tower.”

“And what does the temple stand for?”

“It has become the temple of desires, where all look upon its walls and call for the nameless desires of their hearts. They stand there, waiting, some cutting themselves with sacrificial knives, some by the slaying of doves, and yet others by unceasing weeping and wailing. Ever they stand before the entrance, and they wait for when the Lord of the Temple returns to fulfill all dreams and all desires and raise up the bridge into the skies.”

“You speak truly,” said the man on the prince’s left, and he was named Myakalos, “Ai, the sorrows of the Great City are great!”

The Prince turned his eyes down onto the ground beneath them, and said nothing, but closed his eyes, and stood attentive as if listening. He stood like this for a time, and the night endured the silence.

At last, Myakalos looked at the Prince and saw, as he had not seen before, tears upon his majesty’s face, and a hard crease of sorrow on his brow. His jaw tightened hard, and he almost seemed to tremble. Myakalos laid his arm on the prince’s robe.

“My Prince, what ails you? Your guardsmen plead you to speak with them of these sorrows, if only to ease the pain on your countenance.”

The Prince reached out for Myakalos’s arm, and said to him, “I hear many voices, and see many things, and my heart is heavy.’

“I see a widow, with a veil wrapped round her eyes so that she sees the world only through the black veil. She cries out for her husband, but he is gone, as is her son and daughters. She goes to places of the Great City where there might be men with gold and pity enough to drop a coin in her thin, tear-streaked palms.’

“I see a man, a priest, who dwells in the Temple of Gain, and ever offers slain goats and appeasements of gold to find peace and power, and invulnerability. But he finds none, though he chants for the dawn and prays over the twilight; though he does every good thing and deed he can do, he fails to win it. And though he does so much he gains nothing, for his road is not the way.’

“I see a young man, who rests upon his wooden bench in a dungeon darker than this night. He eats, but tastes nothing, and breathes, but feels nothing, for he is to die by the axe at first light for robbing a man of his gold ring. Much sin has he done, and he knows not how to purify himself, yet he awaits a death to end his two dozen years of this life. This is what I see.”

And on and on he went, telling stories of a thousand men and women ad children, of the hurt and dying and wanting and wounded. He cried and wept as if he had felt as they had. Hours passed, but neither Myakalos nor Doralnon spoke. At last, the Prince stopped speaking, and dropped to the ground prostrate.

The guards bent over to pick him up. He reached for their arms, but did not lift himself up. Instead he started speaking, in the tongues of the Great ones, calling out with a great voice like a dirge.

He spoke but a little, but it seemed like an eternity. Then he raised himself up, and said out in one last outburst, “May it be done!”

Doralnon nodded. “My Prince, then it is time.”

The Prince said nothing.

He raised his head, up to the stars, as if to glimpse the starlight one last time. The crown slipped down his head, the silvery wire vibrating from the fall at their feet. The prince seemed to take no notice, but even Myakalos knew how it must have been to wear a circlet of royal silver around one’s head all his life, and then to suddenly forsake it for a greater Call.

The prince threw back his cloak over his shoulders, and removed the sandals off his feet. Off went the golden arm-collars, and off went the tassel of purity worn by the High Princes.

At last, the Prince stopped, and then looked down to see all these symbols of his glory and power, lying dejected at his feet. He was ready…

“My Lord–,“Myakalos interrupted, “Your Father’s Ring.”

The Prince turned his eyes down upon the ring, inlaid with a single emerald, inlaid with a thousand minute flowing designs along the plated surface. The light was glinting off its flawless sides as a ray of stars upon it. His hand wavered, as men sometimes do when they shudder, but the deed was done. His trembling left hand had slipped the ring of the Emerald of the Emperor off of his right.

“Are you ready, my Lord?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure you will do this, to abandon all, even if only for a time, to die and live again at the hands of rabble and beasts?”

“Yes, if only for all the voices of the lost that fall upon my ears as tears.”

“And you vow to complete your mission here, and not forget your purpose?”

“Yes, my friends. It is so.”

“Then go. But what shall I tell your Father?”

“Tell the King, that his son is here, in the Lost City, and will return, greater than when he left. And many will be redeemed!”

“It will be done, my Lord.”

The prince held their hands again, rose up, and turned down the road to the City, barefoot, exhausted, sad. But hopeful, for the dawn had come.

Myakalos and Doralnon saddled up their horses, along with the Prince’s rider-less steed, and galloped back up the road to the High Realms.

More philology. . .

2009-12-15T17:43:00.003+08:00

I've resumed my efforts to build the Tyatoran language again. Oh help me. Why on earth (or why out of this earth) must I be so hypnotically drawn to Tyatora? Grrr...I can feel it beckoning me.

This language is different from Firk-Nott. That is the tongue of a specific race in Tyatora. The new language I'm trying to develop is the national language of the country.

The language is probably gonna consist of a lot of A's, O's, and E's, but very few I's. The idea is to restrict its variety to improve the character of the language.

I have no idea of the consonants yet.

Nothing but a foggy idea of grammar so far, so please don't ask much aobut it. I'm planning to make it a bit more straightforward than English. No past tenses, just run, run, or run.

No lie, lay, lain. Just "lay, lay, and lay."

But I could try making a bunch of gibberish now and see if my concepts work out:

Huonankalh! Lue-faloyn nol dansaruun en landelyn Narhu. Liem, landelyn diechlor vra, wue talmer mey'seren. Aun Huakh Beleyk-nan, bosrein! Oiy'e, sea matolh bosrein harek nakh huil. Desnan key mer' o waldvarey nuonan, kethan donorh landeleyn varthi'e!

OR

Look! Fallen are the leaves of the Narhu tree. Yes, the tree is dying indeed, and the fruit is not big. But remember my contempt, Enemy! Oh, sharp axe of my foes hack to no avail. This bark of mine is strong, while the will of this tree endures as life.

What do you think? Did my paragraph sound like any other language you'veh heard? Still trying to pinpoint some aspects of it. . . :)

Christmas Tree

2009-12-03T18:56:00.003+08:00

WE set up the tree,
Last night,
Untangling the Christmas lights,
Twirling gold-and-purple beads round and round.
Laughing,
Joy to the World on the CD player.

And then the ornaments.
All the little twisty bits, and old homely decos, and mini-stars and pretty ribbons,
All merry,
And all the balls, gleaming red and yellow
In the orange glow of the lights.

And yet, one little b ll.
Translucent white,
Without any glaze,
Without any glow,
No colors,
No sprinkle of shiny dust fresh from the factory.

But I like it.
Even if it was so lonely.
And I liked it.

Because it was so plain.

And for its white, opaque-plastic innocence
Looking so pure (I lack a better word).

Like a Virgin moved by a God beyond Comprehension,
Like a Dove,
Like a Baby, wrapped in dirty linens and worn second-hand cloths.

Then the vision faded.

And we stood back to smile at the
Tree
We had set up.

F_ _EB_ _K

2009-11-30T18:38:00.003+08:00

F-word, they call it.

FACEBOOK

INTERNETgamesSocialNETWORKfun
StatusReportGiftsFarmVIlleREstaurantCITYPLayfishZyngaFanships
BUSY-NESS

That's what it is.
Really.

It's funny,
To be a fan and friend of everybody,
And end up having nothing but a little internet tag to show for it.

It's funny, to play all sorts of games;
With cafes to run and farms to run and dragons to slay,
And try to get neighbors,
When you haven't said hi to the guy next door for the LONGEST time.

Ironic,
tHat we laugh when nuts say the sun spins round the earth,
and shrug our shoulders when we say that life turns round
Facebook.

And the smiley faces,
Riddling the status reports like chicken poxes.
Given like brochures at the mall,
Meaning nothing but 2 icons on the keyboard.

And we're all sucked in.
All careening like fools down
The

News

Live

Feed.

Falling

2009-11-01T16:42:00.003+08:00

I was at the mall,
Leaning on the railings,
Right over the atrium.

And then I saw that used brochure
falling,
Its Binding wrinkled with creases
And subtle lines,
Leaves outspread like dove's wings.

And no one wanted you.

I thought I heard some strange,
Echoing shout,
Then some silent gasp from acrophobia.
Fear of falling,

falling,

falling,

Down the mall.
Two floors down,
And I heard no more.

Yay!

2009-10-25T18:44:00.001+08:00

Hot on the trail for a short story...this may take a while. Hope my readers don't mind.

The News Came

2009-10-10T19:05:00.001+08:00

The news came,
At our doorstep,
And Mom tells me to get the paper.

So I get it, and slap the inky, page-roughened
Slab of print and pictures
On the table,
Just like usual,
And then I lean over Mom’s shoulder (much to her annoyance)
To see the headlines.

The PM’s talking again,
Political jabber, you know,
New policies,
New warplanes,
New sex scandals that he denies.

And there’s prime news,
And you see crying kid in the middle of no-where,
No mom to bring newspapers to,
And the Terrorist, yelling threats and wild prophecies,
But we turn the page quickly,
And the tornadoes (or whirlwinds) and hurricanes (or typhoons),
And we sit shivering in our chairs, discussing which name spells disaster better.

Oh, and did I forget to say that that murderer’s on the loose again?

Then we all get scared,
Talking, sympathetic nods and sighs,
Silent for the moment –the day hasn’t gotten that busy yet.

Weeks pass, and it’s all over.
New things come, more headlines,
More scandals, more jabber.

And last weeks disaster?

Forgotten.

13th

2009-10-08T10:32:00.003+08:00

So, the October baby turned thirteen yesterday. Ben teased me by asking if I wanted to be Westernized of Re-Asianified...depending on which auspice I wanted to incur (eternal life or chronic bad luck?).

I just laughed. God bless Josh and Tyatora!

All right, perhaps I should have crossed Tyatora out of that.

So now, here we are. We have passed the straits of Twelve, and I do not see the harbor that always has been in my sights since birth, and now, spyglass in hand, leaning eagerly over my longboat's bow, I stare out into nought but open sea. Ah, now the haven-harbors of birth are but a whisper, everly held in sweet memory, but forgotten for hte most part, and the high, tempestuous passage to hte Second Harbor is ahead. My mind clouds when I see the storms and wild waves before me, and the doubt of old returns to haunt me, but ever must I place my spyglass to true north, and I must find the Harbor, where the streets are gold, and Amentoris Baleyn Yahweh stands great upon his Holy en-throned Hill.

But I am afraid, in more aspects than one. Afraid that the winds will blow my ship and my mind will fly off-course, or my gaze will falter and I will float aimlessly, forgetting the hope of the Harbors, or that the sturdy prow of mine will bend beneath heavy waves and pirates' cannons.

But let the tests come, and may ever the God of the Earth and Sky and Sea guide my ship, and build in my spirit continuous growth in Him and His will, that I will not bend, will not fail, and I will succeed!

I cannot fail, I cannot step back now. I must fight, I must win, I must not bend to the wind or the sky or the sea or mortal man or demon or the terror of flames and of fiends. Endo-Polmori, Vrathua Kyan!

May He steer my prow to sail and yet stand, not bending, not yielding, not weakening;
yet ever giving, ever-determined, and ever-willing to aid.
May the Lord Almighty in this year and life to make me all he desires me to be.
I pray that my ways may one day please and bring delight to Him, if mortal men may even feign to do so.

Amen

Crows and Their Squawking

2009-10-03T17:28:00.002+08:00

I think about crows often,
Those little beastly fiends with
Dirty, patched, black coats and
Long, nasty, claws; all bony, like condemning fingers.

And wings outstretched in flight,
Arched garishly like the
Dark-Tattooed arms of
City thugs.

And their squawking.
No, none of that polite songbird chirrup,
Nor hearty country accents of chickens and ducks,
Nor eagles' calls, ringing through mountains.
But boastful, empty, brawling speech,
Of fight and flight
And rotten meat.

But I think,
Somewhere,
Deep inside them,
Behind that beastly,
Thuggish mop of ugly feathers and mud and city dirt,

They remember, of days so long ago,
When the food was plenty and the people better,
When they had once been a kinder, happy race of
Laughing, jolly birds.

I think they cry for what the have become,
(but never in front of us, mind you)
And don't know how to get back.

And maybe they try,
By cawing louder and eating cruder,
To make the world remember them.

Not that we bothered to turn our heads their way.

And maybe, they try,
To sing, like the pretty little birds that chirp about them,
Trying to hum old songs,

But we only hear their squawking, instead.

This is it!

2009-10-03T09:23:00.003+08:00

That's it. That's it it it it. I've delayed, posting this, but my hope, the faintest chance of rekindling it -Gone! Gone with the wind! Slain are the bloggers! Woe and war on Troy! Andoqhra yavlian!

Why is no one blogging anymore?

Don't tell me everyone here is too busy to blog. Okay, a few of us are. But what about the others? The wealth and depth and richness of Blogger and Wordpress has been forsaken...and for what?! The empty, material, culture-less, secular, indulgences of the f-word: Facebook

Yes, and I'm on facebook, playing farmville and restaurant city like the rest...so you can speculate on the hypocrisy on this post, while I hide my head in shame.

(Trying to write more poems...on the trail searching for a short-story idea...hope my readers don't mind)

Hmm...

2009-09-27T14:24:00.002+08:00

Thinking of poem ideas... half-addicted to Travian (you know what I mean, Whitle!)...and I finally learned to play 'O Lord of Hosts!' on the violin! Yay!

Bats are Dancing Round the Tree

2009-09-23T20:26:00.003+08:00

The little bats are dancing round the tree,
Trying their luck at pretty, yellow mangoes,
Trying to latch onto it,
Just long enough
For a little bite,
For a little bit,
Of juicy, thick, sweet mango,
And golden droplets ticklling their faces.

The bats are dancing round the tree,
Searching, searching, searching,
Dancing
Happy-go-lucky,
Playing with the Moon.
Spinning, spinning, spinning.

The bats are dancing round the tree.
Hiding in the shelter of the night,
No sun to stop them,
No taunting crows or ravens,
Just silent, happy, flying round the tree,
Sweet like ripened mangoes.

The bats are dancing round the tree,
Like flurries of Beating wings and Prickled ears.
Dancing, dancing, dancing

Car in the Show-room

2009-09-20T17:58:00.003+08:00

I’m the car in the show-room,
All hidden there, behind obscure,
Glass windows,
Looking at all my brethren, zipping about on the road.

Release me, release me.

I stare out, and wish,
But this surly prison only
Makes the dream so hard to
Keep dreaming, here.

Free me, free me.

Perpetually the humans come,
To see my leather seats,
And spacious trunk,
And locking system.

Liberate me, liberate me.

They come to see little
Booklets,
And nod their heads
Then they shake them at the prices.

Take me! Take me!

It is lonely here,
All those dispirited,
Dead, cars next to me,
Not hoping for higher things.

See me! See me!

And every day I look at those zooming new models
Leave the parking lot,
With new owners and new petrol.
And I look on, longingly.

Just let me, let me!

But one day, some day,
I’ll get there,
And they’ll lovingly give me new petrol,
And let my tires hit the road.

Free me, free me!
I’m the car in the show-room
Still hidden here, behind obscure
Glass windows,
But soon I’ll be with my brethren, zipping about on the road.

Release me, release me!

Aloevera and the Blossomless Bougainvilleas

2009-09-19T14:06:00.000+08:00

It was just four years ago.
When I saw you planting aloe-vera
By our blossomless bougainvilleas.

They were young, unlike you,
Grandma, (I called you “Mah-mah”)
They, bursting plump with jelly-like pulp inside,
You, with calloused hands and thinner lips,
And that old smiling face.

And the Aloe-vera flourished,
Growing bigger, and more, and happy-looking,
But the bougainvilleas, oh, I don’t quite know,
They never quite did it,
Never quite thrived,
But I still, kind of, hoped they would.

Then jaundice came and went for you,
Then cancer came, but you went,
And I saw you one last time, through the icy, reflective, impenetrable
Glass opening in the coffin,
And the ashes of the cremation were tossed to the sea
To swallow the sorrow of lost life.

And how I cried then,
Missing you, Mah-mah,
Not knowing for sure,
Cause you accepted Jesus,
Then said you later gave up.

Where did you go?

But the silent aloe-vera,
Carefree, happy,
Free to think of better things,
They grew, taller and taller,
Withstanding weeds and birds and those kinds of things.

And then, about six months ago, the neighbor came (for the garden was a bit out on the Condo corridor of our house)
And he asked if he could plant a garden there.

We said yes.

But Mom kept one plant of Aloe-Vera,
Just one, and planted it in a pot in our balcony
Before the neighbors face-lifted our garden.

The neighbors came to clear up things,
Adding pretty rocks and flowering plants (but the bougainvilleas they kept).
And it looked better that way.

But I missed the Aloe-vera
Grandma had planted.

Oh, but I missed you.

But one day, I was at the balcony, lamenting a little over the loss
Of our beloved aloe-vera,
When I saw the little green sprouts,
All around the only one we kept
In the pot.

And I closed my eyes,
And felt their tender little spikes on the edges,
And the smooth skin wrapping them,
And smiled.
And wondered if their mother-plant (or the un-thriving bougainvilleas) remembered
A pair of old, thin, kindly arms planting them there.

Scrolls

2009-09-13T15:30:00.000+08:00

Went to see the Dead Sea Scroll Exhibition in Singapore. It was very, very, good trip.

WE went to see the scrolls on the second day. It was held in a big museum-like building near the parliament. The exhibition had three rooms, one containing scrolls, one containing books, and one with a lot of biographies about people. The people and book rooms had lots and lots of old bibles, sheets of information and copies of the books and lives of Wycliffe, Tyndale, Bunyan, and Luther (not in that order!). They displayed centuries-old copies of the King James Bible, Geneva bible, Spanish and German manuscripts, and even one of the first-printing editions of "Pilgrim's Progress." I kept snapping pictures and pictures and pictures. It was such an odd, interesting feel to be so near such old things, handed down from one generation to another.

But the scrolls were the most eye-opening. Just four little fragments of paper (only a few pieces were released to exhibition), very old, weather-stained, and hard to perceive until you looked very closely. And when i peered through the glass, something flashed in my mind. Some old Jewish scholar, a rabbi or Pharisee, perhaps, squinting in the evening light to meticulously scribe a letter into a word.

Line by line, as each drop of precious ink was exactly meted out for each character. Each sentence unmarred with any grammatical or contradictory errors. What thoughts went through this poor rabbi's mind as he spent such time and energy into copying out the sacred Word of God.

How tired he must have been, and then, to think that the work of this weary scholar was to be smashed apart by Roman swords! To think, that, one little fragment from this entire piece would itself a spectacle of wonder to the world. To think, that one man's efforts to preserve the law would end up giving evidence pointing to its, powerful, uncorrupted, message. To think of all the people who had worked on this bit of ink and paper, not realizing what this parchment would do to ring down eternity? The skinner of the goat, the scholar who wrote it, the ink-maker, the editing priest, the scholars-in-training who may have read it -how could they have known?

It is interesting, really, to think how much difference one person's work can do.

Moon-maidens and Hidden Tree

2009-09-10T19:52:00.005+08:00

There were two of them; Moon-maidens, as we call them.
And they stood in the Wood of Voices.

"It was there! I saw it, Rian!"

Rian blinked, and stared at it again.

"But I don't see it."

"But it's there! Just at that point, between that tree and that one, over there!"

"Leraia, look again, there is nothing there but a little brook with a lot of turquoise-colored rocks. Come; let us go there, to see it, if it truly was there."

They walked along a path, long trodden on by weary feet and weary with the weight of leaves. It was a tired path, but sturdy.

They came along, and searched at the little brook. But there was no tree.

"Oh, but it was there, that tree, all green and leafy, all, well –perfect."

Rian laughed. "But we are in a wood, and the green-leaves are everywhere. How can you ask me to see one little tree?”

“Oh, I don’t know any more, but I thought I saw it.”

“Maybe you’re a little tired, little sister, for the day is long and the night shall come soon.”

“I suppose, but I really thought I saw it. . .”

Then Leraia’s eyes flickered suddenly.

“There it was! Again! Over there! Right between those banyans, by the brook we talked about!”

Rian turned her head to look again. “Leraia, you are dreaming again. It is not there. What is this tree you see? My eyes and heart sense naught, and Leraia, listen; there is wind, but I hear no more trees rustling than it has in three years. How can there be a new tree I do not see?”

“Oh, but I see it no more.” Leraia paused, as she pondered a little more on what she had seen, “It was tall.”

“How tall? How wide? Can you see through the trunk and count the rings?”

“It is tall, and I can say no more, it was wide, wide and sturdy; like it all the world pressed on it could not crush it,” she squinted, “And the tree rings –I cannot say, for I count so far two thousand rings, but the rings do not get smaller inside, only bigger, and wider, and more.”

“You speak riddles, little Sister,” she sighed, “as you always have. But tell me more. Tell me of its branches. The life within it. Tell me of the leaves, and their color, for I perceive little of that which you say.”

“The branches, there are but two.”

“Only two?”

“Only two, one stretching to the east and one to the west,” Leraia stopped, and continued, “But there are no leaves I see. But the scent of them is there, as is the scent of the wind. It is there, though I see none. I do not see the color, but I sense something, so very hauntingly familiar to color, only better.”

“You talk in riddles again.”

“I can smell this color; it is a good scent, something like a blend of spices, like music and emotion, and hues of blue and green mixed up together. It smells . . . like new life, like sadness, yet like joy, like some hidden hymn that I cannot sing, like something, a spirit perhaps, is pouring His might upon this tree.”

“But if a Great Spirit is pouring itself on this tree, why can I not see it?”

“Because you do not want to, Rian. I think He wants to reveal it to you, but you don’t.”

“Who is this spirit, Leraia, can you find his name? Could this be . . . the Pourer of the Waters?”

Leraia looked at her sister. “I cannot find His name . . . I only get this word impression . . . something –I am, something –I am, something.” Then this young Moon-maiden, who had waited for so long, heard something.

I am He, who sets the Sun a-burning,
I am He, Lord of the Wise discerning,
I am he, who made this green-leafed forest fair,
I am He; upon this solemn tree, rest thy cares.

I am He, who rekindles and revives,
I am He, Lord of Things Alive,
I am He, who slew death when I fought her.
I am He, Pourer of the Water,

I am He, come and touch my leaves,
I am He, let Me thy pains relieve,
I am He; show thy friend my wood,
I am He! If only they all understood.

“So who is this spirit, Leraia?”

Rian turned. “He is the I AM.”

Moon-Awake

2009-09-01T20:26:00.007+08:00

A silent little lad, that Moon,
Always walking about in the evening,
Usually whispering with the silent stars,
Who smile and nod
Like sleeping dreamers.

But sometimes, sometimes,
Silent Moon comes out too early,
In the late afternoon,
Around 4-5 PM,
And all the day-clouds give him the funny look,
That you're-not-supposed-to-be-here-but-we'll-act-as-if-nothing's-happening
Look.

That Moon, good fellow,
But doesn't sleep easily.
Unlike the clouds and stars,
Who sit about doing nothing,
Or the sun, who shines and sings in
A low, baritone voice.

So sometimes, when he comes about too early,
You hear little moon sing in a lonely, hushed song,

"Cause I've woken up too early,
And I can't get back to sleep,
This busy time is far too bright,
And I can't get back too sleep."

All the humans talking,
And the sun is much to hot,
The sky is harsh, the stars all hide,
And the moon can't fall alseep.

"Cause I've woken up too early,
And I can't get back to sleep,
This busy time is far too bright,
And I can't get back too sleep."

Sometimes, sometimes, you can hear the Moon, talking to God,
Asking about why 9/11 happened,
Or why the hurricane was brewing,
Or the man over there is crying,
And he talk of the sadness of the world,
And its joys and sorrows,
And sings with them with restless sleep,

"Cause I've woken up too early,
And I can't get back to sleep,
This busy time is far too bright,
And I can't get back too sleep."

Here It Is

2009-08-27T16:11:00.008+08:00

Ever, the candle seems smaller,
Ever, its weary wick grows thin,
Ever, the shadows seems taller,
And men declare that Darkness wins.

Ever, here, is of giants; rising and falling,
Ever, here, does age fall on ancient age,
Ever, here, is that to come, a-beckoning and calling.
Ever the seas still storm and rage.

Ever, their arms keep stretching
Ever they stretch the strings of their bows,
Ever, ground trembles at Vulcan's wrenching,
Ever, much doubt seems to grow.

Oh, where art Thee, Great One,
Master of Wind and ice and hail?
Alas, I search for the light of the sun,
When all else seems to fail.

Alas, the wayward path I've taken,
And for long it held me, before all gave way,
Alas, I return, frustrated and shaken,
I search for a refuge in Thy hidden bay.

Alas, of this I feel not worthy to request,
When the sorrows of others are sadder,
Alas, again I fail the test,
Alas, I dare to touch Thy up-going ladder.

Oh, Lord of All, I yet tire,
And I hope You still think well of me.
God who Sees my hidden heart,
It is good to know who Thou art.

Oh Lord, I ask of Thee Thy aid,
To teach me once again,
In spite of all the secret sins I've made,
I have come to make amends.

Oh might God only Wise,
How I long to please Thee,
If in all things Thee I cannot truly satisfy,
In this give Thee all of, myself, all of me.

Oh God, take this, this gift so small.
I have nothing else to give to you, my God,
Help me, oh Great Father of All.

Here am I, all given, pledged in full,
Here I place my heart's deed, the royal right to rule,
Here is my devotion, given, complete,
Here is my little kingdom's throne, Your place, your seat.

The Gift

2009-08-23T16:56:00.007+08:00

Danny was at soccer,
Mom was with the other moms.
Where does that leave me?

So I kept to me, in a little gazebo, at a quiet corner of Dan's soccer park.
Nobody was there.
Just me, and a few potted plants.
Well, there was someone else.

It was a tree, not too high,
Maybe a few feet taller than I,
And it was laughing,
Singing something in the manner of all other trees.

One trunk, many branched,
One branch, many-leaved,
One leaf, and there were many holes.

The little holes, like cold, clinking, circular, coins,
Gaping in and out of the leaves
Leaving only
Gossamer

Layers of dead plant-veins, still clinging like cobwebs

To the hole.

Smiling tree turned to me.
"Hello there, human lad."

And so we talked,
She in the sunlight, I in the shade.
We spoke of weather,
Which was about as important to trees as politics are to humans.

No, I tried not to stare at her
Large, clipped, cookie-cut leaves.
But she saw my furtive glimpses.

She smiled even bigger now.
She chuckled,
"Come here, human friend, and let me tell you all about them," said she.

So I came to the sunlight,
With the singing tree,
And she told me her tales,
In a voice like melody,
Speaking of older days and times.

She told me of the way
She had been planted
In the park
By an old, lonely lady
Who had no space to keep me.

And so she lived and loved her life,
Singing of the grass about me
And the wind on my leaves,
And the soil that was good,
"Something like a cozy blanket, as humans say," said she.

"Now I shall speak of my holes.
Alas, the pestilence came on me.
Little infidels crawling on my back and leafy arms, creeping ever nearer to my
Emeralds
And they ate them up.
Again and again.
And what can I do?"

I said nothing,
for a while,
And she was silent.

Then I asked her, "And yet, why do you yet sing and smile and laugh as you do?"
"Because my roots are in the soil, and my mind dwelling on He that Is," says she, "you know Him, don't you?"

I nodded.

She went on.

"And so I live. Not for long, not as a healthy tree, but a joyful one."

I looked at her, smiling politlely, not exactly sure still what to say.
She chuckled again.

"My mind can only dwell on Him.
He loves me, and yet,
He loves your kind, well, more.
That is your gift, Human-friend."

Her faded, grotesque braches danced in the wind.

"So use it."

She smiled and reclined.

And I wondered if I had been

dreaming.

Broken Playground

2009-08-14T22:19:00.004+08:00

I was on the way home,
Leaving some old neighborhood.
When I saw that old, sad, Broken Playground
And never forgot it.

The half-buried tires under the see-saw ends were
Worn and weary, weak, wounded,
Played much then, now forgotten.

The once gay-colored slides are damaged,
Faded colors, broken tubing,
All covered with graffiti.
Like contemptuous black vultures.

The swings are heartbroken.
There is no other word for it, I am afraid,
They are sad, their sturdy straps that once held
Lively, bouncing, children
Are torn or mangled.
They look like they want to hold children again.

Then there is the grass,
Not rich or full enough to cover the whole field,
Like a threadbare coat stretched over the bare shoulders
Of some sad, lonely, beggar.

The trees are gnarled grotesquely,
But not by nature.
Maybe all the crying sounds from the playgrounds have hurt them,
Their great branches stunted by their sorrows.

I didn’t hear birds singing,
But I was in the car,
And then again,
Who really cares
For one, lonely, sad, Broken Playground?

Stalemate -Another Poem I Did for the Poetry Slam

2009-08-10T15:37:00.003+08:00

The red queen of Chess stood firm in her space,
Her sister, the white queen, in the opposite place,
And they stared at each other, both bitter with hate,
(They were not on good terms, of late).

“My Dear Red Queen, ye overgrown lump,
Tis a wonder thy king smacks thee not in the rump!
Thou art too fat, disgusting, obese;
Indulging in fast food and banquets and feasts!”

“Take that back, I daresay, or I’ll tell my king!”
“Then I’ll tell my king, who !”
“I’ll set my knights upon you! Just wait! Just you wait!”
“My bishops will curse you to a terrible fate!”

“I’ll gather my armies of pawns,
With heads and hearts of solid bronze!”
“But by then my rooks will soon be readied!”
You’ll be sorry you tarried!”

“Have it your way, you curse of a sister,
I’ll tell my king, and you tell your mister!
Then, a duel to the death, to test our true mettle,
Then our troops will converge in heavy, pitched battle!”

And so they gathered their numerous hordes,
Knight pawn rook bishop, and the queens with their lords.
Pawns to the fore, the rest hide behind,
Stiff on the chessboard, in perfect straight lines.

They clashed in the field, pawn versus pawn,
It wasn’t long before half were gone.
The knights came, to rescue friend to rout the foe,
But the bishops came and cursed them, and their fate (who knows?)

The troops were exhausted; the knights were half-slain,
And the mighty rooks were the bishops’ banes.
But the queens were released, and went into the fray,
And each had in mind the other to slay.

Queen against queen, they battled and battered,
‘Twas the enemy losing, not the Winning that mattered!
They fought and they fought, they tumbled and tussled,
Armed with great swords and great Muscles!

The kings had long since retreated,
And the bishops were already defeated,
Almost all of the pieces were ready to quit,
Though that the old queens just refused to admit.

At last, no one else was still willing to fight,
Except, of course, the queens, (who yet battle and bite!)
With desire for vengeance naught could satiate,
And their forever they fight, so we call it . . . STALEMATE!

Went for the Poetry Slam. . .and Won!

2009-08-09T17:36:00.005+08:00

I can't believe it! I actually did well!. Hmm. . .

Here are a few poems I did. As I said on Facebook, don't say anything, Arief, David, Seng Kit, Toby, or Zhen Zhu.

First one:

True Treasure

For-ever we quest for true treasure,
In search of things once-gained, but lost,
In search for a source without measure,
In search, no matter how dear its cost.

For-ever, our silent souls still wander,
For what or whom we hold as our prize,
And sojourn to many lands, o’er and under,
To find what we pursue, and where it lies.

For as many who go, fewer will gain,
Many might search, for life and desire,
For as many who look, few will obtain,
Many youths go, yet too many tire.

They search in hopes of finding,
In knowledge and riches and pleasure,
But see not these things are blinding,
Deceiving the Searchers of Treasure.

I place no trust in folly’s tales,
For all that glitters is not gold,
For much called solid oft will fail,
For blades rust; wealth does not hold.

I place stock in this that remains:
In the words of the Wisest of Kings,
That time and death may not stain,
Untarnished as the mountain’s springs.

In light of the Wise One’s insight,
Most truly our treasure must be,
In the wisdom of He, brighter than light,
Herein is the key:

Here is the place that all may find,
Youth regained, Death defied,
The fulfillment of spirit and mind,
The life by which I will abide.

For-ever I‘ve quest for true treasure,
In search of things once-gained, but lost,
Now I have found this Source without measure,
And will not let go, whatever the cost.

Beach

It is good,
Standing here,
On the lonely beach.

With the feel of soft sand between your toes,
And the little pulsing tickles
Of sea-waves splashing against your feet.

No other soul here,
Just God and me.
No one but gulls and crabs to hear us.

It is the silence
And beauty that is good,
On the beach.

All the kite-playing children have left,
All the people, except me,
Are far, far, away.

Here I hear
The sound of the steady
Beat of the ocean,
And taste the salt
As I lick the tip of the Wave.

And the quiet sensation of sand,
Like so many little pearls,
Lovingly caressed and smoothened by Time.

The air is fresh and new here.
And your mind is dwelling on good things.
And you meditate thoughtfully on
Words and sights you’ve seen.

Or observe the silent hobbling of hermit crabs,
Like pious priests on pilgrimage.
Wrapped in their
Bulky shells.

And at last,
I see the sunset,
All pinks and oranges and blues and indigoes and violets.
Before the great golden orb sinks,
Beneath the watery horizon.

It is good,
Standing here,
On the lonely beach.

Quotes I Like.

2009-08-06T18:51:00.004+08:00

I love these!

"Be very, very careful what you put into that head, because you will never, ever get it out."

Thomas Cardinal Wolsey (1471-1530)

"It is the cause, not the death, that makes the martyr."

Napoleon Bonaparte

"Soldiers generally win battles; generals get credit for them."

Napoleon Bonaparte

"Genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration."

Thomas Edison

"I start where the last man left off."

Thomas Edison

"I confess that in 1901 I said to my brother Orville that man would not fly for fifty years."

Wilbur Wright

“It is the job that is never started that takes longest to finish.”

J.R.R. Tolkien

“I do not love the bright sword for it's sharpness, nor the arrow for it's swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.”

J.R.R. Tolkien

“There are two kinds of people: those who say to God, "Thy will be done," and those to whom God says, "All right, then, have it your way”

C.S. Lewis

“Miracles are a retelling in small letters of the very same story which is written across the whole world in letters too large for some of us to see.”

C.S. Lewis

“We are all fallen creatures and all very hard to live with.”

C.S. Lewis

"I am not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep; I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion."

Alexander the Great

"Hasten slowly."

Augustus

Bidal-Karon: Part II

2009-08-01T11:27:00.002+08:00

Now the six daughters came to the private hall of their house, as they were bidden, and Licoann came also. When they had gathered, Tiendar and Venyai described and read out the proposals. The eldest of Dyavan’s sons was to marry the eldest of Tiendar’s daughters, second eldest with second eldest, and so on. They spoke quietly among each other for a while, exchanging thoughts and impressions of the suggested arrangements, and the suitors. At this (for little could be made of their true intentions and the color of their hearts), Licoann told of the glances and furtive peeks during the feasts last summer.

At this Neler, the eldest daughter shook her head, but did not speak until she had thought a little more. “I know not what to say of this, for though truly they ask for our hands in marriage, who but Amentoris can judge their spirits and deepest thoughts? Nevertheless, we must discern what we may. What say you, Father, Mother?”

Tiendar and Venyai heard this, and remained silent for a while. Venyai ancient gray hair gleamed briefly like silver, as did Tiendar’s beard, but then it stopped. They turned up to their children, and smiled somberly. “Perhaps, it would be wise to bid the sons of Dyavan to come again to our house, so our children may speak with them, as is the ancient custom. However, we must be wary, and keep our eyes and ears and minds open and alert. Then we shall make our choice.”

And so it was. The messengers were sent back to Dyavan’s household, at which, when Dyavan heard the reply, brought his sons together and was furious, for he hadn’t until then realized what his sons had done. “What is the meaning of this? Your iniquity is testament to the training of your mother and scorning of your father!”

Alas, the father sent his sons away to Tiendar’s house, though without his blessing, and sent them with many gifts and golden-made objects to the house of Tiendar (to make all appearance all was well in the Court of Dyavan). The six sons left immediately, and sojourned for two weeks and two days. They were welcomed into the house, though not as warmly as when Dyavan had first come, for the daughters were careful and wary.

For the first and second days, the brothers remained ever courteous, constantly being good in seemingly all ways. But during the third day, Thelin the Eldest son requested that he and his brothers could speak with the Sisters. The message was sent to Tiendar (who was elsewhere in his realm). To this, Tiendar accepted, though he insisted that he and Licoann be there at each meeting, for Tiendar had desired to be careful with this potential arrangement.

Thelin and the Brothers consented, and so Thelin, the eldest, met with Neler the Eldest, as was the custom. Tiendar and Licoann sat between the two, but watched closely. They met by the lakeside, and spoke. Neler asked of Thelin many questions, of interests, of wisdom, of passions, and of morality. What she found in the Thelin the Fay was warlike of heart, strong in will, brave, but lacked the control to hold his own might. Yet, though she was not pleased, she spoke a little more before until sunset arrived, and they group left for the evening meal.

The next day, the second eldest, Baranin, and the second eldest, Feian met. They spoke, and Feian found the same in his heart.

Then Borthonin met with Thiendori, then Carin with Pienhor, then Thruilin and Lerya, and then finally Thruanin with Treyal. After this, the family of Tiendar took counsel once more, and they spoke as one. They all found, though, that the Sons of Dyavan were as Neler had perceived; willful, uncontrolled, fearless, yet not disciplined in righteousness or the way of right. Their father had seen this, but had perceived also a kind of darkness over his heart whenever he saw the swords at the Brothers’ waists. This he spoke of none to, except Venyai (many a season later). This was one of the least wise of the acts of Tiendar, though he was discerning and upright throughout his immortal days on Endramius. Perhaps had he brought his troubled thoughts to Amentoris the Wise, the course of events may have differed, but he did not, and he regretted his silence.

But for the time, Tiendar spoke carefully, and he and his family declined the brothers’ proposals. But though they refused, they still invited the Sons of Dyavan to a great feast at Tiendar’s table. A messenger was sent, and Thelin received the news in his apartments (for all guests of Tiendar and Venyai were given large staying quarters). Thelin read this, and was infuriated, and he flew into a terrible rage, for ever had his desire been growing, and his initial disappointment turned itself into the black form of hate. He then read the message to his brothers, and they too became angry. Now in his rage, Thelin devised a second wicked scheme, now for the purpose of obtaining vengeance. He suggested this, “My brothers, we have been scornfully rejected by the great house of Tiendar the Steward. He and his household have believed that their place shall be happier without our presence here. We must deprive them of happiness forever! We, of the Greater Fays, sons of Dyavan the Mighty, shall, by this time in three days, slay the six daughters of Tiendar!”

It was done. They declined the feast, and pretended to need to be on their way home, on the pretense their father was expecting them. They then left, cordially making their farewells and blessings upon the household of Tiendar. But they only had left the borders of Tiendar’s realm before they stopped, and camped there. Every day they would move silently towards the Dinkaron Lake, and waited for the six daughters to pass by. The first and second day yielded nothing. But on the third day, Thelin (who had been scouting, sighted the six daughters with Licoann their brother, and he quickly returned to his camp to alert his brothers. They were ready, and ever so silently they crept back into Tiendar’s realm.

They sighted the Stewards again, and stalked them silently. Alas, when they had stopped by the lakeside for a drink, the six brothers sprang their trap, and rushed out of the woods. Licoann drew his sword the instant he saw them, and he call his sisters to go behind him. Then Thruanin fell upon Licoann first, with his sword drawn, and the two fought fiercely. Thelin drew his sword out, and slew Licoann from a mighty spear thrust from his side. The other brothers rushed upon the sisters. They had at first intended to rape the six Stewards, but Thruanin and Thelin had been adamant, for they wanted nothing other than their swords to touch the six daughters. The other brothers consented, and, one by one, the slowly plunged their swords into the six daughters they had once desired.

As each daughter fell, each cried out “May Amentoris remember us!”

Then each perished.

Neler fell first, followed by Feian, then Thiendori, then Pienhor, then Lerya, then finally, Treyal. Treyal wept bitterly, for she had to see all her other sisters slain. Then she wept for a moment, and said, “May my blood yet bless this reddened ground!” Then Thruanin’s sword fell upon her heart, and she died.

The six brothers left.

When Tiendar and Venyai did not see their children again for the evening meal, they began to grow worried, for their trip was to be a short one. Then they, with troubled hearts, began to send search parties in search of them. The searcher found their dead bodies on the ground in the northern stretch of the lake. They brought their slain bodies to Venyai, then Tiendar. The whole household wept for many a season afterward.

Now Amentoris the Wise saw his faithful Servant’s distress, and he came down from his great abode in Thol-Maran to speak with Tiendar and Venyai. When he first came down, he did not speak, but only sat down and wept with them. Then, when they had settled themselves, Amentoris spoke to them.

“My friend, I have heard your sorrow, and have seen the sadness in your eyes. I come to pay my deepest condolences.”

Then Tiendar looked up and said, “My Lord, You have come!”

Amentoris smiled sadly, and held Tiendar’s hand firmly, and comfortingly.

They spoke quietly of things, of other things, that took Tiendar’s and Venyai’s minds off of sorrow. But their minds came back to their children’s murder. And they beseeched Amentoris the Mighty, “Oh great One, could You not have prevented it? Could You not have allowed them to live?”

Amentoris looked into their eyes, and his eyes were sorrowful. “Oh my dear friend, I cannot explain all now, but one day, when the world is no more and you will return to dwell with me in Thol-Maran, I can explain, but for now, I cannot.”

“But, as a reminder, and a gift, I will give you my last token of love to you.” He pointed to the sky. “See that bow of seven colors in the firmament. Of red, and orange, and yellow, and green, and blue, and sea-indigo blue, and violet. That shall be my gift. May it be a bittersweet reminder for all of us to see, in memory of each of the colors that your children had chosen as their own,” he paused, “Then may this be. A gift, a reminder, a joy, a sorrow, a beam of hope to this world, as Endramius may endure.”

Then Amentoris’s presence left them. Leaving the rainbow to hang there, for the rest of time.

Mother Turtle

2009-07-30T17:10:00.001+08:00

She comes up.
Slowly letting
Pushing, pulsing,
Waves
Send her
Over the
Um-swim-able
Shallows
Onto a beach.

She lands,
Her flippers
And great mass
Heaving, Straining,
As they inch up the shore.

On she goes,
This silent mother turtle,
One,
Two,
Pull myself
Over the coarse, rough,
Uncultured grains
Of sand.

It is lonely here.

But then she stops.
Here.
Not there.
Not there.
Not over there.

Right here.

On this quiet, foreign,
Beach.

¼ of 60 minutes,
A quarter of an hour.
Time to lay the eggs.
Here.

Time to release those
Little ones,
That she loves,
Though she cannot stay.
But she will lay the eggs,
If that is the last thing
She
Shall do.

Carefully now.

Now, it is nearly over.

They are laid now.
Now, to bury them
Under sand,
Coarse,
But willing.

Flap, flap, plop, pat-pat.

Her leathery, age-worn flippers
Throbbing tiredly,
As she sends the sand
Flying over her,
Landing over
Her eggs.
Again, again, again.

Flap, flap, plop, pat-pat.

Done.
The Birds shan’t get them now.
It is finished,

She hobbles down.

Straight line
To the
Sea.

Exactly where her own mother
Had once,
Old ages ago,
Slipped off to her
Home,

And waited for
God the Mighty
To light the spark of life
In a
Little, baby,
Turtle.

Bidal-Karon

2009-07-19T19:44:00.002+08:00

Starting a 2-part series. Another addition to my little stock of Tyatoran legends (haha!).

In the later years and seasons after the Great Making, and after the Rebellion of Jalkir, there were yet many of the faithful stewards of Endramius. Among which, the wisest of their number, were chosen to be the Jyelvarin, the Princes, by Amentoris Himself. Each of these Princes, were delegated tasks and regions to care for and look after, as time and earth may endure. Each was given one place to call their own; some were given mountains, some rivers, some principles or natural laws to supervise. They and their households would watch over the land, as a gardener over a great field, or a Guardian over a doorway. They were not masters of the land, only caretakers, for their duty was different from that of us mortals. Yet, for this, they were content to be, and they lived happy ages, and still live on, throughout the Seasons of Endramius.

Among these Jyelvarin, Lord Tiendar set up his stewardship of the Lake of Dinkaron, of the Merry Heart. He and his wife, Venyai, cultivated the land surrounding the lake, and caused the fish and water-flowers of the lake to flourish. Beautiful was the land under his and his fair wife’s care.

It came to pass that Venyai became with child, and she gave birth to their first daughter, Neler. After her, Venyai had another daughter, Feian. And after Feian, came the Twin Sisters, Thiendori and Pienhor. After the Twins, Venyai had two more daughters, Lerya, and Treyal. And finally, Tiendar and Venyai, had their last child, a son named Licoann.

And many long years passed, as the household grew larger and merrier with the laughter of young children, and the sound of music was constant. Many a traveler and pilgrim, even Solemn Lathur, came to see the shimmering lake of Dinkaron, and bear gifts to the great house of Tiendar and Venyai. Of gifts, they refused, but instead constantly gave, and despite it, they grew wealthier and greater still. Truly and mightily was the blessing of Amentoris upon them.

Their daughters and son grew tall and fair, as was the appearance of all the great Stewards. And they each took upon themselves a robe to the shade of color that was their own. Neler took maroon, Feian took the hue of citrus, The Twin Sisters each took to themselves the shades of gold and forest green. Lerya took the blue of rivers, while Treyal took the shades of the Blue Sea. Licoann took the rich violet that symbolized tenacity and loyalty.

Now very fair were these, especially among the daughters, of which there was no comparison on Endramius, though none among them were the greater. They were raised faithfully in the way of Amentoris, and they faithfully took on and upheld that which they had been taught.

As it was, to the south, there were the Greater Fays, led by King Dyavan, which means Gleaming Sword. He, among all the other fays of Endramius, opposed Jalkir heavily, and was one of the most upright and warlike of his race. He had six sons, Thelin, Baranin, Borthonin, Carin, Thruilin, and Thruanin. They, like their father, were warlike and strong, yet unlike their father, and more like their mother, were impulsive and less upright.

Alas, when King Dyavan and his sons came to visit Tiendar and his household, he came bearing many gifts. As was his custom, Tiendar refused, and instead treated his mighty guest with many feasts and celebrations. At the time, the seven children of Venyai and Tiendar had been off to deal with a large infestation of weeds on the Northern Lakeside. A messenger was sent to tell them to return for the feasts.

On the fifth day of celebrations, they came, having dealt with the large bulk of weeds. Down they came, in their flying robes, and spent the day readying for the night’s merriment.

That night, they came to the feast, for King Dyavan and his sons were staying but for one more night. And on this day, the six brothers first met the Steward maidens of Tiendar. At first sight, the brothers found these sisters very beautiful, but they kept their thoughts secret, to each other and to their father. However, throughout the merry-making and celebrations, the six brothers’ eyes were ever on the daughters of Tiendar. Licoann, though, by chance saw their furtive glances and was troubled by that flash in their pupils, but he spoke of this not, for he decided such suspicions as folly.

The next day, Dyavan returned to his realm, with his sons and their retinues. Dyavan, upon their departure and return, noticed a cloud over his sons’ heads. He was wary for a while, but let it slide off over the weeks to come. In truth, the brothers had great desire for the maidens of Dinkaron, and time oft breeds greater desire for all manner things. Their desire ever grew greater, and in time they spoke among themselves about it. They had all considered asking their father to arrange a series of weddings between they and the Stewards, but pride stubbornly held them back.

Finally, Thelin, the eldest of Dyavan’s sons, suggested a plan that surely would allow them to arrange marriages of their desires. It was a crafty and conniving plan, but impulse and want overruled morality and uprightness.

“Let us then invite our father to a feast, and make him drunken with heavy wine. Upon this, we will persuade him to give us all a promise, and we will arrange our plans well. We will send the messages to the King Tiendar. When our father has awoken from his stupor, he will have no opposition to our plans, and will not realize his decisions the day before.”

Thruanin, the youngest, heard this proposal, and was unhappy. His love for his father was no greater than that of his brothers, but his standards were more upright, and he was reluctant to partaking in the plan. But his desire too overruled his conscience, and he remained silent.

The sons of Dyavan executed the plan. All went as was expected, and messengers were sent to Tiendar’s household, bearing proposals. The bearers of the messages were welcomed cordially by Tiendar, and their proposals were considered. Venyai and Tiendar called his family together from their duties and held a private council among them.

And that is where we stop for this post. To be continued. . .

Haikus on Small Things

2009-07-16T19:16:00.004+08:00

Small, Busy shuttlecock,
All befeathered and bouncy,
Racket to racket.

Pink, soft, and lovely,
The young, happy flower bud
Just bursting to bloom.

The crisp, round, Cracker
A bit brown round the edges,
Longs to be eaten.

Soft, gummy, blue,
Moldable and smooth to touch,
We call it play-dough.

Sibling's teddy bear,
Fuzzy paws and tail and ears,
Stares up to ceiling.

The little garden -Metaphors and Musings

2009-07-11T16:14:00.008+08:00

Ah, I'm such a sentimental muser.

We were driving home, taking the right-shoulder of our street. There was a traffic light, so we, being law-abiding citizens (I think), stopped. Then I saw it. It was a small little patch of grass and weedlike flowers, just on the little barricade seperating our turning lane from the main road. That little, minute patch of grass, daintily surviving amidst the chaos of the city.

In was surprisingly pleasant, looking at that little lush island, stuck in a sea of hardened tar and metal automobiles. One resilient survivor, one unique patch of ground, standing by for greenery and old times, and memories of the great fields of its ancestors.

A butterfly hopped onto one of the flowers. A fugitive, perhaps? Where can a small, six-legged flutterer sleep, in this vast city-maze? Maybe this was his little residence, his little refuge. Maybe he knew that the road and the cars would not swallow this place.

Then the traffic light turned to green, and we drove off, leaving me to think on about that little insect, and his little garden stronghold.

Dreams of the Stars

2009-07-10T19:08:00.002+08:00

I wonder, sometimes,
What those faraway stars do,

In their own little dreamtime,
As they gaze through
Gossamer
Filmed
Eyes.

Maybe, then, they watch us,
Maybe, just because
God
Made them that Way.

To remind us

And see what
We mortals are doing.

Down
The
Steps
Of time.

They are
Always peering down, through
Sleepy, yet
Watchful,
Sad,
Weary eyes.

Cheering, and then sighing,
As they see a king being just to his people,
Or a bird
Falling from
Its nest,

Hearing, then crying,
When they hear the
Speech of
Evil men,
Or the sound of a
Poor,
Lost widow’s
Sob.

Scorn, then smiling,
When the hidden deeds
Of night
Give way to
The blessed gift
Of day-Light.

Hate, then laugh,
When they see
Injustice done,
And then when
The
Oppression is
Overthrown.

On their silent thoughts
Go on,
Day,
By day,
Year,
By year
Age
By age.

Until He comes again,
To call
The Stars
Home,

To let them
Close their eyes
One
Last,
Time,

And to be glad,
For their Kindler
Is glad
With their
Watching.

And then,
Forever more

Be oblivion.

Today

2009-07-09T14:37:00.003+08:00

The whine of drills from our new neighbor's home plagues us. Ipod music does no good, and I'm finding it real hard to write anything at all. Blast it!

Oh well, let's just pray the neighbors are good.

Just recovered from a slight fever, hence the emptiness of my blog from the past few days. . .

Nothing more to say about today!

So What Is Horizon?

2009-07-02T21:11:00.001+08:00

So what is Horizon?
Where green earth and blue sky meet?
An end of our vision?
Or a place to run after,
Just to see what’s on
The other side?

So what is light?
A charge of bright energy?
A shimmer on a fish’s back?
Or a beacon so we Mortal Men,
Can know that a Someone
Cares for us?

So what is time?
A linear line of meaningless
Events floating down
Infinity?
Or a gift
To help us chart and understand
Our days?

So what is Wealth?
An excess of something good?
An opportunity to gain?
Or a blessing to receive
And use
Wisely?

And what am I?
Nature’s tool to save the World?
An empty creature meant to be some
Missing
Link?
Or am I,
Then,
Fearfully, and wonderfully made,
Fitted thoughtfully
Into the Great Plan,
For some Purpose,
For some Cause,
For
Someone
Who cares for me?

Do Owls Ever Get Lonely?

2009-07-01T21:30:00.000+08:00

Do Owls
Ever
Get
Lonely?

In that deep,
Pitch black,
Darkness,

Hidden,
In that
Silent World
In that
Distant realm.

Away,
From busy,
Baying dogs,
And
Greedy,
Squawking
Ravens.

No,
In this pitch black
Darkness,
There is
Solitude
Instead.

Solitude
Full and Sweet,
And complete.

I guess they are
Content
There.
Hidden in that Silent World
Of their
Own.

The Value of Things

2009-06-27T20:06:00.003+08:00

How much would you pay
For a Dream?

A good Dream.

What would you give for
The most beautiful music on Earth?

Would trade a boat to hear
The Wonder
Of
Whale-song?

Or tangible cash,
For insights on what
Intangible
Wind is?

Or a man-made
Gadget,
To understand the most deep of emotions?

Or a day from your Life,
For a chance to turn back the Clock?

Or anything at all,
To make up for some wrong
You did?

Then what about, another choice:
How much must we pay for an eternity
With the greatest of Kings
As a father?

Then what
Would
You
Say,
If that
Gift
Was Paid
For
By
Some
Person
Already?

And all you had to do was say
Yes?

Tell Me, please

2009-06-20T16:32:00.004+08:00

Oh Tell me, please, of the wonders of Your palace. Tell me all about the gates of pearl you made, and the streets of yellow metal. And the places that await all those for now and forever that will be saved, Oh Lord, please tell me of your glory, and how the Son will shine over your kingdom brighter than our sun, and all the wonders of your kingdom that await me.

Oh Lord, though I probably never understand, would You tell me, about why You came down to bring me up here, when I don't deserve any of the riches of your courts? Why is it you love me so? Surely we, corrupted by our own choice, were not so important as for the God of Eternity to lavish such blessing on mortal beings. Surely it was not worth it. Of such questions, I know not the answer, but I am willing to trust You, Ancient of Days, and forever be thankful and content.

Mark's LatestTag

2009-06-19T16:29:00.003+08:00

4 names your friends call you
1. Josh
2. Joshua
3. Joshy, though people who call me that are not true friends.
4. Joshua of Tyatora

4 most important dates in your life
1. October 7
2. September 13
3. June 11
4. November 26

4 things you've done in the last 30 minutes
1. Checked my email
2. Checked my blog
3. Posted blog-posts
4. Talked with Mom.

4 ways to be happy
1. If you mean happy for the moment, then I think I’d like. . .read a book
2. Play computer
3. Play a board game
4. Spending time with family and close friends.

4 gifts you would love to receive
1. Money (as much as possible)
2. Extra computer time from Mom.
3. One (or more) of the latest Transformer toy collectibles
4. One-way tickets for my family to go to Tyatora!

4 fave hobbies
1. Board Games
2. Transformers
3. Blogging
4. Writing

4 places you want to go for vacation
1. A tour through Europe
2. The Silk Road
3. Missoula, Montana, USA
4. Tyatora
5. Vervaris

4 fave drinks
1. Tea
2. Sprite
3. Shandy
4. Good, cold, water

4 things always found in your room
1. books
2. me?
3. board games
4. more books

4 Fave colors
1. Violet
2. Blue
3. Blood red
4. Black

Top 4 Hangouts
1. Home
2. Home
3. Home
4. Home? :)

Top 4 you love
1. God
2. Mom
3. Dad
4. Dan

Top 4 reasons why you think you will answer this survey
1. I like tags
2. I’m free enough
3. I love blogging
4. No reason

Top 4 things special to you
1. My poems
2. My Tyatoran work
3. My Paravanian work
4. My stories

Top 4 who you think will answer this survey
1. Whitle
2. Tim
3. Jian Lin
4. Ben

2009-06-17T14:51:00.003+08:00

I've joined facebook!

It's taken a long time. For ages I've been adamant to the idea. No! But then dear Mom joined, and that was a great blow to my resolve. Then Mark invited me. Then I heard Emma was doing it too. Curiosity got the better of me. I couldn't believe that Benjamin actually facebooked. . .

Alas, with one great cloud of pious believers, I was converted to Facebookism. Wow.

Yikes, I'm changing. Here goes the last of the closed door policiies from my world. . .

Tyatoran History (again)

2009-06-12T12:59:00.004+08:00

This is the Tyatoran belief of how the stars were formed. Came up with it some weeks ago. Haven't put it down to paper yet. Here it goes. . .

Before the world began, before the oldest of years, or the most ancient of times, or the longest of nights or days, there was Amentoris. He was never born nor made. He simply is. Mighty and great was He, stronger than all of this earth. Indeed, He was great. And upon this, he called forth the Concepts and the Masters.

By His call, the Concepts were made. He separated eternity into days and years and centuries, though He was not been bound by them. He called forth the light and the darkness, and they became what they were. He commanded the earth to be, and from its deepest pits He made water and air and fire. He looked upon his first phase of creation an was glad.

Then he made the Inhabitants, they who would live upon this land, He called Endramius. He formed all of them, one by one, then called them to life. He bended and shaped the trees and plants to beauty, and the beasts and birds and fish to that which was good, and sent them down to earth and populate it. Then he formed the Great Masters, the highest and most glorious of his making, creating them from the dust of mountains and hills, and plains. He made the first giants, and the first Firk-notts, and first two Humans. He created the first gnomes and first griffins of the mounts. Then made the first Rashoth, of which were all the great animals that could speak. Then He made the fays and stewards. He made them as spirits, the stewards to inhabit and watch over the lands and rivers and hills of His creation, and the fays to safeguard this world; for it was His great delight to see His created beings enjoy and keep that which He had made for them. He looked upon his new earth and indeed was glad.

Then, He made the sun and the moon, and the Guardians of the Sky. Beatiful He made the ornaments of the heavens, and he bestowed upon them the most wonderful of lights. The Guardians He made were like the stewards, but more powerful, for they had vast expanses to watch over. Then Amentoris the Great smiled, for much had been done.

It came to past that night came, and all of Amentoris's creation wondered at the glories of their Maker. That day, each race of Grand Master gave Him a name, to be held in Reverence for that race and fear. The Firk-notts called Him the Regi -Damarkhi, the greatest of Spirits. The Griphions called Him Kuchgaardin, True King. The Gnomes called Him Throigalin, Vast One.

Then Amentoris let them witness the final wonder of the creation. He came upon the sun and moon, and tore them into hundreds and thousands of pieces. The Grandmasters and fays and stewards were terrified at fist, unable to perceive its meaning, or its reason. Then Amentoris bellowed, in a voice deep and great, "Fragments of the old moon and old sun, disperse! Be the stars, and form among yourselves tales and shapes and constellations. This is the birth of the many lights!"

Then the fragments, though inanimate, obeyed, and sped to the places assigned them, far away from the world of Endramius.

Now, the creation of Amentoris wondered, for though at first they could not perceive, they saw the beauty of these new stars and were amazed.

Then Amentoris called forth once more, "Hearken! People of the first day! To remember theis day, and be glad, for I have made this land for thee. I promise my unending and incompassable love and passion for thee, as long as you accpet it and remain in my ways. Great will be the friendship between you and I, for many things I have in store for you! let the stars be witnesses to our covnenant here."

The people of Endramius heard and obeyed.

This is the tale of the Creation, the first day and evening in Endramius.
That is the story of he Great Making,

Mark put me in the tag. . .does that make me tagged?

2009-06-09T17:31:00.008+08:00

I think it does, but I'd rather be on the safe side, since it's possible I may make a bitter tuition-mate out of him (by not doing it). Better safe than sorry, they say.

1. Besides your lips, where is the favorite spot to get kissed?
On the cheeks, by Mom, of course.

2. How did you feel when you woke up this morning?
It's a school day. . .what's for me toay?

3. Who was the last person/people you took a photo with?
Mom, I think.

4. Would you consider yourself spoiled?
Not particularly.

5. Will you ever donate blood?
Yes, probably. Let's not think about htat right now.

6. Have you ever had a best friend who was of the opposite sex?
6No, not yet. Several close friends of both genders, though.

7. Do you want someone to be dead?
Not yet.

8. What does your last text message say?
Something from Digi? I don't remember.

9. What are you thinking right now?
Transformers sequel is coming. Revenge of the Fallen. Transformers sequel is coming. Revenge of the Fallen. Transformers sequel is coming. Revenge of the Fallen. . .

10. Do you want someone to be with you right now?
I think Tim (at the moment).

11. What was the time you went to bed last night?
Ten, or so.

12. Where did you buy the tee you are wearing now?
I didn't buy it.

13. Is someone on your mind right now?
Tim (still).

14. Who was the last person who text you?
Tim? Or that Digi yellow guy that is perpetually texting me of great deals and bargains.

TEN Lucky People to do this quiz…

Timothy
Ben
Melanie
Whitle
Jian Lin
Daryl
Kevin (of Chronoblitz)
David (Please start blogging!
Xinpei
Wei Lynn

15. Who is no. 2 having a relationship with?

How am I supposed to know that?

16. Is no. 3 a male or a female?

Definitely a girl. Look at the list next time.

17. If no. 7 and no. 1 get together, would it be a good?

If you mean datng, then of course not. Both are guys, and (to the best of my knowledge) they are straight. If they ever met, I think they fit in quite okay with each other.

18. What is no. 1 studying about?

School? What else?

19. When was the last time you chatted with them?

Timothy, last week. He cameo over to play computer.
Ben? Last month. There was a play at his church.
Melanie? Two weeks ago. At the youth group in church. Passing a computer game.
Whitle? About half a year. At co-op class.
Jian Lin? More than half a year. At Ms. Melinda's class, I believe.
Daryl, hmm. . .last robotics class, a month ago.
Kevin? A few months ago at JPS.
David? Last week. Same day I saw Tim.
Xinpei. Today, at co-op class.
Wei Lynn, more than half a year ago at Ms. Melinda's.

20. Is no. 4 single?

I believe so. Should be.

21. Say something about no. 2.

Ben's interesting. Blunt, yet thoughtful. Rare and most likeable combination of charisma, forthrightness, and thoguhfulness (as I said earlier).

22. What do you think about no. 2 and no. 6 being together?

Again, both are guys. . .

23. Describe no. 9.

Nice being around. She's ten. Hmm. . . good strategist (we're in the middle of a heated Risk game, and she's winning).

24. What will you do if no. 6 and no. 7 fight?

Let it be. It couldn't possibly last very long.

25. Do you like 8?

Yes! He's alright. Not totally evil, but not totally good.

Stories from Grandma

2009-06-07T19:10:00.003+08:00

I was at my Grandparent's house (on my Mom's side). I was on the garden swing, staring out into the pretty, neat, impeccably maintained green sanctuary that was my Grand-mother's domain. I was listening to my MP3 when she came out of the house (she had been resting inside before). I greeted her. We talked for a little, while, and she went on to her gardening. i followed her, just for the fun of spending time with an ancient

She and I had finished pulling small weeds off a particular spot of green grass, when we both settled down on the swing again. It was her idea, actually. "So peaceful," she remarked. I nodded my head.

Then I remembered something I had always wanted to ask her. "Poh-Poh?" I asked, "Could you -tell me about how it was like when you were young?" It was a bit awkward at first. I've always loved old stories and tales from my elders. It's always felt like a retelling of family history and secrets, a memory of days gone by.

She paused for a moment, then nodded. She started. She talked about her house in Seremban, how her loving Grandfather had bought that house. She talked about her family, how her mother had so lovingly cared for her and siblings, about the times she worked in Robinson's, and her brothers' trip to China to remeet older relatives. There was so much emotion in her words, a undertone of pride of her family and heritage. She talked about the Hakka association her grandfather had founded, and a number of old tales. Some were harder to understand, but I listened anyways. She talked about her education, and reminded of my duty to study hard, since I have been blessed with the opportunity.

She says that a lot, but this time, it was somewhat different. This time, I knew the background and history that made her constantly repeat that admonishment. It made that history to come alive.

Someday, I hope to gather all these tales, and write them all down. Stoires, of humor, and sorrow, and pride. Maybe I will someday. THese tales must not be forgotten. There is a loss whenever old memories are forgotten. It makes one feel less responsible, more ignorant of the weaknesses and strengths of his ancestors, and what he can do to uphold or get rid of old habits. I plan to write my family's stories down.

Maybe one, day, if I live to see my great-grandchildren, I can tell them of the day when their great-great-grandmother told me about my great-great-grandfather.

Long live history! Lng live heritage! Long live the memory of all heroic people, before, now and eventuall,y in times to come.

Birds

2009-06-07T18:52:00.003+08:00

Saw some birds today. Not that I never see birds on other days, but this time I saw a bird-battle. Yes, there was a scuffle.

I was watching from the balcony, actually, staring into the great semi-green expanse that is Kuala Lumpur. Then I saw the birds. There was one, one small, black-and-yellow little fellow, chasing a large, rather ugly-looking crow. The black and yellow bird (BAY bird, for short) was furiously chasing he poor crow, trying constantly to nip its enemy's tail or chest. Round and round they flew, until another crow came to pull his friend out of the melee. The crows retreated to a high outpost on the edge of their marked territories, carefully watching the BAY. The BAY was staring at them too. He had perched himself on a tall tree. A temporary armistice was made.

Temporay was the emphasis, mind you. Once or twice, the crows launched hesitant movements into enemy territory. They didn't win. Chased out again. Then suddenly, out of seemingly nowhere, another BAY bird appeared, to aid his feisty brother-in-arms.

Then I went back inside the house. I guess they are still fighting, chasing each other from perch to perch, until nighttime and their mothers call them to bed.

To dream, to believe, to dare.

2009-06-06T15:09:00.005+08:00

Had a dream last night. I recall only glimpses in my mind's eye. It was the seven years, in my dream. The last seven years prophecied of in Revalations. It was terrible. A great cloud of darkness fell over me. The anti-christ looked like a sea-cucumber. Vague concepts and prophecies rang in and out of that dream. It was odd. And serious, all at the same time.

But one part, just one part, plagued my mind, repeating itself over and over again in that dream, and even to now. I recall that in that dream, there were two nameless faces. I did not really know them, but somehow I knew they weren't very pleasant folk. I wanted them to be saved. I prayed (in the dream) that someone would lead them to God. But no one did. When I tried, I was told that it was too late. It was, evidently, the end times, and they had chosen which path to take. Eternal life, or eternal unlife. It scared me. I don't know why, but I cried for those mean, unlikeable two people (don't worry, it isn't really anyone I know). Because they went to the place that was never supposed to hold them.

I was scared for all my relatives who weren't saved, and had chosen the wrong path. A shocking jolt of fear and pain and fury and sadness filled me. For one moment, I realized how terrible the thought of that could be. One eternity without God. For so many people! So many people, relatives, friends, acquaintances, and celebrities. Some by choice, some by ignorance, some because some snobbish, self-righteous so-called Christians didn't do anything to reach out to them. All careening to that terrifying place that was never meant for them. I felt so helpless, so powerless, to aid those two nameless people in my dream.

Then I woke up.

It was terrifying, it was a most nightmarish dream. Yet, it gave me, for one moment, the urgency of the Great Commission. It also gave me a new thankfulness, a new thankfulness for all God has saved us from. He made it so easy, simply to admit, ask, believe, and then say it all out. He made it so easy to be free of that terrible place. Indeed how brilliant is our God.

But still, people need to know about it before they can believe.

And hopefully, when God calls me to do something, I'll be willing. I pray I will be.

Carpe Eternitas!

Questions, and Answers

2009-06-05T18:30:00.004+08:00

I have lots of questions. Constantly brimming over. Some say it's a good thing, others say it isn't. But I do have questions. Some are pretty boring, some more reflective, some nonsensical, some silly. But sometimes it's these odd questions that help you sort out your belief,s your thoughts, your opinions, and ideas. So I'm going to brainstorm. . .

Why is the sky blue? What government system is best for China? How long is forever? Does God count infinity? How big is the universe? Why did God make pretty things? Why is the wage of sin death? Why did God bother to come down to a place like earth? How good is heaven? Exactly how bad is hell? Why does my mind ask so many questions? Who killed John F. Kennedy? Who killed Princess Diana? Was Leonardo da Vinci a Christian? What about Alexius Comnenus? How could this world have turned out if it was not for Hitler? How would it have turned out if it wasn't for Churchill? Why isn't the world better than it is? Why isn't it worse than it is? What makes teddy bears so adorable? Am I intelligent? How does my spirit look like? Does Tyatora exist? Are there worlds beyond my own? Is there any way to measure God's might, or love, or glory? How can terrorism be solved?

I'm out. I have questions, too many, it seems. Some have been answered, some haven't, some I plain don't know, some I may never know. I hope that someday, all these questions will just tumble out to someone. The Someone. I pray he will answer my questoins. Someday. Sometime. Somehow.

This is a petition, a collection. A collection of questions that I humbly ask Yahweh to help explain such deep things to my little, sometimes confused mind.

Questions. The life-blood of answers.

The Adventurer's Ten

2009-06-05T18:02:00.007+08:00

Some light reflective thoughts on adventure and trade (you'll see what I mean!).

One silver harp for an unfinished quest,
Two gold trees for exotic a fest,
Three months by the moon for a glimpse of the sun,
Four twinkinling stars for a curse undone.
Five fleets of ships for a journey to the East,
Six blades for one fight with a terrible beast,
Seven white loaves for traveller's bread,
Eight greetings for one farewell said.
Nine rubies for one promise kept,
And Ten quests for a night well slept!

Aray, Arral, Aray, Arral,
Aray, Aray, Aray, Arral,
Count again once more!

One Persian rug for a foe to defeat,
Two chests of gold for a task to complete!
Three coffee pots for China-man's tea,
Four tulips red for a new sight to see!
Five bags of wealth for a taste of camel-flesh,
Six kettles for some good soup fresh.
Seven spears for a serpent's bite,
Eight giant wings for the gift of flight!
Nine caravels for a boat to row,
Ten arrows for a great rainbow!

Aray, Arral, Aray, Arral,
Aray, Aray, Aray, Arral,
Count again no more!

Pictures from Lang Tengah

2009-05-30T10:07:00.008+08:00

Went on holiday last week! Lang Tengah Island (very near Redang). Excellent beaches, excellent marine life, all at the hotel beach itself! Here are a few pictures made by me and my family. . .

Road to No-where.

(Took this picture on the Trip Home)

The Beach

Clouds and Palm Tree -Inverted

Azure Sea

Green, Gray, Blue

Pier

Blessings and Curses, the Tale of the Lathurar Forest

2009-05-20T11:31:00.006+08:00

Lathur, Solemn Pilgrim, Wanderer through the days,
Father of Dreynorik, First of the Traveller fays.
Walked down into a Grove of Trees, amidst its cooling shade,
And slept for manys days there, then left, but parted with a thankful blessing he'd made,

"Grove of Silent Trees,
Bowers to the Zephyr breeze,
Yet may thy offspring be numerous and mighty,
May you grow into a grand Forest, stately, sightly."

Amentoris the Bold, Lord above the Lordly Hosts,
Who sees all plains and mounts and coasts,
Heard the blessing heard the voice,
And said "May this be so, this Place of Lathur's Choice."

Lathurar, this grove was named, forever, for ages more,
This became the Passageway, Jatur-ghiar, the Green Door.
For many pilgrims passed on through that wood,
And rested where the Kindly Trees stood.

It came to pass, this Lathurar became a forest strong,
as broad and great as it was gay and long.
The Diev-Karon pulsed through its heart,
Its waters setting east and west apart.

Orioles and sparrows flew over the heads of trees,
The deer of many places came to Where the Silent Waters Tease.
The Windill flowers, dark yet bright, shone merrily with silver shafts of moonlight,
While Dienpov glittered, when the sky was clear and bright.

Then the Fenjalkis came, settled in this land of green.
Fairest among many they'd seen.
They built their shining cities, built happy, merry towns,
And erected massive monuments on massive, hand-built mounds.

But evil worked upon this people of the Southeast,
And spreading in pure bread, seeds of deadly yeast.
The were torn apart by hatred and strife,
Drained the forest of its happy, peaceful, life.

Death marred the Forest, saplings were crushed under feet,
Barren were the riverbanks, where wood and forest used to meet.
At last, like they came, the Fenjalkis departed,
Left the wartorn ground they'd smarted.

But they left a curse behind,
To last as time itself unwinds,

"Die, trees! You once were our hiding place.
A refuge for our miughty race!
But we need thee no longer,
For we are greater, crueller, stronger.

'Prosper not! Grow not!
May thy branches fall and rot.
Fail to live, fail to be,
Let no mortal hear thy plea!"

And so this forest, once good, grew quiet, and dead,
Cursed by the curel words once said.
The power of those words was strong upon their boughs,
And so they turned to stone, and did not stir nor arouse.

Then Amentoris, the immortal, heard the forest's cry.
The cursed ground cried out, and heaved with mighty a sigh.
He blessed the ground again, and called, in a voice heavy, and grand,
A blessing of new birth, a revival of the land.

"May the Leaves on your stone-held braches turn green again,
May thy numbers increase by thousands times ten,
Be all that I once made you to be!
Come alive, Fenjalki curse cannot hold thee!"

The forest became green again, once more alive,
The birds and beast returned, the deer began to arrive.
Restored the ancient, happy, days of old,
With a mighty blessing none could challenge nor hold.

This is the tale of blessings and curses,
Stanzas and verses,
Of the sadness of silence, of the power of words,
Of Amentoris, and Lathur, of beats, and birds.

The Terrible People Tag. . .

2009-05-16T18:51:00.006+08:00

All right, I'm starting to tag-make again. My first tag was, well, the first tag. This one will be grander, more magnificient, more interseting. Now I'm out of more's.

Questions:

Name the the first two letters of the name of . . .

The person you hate/dislike the most.

The person you want to be with right now.

The person in your family/extended family you want to meet right now.

The person you think is the smartest you've met.

Don't know ;)

The person you think is the most funny (makes you laugh, not weird).

The person you think is the most good-looking (either gender).

Don't know ;)

2. Name the character trait you like the most in a person.

A desire to defend those that need to be defended.

3. And the character trait you dislike the most in somebody.

Arrogance, or selfishness. I can't choose between them.

4. Name the person who has commented the most on your blog.

I think Whitle and Aunty SH comment alot.

5. Name one thing that you think you're good at.

Uhh, writing. I think.

6. Name one thing your Mom is good at.

Teaching!

7. Name two very different people you know (but don't know each other).

Mmm, Melanie and Timothy.

8. Who of the two people asked for be more likely to go trekking in the Amazon jungle?

I think Tim. He generally is very adventurous with these things.

9. Which one simply loves their math homework?

I doubt either do.

10. Who would be the more hands-on of the two (in life)?

I think Tim.

11. Who is the more outgoing?

I think that would be Melanie.

12. Tag seven people!

Mark
Melanie
Tim
Whitle
Ben
Jian Lin
David (Soh)

Tagged by Whitle!

2009-05-16T18:33:00.003+08:00

Alas, the lion is awakened, and Whitle's going to go on a tagging spree and smother my blog with tags, and torture me day and night, from both of her blogs (using tag-ticklers). Out of cavernous pits will arise. . .

Oops, that last half-sentence was from Leornado da Vinci. So much for undivinely inspired prophecies.

But never mind all that self-added pessimism. Let's get to the tag!

Q1: What’s the BEST book you ever read?

I can't decide! I love them all! But if I have to choose, then the oldest of my top favorites would Michelle Magorian's "Good Night, Mr. Tom."

Q2: Why are you writing this?

For fun! That's why I blog!

Q3: Do you collect anything?

Stamps, money (which I hoard and preserve like Smaug)

Q4: What’s your favorite Bible passage?

I thnk that would be this one,

Psalms 19: 1-2

"The heavens declare the glory of God,
the skies proclaim the works of His hands.
Day after day, they pour forth speech;
Night after night, the display knowledge."

Q5: What do you dislike?

Ground-level ozone and carbon monoxide :)

Q6: Who inspires you?

God.

Q7: Do you doodle?

Yes! I do it alot on my math work (my mind gets bored and shallow and my thoughts go off then).

Q8: What is happiness to you?

Acceptance. From God, and from people.

Q9: Does money make people happy (according to your perspective)?

In many respects, yes, but there just are some things money can't buy.

Q10: Who has supported you through the hardest things throughout your stay on planet earth?

My family and God.

I tag, David Soh (I dare him to start blogging again), Mark, and Tim

Soar Throats, and Contact Lens

2009-05-14T19:33:00.003+08:00

Yes, I currently am having both. But God is healing me, so it's not really to say I have a soar throat. Anyways, the symptoms are mild, and apart from some uncomfortable ear pressure and a bit of chubby tonsils, I am fine. I'm starting on contact lens! I did mention this in my Predicaments post, but now 'm actually wearing them. The transition from glasses to contacts is somewhat awkward. I don't feel them on my eyelids anymore (it's been the third day, but I got used to it by the second). The maintainence and caretaking of these little lens is quite trying and delicate, but it'll hopefully improve with time.

My brother said I looked better with glasses. But he suggested it was because he was just used to seeing my eyes behind thick, rectangular frames of plastic.

All is well, and I'm posting it for everyone to know :) .

Poem on Mother'ds Day

2009-05-10T17:40:00.007+08:00

Mater, Queen among many, fair above the fair,
Forever be remembered, the golden crown you bear.

This circlet, unseen to simple human eye,
Forever on your brow, does the ancient crown of mothers lie.

A crown of many joys, and crown of many sorrows,
Growing richer by each day, each passing of a morrow.

Heavy with experience, laden with with memory,
Light with singing laughter, so you may yet dance merrily.

With honor I behold you, though not always best expressed,
Though it does not change my love for thee, nor make it any less.

For amm my mortal days I swear, I will forget you not,
Hold me by this oath, whatever my destiny's lot.

Mater, great Queen among many, fair above the fair,
Forever I remember, the golden crown you bear.

The Blessing of a Tyatoran Vessel

2009-05-10T10:12:00.005+08:00

This is really a short poem. Hope my dear readers don't mind.

Nilozhin, forever may thy azure banners fly,
And as long as this world is, may your golden flag sail high.
Reach for much, stretch thy arms, spread thy wings,
Touch the lands where the phoenixes sing.
Go far, sail far, may Amentoris's winds blow thy course,
May the currents push thy keel in steady force.
May Al-Waldor, steward of the sea, lead thy gleaming masts,
May you sail steadily and fast!
Fly, Nilozhin, go far!

Restaurant Haikus

2009-05-07T20:13:00.002+08:00

Bustling Coffee Shop.
Nameless Faces, people’s lunches,
Plates, Cans, brusque busboys.

Chinese restaurant,
White rice, stewed pork, fragrant tea,
Clicking of chopsticks.

Café, bright and sunny,
Tables with chairs, tea with milk,
Al-fresco dining.

Good fast food, child’s dream,
Meat and bread in paper wrap,
Re-fried spud slices.

Long Buffet table,
Bottomless pits of tasty food,
People over-eat.

Mom’s little kitchen,
Best pies and yummy dishes.
I’m biased, too bad.

All right, I'm out of ideas.

Predicaments

2009-05-07T20:00:00.004+08:00

I have a predicament. Actually, make that two predicaments. Of violin and contact lens.

Well, as it is, my music teacher was organizing a small-scale performence for a few of her students. I'm probably performing. I feel a lump of mild dread in my throat. I'm probably doing Auld Lang Sune or Ode to Joy (I'm still on Grade 1-2). I'm nervous. mI'll bloop big-time, or I'll feel dwarfed (or "dwarved", as Tolkien would say) by all the hihger grade musicians in the mini-concert. I am anxious, put succinctly.

AS for the contact lens, well, that predicament is a bit less heartening. I'm going to start wearing contacts soon. Evidently semi-hard lens keep the cornea (the colored part of your eye) from growing longer, and increasing my eye power. I pray my power will go down, eventually. The optometrist gave me a sample lens to test for a few minutes. It was odd. Every blink resulted in a slight feel of some foreign object in my eye. She said I'll get used to it. Oh well, I'm thankful for the contacts my parents are investing in, whether the first few blinks will be a bit uncomfortable.

Predicaments, predicaments, and more predicaments.

The Castle

2009-05-02T10:01:00.006+08:00

The Sad People built it, so many years and moons ago,
When they fled their Western lands, the lands of stags and does.
When evil spread over that part fo the realm,
And poured forth from their lairs, wearing warshield and helm.

The Days before the Great Castle.

The Sad People, who fled to moor and waste,
who retreated to the mountains, in speed and fear and haste,
Who left the Land of Luringon, and ventured into the wide, open East,
Untamed, full of chaos, full of foul foe and wicked beast.

The Land Before the Great Castle.

They moved around from place to place, without land to call theur own,
Further and further away, from the land they once had known,
They fought the beasts of this land, the bandits and Goorts that dogged their way,
They traversed through wood and desert, by night, by dusk, by day.

To the place of the Great Castle.

Then upon one winter day, they saw a rock a glimmering,
That jut out the coast, pushed into the water shimmering,
And said the Chief of the Sad Ones, "Blessed is this rock that all may see,"
And so they, as one, built upon that rock a castle, the Castle Armathi.

The Building of the Great Castle.

They remembered the structures laid in ancient Luringon, the arches and pillars and carven stone,
How their fore-fathers had polished ivory limestone till it shone,
And so they built their Castle, as a refuge for the weary,
A Fortress for those whose eyes are sad and teary.

The Construction of the great Castle.

Finally, they built their fort, a new capital for a sad and weary people,
that overlooked the sea and land, to see the waters wave and ripple.
The crenellated turrets that shot into the sky and cloud,
A marble-covered fort that darkness cannot shroud.

The Great Castle.

To this day, the Glad People hold this Great Castle by the coastline,
Whose ancient marble reflects and glows and shines,
Who cannot fall to sword nor spear nor bow,
That all that is chaos and disorder cannot know.

This is the Great castle.

And to this day, the castle thus described,
Upon its scutcheon this is inscribed,

"Come, weary and mournful, who hide from the dark and foe of night,

This Castle's gates is open for thee, its walls shine true and bright!

Come, ye who flee from evil and rapine, who search for a land to find refuge in place,

A land that fire and foe cannot raze,

This is the Castle for thee,

A place for the Exiled, built by the Exiled,

This is the Castle for Thee"

The Centurial Tag (from Mark)

2009-04-26T13:37:00.009+08:00

Here is your tag, Mark. Enjoy. . .

1. What have you been doing recently?

Using the computer, as I am doing now.

2. Do you ever turn your cell phone off?

Every now and then. Who wants to know?

3. What happened at 10.00 a.m. today?

I can't really remember.

4. When did you last cry?

A few nights ago, I think.

5. Believe in fate/destiny?

No, I don't. God is ultimately control of everything going on in earth. Even so, He has given us all the freedom to choose where and what you want to do in your life. I do not believe there is an irresistable future that may not be changed nor affected.

6. What do you want in your life right now?

A copy of "Unfinished Tales" by Tolkien, more ideas for poem-writing and lunch.

7. Do you carry an umbrella when it rains, or just put up your hood?

I woldn't be going into the rain in the first place. I'm a couch potato (potatialis couchetta).

8. What is your favourite thing to have on your bed?

You really want to know? Big bottle of Vicks by me.

9 What bottom are you wearing now?

black shorts.

10. What does the nicest text in your inbox say?

Haven't cecked it yet. Haha!

11. Do you tend to make a relationship complicated?-

Define "relationship". If you mean courtship, then I don't know (I haven't ever bothered to do it before). If you just mean relationships with people in general, bot really.

12. Are you wearing anything you borrowed from someone?

Definitely not! And besides, I'm not going to tell you that if I was.

13. What was the last movie you caught?

Movie? What is a movie? :)

14. What are you proud of?

I suppose my poetry, even if it is pathetic. Patheticism is in the eye of the beholder.

15. What does the oldest text message in your inbox say?

An SMS my aunt gave me telling me who won the American presidential elections. I thought I'd like to keep it, at least for its historical significace.

16. What was the last song you sang out loud?

Be Thou My Vision. I think.

17. Do you have any nicknames?

Josh. Just Josh.

18. What does your last text message say?

I don't remember, and don't ask me anything else about my phone or email please. On penalty of my extreme displeasure. . .

19. What time did you go to bed last night?

Ten pm.

20. Are you currently happy?

Reasonably.

21. Who gives you the best advice?

God, Dad, and Mom.

22. Do you eat whipped cream straight from the can?

Definitely not, but I've tried Ribena with milk.

23. Who did you talk to on the phone last night?

Dad.

24. Is anyone bugging you right now?

As in this moment, or in this season of my life? At the moment, no! But in this season, yes. I won't mention any names.

25. What/ who was the last person to make you laugh?

Mom, I think. Or my brother.

26. Do you wear toe socks?

No.

27. Who was the last person you missed a call from?

I don't know. . .I didn't bother to check.

28. Have you ever had your heartbroken?

Not truly. Maybe very sad, or mournful, but never exactly heart-broken.

29. What annoys you the most in a person?

Arrogance, impudence, and all-round thoughtlessness of others.

30. Do you have a crush on anyone?

No one as of now, and I don't plan to have any.

31. Have you done cocaine?

No!

32. What is the colour of your room?

Sky blue.

33. Would you kill someone you hate for a billion dollars?

No. Life is precious, whether the owner of that life is very bad, very hate-able, or unforgiveable.

34. Do you agree with the term: Talk is Cheap?

Yes, to some degree. These days people don't live up to their promises, sigh. But words have power, and you can't overlook that fact.

35. Who was the last person to lie on your bed?

Me, Myself and I. My brother possibly.

36. Who was the last person to hug you?

Dan (my brother).

37. Did anyone see the last person you kissed?

Yes, I've definitely seen my Mom quite often.

38. Do you have a life?

Yes. (Oh no. . .I'm some leprechaun thats lives underground. Yeah right!)

39. Have you thought of someone dying, when they're really still alive?

Yes. I had a nightmare this morning of someone I loved dying (but he is alive and well).

40. What is the reason behind your profile song?

I don't have a profile song.

41. Who is the last person you saw in your dream?

My granduncle.

I think it might have been Matthew, or maybe that wasn't a dream.

42. Last time you SMILED?

Ten minutes ago.

43. Have you changed this year?

Yes, in a way.

44. What are you listening to now?

My Grandmother talking with my brother.

45. Are you talking to someone while doing this?

No.

46. Is there a quote you live by?

I haven't decided on one.

47. Do you want someone you cannot have?

No, I don't believe I do.

48. Have you ever played an instrument before?

Yes. I play violin.

49. What was the worst idea you had this week?

I don't know.

50. What were you doing last night at 11 pm?

Sleeping?

51. Are you happy with your love life right now?

Yes. I don't have one, and I'm fine with that.

52. What song best describes your love life?

Be Thou My Vision?

53. Does that person know that you like him/ her?

Yes, if you're talking about God.

54. Who makes you laugh the most?

My family, I can't decide between them.

55. Do you speak other languages than english?

Yes, sort of.

56. Favourite websites?

Paravania Voice? I'm so vain.

57. What's your middle name?

None! I've got a Chinese name in the middle, but that's as much as important as my English name, so its not really a middle name.

58. What are you doing tomorrow?-

School, computer games, read, and that's about it.

59. What do you think you're like

A thirteen year-old nut who wants to know God better, and actually write well.

60. Who will you choose to die with?

No one. Hopefully I'll be dying so someone else doesn't end up dying.

61. Where have you been today?

My Grandparent's home, my home, and no where else.

62. What game do play often?

Risk! I love risk!

63. Who are you missing now?

No one, as of now.

64. If you had to choose between a friend and someone you love, who would you choose?

It would depend. If one was a Christian, and one was not, I'd probably take the non-Christian.

65. What are you doing right now?

Blogging.

66. Which primary school were you from?

I didn't go to primary school.

67. Name 3 colours that you like.

Purple, blue, and gold (the color of money!)

68. What emotions would you like to express?

Fury and anguish. I'm overly poetic.

69. What is life to you?

A chance to get saved and to get others saved.

70. If you had something troubling you, what would you do?

Get help from my family

71. Who did you last chat on msn with?

I don't chat on MSN. . .

72. Who do you admire most?

Definitely God, my parents come as the first runner-up.

73. In what month were you born in?

October.

74. How are you feeling now?

Seething at Mark :)!

75. What time is it now?

2:45 PM. Check your own watch next time.

76. What do you think of the person that tagged you?

He's funny, all-round nice-hearted, and generally positive, light, and optimistic (yellowish).

77. What colour have you dyed your hair into?

No color. I proud;y bear the hair color of my race. Hurrah for black hair. For the Chinese!

78. Why are you doing this quiz?

I'm bored.

79. What do you do when you're moody?

I pace restlessly, or study a big book.

80. At what age do you wish to get married?

I don't know. Whenever God sends the right one down the road. I'm prepared to wait.

81. Who is the most important person to you in your life?

God. Great is Elohim!

82. If today was your last day, what would you do?

I'd spend time with my loved ones, and write a poem on my bed to be read at my funeral ;).

83. Who is the person you trust the most?

God, and Mom.

84. Do you believe in seeing a rainbow after the rain?

I suppose so.

85. If you had a dream come true, what would it be?

Publish my book!

86. What is your goal for this year?

Write my novel.

87. Do you believe in love that lasts for eternity?

Yes, I do.

88. What feeling do you love the most?

The thrill of power, to be honest.

89. Do you think the world is under global warming right now?

No. There are alternative theories and evidence that seem to point that the world is not really warming up that much.

90. What feeling do you hate the most?

The feel of having a rival/enemy.

92. Do you cherish all your relationshipswith people?

All friendly relationships I have with people.

92. Do you believe in God?

Yes, an unrecanted yes.

93. Who cares for you the most?

God, pretty much.

94. What do you think is the most important thing you have now?

Material wealth? I think that is the computer.

95. What would you bring with you to a fight?

A stun gun.

96. What have you done that you are still regretting in your life?

I do, but I'm not telling. . .

97. What would you feel like if no one would care for you anymore?

Sad, sorrowful. Like a phoenix.

98. What if you boyfriend/ girlfriend two-timmed you?

I do't have one in the first place. . .

99. How do you feel now?

Stil seething at my sadistic tagger :).

100. (The person who wrote this intended for a 100th question but along the way someone forgot to copy it down. So now I Shall make it the part where you Tag other people.)

I tag: Ben,
Jian Lin
Wei Lynn
Daryl
Melanie

Forgive me, my victims. You'll saint me in the future. . .

More Firk-Nott Volcabulary and Grammar!

2009-04-26T13:17:00.005+08:00

I've been recently working on a large number of words for my Firk-Nott language project, and have met great success! I've also been planning to develop my grammar somewhat to the likeness of the Malay language. However, there are no tenses, and there are absolutely no plural/singular verbs or nouns. I feel gleefully accomplished. What a boring person I am. Oh well. . .

Here are a few more words I've developed. Bear with me (if you will). . .

Yeelra -Happimess, elation, mirth

Golbinih- Joy; a lasting, extreme sense of elation.

Prehrore -luxury, comfort

Jatur -Green

Klopf -heaf

Jaturklopf -Cabbage (or "Green-head")

Limi -yes, positive,

Mey -No, negative, noy

Heymaris -Mind, intelligence, brain

Gazhih -to wander aimlessly

Lejavenk -currency, money

Heaviness

2009-04-21T19:53:00.009+08:00

I remember things once heard before,
That once had been, but is no more.
They grasp the slipping past that glides upon the tide,
Time has carried the path that all men ride.
Fallen are the great towers, the castles of Old Kings,
Desolate the waste where the Songbirds pine and sing.

This is the destruction of Olciun, place of many days,
Land beyond the moon, once bathed in the merry sun rays.
All is woe, if only you had heeded,
And repented, that the blood-bathed earth so greatly needed,
Had you not turned from your ways of sin,
And turn to Elohim, Creator of the ground and the wind.

Repent, oh people of Olciun!
Hear the words of your prophets' scrolls and runes!
Don't make me pour the judgement that Justice demands!
Turn from your ways, wash the blood off your hands!
Flee from those desires that you know are neither justified nor right,
Do not hide in the darkness, come with Me to light!

I cannot call forever, one day, this weighing scale will fall one end,
This land can hold your sin no longer, and the iron rod will bend.
I do not want to pour out death, upon your once-good Olciun,
Turn and look to me, oh Land Beyond the Moon!
Come back, remember that you have fallen from a height!
Oh Olciun, Olciun, Come into the Light!

Let Me change your ways, you, both the simple and the wise,
Come to me, oh people, let Me open your eyes!
I hold much gifts I've longed to give that you will not except,
I knocked upon your gates, while your cities' fathers slept!
Come back, remember that you have fallen from a height!
Oh Olciun, Olciun, Come into the Light!

Infinity; thoughts of.

2009-04-18T15:46:00.007+08:00

Yes, I do sound a bit like Mr. Yoda with a title like that, but bear with me. Haha!

I've been studying on decimals and estimation lately in my math. Somehow, the subject of recurring decimals came into my textbook, and that got me thinking.

(FYI for those who may have forgotten, recurring decimals are decimal numbers that go on and on and on without ever ending. E.g., 3.3333333. . . )

Not to say I haven't thought of it before, but perhaps I've never pondered on the concept as deeply. Infinity. To go on and on without end, to stretch over the plains of foever, to know a beginning but not an end. The thought of htat dizzies my mortal head.

Somehow, that thought struck me deeply. while my textbook drew out its examples and un-memorizable facts, the feel of forever hit me like a thuunderbolt. More real than before.

Heaven.

And hell.

And as recurring numbers never end, so would these be. Always, with beginning but no end. Heaven must truly be wonderful, for all who dwell within it are always happy, throughout the halls of time. At the same time, hell is also goes forever. The tartarus-like pit meant for satan, that will not stop belching its flames of fire and agony. I think of all of those, before me and after me, who were tricked and blinded by satan to go with him, down to the bootomless place.

Forever, forever, forever. . .

I cannot bear to think of that. All the ancestors before me, who never knew God's grace. I can imagine Him reaching out His arm to humanity, but they do not see. They who were misled by the Enemy. It is frightening a thought.

I look at these, at where one goes after death, the recurring numbers, the plains of time, God and His mercy. They are to real for we Christians to dismiss with a wave and a "yeah, I agree." I feel urgently the need to reach out to others, and I don't dare stop.

I look forward to heaven, and hope that the One God of Eternity may use me to do His will.

The wonderful and terrible thought:

Forever, forever, forever. . .

The Tomb

2009-04-12T17:49:00.008+08:00

In some old,
dark,
black,
dead,
tomb.

Something
is happening.

A body of Someone,
wrapped in linen cloths.

There is suddenly
a thickness in the air.

Then.
a once-still
heart
began to beat
again.

A quickening of pulse,
a wave of neurons sending
minute messages
once more
down
and up
the spine.

His skin is warm again.

His eyes flick open.

The faint,
scratchy sound of tearing linen,

a burst
of spiced scents
meant for burial.

Then, a breath escapes His
warming lips.

His lungs work again,

but inhale
more deeply,
wholly,
fully
of oxygen
and life.

He steps
out
of His
ex-tomb,
that cannot hold His new body,

It cannot
hold
the Power of
His Spirit.

Then,
a deep boom,

as great stone
is rolled off
the entrance.

Or exit.

Depends on
how you
see
it.

Wary
guards,
employed by
suspicious
Romans,
are blinded
for a
time.

They cannot contain
nor hold
Him.

Just like the tomb.

He walks out of it,
and so
He goes out into
the world,
that,
for a time,
could not hold Him.

Though the blood
He paid
now
allows it to be so.

Today,
Tommorow,
Forever.

The
ultimate
Happy Ending.

Nothing to say. . .

2009-04-11T20:17:00.001+08:00

Thalagran; allegory

2009-04-11T10:58:00.006+08:00

Upon his mighty fortress,
In turret high and great,
stood Thalagran, King of Formadis,
Lord of Cotni, Emperor of Olmarait.

The greatest of all mortal humanity.
mighty beyond spears and swords.
With strength that few may comprehend,
With armies and heralds and hordes.

"Hear me!" called out Thalagran,
"See the lands, once theirs, now mine;
I crack the bows of beasts and men,
Hearken! Am I not divine?

"The Phoenixes subdued, beneath my might,
The horses of the Korasarh-men are mine,
I seize the inheritance of kings, and barons' rich birthrights!
Who wears the golden silk of the Makri, of quality so fine?

'Who drove the Firk-Notts from their lands?
Who broke the Jungle Tribes,
Who's army is as a beach's grains of sand?
Who made war that words cannot describe?

'I have built myself and empire,
With my hands, from nothing to all,
I, Lord of water and fire,
See all my foes now fall

'Am I not mighty?
Am I not terrible?
Am I not the unsightly,
Am I not horrible!

'I challenge thee, oh I challenge thee!
I shall reach for the skies,
The stars shall soon bow to me,
I reach for heavens high!"

Then Thalagran looke upwards,
And raised a iron fist,
Upon that time he heard,
A voice like lion in the mist.

"Hearken, oh King Thalagran of Formalis,
Lord you once were and once had been,
See, that this night your archers shoot and miss!
See the faces of your generals, to turn to pure chagrin.

'You cannot make the ground to shake,
Thou cannot make the moon to quake,
you cannot crack the mountians or the hills,
Thalagran cannot make winds blow at will!

'You cannot strike the starry hosts,
You cannot make the wheat to plant,
You haven't the realm you want the most,
you cannot make flowers grow at want!

'You cannot make to mute to talk,
You cannot make life of nought,
You annot make the lame to walk,
You cannot find the immortal life you sought!

'For who, Oh Thalagran, can do as such I said!
I have let you build this empire of might,
Your spears are of my iron, steel, and lead!
For this land I have given you a right!

And as it was given to thee,
Thalagran the proud, for now, do as you may,
But you will fall tonight, and all may see.
Hearken! I am Yahweh!"

Thalagran tossed his forehead high,
and waved his iron fist at the Voice,
He roared in voice heard far and nigh,
Then slipped to the safety of his castle.

That very night, in mauve, slow, evening,
His foes stormed his castle-grounds,
And heard that day from his foes, the sound of them singing,
"Thalagran is dead! See his lifeless body bound!"

And so the dominions of Thalagran,
crumbled into dust,
His legacy, rendered desolate by sand,
As all proud kingdoms must.

Now he and his kingdom is no more,
His lands where haughty buzzards now hide,
None can tell where his castle was before,
The results of his foolishness and pride.

Here I end my story,
of Thalagran, KIng of Formalis,
Lord of Cotni, Emperor of Olmarait.

Good Friday: Poetic Musing

2009-04-10T13:38:00.003+08:00

Today is that day,
under the same shape of moon,
when in some
land
they called
Judea,
Someone was crucified.

I find it
hard to imagine,
what it
must
have been
like.

To pay so
painfully high
a price,
for sinners
and tax-collectors.

Yet You,
You, the Someone
I mentioned,
Did it.

And I am thankful.

Longing

2009-04-05T15:09:00.006+08:00

I stand there,
on the seashore.

No soul
here.

Except for
the faint, distant,
flicker
of candlelight,
in faraway cottage.

I stand on the beach,
that straddles
limestone cliff
and blue sea.

Stars sing
overhead.
In slow, hushed
whispers.

I stand here,
and shout out,
wordlessly.

It was enough.

I was there,
collapsing on
the sand

Heart and eyes crying
None but gulls abd crabs
to hear me.

Then He came.
And touched my shoulder.
I looked up.

He offered His hand,
and helped me
pick myself

up.

I sat with Him
for awhile.
by lapping,
splashing, waves.

I didn't know
what
to say.

But I held tight,
to
His
hand.

I felt and empty
sp t
where His
upper wrist
should be.

I looked at Him,
He smiled at me.
Somberly.

The want
to scream
left me.

All else relevant,
Now irrelevant.

Then we held each other,
Yahweh, and me.

I
never
knew
why
He
did
it.

but He did.
He embraced me.

We sat
under,
over,
Moonlight.

Beach sand on our toes.
None but gulls and crabs
to hear us,

As we,
He and I,
laughed,
cried,
talked,
chatted,

and spoke in hushed tones.

In the night.

Firk-Nott Volcabulary

2009-04-02T18:25:00.008+08:00

I think I'm going a bit too enthusiastic about Tyatora.

Maybe even crazy about it.

I've gotten so excited with the idea of fleshing out Tyatora and its world, this driving hobby of mine to get everything about this fantasy realm of mine organized, A to Z. Ideas of new peoples and cultures and places pop into my mind every now and then, but I'm gearing myself up for perhaps the toughest aspect of my fantasy world:

Language-making.

I don't think I'll feel truly satisfied wiith my work without several developed languages in my fantasy. It just has to be made.

I've been trying for the past month or so to develop languages for the world Tyatora. I'm not sure how to start, nor do I know exactly what I plan to do. I have absolutely no idea how to complete my self-imposed goal, but oh well. . .

There goes a stab in the dark.

So far, I've been trying to create some root words and suffixes for the Firk-Nott language of Tyatora. I've got roughly forty words down on paper, based on about twenty or so roots. The idea is to form the roots first, then combine these roots with other roots and suffixes. Most of the Firk-Nott nouns and pronouns will be made this way (the language I'm making will have a lot of compound words).

Pronouns, articles, and prepositions will be developed next (if I haven't given up altogether by then). From there, I'll come up somehow with the grammar.

This is all in theory, of course, and there probably will be a lot of kinks to iron out of my experimental language.

Here are a few of the words I've made, Firk-Nott words placed first, and the English equivalent placed next to it:

olkvo = considerate, polite, good
alin = people/person
dram =man/male being
nill = lady/female being
olkvo-dram =gentleman
olkvo-nill= polite lady
Frantar = Traveller

I'm out of time, Mom's calling me to see something.

I apologize, good Reader.

Until the next post,
Joshua of Tyatora.

Athanor

2009-03-30T18:06:00.007+08:00

Athanor! Athanor! the Festival of Nationhood!
Day for Tyatora's streams, hills, and woods.
Today! Today, memories of ancient days heard again, once more!
Today, Today, Sweet Festival of Athanor!
We look on gladly into the future, and back to happy days of yesteryear,
Days, past and present, Days afar and near.

Today, today, we celebrate!
Mighty cities open up their gates!
The streets in town filled with tunes of songs.
Distant be the clash of our township's silver gong!
Merry be the people, who dance upon beach and coast,
Athanor! Day of gift-givers, of gay guests and hosts.

Athanor! Families today shall reunite,
Come round, come hear, as we spin yarns in firelight.
Oath of Peace renewed 'tween foes and friends,
Son and sire, dame and daughter come to make ammends.
Older men seem old no more,
Like gone their many scars of war.

As the Festival of Athanor brightens their face!

Navmar, Volmar, alin-olkvo shedey,
Defratmar sofiltineyi Athanor!
Yeelra alin-olkvo!
Yeelra defrat!
Defratmar sifoltineyi Atahnor!
Navmanr, Volmar, alin-olkvo shedey.

Near-away, far-away, the good people celebrate!
Today the Fest of Athanor!
Happy are the the people,
Happy is the day!
Today the the Fest of Athanor!
Nearaway, faraway, good people celebrate!

Whale-song

2009-03-27T20:07:00.008+08:00

Another fantasy-poem. This one isn't too sad.

The Eastern Whales, the descendants of Tranalri,
Who sing under ancient stars, and under open sea,
In search of Hidden Tralvinurr,
The place once of their ancestors, a place of old lore.

None, in all the many realms of the deep,
Know where Hidden Tralvinnur lies,
Where time itself seems to have fallen asleep,
Who's timeless sea-beds age defies.

And so the Whales are singing,
bellowing heavily in the waves,
In hope to hear the reverbration,
That all of Whale-race craves.

That echoes across the sea so vast,
And fills the crying shades of blue,
And Hidden Tralvinurr sings back,
humming the whalesong, great and true.

The rocks of Hidden Tralvinurr,
Will echo out the whale-tune,
When it hears that song again, once more,
Under the glowing palor of the moon.

Perhaps the Whales may find their place,
Where krill and herring come in numbers great,
Rebuild their slowly dwindling race,
And restore the broken Cetamor State.

On the Ocean throne of Anidralut,
A mighty whale-king may yet again arise,
And retake from the pirates, their stolen loot,
That the whale-song may again shake the waves and skies.

But of yet, the kingdom of the Western Whales,
Again, has gone asleep,
Dormant through the winters,
Till awakened from the Deep.

And when the once-fallen land, Tralvinurr, has awakened,
Deep will be the singing of the whale-song.
The foes of cetaceans may be shaken,
And broken the manacles that had held the Free Lords so long

The Eastern Whales, the descendants of Tranalri,
Who sing under ancient stars, and under open sea,
In search of Hidden Tralvinurr,
The place once of their ancestors, a place of old lore.

Delayed Kuantan photos

2009-03-20T12:38:00.021+08:00

Aha! I've finally found the deep secret of pasting photos! I'm such a technological dinosaur. Anyways, here are a few of the beach pictures we took in Kuantan during Chinese new Year.

Pyramid and Shovel

Tropical Paradise

My Brother

Running Water

Sunset Beachgoers

Empty Beach

Seaside Stroll

William the Conqueror: Autobiography

2009-03-15T19:13:00.008+08:00

They called me William the Bastard, for that was what I was –a William and a son of two lovers. My father, the Duke Robert of Normandy, used to tell me he met my mother dancing by the stream. They fell in love; I was the result, born in 1027, anno domini.

Normandy is a rather small bit of land on the coast of Northwestern France that my ancestors had managed to haggle out of the French king some generations ago. I know almost nothing of what really happened (history has always bored me), but somehow or rather my father became duke, and got all the smaller lords and barons in Normandy under his thumb.

That’s me in the picture! When I was seven, my father Robert decided to go on a pilgrimage. Perhaps he had done a great deal of wrong things, and felt a need to make up for those before he died. He explicitly said in his will I was his heir, and I was to take control if he didn’t return.

He didn’t return.

So when I was seven years old, I became William, Duke of Normandy. The problem was, though, that the other lords and barons that had been controlled by my dad weren’t happy with me in power, and war broke out in the region. Suddenly almost everyone was out to get me, so my few loyal relatives kept me in hiding. It was a rough childhood. I hardly understood during the first few years why I had to leave my comfortable castle for dank caves and cooped-up cottages. I learned much and saw much during that time, and swordfights and quick-wittedness became ingrained into my mind and heart.

By the time I was nineteen, I had finally managed to get the military help of the French king, and with that I proceeded to crush the mutinous barons at the town of Caen. Now I, like my father, had got all Normandy under my thumb. I sat down to rule Normandy. Some would say I had an iron grip, but I doubt there was any other way to rule this unruly land. I was harsh, and I was a fierce warrior. That kept me as Duke.

Perhaps it might be important to mention a little of my family relations in order to explain this part of my life better. You see, I was related to the king of England through my great-aunt Emma (May she rest in peace). So when the King of England died (May he also rest in peace), I discovered I had a better claim to the throne than the heir the king of England wanted: Harold Godwinson, Earl of Wessex. I wanted England for myself. Yes, I had Normandy, but why shouldn’t I have Normandy and England with it?

I also reminded Harold of a promise he made some years ago before the English king’s death. By a wind of my good fortune (and a wind of ill-fate for Harold), King-to-be Harold’s ship got wrecked on my coast, and I decided to play a little game. I brought the heir to my palace, and treated him to good meals and good soft bedding. Then I promised Harold that I would bring him back safely to England, if he swore to give me the crown of England upon his king’s death.

Poor Harold did not refuse the bargain. My ancient ancestor had haggled Normandy out of the ancient French king’s lands, and I had haggled England out of Harold’s hands. Notice the resemblance?

However, when Harold returned, and the old English king died, Harold refused to just hand me the crown. He made himself king, and dared me to come over and take the crown off his head. I prepared Normandy for war. England was to be mine!

While I was getting ready and waiting for the right time to strike, Harold was fighting other people who also envied his throne. Harold bravely defeated them all, with the exception of me.
In 1066, we met in battle, for the first and last time. I had already landed on Hastings, southern Britain, with seven thousand knights, footmen, archers, and mercenaries. Harold had an army of spearmen, and a few archers.

The Battle of Hastings lasted all day, but my horsemen and knights overrode and crushed Harold’s line of infantry. Harold got shot in the eye, and died. I had fought King Harold Godwinson and won. I conquered Britain and had myself crowned King. I was ruler of two whole countries!

People no longer called me William the Bastard. Now they called me William the Conqueror, as I am known in those pieces of tree-scrap parchment you call “books”.

I proceeded to set up my government in Britain, established a stable tax system, put down all the little rebellions around my new lands, built brand-new castles, and returned back to Normandy to supervise both of my kingdoms. Now, after all the excitement of victorious conquest, I felt bored. So I continued going into wars and getting out of them; I suppose I never felt whole without at least some form of fighting every now and then. Some might say it is in every Norman duke’s blood instinct to go to battle (and hopefully, win).

Alas, in one such battle, I got wounded. An arrow got stuck in my shoulder, dangerously near my heart. My physicians tried to pull it out, but to no avail. Now, at my deathbed, in the year 1087, I have gotten a solid, stout priest to write for me this brief account of my life, so somebody in the far future may read and be inspired.

And I’m so vain.

.

Tag-making

2009-03-14T18:56:00.025+08:00

Ahh, my first tag. Alas, i have actually made a tag! This one will be all about old times and memories. Hope the tagged people (and untagged ones, too) like it!

1. Name one object that brings up good recollections of your very young childhood (4 years and below).

I remember having this stuffed orca toy. I called it (or him, to be sentimentally correct) "Dimmy". We got that two-foot killer whale at a garage sale once, and I used to carry him everywhere I went in the house. He had one-eye when he bought him, and his dorsal fin leaned beautifully on one side. Dimmy felt so real to me, a fellow friend and adventurer in my imaginary explorations and endeavours. He remains the fondest of my childhood musings, the little black-and-white, angelic cetacean that was such a quiet companion for me.

2. How old were you when you first started using the computer or TV?

I started tv when I was two or so. I started using the computer when I was 6+.

3. Did you enjoy any form of vegetables/fruits you were willing to eat when you were 4 and below, but hate now?

Nope. I don't really hate any kind of food. The only exception would be durian, but I didn't like it then, and I certainly don't like it now.

4. Were there any foods you disliked when you were young, but love now?

Yes. I recall celery and onions were. I don't take onions raw, though. Such cowardice.

5. What was the first fad you had? (e.g. Transformers, animals, Barney, Bob the Builder, Star Wars, Hot Wheels)

That would be my fascination with dinosaurs. I dropped it after a couple years or so, but that was one of my longest lasting fads.

6. Did you enjoy your first day at school (or kindergarten)?

Hmm, I can't recall. I know it's mean ot get other people to answer a question I can't, but. . .

7. Have you ever enjoyed reading? What was the first book you ever read by yourself (or were forced to read)?

Yes! The first book I remember reading was this little book called "Little Hedgehog helps Out." It's a one-sentence-a-page book about a little hegehog assisting his family clean the house and get dinner ready. I distinctly remember examining the last two pages in that picture-book to decide what the hedge-family was eating.

8. How heavy were you when you were just born?

My mom said I was 9 pounds, 13 ounces. Apparently that was huge. "The biggest in the hospital," as my Grandmother proudly says.

I'm out. I tag, Yellowman, Tim, Ben, David (from Edison), and Jian Lin.
Tag five other people after doing this tag.

God bless,
Josh

Pining Phoenix

2009-03-07T11:08:00.020+08:00

Haven't written such a long poem in a while.

In the grassy, green, slopes in realm afar,
East of Crinsehr, West of Tyatora,
North of the Coastline, south of the pits of tar,
Lies the land of the Phoenixes of Pierah.

The Phoenixes of Pierah,
Who came from distant land,
Growers of peach and aloe vera,
Far from Leprechauns and men.

A wondrous race of bird were they,
Those fire-birds of wingspan great,
Whose feather like red roses in May,
Whose beak like carven stone of agate.

And so these orioles of flame,
Came upon these open slopes,
Upon a land without a name,
A land of freedom and new hope.

They settled there,
And grew their aloe vera and peach,
they colonized their kingdom fair.
out of man's and giant's reach.

For a thousand years their people rule,
lived upon the hills and dales,
In the kingdom of mountain and pool.
There they were, scarlet wings, plumed tails.

Then the men of Korasarrh,
Came into this wondrous land,
They came to raid; to break; to mar,
With the power of the lances in their hands.

The phoenixes now rose, united as one,
and sharpened the blades their ancestors had born,
Rallied they, Flame-Birds of the Sun,
Who now wore the armor their forefathers had worn.

But alas, the phoenixes were broken,
Crushed by charging spear,
before the axes of the Korasarrh men,
And many, for their loved ones, shed tear.

The phoenixes left the Land Without Name,
dispersed to the distant corners of the earth,
Sad were they, to leave the Kingdom of the Phoenixes of Flame
The land of their heritage, the land of their birth.

Now, today, they hide by cover of night,
englow the fields with their burning fire,
They emit a sad, mournful form of light,
In the fiefdoms and shires.

Tonight, you might hear a sorrowed phoenix pining,
Weeping for the pain that throbs within her heart,
Perhaps see her feathers shining,
As she spreads her great wings apart.

Their song is heard now,
Loud and piercing,
One that saddens men, birds, and cows.
One that sends the ground to quivering.

Shaking mountain,
Halting wind,
breaking fountain,
roaring din.

And such is the pining of the Phoenixes,
wailing and sad.

Tyatora III

2009-03-01T15:48:00.019+08:00

Yay! I've developed and drafted the races of Tyatora.

Now I need a history (desparately). Hmm. . . This will take a while.

Tyatora is, err, 324 years old. It was created as a confederacy of the various races I mentioned, directly after the Colovician Wars*. The seven leaders of the seven races met at the town of Tillari, and forged a unique alliance, or the Treaty of Tyatroin.

The Treaty was created mainly as a military precaution, a joining of several weak states to form a stable economy and standing defense force in a battle-ravaged land. Tyatorans see this date as the foundng of a nation, a creation of a people. This date is the first year in the Tyatoran calendar.

All years upon this are described based on the number of years away they are from the year of the Treaty. For example, if you were to see the date, "246, N.T.," it means it is 246 years after the year of the treaty. As for the mysterious "NT", the initials stand for, in the Tyatoran tongue, Nigh-aget Tyatroin, or, in English, "Upon the Year of the Tyatroin Treaty."

I think that's all I'll do this post. I won't go into people, events, and places yet. I'm trying to make a framework with which I can use to create more tales and stories on. I hope to make individual records of how each ethnic species came to the land of Tyatora soon.

*The Colovician Wars were a series of wars that occured off and on over one hundred years before 1 NT. It was sparked off by the human earl named Colovici, who incited several wars to wipe out the other races of the continent. Immediately, good human barons, Firk-nott warrior-priests, and gnomes allied to destroy his army. He won the first war, but lost the other five wars he launched. He and most of his men were wiped out in the Battle of Ghimlass. However, his immediate posterity established great castles and forts of resistance, and it took many more years of fighting to destroy these mighty strongholds. By then, the entire continent was tired, exhausted of the raging wars that had gone on for more than one hundred years.

Pool Haikus

2009-02-28T14:44:00.005+08:00

This is by far the longest haiku series I've ever done so far. It came to me, while I was swimming. I never got myself to write them down, until two weeks ago or so.

I.

Feather, winter white.
Floats into the sparkling pool,
Sails, Sails, then sinks down.

II.

Hard small turquoise Rock
Skips on the water surface.
Flies, Flies, sinks below.
III.

Yellow Paper boat,
Slides in the pool from child’s hand.
Little Titanic.

IV.

Pair of lonely floats
Drift like aimless marooners,
Over the blue water.

V.

In the manmade pool,
Over blue tiles and glass water,
Half-Submerged leaf.

VI.

The Child steps backwards,
Squares his legs, gets ready, then jumps.
Small-scale tsunami.

Teeth, or the absence of them

2009-02-28T14:35:00.009+08:00

Last week, one of my molar teeth fell out.

Today, the dentist yanked out the last other milk tooth (he said it was a premolar).

We had beef noodles for lunch (with my family, not my dentist).

The pain caused (by the pulling of the tooth) hardly detered me from finishing my bowl.

What a greedy fellow I am.

What a short post this is.

Sea Cat Song

2009-02-21T10:26:00.008+08:00

This one's (another) post on Tyatora. The poem suddenly came to me yesterday, and I liked it. This is a popular "patriotic" song the Sea Cats like to sing. They're the ship-sailing race in Tyatora (see the first Tyatora post).

We're Sea Cats! We're Sea Cats!
Always have, and always will be!
We're Sea Cats! We're Sea cats!
Rulers of ocean, wave, and sea!

We're Sea Cats! We're Sea Cats!
Masters of water, and seashore and wave.
The Ocean was our birthplace,
The Ocean will be our grave.

We're Sea Cats! We're Sea Cats!
Cats with dorsal fins and long tails,
We're Sea Cats, We're Sea Cats,
Hunters of white-sharks, tuna, and whales.

We're Sea Cats! We're Sea Cats!
The waters we guard and we keep,
Forever preserve the seabeds,
Where our ancient forefathers sleep.

We're Sea Cats, We're Sea Cats!
Small in number, great in will,
Though war and rapine rage round us,
We survive and hold on still.

We're Sea Cats! We're Sea Cats!
Come see our caravels sailing.
We're Sea cats! We're Sea Cats!
Come hear our fiddles a-playing!

We're Sea Cats, We're Sea Cats!
Kings and sailors of the sea,
Sea cats, Great Sea Cats,
Open, merry, free.

We're Sea cats, We're Sea Cats!
Devoted to Maker on high,
Devoted to Jehovah the Mighty,
Creator of ocean, land and sky.

We're Sea Cats! We're Sea cats!
Always have and always will be!
We're Sea Cats! We're Sea Cats!
Rulers of ocean, wave, and sea!