Fashion is for the Foolish

The dark crimson lipstick glided effortlessly across her plump lower lip and she enjoyed its consistency of Shea butter. She pursed her lips together, pressed them lightly a few times back and forth to ensure the deep red was evenly spread. Then, she fished out a minute pair of pink forceps from her closet and also a transparent case containing a set of flamboyant lashes, resembling shrunken replicas of peacock tails. Gingerly, she squeezed a thin streak of translucent glue on the lashes' base and adjusted them with  a few dexterous, precise moves. Her look was then completed with the insertion of 2 electric blue contact lenses onto her snow-hued sclera, shielding the lovely burnt sienna of her eyes. She looked at herself in the mirror and barely recognized the lady staring back at her. There she was, with pseudo-hollowed cheeks and a contoured bridge coupled with unnaturally long lashes. The reflection’s saturated cyan eyes stared into her soul. Everything that she witnesses captured in the 1.2x1.0m reflective surface is unreal. She once adored the attention she received by setting the trends. She absolutely loved it when people labeled her as a daring pioneer; she was the Queen of Fad. But now, it all seemed so empty. Her soul is hollowed out, trying to be different and have an edge over other people. It was a comparison of who had the most outstanding features, who had the most eyeball-grabbing look. But overtime it has morphed into a competition of who has the weirdest riot of color on their faces, and honestly, it had not done her a single bit of good. Slivers of the stage wash that illuminated her cheeks reveal the uneven surfaces created by little bumps of pimples. Even the best concealer fails to hide the effect of age, the tender lines conjugating to form a mermaid tail along the corners of her eyes. 

I’m one year older, but not one year wiser, she thought to herself.

She mulled over it, and thought about why she had gone into the modeling industry in the first place and took a trip down memory lane where the floodgates of yesteryear were unleashed. She thought about her idol, Audrey Hepburn. Her almond shaped eyes and finely chiseled features formed in her mind. Hepburn’s exquisite features and her charm that overwhelmed the stage in Roman Holiday penetrated the 50 years’ worth of cultural and ideological differences. But it had all seemed so different then and now. Hepburn had natural beauty and a refreshing charisma that no one has. She had a fine frame, unlike her large physique which made her very ashamed.

Well, how about someone more recent, she pondered. As her eyes gazed heavenwards, she thought about stars like Ariana Grande. It was as if god had packed the world’s supply of sunshine into her soul. It radiates and glows wherever she goes, a radical difference from her where she always faked it till she had made it. Every single time on the run way is a nightmare worse than meeting a real life Medusa. She fear that the audience’s comments may pierce her like how a curse is inserted into the limbs and body of a voodoo doll. People are starting to detest her. They label her as an oddball with a very eccentric sense of dolling up. It tears through her and rips her into little pieces.

Just then, the manager calls. The voice makes reverberates off the walls of her inner ear.

“Phoebe, it’s your turn on stage!”

She squirms inside as she balanced on 15 inch cream heels with a matching outfit armed with an attitude for war. She wore this air of confidence around her like she never had and posed in her most cutting-edge positions. She smiles despite the frowns cast at her from the audience. Once she was done, she splashed the makeup off her face and crushed the contact lenses, disposing them into a common bin along with her lashes. After all, she was no longer head over heels over fashion. It was driving her crazy, she was losing herself, not knowing who she really was inside. At the end of the day, she is only Phoebe, and she will always be. Fashion is not really meant for everyone. Down the road, the ones who remain real and true to themselves are the most captivating. And with that thought, she packed up and leaved a resign letter on her table the next day, relieved finally that she has found herself and how she has dumped a foolish decision. 

Image source: http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1130/1274815691_73aff48e22.jpg 

Suicide hotlines, it's time to up your game

I dialled a familiar number. I held the phone close to my ear, listening as each small little electrical pulse ran to get for help with each beep resonated in the receiver. I twirled the coils of the telephone line and felt my soul inside equally as gnarled. My life is out of sorts, and I need someone to tell them to. Given such an eccentric personality, my social circle's radius is very confined as well. I reached out for the telephone, felt the smooth round buttons compress under my finger's push. Instead of help, I was delievered rejection. They made me feel like a specimen. I was the frog they were dissecting on. It is one of the worst feelings ever in the world. 

To kick things off, suicide hotlines can make their clients feel like statistics. This problem not just lies with me, but also another 723 of 1431 calls for aid. Instead of asking the person on the line whether he or she feels suicidal, receivers beat around the bush. They attempt talking about daily life, but that is exactly what people want to avoid. Real life is like a suckerpunch straight up the jaw at times. The type of tone that they adopt is like the suicide version of Elder-speak. Elder-speak is when some of us speak to older people, we slow down, sugar-coat our sentences and use repetition. Here, it becomes like " Yes, I know you are feeling very down as you have said. And you also mentioned you are sad. Yes, you feel devastated. Don't be sad okay?" Applying what I have just learnt in school today, this qualifies for a logical fallacy of begging the question. One is just using synonyms for sad, but one is not really tackling the problem. The inability to deliver the promised effects makes the caller feel even more hopeless. It gives the caller the impression that his problem is so big that even a professional cannot solve it. So, in his mind, there will be a higher chance of the balance tilting towards pulling the trigger and not. For me, I really felt like sliting my wrist more with every single call. Instead of feeling better, suicide hotlines are providing me with every reason to jump off the building. Hence, as suicide hotlines services are making people feel worse, I believe it is time to up the game of providing people with real comfort and not act all stiff and unnatural when handling cases. 

Other than making one feel estranged, some volunteers of the suicide hotline get impatient as the caller tells the volunteer about his problem. For example, when they try to solve the problem, volunteers may speak in a hasty manner or they may show signs of annoyance in their speech. I have experienced this personally before when one of the suicide hotline volunteers I called said bye to me before I could finish my  sentence. However, I am not alone. There are many others who have experienced the same thing as I have. I felt that nobody ever bothered or cared. But then again, I guess I must learn to understand that I cannot be too selfish to demand that everyone is here for me when I need them the most. However, I felt really alone and left out like there was really no one to care. Hence, as suicide hotlines can potentially convince one to probably take that leap of death, it really needs to up its game in helping people walk out of their darkness. 

I do understand it is tough being a volunteer for a crisis hotline. Everyday, there will be shattered souls coming to one waiting for the power of one's words to piece up the broken parts together. It is going to be very difficult for the volunteers if they have never had any of such incidents before. Every person's perspective is different, thus what may seem like a problem for one may not be a headache for another. Also, to each his own experience. Hence, for a volunteer to understand every caller's encounters fully is really a Herculean task. Therefore, while they try their best to appreciate the complexity of our situation, it is also the caller's duty to be patient and clear in explaining. 

Then again, even though their service is not bad to start off with, however, I believe that suicide hotlines can do better. Being a INTJ, I appreciate it when people show their logic in dissecting a problem and presenting it to me in a clear logical manner. However, being an INTJ who has been immersed in many sad novels and thrillers, I do have an emotional side. Hence, when one analyzes my problems as if it were an examination script, I would feel very alien, and I'm sure many people would too. Suicide hotlines without a human touch is like talking to a robot. This unfortunately does not solve any problem at all. Also, with a little bit more patience, I'm sure a lot of people would appreciate it even more when there is really someone listening to their problem. Most would love a listening ear when they are in distress. Talking to people is one of the best and instant ways to feel better about a situation according to Jim Gray and and suicide website, Lost all Hope. 

Wrapping up, I hope that suicide hotlines would be able to incorporate less hassle when handling cases. They should introduce more follow ups like "Are you feeling better now? Talk to me more about this issue, and let me see what I can do about it. " Also, crisis hotlines should be able tackle their client's problems directly instead of avoiding it. All of these would make the client feel  welcome and warmth because the other person on the line really cares for him or her. Hence, his scales in this case would be to put down that bottle of bleach instead of swigging it like soda. People need love and care to go around. I sincerely hope that each individual considering about suicide would give it one more thought. Walking down the boulevard of broken dreams is hard, but someone will find you very soon, so fret not and be strong. 

I don't understand

Sometimes, I don't understand how this world works anymore. Sometimes, I feel like ripping out my DNA and then re-sequencing them all over so that I don't have to be such a sore loser like I am today. I feel like ripping my double helix apart so that I don't have to exist.

I have called suicide hotlines over and over and all they do is to treat my like a statistic. Hello? Yeah, I um, yeah, I um know that you are feeling down and all that, but feel better okay? Maybe you can try going for psychology courses and couselling. Well sure, if I hadn't been so unhappy that I almost slit my throat, I would not have called. I would not have the guts to call the suicide hotline if I hadn't tried strangling myself and swig bleach like it was soda. My palette, it's all gray and black along with some spit of despise that someone has given me respectfully as a souvenir. Thank you so much for your pity, I really appreciate it. Now let me kneel down and hail you as a king shall I? 

My mom keeps on asking me to marry early even though I just started high school. She keeps on telling me that I must get a good husband. "Your academics are not important. All you need to do, is to get a good man to depend upon and someone to dote upon you. Then, you will just give me my grandson and then my job would be done. " 

Honestly, I felt revolted about the warped mindset of my Mother. The woman who has brought me up as a Tiger Mom, asking me to be Head Prefect, asking me to get a Perfect Score, asking me to get into Gifted Education suddenly vanished. In her place is some person I don't understand and don't fathom. She is now asking me to depend on a man. She is asking me to bury my dreams and then go get a family ASAP. She is trying to persuade me how awesome marriage is.  However, just by observing our current life now, just by seeing how you are stuck in a downward spiralling paranoia makes me scared. Mom, you were the one who taught me the importance of reading, yet, now you prefer TV to books. Mom, you were the one who was against new technology fearing that it will corrode our minds, yet you suggested I get a SmartPhone. Mom, you were the one who taught me that what I wanted to be in life was to be independently wealthy. I should have been a skilled, passionate and driven person. Now, you are telling me to depend on the seperate sex for all my life. 

Okay, this post is not meant to be sexist, I have nothing against the opposite gender. 

But mom, you scared me. Your 180 degree attitude change shattered me instantly. I hate how you think women are worthless. How in our whole lives, we should just be child bearing machines and submit our lives to men. No! This is totally not how it works. I beg to differ and this time, in my whole wide life as goody-two-shoes I disagree with you.

There have been so many things that happened tthat got me thinking, sparked passion within me. In 2007, dad took me to a Nobel Prize exhibit that got me loving Science. In 2011, I was introduced to Shakespeare, poetry and Geography and fell in love with them ever since. This year, I managed to get into Biology Olympiad. I read Campbell's Biology and that opened my eyes to a whole new world. It was really like going for a magic carpet ride. I got to learn so many interesting things in Chemistry. I plan to go on and pursue Plant Biology/Chemistry or Bio-Chemistry as my degree. 

But no, what did you say? No way are you going into Chemistry or Plant Biology. Chemistry is way too dangerous and Plant Biology doesn't earn money. Bio-chemistry is found in the Medical School and you are obviously not cut out to be a doctor. C'mon, studies isn't the most important thing. The important thing is to get married and then enjoy life as a house wife. 

Cool, we're going to owe a projected $15400 in tuition fees in University for moulding me into a housewife. Mom, I loathe how you think that I am worthless just because I get nauseous watching dissection videos. I detest how you forbid me to do what I love to do! People's moms tell them to chase down their dreams like the last bus of the night, you are telling me to give up my dreams because I was not cut out for them.

I don't understand.

Mom, stop sinking in hysteria and anxiety. Stop thinking that you have it worse. Stop thinking you have got an incurable disease when your most recent health checkup was an A+. Stop believing that women were meant to marry men and depend on them. That would make women leeches which I'm certain that the whole world knows that we are not.

I'm sorry that I suck. I'm sorry that I am such a financial burden, that I cannot agree to the rules that you have set for me i.e get married and give birth to triplets at 25. I'm sorry that I'm such a selfish little prick. But mom, I hope you can see that the world isn't all about bearing children and depending on a man to feed you and support you. Mom, people have the right to dream, and that includes women too. Why not give it a try? Have a little faith in life, and uproot the assumption that you are doomed for life. Everyone has their battles and each is fighting hard to see the sunrise. We may be going through hell now, but I'm sure it will get better. [P.s. I will not become another statistic for youth suicide just yet. ] If you let reality pin you down, it will and you will always remain in that position. We need a little motivation, and that is called having a dream. I really wanted to do music, but you said it didn't earn any money. Mom, when you engage in something that you love the most, money is the not the most important concern.

Mom, for once, stop thinking about money and making babies. I feel disgusted. Please excuse me as I go and vomit out all my woes into the toilet bowl. You underestimate me, and I feel the fire flickering in me. I wish I had a normal family and a mom with higher expectations. Are women really cut out just to bear babies and depend on other people? You mean, women cannot go after their dreams? Women are not cut out for achievements like men? We are second-class citizens? No mom. You are dead wrong.

I don't understand your logic anymore. 

Would English Language be better without the apostrophes?

Imagine the English language without apostrophes. Let us close our eyes for a while and think what a smoking ruin the world might have been in. Trendy, grammatically incorrect phrases like “Your Stupid” and ”theres nothing wrong.. ” will be rampaging and plaguing our language and literature. Worst of all, these wrong phrases could end up influencing the minds of our younger generation and it will lead them astray to think, write and use these broken phrases. All of these will eventually lead to the erosion of and degradation of the beauty of English language. Therefore, for the preservation of such rich language with a relatively long history, the apostrophe should be kept.

Firstly, in order to efficiently put the message that we intend to convey across clearly, apostrophes are very important. Without apostrophes, there would be unnecessary confusions that arise and lead to misinterpretation of the original intended meanings of the author. Thus, this misunderstanding will spread on and eventually lead to rather embarrassing results. For example, according to Nury Vittachi’s article 3 Beautiful Terms Killed by the Internet, he has mentioned of an English academy started by Anu in India. However, because someone has dropped the apostrophe, Anu’s English Academy became Anus English Academy. Now, I believe that we all can see the huge difference between having and not having an apostrophe. Sure, you may think that apostrophes are so annoying having to put them to denote possession. However, take this instance of Anu’s to Anus English Academy. An established institution for passing on the wonders of language arts to the next generation has instantly been downgraded to a ridiculous one-of-a-kind place to teach your butt how to talk. Aye, you may laugh at this nonsense, but this is the kind of glaring error when apostrophes are absent.  It is so out-of-this-world it doesn’t make sense without the apostrophe. Hence, in view of Anu’s English Academy, to prevent such shamefully hilarious expressions from arising and evoking an expression of disgust and surprise on people, the apostrophe is mandatory.

Apart from producing a myriad of confusions, the absence of apostrophes is going to give everyone a hard time trying to speak and write what is on their mind. This will hinder the efficiency in conversation and also make talking and penning down your thoughts a pain in the neck. For example, if apostrophes were removed, shortened, dynamic phrases like “couldn’t, wouldn’t, mightn’t” will have to be spelt in full as “could not, would not, and might not.” Spelling things in full is really a chore and is very troublesome especially if you want to convey a message and get a reply fast. Also, writing in full makes a casual chat between one’s friend and him become like a conversation between two diplomats or important people. And this, brings us to the beauty of having apostrophes.  Apostrophes are short, compact phrases that are supposed to be used in our daily conversations with our friends and family or just about anybody to create a more relaxed atmosphere. With this more informal setting, we get to let down our hair and talk our hearts out on our views about a matter to let loose after a hard day at work. It tears down the walls of seriousness and lets people have heart to heart chats that will allow them to relish in this game of exchanging intellect and views on different matters. And hence, without the apostrophe, life would really be a 24-hour intense environment with no rest until you snuggle in bed. How do you like this kind of lifestyle?

Other than causing bewilderment and also being an ultimate chore, the apostrophe is an integral part of the English language’s history. Apostrophes are almost as old as time and definitely have been helping to define specifically and clearing the air since the day it was born. Since apostrophes have existed for such a long time, and is on the decline in usage now, then it is time that we take action to save this situation before it gets worse off instead of abandoning it. There is a Chinese saying that, translated literally says “It’s not too late to mend the fold even if some sheep have escaped”. Faced with this current situation of the abuse of the English language, we should instead find a way out of this disastrous problem instead of letting this virus plague us even further and gnaw our language culture away even further. Let me give you an analogy. Apostrophes are like that sweater/T-shirt in our closets that has been there since forever and it is that essential apparel that you have. However, now some nuisance moth decided feast on it and there are holes in it. How would you feel about it and what will you do? If it were to be me, I would go get some needle and thread and mend the hole so I can wear it again. Leaving it to the moths doing nothing about it is a rather illogical course of action. And if anyone were to be in my shoes, I believe that they would do the same. So, if you can have the initiative and instinct to mend your own favourite outfit, then why not put in a little more effort to mend that little apostrophe hole in your writing the next time and play your part in helping to conserve the wonders of the mother tongue of approximately 359 million people.

In retrospect, I firmly believe that the apostrophe should not be discarded. Since it has been serving us for so many years, throwing it away will be like ditching your long-time friend. Therefore, if it is not okay to ditch a long-time friend, why expunge the apostrophe? Yes, friends can be annoying and they can cause trouble, but what is life without friends? Apostrophes have helped us have clear references, show possession and have become one of the most important and integral part of the English language culture. Therefore, I urge you to join me in a campaign to SAVE THAT APOSTROPHE. Yes, haters will continue to hate, but for the sake of the development and preservation of the language, I think it is necessary and it’s definitely time to begin the fight against this pathogen from wreaking havoc in our language. 

Friend, this is what you haven't seen.

Dear friend

Thank you for being with me even though I fail to meet your requirements as a friend. However, before I leave, I want you to know that we live in a colourful world. There are shades and hues of colour every where, in the sky, in the air, in our souls and in our dreams. Don't be confined to what is only on your palette, go out there and explore what the world has to offer. Our lives are like a blank canvas, we are the painters, and everyone has their own colour palette. Some have bright, rich intense colours, whilst others are more towards the lighter, smoother hues. It all depends on how you paint your canvas, how you mix your colours. Anyone and everyone can ask others for colours to mix with their own and paint a piece of their choice. It doesn't matter whether it is nice or ugly, it is your piece of art, that is colourful, and that is what makes it unique. If you are only confined to your own scheme of colours, then I'm afraid your piece of art will not be interesting at all. My palette is made of only one colour, which is very boring and in your terms " bo liao" to you. But, if you can allow me to mix my colour with yours, together we can paint a work we can call our own. Don't reject people when they want to share their colour with you even if it doesn't look nice. You can always mix it with some of your own and little miracles happen. Sometimes, some colours just do not mix like red and green, and that is when we learn to complement,what we call in Chinese as 配合. Just like how the green stem and leaves complement the bright red rose. What you must recognise is that some of these colours on your palette,no matter how bad they are, do not go away no matter how hard to wash them. At first it may seem ugly to you, but then you will notice that actually, it is one of the things that can define you other than the pretty colours on your palette. Everyone has got pretty colours, but it would then be difficult to tell them apart.
Also, there is one more thing you must know, we all have that ugly colour, nobody has a perfect palette of only lovely, pleasant looking colours. So if someone comes along with his/her palette with some colours that you don't like, do not reject them once again. You must be able to recognise that they have the lovely colours too that can complement yours and make your palette a even prettier one, even a mono-coloured palette(on the surface). Then, there are some out there who purposely spills bad colours onto your palette and laughs and jeers. I'm not saying that you should spill your bad colours onto theirs because that will make a mess everywhere. Instead, pick those colours out, mix it with your own ones and see the magic, your colours will be as vibrant as ever. But, when someone lashes out and breaks your palette, it is all right. There is something called the superglue of hope and faith, and you can glue it back together again. If you lack colour, don't worry, there will always be the refilling station of love and joy that helps you get another palette with the hues that you choose. So wield your brush well, friend, paint your picture. If you ever have the time to pop around, flip over my mono-coloured palette and you shall see a variety of colour that you will never believe, any and every kind you can imagine.

Addendum: Valentine's day is not only for couples. It is to celebrate the love between people. Love does not necessarily mean the kind that exists between boyfriends and girlfriends, it also embraces the kind that exists between friends and family. Stop filling your heart with the pitch dark of hatred and open it up to sunshine and love. Believe me, life is stunning when you choose to live it with a pinch of love and enjoyment.

All the best in your everything!
Cheers
Emily

Grim Reaper's Pie

It was night time.

Not just any kind of night, but one where you couldn’t even see your fingers if you hold them up in front of you. It was a night where you felt that you have been robbed of vision. It was a night, where not a single wisp of moonlight bounces off the surface of the earth. It was pitch-black, as if god has spilled ink all over earth.

In his apartment, a ninety-year-old retired medic Thurston Thames was soundly asleep in his cozy bed. Thurston’s snowy hair fell lightly onto his pillow, as if a dove resting in its nest. He snored very slightly, until he heard loud banging sounds resonating from his front door.

“Thurston” a deep, tranquil, crystal-clear voice reverberated around Thurston’s house. But no answer came.

“Thurston Thames” and he called out again, but clearer, louder and seemingly with a pinch of irate. Thurston was now wide awake. His eyes were opened to the size of saucers, with cold sweat trickling down his finely chiseled skull. It was that kind of voice where you could break out in cold sweat even in the scorching heat of the Sahara desert. The medic felt his teeth chattering involuntarily and he pulled up his warm blanket as he lay on his soft, warm kip.

“Thames Thurston!” and he bellowed, sonorous, crystal-clear and brimming with wrath. Thurston felt his heart skip a beat. Feeling sick in his stomach, Thurston swallowed hard, clutched at his stomach and reached for his rosewood walking cane. He then stretched his legs, pushing hard on his cane, and stood up. He reached for his handkerchief on the side of the table, next to his bed; gently dapping the perspiration that was quickly forming on his forehead with trembling hands. Then, he reached out for his elk hide blazer and draped it over his shoulders, only to feel that his pajamas were drenched in cold sweat. Then, he slipped on idem sandals, walked, with trembling feet to the door. Gingerly, Thurston twisted the ice-cold, metallic knob clockwise. The door opened with a creek, like a moaning animal.

“I have called your name thrice. What took you so long to open the door?” The voice asked. Thurston, staring at this creepy silhouette in the middle of a pitch-dark night, was overwhelmed by fear. As he opened his mouth to speak, he only managed a croak. Just then, the neighbor’s light came on. And that was when Thurston wanted desperately to get out of the scene. There was a menacing glisten on the right shoulder of this person. It was sickle shaped, ice-cold, and lifeless. It was unmistakably an enormous reaper. What’s more, the silhouette came with a black hooded robe, concealing his face. Thurston’s legs immediately went jelly. The silhouette slammed open the door, pushed Thurston into his home. But Thurston straightened up.

“What do you want?” He swallowed a lump that was fast rising in his throat. He plucked up his courage, walked a few steps into the front, standing in a bull-dog stance. Even with his strong front, Thurston’s legs were quivering, and locking up. There were even beads of sweat forming on his upper lip. His heart was racing like a F1 car during the last lap. The silhouette inched nearer to Thurston. The old medic limped backward, his legs totally paralyzed by immense fear. He rummaged about his surroundings for just about anything to grab on lest he passes out, or lest he gets pulled out of his house by the grim reaper. But the grim reaper was so near, he was only an arm’s length away. His unmistakable reaper shimmered under the bright yellow light from the neighbor’s window. He closed his eyes, and braced himself for his own death. Just then, a cold, lifeless hand was placed on Thurston’s neck, which sent instant chills down the old medic’s spine. Thurston could feel his whole body quivering, shivering, like as if he was left unclothed in the Arctic, even though he was dressed in his thickest elk hide blazer. That hand exerted a force so strong, it sent Thurston plunging and sinking straight into his soft, satin, Elizabethan arm chair. As he got nearer, the odor of death and decay filled Thurston’s nostrils. Thurston sunk back into his chair, ice cold sweat trickling down his sharp chin, as the hand got moved up his nape and he came eyeball to eyeball with the grim reaper, as he await for his imminent doom…

“Click!”  Thurston’s bed-side lamp was flicked on.

“Thurston!” The grim reaper lifted up his hoodie. Thurston opened one eye to see who it was.

Why it was the childhood playmate that accompanied Thurston throughout much of his life—Elliot. Being his classmate ever since they were in kindergarten until their senior year in university, he has undoubtedly become the closest person to Thurston’s heart and the one friend that Thurston treasures. Elliot brought along their high school art project—the reaper’s umbrella, with a sickle shaped metallic handle and wore their graduation robe, along with a black hooded jacket. Elliot fished out a white, oblong box that reeked of garlic, leek and dead fish, while Thurston, previously tensed up in his arm chair, and heaved a sigh of relief. Elliot flashed him his signature winsome grin, only now, it was toothless. Both men’s wrinkles eased out as they burst out in laughter.

“Old buddy, how do you like that?” Elliot slapped the old medic’s back, delivering the same amount of force as he used to when they were teenagers. Decades on, Elliot who turns ninety just in two days, could still deliver the same amount of force and joy in every friendly slap of the back.

“Here, try my latest invention—pickled anchovies pie.” Elliot opened the white box. His smile had a golden lining about it as it was hued by the warm glow of Thurston’s lamp.  It was a heart shaped pie, unlike any other pie that Thurston has seen his whole life. There were little cream stars that decorated every corner of the pie that seemed to glow under the light of the lamp. Thurston felt his stomach rumble instantly.

“Can I have a bite?” Thurston pointed to the pie.

“Sure thing mate, it is specially prepared for you!” Elliot smiled. He took out the Swiss-army knife that Thurston remembers from their sophomore year of college and gently cut out a lion’s share of his pie for Thurston. He hands it over to the old medic, and smiled as Thurston took his first bite.

Just like its shape, the taste was nothing like what Thurston had had in the ninety years of his life. The pie crust was soft, yet crispy. There was meaty, soft, juicy anchovy flesh and a crunchy chunk of pickles. His tongue was coated with the most gentle saltiness and sweetness, like the sea licking your feet as you take a walk in the waves. Though it did not smell as good, but this was The Pie in Thurston’s life. It was so delectable, so savory, it was hard not to ask for a second serving. Once he was done, Thurston smacked his lips, and went the classic “Mmmm” for relishing a delicious dish.

“Come Thurston,” Elliot pulled his chair closer to Thurston and took his hand. “Today’s my test for general nutritionist in the hospital.” He said. “So tell me, how did you like my pie?”

NAPFA

PE TESTS ARE HERE TO STAY

CAN YOU OUTSHINE ALL OF THE REST AND CLIMB ON TOP OF THE LADDER OF FITNESS AND REACH FOR THAT GOLD AWARD?

 Recently, I had my NAPFA PE test. It's really discriminating how they categorize all the kids into Gold group, Silver group, Bronze group, or simply no award. Like seriously, you see a horizontally inclined kid in class leap into the air, land with a big thud like an elephant onto the standing broad jump mat, shake your head and immediately tell him:" Dude, sorry, this year you ain't getting any awards." (I'm personally very horizontally inclined)

"OH HOHO, CHER, ONE DOES NOT SIMPLY UNDERESTIMATE MY POWER."



 STANDING BROADJUMP

Ah yes, I just don't understand. Why is there such a big difference between the standards of guys and girls. We only need 165cm to ace this but boys need 215cm to do the same. And so, there's this dude in class who geared himself up by swinging his arms vigourously and violently like a helicopter and took off into the air, hands slightly behind him, head tilted upwards, and left foot pointing up like a ballerina. And with the most graceful pointe landing I've ever seen, he's accomplished a whooping 180cm. (Yes, but he still hasn't aced it). Girls in class get into the spread eagle position as if they are sky diving, bend their legs as low as possible and take off like a missile and land off with a mere150cm. I really applaud this dude's ballet skills. So hilarious, yet so amazing.