profile.
Name: Alvin
Age: 21 years old
D.O.B.: 2nd December 1987
Currently studying in:
NUS FASS (CNM major)

talk.


affiliates.
Becks
Cath
Hana
Gary
Lisa
Lele
Sharon

archives.
December 2006
January 2007
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
February 2009
April 2009

layout.
x
resources: x

Finally, a short story update. :D This one's an idea for a short film production I'm a part of, though it may not be used. Regardless, I really enjoyed writing this piece, and hopefully you'll enjoy reading it!

Sidenote: I would really recommend listening to a sad musicbox sort of melody while reading this, because that's the exact kind of music I imagined would fit this story.

The melody I was listening to while writing this is White Album - Version 2 by InfinityVas on Newgrounds Audio. I'm not sure if I'm allowed to post a direct link, so I won't!

----------

Bump. Bump. Bump.


How long has it been, that I’ve been just sitting here in the dark? How long has it been since I last heard the sound of your voice? Has it been days? Hours? Or has it only been a few minutes?


Bump. Bump. Bump.


Is this the sound of your basketball? Or is it the sound of my own heart, trying to lend sound to this overwhelming silence that’s washed over me since you left?


Bump. Bump. Bump.


When I first woke up, the first thing I felt was the warmth of your hands, supporting me as I lay on the cold, cold floor. I could barely make out your face in the darkness, but I could feel your care and concern. A short while after that, I realized that I could not remember anything, not my name, how I came to be here, my family, my friends, nothing. What was this room? Why were you sitting there in the dark, watching over me sleep? But even as those questions drifted through my mind, a faint memory nudged me. There had been a terrible, unspeakable disaster – one that had destroyed the world as we knew it, but no further details came to mind. All I knew was that something terrible had happened to the world, but I could not remember exactly what.

I got up then, and wanted to leave, to find out what was going on, and also to see if anything could be done about my lost memories. But you reached out, with those warm hands, and pulled me back down.

“It’s dangerous out there right now.” You whispered to me as I struggled to break free. “Stay here, at least until the danger’s gone.”

“How can you be sure we’ll be safe here?” I demanded. And even though you didn’t say anything, I could somehow sense that you were smiling, and I instantly felt comforted. And that, more than anything else, made me decide to stay.


Bump. Bump. Bump.


Time had no meaning, no relevance in that dark, cold room. What the room even was, I don’t know, but if I had to guess, I’d say it was a storeroom. There were boxes of food – canned meat, chocolate bars, sweets, and bottles of water – and you freely offered to share them with me, even though you didn’t know who I was, and I you.

As time went on, you would tell me stories of your own life, for I had none of my own to relate. When I mentioned as much, you only laughed, saying that it didn’t matter, that by the time his stories were done, it would be safe for us to leave the room.

You told me about how you were a professional basketball player before the disaster – you wouldn’t tell me what exactly it was – and why you loved the sport so much. It was more than just the tension, the excitement in the air, and the cheers of your supporters, you said. It was more than just the teamwork, the patience and guidance of your coach, and the incredible emotions from winning or losing a game.

You told of how, when you were a child, your mother had been struck by a fatal ailment that wasted her body. You told of how, as your mother lay on her deathbed, she called for you, and you alone.

“My child,” she whispered, “I’m sorry.” And you spoke of how you had been so confused – why was she apologizing to you whilst on the verge of death? “You love basketball, don’t you? Let your passion guide your future. Always aim high and shoot for the moon, and even if you miss, you’ll still land amongst the stars. Live life to the fullest – I want nothing more than for you to be doing what you want, and I know you have the courage, the passion, and the drive to be successful in doing what you love.”

“How do you know?” You had asked of her. And she had smiled.

“Because I am your mother.”

And then, from your backpack, you showed me the miniature basketball that you always kept with you – a mini replica of the real thing, a toy that you had played with since you were old enough to do so. It served as a reminder of your mother, and her wish for you to live life to the fullest, to be happy doing what you want to do.

And I asked, what happiness could there be now, when the world was gone?

And once again, all you did was smile. But that was good enough an answer for me.


Bump. Bump. Bump.


Just how much time did we spend in that room? Thinking back now, it felt like an eternity, but your stories helped make it seem so much shorter. But as limitless as time is, our supply of food was not, and we were starting to run out. We spoke of gathering the last of our food and water, and leaving the room, but we could not think of a place to go to, nor did we know what to expect beyond the boundaries of the four walls we had been living in. It was as though our entire world now revolved around the room – we knew nothing of what awaited us outside the door, and as much as I desired to leave, a terrible fear of the unknown had taken root in my heart, bred by the sense of safety and security offered by both the room, and your presence.

And as our discussion went on, a horrible, horrible scream suddenly came from the outside. I immediately shrank away from the door, shivering, so terrible and heartrending the scream was. It was almost inhuman, so filled with emotions – anguish, fear, pain, desperation. You immediately ran to door, and jammed a crowbar – one of the items we had managed to find inside the room – between the door handle and floor, effectively locking the door in place. The scream grew more desperate, and the door handle began to shake. I turned away from the door, pressing my face against the wall, willing the scream out of my mind and trying not to let one out myself.

Even as I shook, I felt your warm hands wrap themselves around me, comforting and reassuring me. And so we sat there in the darkness, you protecting me, and eventually the screams faded away, even though my fear did not.

And at some point, I must have fallen asleep, worn out by fear, for when I awoke, you weren’t there by my side. In my hands I was holding the crowbar, and I guessed that you had placed it there for me to use in self-defence. But the crowbar didn’t offer the same sense of reassurance. I felt naked, alone, weak... and afraid.

You came back some time later, and so wound up was I by that time that I very nearly took your head off with the crowbar when you opened the door. Only that familiar aura, that sense of comfort I always felt when you were with me, stopped me from attacking you blindly.
But something about you felt different.

I didn’t know what it was, or why, at the time, because it was too dark for me to see much of anything. You opened your backpack, and withdrew more food and water, explaining that you had ventured outside the room to gather more supplies while I had been asleep. You seemed so very tired, your actions were so sluggish. But I thought nothing was wrong, that you were only tired because finding the food had taken a lot of effort. I asked if it was finally safe for us to leave the room, but you said that there was still danger lurking outside, that we would have to wait a little while longer.

And I believed in you, as I had come to do in the time we spent together.


Bump. Bump. Bump.


Later that day, as I slept, you watching over me as you always seemed to do, I felt your hands lightly touch my face.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. And I didn’t know what you meant at the time, guessing that you were apologizing for leaving me alone in the room.

“I was scared, you know.” I said.

“I believed in you. I know you’re a strong person, you can handle it.”

“... How do you know?”

“Because I’m your friend.” And I smiled.


Bump. Bump. Bump.


When I next awoke, you were lying there on the floor next to me. And I found it strange, for you were always awake before I was. I reached over to nudge you awake, but there was no response. I shook you harder, but still you remained silent. And that was when I realized that there was something sticky on my hands. I looked at them closely.

It was blood. Your blood.

In desperation, I checked for signs of breathing, a pulse, anything, just to make sure you were still alive, but I couldn’t find anything. Your body was still warm to the touch, as warm as I had always remembered, but you wouldn’t reach out with your hands to comfort me, as you always had. You remained lying there, so still, so silent, and with that same, reassuring smile. The same smile that had helped me stay sane in those long, dark hours we spent sitting in the room.

I realized then why you seemed so tired when you returned from the outside. It wasn’t because you had expended a lot of energy finding supplies... it was because you had been badly injured by whatever it was that lurked outside. And I also realized then, with a pang, that you probably wouldn’t have been so badly wounded had you taken the crowbar with you, but you left it in my hands to ensure that I had a way to defend myself.

“Why?” I asked, knowing that you couldn’t answer. “Why?”

I looked at the smile upon your face, that smile you always gave me that gave me assurance even if no words were spoken.

And for the first time since I woke up in your arms...

I cried.


Bump. Bump. Bump.


How long has it been, that I’ve been just sitting here in the dark? How long has it been since I last heard the sound of your voice?


Bump. Bump. Bump.


Is this the sound of your basketball? Or is it the sound of my own heart, trying to lend sound to this overwhelming silence that’s washed over me since you left?


Bump. Bump.


But does it matter? The sound of your basketball, and the sound of my beating heart... they’re one and the same now. Even now, your words ring strong within my mind.

“I believed in you. I know you’re a strong person, you can handle it.”


Bump.


I have all the supplies packed in your backpack now, along with your basketball. And I have the crowbar. There’s no turning back now. I’m leaving this room. I’m no longer afraid of the unknown, for I will have the memory of your smile, always, to reassure and comfort me.

Your mother wanted you to live life to the fullest, to be happy doing what you wanted.


I will live that life for you.


... Why?


“Because I’m your friend.”
Because I’m your friend.

... Well, no, the title of this entry is deceiving. I do not have the talent (much to my everlasting shame) for singing, and even in the legendary K-Boxes I'm usually the emo kid squatting in some shadowy corner sipping on a beer and refusing to sing. So... singing in the rain is clearly out of the question for a person such as myself, for various reasons:

1. I can't sing.

2. Singing in the rain means getting rainwater in my mouth, which isn't very... pleasant. (singing in the shower, however, is different. The shower is a godsend to people like myself, who can't sing worth a crap, but want to try it without killing people within a 20 meter radius)

3. I can't sing.

4. As mentioned in point no. 2, if I sang in the rain, it means singing in a public area, and that equates to me becoming a mass murderer. I can see the headlines now... "A New Way To Kill?! Young Man Massacres People With Horribad Singing!"

5. I CAN'T SING.


... I digress. You're probably wondering by now, just what the heck I was doing wandering around in the rain in the first place.

And that, my son (and no, I do not have any illegal sons that I do not know of), is a most excellente (with an extra 'e'!) question!

You see, I was supposed to head down to my friend's residence for a rehearsal for our Theatre Studies module. And it just so happens that the one bus that goes there only arrives once every 30 (BLOODY THIRTY) minutes. And just as I was stepping out of my home, casually whistling a happy tune, I saw the bus thunder past.

I think I stared stupidly at the bus stop for a good minute there. There's a schedule at every stop the bus goes to that says what time the bus usually arrives. And everyday, for like the past damned 3 years I have been taking that bus, it arrives within 5 minutes of the stipulated (amagadz, big word) timing.

Wouldn't you know today would be a first time it arrived 10 minutes earlier?

Awesome.

And so, thinking to myself, "Hey! The walk can't possibly be that long, I mean, it only takes like 7 minutes by bus and 3 minutes by car if I speed like a demon, which I always do!"

And now, I'd just like to say to everyone out there who might possibly have had a similarly misleading thought such as this one.

THE THOUGHT IS A LIE.


Alvin's Theory of WTF-is-this-stupidly-long-walk:

Time taken to traverse a distance on foot = Time taken to traverse said distance by car x 10

Time taken to traverse a distance on foot = Time taken to traverse said distance by bus x 4~5


And so, what I assumed would be a short and relatively quick walk turned out to take all of 30 minutes. And to make matters worse, it started raining 10 minutes into the walk.

By the end of the walk, my feet were aching from having to clench my toes to hang onto my wet slippers, which, true to their name, kept trying to slip out from under me. Stupid slippers. More awesome, some random guy driving past blew his horn, and I could have sworn he was laughing at me from within the comforts of his car.

If only I were Ryu or Goku, I would have sent a Hadouken or Kamehameha of FIERY DEATH his way.

But on the bright side, I made a new friend!

You see, as unbelievable as it seems, while merrily (no, not really) heading on my way, I saw someone coming in the opposite direction, in the exact same situation that I was in.

Awkward Oh-Hell-You-Too? smile.

"Hey, great weather, isn't it?"

"Yeah!"

Borderline hysterical What-The-Hell-We-Must-Be-Crazy-Or-Something laughter.

And this just goes to show, that there is a silver lining in every cloud. Even if the cloud is pouring a gazillion gallons of acidic rainwater on your head.



Sidenote: I really need to change my habit of being late all the time.

Somewhat short and emo post.

What started out as a shouting match between my mother and I (over various reasons) eventually evolved into a heart to heart talk about longstanding issues about our relationship, our daily interactions and the barriers that had been erected between the 2 of us. I learned many things I never knew about why my mother treats me the way she does, why she's always so strict with me and not my brothers, and I also told her about my feelings and long-bottled-up emotions.

And I know now, without a doubt, that my mother, in her own way, loves me. To her, I will always be her son, always that same snotty kid who used to get his head stuck in the staircase barricade and somehow get separated from the rest of my family no matter where we went. But after today's talk, she accepts that I'm an adult now, that even though I'm still and will ever be her son, I have to take some responsibility for myself and gain some independence.

The heart to heart talk was something akin to having old wounds reopen, but for the sake of draining the poison that was slowly corroding the inside. It's been a long time (or maybe, never) since I had a good talk with my mother.

The poison's slowly fading away.

And now, perhaps, the wounds can heal, and the barriers can fall.


I love you mom!

(and yes, small text for emo posts. Hur hur.)

Some wise dude somewhere (probably already dead and rolling in his grave as we speak) once said, "Nothing is more satisfying than having a plan go smoothly." And perhaps there never was a wise dude who ever said this, BUT the phrase is stuck in my mind anyhow, so either the wise dude:

1. Actually did exist (or existed)

2. Was a figment of my overwrought imagination (but I only have 200 imaginary friends, that's not a lot D:)

3. I'm the wise dude. Awesome!

But yes, enough digressing. The immense satisfaction from having a plan go smoothly, the sight of Becks's gobsmacked expression (photos to follow! ... I wish) and her brilliant smile thereafter, made the effort seem as nothing.

The plan went basically like this: devise any means necessary to keep Becks awake till 12am (of which the less said, the better) at 11:30pm, gather at my place (or not, Danny and Zongfu made their own way down at 11:45), lie to Becks (hur hur longest shower ever), speed like a demon down to her place (maybe running over a few people or cars along the way, gogo GTA!), huddle at the stairway outside her flat, light the candles on her cake, then sneak into her house (also, of which the less said, the better), and... SURPRISE!

Cake in the face!


...

Or not.

Well, there wasn't any cake in the face, otherwise I might be typing this post from a hospital, or maybe not typing this post at all (you guys might have been reading an article about a mysterious youth who plummeted to his death at some HDB estate at 12am - Youth Falls To His Death At 12am! Nearby Residents Have No Idea Who He Is!)

And now, you may be wondering, what would have happened had we arrived at her doorstep, only to realize that she wasn't home? Well, that's where our contingency plans come in!


Contingency Plan #1: "In the event Becks is not at home."

*brrring brrring*

*brrring brrring*

Becks: "Hello?"

Us: "Uhh... Becks, where are you right now?"

Becks: "[insert location here]"

Us: "Oh. Uhh... Happy birthday!"

- end phone call -

Proceed to emo at the stairway and eat the cake.


Mission Failed.



Contingency Plan #2: "In the event Becks is asleep when we arrive."

*Bursting into Becks's room*

Us: "HAPPY BIRTHDAY BEC-"

Becks unleashes an unspeakable power!

Us: *thrown out her window or maimed in graphic and indescribable ways*

Becks: "Fools! Your plan has failed!"

- your raid has wiped on Becks -


Mission Failed.



... So... yeah, it's a good thing everything went smoothly. :3


Happy 21st birthday Becks!

Slight rant.

It's clear to me, after the events of today, that Monday possesses some form of mysterious, inexplicable and magical ability to make things go wrong. Now I know why Murphy's Law is named as it is - it starts with the letter 'M', and has six alphabets. IT ALL MAKES PERFECT SENSE NOW!

DAMN YOU MURPHY! DAMN YOU MONDAAAYYYYY!

*ahem*

It all started out, innocently enough, in the morning. You know how it is on Mondays, it's either you wake up to a gloomy day, or you wake up to a clear blue sky, fluffy white clouds, the warm bright sun, and birds chirping... and you feel like shooting the birds because you have to go to school/work, when all you wanna do is snuggle back into bed (with or without something to hug, depending) and drift back into wonderful dreams that slip out of your mind the moment you open your eyes.

This was one of those days.

I flopped out of bed (there's no better way to describe it, "climbing out of bed" is too dignified) and dragged myself to the bathroom for the morning ritual of brushing my teeth, washing my face and taking a shower (sometimes ending up with washing my teeth, showering my face and brushing my body, woot!) When I got back to my room, I saw that I had received a message from Becks. You see, sometime ago, I borrowed her debit card for an online transaction (PERFECTLY LEGAL, I ASSURE YOU. Ignore the people telling you otherwise), and the bill had just come in.

So I sent a reply, asking how she wanted the money - in thick, fat wads of cash packed neatly in suitcase, with 10 fully armed bodyguards watching over the transferral, or perhaps a cheque, signed with a flourish, or maybe a Swiss bank account already configured to her personal settings, with the money inside. (do note that I do not possess the ability to do any of these)

Nearly half a day later, still no reply.

By chance, I saw that she had come online on MSN, so I asked if she had received my reply.

Nope.

I dug my handphone out of my pocket and stared at it suspiciously.

Becks tried switching off her phone and switching it back on again, but still nothing.

I wagged my finger at my handphone. "You'd better not be messing with me, punk." I received a couple strange stares, being in the middle of a full lecture theatre and all, but that's besides the point! Handphones make calls and send messages (amidst other things)! What kind of handphone can't do that? A Handicaphone?

Meh.

It only gets worse. Later on in the day, while trying to chat on MSN, people start telling me that I'm appearing to be offline to them, and that some of their messages are bouncing back. And that didn't make a whole lot of sense, because I had been online the whole time.

Kinda like a scene out of the Twilight Zone. Or that other movie, about the hotel room that was in another dimension or something like that.

"Tell the police to come to my room, I'm stuck inside."

"The police are already there, there's nobody inside."

*X-Files music*

All in all, not a good day for communications. And to think, I'm a Communications and New Media major. Such irony! Ahh, Monday. You may have won this battle, but the war is far from over!



Okay, now on to less gloomy things.

First, Becks's research lab has the most Gihuenormous computer monitor I have ever seen. No joke. It's a monster. It's the kind of computer monitor I could chuck out a 20th storey flat, and the pavement (and maybe some unfortunate guy) would be all that got smashed. It's like... the Incredible Hulk of computer monitors.

It's so big, it could take over Pluto as a planet.

In fact, I should probably propose that.

... I want one.



And secondly, Bakerzin has the most crazy awesome desserts. I just had supper with Becks and Danny, and the warm chocolate cake was practically oozing pure win. Just imagine a chocolate cake, with the warmth of a chocolate fondue, a chewy, firm exterior, and oodles of molten chocolate within, oozing and melting into your mouth with every bite. Imagine that topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and the explosion of chocolatey goodness and the tingling sensation from the contrast of hot and cold, all at the same time.

That is the warm chocolate cake.

Thanks Becks for the recommendation! I can now grow fat and be happy. :D