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“The view on the 8th floor looks extremely great, maybe you should just go up there and maybe you know… jump off.” Anya recalled as she was trembling, not knowing what to do, while a bunch of high school girls taunted her at the school cafeteria. “Come on, just look around, no one wants you here.” said Angela, the leader of the pack.

Meanwhile, Anya could feel that in just about any moment she would pass out. She was indeed petrified, but having the imagery of what the girls might do to her while she was unconscious, she tried her best to resist it. “Please, don’t do this to me, I’m sorry”, Anya kneeled on the ground and pleaded. Her voice was cracking when those words came out and everyone could tell that she was going to go out of breath soon. Despite not doing anything wrong, Anya acted as if she had just murdered Angela’s entire family and was pleading for her forgiveness. All eyes were on her, but instead of helping her out of the situation, everyone was giving her the dirty look, including her so-called best friends Kayla and Hayley. To Jonah perhaps, Anya seemed like a lost soul or perhaps a lost puppy, looking all strong on the outside yet so vulnerable on the inside. “Angela, that’s enough, stop” Jonah said, he had seen enough of Angela’s evil tactics and she was going too far with tormenting Anya’s life.

Till this day, Anya never really understood what or why Angela was so against her.  Everyone at school knew that Angela was the mean girl. She was what most average human beings would describe as the princess trope, the one who would spend thousands on an outfit just because she can.

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Till We Meet Again

I should’ve known by now that with these types of friends, any chance for a normal outing doing nothing is thrown out the window. But hey, what’re friends for if not to torture each other.

Now with SPM exams are over, we were finally free from the shackles of high school and the pestering of our parents to study. It dawned upon us for a moment that we’ve finally graduated, all those years in school from primary to secondary we’ve been together, to then suddenly not seeing the same faces you’ve seen for the past 11 years of your life was a weird feeling. Moreover, some of us are moving on to other places to either continue their studies or working, I realized this might be the last time we see each other for a long time. I was determined to make the most of it.

So, I suggested at our regular ‘Mamak’ sessions to do an unforgettable experience together before we all leave. Thankfully they agreed, I was ecstatic and excited on what we’re about to do together. We discussed on a great many things that we could do, but they settled on exploring at an abandoned house near our homes. I was shocked and dumbfounded, in my mind I thought we would do a road trip or go to an amusement park, but no they wanted to search for ghosts.

Truth be told, I’m a coward, I don’t like these paranormal things, always scared me since I was a kid, I can’t even watch horror movies, how do you expect me to go to a scary looking, sure to be haunted house. I tried to convince them to change their minds by saying “Why the abandoned mansion? it could be dangerous, since it has long been abandoned, why don’t we just do a road trip to Penang or wherever? And one of my friends Haytham said “That’s the thing, doing a road trip or even going to an amusement park is normal for many of our peers are doing it, they’re too cliché, it’s not gonna be that memorable” Though we’ve been friends for a long time, me and Haytham, at that moment I felt an incredible hatred towards him, I really wanted to beat him up, he knows that I don’t like anything horror, I thought to myself “Is he messing with me, he must be”. But with the entire group agreeing besides myself, I had no other choice but to agree as well, such is the will of the majority. I hate it so much.

On that fateful day we met each other at the road of the abandoned house, I was nervous, my legs are shaking and these so-called friends of mine are even making jokes about me during my great struggle. So, when everyone finally arrived, all of us together stepped into the premises of the house. I have to be honest, from the outside the house didn’t look that scary but maybe that’s my own delusional thinking since the sun was still setting. In the house, we all gathered our equipment mainly just flashlights and snacks in the living room. Now after half an hour past, the sun finally sets and now there’s total darkness around us except that of our flashlight.

We began our adventure on the ground floor of the house, there we say molding walls, broken floors, truly a house that of a cliché horror movie, the only thing missing is the heavy rain and lightning. Thank God. While exploring the house I was very jumpy, reacting to every sound I hear around me, which was really bad for my mental state, but it sure was entertaining for my friends. Thankfully we managed to do the entire tour of the house relatively quickly, there was nothing here other than rotting infrastructure, so I thought we would finally leave this place and go to a relatively lighter place with PEOPLE, but no, these lot then decided to stay for a little while longer, they said “it’s still too early to leave” there and then I was contemplating whether to just leave this place alone, but to past the through the vast field that surrounds the house alone, to go through the long road with little to none streetlight alone I thought to myself “NOPE” better to stay with these lot then to go back alone and stumbling with something unpleasant on the way back.

So, we sat around together in the house’s living room talking and joking around with each other for hours. Sharing memories, accomplishments and regrets of our past youth. It was truly a memorable moment, truly makes you forget that you’re in a house of horror. After a while we then decided to go back home, we packed our things and we were ready to go, but just as we were about to leave, we heard footsteps outside of the house, that one sound sent shivers to us all, I could see in our face, some that of shock and some that of curiosity. We then hurriedly left the house not wanting what made those noises. The only thing in my mind was to get out of there so I ran, and I looked back we all were, like a couple of children getting caught stealing., till we all eventually reached our own homes.

All in all, it truly was an unforgettable experience as Haytham said, that not everyone can say, “we hanged out in a haunted house”. Truly was a great memory of my youth, the bad, the good, everything. Though a nasty bunch of people my friends are, I would not change anything about them. They’re fine the way they are.

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A Personal Experience Piece by Suren Karr
0338779

Growing up, I've always looked to fictional women as a source of inspiration and was always fascinated by their characterizations and idiosyncrasies. How they acted, which words they'd use, how they walked. All these habits which I'd store in my head and remember for the rest of my life. They helped me build a character or even an image of myself that I wanted to present to the world. One that exudes charisma, uniqueness, nerve and talent and aligned with the 'Bad Bitch' ideology.

Now, you may be wondering, why women? I am after all a cisgender man (albeit gay) and who dresses and presents themselves as a guy. So why women?

For the same reason gay men flock to the pop icons and celebrities of the world, like Beyonce, Lady Gaga and Britney Spears. Because we're simply enamored by them. Their style, their charisma, their behaviors; all presented with their own forms of femininity. Why exactly do most gay men seek these qualities? Well you're gonna' have to go to Google that one for it is something I myself can't explain (they have made some studies on it though, and it is an interesting read).

For me, there's four women. These four characters that I have spent my growing years obsessed over. From constantly refreshing pages to find new media/information of them to drawing fanart and reciting quotes, they have shaped the way I think and act.

1. "Well, hiya, puddin'!".
We'll start off with the earliest, Harley Quinn. The DC Comics character started off simply as a side character in the Batman or Joker comics. However, after a popular reception by comic book readers, she is now dubbed: the fourth pillar of the DC Universe, alongside Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman.

Harley Quinn portrays a broken character who struggles to find her individuality, survive Gotham, and find companionship all while putting on a wide smile.

Her character of still playing a fun facade while facing heavy adversity from so many different parts of her life teaches me of strength in all its forms; and is why I have a pile of fanart of her within one of my study's cupboards.

2. "Dracarys"
Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains; comes next.

Daenerys is one that highlights, in all its colors and aspects, female 'bad bitch-ery'. From burning the men who threatened her to sailing across the seas with the largest army, its hard to not root for this girl that started off with nothing; with her strength and intelligence showing in every scene she's in making her always come out on top (that is until the 'to-not-be-mentioned-nor-spoke-of-nor-thought-of' final season).

3. "Yahi Param Vaastavikta Hai!"
You hear those Hindi words which translate to 'This is the Ultimate Reality' echoing across the map. Satya Vaswani alias Symmetra is a light-bending architect within the world of the video game, Overwatch. Armed with her 'hard-light projector', Symmetra is a distinct figure within the Overwatch community since the game's inception.

With her sassy responses and long, flowy hair, its hard to not see why Symmetra is a favorite within Overwatch's LGBT, or specifically, gay community. She is a character that exudes the aforementioned charisma, uniqueness, nerve, and talent with every step of her clacky heels. She may be somewhat ethically ambiguous, but who doesn't love a villain from time to time, right?

4. "The scarlet bloom flowers one more."
And finally, we reach our final character. One that has really only come to my attention within the past few months, but will no doubt stay in my mind for years to come: Malenia, the Blade of Miquella, and the Goddess of Rot.

Malenia is a conflicting character. She is a strong, undefeated 'god' within the Elden Ring universe and holds a strong bond with her brother, Miquella, who is cursed with everlasting youth. Hence, Malenia has dedicated her life to protecting him. Since his abduction, however, she has gone on to corrupt an entire region and killed many in the process, including fan-favorite General Radahn.

Malenia is another favorite of mine for many reasons. From her aesthetics, to her personality and overall story. She portrays a noble character, but also one that's ethically ambiguous and willing to do anything to get her way.

Alas, we've reached the end. I have spent hours watching videos and fancams and analyses of these 4 fictional women out of pure admiration (and maybe borderline obsession). They have greatly changed how I view the world and have really showed me how to admire the beauty of femininity and its many aspects through many lenses, even as a man.

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Campfire: More than just a survival tool

As a scout, there are so many unforgettable moments when camping, but one of the best moments is when everyone sits together around a campfire. Not a gas flame flickering, not a warming lamp on a restaurant patio, but a campfire.

The first campfire that I experienced was when I was 13 years old, it was my first time going camping. It was a four days three night trip. In the first few days, my teammate and I were assigned to a lot of challenging tasks, like building our own campsite, preparing for competition, etc. We were so exhausted, we did not get enough sleep for days and had to pay 100% attention. However, in the final night, when our seniors built a campfire, all of those tiresome things melted away. I couldn’t believe how incredible it was to just stare at the rolling flames.

I gazed at the fire, transfixed by the vines of light tangling in the air. There was something mystic about those flames, it felt like a message from the earth, from nature itself, an encouraging note of warmth and energy.

We roasted marshmallows, sang along with a guitar, danced around the campfire, etc. The flames twisted up into the night with our laughter in tow. With each pop from the fire, sparks floated up into the sky, mixing with the stars. I felt so connected. It was definitely one of the best memories that I ever had.

As the night ended, the flames fell into coals and the embers pulsed like a heartbeat. One by one, everyone headed off to bed, zipping into their tents and bags. Finally, the seniors put the fire out with a crash of cold water. Steam hissed up into the night, the light fading away.  After the party, you can always smell the campfire in your clothes, an aroma of smoke and an echo of nighttime fun.

The campfire was a first for me, and camping is all about firsts. Spending night out in the wilderness can be scary, but a campfire can chase away those fears. It is a process that humans have been doing for eons.

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If this was what the world looked like halfway across the sea, why am I only seeing this now? I wondered, in awe of the
clear blue waters below me as I stand against the railings in Cinque Terre. I felt like a child learning the alphabet for the first time when I landed in Italy. I may have confused  my bewilderment with excitement when it actually was happiness. For the first time in a long time, happiness came back to me. And this time, they were in places, in art, in food and in people.

Rarely have I heard of fishermen's stories until I met one. Antoni, a resident, told the story of his family’s roots in Cinque Terre. Almost most of the older male figures in his family were fishermen and that was the source of their income. The infamous scene of houses built on terraces is those fishermen’s houses and they were built in that manner to oversee the coastal shore. As my dad and I step onto the ground, we were greeted by a strong wave splashing onto the rocky ground we were standing on, soaking our feet. Needless to say, I was not at all pissed because does everyone normally get splashed in Cinque Terre? No.

Nature made me go speechless and was not even part of feeling like I’m missing out on the world, it’s the art that coexists with it as well. Rome felt like falling in love for the first time. The rapid heartbeat, the suffocated breath and the fuzzy mind. That was what I felt when I saw the Colosseum. I was a history buff in high school and the chapter about Europe intrigued me and was my forte. Countless times I had memorized historical facts about the roman empire and its soldiers through textbooks and as I stand before it, I am a child again.

Similarily, when  I stepped into Piazza della Signoria in Florence, I remembered why I loved art again. I used to read stories of greek gods and goddesses. But seeing the sculpture of Perseus, carrying the head of Medusa, gave me goosebumps. I was soaking in its beauty when my dad asked "Who's this?" "That's Perseus holding Medusa's head. She was a Greek goddess". He then saw me approach the infamous replicated sculpture of David of Michaelangelo. It was breathtakingly gorgeous. The fine lines, the shiny yet rough surface and David, standing as glorious as ever. I did not love art just then. I respected it. I admired it and I lived it. Just like when the doors to the St. Paul Cathedral opened, I breathed art in. Being able to walk the halls of a church I had only heard of in religious classes was a dream. The hushed sounds of people whispering in respect of the place and sight of people praying with conviction was memorable. As I stood before the Pietà, sculpted by Michaelangelo himself, I prayed for happiness. And it's safe to say, my prayers were answered.

The next day, we were in Venice. The gondola ride with my father was weird, given that it was marketed as a romantic experience but I got some really cute candid pictures from my dad so it was very worth it. We then walked on land, passed countless number of cafe's and across multiple bridges with one thing I had in mind. Prior to departing our location, the tour guide explained that Venice was filled with tiny bridges because they were made up of tiny islands and those bridges connected them. As interesting as I thought that was, another part deeply disturbed me. She said Venice was sinking. In a few years time, there would be no more Venice and it would all be a memory.

A part of me felt lucky being there but I too felt sad and angry. Climate change was too real for me to avoid thinking about despite seeing the beauty of Venice before me.
However, that dark thought left me as soon as I heard we were going for lunch. As surprised as I was when I heard I was going to be served squid ink pasta, I was also terrified of hating it. "It looks so unappetizing", I said to my father. "Oh my god it does", he responded. "Wait! I take that back, it tastes amazing", I said as I had my first taste and was digging in for more.

After that fulfilling meal, we went for a walk. Venice had so many alleys and I loved them all, especially the one by the glass shop. This encounter I had would forever be the reason why I loved being surprised. As I was walking through the sea of tourists and locals, two men, holding hands, with faces bright in happiness walked in the opposite direction. Unknowingly, I looked at their direction and was stunned. For the first time ever, I'd seen two men being so in love that I found myself smiling, which caught their attention, making them smile. That is what happiness looks like, I thought.

Looking back, I found joy in so many little things. That was who I was when I was a child but I lost it as a teenager. I felt a piece of myself go missing and I never knew what it was. Visiting Italy made me realise that I had lost happiness. The essence of it used to mean nothing to me but now, it was everything. I began filling every piece of my being with inks of yellow and shaping them into happiness.

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Worst Experience Ever: The Story of Me and Leadership Camp

Back when I was still studying Foundation in Arts, our school organized a leadership camp for us. Being a person who wasn’t much of a fan of the nature, a three-day-two-night camp in a jungle was a complete and utter nightmare. I still remember that one day in class, our lecturer informed us about the camp, and I immediately thought of asking my parents to send a letter to the school to exempt me, but the plan was nipped in the bud instantly. The lecturer told us it was compulsory unless we had any valid reason such as medical condition. The worst part was joining the camp was part of our assessment that was worth 20 marks. From that moment, I knew I was doomed.

Having to go to the camp was bad enough, and another nightmare struck me. I just cannot catch a break right? We were informed that there would be four different campsites, so everyone would be randomly assigned to one. Hoping that my best friend and I would be assigned to the same site, I was butchered once again. A camp and being separated from my friends? It was like I was getting the whole package man.

Counting down to my doomsday, four weeks, three weeks, in a blink of an eye, that was it, the day has come. Everyone gathered at school, waited for our attendance to be taken, then we were urged to get into our designated buses for each campsite. I whiningly said goodbye to my best friend and got into the bus. After travelling for two hours, we arrived at the campsite. I looked around and everything looks like a nightmare to me. Then, we were briefed about the location of our dorm and which part of the campsite were we allowed to roam for the next two days. After that, with my randomly assigned dormmates, we headed to our dorm.

When I entered the room, I almost teared up. The place was filthy and I a tad of a clean freak. Rusty metal bed rack, dusty floor, and blankets that I wasn’t sure whether it had been washed after the last visitors. Hah, who am I kidding? Who will visit this place that reeks of hell. Not having much time to complain further, we had to go gather for lunch. After lunch, we spent some time doing some non-physical activities that were organized to make us reflect on our lives, cause it was for personal growth after all.

At 11pm at night, we were told to gather around again and do a headcount. Finally, it was revealed that we were going into the jungle, and we can only call each other by numbers as calling human names in a jungle was a taboo. The instructor told us that later when we entered the jungle, we will be separated from our friends. We would first go to the designated point, then one of us would stay there and the rest would proceed to the next point and so on until everyone stopped at their designated point. We were basically left in the jungle, in the dark, and we were not allowed to go look for the rest. So, we stayed at our spot for an hour until we were picked up.

Overall, I don’t think I have learned any leadership skills in the camp, but I learned more about myself such as what is something that I certainly don’t like.

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Personal Experience, (maybe True-Life drama)

Title : A letter to myself.

“Everything will eventually be alright”. Those are the words I tell myself every day when I open my eyes and meet the glaring sunlight from the crack of my curtains on a brand new morning.

The “university” life or some would call it “the legal age” so to speak, that I have always imagined during my high school days, is completely far-fetched and unrealistic. I have always imagined it would be just like in the movies, teen genre films to be exact, the lifestyle, the freedom, the friends, the parties, etc. It was all a fantasy that I dreamt of, well at least for me it was like that.

I tend to question myself, “am I the only one who is feeling like this?” as I scroll through social media every day, checking in on how my high school friends are currently doing is somehow one of the most tormenting things for me. It may be hard to believe since all of this sounds so depressing, but I was once a confident and cheerful person. I would take things as they come and trust that I have the capabilities to overcome anything that comes my way. I had some sort of ego, but a healthy one. I am aware that there are people who are smarter and better than me in all walks of life, but it never once occurred to me that I was not good enough. At that time, I felt like I was in control of my life and my self-conscious mind. As I would like to put it, ‘I was in my prime’. It all sounds extravagant, but I was your average high school student, who loved to mix around, was very talkative, and loved sports. That was me 3 years ago.

If you had shown the ‘high school me’ what I would look like and how I would think of myself 3 years later, my old self would have laughed hysterically because it was simply something I have never even thought would happen to me. In fact, I always imagined that things will only get much better from then on. Call me naive, but I was always ‘happy-go-lucky’.

Well, the sad part is that it did happen. The Wong Han Rui I used to know is ‘dead’. It genuinely is hard to believe how much a person can change in 3 years. Today, in this present moment, I am the opposite of my old self. The present me, in much contrast with my old self, is insecure and has a mind that constantly makes up scenarios that make me feel anxious and worried. It was to the point where I felt physical symptoms such as rapid heart rate and trouble breathing on a daily basis. I am pretty sure that I qualify to say that I have developed anxiety during the past 3 years. Naturally, I started to ponder about what is happening to me and if all of this was even normal, to begin with. “Maybe it was all just a part of growing up?”, “Maybe everyone feels the same too while walking through different paths in their lives?”

It feels like I have no control of my own subconscious mind anymore. I constantly feel the need to be reassured that everything will be okay and that I am doing fine. I believe that the trauma that triggered the anxiety in me started when I entered Monash University, which I eventually dropped out of. My first taste of university was so bitter that it started to reprogram my mind to have a phobia of university life. Sounds crazy right? But it is true. The pressure of succeeding having dropped out of university once is genuinely tormenting me. I would start to compare myself with my friends, especially with those I was always ahead in class. I know it is rather cruel from my end to think that I am somewhat ‘better’ than others. However, the boomerang that I threw struck right back at me because I felt like a failure every time I see others progressing in their lives. “Why can't I be like them?” I always wondered.

Feeling the need for reassurance that I am indeed on the right track to pursuing my dream career, I would approach my lecturers from every module and let them know about my concerns at the start of every semester. I started to seek advice from my older brother and even my relative who I have no clear memory of meeting because she migrated to Canada when I was really young. Both of them gave their advice from different perspectives but ultimately came to the conclusion that everyone is fighting their own demons in their mind. No one has ever publicly showcased their hardships and problems in their life, especially on social media.

I am not gonna sugarcoat it, it wasn't easy opening up to anyone let alone strangers who I have met for the first time in my life. In fact, at this very moment as I am writing this and pouring my inner thoughts and concerns for tutorial work in class isn't easy at all. In a nutshell, the last 3 years weren't easy at all. Although I have many things to be grateful for in my life, like my family, high school friends, and the opportunity to pursue my dream career, it still doesn't sugarcoat the fact that I am struggling mentally at this very moment.

“Everything will eventually be alright”, the words I whispered under my breath to myself in class as I finished writing the paragraph above. In the hopes that one day I would see with my eyes clearly that it was all an illusion and that all is well.

(959 words)

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Rie Kajiya 0342038 (True Life Drama): Out of Bound

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Rie Kajiya 0342038 (True Life Drama): Out of Bound

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"Did you know why did Rie distanced herself from me back then?", she asked him. When he told me about that, my mind jumped into a time capsule, heading back to senior year. It was something I know deep down, I could have given her an explanation which she deserves. On some days, I still do think about what happened, but it hit the chords differently on 10 September.

Competitive juices surged through my veins as I mingled around the IPOHBug Captainball friendly. I was engaged in a conversation with people I've known for less than a day, and suddenly, at the corner of my eye, her familiarity caught me off guard. Of course, I recognised her. I think she noticed me too.

Oh my god. Should I do anything or just pretend not to see her?

It wasn't a surprise that she's at a captainball friendly, but seriously, I did not expect to meet her again. The fact that my team was scheduled to play against teams from Sunway University began to bother me. Honestly, I hoped that she will not be in those teams, but I guess, God really wanted me to face her. It was an "Everything happens for a reason" moment. I used to wonder if we will ever bump into each other again, but it felt surreal that it really happened after three years of no contact.

Chloe was that close friend who will buy me treats and prepare lovely well-thought gifts for Galentine's, and birthdays. The twist is, she only does that to me. In the eyes of others, she was that drama queen in school, and I knew. When we bonded over Cheerleading, I knew what I was getting myself into, but her kindness towards me was all that matters. It was then I couldn't help but notice her toxic attitude and behaviours towards others, including my friends.

A memory that screamed red flag was when we were running for positions for our Sports House committee. Unfortunately, her popularity and contribution to the house did not win her the Secretary position, while I managed to secure the Supporters Captain role. "I swear I'm not going to talk to any of the committee members anymore," she wailed at me. I was shocked. It was disrespectful. I started to question our friendship and ponder on the whether she was being kind to me only because she had no one else.

Soon later, I reached my limit. It was pretty suffocating to watch my friends being mistreated by her. It felt as if everyone was smart enough to either keep a distance from her or put on a mask, but I was stupid for being genuinely by her side. I didn't want to be used nor did I had the courage to speak up. My subconscious told me that people were spectating our friendship and expect that we will have a problem someday. I assumed that if I talked it out with her, she would cause a scene and there will be more drama. So, without talking it out, I started to hang out with my other friends more often. I never initiated conversations anymore. I made my hints obvious, and maybe I was being harsh, but I never meant to cut off ties. I never hated Chloe. I just did not want us to be as close anymore, but as she finally got the message, she cut off contact.

That day, when all players had to shake hands before our friendly match began, part of me hoped that we could exchange a few words. I was willing to do so because after all, it is in the past. However, she never met my eyes. Heads down, she looked uneasy. I guess, we are not bound to reconcile just yet.

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The Rough One

In a full contact sport like rugby, injuries are extremely normal; so normal that, if you came out of a game without a scratch, you’d be seen as a lazy player who tries to do the least work on the field. You’d basically be seen as the least favourite player is what I mean.

I’ve always been seen as the child in the family that never knew how to sit still or never knew how to “act like a girl”. I was always the rough sister, the rough cousin, the rough niece — the rough daughter. Okay, let me put this into perspective. My sister, just three years older than I am, is the oldest daughter in the family, the oldest cousin and the oldest niece. She was seen as the princess —  literally by the way, as in like, the entire family calls her by the name of “princess”.

Anyways, my sister is the IT girl of the family; she’s a ballerina, a pianist, a bookworm, a hard worker, and she is gentle. Oh me? I would think I am the complete opposite, I mean I did the exact same activities as she did but the difference was, she wasn’t forced to, while I was because my mum knew if it were up to me, I’d be out running around playing all sorts of silly games with my brother. My sister grew up to be the role model in terms of academics while surprisingly me, the family role model for rugby. To be fair that isn’t so special, the first three cousins were role models to the other cousins; my brother on the other hand, the role model for motorsports. Crazy huh? Who would’ve thought.

Now that you know a little bit of what I was like when I was younger and how I grew up to be in the family, let’s get to the real thing. I had quite a bit on my shoulders, well to me at least, the family didn’t seem to think so. Here’s why — I was the only girl in the family who played rugby, a sport known to be one of the most rough sports offered, of course I would be seen differently; as if I was recreating a certain norm within the family, you know? Like just because you’re a girl that doesn’t mean you can’t compete in games that require you to be a little rough. Because of this reason, I felt like I needed to do my best everytime I participated in a tournament, especially tournaments where I’m brought and a part of a state team.

About a month ago or so, I represented the state of Putrajaya in the Harps Malaysia Rugby Championship 2022. Mind you, it was the first official 15s rugby tournament for women; meaning, whichever state that got the gold for the women’s category, would be the first champions for 15s in Malaysia — ever. It was a big thing, to me at least. Who wouldn’t want to be able to claim that title? Like, yeah my team were the first champions, no biggie. That’s crazy. So the league went on for over a month, training started three months before our first game which meant that it was four months of hard work. To be honest, my passion for rugby is so strong that I loved going hard during training and especially, games.

Sadly, we lost our first game during the grouping, won the next two games, made it into the Semi-Finals and holy wow, into the Cup Finals. However, our opponents were those who we had lost against in our first game; Selangor. Selangor was THE team to beat, I don’t want to toot my own horn but my team was the only team that were able to score against them, the rest couldn’t even get out of their half of the field. So, it was the day of our Cup Final and I was buzzing. I knew it was going to be a tough game but I was just excited to play.

Selangor scored their first try within the first 20 minutes, bagged themselves seven points to none. After about another 20 minutes, so 40 minutes of 70 minutes of the game, we managed to bag ourselves seven points — this meant that we’re now tied, the game is now pretty tight I would say. Selangor’s fitness was off the charts, half of their team were National players who were double the size of who I had on my team. They were good, so good that I was honoured to lose to them. Yeah, we lost — and where did I find out? In the emergency room of a hospital, I can't remember which hospital in Subang, or was it Shah Alam? I can’t remember.

A Selangor player had her knee land straight onto my shin and I literally thought my leg was broken — disclaimer : it wasn’t — the paramedic didn’t help calm me either when he told me my leg looked “deformed”. Yeah, that was the exact word he used to describe my leg; so obviously I started crying. Long story short, my team got second. Which I am absolutely unfazed about because I could still hold the title as the two teams who participated in the first Cup Finals of the Harps Rugby Championship 2022.

I won’t lie though, I was absolutely gutted — not because I was injured, well yeah kind of, but mostly because I wasn’t able to fight until the end of my finals. It was such a close game, so close that I thought that I was the reason why we lost. I thought that if I were to have been able to fight until the end, we could’ve won. Wow, saying this as if I’m an asset to the team. I don’t think I am, but it’s only natural to blame yourself when your team loses; to me at least, I hate losing. Not only did my injury make me appreciate being uninjured and having the luxury to do daily things without pain, it also gave me a souvenir of how well and far my team and I fought in our first ever 15s championship. I will never forget the memories and especially all the lessons I’ve learnt during our training, games, as well as dinners together as a team, especially our bonding camps — those were the most fun.

There will be more games in the future, but this experience in particular, I hold close to my heart. You’d think it was because I was one of the few who were able to participate in this big championship but that is most definitely not the only reason why. In the ambulance, on the way to the hospital, my auntie who had accompanied me shed her first ever tear right in front of my eyes. She never cries, especially never in front of her nephews and nieces. I thought it was because she thought I was dying but as I laid down in the emergency room awaiting the doctor, I realised she was just proud of me. I then realised almost my entire family were on the stands cheering for me. That was when I realised, it doesn’t matter what I do, win or lose, my family will always be proud of me. Crazy.

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The Amorphous Box

What is that glowing in the middle of this dark room? First of all, where am I? Wait... I was laughing happily with my family at the dining table celebrating Christmas eve but why can't I remember anything after that? I gazed all around me, from tilting my head up and staring at what seemed to be an ever-stretching black ceiling, to looking down at the obscured platform my footsteps were on and staring at a never-ending void below me. Nothing. Absolutely nothing exists in the room except for what seems like a box glistening from afar.

I decided to ignore all the questions growing in my head and decided to take the first step in this room and took slow steps toward the box. Something did not feel right. The closer I walked to it, the box started taking an apparent shape, but the more my body felt like it was getting pulled towards it. One moment my mind tells me to keep walking to find out what is in the box but the next moment my mind tells me to stop and turn back. It felt like I was getting dragged into strange ominous turbulence. In the end, I decided to jump over the fence and continued walking toward the box.

I finally stood in front of the box. The box was not just a regular-sized box, it was the size of a building. I was standing in front of what looked like a one-story shop lot. The surrounding walls of the shop were painted in snow white with coloured ornaments dangling around the stilts of the door and window. I walked up the perron and was welcomed by a cursive welcoming sign that was hung on a hook on the white door. I rang the front bell and hoped someone would open the door. Funnily I tried peeping through the magic eye on the door to see if anyone was home. Nothing. Just a pin drop silence as I stood patiently at the front door.

My grandfather resting on the hospital bed with his frail hands taped with the needle from the IV drop, held my hands and looked at me with a jolly smile. I asked him "so what happens after that?" and with a grin on his face, he said: "well I walked away, of course, maybe I was not welcomed just yet". After that, he could not remember how he got out of the dream and found himself lying on the hospital bed, awakened from the warm kisses of the sun ray peeking through the slips of the curtain. My grandfather ended his story with an odd sentence by saying "I do not know much about children's stories and fantasies at my age but that door reminded me of being a child again". I will never forget the look on his face when he said. He may be far away from the world by now but what he left me was a question I may or never be able to figure out, only to hope that one day I may know the answer to his question.

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Plights in Malaysia Sports

After Lee Chong Wei retired from badminton, I read an article about top 10 riches local athletes in Malaysia, and 8 or 9 athletes are footballers.

To be honest, I felt uncomfortable, because most of the sport activities in our country actually get good results in international tournament, but the allowance they get from government is very low or even no allowance, such as archery and dodgeball. Some of the athletes even need to selling tissue pack in food court after retired from sport fields.

Just think about that, they start their sports career when they were 12 years old, didn’t have other skills, but only know about the knowledge that related to the sport they play.  So, what can they do after retired besides of sports? Some of them even have terrible injured before.

Look at our national football team, ranking is 120 ++, even can’t get champion or number 1 in S.E Asia, but the benefit and allowance they get from the government is more than most of the sport activities.  Since that day, I keep thinking about: Why KBS or government want spend so much money into a sport which can’t get higher result in the international.

Let’s compare it. Malaysia Men’s Basketball Team international ranking is 117, according to the situation I know, most of the pro basketball players in Malaysia can’t spend full time in training, because they need to earn money from others job to take care their family or their life.

And Malaysia Men’s Football team international ranking is 148, if you are elite player, everything that related with football are mostly fully support by government.

Is it fair? No, I don’t think so. If government can treat every sport activity fairly, I believe that our first Olympic Gold Medal should not only wait for badminton.

If really want to let Malaysia sport performance become better and better, please according to the result that they get, not according to the race and populate, because populate is comes from marketing strategy.

So please wake up our lovely government, look at Brazil, their politicians are same level as our country’s YB, but at least their sport is better than us. If can’t let our country economic better, then learn from them how to brighten up our sports result.

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Review: How The Midnight Library relates to Nietzsche’s philosophy.

Amor Fati: To love one’s fate. This is a phrase from the German Philosopher ‎Nietzsche and it has always been a phrase that is embedded in my mind. It’s a mindset and a comfort sentence for people to love fate. It is when you first learn to accept that there are things in life which you couldn’t change, then only think about how you could do something that changes your path. However, this wasn’t something the 35-year-old Nora Seed from Midnight Library could grasp.

When many little misfortunes struck her, they caused her to take her life. She was then brought into a library with an infinite number of books, in which each book represented another variation of her life. Each time she chose a book, she could experience an alternate life had she made a different choice in each phase of her life. Nora Seed resented her original life, but as she picked up many books and experienced them; Came back feeling empty, disappointed, terrified, raging and resenting, she slowly reached the state of acceptance in life. Realizing that her killing herself was not to eliminate the chances of life getting worse, but instead to end the possibilities of it getting even better.

While Matt Haig, the author of Midnight Library was seen to be just an ordinary author, the story had many philosophies of life that made me relate them to Nietzsche. As Nietzsche said, "What happens but once, might as well not have happened at all. If we have only one life to live, we might as well not have lived at all" If we only have one life, we can never compare our choices to any alternatives. And if we can never compare, we will never know if the judgments we made were correct or not, so why waste your life pondering on what could have been? It was after Nora Seed experienced the alternatives only she realized that if there are bad experiences, there wouldn’t just be bad experiences; That acres of disappointment and monotony often come with flashes of wonder and beauty. It was just that Nora couldn’t endure long enough to realize the beauty of life.

The Midnight Library plot may seem repetitive as it revolved around Nora experiencing different lives. However, it makes you ponder the possibilities of life, at least for me. If you are someone who loves plot-twist with complicated storylines, this book would not suit you as it is straightforward. If you can look past them, you may realize why simplicity is the best. The book is now available on Amazon, Kinokuniya and MPH.

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Taking A Glimpse Into The Life of a True Monster

It's breath-taking. It's gruesome. It's everything that a true-crime lover can ever dream of.

The highly anticipated Netflix series – Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story – hit the screens on September 21, 2022, causing a true-crime frenzy. As the title may indicate, the series revolves around one central character – Jeffrey Dahmer – a cannibalistic and necrophiliac serial killer that terrorised Ohio and Wisconsin for almost an entire decade, killing 17. To get a sense of Dahmer's notoriety, various pop icons such as Katy Perry and Kesha have referred to his cannibalistic tendencies in their songs.

The most notable thing about this series is its ability to capture viewers' divided attention by pacing and mood setting. Although the show primarily tells its story through the lens of an observer, we are given occasional glimpses of Dahmer's point of view and that of his victims. The switching between different points of view forces us to experience Dahmer's serial killings from various angles. We found ourselves holding our breaths repeatedly because the story is simply that compelling.

Disclaimer: You might find yourself sympathizing with a monstrous serial killer.

Now, lest it is forgotten, this series is rated TV-MA for substances, language, nudity, gore, sexual violence, smoking, and violence. Therefore, expect plenty of blood, flesh, and tears. (And obviously, get the kids out of the way before you start watching) The show does not shy away from the actual substance of Dahmer's killings. It puts all his deeds and misdeeds on full display. We highly recommend those with a weak stomach sit this one out. The show maintains a delicate balance between gore and lore through careful crafting. While it is tempting to dramatize and emphasize only the grotesque killings Dahmer committed, the show does the opposite.

Within the first few episodes, we are confronted with a myriad of factors that may have encouraged or allowed for Dahmer's decade-long, sadistic killing spree. As viewers, we are positioned to have conflicting views on who is ultimately to blame for Dahmer's killings.

For those who might not know, Dahmer preys on young males and often outcasts of society due to racism, classism, and homophobia. The show reveals to viewers the nonchalant attitude of the Milwaukee police department. Controversies ensued around the conduct of the Milwaukee police department, which was criticized for giving low priority to disappearances of members of minority groups. It seems as though Dahmer's ethnicity provided him with the perfect camouflage. Given that he specifically preyed on homosexual males of differing races, such as Asians and African Americans, some believe racism was the only reason Dahmer could sustain his serial killing for almost a decade.

The writers and producers of this show forces viewers to reconsider whether Dahmer’s killings were solely attributed to his wicked mind. Perhaps it is because the police were racist and negligent? Perhaps it is because his victims were careless? Perhaps it is because his parents were too caught up in their own problems and forgot to pay their minds to their troubled child?

Regardless of whether you are a fan of true crime, we urge you to give Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story a shot you have the stomach for it. It is a thought provoking piece that will send chills down your spine and keep you up at night.

You can stream it now exclusively on Netflix.

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Endlessly Existing

A while ago I saw one of the most comprehensive portraits of the Universe.

It was an image which was a combination of photographs taken by the Hubble Space Telescope and others. At first glance, it seemed to be nothing special, just some specks of distant stars on a pitch-black backdrop. Zooming into it I realised they weren’t stars at all, they were entire galaxies. Over 15,000 galaxies just like ours, millions of years away, forever preserved in the image.

I stared at it while the ending riffs of Seigfried by Frank Ocean played in the back, it was a strange moment I will never forget. The realisation that my existence was smaller than the speck of dirt on my laptop screen was harsh but deep down I felt like everyone has always known that, we just don’t like the reminder. It is a hauntingly beautiful thought that we are nothing in the expanse of the Universe.

But believe it or not, I think there is a positive side to that. Whatever overwhelms you, is just like you, nothing at all. In the array of sparkling light some of which was generated over 11 billion years ago, you can find hope that you will make it. A simple and small reminder of your place in the world. It took over 13 billion years for you to come into existence, it should take a lot to bring you down.

Simply because existing is a rare thing.

Although our lives may be short and fleeting, for us, it’s the longest thing we experience. To me, that is something to be cherished, something worth fighting for, despite how much our circumstances try to limit us or hold us back.

Looking at the stars and their light, it’s a sign of hope for me. As an obsessive science-fiction fan, I wonder what it’s like to float in space, see galaxies, live on a planet with two moons or maybe even find out if Arrakis exists. All of which I can boil down to the idea that life is more than what is in front of me. Life is full of hope. Life is dreaming of impossible silly aspirations. Life is endless and just like all the other stars, even when we have long gone someone on a planet 65 million light years away will look at the Earth and see dinosaurs, everything unfolding from the very beginning.

Maybe a little too philosophical but what else are you supposed to do when you see a picture like that while listening to Frank Ocean? Contemplating the value of your existence is the only right answer.

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Series of Dreams:  A young Fisherwoman to an aspiring Chef

“I want to go back to sleep” was the first thought that was running through my head as me and my father drove up the fog-filled street to the fish market  first thing in the morning. The smell of raw and fresh fish consumed my nostrils, waking me up.

“It smells so bad dad” I croaked in his ear behind him and he just laughed at my mystery,

“it’s the smell of your lunch” he joked back but he and I well knew that it was no joke.

The market was a packed place but there was something endearing about the dusky morning where the fisherman came back from their fishing journey. Watching them haul their load of fish was fascinating to say the least, it was such a demanding job yet I realized there were no women.

“Dad, can I be a fisherwoman when I grow up?” I asked him with utmost curiosity, he just laughed at my comment

I did not understand why my father had laughed, was it that unusual for a woman to become a fisherman? I took a second look at the men unloading the boat, there was not a woman in sight. This scene had erupted a series of bitterness within the 12 year old little me, I wanted revolution and I was out for blood, well as much blood a 12 year old can have, fish blood preferably.

This started a course of events that followed, the first being my collection of stamps with every fish I could find, Tuna, Red snapper ranging from the fresh reef fish to the pelagic fish. Before I knew it I had covered half of a notebook full of stamps. Now today I do not know how stamps would have helped me become a fisherwoman but I would like to think it informed me on the type of fish we needed to sell.

The next event was when I began begging my father to take me on his fishing trips with his friends, surprisingly enough my father was more than ecstatic to teach me all the know-hows of fishing. One would think that I was taught how to fish using a fishing rod, unfortunately I was taught the local style of fishing of maldives. A tight plastic rope, a hook and some raw fish or worms was all I needed and not to forget a pair of thick cotton gloves to prevent cuts on our hands. I remember the hot May when the sun burned my skin as I went along with my father for the fishing trip.

“Can you handle this kid?” he asked me, worried as a father of course.

“I can definitely handle this, the sun is nothing”

Dear God what a lie that was, my skin was peeling for the next week to come! Nevertheless it was a trip to remember. I had caught 4 different types of fish while my father caught 10. I can without a doubt say it boosted the confidence of my younger self, she felt as though she was at the top of the world, ready to conquer the fishing industry and be the first woman in Maldives to do so.

The next series of events came as a bit of a disappointment. No I had not become the first fisherwoman the country has seen, that rather felt as though it was more of a far fetched dream. The endless amount of fishing trips did indeed give me knowledge however, I was not prepared to enter the industry, not because I could not but simply as I had a small change of heart. I realized I enjoyed fishing more as a sport comparative to making it a full time job. The smell was wretched and the sun burned the skin off of my body. It was the I decided to muster up the courage to tell my father,

“Dad I dont think I want to be a fisherwoman” he once again laughed out loud as we drove on one of our evening rides together on his motorbike. Again, I did not understand his humor, 12 year old me was very serious.

“Well what do you want to be then” he questioned me, now that was something that puzzled me, what had I wanted to become? Where did I see myself working?

“I want to be a teacher” I finally said and he chuckled in approval, I guess revolutions are better left for adults and not really cut out for a 12 year olds.

My dream of becoming a teacher lasted quite a while, until I reached the ripe age of 16, my teenage golden years. Now, I was not the smartest kid on the block but I surely cooked better than most. Perhaps it is because it was in my blood, my mother was a pastry chef and a good one at that. Growing up I would often stay by her side and help her in creating her art pieces and assist her in competitions.

It was during her latest Hotel Asia FHM competition I realized that I truly loved the art of cooking and it was that very moment my mother had won the bronze medal I had decided my future, I was going to be a chef. Then began a new chain of events in my life, my new life focus being not to cause a revolution but to create platters of food that makes people happy, as cliche as it sounds. It was no doubt my highest skill set lay with the making of seafood dishes, my fisherwoman knowledge had indeed come in handy.

Fast Forwarding with my life, I am currently studying at a university to become a chef, the best that I can be. Although old dreams tend to renew themselves sometimes, I find myself wondering if I could still teach while pursuing a career in culinary arts. I remember reminding myself that my abilities were limitless, pursuing different careers at different standpoints within my life. I decided that in the long run of my future, I would like to teach cooking to the young minds with so much to explore just as I had. Indeed, such a series of events have shaped me into who I am today, a series of dreams leading me to a greater future indeed.

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(Liyana Rahimi 0344131)

Fresh out of high school, barely even of legal age, and travelling on my own to a country I haven’t stepped foot in over a decade. I took a risk flying to Australia by myself for the first time, but being there for just under a month brought me my fondest memories. It was one of the best decisions I have ever made thus far in my life. Boarding AirAsia and flying almost eight hours across the sea and deserts before finally landing in sunny Gold Coast, Australia.

I was petrified honestly. Flying and travelling always excited me, but airports brought out a whole different fear. Even though I was clear of any illegal and harmful substances, I couldn’t help but check my luggage and hand-carry numerous times to ensure I was in the clear. There’s no anxiety like the anxiety of passing through the metal scanner, hoping and praying the light turns green instead of red.

As I made my way through KLIA 2, heading towards the boarding gate, I practiced repeatedly what I had and was supposed to say to the officer at the chick-in counters both in Malaysia and Australia. I had heard stories from my family friends there who mentioned how strict the rules are there in terms of the declaration of items. I remember thinking “oh my God, can my Maggi pass through?”, it did.

My family friends picked me up from the airport, and we ended up at an outlet mall before heading to their house so that I could have a local number throughout my trip. As I walked around, I was blown away by the number of stores and how large the mall was, and everything was crazy cheap! The tourist discounts definitely added to the appeal as well. Being a seventeen-year-old with a knack for shopping and no sense of money, I was in paradise, and it was only day one. I quickly learned though that would bite me back.

Being in another country where currencies differed from our own and exchange rates mattered. It really made me look at the value of money differently. I was so used to spending in Malaysian currency that I forgot Malaysian Ringgits was not as strong as Aussie Dollars. The one to three ratios went completely over my head; I had to be smart with what I wanted to spend. That was a first for me, for sure.

Over the next two weeks, I spent my time at all kinds of places creating new memories for myself. Surfer’s Paradise, DreamWorld, Harbour Town, Pacific Fair, just to name a few. This was also the trip where I visited the university of my dreams – the University of Queensland. I was at an absolute loss for words upon arriving. The architecture, the atmosphere, the lifestyle left me in awe. One sweep around the campus, and I knew I wanted to study there.

I was in Gold Coast for about two weeks before I hopped onto a train, riding up north for about four hours to Sunshine Coast, a much-laid back community and lifestyle compared to Gold Coast. I would say this would be the perfect place to retire. I stayed with my mother’s best friend while I was there, camped out in their guest bedroom.

It was a nice and quiet town where almost everyone knew each other due to its tight-knit community. It was definitely a change of pace from what I was used to, but something was refreshing about it. There were no malls and a lot of places for outdoor activities. I spent one of the days there on a hike overlooking the coast where I saw the most beautiful sunrise, and I couldn’t help but stop now and then to take in the view. I don’t think I would have done anything of such in Malaysia.

I was on Sunshine Coast for about four days before I hopped onto a plane heading to Sydney, where I spent the remainder of the trip with my cousin who had been living there.

Sydney is a lot like Kuala Lumpur, in my opinion. It was very fast-paced, very hustle and bustle kind. It somewhat felt like home, except it was filled with friendly Caucasians. I would say though being lost in their central train station, alone, despite the friendly people there, was rather terrifying. I do not recommend it. I would say it does shape your personality, however. It was the city I learned how to read bus maps, a skill I didn’t think I needed before I got there. I do wish I learned more about trains maps as well.

If I’m being completely honest, Sydney wasn’t all that memorable to me. Besides the opera house, there was nothing that really excited me as I was there. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a lovely city to be in, but nothing exciting. Nevertheless, I did have my fun though shopping at K-Mart, TK-Maxx, Chemist Warehouse, and the infamous Target.

The next thing I knew, almost a month had passed, and I was on a flight home.

People asked me how I did it, how I had to guts and courage to travel on my own if it was scary or worthwhile. It’s both, honestly. I would never have thought I would travel on my own while I was still a minor, but something in me told me that I would be worth it, and it was. Being able to travel to another country on my own boosted my sense of independence, something I felt like I really needed. Since the trip, I have looked at money differently. I appreciate its values more than ever. And, not only do you learn more about the country you’re in, you end up learning so much about yourself too. As cliché as it sounds, you really do find yourself on a trip like this. Whenever people ask me for my thoughts and opinions about travelling solo, I say do it. It’s liberating, and the feeling is like no other.

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IndieWire

The Beauty of In the Mood for Love

By: Yap Jea Yi

Chinese film director Wong Kar Wai is known for his atmospheric and soulful film productions. The first film that introduced me to his brilliance was the film In the Mood for Love released in 2000, which is also one of his finest works. It perfectly captures the wrestle between longing and hesitation. The overpower of reservation over desire. This film is like an ultimate case of edging but never really getting a release.

Set in 1962 Hong Kong, this film entails two next-door neighbours, Chow Mo-wan (Tony Leung) and Su Li-Zhen (Maggie Cheung), who realise their spouses are having an affair with each other and decide to strike up a platonic relationship. Along the way, the two of them unexpectedly fall for each other but neither wants to stoop to the level of their unfaithful spouses.

Wong’s expertise in utilising lush visuals and precise framing encapsulates the doomed romance excellently. The narrative jumps and skips forward at an erratic speed, as one might recall the story in memory, and often leaves the audience confused as to how much time has passed between scenes. Often shot in frames within frames, it feels as if the characters are being watched constantly, as well as our experience observing them, which is fitting for the narrative since the characters live in cramped living quarters consisting of nosy neighbours.

The equally haunting and evocative music, using the melancholic cello refrain from Yumeji’s Theme while following the couple in grotty staircases and crowded alleyways is a mesmerising sensual experience. The film is played to perfection with actors like Tony Leung, being known as “the man that speaks with his eyes” regarding his exceptional acting skills, and Maggie Cheung in her change of 20 different cheongsams throughout the film makes the film a visual spectacle.

In the Mood for Love is a gorgeous and breathtaking film that vividly projects human emotion in such a way that feels as if the events happened to us. You are now able to stream In the Mood for Love on Criterion Channel, HBO Max.

Grade: A

Director: Wong Kar Wai

Writer: Wong Kar Wai

Stars: Tony Leung, Maggie Cheung

Rating: PG

Running Time: 1h 38m

Genres: Drama, Romance

(380 words)

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The highly anticipated 24 September Global Climate Strike organized by Fridays for Future marks the fourth set of global strikes demanding climate justice and equity.

The first set held on 15 March, 2019 saw an outsize of over one million protestors, whilst the most recent 20 September, 2019 set saw over four million protestors in 185 countries.

These protests spearheaded by the youth would not have been possible without Greta Thunberg’s initial solo protest outside the Swedish Parliament in August, 2018. Greta was merely then 15-years-old when she refused to attend classes, but instead spent the three weeks leading to Sweden’s general election protesting and pressuring the government to adhere to carbon emission targets.

During the initial three weeks, Greta sat alone on stone pavement holding a Skolstrejk För Klimatet sign. As days passed, other activists joined her campaign. Greta shared her experience via social media platforms, and thus generated global interest which led to the establishment of Fridays for Future.

Greta is currently widely regarded as the unfeigned fearless voice of her generation’s views pertaining to climate change, going toe-to-toe with the likes of President Trump and multiple addresses at United Nation summits.

However, the now fearless voice was once previously invisible.

“All my life I’ve been invisible, the invisible girl in the back who doesn’t say anything,” she said in the New York Times.

From one day to another, people listen to me. That’s a weird contrast. It’s hard.”

Although her upbringing was that of an ordinary Swedish child — piano, ballet, and theater — she couldn’t dismiss melting ice sheets, and sea creatures either bloated or caught in plastic from her time watching educational films about climate change.

“I became very affected. I began thinking about it all the time and I became very sad,” she said.

Those pictures were stuck in my head.”

Greta knew she was different from her peers. The social pressures caused her to become isolated and lonely. As a consequence of her depression, she neglected her diet and is considerably short for her age. By age 11, she stopped attending school regularly.

Her signature braided ponytail suggests a sweet personality. However, she’s blunt, wry, and sometimes sarcastic. Rarely does she engage in small talk — “I only say what’s necessary.”

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Not the worst day I've had, but it's up there. (Selma MQ)

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Not the worst day I've had, but it's up there. (Selma MQ)

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I should know by now that wishing for a decent day would be tantamount to asking the world to throw something horrible at me.

Then again, I’ve always been rather terrible at reading the signs.

I have a lot of normal days, as cliche as it sounds. I’ve noticed how my life is rather lacklustre, compared to the stories I hear from other people. Do I have to commit a crime for some excitement in my life? Run away from home to set the scene for a coming of age flick?

No… my mother would murder me if I pulled that sort of stunt.

Go on a date with a boy? If you’re looking for romance advice, you’ve come to the wrong person. I’m about as attractive as a cabbage.

Though, I suppose I do have some stories I can tell. The time I broke my leg during Hari Raya when I was nine, maybe. I could tell the story of how I got lost in a battleship that was turned into a tourist spot.

I wandered around for an hour trying to look for the exit.

Getting lost in a battleship gets less exciting when everything looks the same after ten minutes.

I suppose the one story that I will always remember would be the time that I almost lost my little brother.

That sounded grim. He got lost, is what I mean.

Let me set the scene. It was around seven to eight years ago, I was just a tween. Young and dumb, and still holding onto my iPhone like I’d die without it. My family and I went on a vacation to England!

That time I got lost in a battleship was also in England, by the way.

I’m sure we’re familiar with the subway stations in England? Piccadilly Circus, Gloucester Road and whatnot. Well, even if you’re not familiar, the scene is set down in the subways of England. I will reiterate once again, my little brother is not dead. He’s very much alive and just as annoying.

Much of what happened beforehand is rather hazy. This was quite some time ago, after all…

But I do remember that I was upset. The sort of throwing a tantrum because I didn’t get something I wanted, kind of upset. I suppose everyone was just slightly miffed. Not with just me!

At least, I hope it wasn’t just me.

We were waiting for the train, me with my phone and my earbuds stuffed into my ears. I wasn’t listening to music, though. Just as I was about to step onto the train… I felt the telltale pull of my earbuds disconnecting as my phone dropped out of my hoodie pocket.

Out of my pocket and onto the train tracks. Oh boy.

I don’t believe I was outwardly panicking as much. I’m not the type to be outward with my panic. I just stood in between the door and the platform before my mother, or my father; I don’t remember which, ended up yanking me inside. A lady was yelling that we could still save my phone, but the train departed before I could do much.

Boy, my parents were mad.

They weren’t shouting, more like harsh scolding. They didn’t want to cause a scene in public, so that was the best they could do.

As we departed the train, me being upset that I lost my phone and my parents were mad at me; not that they weren’t already… my sister pipes up.

“Hey, where’s Micah?”

Oh. Oh no.

I should note that Micah wasn’t his name, but it’s close to a nickname we usually call him.

I have never seen my mother panic this badly. Were we equipped to deal with the eldest daughter losing her phone? No. Were we equipped to deal with the second son going missing? Absolutely not.

To give you some context, Micah’s… special in a sense. I’m not saying this to be mean, it’s just how he is. So, we usually have to be rather straightforward when we need him to do something, otherwise he’ll get confused.

He’s also not someone you want to leave alone in a public place.

I remember us bursting into an office, asking one of the station attendants to help find him. Things get much hazier from here, mainly because while it was memorable, I don’t like to think about it.

My older brother and my father went to go look for Micah, while myself, my younger sister and my mother stayed in an office with a station attendant, looking through the cameras for Micah.

I don’t recall how long we’d been there, but we eventually got a phone call that Micah was left behind at a different station. The sigh of relief that swept through our bodies! Except me. I was just feeling extremely guilty.

So, back onto the train to the other station we went.

Micah was back, and so was my phone! Apparently the lady from the previous station made good on her word that my phone could be saved.

My memories blur out after the fiasco. I don’t recall much of what happened afterwards, all I know is that I cried.

Writing this down is oddly cathartic. At the time, it was like I’d just committed some horrible crime and my parents would hate me forever. But now that I’m older and considered an adult at this age, all I can think is, Wow. That was a thing.

I’m still attached to my phone, but mostly because I just listen to music all the time. Micah is fine. He’s still annoying, but he’s fine. He probably doesn’t remember this, and if I ask he’ll just look at me weirdly.

There isn’t a moral to this story, more of a testament that good kids behave and listen to their parents. Not drop their phone onto the train tracks and lose their little brother in the process. Some day that was.

But hey, I still have a phone and I still have a little brother. All’s well that ends well, as they say.

Narrative Feature Type: Personal Experience

(1,020 Words)

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Blue Aries Girl

I had a crazy dream about my ex-best friend recently. She came to my house even though I didn’t invite her, and she wouldn’t talk to me. She mingled with my other friends who came over, and her parents picked her up afterward. Her parents ignored me as well. When one of my friends and I walked back to my apartment, the lift refused to go up unless there were three people inside it. Suddenly, I noticed my ex-best friend in another elevator beside mine, and it couldn’t go up either. During that time, she could die immediately if she stayed inside the lift alone for a matter of time. I would die too because it was just me and my other friend, two people inside in the other lift. It was a crazy dystopian dream, and we needed her in our elevator unless we’ll die. I knocked on her elevator and called her name, but she refused to respond. It was as if she wanted to suicide. It also felt like she wanted to do suicide bombing because if my friend and I don’t go up too, all of us will die.

***

She used to be my closest friend in school. She moved to my school when I was 9, and she was 10. We used to play badminton and basketball during our extracurricular classes but did not start getting close until I was in secondary 3. She went to Singapore the year after to pursue her foundation in fashion design. We kept in contact, and she would return during her holidays, and we would hang out.

***

It was the last year of high school when I got closer to my classmates. It made her feel insecure as she thought that I might forget about her. It made us have difficult conversations on our text messages. During this period of our friendship, I started spending a lot of time trying to reassure her.

Then, she was invited to speak during my high school graduation, however, the school suddenly canceled her and invited another alumnus instead. She felt traumatized and even suicidal, but I was there to soothe her and made sure she was okay.

***

As I entered university, our text conversations often revolve around her bad memories from the past, her depression, and her question about her worth. I tried to assist her to seek professional help, and she went to see the counselor.

***

Even a mentally ill person can be toxic too. I disliked the way she talked to me because she was very demanding and questioned every single thing I said, which made our conversations very tense. And when I confronted her, she would say it was because of it of her illness. Sometimes I felt burnt-out talking to her.

“Why am I always the first one to text you first?” she used to say.

***

We always made DIY gifts for each other on our birthdays. Last April, I gave her a box of blue things, including a wallet, a notebook, and some sweets because blue was her favorite color, and she said:

“It’s okay if your gift isn’t homemade like before. This is the first you bought me things only.”

***

After much thought, I tried to nicely tell that her that I wanted to end the friendship, but she couldn’t take it. We kept in touch for some time, which felt like a forced friendship until an incident happened during National Best Friends Day last June. From that point onwards, she rarely texted me, and I did not contact her.

***

We haven’t talked for a few months now, and honestly, I feel more at ease. She also removed me from her Instagram followers. I wish we could be friends again if she could stop saying those hurtful things. Sometimes I would be scared if she kills herself one day, and her parents blame me for it, considering how close we used to be. Whatever that dream was, it was scary.

Narrative Feature Type: Profile & Personal Experience

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Aleph: A deep encounter with faith (Book Review)

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Aleph: A deep encounter with faith (Book Review)

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Mohammad Azmi 0336264

A Paulo that has lost all faith and motivation, trapped in between the walls of his house, Paulo creative self-felt imprisoned and needed to escape. the writer uses this book as a way to relay a series of events that he himself has encountered, yet he dramatizes the events by giving his thoughts and feelings a life, almost as if they are material objects and experiences.

Living in a world he no longer understands, the author seeks advice from his mentor, advice that initially would not help him, but would later guide him. His mentor, only known to us as “j" Advices him to “move forward” and “change his life”.  Lost in the meaning of those words, Paulo finds answers in a Chinese bamboo. The plant that grew downwards for the first five years of its life, only to sprout up to be a tall a strong plant, had given him the answer that he was searching for.

Paulo decided to leave, spending years travelling around the world, and exploring its many wonders. He travelled to different countries in search for a spiritual awakening, he met many characters but was still unable to find himself spiritually.

This was the turning point of the story, Paulo realizes a long-lost dream of his, a dream to ride the trans-Siberian railway, here is where he meets a Turkish woman by the name of Hilal.

On his path to understanding his own spirituality, Paulo had met a lot of people, non-quite like Hilal though, the Turkish lady decided to follow Paulo into the trans-Siberian railway and take part in his journey.

Throughout the train-ride Paulo is quick to realize that Hilal is not a normal woman, and that she has the ability to travel in between different universes. He comes to believe that they had previously met and that he had previously betrayed her in her past life, 500 years earlier.

This realization brings both Hilal and Paulo closer and the longer the train ride lasted the more entangled their relationship had become, and as the train nears its destination, they both know that they are going to have to make a choice. If the two follow the same path, then they would be able to continually enjoy the pleasure of this shared company, but if they choose different paths then their spiritual connected would be broken and they would forever be lost.

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Getting Back on My Feet: The Two Times I Fell in Love with Dancing

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Getting Back on My Feet: The Two Times I Fell in Love with Dancing

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My family and I were watching a ballet performance on the television one day when my mother, in an attempt to kickstart a hobby of mine other than reading, asked me if I would like to take ballet lessons one day.  Six-year-old me looked at the pretty, graceful ballerinas on-screen and nodded enthusiastically.

Sadly enough, I never got the chance to become a ballerina, and perhaps for good reason too, since I recently learned that two out of the five friends I knew took ballet had developed eating disorders. Despite never getting to truly achieve my childhood dream of learning ballet, I did get involved in K-pop dancing a few years after that at the age of 15.

That turned out to be a whole other Pandora’s box.

At the beginning of my interest in K-pop dancing, I felt like anyone could do the dances portrayed by the gorgeous idols on screen. After all, what were K-pop dances if not made for an audience? Just like any other art form, I didn’t have the right eye to critique myself properly. Musicality, rhythm, textures; I knew nothing of the sort and simply copied whatever I thought the idols were doing.

That innocent bravado was my first hurdle. After a while, I finally realized that I had mistaken my flimsy arms for ‘grace’ and that my moves were simply clumsy copies of the actual choreography. All the confidence I had as a 15-year-old baby chick dissipated under the crushing reality of my dance moves when I was about 16 or so: I was not good.

No one enjoys being told they aren’t good, much less when they only realize it a whole year after starting to dance. This was when I began to really strive toward perfection; just like everything else I had ever fallen in love with, I started holding impossible expectations toward it. Despite my experience with fine art and being well-aware that improvement in the arts was never in linear form, I forced myself to become better. But just like a puppet without a proper puppeteer to guide its strings, I was getting nowhere since I didn’t have a proper framework with which to build my skills upon.

When I was about to turn 18, the chance to join a K-pop cover dance crew descended from the heavens. Not only was I offered the opportunity to inch just a little closer to the glamorous idols whose cadence I yearned for at the time, but I was also finally dancing regularly and with a purpose.

Being in a crew also has its flaws, however, which I experienced just a few months into my entrance. Opinions clashed, expectations were unmet and every member in the team seemed to be fed up with how things were moving. It took us months to heal, and in those months, I found myself thinking: Does dancing really make me happy anymore?

I was terrified to even consider that the answer might be ‘no’. I wasn’t just stressed about my dancing; I was now also afraid that this group of people who I once admired and cherished with all my heart would scatter like dropped marbles and I would be left alone again. Harsh words were exchanged and with each uncertain goodbye, I felt my resolve straining. Imagine being on the bus to work but being worried the whole time that you left your gas on and that your dog might run out: that nervous uncertainty that something bad would happen choked the atmosphere of our practices like a storm cloud.

But despite all that, we finally regrouped and rebranded, and not only did the scars between our group heal, but the ones in my resolve did also.

Now I was no longer focused on being the best I could be in the shortest amount of time. I genuinely wanted to dance and learn to dance for the sake of dancing. Without my constant pushing, my skills improved faster than they ever had before even though I wasn’t dancing as frequently. I started getting compliments from my teammates, and despite my bad habit of never truly accepting compliments, I found myself being able to let go. Most importantly, I fell in love with dancing again, but this time I didn't demand anything from it. I simply enjoyed whatever it brought me.

This story isn’t to encourage you all to pick up dancing or any other form of art. My experience with dancing is a never-ending story, just like all the other forms of learning we do in life. However, I hope my epiphany will be able to strike some of you who are discouraged at your improvement or what you think is a lack thereof. I won’t pretend that I’m no longer a perfectionist, but since I no longer force myself to pay attention to just improving, I’ve managed to let go and actively learn.

In the end, I realized that obsessing over improvement is like jumping into the ocean when you can barely swim: you have to learn to enjoy swimming first and before you know it, the ocean’s all yours.

Narrative feature type: Personal Experience