It was late, around one in the morning, James peered out between the shades of his window. An ominous black van pulled up into his driveway. It was time for him to go, carry out the deed he was asked to do. He was escorted to the van by two tall men clad in a black suits. He was driven about for about an hour before the van pulled up in front of a sort of large cargo container. It felt like the middle of nowhere, except he knew he was near the coast, where many illegal activities take place. In the distance, just beside the far end of the container stood a large stout man, big Larry, accompanied by 3 others.
Earlier that day, James had got a call from big Larry. Big Larry was yet again in needed James' abilities. James was like any other ordinary man, except for the fact that he could easily hypnotize anyone. Have them look into his eyes and he'd have them spewing out things they'd never thought they'd reveal to anyone or doing things they swore they'd never do. When the underground drug and crime syndicates found out about people like him, the world changed. The crime rate in countries all over the globe had hit a record high. Ordinary people would carry out illegal operations in hypnosis, only to wake up not knowing who hypnotized them or what they had done. It became increasingly hard to identify the real criminals. These people were given the nickname, 'pied pipers', in reference to the fairytale by Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe. Researchers at the National Human Genome Research Institute discovered that the ability is hereditary and is passed on by what they termed as 'the Johann genome'. Even though these people were extremely rare, they proved to be substantially dangerous to society if they were to misuse their ability, police forces all over the globe were taking action and many 'pied pipers' had to go into hiding. However, crime syndicate leaders such as big Larry were willing to provide quite a substantial amount for the services of these people, and James, who had recently lost his job, was in need of money.
Big Jim greeted James and explained, while avoiding James' gaze, that he had reprimanded one of his substance pushers in suspicion that he had stolen some cocaine to start a trafficking business for himself. This was a normal situation for James, he had hypnotized many drug pushers before because their leaders suspected they were stealing. Big Larry was one of his regulars. James was escorted into the large cargo container. The drug pusher was tied down, on a chair while another man grasped his hair tightly forcing him to look into James' eyes. Before he knew it, James had control over him. He had unlocked the man's unconscious.
"I'm going to ask you some questions and you must answer truthfully."
The man nodded
"did you steal some of Big Larry's cocaine?"
Before the man could answer there was a loud bang and the cargo containers door busted open with a whole team of navy blue clad men rushing in with black rifles and helmets. James had lost his concentration and the man broke free of his psychological grasp. The men pointed their guns at him and threatened that they would shoot him down if he does not cover his eyes with his hands. James was in shock, he wasn't careful enough. He never knew big Larry would do this to him. The government and police had no choice but to start working with crime syndicates in order to capture 'pied pipers' as only crime syndicate leaders were aware of their identities. They offered these syndicates a huge some of money in exchange for the capture of a 'pied piper'.
James was arrested and taken away, on the back of a police truck, his eyes covered shut by a metal constrictor, specially made for people of his kind. He soon found himself sitting in an interrogation room. Though he could not see anything through the metal constrictor he could feel the coldness of the room, the uncomfortable hard chair and icy metal table.
"James Saint Peters, yet another pied piper, you people have caused us so much trouble".
A man with a deep cold voice spoke.
James knew the only way he was going to be freed was to make up a story.
"I'm not a pied piper! You have to believe me! I just do this for the money! I'm broke, I heard about things like this and though I could fake my way into earning good money!"
He pleaded.
"Do you really think we're that dumb? You monsters look like us, talk like us, makes it so easy for you to get away with your shit, I'm sick of it, sick of partnering up with these filthy mafia bosses just to hunt down your sorry ass! You know, in NHGRI, they're already on their way to creating a vaccine for the Johann genome. Pretty soon pieces of shit like you won't have to be locked in high security prison cells, instead you'll be forced to live ordinary lives like the rest of us miserable folk!"
"I told you, I am not one of them! At least give me a chance to prove myself, if they can hypnotize people just by looking into your eyes then let me look into somebody's eyes! I'm a fake! I just do it cause I need the cash!"
James pleaded more convincingly this time, he knew under the law if he were to ask for a chance to prove his innocence they would have to oblige him if his demand is reasonable.
While staring away, the chief interrogator removed the metal constrictor from James' eyes while his partner sat across the table in front of James. While staring at the wall, away from James, he asked his partner to look into James's eyes, and told James to ask him to say something. He threatened if his partner were to repeat what James' had asked him to say he would shoot James there and then without any mercy.
James begins to mumble;
"Tell your partner, you just hate us because you wish you can hypnotize your into sleeping with you."
there was an eerie silence, the inspector's anger was resonating throughout the room.
The chief inspector's partner then began repeating the phrase.
"THAT'S IT! GO TO HELL!"
Just as the inspector pulled out his handgun and shot James right in the forehead, a sudden jolt shot through his body, as he heard the loud bang from his own gun.
His eyes bulged as his face went fire engine red.
"wasn't James on the other end of the table?" He thought.
Blood began spreading across the table from the man's head.
He had shot his partner, whom he thought was James, when he looked over James was gone, the door was wide open and his keys were missing. Then, he remembered, as he was removing the constrictor, he had accidentally, briefly looked at James in his reflection in the tiles on the wall across him. In that short moment James had managed to latch onto the interrogator's mind, contort his thinking and made him think his own partner was a whole different person. Traumatized, the inspector dropped to his knees, point the gun at himself and pulled the trigger.
The 'pied pipers' weren't given that name because they could hypnotize people, they were given that name because they were cunning, manipulative and downright evil. Much like the Pied pier of Hamelin who hypnotized all the children in the village and brought them to drown in a river just because the villagers mistreated him.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
#6: Character summary [Never Let Me Go]
[SYNOPSIS]'Never let me go' is a science fiction novel written by British author Kazuo Ishiguro. Despite its sci-fi status, 'Never let me go' is surprisingly very indie, possibly the most heart-wrenching science fiction book I have ever read. The book is set in retrospective England, in a fictional world where scientific advances in the 80's have already made human cloning possible, hence, people start producing clones in order to harvest their organs for medical uses such as transplants. The film begins in the country side, in Hailsham boarding school where the clones live till they turn 16, then, they move to the "cottages" which are residential areas where they have their first taste of the real world. When they hit roughly around 35, they become donors, and are required to donate their organs via a total of 4 operations, most clones only surviving till the third. When a clone dies while donating it is morbidly termed as "completion" by the characters in the book.
[CHARACTER ANALYSIS: KATHY]
The book revolves around 3 main characters, Kathy, Ruth and Tommy, Kathy being the protagonist. Their story begins in Hailsham, where Kathy falls for Tommy, a quiet boy who would get picked on a lot. He would start throwing tantrums and having a temper, which would only make Kathy want to reach out to him more, even as a child, Kathy has a sympathetic nature. When Tommy gets bullied for not being able to be creative, Kathy is able to relate even though she is artistically talented, being not only sympathetic but empathetic as well. She continues to love Tommy even when he hits her by accident during one of his tantrums. Kathy confides in Ruth, her love for Tommy, even though Ruth is clearly depicted as a manipulative character, this shows Kathy is a very trusting, gullible person. Kathy is clearly hurt when she sees Ruth becoming intimate with Tommy, however she manages to hide it, eventually almost getting over it. Even though the beginning of the book depicted Kathy as being a meek, feeble girl, we quickly see how emotionally strong she is. Kathy envelopes incidents that affect her and is able to put on a poker-face at her will, showing that she has quite a lot of control of her emotions. As they become adults and move to the "cottages", Kathy's resentment towards Ruth becomes more prominent. Ruth starts to copy the behavior of people on television in order to fit in with the others in the cottages, Kathy confronts her and tells her that that is not how people really act in the world, that the people on TV are exaggerated. Here, we understand that Kathy is very mature, she is not interested in pleasing others and is satisfied with the way she is. She finds Ruth's attempts at fitting in to be rather disgusting. However, when Ruth tells Kathy she is only jealous because she is the only single person in a house full of couples, Kathy simply brushes her off, showing her non-confrontational nature. Kathy is someone who speaks honestly to others without sugar coating her words, however she is never in the interest of getting into a fight. We see that she is very forgiving when she decides to help when Ruth needed someone to accompany her out of town. Although Kathy seems to be a very positive character, I guess her only personality flaw is her brutal honestly. She doesn't hesitate telling someone the truth no matter how hurtful it might be, perhaps because she's heard the truth about her own life far too many times. Tommy catches Kathy flipping through a porno magazine, as though she was looking for something, when asked what she was doing she simply replies "I'm just looking at dirty pictures". Later in the book we find out that she was actually looking for the person she was cloned from; she had always had strong sexual urges and thought that she might have been cloned after a porn-star. Even though she is not really interested in finding her "original" she wants to get a sense of what kind of person was she molded after, in order to get a sense of who she is. She feels somewhat empty.
Her personality attributes flow according with the story when she applies to become a carer, someone who takes care of donors during their donations. Her ability to keep her emotions in check allow her to take care of her donors without having a break down no matter how bad the situation might be. She soon becomes Ruth's carer, then Tommy's. Kathy and Tommy try to apply to defer their donations for another four years, only to find out there are no such things as deferrals. Unlike Tommy who shows his frustration, Kathy is able to keep calm, and accept the situation. Even though she is hurt, she accepts what is happening to her.
As I neared the end of the book, I realised how catatonic Kathy's personality really is. From her point of view, unlike Ruth and Tommy who outwardly show their emotions, she chooses to keep them inside, hidden, because she knows there is nothing she can do to change her situation, so she just simply accepts it. She has forced herself not to feel bereaved whenever her donor completes, perhaps because I think she'd rather live a decent life rather than feeling depressed all the time. I think Kathy knew that even as a little girl in Hailsham, there was no point feeling sad about something she cannot change. That was what made the book so tragic, Kathy exemplifies how most people would behave if they were in a similar situation. I could relate with Kathy. Coming up with a character so real, and raw is far more difficult than coming up with some exaggerated aficionado, which is why I feel Kazuo Ishiguro is extremely skilled in his craft, making this book "novel of the decade" according to TIME.
Monday, September 5, 2011
#5: Next door
14/6/2010
3PM
Ann had just finished school. She walked intently back to her nearby apartment building, hair caught in the wind. She had no time to lose, she had to report to work in half an hour. She rushes into the elevator just as the doors were about to close, about to push the button for her floor only to realize it had already been pushed, illuminated in red, she knew all her neighbors living on her floor, however she did not recognize the man inside the elevator. She paid no attention to him, he wore a plaid shirt, buttoned halfway, denim jeans and a baseball cap that hid his eyes, he stared at the ground most of the time, but Ann felt extremely uneasy.
She stormed out the moment the doors open, partly because she was going to be late for work, but mostly because she was uncomfortable being around that man. frantically walking down the long hall, she reached her apartment, and started fumbling with her keys, in the corner of her gaze, she realized the man was walking directly towards her. She broke into a cold sweat, her heart beat quickened with every step he took. He was just a few feet away from her now, she finally manages to find the right key, hastily unlocking her door, only to realize he was unlocking the door next to hers. apparently he lived next door. Confused, she dumped her bag in a corner, changed to her barista uniform, tidied her hair in a mirror and ran out, making her way to the cafe she worked at.
14/6/2010
4PM
Ann reached work in the nick of time to start her shift. She thought nothing about what happened earlier, she assumed her next door neighbour, Ruth, was just having some company over. She was confused as to how she had never seen that man before, Ruth was a close friend of hers, a confidante. Ann parents separated when she was young, both of them had gotten re-married and cared little about her, Ann lived with her maternal grandmother in that very apartment all her life. She had the place all to herself now, her grandmother had passed away just a year ago. Ruth, who had been Ann's neighbour for five years would always check on Ann, comforting her, being a friend to her. They were like sisters. Ann and Ruth started to drift apart when Ann started her degree course, having little time to spend with Ruth.
She was glad to have some work to do, to keep her preoccupied, distracted, from the many things that were circling around her mind. She had many school assignments piling up, and they were due pretty soon. She decided to stay up that night to finish up even though she was exhausted.
14/6/2010
8PM
Ann finished her shift, got her things and departed for home after saying goodbye to her colleagues. It was pouring outside, and she had forgotten to bring an umbrella, regardless she made her way home under the pouring rain as she lived nearby. She briefly reached her apartment building, sodden from head to toe, she was dying to have a warm shower. She hit the elevator button and waited at the lobby. The elevator finally arrived, carrying within it, the man she had seen earlier, he dashed out the moment the doors opened, bumping into Ann. Ann, now agitated, shouted at him but he had ran far out of sight. Exhausted, she entered her apartment, stripped off her clothes and threw them in the laundry basket. At long last getting the warm shower she yearned for.
15/6/2010
4AM
After a long grueling night Ann eventually finished her assignments, and thought she might get some shut eye before school. Moments after getting into her bed Ann heard a soft knocking on the wall beside her. She slowly got up as she heard it a few more times. This was extremely unusual, she pressed her hear against the wall, the knocking had stopped.
"Ruth?" Ann called out rather loudly.
No answer. Ann sat there on her bed for about a minute before she decided she was just imagining things and went back to bed.
15/6/2010
11.30AM
Ann had woken up late and was rushing for school. She dashed out her apartment and impatiently pushed the elevator button several times. It was almost as if history was repeating itself. The man she had seen the previous day was coming up. When the elevator doors opened he walked out, clad in old looking clothes, the same baseball cap, carrying a rather large bag. He gave Ann a rather threatening look. Ann thought nothing of it, she assumed he was angry at her for shouting at him the previous night when he had bumped into her. This was the first time she had gotten a good look at his face, he had a menacing disposition.
15/6/2010
5PM
Ann was on her way home, she was relieved she had finally submitted her assignments and didn't have work that day, she could relax a bit. When she reached her floor, all she saw was numerous policemen, several reporters, yellow and black police tape sealing the entrance of Ruth's apartment. Ann was genuinely shocked, news reporters caught sight of her and the whole horde of them made a mad dash towards her, asking her questions she hadn't had a clue how to answer. A police officer pulled her aside away from the reporters and told them to leave her alone. Ann was still in shock, the police officer slowly explained that Ruth, Ann's neighbour had been killed, and they suspected that the Ruth was murdered by the same man who had killed numerous other girls around that area. Ann had goosebumps all over her body now. The officer went on to explain that this particular serial killer would befriend his victims often getting intimate with them before finally killing them Ann saw officers bring out several garbage bags, each stinking of death. She felt the urge to puke. She remembered something and sprinted into her apartment, followed by the officer. She grabbed her laundry basket and emptied its contents on her floor, quickly catching sight of the blouse she had worn the previous night. There it was, blood stains, from where he had bumped her. Ann turned back to look at the officer, the hairs on the back of her neck were standing.
15/6/2010
11PM
Two policemen were given the task to guard Ann's apartment building that night in case the serial killer were to return. Although Ann felt safe, she still had a sense of uneasiness. She didn't have school the next day, but she was tired from the hectic day she had had. She turned off her television, she couldn't find a way to preoccupy herself, so she decided to just go to bed. Her house was quiet, empty, and with Ruth gone, Ann felt so alone, she was still unable to accept that Ruth was really dead. She turned off all the lights and edged towards her bed. Nothing could prepare her for what she was about to experience next. As she was about to climb onto her bed she felt two strong vice-like grips on her ankles. Immediately she looked down, and in the bluish moonlight seeping in through her window she sees two arms, grabbing her from beneath her bed. Her heart skipped a beat, but she couldn't scream. The arms then pulled forward, making her fall, relentlessly pulling her under the bed. In her panic-stricken state, Ann manages to catch a glimpse of what was under her bed, it was him. She was extremely scared, his grip was so strong and she could not break away. She felt she was going to die, going to suffer the same fate as her dear neighbour Ruth and all the other girls he had mercilessly murdered. He was slowly making his way out from beneath the bed. Ann managed to find her voice and screamed,
"RUTH! RUTH HELP ME!"
At that very moment Ann heard the same knocking on her wall she had heard the night before, except it was much louder now. Within a split second, almost effortlessly, the four legs of her bed broke and gave way as the heavy bed frame came crashing down on his skull completely pulverizing it. The knocking stopped. Ann was paralyzed on the floor.
16/6/2010
2AM
Ann sat on her couch, huddling her knees, rocking back and forth as the paramedics brought the lifeless body of Ruth's ex-boyfriend away. Strangely, she began to cry, not because of what happened to her, but because she finally accepted that Ruth was truly gone. She managed to give a short report on what had happened even though she was traumatized.
The serial killer had killed her on the 14th and left, he returned the next day to discard her body, he was dismembering her into smaller pieces so it would be easier to hide her corpse. However he had run out of garbage bags for her remaining limbs. Ruth had had a set of keys to Ann's apartment, he used them, but as he was searching Ann's place he heard the siren of police cars and immediately locked the doors and hid under her bed. Neighbours had called the cops after they noticed the strong lingering smell of rotting flesh from Ruth's place. The police assumed he had left the building long before they arrived.
14/6/2011
3PM
Ann was visiting Ruth's grave. She placed a bouquet of daisies on the foot of the grave, Ruth's favourite flowers. She had had a rough year, but nothing compared to what Ruth had gone through. Ann still felt an overwhelming sense of guilt, she felt if she had not grown to far apart from Ruth, she would have still been alive. They were best friends, and when Ann left for college Ruth was alone, in need of company, so when this strange man came into her life, she welcomed him blind to his malign intentions. But Ann knew Ruth had forgiven her, she knew Ruth had helped her that night, that without her miraculous intervention she would definitely have become the killer's next victim. Ruth had become somewhat of a guardian angel for her, someone to fall back on, someone she could ask for help, whenever she needed.
3PM
Ann had just finished school. She walked intently back to her nearby apartment building, hair caught in the wind. She had no time to lose, she had to report to work in half an hour. She rushes into the elevator just as the doors were about to close, about to push the button for her floor only to realize it had already been pushed, illuminated in red, she knew all her neighbors living on her floor, however she did not recognize the man inside the elevator. She paid no attention to him, he wore a plaid shirt, buttoned halfway, denim jeans and a baseball cap that hid his eyes, he stared at the ground most of the time, but Ann felt extremely uneasy.
She stormed out the moment the doors open, partly because she was going to be late for work, but mostly because she was uncomfortable being around that man. frantically walking down the long hall, she reached her apartment, and started fumbling with her keys, in the corner of her gaze, she realized the man was walking directly towards her. She broke into a cold sweat, her heart beat quickened with every step he took. He was just a few feet away from her now, she finally manages to find the right key, hastily unlocking her door, only to realize he was unlocking the door next to hers. apparently he lived next door. Confused, she dumped her bag in a corner, changed to her barista uniform, tidied her hair in a mirror and ran out, making her way to the cafe she worked at.
14/6/2010
4PM
Ann reached work in the nick of time to start her shift. She thought nothing about what happened earlier, she assumed her next door neighbour, Ruth, was just having some company over. She was confused as to how she had never seen that man before, Ruth was a close friend of hers, a confidante. Ann parents separated when she was young, both of them had gotten re-married and cared little about her, Ann lived with her maternal grandmother in that very apartment all her life. She had the place all to herself now, her grandmother had passed away just a year ago. Ruth, who had been Ann's neighbour for five years would always check on Ann, comforting her, being a friend to her. They were like sisters. Ann and Ruth started to drift apart when Ann started her degree course, having little time to spend with Ruth.
She was glad to have some work to do, to keep her preoccupied, distracted, from the many things that were circling around her mind. She had many school assignments piling up, and they were due pretty soon. She decided to stay up that night to finish up even though she was exhausted.
14/6/2010
8PM
Ann finished her shift, got her things and departed for home after saying goodbye to her colleagues. It was pouring outside, and she had forgotten to bring an umbrella, regardless she made her way home under the pouring rain as she lived nearby. She briefly reached her apartment building, sodden from head to toe, she was dying to have a warm shower. She hit the elevator button and waited at the lobby. The elevator finally arrived, carrying within it, the man she had seen earlier, he dashed out the moment the doors opened, bumping into Ann. Ann, now agitated, shouted at him but he had ran far out of sight. Exhausted, she entered her apartment, stripped off her clothes and threw them in the laundry basket. At long last getting the warm shower she yearned for.
15/6/2010
4AM
After a long grueling night Ann eventually finished her assignments, and thought she might get some shut eye before school. Moments after getting into her bed Ann heard a soft knocking on the wall beside her. She slowly got up as she heard it a few more times. This was extremely unusual, she pressed her hear against the wall, the knocking had stopped.
"Ruth?" Ann called out rather loudly.
No answer. Ann sat there on her bed for about a minute before she decided she was just imagining things and went back to bed.
15/6/2010
11.30AM
Ann had woken up late and was rushing for school. She dashed out her apartment and impatiently pushed the elevator button several times. It was almost as if history was repeating itself. The man she had seen the previous day was coming up. When the elevator doors opened he walked out, clad in old looking clothes, the same baseball cap, carrying a rather large bag. He gave Ann a rather threatening look. Ann thought nothing of it, she assumed he was angry at her for shouting at him the previous night when he had bumped into her. This was the first time she had gotten a good look at his face, he had a menacing disposition.
15/6/2010
5PM
Ann was on her way home, she was relieved she had finally submitted her assignments and didn't have work that day, she could relax a bit. When she reached her floor, all she saw was numerous policemen, several reporters, yellow and black police tape sealing the entrance of Ruth's apartment. Ann was genuinely shocked, news reporters caught sight of her and the whole horde of them made a mad dash towards her, asking her questions she hadn't had a clue how to answer. A police officer pulled her aside away from the reporters and told them to leave her alone. Ann was still in shock, the police officer slowly explained that Ruth, Ann's neighbour had been killed, and they suspected that the Ruth was murdered by the same man who had killed numerous other girls around that area. Ann had goosebumps all over her body now. The officer went on to explain that this particular serial killer would befriend his victims often getting intimate with them before finally killing them Ann saw officers bring out several garbage bags, each stinking of death. She felt the urge to puke. She remembered something and sprinted into her apartment, followed by the officer. She grabbed her laundry basket and emptied its contents on her floor, quickly catching sight of the blouse she had worn the previous night. There it was, blood stains, from where he had bumped her. Ann turned back to look at the officer, the hairs on the back of her neck were standing.
15/6/2010
11PM
Two policemen were given the task to guard Ann's apartment building that night in case the serial killer were to return. Although Ann felt safe, she still had a sense of uneasiness. She didn't have school the next day, but she was tired from the hectic day she had had. She turned off her television, she couldn't find a way to preoccupy herself, so she decided to just go to bed. Her house was quiet, empty, and with Ruth gone, Ann felt so alone, she was still unable to accept that Ruth was really dead. She turned off all the lights and edged towards her bed. Nothing could prepare her for what she was about to experience next. As she was about to climb onto her bed she felt two strong vice-like grips on her ankles. Immediately she looked down, and in the bluish moonlight seeping in through her window she sees two arms, grabbing her from beneath her bed. Her heart skipped a beat, but she couldn't scream. The arms then pulled forward, making her fall, relentlessly pulling her under the bed. In her panic-stricken state, Ann manages to catch a glimpse of what was under her bed, it was him. She was extremely scared, his grip was so strong and she could not break away. She felt she was going to die, going to suffer the same fate as her dear neighbour Ruth and all the other girls he had mercilessly murdered. He was slowly making his way out from beneath the bed. Ann managed to find her voice and screamed,
"RUTH! RUTH HELP ME!"
At that very moment Ann heard the same knocking on her wall she had heard the night before, except it was much louder now. Within a split second, almost effortlessly, the four legs of her bed broke and gave way as the heavy bed frame came crashing down on his skull completely pulverizing it. The knocking stopped. Ann was paralyzed on the floor.
16/6/2010
2AM
Ann sat on her couch, huddling her knees, rocking back and forth as the paramedics brought the lifeless body of Ruth's ex-boyfriend away. Strangely, she began to cry, not because of what happened to her, but because she finally accepted that Ruth was truly gone. She managed to give a short report on what had happened even though she was traumatized.
The serial killer had killed her on the 14th and left, he returned the next day to discard her body, he was dismembering her into smaller pieces so it would be easier to hide her corpse. However he had run out of garbage bags for her remaining limbs. Ruth had had a set of keys to Ann's apartment, he used them, but as he was searching Ann's place he heard the siren of police cars and immediately locked the doors and hid under her bed. Neighbours had called the cops after they noticed the strong lingering smell of rotting flesh from Ruth's place. The police assumed he had left the building long before they arrived.
14/6/2011
3PM
Ann was visiting Ruth's grave. She placed a bouquet of daisies on the foot of the grave, Ruth's favourite flowers. She had had a rough year, but nothing compared to what Ruth had gone through. Ann still felt an overwhelming sense of guilt, she felt if she had not grown to far apart from Ruth, she would have still been alive. They were best friends, and when Ann left for college Ruth was alone, in need of company, so when this strange man came into her life, she welcomed him blind to his malign intentions. But Ann knew Ruth had forgiven her, she knew Ruth had helped her that night, that without her miraculous intervention she would definitely have become the killer's next victim. Ruth had become somewhat of a guardian angel for her, someone to fall back on, someone she could ask for help, whenever she needed.
Friday, September 2, 2011
#4: Story behind the face: Kristen Mcmenamy
I remember my first day of elementary school, I was nervous and anxious. My mother drove me down to the school, where I was greeted by hordes of energetic, loud kids my age. I always knew I was different, I was more quiet, stoic. My parents used to worry, they'd take me to psychiatrists, therapists but they'd always tell them there was nothing wrong with me. I was just different. I could tell my parents slightly resented me.
In school I found it hard to socialize, I had just about no friends. Some kids couldn't even tell if I was a boy or a girl since I had short hair, and boyish features. That was how all the mocking started, I was told I was ugly by people all my life, especially in school. At first I used to feel hurt, but I soon began to accept it. Even as I progressed to middle school and high school, I still didn't manage to make many friends, I wasn't close with my family either. I could tell my parents were still disappointed in me no matter how well I did in school. I guess they always felt I would grow out of my awkwardness eventually, but I never did. I was alone most of my time. I had a lot of time to think, to gain knowledge about many things I've wondered about.
I was 22 when I met Calvin Klein. I was vising a friend in New York, I had gone to get something from a grocery store near the hotel I was staying at. I remember specifically I was walking down the organic foods isle, when I felt I was being watched. I turned to see a tall, lean, grey haired man, grasping a shopping basket, scrutinizing me. I frowned at him at first, then I realized I had seen his face somewhere before. He smiled then briskly walked towards me, held out his hand and said,
"Hi, my name's Calvin".
I knew who he was now.
"Calvin Klein?" I asked, surprised at my sudden outburst.
He smiled and nodded, then apologized for staring at me. He said he was looking for models for his new line and really liked my look and the way I walked. I couldn't believe him. How could he like my look when I was told I was ugly since I was a little child. He gave me his card and told me to come by his studio for an audition. I was skeptical but my friend I was visiting at the time persuaded me to go. I felt there wasn't any harm in just going for an audition anyway, so I went. Calvin Klein loved me, I was walking for him during fashion week within a month. A runway which many models work years to finally be able to walk. Soon I was being whisked off to exotic places I've always wanted to visit. Walking runways in Paris, Milan, London and Tokyo, I had become a high fashion model. I began to fall in love with the world of fashion very fast. Even though being a model deemed to be quite a tiring job, constantly traveling and maintaining your body shape, I loved it because it gave me an outlet to express myself. Especially through fashion photography. I loved doing spreads for magazines.
I realized this was my calling in life. I loved high fashion because it embraced the "ugly" side of the world, constantly twisting and changing the perception of beauty, constantly redefining the definition of beauty, in some cases even changing the course of history. Even if someone isn't interested in fashion, it does affect them in many ways. I met many fashion design icons such as Karl lagerfeld and Anna Wintour and began to truly understand the "heart" of high fashion. After working in the industry for approximately ten years, I was being termed as a fashion icon myself. I was surprised, all I had done was express my own passion for high fashion modelling.
The industry also brought me and my husband together. I remember I was in Paris, at a photo-shoot for French vogue. He was rather new to the industry then, and this was his first major break. Having shot with many master photographers, I could tell he was nervous, but he hid it well. We soon realized both of us were extremely alike. I understood his artistic vision and he understood my passion. We've been inseparable ever since.
Many perceive the fashion industry to be a stressful world, full of unreasonable dictators and starving models all for money and fame, but they couldn't be more wrong. The fashion world is truly a place where people with burning passions come to realize their dreams, where people work hard, day and night to create something that they can be proud of, and to me, a place where I found acceptance, inspiration and most of all a place where I feel beautiful.
I was 22 when I met Calvin Klein. I was vising a friend in New York, I had gone to get something from a grocery store near the hotel I was staying at. I remember specifically I was walking down the organic foods isle, when I felt I was being watched. I turned to see a tall, lean, grey haired man, grasping a shopping basket, scrutinizing me. I frowned at him at first, then I realized I had seen his face somewhere before. He smiled then briskly walked towards me, held out his hand and said,
"Hi, my name's Calvin".
I knew who he was now.
"Calvin Klein?" I asked, surprised at my sudden outburst.
He smiled and nodded, then apologized for staring at me. He said he was looking for models for his new line and really liked my look and the way I walked. I couldn't believe him. How could he like my look when I was told I was ugly since I was a little child. He gave me his card and told me to come by his studio for an audition. I was skeptical but my friend I was visiting at the time persuaded me to go. I felt there wasn't any harm in just going for an audition anyway, so I went. Calvin Klein loved me, I was walking for him during fashion week within a month. A runway which many models work years to finally be able to walk. Soon I was being whisked off to exotic places I've always wanted to visit. Walking runways in Paris, Milan, London and Tokyo, I had become a high fashion model. I began to fall in love with the world of fashion very fast. Even though being a model deemed to be quite a tiring job, constantly traveling and maintaining your body shape, I loved it because it gave me an outlet to express myself. Especially through fashion photography. I loved doing spreads for magazines.
I realized this was my calling in life. I loved high fashion because it embraced the "ugly" side of the world, constantly twisting and changing the perception of beauty, constantly redefining the definition of beauty, in some cases even changing the course of history. Even if someone isn't interested in fashion, it does affect them in many ways. I met many fashion design icons such as Karl lagerfeld and Anna Wintour and began to truly understand the "heart" of high fashion. After working in the industry for approximately ten years, I was being termed as a fashion icon myself. I was surprised, all I had done was express my own passion for high fashion modelling.
The industry also brought me and my husband together. I remember I was in Paris, at a photo-shoot for French vogue. He was rather new to the industry then, and this was his first major break. Having shot with many master photographers, I could tell he was nervous, but he hid it well. We soon realized both of us were extremely alike. I understood his artistic vision and he understood my passion. We've been inseparable ever since.
Many perceive the fashion industry to be a stressful world, full of unreasonable dictators and starving models all for money and fame, but they couldn't be more wrong. The fashion world is truly a place where people with burning passions come to realize their dreams, where people work hard, day and night to create something that they can be proud of, and to me, a place where I found acceptance, inspiration and most of all a place where I feel beautiful.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
#3: Sabra (patience)
I guess I was born into a wealthy family, I can't remember, my father taught in an elementary school while my mother stayed at home to look after me and my brother,I remember I was a happy child, but those times are just small fragments in my memory. I was 9 when the Civil war started in Somalia, everything changed.
Don't worry, this isn't another generic tale of a poor beaten down war victim, I didn't stay in Somalia for too long after the up-rise of the rebels. My father was killed at the elementary school, The rebels wanted schools only to teach Arabic and disliked the fact that my father taught English as one of his subjects. My brother was forced into a rebel-run Islamic boarding school. My mother and I begrudgingly garbed ourselves with Burkas. When the rebels went around town administering clitorectomies to girls my age, my mother had had enough. I wouldn't say my mother loved the corrupt Somalian government, but she felt at least it was a bearable way of life, unlike the hell we were faced with during the rebel up-rise. In the dead of the night, me and my mother crept out of our house. She kept telling me to hurry while she briskly scampered trying her best not to make noise, after about an hour of walking, I realized she had brought me to the border of our town, just some kilometers away, would be Ethiopia. She was frantically looking around, searching for something, then I spotted it, in the distance, a large black truck. She grasped my arm rather tightly almost dragging me towards it, when we neared the truck, I realized it was full of Somalian children. Some parents were there, helping their children up into back of the truck, My mother began doing the same, I reluctantly got on. Then I realized none of the parents were getting on, I looked at my mother, about to panic. She looked at me dead in my eyes and said "one day, I hope you will forgive me for this". Just as I was about to reply the truck had started to move. I started crying hysterically, as the other children watched. My mother's silhouette became smaller and smaller, even though I couldn't see her clearly I could somehow tell she was crying too. I buried my head in my knees, overwhelmed with emotions I was too young to deal with.
I soon found out we were being brought to Sudan. Due the Sudan's then growing economy, there were many factories, and many sweatshops appearing, most of which were inhabited by Somalian refugees. I understood now, my mother would rather have me work in a sweatshop rather than be exposed to the cruelty of the Somalian rebels. The few friends I had made in the truck had quickly vanished the moment we reached Delgo, Sudan. We were all split up and sent to work in different sweatshops. I worked at a factory that dealt with clothing. My job was to silkscreen prints onto T-shirts and such. I was given the job because I was one of the oldest, with the steadiest hands. I began to develop an eye for precision.
All of us slept together in the basement of the sweatshop. Approximately about 30 children huddled together in a dingy old basement. There were 2 men who would occasionally check on us. They were supposedly our guardians. They were stern and spanked whoever was making trouble. I never got ill treated by them because I was good at what I did. I had even started to like it. I loved the feeling of being able to create something aesthetically pleasing. sometimes I would even steal different colored ink cartridges to paint with when nobody was looking. I was doing something productive. However silk-screening all day did give me mild headaches. That's when the men would offer me a puff or 2 of their blunt. The food we were given was old, stale and sometimes even expired. But we'd eat anything that we got due to the uncertainty of getting our next meal.
When I was 16, I managed to pluck up enough courage to run away from the sweatshop. In the dead of the night, I remembered my mom guiding me that night, out of Somalia. This time I was alone. I was on my way to the refugee camp at El OBeid, in the heart of Sudan. If my mother and brother were still alive, they'd be there I thought. I hitchhiked a ride on the old overcrowded railway train headed into central Sudan, hiding behind people, paranoid for no reason. I didn't miss anyone at the sweatshop, I knew better than to make friends because I knew they'd vanish too.
The Refugee camp was vast. I knew I was going to have a hard time locating my family. I searched for 2 days, asking random people if they knew my mother or brother, walking in circles scanning the whole place. It was the only Somalian refugee camp in Sudan so I knew they would not be anywhere else. I missed them desperately, my heart became heavy and I started to cry. I had nowhere else to go, no home, no family, I was nothing more than a Somalian refugee, hence, I stayed at the camp. I took out my stolen ink and began to paint with my fingers. It was the only way I could heal my pain. Even though there was much chaos happening at the camp, I felt at peace there. these people have been through the same things I have, perhaps even more, sure, I was forced to work in a sweatshop, but I knew these people had gone through much worse; they wouldn't be here otherwise. They were still suffering. People always seem to assume refugees are lucky to have made it out of their country, but they often overlook the continuing plight of refugees, we were out of Somalia, out of war, but here, we had no food, no home, no jobs and we had no country to call home. we were like stranded sailors. I painted with this in mind, while I helped out the humanitarian workers. Soon, the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees caught sight of my work. My work was published, and used to spread awareness about the plight of refugees. I felt no greater joy! Through all my hardships, I have persevered, now I work as a humanitarian worker for UNHCR, I just needed to be brave, to be patient. I just needed to be Sabra.
Don't worry, this isn't another generic tale of a poor beaten down war victim, I didn't stay in Somalia for too long after the up-rise of the rebels. My father was killed at the elementary school, The rebels wanted schools only to teach Arabic and disliked the fact that my father taught English as one of his subjects. My brother was forced into a rebel-run Islamic boarding school. My mother and I begrudgingly garbed ourselves with Burkas. When the rebels went around town administering clitorectomies to girls my age, my mother had had enough. I wouldn't say my mother loved the corrupt Somalian government, but she felt at least it was a bearable way of life, unlike the hell we were faced with during the rebel up-rise. In the dead of the night, me and my mother crept out of our house. She kept telling me to hurry while she briskly scampered trying her best not to make noise, after about an hour of walking, I realized she had brought me to the border of our town, just some kilometers away, would be Ethiopia. She was frantically looking around, searching for something, then I spotted it, in the distance, a large black truck. She grasped my arm rather tightly almost dragging me towards it, when we neared the truck, I realized it was full of Somalian children. Some parents were there, helping their children up into back of the truck, My mother began doing the same, I reluctantly got on. Then I realized none of the parents were getting on, I looked at my mother, about to panic. She looked at me dead in my eyes and said "one day, I hope you will forgive me for this". Just as I was about to reply the truck had started to move. I started crying hysterically, as the other children watched. My mother's silhouette became smaller and smaller, even though I couldn't see her clearly I could somehow tell she was crying too. I buried my head in my knees, overwhelmed with emotions I was too young to deal with.
I soon found out we were being brought to Sudan. Due the Sudan's then growing economy, there were many factories, and many sweatshops appearing, most of which were inhabited by Somalian refugees. I understood now, my mother would rather have me work in a sweatshop rather than be exposed to the cruelty of the Somalian rebels. The few friends I had made in the truck had quickly vanished the moment we reached Delgo, Sudan. We were all split up and sent to work in different sweatshops. I worked at a factory that dealt with clothing. My job was to silkscreen prints onto T-shirts and such. I was given the job because I was one of the oldest, with the steadiest hands. I began to develop an eye for precision.
All of us slept together in the basement of the sweatshop. Approximately about 30 children huddled together in a dingy old basement. There were 2 men who would occasionally check on us. They were supposedly our guardians. They were stern and spanked whoever was making trouble. I never got ill treated by them because I was good at what I did. I had even started to like it. I loved the feeling of being able to create something aesthetically pleasing. sometimes I would even steal different colored ink cartridges to paint with when nobody was looking. I was doing something productive. However silk-screening all day did give me mild headaches. That's when the men would offer me a puff or 2 of their blunt. The food we were given was old, stale and sometimes even expired. But we'd eat anything that we got due to the uncertainty of getting our next meal.
When I was 16, I managed to pluck up enough courage to run away from the sweatshop. In the dead of the night, I remembered my mom guiding me that night, out of Somalia. This time I was alone. I was on my way to the refugee camp at El OBeid, in the heart of Sudan. If my mother and brother were still alive, they'd be there I thought. I hitchhiked a ride on the old overcrowded railway train headed into central Sudan, hiding behind people, paranoid for no reason. I didn't miss anyone at the sweatshop, I knew better than to make friends because I knew they'd vanish too.
The Refugee camp was vast. I knew I was going to have a hard time locating my family. I searched for 2 days, asking random people if they knew my mother or brother, walking in circles scanning the whole place. It was the only Somalian refugee camp in Sudan so I knew they would not be anywhere else. I missed them desperately, my heart became heavy and I started to cry. I had nowhere else to go, no home, no family, I was nothing more than a Somalian refugee, hence, I stayed at the camp. I took out my stolen ink and began to paint with my fingers. It was the only way I could heal my pain. Even though there was much chaos happening at the camp, I felt at peace there. these people have been through the same things I have, perhaps even more, sure, I was forced to work in a sweatshop, but I knew these people had gone through much worse; they wouldn't be here otherwise. They were still suffering. People always seem to assume refugees are lucky to have made it out of their country, but they often overlook the continuing plight of refugees, we were out of Somalia, out of war, but here, we had no food, no home, no jobs and we had no country to call home. we were like stranded sailors. I painted with this in mind, while I helped out the humanitarian workers. Soon, the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees caught sight of my work. My work was published, and used to spread awareness about the plight of refugees. I felt no greater joy! Through all my hardships, I have persevered, now I work as a humanitarian worker for UNHCR, I just needed to be brave, to be patient. I just needed to be Sabra.
Art cannot exist without experience.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
#2: The story behind the song. (CHARACTER ANALYSIS)
(The following is my character analysis/development of singer Maynard James Keenan when he covered "Imagine" by John Lennon.)
John Lennon's "imagine" had been etched securely in place in his heart the moment he heard it.
Whenever he felt troubled or frustrated with the world all he would have to do is to put on this song and turn up the volume, and he'd be reminded that he is not the only person who feels this way. He was about 11 or 12 when he first heard it, Lennon was performing the song live on some variety show, he didn't have any feelings towards the song then. But as he grew older and his life became more hectic and stressful, he found deeper meaning in the song's origins.
The song made him a very passionate child, yet only inwardly, he was passive to the world. Like most kids, he would get picked on. By people who just simply felt he was different, or at least that's what he thought. It made him wonder why people pick on others, why people tend to jump on people who they don't understand. In some ways all humans are slightly xenophobic and the song helped him eliminate that. The fear of what we cannot understand.
The song prompts listeners to imagine a world where there are no countries or religions, dividing humans. Although many may argue that religion and patriotism are essential, nobody can deny that these are the roots of most conflicts in the world in the first place. Be it any small insignificant difference, it gives someone a reason to find some sort of irrelevant conflict.
John Lennon's "imagine" had been etched securely in place in his heart the moment he heard it.
Whenever he felt troubled or frustrated with the world all he would have to do is to put on this song and turn up the volume, and he'd be reminded that he is not the only person who feels this way. He was about 11 or 12 when he first heard it, Lennon was performing the song live on some variety show, he didn't have any feelings towards the song then. But as he grew older and his life became more hectic and stressful, he found deeper meaning in the song's origins.
"Imagine there's no Heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today
Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace"
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace"
The song made him a very passionate child, yet only inwardly, he was passive to the world. Like most kids, he would get picked on. By people who just simply felt he was different, or at least that's what he thought. It made him wonder why people pick on others, why people tend to jump on people who they don't understand. In some ways all humans are slightly xenophobic and the song helped him eliminate that. The fear of what we cannot understand.
The song prompts listeners to imagine a world where there are no countries or religions, dividing humans. Although many may argue that religion and patriotism are essential, nobody can deny that these are the roots of most conflicts in the world in the first place. Be it any small insignificant difference, it gives someone a reason to find some sort of irrelevant conflict.
"Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world"
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world"
You'd never see him at a place of worship, or jumping and singing the national anthem during his country's independence day, you'd never find him scrutinizing someone over how they look, dress or behave, you'd never see him yearn for some superficial product that he could definitely do without. He'd never ever, intentionally segregate himself, or others.
You would assume he is a stoic, boring person. But people always overlook the most important things. The things that fail to catch our attention, they're often the most interesting. Born in this age, with a mind far ahead. If only someone would just sit and listen to what he had to say, They'd find he is full of life, love and compassion. He doesn't need to go to some third world country and wash the feet of the poor, he doesn't need to protest in the streets of London against the Iraq war, he didn't need to raise his voice to speak out against political corruption. He understood that all that was needed of him, was that he had to adopt a new mindset about the world, about himself. That is what we all need to do, to move forward into a new era, where people can reside peacefully with each other.
You would assume he is a stoic, boring person. But people always overlook the most important things. The things that fail to catch our attention, they're often the most interesting. Born in this age, with a mind far ahead. If only someone would just sit and listen to what he had to say, They'd find he is full of life, love and compassion. He doesn't need to go to some third world country and wash the feet of the poor, he doesn't need to protest in the streets of London against the Iraq war, he didn't need to raise his voice to speak out against political corruption. He understood that all that was needed of him, was that he had to adopt a new mindset about the world, about himself. That is what we all need to do, to move forward into a new era, where people can reside peacefully with each other.
he was filled with optimism and hope when he first started listening to the song, but now all he felt is dread whenever the song is heard, as the world progresses further and further into ruin, he begins to understand he would never see the world he'd dreamed of, he would never see the world Lennon dreamed of. People were never going to change, once they acquire what they yearn for, they'd just want more and more while the rest of society in left in their dust. He found it upsetting that people just thought "imagine" was just another song about peace, when they had no clue of the actual message behind it. He once saw it being covered by someone on some variety show, and the moment the song ended someone started talking about being patriotic and showing loyalty to their country, and subconsciously he mumbled to himself, "they've completely, utterly missed the bloody point of the god-damn song.". Lets face it, its the very people who flaunt their self acclaimed intellectual superiority who are often the ones who overlook people whom they don't understand and misinterpret the meaning of things they probably will never be able to truly comprehend. He felt it was these people, with their overblown egos, who would be unable to adapt to this new mindset. These are the people who hold us back from reaching a new era of anti-segregation.
Marred by his self-enlightenment, he lived a slightly pessimistic, sheltered life, away from society, away from the people who would ostracize him. He had ostracized himself. Sitting in his small dimly lit bedroom, empty bottles and pizza boxes strewn all across the place, he'd sit on his unmade bed, eyes glued to the 9 o'clock news. Day after day, nothing changes, nobody gives a damn, soon, he decides not to give a damn either. In his cover of "Imagine", he doesn't hesitate to show his deep sadness. his final ode to Lennon, a man he'd looked up to all his life. A once optimistic, uplifting song, now dark, bleak, a whole new meaning is born from the same song. We will never see the world Lennon dreamed of.
Marred by his self-enlightenment, he lived a slightly pessimistic, sheltered life, away from society, away from the people who would ostracize him. He had ostracized himself. Sitting in his small dimly lit bedroom, empty bottles and pizza boxes strewn all across the place, he'd sit on his unmade bed, eyes glued to the 9 o'clock news. Day after day, nothing changes, nobody gives a damn, soon, he decides not to give a damn either. In his cover of "Imagine", he doesn't hesitate to show his deep sadness. his final ode to Lennon, a man he'd looked up to all his life. A once optimistic, uplifting song, now dark, bleak, a whole new meaning is born from the same song. We will never see the world Lennon dreamed of.
"You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one"
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one"
IMAGINE COVERED BY MAYNARD JAMES KEENAN (A Perfect Circle)
Sunday, August 7, 2011
#1: My memorable childhood
I have had quite a number of interesting experiences happen to me when I was a child, but I'm going to write about the one that affected me the most. I remember I was 10 at the time, it was dusk. I was sitting on the floor of the living room doing my homework on the coffee table when I felt a sharp acute pain on the left side of my face. It was sudden and excruciating. I couldn't move that side of my face either. It was so bad, I laid my head on the table wishing it would go away. It didn't. Eventually I managed to go tell my parents about it. Unable to figure out what might be causing the pain, they brought me to the hospital.
I was immediately admitted upon consulting the doctor. It all happened so fast, a nurse brought me to my ward once I changed into one of their unflattering hospital robes. There were 8 beds, 4 on either side, only 1 wasn't occupied. It was right beside the window panels. The children in the ward were around my age, some younger. I was put on an IV, the injection stung but I was too distracted by the pain in my face. The nurse also gave me some painkillers. My parents helped me get settled and sat with me for about an hour before deciding to leave. My mother insisted on staying the night, but I assured her that I would be fine on my own. She said would come back in the morning with my toothbrush, a few books and other necessities.
This was the first time I spent the night alone. It was around 11pm, almost everyone in my ward were asleep except for a few parents who were spending the night with their children. The painkillers were starting to take affect and the pain in my face was beginning to subside. I got up and made my way to the washroom, dragging the IV pole along with me. Everyone was asleep now. As I left the ward I noticed one particular bed which had Taoist talismans and charms hanging off the bed frame, a little girl sleeping soundly on it, she was extremely pale and thin. Her grandmother (I assumed) was resting on the armchair next to the bed.
When I returned to my bed, I laid on my side and stared out the window. All was dark except for a large crucifix that sat at the top of the church across the street illuminated in neon green. I'm not a christian nor am I a religious person, but I did feel somewhat comforted by it. The doctors administered a CAT scan the next day. They told us they couldn't really find anything strange on the scans and wanted to keep me for another night for further observation even though I could somewhat move that side of my face again and felt little pain. I was scheduled to be released the next day if I showed more improvement. That day I kept looking at the girl on the bed I saw the night before even though i didn't want to invade her privacy, I just couldn't help it. She was so weak she couldn't even walk to the washroom without having to stop every few steps. I felt sorry for her. Her parents looked very upset and troubled, while her grandmother just sat on her chair quietly.
That night I couldn't sleep, I laid on my side staring at the crucifix across the street again. Then I heard the silent shuffling of soft footsteps. I peered over my sheets and saw the girl's grandmother walking towards the windows. She stood still, staring out at the crucifix, then clasped both hands and shut her eyes, I could hear her sobbing softly. For some reason I was touched by her gesture. I realized no matter what religion you identify with, when you truly need help, it doesn't matter who is helping you. When people come to a state of desperation, petty things like, race, religion and creed just do not matter anymore. I found it remarkably beautiful. I watched her pray silently. She abruptly turned and caught me looking at her, tears streaming down her cheeks, she gave me a warm smile and quietly walked back to her grandchild.
I was released the next day, My parents came to fetch me home. I changed out of the hospital robe and into my own clothes and followed my parents out of the ward. I paused in front of the little girl's bed, both the girl and her grandmother were still asleep as it was still early in the morning. I simply looked at them for half a minute and ran after my parents. That was almost 10 years ago, I don't know what happened to the girl. But I'm thankful for the lesson I learnt that night. It changed how I saw the world and taught me not to judge people. I really do hope the girl is alive and well today.
I was immediately admitted upon consulting the doctor. It all happened so fast, a nurse brought me to my ward once I changed into one of their unflattering hospital robes. There were 8 beds, 4 on either side, only 1 wasn't occupied. It was right beside the window panels. The children in the ward were around my age, some younger. I was put on an IV, the injection stung but I was too distracted by the pain in my face. The nurse also gave me some painkillers. My parents helped me get settled and sat with me for about an hour before deciding to leave. My mother insisted on staying the night, but I assured her that I would be fine on my own. She said would come back in the morning with my toothbrush, a few books and other necessities.
This was the first time I spent the night alone. It was around 11pm, almost everyone in my ward were asleep except for a few parents who were spending the night with their children. The painkillers were starting to take affect and the pain in my face was beginning to subside. I got up and made my way to the washroom, dragging the IV pole along with me. Everyone was asleep now. As I left the ward I noticed one particular bed which had Taoist talismans and charms hanging off the bed frame, a little girl sleeping soundly on it, she was extremely pale and thin. Her grandmother (I assumed) was resting on the armchair next to the bed.
When I returned to my bed, I laid on my side and stared out the window. All was dark except for a large crucifix that sat at the top of the church across the street illuminated in neon green. I'm not a christian nor am I a religious person, but I did feel somewhat comforted by it. The doctors administered a CAT scan the next day. They told us they couldn't really find anything strange on the scans and wanted to keep me for another night for further observation even though I could somewhat move that side of my face again and felt little pain. I was scheduled to be released the next day if I showed more improvement. That day I kept looking at the girl on the bed I saw the night before even though i didn't want to invade her privacy, I just couldn't help it. She was so weak she couldn't even walk to the washroom without having to stop every few steps. I felt sorry for her. Her parents looked very upset and troubled, while her grandmother just sat on her chair quietly.
That night I couldn't sleep, I laid on my side staring at the crucifix across the street again. Then I heard the silent shuffling of soft footsteps. I peered over my sheets and saw the girl's grandmother walking towards the windows. She stood still, staring out at the crucifix, then clasped both hands and shut her eyes, I could hear her sobbing softly. For some reason I was touched by her gesture. I realized no matter what religion you identify with, when you truly need help, it doesn't matter who is helping you. When people come to a state of desperation, petty things like, race, religion and creed just do not matter anymore. I found it remarkably beautiful. I watched her pray silently. She abruptly turned and caught me looking at her, tears streaming down her cheeks, she gave me a warm smile and quietly walked back to her grandchild.
I was released the next day, My parents came to fetch me home. I changed out of the hospital robe and into my own clothes and followed my parents out of the ward. I paused in front of the little girl's bed, both the girl and her grandmother were still asleep as it was still early in the morning. I simply looked at them for half a minute and ran after my parents. That was almost 10 years ago, I don't know what happened to the girl. But I'm thankful for the lesson I learnt that night. It changed how I saw the world and taught me not to judge people. I really do hope the girl is alive and well today.
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